ACT ISCENE: The library of ASHER PINDAR'S house in Foxon Falls, a New Englandvillage of some three thousand souls, over the destinies of whichthe Pindars for three generations have presided. It is a large,dignified room, built early in the nineteenth century, with whitedoors and gloss woodwork. At the rear of the stage,—which is thefront of the house,—are three high windows with small, square panesof glass, and embrasures into which are fitted white insideshutters. These windows reach to within a foot or so of the floor;a person walking on the lawn or the sidewalk just beyond it may beseen through them. The trees bordering the Common are also seenthrough these windows, and through a gap in the foliage a glimpse ofthe terraced steeple of the Pindar Church, the architecture of whichis of the same period as the house. Upper right, at the end of thewall, is a glass door looking out on the lawn. There is anotherdoor, lower right, and a door, lower left, leading into ASHERPINDAR'S study. A marble mantel, which holds a clock and certainornaments, is just beyond this door. The wall spaces on the rightand left are occupied by high bookcases filled with respectablevolumes in calf and dark cloth bindings. Over the mantel is anoil painting of the Bierstadt school, cherished by ASHER as aninheritance from his father, a huge landscape with a self-conscioussky, mountains, plains, rivers and waterfalls, and two small figuresof Indians—who seem to have been talking to a missionary. In thespaces between the windows are two steel engravings, “The Death ofWolfe on the Plains of Abraham” and “Washington Crossing theDelaware!” The furniture, with the exception of a few heirlooms,such as the stiff sofa, is mostly of the Richardson period of the'80s and '90s. On a table, middle rear, are neatly spread outseveral conservative magazines and periodicals, including areligious publication.TIME: A bright morning in October, 1917,GEORGE PINDAR, in the uniform of a first lieutenant of the army,enters by the doorway, upper right. He is a well set up young manof about twenty-seven, bronzed from his life in a training camp, ofan adventurous and social nature. He glances about the room, andthen lights a cigarette.ASHER PINDAR, his father, enters, lower right. He is a tall,strongly built man of about sixty, with iron grey hair and beard.His eyes are keen, shadowed by bushy brows, and his New Englandfeatures bear the stamp of inflexible “character.” He wears a black“cutaway” coat and dark striped trousers; his voice is strong andresonant. But he is evidently preoccupied and worried, though hesmiles with affection as he perceives GEORGE. GEORGE'S fondness forhim is equally apparent.GEORGE. Hello, dad.ASHER. Oh, you're here, George.GEORGE (looking, at ASHER). Something troubling you?ASHER (attempting dissimulation). Well, you're going off to France, they've only given you two days' leave, and I've scarcely seen anything of you. Isn't that enough?GEORGE. I know how busy you've been with that government contract on your hands. I wish I could help.ASHER. You're in the army now, my boy. You can help me again when you come back.GEORGE. I want to get time to go down to the shops and say goodbye to some of the men.ASHER. No, I shouldn't do that, George.GEORGE (surprised). Why not? I used to be pretty chummy with them, you know,—smoke a pipe with them occasionally in the noon hour.ASHER. I know. But it doesn't do for an employer to be too familiar with the hands in these days.GEORGE. I guess I've got a vulgar streak in me somewhere, I get along with the common people. There'll be lots of them in the trenches, dad.ASHER. Under military discipline.GEORGE (laughing). We're supposed to be fighting a war for democracy. I was talking to old Bains yesterday,—he's still able to run a lathe, and he was in the Civil War, you know. He was telling me how the boys in his regiment stopped to pick blackberries on the way to the battle of Bull Run.ASHER. That's democracy! It's what we're doing right now—stopping to pick blackberries. This country's been in the war six months, since April, and no guns, no munitions, a handful of men in France—while the world's burning!GEORGE. Well, we won't sell Uncle Sam short yet. Something is bothering you, dad.ASHER. No—no, but the people in Washington change my specifications every week, and Jonathan's arriving today, of all days.GEORGE. Has Dr. Jonathan turned up?ASHER. I haven't seen him yet. It seems he got here this morning. No telegram, nothing. And he had his house fixed up without consulting me. He must be queer, like his father, your great uncle, Henry Pindar.GEORGE. Tell me about Dr. Jonathan. A scientist,—isn't he? Suddenly decided to come back to live in the old homestead.ASHER. On account of his health. He was delicate as a boy. He must have been about eight or nine years old when Uncle Henry left Foxon Falls for the west,—that was before you were born. Uncle Henry died somewhere in Iowa. He and my father never got along. Uncle Henry had as much as your grandfather to begin with, and let it slip through his fingers. He managed to send Jonathan to a medical school, and it seems that he's had some sort of a position at Johns Hopkins's—research work. I don't know what he's got to live on.GEORGE. Uncle Henry must have been a philanthropist.ASHER. It's all very well to be a philanthropist when you make more than you give away. Otherwise you're a sentimentalist.GEORGE. Or a Christian.ASHER. We can't take Christianity too literally.GEORGE (smiling). That's its great advantage, as a religion.ASHER. George, I don't like to say anything just as you're going to fight for your country, my boy, but your attitude of religious skepticism has troubled me, as well as your habit of intimacy with the shop hands. I confess to you that I've been a little afraid at times that you'd take after Jonathan's father. He never went to church, he forgot that he owed something to his position as a Pindar. He used to have that house of his overrun with all sorts of people, and the yard full of dirty children eating his fruit and picking his flowers. There's such a thing as being too democratic. I hope I'm as good an American as anybody, I believe that any man with brains, who has thrift, ought to rise—but wait until they do rise. You're going to command men, and when you come back here into the business again you'll be in a position of authority. Remember what I say, if you give these working people an inch, they'll take all you have.GEORGE (laying his hand on ASHER's shoulder). Something is worrying you, dad. We've always been pretty good pals, haven't we?ASHER. Yes, ever since you were a little shaver. Well, George, I didn't want to bother you with it—today. It seems there's trouble in the shops,—in our shops, of all places,—it's been going on for some time, grumbling, dissatisfaction, and they're getting higher wages than ever before—ruinous wages. They want me to recognize the union.GEORGE. Well, that beats me. I thought we were above the labour-trouble line, away up here in New England.ASHER (grimly). Oh, I can handle them.GEORGE. I'll bet you can. You're a regular old war horse when you get started. It's your capital, it's your business, you've put it all at the disposal of the government. What right have they to kick up a row now, with this war on? I must say I haven't any sympathy with that.ASHER (proudly). I guess you're a real Pindar after all, George.(Enter an elderly maid, lower right.)MAID. Timothy Farrell, the foreman's here.(Enter, lower right, TIMOTHY, a big Irishman of about sixty, inworking clothes.)TIMOTHY. Here I am, sir. They're after sending word you wanted me.GEORGE (going up to TIMOTHY and shaking his hand warmly). Old Timothy! I'm glad to get sight of you before I go.TIMOTHY. And it's glad I am to see you, Mr. George, before you leave. And he an officer now! Sure, I mind him as a baby being wheeled up and down under the trees out there. My boy Bert was saying only this morning how we'd missed the sight of him in the shops this summer. You have a way with the men, Mr. George, of getting into their hearts, like. I was thinking just now, if Mr. George had only been home, in the shops, maybe we wouldn't be having all this complaint and trouble.GEORGE. Who's at the bottom of this, Timothy? Rench? Hillman? I thought so. Well, they're not bad chaps when you get under their skins.