(As he starts to go out he halts and looks at DR. JONATHAN again,and then abruptly leaves the room, lower right, following the MAID.)GEORGE (who has been regarding DR. JONATHAN: after a moment's hesitation). You seem to think there's something to be said for the workman's attitude, Dr. Jonathan.DR. JONATHAN. What is his attitude, George?GEORGE. Well, you heard Bert just now. I thought he had poor old dad on the hip when he accused the employer of holding up the war, too. But after all, what labour is after is more money, isn't it? and they're taking advantage of a critical situation to get it. And when they get money, most of them blow it in on sprees.DR. JONATHAN. George, what are you going to France to fight for?GEORGE. Germany's insulted our flag, murdered our people on the high seas and wants to boss the world.DR. JONATHAN (smiling). The issue, then, is human freedom.GEORGE. Sure thing!DR. JONATHAN. And you think every man and woman in this country is reasonably free?GEORGE. Every man can rise if he has the ability.DR. JONATHAN. What do you mean by rise?GEORGE. He can make money, set up for himself and be his own boss.DR. JONATHAN. In other words, he can become free.GEORGE (grinning). I suppose that's one way of putting it.DR. JONATHAN. Money gives him freedom, doesn't it? Money gave you yours,—to go to school and college until you were twenty four, and get an education,—such as it was.GEORGE. Such as it was!DR. JONATHAN. Money gave you the choice of engaging in an occupation in which you could take an interest and a pride, and enabled you occasionally to go on a spree, if you ever went on a spree, George.GEORGE. Once in awhile.DR. JONATHAN. But this craving for amusement, for excitement and adventure isn't peculiar to you and me. Workingmen have it too,—and working girls.GEORGE. You're a wise guy, I guess.DR. JONATHAN. Oh no,—not that! But I've found out that you and I are not so very different from Timothy Farrell and his children,—Bert and Jamesy and—Minnie.GEORGE (startled, and looking around to follow DR. JONATHAN'S glance toward the windows). What do you know about them?DR. JONATHAN. Oh, nothing at first hand. But I can see why Bert's going to the war, and why Jamesy took to drink, and why Minnie left Foxon Falls.GEORGE. The deuce you can!DR. JONATHAN. And so can you, George. When you get back from France you will know what you have been fighting for.GEORGE. And what's that?DR. JONATHAN. Economic freedom, without which political freedom is a farce. Industrial democracy.GEORGE. Industrial democracy! Well, it wasn't included in my education at Harvard.DR. JONATHAN. Our education begins, unfortunately, after we leave Harvard,—with Bert and Jamesy and Minnie. And here's Minnie, now!GEORGE (hastily). I'll beat it! Mother wants to talk to her.DR. JONATHAN (his hand on GEORGE'S arm). No,—wait.(Enter, lower right, AUGUSTA, followed by MINNIE FARRELL. MINNIE,AUGUSTA'S back being turned toward her, gives GEORGE a wink, whichhe acknowledges, and then glances toward DR. JONATHAN. AUGUSTA,with her knitting, seats herself in an armchair. Her attitude issomewhat inquisitorial; her tone, as she addresses MINNIE, non-committal. She is clearly offended by MINNIE'S poise and good-natured self-assertion.)AUGUSTA. You remember Mr. Pindar, Minnie.MINNIE (demurely). Glad to meet you again, Mr. Pindar. I hear you're going off to the war. Well, that's great.GEORGE (squeezing her hand; she winces a little). Oh, yes,-I remember Minnie.AUGUSTA. And this is Dr. Jonathan Pindar.MINNIE (who has been eyeing DR. JONATHAN as a possible enemy; with reserve). Glad to meet you, I'm sure.DR. JONATHAN (smiling at her as he takes her hand). The pleasure is—mutual.MINNIE (puzzled, but somewhat reassured). Glad to meet you.DR. JONATHAN. I've come to live in Foxon Falls. I hope we'll be friends.MINNIE. I hope so. I'm going back to Newcastle this afternoon, there's nothing doing here.DR. JONATHAN. Would you stay, if there were something doing?MINNIE. I—I don't know. What would I be doing here?AUGUSTA (disapprovingly, surveying, MINNIE'S costume). I don't think I should have recognized you, Minnie.MINNIE. City life agrees with me, Mrs. Pindar. But I needed a little rest cure, and I came to see what the village looked like.DR. JONATHAN. A sort of sentimental journey, Minnie.MINNIE (flashing a look at GEORGE, and another at DR. JONATHAN). Well, you might call it that. I get you.AUGUSTA. Minnie, what church do you attend in Newcastle?MINNIE. Well, I haven't got a seat in any particular church, Mrs. Pindar.AUGUSTA. I didn't expect you to go to the expense of getting a seat. I hope you delivered the letter our minister gave you to the minister of the First Church in Newcastle.MINNIE. No, I didn't, Mrs. Pindar, and that's the truth. I never went near a church.AUGUSTA (drily). It's a pity you ever went to Newcastle, I think.MINNIE. It's some town! Every time you ride into it you see a big sign, “Welcome to Newcastle, population one hundred and six thousand, and growing every day. Goodbye, and thank you!”AUGUSTA (knitting). You drive about in automobiles!MINNIE. Oh, sometimes I get a joy ride.AUGUSTA. It grieves me to hear you talk in this way. I knew you were pleasure loving, I thought I saw certain tendencies in you, yet you seemed to realize the grace of religion when you were in my Bible class. Your brother Jamesy took to drink—MINNIE. And I took to religion. You meant to be kind, Mrs. Pindar, and I thank you. But now I know why Jamesy took to drink—it was for the same reason I took to religion.AUGUSTA (scandalized). Minnie!MINNIE. We were both trying to be free, to escape.AUGUSTA. To escape? From what?MINNIE (with a gesture indicating futility). I guess it would be pretty hard to get it across to you, Mrs. Pindar. But I was working ten hours a day packing tools in your shops, and all you gave me when the whistle blew was—Jesus.(A pause: GEORGE takes a step toward her.)Jamesy took to drink, and I took to Jesus. I'm not saying anything against Him. He had His life, but I wanted mine. Maybe He would have understood.