SCENE 2*: PRESCOTT'Soffice has an air of magnificence. Seems high above the street. In an anteroom can be seen theBISHOP,waiting, LUCILLE, PRESCOTT'Ssecretary, a smartly-dressed young woman, is in the office, reading a newspaper. After a moment, BISHOP HOLDENcomes to the door.]
* This scene can be omitted.
BISHOP. I beg your pardon, [LUCILLElooks up.] Are you sure Mr. Prescott will be back?
LUCILLE. Yes sir.
BISHOP. You think I ought to wait?
LUCILLE. Saturday's a bad day. Why don't you come back on Monday?
BISHOP. I must see him today. If I can't see him here I shall try to see him at his home.
LUCILLE. [Quickly.] Then you had better wait.
BISHOP. Very well. [He goes out, sits down, LUCILLEbegins to type; the telephone rings. Before answering, she closes door, shutting out theBISHOP.]
LUCILLE. Hello? Yes, Mrs. Prescott. Not yet, but he took the eleven-thirty train out of Washington and should be here any moment. [Listens.] At the Colony? I'll tell him the minute he comes in. [Hangs up.]
[In a moment the door opens, PRESCOTTstands in the doorway, with his back turned, speaking to theBISHOP.]
PRESCOTT. I'll be with you in a minute, James. [Enters and shuts the door.]
LUCILLE. Oh, Mr. Prescott! You had a good trip, I hope?
PRESCOTT. No. It wasn't very good.
LUCILLE. Oh, I'm sorry! And it spoiled your weekend, too.
PRESCOTT. Spoiled everything. Well, it can't be helped. Anything need my attention here?
LUCILLE. It's been very quiet. Your wife telephoned. She said she'd be at the Colony Club, and would you 'phone her there.
PRESCOTT. All right. Is that all?
LUCILLE. That's about all.
PRESCOTT. How long has Bishop Holden been waiting?
LUCILLE. About an hour.
PRESCOTT. What does he want?
LUCILLE. He didn't say.
PRESCOTT. Why didn't you tell him I couldn't see him today?
LUCILLE. He said he'd go to your house if he couldn't see you here, so I ...
PRESCOTT. Can't I get any protection around here? You could have said I was out of town for the weekend.
LUCILLE. I didn't think of that.
PRESCOTT. You never think of anything.--Send him in.
[LUCILLEgoes out; BISHOPenters.]
BISHOP. Seeing you brings back old times.
PRESCOTT. I'm glad to see you, James. Although [Looks at watch.] If you'd let me know I might have kept myself free....
BISHOP. I won't keep you long.
PRESCOTT. Sit down.
BISHOP. Stanley, I'm in trouble. I've come to you for help.
PRESCOTT. [Wary.] I needn't tell you that anything in my power ...
BISHOP. You're a business man.
PRESCOTT. When there is business.
BISHOP. You believe in our American system of government.
PRESCOTT. Certainly, certainly. The system we did have.
BISHOP. So do I. Sincerely. I have the deepest, profoundest faith in our democracy.
PRESCOTT. [Impatient with the other's irrelevancy.] The world has not yet found anything better.
BISHOP. But unless we do something it won't last beyond our generation.
PRESCOTT. Nonsense.
BISHOP. Social unrest is growing. Young people, in their enforced idleness, are turning away from all that we have taught them.
PRESCOTT. [Annoyed.] Come, James. That isn't what you came to see me about.
BISHOP. It is.
PRESCOTT. You have been reading sensational papers. Of course a depression gives the radicals a chance to spread their doctrines. But there isn't any cause for worry. Prosperity is always a sure cure for radicalism. And things are picking up.
BISHOP. You are probably under the common delusion that all radicals are wild-eyed foreigners.
PRESCOTT. [Bitter in his thoughts.] If it wasn't for this foolery at Washington ...
BISHOP. So was I. But I find they are not.
PRESCOTT. We should all have been out of the slump long ago.
BISHOP. Many of them--the young ones--are good American stock.
PRESCOTT. The Administration proclaims its adherence to the profit system....
BISHOP. They have education, in some cases, background, but unfortunately no experience.
PRESCOTT.... and at the same time it insists on unfair competition with private enterprise.
BISHOP. As long as such men remain idle ...
PRESCOTT. So how can private capital be expected to make commitments?
BISHOP. I don't know.
PRESCOTT. But don't you agree?
BISHOP. Perfectly.
PRESCOTT. Surely, James, the depression did not hit you personally?
BISHOP. In unexpected ways, Stanley--in most unexpected ways.
PRESCOTT. On the contrary, the Church should have benefited. People in misfortune turn to religion.
BISHOP. But with empty pockets. However, I am not complaining for the Church. It is my son I am worried about.
PRESCOTT. Ah, yes. Kenneth. An agreeable fellow, Kenneth.
BISHOP. Of the six years he's been out of college he has worked only four months. Think of it.
PRESCOTT. Is he married?
BISHOP. No.
PRESCOTT. That's fortunate.
BISHOP. Perhaps. If he were married and had a dependent wife and children he might get architectural work in a government slum clearance project.
PRESCOTT. Exactly what I was talking about. The sooner the government turns the building industry back to private enterprise the better.
BISHOP. Kenneth's situation is tragic. He is a mature man, long overdue to take a man's full place in the world.
PRESCOTT. [Impatient.] Yes, I know--I know.
BISHOP. Yet he is classed as a dependent child.
PRESCOTT. Well, aren't you able to take care of him?
BISHOP. I have kept him from starving.
PRESCOTT. You realize, of course, that he is better off than many.
BISHOP. Keeping him alive is not the point. It is not enough. His spirit is crushed, his education unused, his manhood wasted. He is ambitious, wants to work, to establish a home of his own. He is strong, and he is capable.