(He glances at his wrist watch)Let me go down and talk with them, dad,—I've got time, my train doesn't leave until one thirty.ASHER (impatiently, almost savagely). No, I'll settle this, George, this is my job. I won't have any humoring. Come into my study, Timothy.TIMOTHY, shaking his head, follows ASHER out of the door, left.After a moment GEORGE goes over to the extreme left hand corner ofthe room, where several articles are piled. He drags out a kit bag,then some necessary wearing apparel, underclothes, socks, a sweater,etc., then a large and rather luxurious lunch kit, a pin cushion.with his monogram, a small travelling pillow with his monogram, alinen toilet case embroidered in blue, to hang on the wall—theselast evidently presents from admiring lady friends. Finally hebrings forth a large rubber life preserving suit. He makes a showof putting all these things in the bag, including the life-preserving suit; and reveals a certain sentiment, not too deep, forthe pillow, the pincushion and the toilet case. At length he strewseverything over the floor, and is surveying the litter with mockdespair when a girl appears on the lawn outside, through one of thewindows. She throws into the room a small parcel wrapped in tissuepaper, and disappears. GEORGE picks up the parcel and lookssurprised, and suddenly runs out of the door, upper right. Hepresently returns, dragging the girl by the wrists, she resisting.MINNIE FARRELL is about twenty one, with black hair and an abundantvitality. Her costume is a not wholly ineffective imitation ofthose bought at a great price at certain metropolitanestablishments. A string of imitation pearls gleams against herruddy skin.MINNIE. Cut it out, George! (Glancing around apprehensively.) Say, if your mother was to find me here she'd want to send me up to the reformatory (she frees herself).GEORGE. Where the deuce did you blow in from? (Regarding her with admiration.) Is this the little Minnie Farrell who left Foxon Falls two years ago? Gee whiz! aren't we smart!MINNIE. Do you like me? I'm making good money, since the war.GEORGE. Do I like you? What are you doing here?MINNIE. My brother Bert's out there—he ain't working today. Mr. Pindar sent for father, and we walked up here with him. Where is he?GEORGE (nodding toward the study). In there. But what are you doing, back in Foxon Falls?MINNIE. Oh, visiting the scenes of my childhood.GEORGE (tearing open the tissue paper from the parcel). Did you make these for me? (He holds up a pair of grey woollen wristlets.)MINNIE. Well, I wanted to do something for a soldier, and when I heard you was going to France I thought you might as well have 'em.GEORGE. How did you hear I was going?MINNIE. Bert told me when I came home yesterday. They say it's cold in the trenches, and nothing keeps the hands so warm as wristlets. I know, because I've had 'em on winter mornings, early, when I was going to work. Will you wear 'em, George?GEORGE. Will I wear them! (He puts then on his wrists.) I'll never take them off till the war's over.MINNIE (pleased). You always were a josher!GEORGE. Tell me, Minnie, why did you run away from me two years ago?MINNIE. Run away from you! I left because I couldn't stand this village any longer. It was too quiet for me.GEORGE. You're a josher! You went off while I was away, without telling me you were going. And then, when I found out where you were and hustled over to Newcastle in my car, you turned me down hard.MINNIE. You didn't have a mortgage on me. There were plenty of girls of your own kind at that house party you went to. I guess you made love to them, too.GEORGE. They weren't in the same class with you. You've got the ginger.MINNIE. I've still got the ginger, all right.GEORGE. I thought you cared for me.MINNIE. You always had the nerve, George.GEORGE. You acted as if you did.MINNIE. I'm a good actor. Say, what was there in it for me?—packing tools in the Pindar shops, and you the son of my boss? You didn't want nothing from me except what all men want, and you wouldn't have wanted that long.GEORGE. I was crazy about you.MINNIE (her eyes falling on the travelling pillow and the pincushion; picking theron: up in turn). I guess you told them that, too.GEORGE (embarrassed). Oh, I'm popular enough when I'm going away. They don't care anything about me.MINNIE (indicating the wristlets). You don't want them,—I'll give 'em to Bert.GEORGE. No, you won't.MINNIE. I was silly. But we had a good time while it lasted,—didn't we, George?(She evades him deftly, and picks up the life-preserving suit.)What's this?—a full dress uniform?GEORGE. When a submarine gets you, all you've got to do is to jump overboard and blow this—(He draws the siren from the pocket and starts to blow it, but sheseizes his hand.)—and float around until a destroyer picks you up.(Takes from another pocket a metal lunch box.)This is for pate de foie gras sandwiches, and there's room in here—(Indicating another pocket.)—for a bottle of fizz. Come along with me, Minnie, ship as a Red Crossnurse, and I'll buy you one. The Atlantic wouldn't be such a bad place,with you,—and we wouldn't be in a hurry to blow the siren. You'd looklike a peach in a white costume, too.MINNIE. Don't you like me in this?GEORGE. Sure, but I'd like that better.MINNIE. I'd make a good nurse, if I do say it myself. And I'd take good care of you, George,—as good as any of them.(She nods toward the pillow and pincushion.)GEORGE. Better!(He seizes her hands and attempts to draw her toward him.)You used to let me!MINNIE. That ain't any reason.GEORGE. Just once, Minnie,—I'm going away.MINNIE. No. I didn't mean to come in here—I just wanted to see what you looked like in your uniform.(She draws away from him, just as Dr. JONATHAN appears in thedoorway, lower right.)Goodbye, George.(She goes out through the doorway, upper right.)(DR. JONATHAN may be almost any age,—in reality about thirty five.His head is that of the thinker, high above the eyes. His facebears evidence in its lines of years of labour and service, as wellas of a triumphant struggle against ill health. In his eyes is athoughtful yet illuminating smile, now directed toward GEORGE who,when he perceives him, is taken aback,)DR. JONATHAN. Hello! I was told to come in here,—I hope I'm not intruding.GEORGE. Not at all. How—how long have you been here?DR. JONATHAN. Just long enough to get my bearings. I came this morning.GEORGE. Oh! Are you—are you Dr. Jonathan?DR. JONATHAN. I'm Jonathan. And you're George, I suppose.GEORGE. Yes. (He goes to him and shakes hands.) I'm sorry to be leaving just as you come.DR. JONATHAN. I'll be here when you return.GEORGE. I hope so (a pause). You won't find Foxon Falls a bad old town.DR. JONATHAN. And it will be a better one when you come back.GEORGE. Why do you say that?DR. JONATHAN (smiling). It seems a safe conjecture.(Dr. JONATHAN is looking at the heap of articles on the floor.)GEORGE (grinning, and not quite at ease). You might imagine I was embarking in the gent's furnishing business, instead of going to war. (He picks up the life-preserving suit.) Some friend of mother's told her about this, and she insisted upon sending for it. I don't want to hurt her feelings, but I can't take it, of course.(He rolls it up and thrusts it under the sofa, upper left.)You won't give me away?DR. JONATHAN. Never!GEORGE. Dad ought to be here in a minute, he's in there with old Timothy Farrell, the moulder foreman. It seems that things are in a mess at the shops. Rotten of the men to make trouble now—don't you think?