(Turning impulsively toward DR. JONATHAN.)I've got a hunch that you understand.AUGUSTA. Minnie, I can't let you talk about religion in this way in my presence.MINNIE. I'm sorry, Mrs. Pindar, I knew it wasn't no use to come and see you,—I told father so.AUGUSTA. I suppose, if you're determined to continue this life of—(she catches herself) I can't stop you.MINNIE (flaring up). What life? Don't worry about me, Mrs. Pindar,—I get twenty five dollars a week at the Shale Works making barb wire to trip up the Huns with,—enough to get nice clothes—(she glances down at her dress) and buy good food, and have a good time on the side.AUGUSTA (whose conceptions of what she believes to be MINNIE's kind are completely upset). You still work?MINNIE. Work! Sure I work. I wouldn't let any man get a strangle hold on me. And I don't kick at a little overtime, neither. I'm working for what he's going to fight for—(indicating GEORGE) it ain't for myself only, but for everybody that ain't been free, all over the world. (To DR. JONATHAN.) Ain't that right? (She does not wait for his nod of approval.) I was just saying this morning—(she looks toward GEORGE and catches herself)—I've been wishing all along I could do more—go as a nurse for some of the boys.AUGUSTA. A nurse!MINNIE (to DR. JONATHAN). If I was a man, I'd have been a doctor, like you. Sick people don't bother me, I give myself to 'em. Before mother died, when she was sick, she always said I'd ought to have been a nurse. (A pause.) Well, I guess I'll go along. The foreman only give me a couple of days off to see the old home town.GEORGE. Hold on, Minnie.MINNIE. What is it?GEORGE (to AUGUSTA). Minnie and I are old friends, mother.AUGUSTA. Old friends?GEORGE. Yes. I knew her—very well before she went away from Foxon Falls, and I went to Newcastle and took her out for a drive in my car.MINNIE (vehemently). No, you never.GEORGE. Why do you deny it?MINNIE. There's nothing to it.AUGUSTA (aghast). George!GEORGE. Well, it's true. I'm not ashamed of it, though Minnie appears to be.MINNIE (on the verge of tears). If you wasn't ashamed, why didn't you tell, her before? I'm not ashamed of it, neither. It was natural.AUGUSTA (after a pause, with a supreme effort to meet the situation). Well, I suppose men are different. But there's no excuse for you, after all I tried to do for you.MINNIE. Thank God men are different!(AUGUSTA rises. The ball of wool drops to the floor again, and DR.JONATHAN picks it up.)GEORGE. Mother, I'd like to tell you about it. You don't understand.AUGUSTA. I'm afraid I do understand, dear.(As she leaves the room, with dignity, GEORGE glances appealingly atDR. JONATHAN.)DR. JONATHAN (going up to MINNIE and taking her hand). Do you think you'd have time to drop in to see me, Minnie, before your train goes?MINNIE (gazing at him; after a moment). Sure! I guess I'd like to talk to you.DR. JONATHAN. It's the little white house across the Common.MINNIE. Oh, I know, that's been shut up all these years.DR. JONATHAN. And is open now again.(He goes out, lower right, and there is a brief silence as the twolook after him.)MINNIE. Say, who is he?GEORGE. Why, he's a cousin of mine—MINNIE. I don't mean that. He's somebody, ain't he?GEORGE. By jingo, I'm beginning to think he is!(They stand gazing at one another.)MINNIE (remembering her grievance: passionately). Now you've gone and done it—telling your mother we were friends.GEORGE. But we are—aren't we? You couldn't expect me to keep quiet, under the circumstances.MINNIE. She thinks I'm not fit to talk to you. Not that I care, except that I was fond of her, she's been good to me in her way, and I felt real bad when I went off to Newcastle with the letter to the minister I never laid eyes on. She'll believe—you know what she'll believe,—it'll trouble her. She's your mother, and you're going away. You might have kept still.GEORGE. I couldn't keep still. What would you have thought of me?MINNIE. It don't make any difference what I'd have thought of you.GEORGE. It makes a difference to me, and it makes some difference what I think of myself. I seem to be learning a good many things this morning.MINNIE. From him?GEORGE: You mean Dr. Jonathan?MINNIE. Yes.GEORGE (reflecting). I don't know. I'm learning them from you, from everybody.MINNIE. Maybe he put you wise.GEORGE. Well, I don't feel wise. And seeing you again this morning brought it all back to me.MINNIE. You were only fooling.GEORGE. I began that way,—I'll own up. But I told you I'd never met a girl like you, you're full of pep—courage—something I can't describe. I was crazy about you,—that's straight,—but I didn't realize it until you ran off, and then I went after you,—but it was no good! I don't claim to have been square with you, and I've been thinking—well, that I'm responsible.MINNIE. Responsible for what?GEORGE. Well-for your throwing yourself away down there at Newcastle. You're too good.MINNIE (with heat). Throwing myself away?GEORGE. Didn't you? Didn't you break loose?—have a good time?MINNIE. Why wouldn't I have a good time? That's what you were having,—a good time with me,—wasn't it? And say, did you ever stop to think what one day of a working girl's life was like?GEORGE. One day?MINNIE. With an alarm clock scaring you out of sweet dreams in the winter, while it's dark, and you get up and dress in the cold and heat a little coffee over a lamp and beat it for the factory,—and stand on your feet all morning, in a noise that would deafen you, feeding a thing you ain't got no interest in? It don't never need no rest! By eleven o'clock you think you're all in, that the morning'll never end, but at noon you get a twenty five cent feed that lasts you until about five in the afternoon,—and then you don't know which way the machine's headed. I've often thought of one of them cutters at Shale's as a sort of monster, watching you all day, waiting to get you when you're too tired to care. (Dreamily.) When it looks all blurred, and you want to put your hand in it.GEORGE. Good God, Minnie!MINNIE. And when the whistle blows at night all you have is your little hall bedroom in a rooming house that smells of stale smoke and cabbage. There's no place to go except the streets—but you've just got to go somewhere, to break loose and have a little fun,—even though you're so tired you want to throw yourself on the bed and cry.(A pause.)Maybe it's because you're tired. When you're tired that way is when you want a good time most. It's funny, but it's so.(A pause.)You ain't got no friends except a few girls with hall bedrooms like yourself, and if a chance comes along for a little excitement, you don't turn it down, I guess.GEORGE (after a pause). I never knew what your life was like.MINNIE. Why would you?—with friends, and everything you want, only to buy it? But since the war come on, I tell you, I ain't kicking, I can go to a movie or the theatre once in a while, and buy nice clothes, and I don't get so tired as I used to. I don't want nothing from anybody, I can take care of myself. It's money that makes you free.GEORGE. Money!MINNIE. When I looked into this room this morning and saw you standing here in your uniform, I says to myself, “He's changed.” Not that you wasn't kind and good natured and generous, George, but you didn't know. How could you? You'd never had a chance to learn anything!GEORGE (bitterly, yet smiling in spite of himself). That's so!MINNIE. I remember that first night I ran into you,—I was coming home from your shops, and you made love to me right off the bat! And after that we used to meet by the watering trough on the Lindon road. We were kids then. And it didn't make no difference how tired I was, I'd get over it as soon as I saw you. You were the live wire!GEORGE. Minnie, tell me, what made you come back to Foxon Falls today?