PRESCOTT. Yes, yes, I understand. I deplore the waste. It is shameful. But in any event, these conditions won't last much longer.
BISHOP. They have lasted a long time.
PRESCOTT. Yes, longer than they should.--I wish I could help you, James, but I cannot.
BISHOP. I want you to give Kenneth a job, Stanley.
PRESCOTT. If I could, I assure you.
BISHOP. Any job. Anything that will make him feel useful and keep him occupied.--Surely in an organization like yours ...
PRESCOTT. At the moment we are doing no building whatever. One or two small projects; and a mere skeleton staff to keep my organization.
BISHOP. I saw in the papers ...
PRESCOTT. That I am interested in the mass production of fabricated houses. Yes!--And men associated with me are ready to launch large-scale production as soon as we are assured of freedom from competition with cheap government money and cheap government labor.
BISHOP. Then, surely ...
PRESCOTT. I have just returned empty-handed from a bunch of half-baked theorists who are heading us into socialism and calling it democracy!
BISHOP. With a view to your project going through, could you not take Kenneth on?
PRESCOTT. Impossible. My small staff has already done all the preparation that needs to be done. My hands are tied till these socialists in Washington are out.
BISHOP. But has not business been given a breathing spell?
PRESCOTT. I don't sell hot dogs. I build houses. People don't consume houses during a breathing spell.--I tell you I could put a capital of twenty millions at work tomorrow if we were guaranteed that in ten years, or even twenty years, we could get our money back.
BISHOP. But what do you fear? You just said you did not fear a revolution.
PRESCOTT. I don't. I fear the continuance of what we already have. Stagnation and semi-socialism.
BISHOP. When could you give my boy a job?
PRESCOTT. When a sound administration goes into power at Washington.
BISHOP. I don't dare to make him wait.
PRESCOTT. Then you must continue to take care of him.
BISHOP. It is not the cost of his living. He needs work. I can't provide that. You could, if you would.
PRESCOTT. Believe me, I would if I could.
BISHOP. You understand that the salary ...
PRESCOTT. James, I know that your son is a capable young man and I would like to have him here with me. But I can't make a job for a man when I have nothing for him to do.
BISHOP. You, must, Stanley. I can afford to support him, but he refuses to accept support from me any longer.
PRESCOTT. Well?
BISHOP. If you will give him a job, I will recompense you for his salary.
PRESCOTT. [Shocked.] You can't mean that.
BISHOP. I do mean it.
PRESCOTT. I am surprised, James--that a man of your principles and profession ...
BISHOP. I am in a very grievous dilemma.
PRESCOTT. I am sorry, but I can't do it. It is neither ethical nor wise.
BISHOP. I don't know whether it is wise or not. But I know my son is desperate. I know I have got to do something. I can't see that fine boy going about lost and unwanted, with no place in the world. I can't see my son turning to Communism--and helping to pull down not only your temples of money, but my House of God.
PRESCOTT. I am very sorry. I can't do what you ask.
BISHOP. If your plans go through, you would have a place for him?
PRESCOTT. [Impatiently.] Yes, yes.
BISHOP. Then until they do--for my sake, Stanley. For old times' sake. Because we were classmates.
PRESCOTT. But it's damned unethical! Do you realize ... [Telephone rings.] Hello!--Oh, hello, dear ... Yes, I am just leaving. I'll be there in a few minutes. [BISHOPtakes out checkbook and writes.] I don't like this.
BISHOP. The ethical sin will be wholly mine. You don't know what it'll mean to my boy to be associated with your firm; you don't know what it'll mean to the girl. He's been engaged to her for three years.
PRESCOTT. I don't like it.
BISHOP. It means new life for two young people, life for them in our way of life. This check, Stanley, is for twelve hundred dollars. Pay Kenneth twenty-five dollars a week. When your plans go through, pay him whatever he's worth to you.
PRESCOTT. It's damned unethical.
BISHOP. There is a greater righteousness than business ethics. [Protesting still, PRESCOTTtakes the check.] Good-bye, Stanley--God bless you. [BISHOPgoes.]
[PRESCOTTstands regarding check a moment, then rings,LUCILLEenters.]
PRESCOTT. Take a letter. Mr. Kenneth Holden. You have his address on file. Dear Kenneth: Sometime ago you came in to inquire if I could find a place for you. I am glad to tell you that there is a vacancy here now, and if you are still looking for something the place is yours. The work will be ... [Pause.] to develop the interesting plans you spoke to me about, pending possible use of them in the future.... [Pause.] The salary will be small to start with, twenty-five dollars a week. Paragraph. You can begin work at any time....
A few months later. The hour is dusk. A basement apartment lower than street level. There are four doors, one leading in from the street, one leading to a back yard, one to a kitchen, another to a bedroom. The room is large and serves as a combined living room and place of business for a dog specialist. Some of the furniture of the old place is here. There is a shelf displaying packages of dog biscuit, muzzles, etc. The walls are decorated with pictures of dogs and glaring advertisements of dog goods, especially insecticides. There is a large homemade sign:
I CLIP, TRIM, PLUCK, WASH AND EXTERMINATE.
At one side is Martin's sketching table, and on wall near it some of his drawings.
TIPPYis kneeling on the floor beside a wash-tub, bathing a terrier. He talks to it gently, soothingly, all through following scene.
MARTIN,with a green eyeshade, is working on a sketch under a table lamp.
During sceneTIPPYtakes dog out of tub and begins drying him with a Turkish towel. Has large stack of clean folded towels and uses one after the other.
MARTIN. [As he sketches.] Your persistent love of Class of '29 reunions seems to me more admirable than politic.
TIPPY. It will go off all right if you refrain from talking politics.