—when the country's at war! Darned unpatriotic, I say.DR. JONATHAN. I saw a good many stars in your service flag as I passed the office door this morning.GEORGE. Yes. Over four hundred of our men have enlisted. I don't understand it.DR. JONATHAN. Perhaps you will, George, when you come home.GEORGE. You mean—(GEORGE is interrupted by the entrance, lower right, of his mother,AUGUSTA PINDAR. She is now in the fifties, and her hair is turninggrey. Her uneventful, provincial existence as ASHER'S wife hasconfirmed and crystallized her traditional New England views, herconviction that her mission is to direct for good the lives of theless fortunate by whom she is surrounded. She carries her knittingin her hand,—a pair of socks for GEORGE. And she goes at once toDR. JONATHAN.)AUGUSTA. So you are Jonathan. They told me you'd arrived—why didn't you come to us? Do you think it's wise to live in that old house of your father's before it's been thoroughly heated for a few days?DR. JONATHAN (taking her hand). Oh, I'm going to live with the doors and windows open.AUGUSTA. Dear me! I understand you've been quite ill, and you were never very strong as a child. I made it my business to go through the house yesterday, and I must say it looks comfortable. But the carpenters and plumbers have ruined the parlour, with that bench, and the sink in the corner. What are you going to do there?DR. JONATHAN. I'm having it made into a sort of laboratory.AUGUSTA. You don't mean to say you intend to do any work!DR. JONATHAN. Work ought to cure me, in this climate.AUGUSTA. You mean to practise medicine? You ought to have consulted us. I'm afraid you won't find it remunerative, Jonathan,—but your father was impractical, too. Foxon Falls is still a small place, in spite of the fact that the shops have grown. Workmen's families can't afford to pay big fees, you know.DR. JONATHAN (smiling). I know.AUGUSTA. And we already have an excellent physician here, Dr. Senn.DR. JONATHAN. I shan't interfere with Dr. Senn.GEORGE (laying his hand on AUGUSTA's shoulder: apologetically). Mother feels personally responsible for every man, woman and child in Foxon Falls. I shouldn't worry about Dr. Jonathan if I were you, mother, I've got a notion he can take care of himself.AUGUSTA (a little baffled by DR. JONATHAN's self-command, sits down and begins to knit). I must get these socks finished for you to take with you, my dear. (To DR. JONATHAN) I can't realize he's going! (To GEORGE) You haven't got all your things in your bag! Where's the life-preserving suit I sent for?GEORGE (glancing at DR. JONATHAN). Oh that's gone, mother.AUGUSTA. He always took cold so easily, and that will keep him warm and dry, if those terrible Germans sink his ship. But your presents, George! (To DR. JONATHAN:) Made for him by sisters of his college friends.GEORGE (amused but embarrassed). I can't fit up a section of the trenches as a boudoir.AUGUSTA. Such nice girls! I wish he'd marry one of them. Who made you the wristlets? I hadn't seen them.GEORGE (taking of the wristlets and putting them in his bag). Oh, I can't give her away. I was—just trying them on, to see if they fitted.AUGUSTA. When did they come?GEORGE (glancing at DR. JONATHAN). Er—this morning.(Enter ASHER and TIMOTHY from the study, left. ASHER is evidentlywrought up from his talk with TIMOTHY.)ASHER. Remember, Timothy, I rely on sensible men like you to put a stop to this nonsense.AUGUSTA. Asher, here's Jonathan.ASHER. Oh! (He goes up to DR. JONATHAN and takes his hand, though it is quite evident that his mind is still on the trouble in the shops). Glad to see you back in Foxon Falls, Jonathan. I heard you'd arrived, and would have dropped in on you, but things are in a muddle here just now.DR. JONATHAN. Not only here, but everywhere.ASHER. You're right. The country's going to the dogs. I don't know what will straighten it out.DR. JONATHAN. Intelligence, open-mindedness, cooperation, Asher.ASHER (arrested: looking at him). Hum!DR. JONATHAN (leaving him and going up to TIMOTHY). You don't remember me, Timothy?TIMOTHY. Sure and I do, sir,—though you were only a little lad. You mind me of your father,—your smile, like. He was the grand, simple man! It's happy I am to see you back in Foxon Falls.DR. JONATHAN. Yes, I've been ordered to the rear.TIMOTHY. The rear, is it? I'm thinking we'll be fighting this war in Foxon Falls, too.DR. JONATHAN. Yes, much of it will be fought behind the battle lines.AUGUSTA. You think the Germans will come over here?DR. JONATHAN. No, but the issue is over here already.(DR. JONATHAN picks up her ball of wool, which has fallen to thefloor.)AUGUSTA (looking at him apprehensively: puzzled). Thank you, Jonathan.(She turns to TIMOTHY, who has started toward the door, lower right)Wait a moment, Timothy, I want to ask you about your children. What do you hear from Minnie? I always took an interest in her, you know,—especially when she was in the tool packing department of the shops, and I had her in my Bible class. I appreciated your letting her come,—an Irishman and a Catholic as you are.TIMOTHY. The Church has given me up as a heathen, ma'am, when I married your cook, and she a Protestant.AUGUSTA. I've been worried about Minnie since she went to Newcastle. She has so much vitality, and I'm afraid she's pleasure loving though she seemed to take to religion with her whole soul. And where's Jamesy?TIMOTHY. Jamesy, is it? It's gone to the bad entirely he is, with the drink. He left the shops when the twelve-hour shifts began—wherever he's at now. It's home Minnie came from Newcastle yesterday, ma'am, for a visit,—she's outside there now, with Bert,—they walked along with me.AUGUSTA. Bring them in, I want to see them,—especially Minnie. I must say I'm surprised she should have come home without calling on me.TIMOTHY. I'll get them, ma'am.(He goes out of the door, upper right. GEORGE, who has beenpalpably ill at ease during this conversation, now makes for thedoor, lower right.)AUGUSTA. Where are you going, my dear?GEORGE (halting). I thought I'd look around and see if I'd forgotten anything, mother.AUGUSTA. Stay with us,—there's plenty of time.(TIMOTHY returns through the doorway, upper right, with BERT, butwithout MINNIE.)TIMOTHY. It's disappeared entirely she is, ma'am,—here one minute and there the next, the way with young people nowadays. And she's going back to Newcastle this afternoon, to her job at the Wire Works.AUGUSTA. I must see her before she goes. I feel in a measure responsible for her. You'll tell her?TIMOTHY. I'll tell her.AUGUSTA. How are you getting along, Bert?BERT. Very well, thank you, Mrs. Pindar.(The MAID enters, lower right.)MAID. Miss Thorpe wishes to speak with you, ma'am.AUGUSTA (gathering up her knitting). It's about the wool for the Red Cross.(Exit, lower right.)GEORGE (shaking hands with BERT). Hello, Bert,—how goes it?BERT. All right, thank you, lieutenant.GEORGE. Oh, cut out the title.