(He seizes her hand.)MINNIE (struggling). Don't, George,—don't go and be foolish again!(The shop whistle blows. She pulls away from him and backs towardthe doorway, upper right.)There's the noon whistle! Goodbye, I'll be thinking of you, over there.GEORGE. I'll write to you. Will you write to me, Minnie?MINNIE (shaking her head). Don't lose any sleep about me. Good luck, George!(She goes to the doorway, upper right, turns, kisses her hand toGEORGE and disappears. He goes to the doorway and gazes after her;presently he raises his hand and waves in answer to another signal,and smiles. He remains there until MINNIE is out of sight, and thenis about to come back into the room when a man appears on thesidewalk, seen through the windows. The man is PRAG. He is a gauntworkman, with high cheek bones and a rather fanatical light in hisblue eyes. He stands motionless, gazing at the house.)GEORGE (calling). Do you want anything, Prag?PRAG. I joost come to look at your house, where you live. It is no harm, is it?GEORGE. None at all.(PRAG continues to stare at the house, and GEORGE obeys a suddenimpulse.)Won't you come in, Prag?PRAG (looking fixedly at the house). No, I stay here.GEORGE. Come in a while,—don't be unsociable.(PRAG crosses the lawn and enters, upper right. He surveys the roomcuriously, defiantly, and then GEORGE in uniform, as he cones downthe stage.)You're not working today?PRAG (with bitter gloom). I lose my job, you don't hear? No, it is nothings to you, and you go away to fight for liberty,—ain't it?GEORGE. How did you lose your job?PRAG. The foreman come to me last night and says, “Prag I hear you belong to the union. You gets out.”GEORGE (after a moment's hesitation). But—there are plenty of other jobs these days. You can go down to the coast and get more than five dollars a day at a shipyard.PRAG. It is easy, yes, when you have a little home bought already, and mortgaged, and childrens who go to school here, and a wife a long time sick.GEORGE. I'm sorry. But weren't you getting along all right here, except your wife's illness? I don't want to be impertinent,—I recognize that it's your affair, but I'd like to know why you joined the union.PRAG. Why is it you join the army? To fight for somethings you would give your life for—not so? Und you are a soldier,—would you run away from your comrades to live safe and happy? No! That is like me. I lose my job, I go away from my wife and childrens, but it is not for me, it is for all, to get better things for all,—freedoms for all.GEORGE. Then—you think this isn't a free country.PRAG. When I sail up the harbour at New York twenty years ago and see that Liberty shining in the sun, I think so, yes. But now I know, for the workmens, she is like the Iron Woman of Nuremberg, with her spikes when she holds you in her arms. You call me a traitor, yes, when I say that.GEORGE. No—I want to understand.PRAG. I am born in Bavaria, but I am as good an American as any,—better than you, because I know what I fight for, what I suffer for. I am not afraid of the Junkers here,—I have spirits,—but the Germans at home have no spirits. You think you fight for freedoms, for democracy, but you fight for this! (He waves his hand to indicate the room.) If I had a million dollars, maybe I fight for it, too,—I don't know.GEORGE. So you think I'm going to fight for this—for money?PRAG. Are you going to fight for me, for the workmens and their childrens? No, you want to keep your money, to make more of it from your war contracts. It is for the capitalist system you fight.GEORGE. Come, now, capital has some rights.PRAG. I know this, that capital is power. What is the workmen's vote against it? against your newspapers and your system? America, she will not be free until your money power is broken. You don't like kings and emperors, no,—you say to us workmens, you are not patriots, you are traitors if you do not work and fight to win this war for democracy against kings. Are we fools that we should worry about kings? Kings will fall of themselves. Now you can put me in jail.GEORGE. I don't want to put you in jail, God knows! How would you manage it?PRAG. Why does not the employer say to his workmens, “This is our war, yours and mines. Here is my contract, here is my profits, we will have no secrets, we will work together and talk together and win the war together to make the world brighter for our childrens.” Und then we workmens say, “Yes, we will work night and day so hard as we can, because we are free mens.”(A fanatical gleams comes into his eyes.)But your employer, he don't say that,—no. He says, “This is my contract, this is my shop, and if you join the unions to get your freedoms you cannot work with me, you are traitors!”(He rises to a frenzy of exaltation.)After this there will be another war, and the capitalists will be swept away like the kings!(He pauses; GEORGE is silent.)Und now I go away, and maybe my wife she die before I get to the shipyard at Newcastle.(He goes slowly out, upper right, and GEORGE does not attempt tostay him. Enter ASHER, lower right.)ASHER. I've just called up the Department in Washington and given them a piece of my mind—told 'em they'd have to conscript labour. Damn these unions, making all this trouble, and especially today, when you're going off. I haven't had a chance to talk to you. Well, you know that I'm proud of you, my boy. Your grandfather went off to the Civil War when he was just about your age.GEORGE. And he knew what he was going to fight for.ASHER. What?GEORGE. I thought I knew, this morning. Now I'm not so sure.ASHER. You say that, when Germany intended to come over here and crush us, when she got through with the Allies.GEORGE. No, it's not so simple as that, dad, it's bigger than that.ASHER. Who's been talking to you? Jonathan Pindar? I wish to God he'd never come to Foxon Falls! I might have known what his opinions would be, with his inheritance. (Reproachfully.) I didn't suppose you could be so easily influenced by sentimentalism, George, I'd hoped you'd got over that.GEORGE. Are you sure it's sentimentalism, dad? Dr. Jonathan didn't say much, but I'll admit he started me thinking. I've begun to realize a few things—ASHER. What things?GEORGE (glancing at the clock on the mantel). I haven't got time to tell you,—I'm afraid I couldn't make it clear, anyway,—it isn't clear in my own mind yet. But,—go slow with this labour business, dad, there's dynamite in it.ASHER. Dynamite?GEORGE. Human dynamite. They're full of it,—we're full of it, too, I guess. They're not so different from you and me, though I'll admit that many of them are ignorant, prejudiced and bitter. But this row isn't just the result of restlessness and discontent,—that's the smoke, but the fire's there, too. I've heard enough this morning to be convinced that they're struggling for something fundamental, that has to do with human progress,—the issue behind the war. It's obscured now, in the smoke. Now if that's so you can't ignore it, dad, you can't suppress it, the only thing to do is to sit down with them and try to understand it. If they've got a case, if the union has come to stay, recognize it and deal with it.ASHER. You—you, my son, are not advising me to recognize the union! To give our employees a voice in our private affairs!GEORGE (courageously). But is the war our private affair, dad? Hasn't it changed things already?