MARTIN. As if I were the only member of the Unholy Six with a capacity to make faux pas!
TIPPY. You have tact and tolerance--when you choose to use them.
MARTIN. Thanks.
TIPPY. The fact that you and Ted still manage to live under the same roof proves that.
MARTIN. That poor devil would win the compassion of Hitler himself--with three Jewish grandmothers!
TIPPY. Well? If you can put up with Ted, who never did a lick of work in his life, why quarrel with Ken who is now a true worker, being duly exploited by a wicked capitalist?
MARTIN. Who said I'd quarrel with him?
TIPPY. You will.
MARTIN. All right. You referee.
TIPPY. If he high-hats you with his success I'll tell him that you've sold a drawing to theNew Yorkerand you can high-hat him back.
MARTIN. Lay off thatNew Yorkerstuff.
TIPPY. Sensitive?
MARTIN. Don't be an ass. It's unimportant, that's all.
TIPPY. Eighty dollars--unimportant?
MARTIN. [Lays aside drawing, removes eyeshade and rises.] You've got me wrong if you think I've any qualms about a reunion with our blissfully-wed bourgeois comrades. Where I doubt your horse sense is in inviting Kate.
TIPPY. You can't ask a bride to attend a stag party with four men!
MARTIN. I could have dug up some other female as a shock-absorber.
TIPPY. Listen, son: a man can be a revolutionist and still mix socially with the White Guard. But a female revolutionist must either assassinate them or seduce them.
MARTIN. [Good-naturedly.] Go to hell.
TIPPY. I invited Kate because she is Laura's friend.
MARTIN. She was Laura's friend.
TIPPY. Rats!
MARTIN. In view of recent changes in social status, are you sure that Kate is still on the calling list of Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth Holden?
TIPPY. You're talking awful rot.
MARTIN. Maybe you know Ken better than I do.
TIPPY. Hell, he isn't a prig.
MARTIN. Another thing: What makes you so sure Ted will enjoy being put on social display in his frayed clothes alongside a lady gorgeously arrayed in the price of her shame?
TIPPY. The very fact that Ted is so shabby will make it less obvious that Kate is still--[Pause.]--helping him.
MARTIN. Kate is really showing remarkable restraint. I'd have expected her to squeeze enough out of a mink coat to dress Ted up a bit.
[All this timeTIPPYhas been wiping dog with one towel after another. He now gets up and leads dog to yard.]
TIPPY. Now I must hang Itzy out to dry.
MARTIN. God, haven't you dried that cur enough?
TIPPY. Him must be ventilated so him will smell sweet. Him's mama rubs her nose in him and her is very particular. [He goes out with dog. MARTINbegins picking up the strewn array of used towels, TIPPYcomes back.] Thanks, old man. [Takes the towels.] Want to dump the tub for me? [MARTINcarries tub into kitchen,TIPPYcontinues cleaning up. TEDenters withKATE.She is richly dressed and has the mink coat, TEDhas on a complete new outfit: suit, hat shoes, topcoat. Everything. The coat is gray; suit brown; hat gray. And there is a price tag on tail of overcoat.TIPPYstares in astonishment.] Do my eyes deceive me?
KATE. Hello, flea-killer.--How do you like it?
TIPPY. I must have slept a few years.
[TEDremoves coat and lays it on table with hat.]
KATE. Slept?
TIPPY. It looks to me like the Republican Party is back in power.
[MARTINre-enters. He stops in astonishment.]
MARTIN. Hello.
KATE. Hello, Communist. [IndicatesTED.] Does seeing Ted decently dressed make you see red?
MARTIN. [SurveyingTED'Sclothes.] No, indeed. The trueCommunistloves beauty and prosperity. His distinction is that he insists on both for everybody.
KATE. Well, I know you are prospering. I saw your drawing in theNew Yorker.
MARTIN. I let them have it at half price just to get it where you would see it.
TIPPY. [Confidentially toKATE.] Half price in theNew Yorkerwould be triple price in theNew Masses.But selling to theNew Yorkeris the latest orders from the Comintern. It's the new plan for boring from within.
KATE. [Impressed.] Oh! Is it?
TED. [ToMARTIN,who is still surveying him.] Does it fit all right?
MARTIN. Perfectly.
KATE. [IndicatingTED.] Honest, Tippy, what do you think of it?
TIPPY. What should I think? What would anybody think?
KATE. He looks nice, doesn't he?
TED. [Trying to seem nonchalant, although he is obviously trying to justify himself.] I dropped by to remind Kate about the party.
KATE. And I inveigled him into a shop. Isn't it worth it? Transforms him. Ted wears clothes so well.
TIPPY. Agreed. The man makes the clothes. Martin in that outfit would look like an Oklahoma Indian who'd just struck oil.
KATE. Ted hasn't any business to look shabby. It's all right for Martin, but Ted just looks pathetic.
MARTIN. The only reason I don't wear good clothes is because I spill soup on them.
KATE. [Puts hat onTED'Shead.] Now, tell me, do you really like the hat?
TIPPY. It's O.K.--Is he to wear it in the house?
TED. [Removes hat.] I feel the hat is not quite right.
KATE. He wanted a brown hat. ButIthought gray was smarter.
TED. Brown would have suited me better.
MARTIN. I'm not up much on sartorial etiquette. Is the hat supposed to match the coat or the suit?
TED. There is no arbitrary rule about it. Brown is a better color for me.
TIPPY. [Looks at watch.] If we're going to have any party, I'd better clear up my work. I have a delivery to make now. [Goes to yard.]
KATE. If you want to change the hat, darling, go ahead. The store's open until seven.
TED. Are you sure you wouldn't mind?
TIPPY. [Re-enters from yard, carrying small dog in his arms.] Didn't realize it was getting so late. I'll be back as soon as I can. [He goes.]