(BERT FARRELL is about twenty three. He wears a brown flannel shirtand a blue four-in-hand tie, and a good ready-made suit. He holdshis hat in front of him. He is a self-respecting, able young IrishAmerican of the blue-eyed type that have died by thousands on thebattle fields of France, and whose pictures may be seen in ournewspapers.)ASHER. You're not working today, Bert?BERT. I've left the shops, Mr. Pindar,—I got through last night.ASHER. Left the shops! You didn't say anything about this, Timothy!TIMOTHY. No, sir,—you have trouble enough today.ASHER (to BERT). Why did you leave?BERT. I'm going to enlist, Mr. Pindar,—with the Marines. From what I've heard of that corps, I think I'd like to join it.ASHER (exasperated). But why do you do a thing like this when you must know I need every man here to help turn out these machines? And especially young men like you, good mechanics! If you wanted to serve your country, you were better off where you were. I got you exempted—(catching himself) I mean, you were exempted from the draft.BERT. I didn't want to be exempted, sir. More than four hundred of the boys have gone from the shops, as well as Mr. George here, and I couldn't stand it no longer.ASHER. What's Mr. George got to do with it? The cases are different.BERT (stoutly). I don't see that, Mr. Pindar. Every man, no matter who he is, has to decide a thing like this for himself.GEORGE. Bert's right, dad.ASHER. You say he's right, when you know that I need every hand I can get to carry out this contract?GEORGE. He's going to make a contract, too. He's giving up all he has.ASHER. And you approve of this, Timothy?TIMOTHY. Sure, I couldn't stop him, Mr. Pindar! And it's proud I am of him, the same as you are of Mr. George, that he'd be fighting for America and liberty.ASHER. Liberty! License is what we're getting now! The workman thinks he can do as he pleases. And after all I've done for my workmen,—building them a club house with a piano in it, and a library and a billiard table, trying to do my best to make them comfortable and contented. I pay them enough to buy pianos and billiard tables for themselves, and you tell me they want still higher wages.TIMOTHY. They're saying they can go down to the shipyards, where they'd be getting five dollars and thirty cents a day.ASHER. Let them go to the shipyards, if they haven't any sense of gratitude! What else do they say?TIMOTHY. That you have a contract, sir, and making millions out of it.ASHER. What can they know about my profits?TIMOTHY. It's just that, sir,—they know nothing at all. But they're saying they ought to know, since things is different now, and they're working for the war and the country, the same as yourself.ASHER. Haven't I established a system of bonuses, to share my profits with the efficient and the industrious?TIMOTHY. They don't understand the bonuses,—how you come by them. Autocracy is the word they use. And they say you put up a notice sudden like, without asking them, that there'd be two long shifts instead of three eight-hour ones. They're willing to work twelve hours on end, for the war, they say, but they'd want to be consulted.ASHER. What business is it of theirs?TIMOTHY. Well, it's them that has to do the hard work, sir. There was a meeting last night, I understand, with Rench and Hillman and a delegate come from Newcastle making speeches, the only way they'd get their rights would be for you to recognize the union.ASHER. I'll never recognize a union! I won't have any outsiders, meddlers and crooks dictating my business to me.TIMOTHY. I've been with you thirty years, come December, Mr. Pindar, and you've been a good employer to me. I don't hold with the unions—you know it well, sir, or you wouldn't be asking me advice. I'm telling you what they're saying.ASHER. I didn't mean to accuse you,—you've been a good and loyal employee—that's why I sent for you. Find out what their game is, and let me know.TIMOTHY. It's not a detective I am, Mr. Pindar. I'm a workman meself. That's another thing they're saying, that you'd pay detectives to go among them, like workingmen.ASHER (impatiently). I'm not asking you to be a detective,—I only want you to give me warning if we are to have a strike.TIMOTHY. I've warned you, sir,—if it's only for the sake of beating the Germans, the dirty devils.GEORGE (turning to BERT). Well, here's wishing you luck, Bert, and hoping we'll meet over there. I know how you feel,—you want to be in it, just as I do.ASHER (turning). Perhaps I said more than I meant to, Bert. I've got to turn out these machines in order that our soldiers may have shrapnel to fight with, and what with enlistments and the determination of unscrupulous workmen to take advantage of the situation, I'm pretty hard pressed. I can't very well spare steady young men like you, who have too much sense and too much patriotism to mix yourselves up with trouble makers. But I, too, can understand your feeling,—I'd like to be going myself. You might have consulted me, but your place will be ready for you when you come back.BERT. Thank you, sir. (He turns his hat over in his hands.) Maybe it would be fair to tell you, Mr. Pindar, that I've got a union card in my pocket.ASHER. You, Timothy Farrell's son!TIMOTHY. What's that? And never a word to me!BERT (to TIMOTHY). Why wouldn't I join the union? I took out the card this morning, when I see that that's the only way we'll get what's coming to us. We ain't got a chance against the employers without the union.TIMOTHY. God help me, to think my son would join the union,—and he going to be a soldier!BERT (glancing at GEORGE). I guess there'll be other union men in the trenches besides me.ASHER. Soldier or no soldier, I'll never employ any man again who's joined a union.GEORGE (perturbed). Hold on, dad!ASHER. I mean what I say, I don't care who he is.BERT (who retains his self-possession). Excuse me, Mr. Pindar, but I'd like to ask you a question—I've heard the men talking about this in the shops. You don't like it if we go off to—fight, but if we join the union you fire us, no matter how short-handed you are.ASHER. It's a principle with me,—I won't have any outside agency dictating to me.BERT. But if it came to recognizing the union, or shutting down?ASHER. I'd shut down tomorrow.(GEORGE, who sees the point, makes a gesture as if about tointerrupt.)BERT. That's what I'm getting at, Mr. Pindar. You say you'd shut down for a principle, whether the government gets the machines or not. And the men say they'd join the union for a principle, whether the government gets the machines or not. It looks to me as if both was hindering the war for a principle, and the question is, which principle is it that agrees best with what we're fighting for?ASHER. No man joins a union for a principle, but for extortion. I can't discuss it,—I won't!BERT. I'm sorry, sir.(He turns to go out, lower right.)GEORGE (overtaking him and grasping his hand). So long, Bert. I'll look you up, over there!BERT (gazing at him). All right, Mr. George.GEORGE. Goodbye, Timothy. Don't worry about the boy.TIMOTHY. It's proud I am to have him go. Mr. George,—but I can't think why he'd be joining the union, and never telling me.(He stands for a moment troubled, glancing at ASHER, torn betweenloyalty to his employer and affection for his son. Then he goes outslowly, upper right. All the while DR. JONATHAN has stood in therear of the room, occasionally glancing at GEORGE. He now comesforward, unobtrusively, yet withal impressively.)ASHER. I never expected to hear such talk from a son of Timothy Farrell,—a boy I thought was level-headed. (To DR. JONATHAN) What do you think of that? You heard it.DR. JONATHAN. Well, he stated the issue, Asher.ASHER. The issue of what?DR. JONATHAN. Of the new century.GEORGE. The issue of the new centuryASHER. You're right, we've got to put these people down. After the war they'll come to heel,—we'll have a cheap labour market then.DR. JONATHAN. Humanity has always been cheap, but we're spending it rather lavishly just now.ASHER, You mean that there will be a scarcity of labour? And that they can continue to blackmail us into paying these outrageous wages?DR. JONATHAN. When you pay a man wages, Asher, you own him,—until he is turned over to somebody else.ASHER (puzzled, a little suspicious for the first time). I own his labour, of course.DR. JONATHAN. Then you own his body, and his soul. Perhaps he resents being regarded as a commodity.ASHER. What else is labour?DR. JONATHAN. How would you like to be a commodity?ASHER. I? I don't see what that has to do with it. These men have no consideration, no gratitude, after the way I've treated them.DR. JONATHAN. Isn't that what they object to?ASHER. What?DR. JONATHAN. To being treated.ASHER. Object to kindness?DR. JONATHAN. To benevolence.ASHER. Well, what's the difference?DR. JONATHAN. The difference between self-respect and dependence.ASHER. Are—are you a Socialist?DR. JONATHAN. NO, I'm a scientist.(ASHER is standing staring at him when the MAID enters, lowerright.)MAID. Your long distance call to Washington, sir.ASHER. Very well.