(ASHER makes a gesture of pain, of repudiation. GEORGE approacheshim appealingly.)Dad, you know how much we've always been to each other, I'd hate to have any misunderstanding between us,—especially today. I've always accepted your judgment. But I'm over twenty one, I'm going to fight this war, I've got to make up my own mind about it.ASHER (extending his arms and putting his hands on GEORGE'S shoulders). Something's upset you today, my boy,—you don't know what you're saying. When you get over there and take command of your men you'll see things in a truer proportion.GEORGE. No, I can't leave it this way, dad. I've come to feel this thing, it's got hold of me now, I shan't change. And I'll be thinking of it over there, all the time, if we don't talk it out.ASHER. For God's sake, George, don't speak of it again,—don't think of it! There's no sacrifice I wouldn't make for you, in reason, but you're asking me to go against my life-long convictions. As your father, I forbid you to entertain such ideas—(he breaks off, choking). Don't speak of them, don't think of them!(TIMOTHY FARRELL Steps inside the doorway, upper right, followed byBERT, and after a few moments by DR. JONATHAN.)TIMOTHY. Excuse me sir, but you asked me to be letting you know if I heard anything. There's a meeting called for tonight, and they'll strike on Monday morning. It's certain I am, from the way the men are talking,—unless ye'd agree to meet the committee this afternoon and come to an understanding like.ASHER. Let them strike. If they burned down the shops this afternoon, I wouldn't stop them! (He waves TIMOTHY Off.) My boy is leaving for France, and I'm going to New York with him.TIMOTHY (with a sudden flaring up of sympathy). It's meself has a boy going, too, Mr. Pindar. And maybe it's almost the last I'll be seeing of him, this noon hour. Just a word with ye, before it's too late, sir.ASHER (suppressing him). No, let them strike!(He turns to hide his emotion and then rushes out of the door, lowerright. GEORGE and BERT come forward and stand with TIMOTHY, silentafter ASHER's dramatic exit; when TIMOTHY perceives DR. JONATHAN.)TIMOTHY. Did you see my Minnie, doctor? She went to your house.DR. JONATHAN. I met her on the street just now, and left her with Mrs. Prag.GEORGE. Prag's wife! You've been to see her?DR. JONATHAN. Yes. Her condition is serious. She needs a nurse, and Minnie volunteered.TIMOTHY. My Minnie, is it? Then she won't be going back to Newcastle.DR. JONATHAN (looking at GEORGE). She won't be going back to Newcastle.TIMOTHY. That's Minnie! (he turns to GEORGE). Well, goodbye, Mr. George,—I'll say God bless you again. (He looks at BERT.) You'll be fighting over there, the pair of you, for freedom. Have an eye on him, Sir, if you can,—give him some good advice.GEORGE (his hand on BERT'S shoulder). Bert can take care of himself, I guess. I'll be needing the advice!(He shakes hands with TIMOTHY.)CURTAIN.ACT IISCENE: A fairly large room in DR. JONATHAN's house in Foxon Falls, whichhas been converted into a laboratory. The house antedates thePINDAR mansion, having been built in the first decade of thenineteenth century, and though not large, has a certain distinctionand charm. The room has a panelled wainscoting and a carved woodenmantel, middle left, painted white, like the doors. Into thefireplace is set a Franklin stove. The windows at the rear havesmall panes; the lower sashes are raised; the tops of the hollyhocksand foxgloves in the garden bed may be seen above the window sills,and the apple trees beyond. Under the windows is a long table, onwhich are chemical apparatus. A white enamelled sink is in the rearright corner. The walls are whitewashed, the wooden floor bare. Adoor, left, in the rear, leads into DR. JONATHAN'S office; another,middle right, into a little front hall.TIME: A July morning, 1918.MINNIE FARRELL, in the white costume worn by nurses and laboratoryworkers, is at the bench, pouring liquid into a test tube andholding its up to the light, when DR. JONATHAN enters from theright.DR. JONATHAN. Has anyone been in, Minnie?MINNIE (turning, with the test tube in her hand). Now, what a question to ask, Dr. Jonathan! Was there ever a morning or afternoon that somebody didn't stray in here with their troubles? (Fiercely.) They don't think a scientist has a real job,—they don't understand, if you put this across—(she holds up the test tube)—you'll save the lives of thousands of soldiers, and a few ordinary folks, too, I guess. But you won't let me tell anyone.DR. JONATHAN. It will be time enough to tell them when we do put it across.MINNIE. But we're going to,—that is, you're going to.DR. JONATHAN. You're too modest, Minnie.MINNIE. Me modest! But what makes me sore is that they don't give you a chance to put this thing across. Dr. Senn's a back number, and if they're sick they come here and expect you to cure 'em for nothing.DR. JONATHAN. But they can't complain if I don't cure them.MINNIE. And half the time they ain't sick at all,—they only imagine it.DR. JONATHAN. Well, that's interesting too,—part of a doctor's business. It's pretty hard to tell in these days where the body ends and the soul begins.MINNIE. It looks like you're cutting out the minister, too. You'd ought to be getting his salary.DR. JONATHAN. Then I'd have to do his job.MINNIE. I get you—you'd be paid to give 'em all the same brand of dope. You wouldn't be free.DR. JONATHAN. To experiment.MINNIE. You couldn't be a scientist. Say, every time I meet the minister I want to cry, he says to himself, “She ran away from Jesus and went to the bad. What right has she got to be happy?” And Mrs. Pindar's just the same. If you leave the straight and narrow path you can't never get back—they keep pushing you off.DR. JONATHAN (who has started to work at the bench). I've always had my doubts about your sins, Minnie.MINNIE. Oh, I was a sinner, all right, they'll never get that out of their craniums. But being a sinner isn't a patch on being a scientist! It's nearly a year now since you took me in. The time's