KATE. I think, Ted, that gray gives your face more life, [TEDputs hat on again, and surveys himself before the mirror, KATEviews him in critical admiration, readjusts his hat several times, and stands off to contemplate her man. MARTINwatches them both, then inspired, takes pencil and cardboard and begins to sketch.] Brown is unutterably drab. It does the most terrible things to me. Put it a little more forward. There--Ithink that's stunning, Ted.
TED. This time of year the hat and coat would be seen together more than the hat and suit.
KATE. That's right.--Put the coat on again, [TEDputs coat on again, and poses with both hat and coat before the mirror.] I don't know. Perhaps you're right.--If you really want to change the hat, go ahead.
[They continue posing, KATEangling the hat, etc., tillMARTINcallsTED.There has been a low knock.MARTINturns his sketch face down and opens the door. A middle-aged woman enters.]
CASE WORKER. Does Theodore Brooks live here?
MARTIN. Yes.
[She walks in.]
CASE WORKER. Are you Mr. Brooks?
MARTIN. No.
CASE WORKER. Well, is he in?
MARTIN. Yes.
CASE WORKER. Please call him.
MARTIN. Hi, Ted! [TEDturns andCASE WORKERlooks at him. He shows no recognition and does not start over.] This lady is calling on you.
[TEDcomes slowly, taking off his hat; he is still wearing the coat.]
CASE WORKER. [Impatiently.] I asked to see Theodore Brooks.
TED. Yes?
CASE WORKER. You are not Brooks.
TED. Yes. That's my name.
CASE WORKER. Theodore Brooks?--You!
TED. [Uncomfortably.] What do you want, madam?
CASE WORKER. I am a case worker on relief applications.
TED. Oh!
CASE WORKER. Someone giving the name of Theodore Brooks and this address applied for relief.
TED. Yes.
CASE WORKER. Didyoumake that application?
TED. Yes.
CASE WORKER. Why?
TED. [Squirming.] The usual reason--I suppose.
[There is a pause in which one expects almost anything to happen.]
CASE WORKER. [With restraint.] Very well. I must ask you a few questions. [Her antagonism is felt all through.]
TED. I'll try to answer them. [Desperately.] I needed relief or I wouldn't have applied for it.
CASE WORKER. You feel you still need relief?
TED. I do.
CASE WORKER. Well ... Well, we'll go ahead. I have to fill my records. Your name is Theodore Brooks.
[She sits at table to fill out blanks, TEDstands.]
TED. That's right.
CASE WORKER. Age?
TED. Twenty-eight.
CASE WORKER. Where born?
TED. New York City.
CASE WORKER. When?
TED. Twenty-eight years ago.
CASE WORKER. No, no, the date!
TED. March 20, 1907.
CASE WORKER. Father's name?
TED. Nathaniel Brooks.
CASE WORKER. His birthplace?
TED. New York City.
CASE WORKER. His ancestry?
TED. The Pilgrim fathers.
CASE WORKER. Your mother's name?
TED. Susan Cartwright, born in Philadelphia. Her ancestors, American Quakers.
CASE WORKER. [Writing fast.] Wait a minute.--Both parents living?
TED. Both dead.
CASE WORKER. Brothers and sisters?
TED. None.
CASE WORKER. What other close kin?
TED. I have one uncle and two aunts.
CASE WORKER. Do they live in New York City?
TED. It happens that none of them does.
CASE WORKER. Then we don't need them.
MARTIN. Pardon me, but how far in kinship does the responsibility go?
CASE WORKER. It depends. We can't force uncles and aunts to contribute, but we sometimes give them the opportunity to do so. However, this doesn't look like a kin folks case. And now, young man, just what is your occupation?
TED. I haven't any. That's my trouble.
CASE WORKER. No occupation? You're not a minor. For adults occupation must be stated.
TED. Very well, I am a collector.
CASE WORKER. By what firms have you been employed?
TED. None.
CASE WORKER. Then how can you be a collector?
TED. You said I must have an occupation.
CASE WORKER. You are not helping me by lying and you may get yourself into trouble.
MARTIN. Is it the first time you ever ran into a man, who needed relief, not because he had worked, but because he hadn't?
CASE WORKER. [Snappily.] I didn't prepare those blanks, but I have to fill them out. One can have an occupation, like stenography, when trained for it, even though they have never been employed.
TED. All right, put that down and go ahead.
CASE WORKER. Stenography?
TED. No, collecting.
CASE WORKER. But collectors aren't trained. One has to have worked at that.
TED. Then say I worked as a collector for my father.
CASE WORKER. What business was he in?
TED. He was retired.
CASE WORKER. Then what did you collect for him?
TED. First editions.
CASE WORKER. Please talk sense.
MARTIN. Books. A book collector.
CASE WORKER. You mean, a bookkeeper?
TED. [Bitterly.] We kept them as long as we could. My father died during the Wall Street panic. He'd gone bankrupt. Since you want to know how I lived, I lived for some time by selling my father's books.
CASE WORKER. [Writing.] Then you lived without working, on property that you inherited?
TED. Yes, till that source was exhausted.
CASE WORKER. When was that?
TED. Some time ago.
CASE WORKER. You must be definite.
TED. Then say two years ago.
CASE WORKER. You soldallyour father's books?
TED. I still have the family Bible, a set of Shakespeare with the marginal notations made by father while he was at Oxford, and a few others.
CASE WORKER. How much do you consider those books worth?
TED. I consider them invaluable.
CASE WORKER. But you must set a value upon them.
TED. Why?
CASE WORKER. Because if you own anything worth two hundred dollars you are not eligible for relief.
TED. I have nothing worth that to anybody but me.