SCENE: The library of ASHER PINDAR'S house in Foxon Falls, a New Englandvillage of some three thousand souls, over the destinies of whichthe Pindars for three generations have presided. It is a large,dignified room, built early in the nineteenth century, with whitedoors and gloss woodwork. At the rear of the stage,—which is thefront of the house,—are three high windows with small, square panesof glass, and embrasures into which are fitted white insideshutters. These windows reach to within a foot or so of the floor;a person walking on the lawn or the sidewalk just beyond it may beseen through them. The trees bordering the Common are also seenthrough these windows, and through a gap in the foliage a glimpse ofthe terraced steeple of the Pindar Church, the architecture of whichis of the same period as the house. Upper right, at the end of thewall, is a glass door looking out on the lawn. There is anotherdoor, lower right, and a door, lower left, leading into ASHERPINDAR'S study. A marble mantel, which holds a clock and certainornaments, is just beyond this door. The wall spaces on the rightand left are occupied by high bookcases filled with respectablevolumes in calf and dark cloth bindings. Over the mantel is anoil painting of the Bierstadt school, cherished by ASHER as aninheritance from his father, a huge landscape with a self-conscioussky, mountains, plains, rivers and waterfalls, and two small figuresof Indians—who seem to have been talking to a missionary. In thespaces between the windows are two steel engravings, “The Death ofWolfe on the Plains of Abraham” and “Washington Crossing theDelaware!” The furniture, with the exception of a few heirlooms,such as the stiff sofa, is mostly of the Richardson period of the'80s and '90s. On a table, middle rear, are neatly spread outseveral conservative magazines and periodicals, including areligious publication.
TIME: A bright morning in October, 1917,
GEORGE PINDAR, in the uniform of a first lieutenant of the army,enters by the doorway, upper right. He is a well set up young manof about twenty-seven, bronzed from his life in a training camp, ofan adventurous and social nature. He glances about the room, andthen lights a cigarette.ASHER PINDAR, his father, enters, lower right. He is a tall,strongly built man of about sixty, with iron grey hair and beard.His eyes are keen, shadowed by bushy brows, and his New Englandfeatures bear the stamp of inflexible “character.” He wears a black“cutaway” coat and dark striped trousers; his voice is strong andresonant. But he is evidently preoccupied and worried, though hesmiles with affection as he perceives GEORGE. GEORGE'S fondness forhim is equally apparent.
GEORGE. Hello, dad.
ASHER. Oh, you're here, George.
GEORGE (looking, at ASHER). Something troubling you?
ASHER (attempting dissimulation). Well, you're going off to France, they've only given you two days' leave, and I've scarcely seen anything of you. Isn't that enough?
GEORGE. I know how busy you've been with that government contract on your hands. I wish I could help.
ASHER. You're in the army now, my boy. You can help me again when you come back.
GEORGE. I want to get time to go down to the shops and say goodbye to some of the men.
ASHER. No, I shouldn't do that, George.
GEORGE (surprised). Why not? I used to be pretty chummy with them, you know,—smoke a pipe with them occasionally in the noon hour.
ASHER. I know. But it doesn't do for an employer to be too familiar with the hands in these days.
GEORGE. I guess I've got a vulgar streak in me somewhere, I get along with the common people. There'll be lots of them in the trenches, dad.
ASHER. Under military discipline.
GEORGE (laughing). We're supposed to be fighting a war for democracy. I was talking to old Bains yesterday,—he's still able to run a lathe, and he was in the Civil War, you know. He was telling me how the boys in his regiment stopped to pick blackberries on the way to the battle of Bull Run.
ASHER. That's democracy! It's what we're doing right now—stopping to pick blackberries. This country's been in the war six months, since April, and no guns, no munitions, a handful of men in France—while the world's burning!
GEORGE. Well, we won't sell Uncle Sam short yet. Something is bothering you, dad.
ASHER. No—no, but the people in Washington change my specifications every week, and Jonathan's arriving today, of all days.
GEORGE. Has Dr. Jonathan turned up?
ASHER. I haven't seen him yet. It seems he got here this morning. No telegram, nothing. And he had his house fixed up without consulting me. He must be queer, like his father, your great uncle, Henry Pindar.
GEORGE. Tell me about Dr. Jonathan. A scientist,—isn't he? Suddenly decided to come back to live in the old homestead.
ASHER. On account of his health. He was delicate as a boy. He must have been about eight or nine years old when Uncle Henry left Foxon Falls for the west,—that was before you were born. Uncle Henry died somewhere in Iowa. He and my father never got along. Uncle Henry had as much as your grandfather to begin with, and let it slip through his fingers. He managed to send Jonathan to a medical school, and it seems that he's had some sort of a position at Johns Hopkins's—research work. I don't know what he's got to live on.
GEORGE. Uncle Henry must have been a philanthropist.
ASHER. It's all very well to be a philanthropist when you make more than you give away. Otherwise you're a sentimentalist.
GEORGE. Or a Christian.
ASHER. We can't take Christianity too literally.
GEORGE (smiling). That's its great advantage, as a religion.
ASHER. George, I don't like to say anything just as you're going to fight for your country, my boy, but your attitude of religious skepticism has troubled me, as well as your habit of intimacy with the shop hands. I confess to you that I've been a little afraid at times that you'd take after Jonathan's father. He never went to church, he forgot that he owed something to his position as a Pindar. He used to have that house of his overrun with all sorts of people, and the yard full of dirty children eating his fruit and picking his flowers. There's such a thing as being too democratic. I hope I'm as good an American as anybody, I believe that any man with brains, who has thrift, ought to rise—but wait until they do rise. You're going to command men, and when you come back here into the business again you'll be in a position of authority. Remember what I say, if you give these working people an inch, they'll take all you have.
GEORGE (laying his hand on ASHER's shoulder). Something is worrying you, dad. We've always been pretty good pals, haven't we?
ASHER. Yes, ever since you were a little shaver. Well, George, I didn't want to bother you with it—today. It seems there's trouble in the shops,—in our shops, of all places,—it's been going on for some time, grumbling, dissatisfaction, and they're getting higher wages than ever before—ruinous wages. They want me to recognize the union.
GEORGE. Well, that beats me. I thought we were above the labour-trouble line, away up here in New England.
ASHER (grimly). Oh, I can handle them.
GEORGE. I'll bet you can. You're a regular old war horse when you get started. It's your capital, it's your business, you've put it all at the disposal of the government. What right have they to kick up a row now, with this war on? I must say I haven't any sympathy with that.
ASHER (proudly). I guess you're a real Pindar after all, George.
(Enter an elderly maid, lower right.)
MAID. Timothy Farrell, the foreman's here.
(Enter, lower right, TIMOTHY, a big Irishman of about sixty, inworking clothes.)
TIMOTHY. Here I am, sir. They're after sending word you wanted me.
GEORGE (going up to TIMOTHY and shaking his hand warmly). Old Timothy! I'm glad to get sight of you before I go.
TIMOTHY. And it's glad I am to see you, Mr. George, before you leave. And he an officer now! Sure, I mind him as a baby being wheeled up and down under the trees out there. My boy Bert was saying only this morning how we'd missed the sight of him in the shops this summer. You have a way with the men, Mr. George, of getting into their hearts, like. I was thinking just now, if Mr. George had only been home, in the shops, maybe we wouldn't be having all this complaint and trouble.
GEORGE. Who's at the bottom of this, Timothy? Rench? Hillman? I thought so. Well, they're not bad chaps when you get under their skins.
(He glances at his wrist watch)
Let me go down and talk with them, dad,—I've got time, my train doesn't leave until one thirty.
ASHER (impatiently, almost savagely). No, I'll settle this, George, this is my job. I won't have any humoring. Come into my study, Timothy.