flown! When I was in the Pindar Shops, and in the Wire Works at Newcastle I could always beat the other girls to the Main Street when the whistle blew, but now I'm sorry when night comes. I can't hardly wait to get back here—honest to God! Say, Dr. Jonathan, I've found out one thing,—it's being in the right place that keeps a man or a woman straight. If you're in the wrong place, all the religion in the world won't help you. If you're doing work you like, that you've got an interest in, and that's some use, you don't need religion (she pauses). Why, that's religion,—it ain't preaching and praying and reciting creeds, it's doing—it's fun. There's no reason why religion oughtn't to be fun, is there?DR. JONATHAN. None at all!MINNIE. Now, if we could get everybody in the right job, we wouldn't have any more wars, I guess.DR. JONATHAN. The millennium always keeps a lap ahead—we never catch up with it.MINNIE. Well, I don't want to catch up with it. We wouldn't have anything more to do. Say, it's nearly eleven o'clock—would you believe it?—and I've been expecting Mr. Pindar to walk in here with the newspaper. I forgot he was in Washington.DR. JONATHAN. He was expected home this morning.MINNIE. What gets me is the way he hangs around here, too, like everybody else, and yet I've heard him call you a Socialist, and swear he hasn't any use for Socialists.DR. JONATHAN. Perhaps he's trying to find out what a Socialist is. Nobody seems to know.MINNIE. He don't know, anyway. If it hadn't been for you, his shops would have been closed down last winter.DR. JONATHAN. It looks as if they'd be closed down now, anyway.MINNIE (concerned, looking up). Is that so? Well, he won't recognize the union—he doesn't know what century he's living in. But he's human, all the same, and he's good to the people he's fond of, like my father,—and he sure loves George. He's got George's letters all wore out, reading them, to people. (A pause.) He don't know where George is, does he, Dr. Jonathan?DR. JONATHAN. Somewhere in France.MINNIE. We spotted Bert because he's with the Marines, at that place where they put a crimp in the Huns the other day when they were going to walk into Paris.DR. JONATHAN. Chateau-Thierry.MINNIE. I'll leave it to you. But say, Dr. Jonathan, things don't look good to me,—I'm scared we won't get enough of our boys over there before the deal's closed up. I've got so I don't want to look at a paper.(A brief silence.)I never told you George wrote me a couple of letters, did I?DR. JONATHAN. No, I'm quite sure you didn't.MINNIE. I never told nobody. His father and mother would be wild if they knew it. I didn't answer them—I just sent him two post cards with no writing on except the address—just pictures.DR. JONATHAN. Pictures?MINNIE. One of the Pindar Church and the Other of the Pindar Shops. I guess he'll understand they were from me, all right. You see, when I ran away from the Pindar Shops and the Pindar Church—I always connect them together—I was stuck on George. That's why I ran away.DR. JONATHAN. I see.MINNIE. Oh, I never let him know. I don't know why I told you—I had to tell somebody,—and you won't give me away.DR. JONATHAN. You may count on me.MINNIE. He didn't care nothing about me, really. But you can't help liking George. He's human, all right! If he was boss of the Pindar Shops there wouldn't be any strike.(A knock at the door, right.)I wonder who's butting in now!(She goes to the door and jerks it open.)(A man's voice, without.) Good morning, Miss Farrell. Is the doctorin?MINNIE. This is his busy day.DR. JONATHAN (going toward the door). Oh, it's you, Hillman. Come in.MINNIE. I guess I'll go for the mail.(With a resigned expression she goes oust right as HILLMAN comes in,followed by RENCH and FERSEN. They are the strike committee.HILLMAN is a little man, with red hair and a stiff, bristling redmoustache. He holds himself erect, and walks on the balls of hisfeet, quietly. RENCH is tall and thin, with a black moustache,like a seal's. He has a loud, nasal voice, and an assertive manner.FERSEN is a blond Swede.)(DR. JONATHAN puts one or two objects in place on the bench. Hismanner is casual but cordial, despite the portentous air of theCommittee.)(The men, their hats in their hands, go toward the bench and inspectthe test tubes and apparatus.)RENCH (New England twang). Always manage to have something on hand when you ain't busy with the folks, doctor. It must be interestin' to fool with these here chemicals.DR. JONATHAN. It keeps me out of mischief.HILLMAN. I guess you haven't much time to get into mischief.FERSEN. We don't like to bother you.DR. JONATHAN. No bother, Fersen,—sit down. (He draws forward some chairs, and they sit down.) How is the baby?FERSEN. Oh, she is fine, now, since we keep her outside in the baby carriage, like you tell us.
(As he starts to go out he halts and looks at DR. JONATHAN again,and then abruptly leaves the room, lower right, following the MAID.)
GEORGE (who has been regarding DR. JONATHAN: after a moment's hesitation). You seem to think there's something to be said for the workman's attitude, Dr. Jonathan.
DR. JONATHAN. What is his attitude, George?
GEORGE. Well, you heard Bert just now. I thought he had poor old dad on the hip when he accused the employer of holding up the war, too. But after all, what labour is after is more money, isn't it? and they're taking advantage of a critical situation to get it. And when they get money, most of them blow it in on sprees.
DR. JONATHAN. George, what are you going to France to fight for?
GEORGE. Germany's insulted our flag, murdered our people on the high seas and wants to boss the world.
DR. JONATHAN (smiling). The issue, then, is human freedom.
GEORGE. Sure thing!
DR. JONATHAN. And you think every man and woman in this country is reasonably free?
GEORGE. Every man can rise if he has the ability.
DR. JONATHAN. What do you mean by rise?
GEORGE. He can make money, set up for himself and be his own boss.
DR. JONATHAN. In other words, he can become free.
GEORGE (grinning). I suppose that's one way of putting it.
DR. JONATHAN. Money gives him freedom, doesn't it? Money gave you yours,—to go to school and college until you were twenty four, and get an education,—such as it was.
GEORGE. Such as it was!
DR. JONATHAN. Money gave you the choice of engaging in an occupation in which you could take an interest and a pride, and enabled you occasionally to go on a spree, if you ever went on a spree, George.
GEORGE. Once in awhile.
DR. JONATHAN. But this craving for amusement, for excitement and adventure isn't peculiar to you and me. Workingmen have it too,—and working girls.
GEORGE. You're a wise guy, I guess.
DR. JONATHAN. Oh no,—not that! But I've found out that you and I are not so very different from Timothy Farrell and his children,—Bert and Jamesy and—Minnie.