CASE WORKER. You say you quit selling these books about two years ago.
TED. Yes.
CASE WORKER. How have you lived since then?
TED. Chiefly on borrowed money.
CASE WORKER. From whom did you borrow the money?
TED. From friends.
CASE WORKER. You have very prosperous friends?
TED. I had some prosperous friends.
CASE WORKER. You are extremely well-dressed for an applicant for relief.
MARTIN. Let me explain that. We were to have a little dinner party tonight ...
CASE WORKER. And he bought a new outfit for this dinner.--Hasn't even had time to remove the price tags.--Do you mind removing your coat?
TED. [Takes it off.] I was about to take it off. I'd just come in.
CASE WORKER. [She rises and looks at maker's label in coat.] H'm. Madison Avenue. [Noses his suit at close range.] And the suit is better than the coat.--This is the best I've run into yet. Expensive suit and coat; new shoes; matched accessories. Not much left of a hundred dollar bill, was there?--But I suppose your rich uncle diedsinceyou applied for relief?
MARTIN. Look here, couldn't a man ...
CASE WORKER. Certainly he could, and many do, apply for relief just to get a little side graft from the government.
TED. [Desperately, humiliated.] I applied for relief because I wanted a job; because the only way to get a job is to go on relief first. I haven't anything. I have no source of income.
CASE WORKER. [Sarcastic.] No income, but plenty of money? I understand!
MARTIN. I was about to explain ...
CASE WORKER. [Shortly.] You needn't. You can't bamboozle me. It's most unfortunate, isn't it, that I caught him unawares? Had he known I was coming he'd undoubtedly have dressed more correctly for the role of a relief applicant.
KATE. Oh, how dare you?
CASE WORKER. Our instructions are to report in detail on every application, and particularly on those that appear fraudulent. [Fully formidable.] Now, Mr. Brooks. Will you answer truthfully? Have you any means of support that you have not acknowledged?
TED. No. I have not.
CASE WORKER. [Rising, leaves report lying on table.] Then perhaps you will explain how you got those clothes?
KATE. [Who has had great difficulty keeping still.] I bought those clothes for him. Now are you satisfied?
CASE WORKER. And who are you?
KATE. A friend.
CASE WORKER. So--it'sthatkind of a deal. I wondered who you were.
MARTIN. [Angry.] Does that go in your report?
CASE WORKER. Yes, that will go in my report.
MARTIN. The lady's name and address, I suppose--and whether she is married or single?
CASE WORKER. You needn't be sarcastic.
MARTIN. And if she is married, do you notify the husband?
CASE WORKER. I don't think there is any ruling on that.
[KATE,unseen, gets hold of report and holds it behind her.]
KATE. Well, what will happen in this case?
CASE WORKER. I don't know. I shall turn in my report.
KATE. Oh no you won't. Notthisreport! [She tears and crumples it.].
CASE WORKER. How dare you?
KATE. Get out!
CASE WORKER. I'll report you.
KATE. You haven't got my name and address yet.
CASE WORKER. I'll send the chief investigator here.
MARTIN. Madam, you will do nothing of the sort. Or I'll report you.
CASE WORKER. You will? To whom?
MARTIN. To a New York newspaper which would just love the story of a noble case worker and how well she works her cases.
CASE WORKER. The impudence!
MARTIN. And your picture. I always illustrate my own stories, and I can draw your face from memory.
CASE WORKER. [Whining.] But I must turn in some kind of a report.
MARTIN. You lost it! And Uncle Sam forgot it. It's only one of ten million. [He escorts her to door.]
CASE WORKER. [As she storms out.] I ought to report the whole lot of you to the police.
KATE. [As she further reduces the crumpled report to fragments and tosses them into wastebasket.]. I don't know how I managed to keep still as long as I did. I wanted to choke her.
TED. I'm sorry I ever made the application.
KATE. Why did you do it?
TED. It was so long ago, I thought they'd forgotten it.
MARTIN. Hang it, I shouldn't have lost my temper. I approve of relief. You should be on relief, Ted--of course you should.
TED. It was these clothes.
MARTIN. That's tough luck. That angel of mercy should have seen you yesterday. She would have adored that hole in your elbow.
KATE. Did you really want to be on relief?
TED. I need a job. The government will give one a job, but only if he goes on relief first.
MARTIN. That's it. First you go broke, then you go hungry. Then you beg, then you take charity. Then you rake leaves--then the taxpayers raise hell, and throw the rascals out to save the Constitution.
KATE. [ToMARTIN.] Does a man get work as soon as he gets on relief?
MARTIN. If he's a skilled worker, perhaps. But they can't invent work fast enough. Many are still on straight relief.
KATE. That woman was vile. How do people stand it?
MARTIN. They stand it because an empty stomach growls louder than insulted pride.
KATE. We could report her. We could go over her head to some responsible official.
MARTIN. They have a rigid system to prevent that.
KATE. No harm in trying.
TED. No! I won't go near that place again.
MARTIN. You're entitled to relief as much as anyone is.
KATE. Yes, Ted. If you really want it....
TED. I don't want it. I don't even want to think about it.
MARTIN. There are plenty of fine people on relief. After all, what is relief? Relief is ...
TED. Relief! Relief! Relief!--I don't want to hear that word again! [He starts to door.]
KATE. Ted! Where are you going?
TED. I am going to change my hat. [He goes out.]
KATE. I wish I knew what Ted really wants.
MARTIN. Money.
KATE. I've given him money. He hates me and he hates himself because of it.
MARTIN. Naturally. The transaction hasn't been according to Hoyle. Now if Ted were a Georgian Prince, and your grandpa had started the ten-cent stores, it would be a different matter. There'd be grandeur in it; intrigue, romance, finance--something to write up for the Sunday papers. But room rent and a suit of clothes ... that's shoddy. It's got to be Rolls Royces and polo ponies or nothing.