TIMOTHY, shaking his head, follows ASHER out of the door, left.After a moment GEORGE goes over to the extreme left hand corner ofthe room, where several articles are piled. He drags out a kit bag,then some necessary wearing apparel, underclothes, socks, a sweater,etc., then a large and rather luxurious lunch kit, a pin cushion.with his monogram, a small travelling pillow with his monogram, alinen toilet case embroidered in blue, to hang on the wall—theselast evidently presents from admiring lady friends. Finally hebrings forth a large rubber life preserving suit. He makes a showof putting all these things in the bag, including the life-preserving suit; and reveals a certain sentiment, not too deep, forthe pillow, the pincushion and the toilet case. At length he strewseverything over the floor, and is surveying the litter with mockdespair when a girl appears on the lawn outside, through one of thewindows. She throws into the room a small parcel wrapped in tissuepaper, and disappears. GEORGE picks up the parcel and lookssurprised, and suddenly runs out of the door, upper right. Hepresently returns, dragging the girl by the wrists, she resisting.MINNIE FARRELL is about twenty one, with black hair and an abundantvitality. Her costume is a not wholly ineffective imitation ofthose bought at a great price at certain metropolitanestablishments. A string of imitation pearls gleams against herruddy skin.
MINNIE. Cut it out, George! (Glancing around apprehensively.) Say, if your mother was to find me here she'd want to send me up to the reformatory (she frees herself).
GEORGE. Where the deuce did you blow in from? (Regarding her with admiration.) Is this the little Minnie Farrell who left Foxon Falls two years ago? Gee whiz! aren't we smart!
MINNIE. Do you like me? I'm making good money, since the war.
GEORGE. Do I like you? What are you doing here?
MINNIE. My brother Bert's out there—he ain't working today. Mr. Pindar sent for father, and we walked up here with him. Where is he?
GEORGE (nodding toward the study). In there. But what are you doing, back in Foxon Falls?
MINNIE. Oh, visiting the scenes of my childhood.
GEORGE (tearing open the tissue paper from the parcel). Did you make these for me? (He holds up a pair of grey woollen wristlets.)
MINNIE. Well, I wanted to do something for a soldier, and when I heard you was going to France I thought you might as well have 'em.
GEORGE. How did you hear I was going?
MINNIE. Bert told me when I came home yesterday. They say it's cold in the trenches, and nothing keeps the hands so warm as wristlets. I know, because I've had 'em on winter mornings, early, when I was going to work. Will you wear 'em, George?
GEORGE. Will I wear them! (He puts then on his wrists.) I'll never take them off till the war's over.
MINNIE (pleased). You always were a josher!
GEORGE. Tell me, Minnie, why did you run away from me two years ago?
MINNIE. Run away from you! I left because I couldn't stand this village any longer. It was too quiet for me.
GEORGE. You're a josher! You went off while I was away, without telling me you were going. And then, when I found out where you were and hustled over to Newcastle in my car, you turned me down hard.
MINNIE. You didn't have a mortgage on me. There were plenty of girls of your own kind at that house party you went to. I guess you made love to them, too.
GEORGE. They weren't in the same class with you. You've got the ginger.
MINNIE. I've still got the ginger, all right.
GEORGE. I thought you cared for me.
MINNIE. You always had the nerve, George.
GEORGE. You acted as if you did.
MINNIE. I'm a good actor. Say, what was there in it for me?—packing tools in the Pindar shops, and you the son of my boss? You didn't want nothing from me except what all men want, and you wouldn't have wanted that long.
GEORGE. I was crazy about you.
MINNIE (her eyes falling on the travelling pillow and the pincushion; picking theron: up in turn). I guess you told them that, too.
GEORGE (embarrassed). Oh, I'm popular enough when I'm going away. They don't care anything about me.
MINNIE (indicating the wristlets). You don't want them,—I'll give 'em to Bert.
GEORGE. No, you won't.
MINNIE. I was silly. But we had a good time while it lasted,—didn't we, George?
(She evades him deftly, and picks up the life-preserving suit.)
What's this?—a full dress uniform?
GEORGE. When a submarine gets you, all you've got to do is to jump overboard and blow this—
(He draws the siren from the pocket and starts to blow it, but sheseizes his hand.)—and float around until a destroyer picks you up.(Takes from another pocket a metal lunch box.)
This is for pate de foie gras sandwiches, and there's room in here—
(Indicating another pocket.)—for a bottle of fizz. Come along with me, Minnie, ship as a Red Crossnurse, and I'll buy you one. The Atlantic wouldn't be such a bad place,with you,—and we wouldn't be in a hurry to blow the siren. You'd looklike a peach in a white costume, too.
MINNIE. Don't you like me in this?
GEORGE. Sure, but I'd like that better.
MINNIE. I'd make a good nurse, if I do say it myself. And I'd take good care of you, George,—as good as any of them.
(She nods toward the pillow and pincushion.)
GEORGE. Better!
(He seizes her hands and attempts to draw her toward him.)
You used to let me!
MINNIE. That ain't any reason.
GEORGE. Just once, Minnie,—I'm going away.
MINNIE. No. I didn't mean to come in here—I just wanted to see what you looked like in your uniform.
(She draws away from him, just as Dr. JONATHAN appears in thedoorway, lower right.)
Goodbye, George.
(She goes out through the doorway, upper right.)(DR. JONATHAN may be almost any age,—in reality about thirty five.His head is that of the thinker, high above the eyes. His facebears evidence in its lines of years of labour and service, as wellas of a triumphant struggle against ill health. In his eyes is athoughtful yet illuminating smile, now directed toward GEORGE who,when he perceives him, is taken aback,)
DR. JONATHAN. Hello! I was told to come in here,—I hope I'm not intruding.
GEORGE. Not at all. How—how long have you been here?
DR. JONATHAN. Just long enough to get my bearings. I came this morning.
GEORGE. Oh! Are you—are you Dr. Jonathan?
DR. JONATHAN. I'm Jonathan. And you're George, I suppose.
GEORGE. Yes. (He goes to him and shakes hands.) I'm sorry to be leaving just as you come.
DR. JONATHAN. I'll be here when you return.
GEORGE. I hope so (a pause). You won't find Foxon Falls a bad old town.
DR. JONATHAN. And it will be a better one when you come back.
GEORGE. Why do you say that?
DR. JONATHAN (smiling). It seems a safe conjecture.
(Dr. JONATHAN is looking at the heap of articles on the floor.)
GEORGE (grinning, and not quite at ease). You might imagine I was embarking in the gent's furnishing business, instead of going to war. (He picks up the life-preserving suit.) Some friend of mother's told her about this, and she insisted upon sending for it. I don't want to hurt her feelings, but I can't take it, of course.
(He rolls it up and thrusts it under the sofa, upper left.)
You won't give me away?
DR. JONATHAN. Never!
GEORGE. Dad ought to be here in a minute, he's in there with old Timothy Farrell, the moulder foreman. It seems that things are in a mess at the shops. Rotten of the men to make trouble now—don't you think?—when the country's at war! Darned unpatriotic, I say.
DR. JONATHAN. I saw a good many stars in your service flag as I passed the office door this morning.
GEORGE. Yes. Over four hundred of our men have enlisted. I don't understand it.
DR. JONATHAN. Perhaps you will, George, when you come home.
GEORGE. You mean—
(GEORGE is interrupted by the entrance, lower right, of his mother,AUGUSTA PINDAR. She is now in the fifties, and her hair is turninggrey. Her uneventful, provincial existence as ASHER'S wife hasconfirmed and crystallized her traditional New England views, herconviction that her mission is to direct for good the lives of theless fortunate by whom she is surrounded. She carries her knittingin her hand,—a pair of socks for GEORGE. And she goes at once toDR. JONATHAN.)