GEORGE (startled, and looking around to follow DR. JONATHAN'S glance toward the windows). What do you know about them?
DR. JONATHAN. Oh, nothing at first hand. But I can see why Bert's going to the war, and why Jamesy took to drink, and why Minnie left Foxon Falls.
GEORGE. The deuce you can!
DR. JONATHAN. And so can you, George. When you get back from France you will know what you have been fighting for.
GEORGE. And what's that?
DR. JONATHAN. Economic freedom, without which political freedom is a farce. Industrial democracy.
GEORGE. Industrial democracy! Well, it wasn't included in my education at Harvard.
DR. JONATHAN. Our education begins, unfortunately, after we leave Harvard,—with Bert and Jamesy and Minnie. And here's Minnie, now!
GEORGE (hastily). I'll beat it! Mother wants to talk to her.
DR. JONATHAN (his hand on GEORGE'S arm). No,—wait.
(Enter, lower right, AUGUSTA, followed by MINNIE FARRELL. MINNIE,AUGUSTA'S back being turned toward her, gives GEORGE a wink, whichhe acknowledges, and then glances toward DR. JONATHAN. AUGUSTA,with her knitting, seats herself in an armchair. Her attitude issomewhat inquisitorial; her tone, as she addresses MINNIE, non-committal. She is clearly offended by MINNIE'S poise and good-natured self-assertion.)
AUGUSTA. You remember Mr. Pindar, Minnie.
MINNIE (demurely). Glad to meet you again, Mr. Pindar. I hear you're going off to the war. Well, that's great.
GEORGE (squeezing her hand; she winces a little). Oh, yes,-I remember Minnie.
AUGUSTA. And this is Dr. Jonathan Pindar.
MINNIE (who has been eyeing DR. JONATHAN as a possible enemy; with reserve). Glad to meet you, I'm sure.
DR. JONATHAN (smiling at her as he takes her hand). The pleasure is—mutual.
MINNIE (puzzled, but somewhat reassured). Glad to meet you.
DR. JONATHAN. I've come to live in Foxon Falls. I hope we'll be friends.
MINNIE. I hope so. I'm going back to Newcastle this afternoon, there's nothing doing here.
DR. JONATHAN. Would you stay, if there were something doing?
MINNIE. I—I don't know. What would I be doing here?
AUGUSTA (disapprovingly, surveying, MINNIE'S costume). I don't think I should have recognized you, Minnie.
MINNIE. City life agrees with me, Mrs. Pindar. But I needed a little rest cure, and I came to see what the village looked like.
DR. JONATHAN. A sort of sentimental journey, Minnie.
MINNIE (flashing a look at GEORGE, and another at DR. JONATHAN). Well, you might call it that. I get you.
AUGUSTA. Minnie, what church do you attend in Newcastle?
MINNIE. Well, I haven't got a seat in any particular church, Mrs. Pindar.
AUGUSTA. I didn't expect you to go to the expense of getting a seat. I hope you delivered the letter our minister gave you to the minister of the First Church in Newcastle.
MINNIE. No, I didn't, Mrs. Pindar, and that's the truth. I never went near a church.
AUGUSTA (drily). It's a pity you ever went to Newcastle, I think.
MINNIE. It's some town! Every time you ride into it you see a big sign, “Welcome to Newcastle, population one hundred and six thousand, and growing every day. Goodbye, and thank you!”
AUGUSTA (knitting). You drive about in automobiles!
MINNIE. Oh, sometimes I get a joy ride.
AUGUSTA. It grieves me to hear you talk in this way. I knew you were pleasure loving, I thought I saw certain tendencies in you, yet you seemed to realize the grace of religion when you were in my Bible class. Your brother Jamesy took to drink—
MINNIE. And I took to religion. You meant to be kind, Mrs. Pindar, and I thank you. But now I know why Jamesy took to drink—it was for the same reason I took to religion.
AUGUSTA (scandalized). Minnie!
MINNIE. We were both trying to be free, to escape.
AUGUSTA. To escape? From what?
MINNIE (with a gesture indicating futility). I guess it would be pretty hard to get it across to you, Mrs. Pindar. But I was working ten hours a day packing tools in your shops, and all you gave me when the whistle blew was—Jesus.
(A pause: GEORGE takes a step toward her.)
Jamesy took to drink, and I took to Jesus. I'm not saying anything against Him. He had His life, but I wanted mine. Maybe He would have understood.
(Turning impulsively toward DR. JONATHAN.)
I've got a hunch that you understand.
AUGUSTA. Minnie, I can't let you talk about religion in this way in my presence.
MINNIE. I'm sorry, Mrs. Pindar, I knew it wasn't no use to come and see you,—I told father so.
AUGUSTA. I suppose, if you're determined to continue this life of—(she catches herself) I can't stop you.
MINNIE (flaring up). What life? Don't worry about me, Mrs. Pindar,—I get twenty five dollars a week at the Shale Works making barb wire to trip up the Huns with,—enough to get nice clothes—(she glances down at her dress) and buy good food, and have a good time on the side.
AUGUSTA (whose conceptions of what she believes to be MINNIE's kind are completely upset). You still work?
MINNIE. Work! Sure I work. I wouldn't let any man get a strangle hold on me. And I don't kick at a little overtime, neither. I'm working for what he's going to fight for—(indicating GEORGE) it ain't for myself only, but for everybody that ain't been free, all over the world. (To DR. JONATHAN.) Ain't that right? (She does not wait for his nod of approval.) I was just saying this morning—(she looks toward GEORGE and catches herself)—I've been wishing all along I could do more—go as a nurse for some of the boys.
AUGUSTA. A nurse!
MINNIE (to DR. JONATHAN). If I was a man, I'd have been a doctor, like you. Sick people don't bother me, I give myself to 'em. Before mother died, when she was sick, she always said I'd ought to have been a nurse. (A pause.) Well, I guess I'll go along. The foreman only give me a couple of days off to see the old home town.
GEORGE. Hold on, Minnie.
MINNIE. What is it?
GEORGE (to AUGUSTA). Minnie and I are old friends, mother.
AUGUSTA. Old friends?
GEORGE. Yes. I knew her—very well before she went away from Foxon Falls, and I went to Newcastle and took her out for a drive in my car.
MINNIE (vehemently). No, you never.
GEORGE. Why do you deny it?
MINNIE. There's nothing to it.
AUGUSTA (aghast). George!