KATE. Oh shut up. Do you think I like the situation? But I can't see him starve.
MARTIN. Damn that woman! If he could have got a job ...
KATE. [With sudden determination.] All right. If he wants a job, I'll get him a job.
MARTIN. How?
KATE. By asking for it. How do you suppose? I'll go right now, before I lose my nerve. [She powders nose before pocket mirror.']
MARTIN. You were smart to dress him up first. Those clothes should spell the diff between wages and a salary.
KATE. I'll take anything I can get for him.
TIPPY. [Enters.] Well, I'm back.... Where's our Beau Brummel?
KATE. He went to change his hat.
TIPPY. That's good. [Crosses to yard.] Bet you never looked at Itzy. [Goes out to yard.]
MARTIN. [AsKATEputs on fur coat.] Funny time of day, Kate, to start out to get a man a job.
KATE. That depends on whom you have to see to get it.
MARTIN. What's it to be? Bouncer at the Union League Club?
TIPPY. [Re-enters from yard.] 'Im still smells a eetle bit soapy.--Kate! Where are you going? Ken and Laura will be here any minute.
KATE. Sorry, Tippy. I got my dates mixed. But I'll be back. Only don't wait dinner for me. [She goes.]
TIPPY. Now what the hell? Where's she going?
MARTIN. You can't tell. She works irregular hours.
TIPPY. But she promised to be here for dinner. Isn't her soul her own?
MARTIN. Hadn't you heard she'd sold it?
TIPPY. [Glumly.] That's a hell of a note.--I hope Ted gets back in time. I don't want my dinner party spoiled.
MARTIN. He'll be back.
TIPPY. He looked nifty in the new clothes, didn't he? Laura will like them.
MARTIN. Let's hope she doesn't say too much about them.
TIPPY. She'll be too busy telling you what a fine husband she has.
MARTIN. And her husband will tell me what a fine job he has, and all about the sweet spirit of loyalty that exists in that wonderful corporation. [Stops to light cigarette.] Jesus, Tippy, if prosperity really does come back, life is going to be an awful bore for us revolutionists.
[There is a knock, TIPPYgoes and letsKENandLAURAin. They are happy and gay and terribly in love. She can hardly keep her hands from caressing him. She finds threads to flick off his sleeve and must straighten his tie.]
LAURA. [EmbracingTIPPY.] YOU dear!
KEN. Hello--hello.
LAURA. Hello, Martin,--you still a Communist?
MARTIN. And how!
LAURA. [ToTIPPY.] Are Kate and Ted going to be here too?
TIPPY. You bet!
LAURA. Oh, how grand! It's going to be like old times.
KEN. [Tolerantly.] For anyone who so hated those times, Laura, I must say ...
LAURA. [Positively.] They were good times.--Except that you wouldn't have me.
KEN. I was an idiot.
LAURA. Such a charming idiot.
MARTIN. Looks as if you maybe like that fellow.
LAURA. Mm. A little bit.
KEN. She won't admit it, but she likes me a lot.
MARTIN. I'll be hanged if I see why.
LAURA. It's a mystery to me, too.
TIPPY. And after all this time!
LAURA. It's queer, isn't it? Often I look at him and I say why, out of all the millions of men--handsome men, brilliant men, wealthy men--did I fall in love with him?
MARTIN. And when you might have had me!
TIPPY. [With a terrible yowl.] Oh, sweet mystery of life ...
KEN. My God!
TIPPY. I won't even ask how things are! You look so damned all right.
LAURA. On two salaries and no babies, who wouldn't? May I lend you the price of a rented Tuxedo so you can come to dinner without embarrassing our butler?
KEN. Yeah--when we get the bedroom set paid for we're going to exchange the radio for a Cadillac.
LAURA. Oh, Martin! If you have any original drawings unsold, just name your price. All we have on the walls now is the Horse Fair and the Last Supper. But mind you--art only, no propaganda.
MARTIN. I'll do a charcoal of the Palisades for you.
LAURA. I forbid it. They're an invitation to suicide.
TIPPY. He'll draw the Palisades from the bottom looking up. That's an invitation to climb.
KEN. There's a lot in the point of view!
LAURA. Good! Climbing is much more fun than jumping off!
KEN. All one needs is a toehold to get started.
TIPPY. I say, Ken, so you feel really started now?
KEN. I sure do.
TIPPY. That's great!
MARTIN. When you get to the top, don't push anyone off.
TIPPY. There is plenty of room on top of the Palisades.
MARTIN. You've stacked the analogy on me. Most mountains don't have flat tops.
KEN. Ah, hell, Martin, you're just being stubborn. Kate showed us your drawing in theNew Yorker.
LAURA. We liked it a lot.
KEN. That's your toehold. When you've sold them six you'll be back to pink socialism. And soon you'll be mailing things to theSaturday Evening Post--and signing them!
LAURA. Don't rub it in, dear.
KEN. I'm not rubbing it in. I was once as radical as Martin.
TIPPY. Ken, Ken--don't exaggerate. As an architect, you must keep your perspective.
KEN. I was ready to go to Russia, wasn't I?
MARTIN. Oh yeah!
KEN. I used to get sore as a pup when people said a man was radical only because he was unemployed. But it's true. I know because I've lived through it. A man's political views are colored by his situation.
MARTIN. [Shouting with laughter.] Hey! Don't plagiarize Marx.
KEN, Marx?
MARTIN. Karl Marx; you're stealing his thunder. That's what the man wrote his big book about. Only--you see it for one man and a few months. Marx saw it for all humanity for all time.
LAURA. They're at it again. The dear little schoolboys.--Tippy, how does one make them grow up?