AUGUSTA. So you are Jonathan. They told me you'd arrived—why didn't you come to us? Do you think it's wise to live in that old house of your father's before it's been thoroughly heated for a few days?
DR. JONATHAN (taking her hand). Oh, I'm going to live with the doors and windows open.
AUGUSTA. Dear me! I understand you've been quite ill, and you were never very strong as a child. I made it my business to go through the house yesterday, and I must say it looks comfortable. But the carpenters and plumbers have ruined the parlour, with that bench, and the sink in the corner. What are you going to do there?
DR. JONATHAN. I'm having it made into a sort of laboratory.
AUGUSTA. You don't mean to say you intend to do any work!
DR. JONATHAN. Work ought to cure me, in this climate.
AUGUSTA. You mean to practise medicine? You ought to have consulted us. I'm afraid you won't find it remunerative, Jonathan,—but your father was impractical, too. Foxon Falls is still a small place, in spite of the fact that the shops have grown. Workmen's families can't afford to pay big fees, you know.
DR. JONATHAN (smiling). I know.
AUGUSTA. And we already have an excellent physician here, Dr. Senn.
DR. JONATHAN. I shan't interfere with Dr. Senn.
GEORGE (laying his hand on AUGUSTA's shoulder: apologetically). Mother feels personally responsible for every man, woman and child in Foxon Falls. I shouldn't worry about Dr. Jonathan if I were you, mother, I've got a notion he can take care of himself.
AUGUSTA (a little baffled by DR. JONATHAN's self-command, sits down and begins to knit). I must get these socks finished for you to take with you, my dear. (To DR. JONATHAN) I can't realize he's going! (To GEORGE) You haven't got all your things in your bag! Where's the life-preserving suit I sent for?
GEORGE (glancing at DR. JONATHAN). Oh that's gone, mother.
AUGUSTA. He always took cold so easily, and that will keep him warm and dry, if those terrible Germans sink his ship. But your presents, George! (To DR. JONATHAN:) Made for him by sisters of his college friends.
GEORGE (amused but embarrassed). I can't fit up a section of the trenches as a boudoir.
AUGUSTA. Such nice girls! I wish he'd marry one of them. Who made you the wristlets? I hadn't seen them.
GEORGE (taking of the wristlets and putting them in his bag). Oh, I can't give her away. I was—just trying them on, to see if they fitted.
AUGUSTA. When did they come?
GEORGE (glancing at DR. JONATHAN). Er—this morning.
(Enter ASHER and TIMOTHY from the study, left. ASHER is evidentlywrought up from his talk with TIMOTHY.)
ASHER. Remember, Timothy, I rely on sensible men like you to put a stop to this nonsense.
AUGUSTA. Asher, here's Jonathan.
ASHER. Oh! (He goes up to DR. JONATHAN and takes his hand, though it is quite evident that his mind is still on the trouble in the shops). Glad to see you back in Foxon Falls, Jonathan. I heard you'd arrived, and would have dropped in on you, but things are in a muddle here just now.
DR. JONATHAN. Not only here, but everywhere.
ASHER. You're right. The country's going to the dogs. I don't know what will straighten it out.
DR. JONATHAN. Intelligence, open-mindedness, cooperation, Asher.
ASHER (arrested: looking at him). Hum!
DR. JONATHAN (leaving him and going up to TIMOTHY). You don't remember me, Timothy?
TIMOTHY. Sure and I do, sir,—though you were only a little lad. You mind me of your father,—your smile, like. He was the grand, simple man! It's happy I am to see you back in Foxon Falls.
DR. JONATHAN. Yes, I've been ordered to the rear.
TIMOTHY. The rear, is it? I'm thinking we'll be fighting this war in Foxon Falls, too.
DR. JONATHAN. Yes, much of it will be fought behind the battle lines.
AUGUSTA. You think the Germans will come over here?
DR. JONATHAN. No, but the issue is over here already.
(DR. JONATHAN picks up her ball of wool, which has fallen to thefloor.)
AUGUSTA (looking at him apprehensively: puzzled). Thank you, Jonathan.
(She turns to TIMOTHY, who has started toward the door, lower right)
Wait a moment, Timothy, I want to ask you about your children. What do you hear from Minnie? I always took an interest in her, you know,—especially when she was in the tool packing department of the shops, and I had her in my Bible class. I appreciated your letting her come,—an Irishman and a Catholic as you are.
TIMOTHY. The Church has given me up as a heathen, ma'am, when I married your cook, and she a Protestant.
AUGUSTA. I've been worried about Minnie since she went to Newcastle. She has so much vitality, and I'm afraid she's pleasure loving though she seemed to take to religion with her whole soul. And where's Jamesy?
TIMOTHY. Jamesy, is it? It's gone to the bad entirely he is, with the drink. He left the shops when the twelve-hour shifts began—wherever he's at now. It's home Minnie came from Newcastle yesterday, ma'am, for a visit,—she's outside there now, with Bert,—they walked along with me.
AUGUSTA. Bring them in, I want to see them,—especially Minnie. I must say I'm surprised she should have come home without calling on me.
TIMOTHY. I'll get them, ma'am.
(He goes out of the door, upper right. GEORGE, who has beenpalpably ill at ease during this conversation, now makes for thedoor, lower right.)
AUGUSTA. Where are you going, my dear?
GEORGE (halting). I thought I'd look around and see if I'd forgotten anything, mother.
AUGUSTA. Stay with us,—there's plenty of time.
(TIMOTHY returns through the doorway, upper right, with BERT, butwithout MINNIE.)
TIMOTHY. It's disappeared entirely she is, ma'am,—here one minute and there the next, the way with young people nowadays. And she's going back to Newcastle this afternoon, to her job at the Wire Works.
AUGUSTA. I must see her before she goes. I feel in a measure responsible for her. You'll tell her?
TIMOTHY. I'll tell her.
AUGUSTA. How are you getting along, Bert?
BERT. Very well, thank you, Mrs. Pindar.
(The MAID enters, lower right.)
MAID. Miss Thorpe wishes to speak with you, ma'am.
AUGUSTA (gathering up her knitting). It's about the wool for the Red Cross.
(Exit, lower right.)
GEORGE (shaking hands with BERT). Hello, Bert,—how goes it?
BERT. All right, thank you, lieutenant.
GEORGE. Oh, cut out the title.
(BERT FARRELL is about twenty three. He wears a brown flannel shirtand a blue four-in-hand tie, and a good ready-made suit. He holdshis hat in front of him. He is a self-respecting, able young IrishAmerican of the blue-eyed type that have died by thousands on thebattle fields of France, and whose pictures may be seen in ournewspapers.)
ASHER. You're not working today, Bert?
BERT. I've left the shops, Mr. Pindar,—I got through last night.
ASHER. Left the shops! You didn't say anything about this, Timothy!
TIMOTHY. No, sir,—you have trouble enough today.
ASHER (to BERT). Why did you leave?
BERT. I'm going to enlist, Mr. Pindar,—with the Marines. From what I've heard of that corps, I think I'd like to join it.
ASHER (exasperated). But why do you do a thing like this when you must know I need every man here to help turn out these machines? And especially young men like you, good mechanics! If you wanted to serve your country, you were better off where you were. I got you exempted—(catching himself) I mean, you were exempted from the draft.