GEORGE. Well, it's true. I'm not ashamed of it, though Minnie appears to be.
MINNIE (on the verge of tears). If you wasn't ashamed, why didn't you tell, her before? I'm not ashamed of it, neither. It was natural.
AUGUSTA (after a pause, with a supreme effort to meet the situation). Well, I suppose men are different. But there's no excuse for you, after all I tried to do for you.
MINNIE. Thank God men are different!
(AUGUSTA rises. The ball of wool drops to the floor again, and DR.JONATHAN picks it up.)
GEORGE. Mother, I'd like to tell you about it. You don't understand.
AUGUSTA. I'm afraid I do understand, dear.
(As she leaves the room, with dignity, GEORGE glances appealingly atDR. JONATHAN.)
DR. JONATHAN (going up to MINNIE and taking her hand). Do you think you'd have time to drop in to see me, Minnie, before your train goes?
MINNIE (gazing at him; after a moment). Sure! I guess I'd like to talk to you.
DR. JONATHAN. It's the little white house across the Common.
MINNIE. Oh, I know, that's been shut up all these years.
DR. JONATHAN. And is open now again.
(He goes out, lower right, and there is a brief silence as the twolook after him.)
MINNIE. Say, who is he?
GEORGE. Why, he's a cousin of mine—
MINNIE. I don't mean that. He's somebody, ain't he?
GEORGE. By jingo, I'm beginning to think he is!
(They stand gazing at one another.)
MINNIE (remembering her grievance: passionately). Now you've gone and done it—telling your mother we were friends.
GEORGE. But we are—aren't we? You couldn't expect me to keep quiet, under the circumstances.
MINNIE. She thinks I'm not fit to talk to you. Not that I care, except that I was fond of her, she's been good to me in her way, and I felt real bad when I went off to Newcastle with the letter to the minister I never laid eyes on. She'll believe—you know what she'll believe,—it'll trouble her. She's your mother, and you're going away. You might have kept still.
GEORGE. I couldn't keep still. What would you have thought of me?
MINNIE. It don't make any difference what I'd have thought of you.
GEORGE. It makes a difference to me, and it makes some difference what I think of myself. I seem to be learning a good many things this morning.
MINNIE. From him?
GEORGE: You mean Dr. Jonathan?
MINNIE. Yes.
GEORGE (reflecting). I don't know. I'm learning them from you, from everybody.
MINNIE. Maybe he put you wise.
GEORGE. Well, I don't feel wise. And seeing you again this morning brought it all back to me.
MINNIE. You were only fooling.
GEORGE. I began that way,—I'll own up. But I told you I'd never met a girl like you, you're full of pep—courage—something I can't describe. I was crazy about you,—that's straight,—but I didn't realize it until you ran off, and then I went after you,—but it was no good! I don't claim to have been square with you, and I've been thinking—well, that I'm responsible.
MINNIE. Responsible for what?
GEORGE. Well-for your throwing yourself away down there at Newcastle. You're too good.
MINNIE (with heat). Throwing myself away?
GEORGE. Didn't you? Didn't you break loose?—have a good time?
MINNIE. Why wouldn't I have a good time? That's what you were having,—a good time with me,—wasn't it? And say, did you ever stop to think what one day of a working girl's life was like?
GEORGE. One day?
MINNIE. With an alarm clock scaring you out of sweet dreams in the winter, while it's dark, and you get up and dress in the cold and heat a little coffee over a lamp and beat it for the factory,—and stand on your feet all morning, in a noise that would deafen you, feeding a thing you ain't got no interest in? It don't never need no rest! By eleven o'clock you think you're all in, that the morning'll never end, but at noon you get a twenty five cent feed that lasts you until about five in the afternoon,—and then you don't know which way the machine's headed. I've often thought of one of them cutters at Shale's as a sort of monster, watching you all day, waiting to get you when you're too tired to care. (Dreamily.) When it looks all blurred, and you want to put your hand in it.
GEORGE. Good God, Minnie!
MINNIE. And when the whistle blows at night all you have is your little hall bedroom in a rooming house that smells of stale smoke and cabbage. There's no place to go except the streets—but you've just got to go somewhere, to break loose and have a little fun,—even though you're so tired you want to throw yourself on the bed and cry.
(A pause.)
Maybe it's because you're tired. When you're tired that way is when you want a good time most. It's funny, but it's so.
(A pause.)
You ain't got no friends except a few girls with hall bedrooms like yourself, and if a chance comes along for a little excitement, you don't turn it down, I guess.
GEORGE (after a pause). I never knew what your life was like.
MINNIE. Why would you?—with friends, and everything you want, only to buy it? But since the war come on, I tell you, I ain't kicking, I can go to a movie or the theatre once in a while, and buy nice clothes, and I don't get so tired as I used to. I don't want nothing from anybody, I can take care of myself. It's money that makes you free.
GEORGE. Money!
MINNIE. When I looked into this room this morning and saw you standing here in your uniform, I says to myself, “He's changed.” Not that you wasn't kind and good natured and generous, George, but you didn't know. How could you? You'd never had a chance to learn anything!
GEORGE (bitterly, yet smiling in spite of himself). That's so!
MINNIE. I remember that first night I ran into you,—I was coming home from your shops, and you made love to me right off the bat! And after that we used to meet by the watering trough on the Lindon road. We were kids then. And it didn't make no difference how tired I was, I'd get over it as soon as I saw you. You were the live wire!
GEORGE. Minnie, tell me, what made you come back to Foxon Falls today?
(He seizes her hand.)
MINNIE (struggling). Don't, George,—don't go and be foolish again!
(The shop whistle blows. She pulls away from him and backs towardthe doorway, upper right.)
There's the noon whistle! Goodbye, I'll be thinking of you, over there.
GEORGE. I'll write to you. Will you write to me, Minnie?
MINNIE (shaking her head). Don't lose any sleep about me. Good luck, George!
(She goes to the doorway, upper right, turns, kisses her hand toGEORGE and disappears. He goes to the doorway and gazes after her;presently he raises his hand and waves in answer to another signal,and smiles. He remains there until MINNIE is out of sight, and thenis about to come back into the room when a man appears on thesidewalk, seen through the windows. The man is PRAG. He is a gauntworkman, with high cheek bones and a rather fanatical light in hisblue eyes. He stands motionless, gazing at the house.)
GEORGE (calling). Do you want anything, Prag?
PRAG. I joost come to look at your house, where you live. It is no harm, is it?