TIPPY. Opinions differ. Bobby Benson says Mother's Oats and Buck Rogers says Cocomalt. What do you give Ken for breakfast?
KEN. I say, what's Ted doing?
TIPPY. About the same.
KEN. Still looking for book bargains?
TIPPY. They get harder and harder to sell.
KEN. The trouble with you fellows is you encourage Ted in his weakness. Someone ought to put it to him straight. The man doesn't realize where he's drifting.
MARTIN. Yes--well--that's his business.
KEN. You fellows are afraid to talk to him.
LAURA. What is there to say to him?
KEN. Say to him? Say to him that the least he could do is to apply for relief work.
MARTIN. [Pointedly.] Ken, you're welcome to your opinion. But I'd advise you not to say anything to Ted about relief.
KEN. Why not? There's no disgrace in relief work. You'd be surprised how many ...
MARTIN. [Shortly.] We know as many nice people on relief as you do.
KEN. I said relief work, not relief.
MARTIN. What's the difference?
LAURA. Why, Martin, there's a big difference!
MARTIN. Sure there is. Plain reliefers can sit on the benches. Relief workers have shovels to lean on. It's a true class distinction.
KEN. There are lots of loafers and piddling projects,--but the government's also doing some big jobs, some real construction work.
TIPPY. Martin wrote a song about that.
LAURA. Really? Have you turned composer, Martin?
MARTIN. Just some new words on an old tune.
LAURA. Oh, let's hear it.
MARTIN. After dinner.
LAURA. No, I can't wait. You sing it for us now, then after dinner we can all sing it. [She picks up guitar and thrusts it at him.] Come on, Lyric Writer, tune up.
KEN. [Tolerantly.] Sure let's hear it.
MARTIN. [Singing.] Then little Andy Lang of the Lake Shore gang Said, "Boys, you know I'm countin' Each day and week until I see
ALL. The Big Rock Candy Mountain."
MARTIN. Oh the Big Rock Candy Mountain Stands on a plain of bread. Our Uncle's got to feed us Or soon we'll all be dead. The more and more he feeds us The sooner we'll be red So serve the soup With a great big whoop And promise pie Up in the sky On the Big Rock Candy Mountain.
ALL. Oh the Big Rock Candy Mountain
MARTIN. Belongs to Uncle Sam. To move the great big mountain Will take a million men. So come on with your tooth picks And bring your fountain pen. Go easy, don't jerk; We gotta make work. It'll take more moons If we use small spoons To move that great big mountain.
[On the last verseTIPPYhas gone to yard and he is now back with Itzy on a leash.]
TIPPY. On with the concert while I take Itzy home. I won't be long. Itzy lives near.
MARTIN. Say, let me take Itzy home while you start dinner.
TIPPY. Right you are. I forgot a dinner has to be cooked before it can be eaten.
MARTIN. Any shopping to do?
TIPPY. Oh, that's right. I'll have to go myself.
KEN. He also forgot a dinner has to be bought before it can be cooked.
LAURA. Something tells me I'd better look into this menu.
TIPPY. I'm having tomato soup, and I'm going to make bran muffins. And there are pork chops.
LAURA. Pork chops in 1935! That's extravagant.
MARTIN. He buys them to get the bones for his doggies. The meat we get is a by-product.
LAURA. O. K. Ken adores shoulder chops.--But what's the salad?
TIPPY. That's just where I stalled. I haven't even bought the makings.
KEN. [Taking Itzy's leash.] If you people are going to talk salad, tell me where this dog lives.
LAURA. No. I see I'll have to go. No salad has been provided and I don't trust men on salad. Martin, you know where Itzy lives, so come along and carry the packages. And Tippy, you go light your oven and mix your muffins.
[LAURAandMARTINgo with the dog.]
TIPPY. Laura's a peach.
KEN. You don't know how much of a peach.
TIPPY. I'm glad you two've got settled so well.
KEN. I was a fool not to do it before.
TIPPY. Sure you were.
KEN. The trouble was, I'd lost my bearings. Thought I'd never get out of the woods.
TIPPY. The job look pretty good?
KEN. I guess so.
TIPPY. You don't sound so sure.
KEN. Oh sure, the job's all right.
TIPPY. Prescott a tough customer?
KEN. No. That's just the trouble. He's a queer duck. Half the time I feel he doesn't know I'm there.
TIPPY. He hired you, didn't he? He pays you, doesn't he? He knows you're there!
KEN. Of course he isn't ready to use my stuff yet. Just wants me to work it up.
TIPPY. Sure. That's what he hired you for.
KEN. But, damn it, I've been there several months and ... [Laughs.] Maybe the trouble is that I don't have to take orders from anybody; maybe it's that I don't have to fuss and sweat over details the way the others do. Maybe that's the trouble. I can work on my plans in my own sweet way. Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm unhappy because Prescott doesn't bawl hell out of me the way he does the others.
TIPPY. That's it. The trouble is you've got it too good!
KEN. That's right. Maybe I've got it too good, [TEDenters. Now has new hat, brown; better taste, better fit, and more becoming. He andKENgreet each other with a little restraint.] Hello, Ted.
TED. Hello. You look fine. Married life must agree with you.
KEN. Nothing like it. Married life,and work.
TED. Oh yes, work. You do have a job, haven't you?
KEN. Yes, you bet I have.
TED. And a job's a job, even if it falls from the moon.
TIPPY. The moon? Are there capitalists on the moon?
TED. Do all jobs come from capitalists?
TIPPY. Don't they?
TED. Ask Martin. He says there are no capitalists in Russia but lots of jobs.
KEN. God, are you going Red, Ted?
TIPPY. Ted's not going anywhere, but I'm going to the kitchen to start the muffins. The rest of the dinner is on the way, Ted. So lick your chops for a feast.