BERT. I didn't want to be exempted, sir. More than four hundred of the boys have gone from the shops, as well as Mr. George here, and I couldn't stand it no longer.
ASHER. What's Mr. George got to do with it? The cases are different.
BERT (stoutly). I don't see that, Mr. Pindar. Every man, no matter who he is, has to decide a thing like this for himself.
GEORGE. Bert's right, dad.
ASHER. You say he's right, when you know that I need every hand I can get to carry out this contract?
GEORGE. He's going to make a contract, too. He's giving up all he has.
ASHER. And you approve of this, Timothy?
TIMOTHY. Sure, I couldn't stop him, Mr. Pindar! And it's proud I am of him, the same as you are of Mr. George, that he'd be fighting for America and liberty.
ASHER. Liberty! License is what we're getting now! The workman thinks he can do as he pleases. And after all I've done for my workmen,—building them a club house with a piano in it, and a library and a billiard table, trying to do my best to make them comfortable and contented. I pay them enough to buy pianos and billiard tables for themselves, and you tell me they want still higher wages.
TIMOTHY. They're saying they can go down to the shipyards, where they'd be getting five dollars and thirty cents a day.
ASHER. Let them go to the shipyards, if they haven't any sense of gratitude! What else do they say?
TIMOTHY. That you have a contract, sir, and making millions out of it.
ASHER. What can they know about my profits?
TIMOTHY. It's just that, sir,—they know nothing at all. But they're saying they ought to know, since things is different now, and they're working for the war and the country, the same as yourself.
ASHER. Haven't I established a system of bonuses, to share my profits with the efficient and the industrious?
TIMOTHY. They don't understand the bonuses,—how you come by them. Autocracy is the word they use. And they say you put up a notice sudden like, without asking them, that there'd be two long shifts instead of three eight-hour ones. They're willing to work twelve hours on end, for the war, they say, but they'd want to be consulted.
ASHER. What business is it of theirs?
TIMOTHY. Well, it's them that has to do the hard work, sir. There was a meeting last night, I understand, with Rench and Hillman and a delegate come from Newcastle making speeches, the only way they'd get their rights would be for you to recognize the union.
ASHER. I'll never recognize a union! I won't have any outsiders, meddlers and crooks dictating my business to me.
TIMOTHY. I've been with you thirty years, come December, Mr. Pindar, and you've been a good employer to me. I don't hold with the unions—you know it well, sir, or you wouldn't be asking me advice. I'm telling you what they're saying.
ASHER. I didn't mean to accuse you,—you've been a good and loyal employee—that's why I sent for you. Find out what their game is, and let me know.
TIMOTHY. It's not a detective I am, Mr. Pindar. I'm a workman meself. That's another thing they're saying, that you'd pay detectives to go among them, like workingmen.
ASHER (impatiently). I'm not asking you to be a detective,—I only want you to give me warning if we are to have a strike.
TIMOTHY. I've warned you, sir,—if it's only for the sake of beating the Germans, the dirty devils.
GEORGE (turning to BERT). Well, here's wishing you luck, Bert, and hoping we'll meet over there. I know how you feel,—you want to be in it, just as I do.
ASHER (turning). Perhaps I said more than I meant to, Bert. I've got to turn out these machines in order that our soldiers may have shrapnel to fight with, and what with enlistments and the determination of unscrupulous workmen to take advantage of the situation, I'm pretty hard pressed. I can't very well spare steady young men like you, who have too much sense and too much patriotism to mix yourselves up with trouble makers. But I, too, can understand your feeling,—I'd like to be going myself. You might have consulted me, but your place will be ready for you when you come back.
BERT. Thank you, sir. (He turns his hat over in his hands.) Maybe it would be fair to tell you, Mr. Pindar, that I've got a union card in my pocket.
ASHER. You, Timothy Farrell's son!
TIMOTHY. What's that? And never a word to me!
BERT (to TIMOTHY). Why wouldn't I join the union? I took out the card this morning, when I see that that's the only way we'll get what's coming to us. We ain't got a chance against the employers without the union.
TIMOTHY. God help me, to think my son would join the union,—and he going to be a soldier!
BERT (glancing at GEORGE). I guess there'll be other union men in the trenches besides me.
ASHER. Soldier or no soldier, I'll never employ any man again who's joined a union.
GEORGE (perturbed). Hold on, dad!
ASHER. I mean what I say, I don't care who he is.
BERT (who retains his self-possession). Excuse me, Mr. Pindar, but I'd like to ask you a question—I've heard the men talking about this in the shops. You don't like it if we go off to—fight, but if we join the union you fire us, no matter how short-handed you are.
ASHER. It's a principle with me,—I won't have any outside agency dictating to me.
BERT. But if it came to recognizing the union, or shutting down?
ASHER. I'd shut down tomorrow.
(GEORGE, who sees the point, makes a gesture as if about tointerrupt.)
BERT. That's what I'm getting at, Mr. Pindar. You say you'd shut down for a principle, whether the government gets the machines or not. And the men say they'd join the union for a principle, whether the government gets the machines or not. It looks to me as if both was hindering the war for a principle, and the question is, which principle is it that agrees best with what we're fighting for?
ASHER. No man joins a union for a principle, but for extortion. I can't discuss it,—I won't!
BERT. I'm sorry, sir.
(He turns to go out, lower right.)
GEORGE (overtaking him and grasping his hand). So long, Bert. I'll look you up, over there!
BERT (gazing at him). All right, Mr. George.
GEORGE. Goodbye, Timothy. Don't worry about the boy.
TIMOTHY. It's proud I am to have him go. Mr. George,—but I can't think why he'd be joining the union, and never telling me.
(He stands for a moment troubled, glancing at ASHER, torn betweenloyalty to his employer and affection for his son. Then he goes outslowly, upper right. All the while DR. JONATHAN has stood in therear of the room, occasionally glancing at GEORGE. He now comesforward, unobtrusively, yet withal impressively.)
ASHER. I never expected to hear such talk from a son of Timothy Farrell,—a boy I thought was level-headed. (To DR. JONATHAN) What do you think of that? You heard it.
DR. JONATHAN. Well, he stated the issue, Asher.
ASHER. The issue of what?
DR. JONATHAN. Of the new century.
GEORGE. The issue of the new century
ASHER. You're right, we've got to put these people down. After the war they'll come to heel,—we'll have a cheap labour market then.
DR. JONATHAN. Humanity has always been cheap, but we're spending it rather lavishly just now.
ASHER, You mean that there will be a scarcity of labour? And that they can continue to blackmail us into paying these outrageous wages?
DR. JONATHAN. When you pay a man wages, Asher, you own him,—until he is turned over to somebody else.
ASHER (puzzled, a little suspicious for the first time). I own his labour, of course.
DR. JONATHAN. Then you own his body, and his soul. Perhaps he resents being regarded as a commodity.
ASHER. What else is labour?
DR. JONATHAN. How would you like to be a commodity?
ASHER. I? I don't see what that has to do with it. These men have no consideration, no gratitude, after the way I've treated them.
DR. JONATHAN. Isn't that what they object to?
ASHER. What?
DR. JONATHAN. To being treated.
ASHER. Object to kindness?
DR. JONATHAN. To benevolence.
ASHER. Well, what's the difference?
DR. JONATHAN. The difference between self-respect and dependence.
ASHER. Are—are you a Socialist?
DR. JONATHAN. NO, I'm a scientist.
(ASHER is standing staring at him when the MAID enters, lowerright.)
MAID. Your long distance call to Washington, sir.
ASHER. Very well.