[He goes. There is an awkward pause, during whichTEDself-consciously removes his coat underKEN'Scurious eyes.]
KEN. Nice outfit.
TED. Glad you like it.--Going to be like old times. Regular reunion of the Class of '29.
KEN. Yes.
[Pause.]
TED. Where's Laura?
KEN. She's gone out to do some shopping.
TED. Oh. With Kate?
KEN. No. Kate wasn't here.
TED. She was here before.
KEN. She wasn't when we came.
TED. Oh!
KEN. Laura went with Martin.
TED. Shopping?
KEN. That's right.
[Pause.]
TED. Great to have the whole bunch together again, huh?
KEN. Yes, great.
[Pause.]
TED. You seem satisfied with your job.
KEN. Hell yes. It's a great job. The salary isn't anything to boast of--yet. But the future looks like a million. You see, Prescott didn't hire me for any routine detail. He has men for that. His object in taking me on was to develop for him my plans for fabricated housing.
TED. Sounds fine.
KEN. Christ, Ted, do you realize what it means, after you've wasted years, to get back and dorealwork?
TED. Must feelgreat.
KEN. Ted, why don't you get a job?
TED. I haven't turned down any.
KEN. But have you been going about it in the right way? Of course I realize you haven't any real professional training. But you know the rare books racket. There must be a lot of money in publishing limited editions. What's wrong with that business?
TED. Unfortunately, the people I know don't consider me a business man.
KEN. What you are and how you're considered isn't important. It's the way you go after things.--The trouble with you is you got started down and just kept on going down.--Oh, I know how that is. It looked that way for me once. Things were awful.
TED. They've changed for you, haven't they?
KEN. Sure. They've changed for everybody. The whole spirit of the country has changed. Man, don't you feel it?
TED. I can't say that I do.
KEN. We've turned that famous corner, and it's time for you to wake up and get out of your rut.
TED. All right. You know how. Suppose you tell me.
KEN. You still think there's something wrong with the world when your troubles are purely personal.
TED. My troubles are ... All right. What about the other millions of unemployed?
KEN. They're incompetents. Common laborers and workmen in industries that died--like soft coal mining. And maybe some technological unemployment. But you're not in any narrow technical field. As a matter of fact in not being specialized you actually have an advantage. All you've got to do is go after things.
TED. Easy to say.
KEN. Easy to do. Part of your trouble is your environment.
TED. My environment?
KEN. Sure. Tippy here is make-shifting--but that's all right. It's something. Martin's radical, living off his wits. That's not your style. Neither of them can help you.
TED. They have helped me.
KEN. They've weakened you. For Christ's sake, Ted, snap out of it. Get away from here. Get away from it all. Make a break. You won't starve. If you can't get a real job, go on relief.
TED. Relief!
KEN. I know relief isn't pleasant for a man like you. But hell, it's better than ...
TED. Let's not discuss it.
KEN. It's high time you did discuss it. You can't go on the way you're doing.
TED. Did I ask for your advice?
KEN. Now don't get sore. I'm trying to help you.
TED. The hell with your help!
KEN. All right. You don't want advice and you won't take it. What are you going to do? Go on living off Kate forever?
TED. That's my affair.
KEN. It's your affair, but everybody knows it. And everybody knows what it is. It's the second oldest profession in the world--and the lousiest one.
TED. [Wildly.] Drop it, I say!
KEN. You know where Kate gets her money and how she earns it.--And you know what that makes you.
[With an inarticulate cry, TEDtries to stop him, butKENgoes on almost in spite of himself'.] A pimp! That's what it makes you. A pimp.
TED. Damn you! Damn you!
KEN. It doesn't sound pretty, does it?
TED. Not from you.
KEN. It will sound the same no matter where it comes from.
TED. Not from you.--Because we're in the same boat. We're in the same boat, do you hear? We're in the same boat!
KEN. [Contemptuously.] The hell you say!
TED. You'd rather die than accept favors from a woman, wouldn't you?
KEN. You bet you ...
TED. You'd rather eat Salvation Army bean soup than go on living off your father, too.
KEN. Sure. So I got out and got a job.
TED. A job. What kind of a job? [Hysterically.] Who got that job for you? Who is paying your salary?
KEN. Ah, you're crazy!
TED. I'll tell you who got you that job and I'll tell you who's paying your salary. Your father.
KEN, You're a god-damned liar.
[MARTINandLAURAenter, their arms laden with bundles.]
TED. Prescott is just a go-between. It's your father who's paying your salary!
LAURA. [In horror.] Ted!
TED. Ask her. She knows. It was her idea.--If I'm a pimp, what does that make you? [Takes his hat and coat, brushes by her and streaks out.]
KEN. [Unconvincingly.] He's crazy. He's--crazy.
[Silence,LAURAleans against the table, as though she had difficulty in breathing, TIPPYenters, apron on, egg beater in hand.]
TIPPY. Hello. You back? [Takes groceries.] What's up? [No answer.] Where's Ted? [No answer.]
KEN. [ToLAURA.] What are you whimpering about? [Seizes her by the arms.] It's true. What he said was true, wasn't it? [She tries to speak, but cannot.] Who got my job for me? Who is paying my salary? Answer me!
LAURA. Your father.
KEN. My father! How could he do such a thing?
LAURA. It was my idea. I--I told him to do it.
KEN. You. You did that to me.
LAURA. I wanted to help you.
KEN. It takes a woman to do a thing like that.
LAURA. I loved you.
KEN. It takes love.--That's what love is. [He goes to door.] That's what it does to a man. [Pause. The room is deathly quiet.] And when I was a boy I used to wonder why some of the world's wisest men hung out with whores.