GEORGE. None at all.
(PRAG continues to stare at the house, and GEORGE obeys a suddenimpulse.)
Won't you come in, Prag?
PRAG (looking fixedly at the house). No, I stay here.
GEORGE. Come in a while,—don't be unsociable.
(PRAG crosses the lawn and enters, upper right. He surveys the roomcuriously, defiantly, and then GEORGE in uniform, as he cones downthe stage.)
You're not working today?
PRAG (with bitter gloom). I lose my job, you don't hear? No, it is nothings to you, and you go away to fight for liberty,—ain't it?
GEORGE. How did you lose your job?
PRAG. The foreman come to me last night and says, “Prag I hear you belong to the union. You gets out.”
GEORGE (after a moment's hesitation). But—there are plenty of other jobs these days. You can go down to the coast and get more than five dollars a day at a shipyard.
PRAG. It is easy, yes, when you have a little home bought already, and mortgaged, and childrens who go to school here, and a wife a long time sick.
GEORGE. I'm sorry. But weren't you getting along all right here, except your wife's illness? I don't want to be impertinent,—I recognize that it's your affair, but I'd like to know why you joined the union.
PRAG. Why is it you join the army? To fight for somethings you would give your life for—not so? Und you are a soldier,—would you run away from your comrades to live safe and happy? No! That is like me. I lose my job, I go away from my wife and childrens, but it is not for me, it is for all, to get better things for all,—freedoms for all.
GEORGE. Then—you think this isn't a free country.
PRAG. When I sail up the harbour at New York twenty years ago and see that Liberty shining in the sun, I think so, yes. But now I know, for the workmens, she is like the Iron Woman of Nuremberg, with her spikes when she holds you in her arms. You call me a traitor, yes, when I say that.
GEORGE. No—I want to understand.
PRAG. I am born in Bavaria, but I am as good an American as any,—better than you, because I know what I fight for, what I suffer for. I am not afraid of the Junkers here,—I have spirits,—but the Germans at home have no spirits. You think you fight for freedoms, for democracy, but you fight for this! (He waves his hand to indicate the room.) If I had a million dollars, maybe I fight for it, too,—I don't know.
GEORGE. So you think I'm going to fight for this—for money?
PRAG. Are you going to fight for me, for the workmens and their childrens? No, you want to keep your money, to make more of it from your war contracts. It is for the capitalist system you fight.
GEORGE. Come, now, capital has some rights.
PRAG. I know this, that capital is power. What is the workmen's vote against it? against your newspapers and your system? America, she will not be free until your money power is broken. You don't like kings and emperors, no,—you say to us workmens, you are not patriots, you are traitors if you do not work and fight to win this war for democracy against kings. Are we fools that we should worry about kings? Kings will fall of themselves. Now you can put me in jail.
GEORGE. I don't want to put you in jail, God knows! How would you manage it?
PRAG. Why does not the employer say to his workmens, “This is our war, yours and mines. Here is my contract, here is my profits, we will have no secrets, we will work together and talk together and win the war together to make the world brighter for our childrens.” Und then we workmens say, “Yes, we will work night and day so hard as we can, because we are free mens.”
(A fanatical gleams comes into his eyes.)
But your employer, he don't say that,—no. He says, “This is my contract, this is my shop, and if you join the unions to get your freedoms you cannot work with me, you are traitors!”
(He rises to a frenzy of exaltation.)
After this there will be another war, and the capitalists will be swept away like the kings!
(He pauses; GEORGE is silent.)
Und now I go away, and maybe my wife she die before I get to the shipyard at Newcastle.
(He goes slowly out, upper right, and GEORGE does not attempt tostay him. Enter ASHER, lower right.)
ASHER. I've just called up the Department in Washington and given them a piece of my mind—told 'em they'd have to conscript labour. Damn these unions, making all this trouble, and especially today, when you're going off. I haven't had a chance to talk to you. Well, you know that I'm proud of you, my boy. Your grandfather went off to the Civil War when he was just about your age.
GEORGE. And he knew what he was going to fight for.
ASHER. What?
GEORGE. I thought I knew, this morning. Now I'm not so sure.
ASHER. You say that, when Germany intended to come over here and crush us, when she got through with the Allies.
GEORGE. No, it's not so simple as that, dad, it's bigger than that.
ASHER. Who's been talking to you? Jonathan Pindar? I wish to God he'd never come to Foxon Falls! I might have known what his opinions would be, with his inheritance. (Reproachfully.) I didn't suppose you could be so easily influenced by sentimentalism, George, I'd hoped you'd got over that.
GEORGE. Are you sure it's sentimentalism, dad? Dr. Jonathan didn't say much, but I'll admit he started me thinking. I've begun to realize a few things—
ASHER. What things?
GEORGE (glancing at the clock on the mantel). I haven't got time to tell you,—I'm afraid I couldn't make it clear, anyway,—it isn't clear in my own mind yet. But,—go slow with this labour business, dad, there's dynamite in it.
ASHER. Dynamite?
GEORGE. Human dynamite. They're full of it,—we're full of it, too, I guess. They're not so different from you and me, though I'll admit that many of them are ignorant, prejudiced and bitter. But this row isn't just the result of restlessness and discontent,—that's the smoke, but the fire's there, too. I've heard enough this morning to be convinced that they're struggling for something fundamental, that has to do with human progress,—the issue behind the war. It's obscured now, in the smoke. Now if that's so you can't ignore it, dad, you can't suppress it, the only thing to do is to sit down with them and try to understand it. If they've got a case, if the union has come to stay, recognize it and deal with it.
ASHER. You—you, my son, are not advising me to recognize the union! To give our employees a voice in our private affairs!
GEORGE (courageously). But is the war our private affair, dad? Hasn't it changed things already?
(ASHER makes a gesture of pain, of repudiation. GEORGE approacheshim appealingly.)
Dad, you know how much we've always been to each other, I'd hate to have any misunderstanding between us,—especially today. I've always accepted your judgment. But I'm over twenty one, I'm going to fight this war, I've got to make up my own mind about it.
ASHER (extending his arms and putting his hands on GEORGE'S shoulders). Something's upset you today, my boy,—you don't know what you're saying. When you get over there and take command of your men you'll see things in a truer proportion.
GEORGE. No, I can't leave it this way, dad. I've come to feel this thing, it's got hold of me now, I shan't change. And I'll be thinking of it over there, all the time, if we don't talk it out.
ASHER. For God's sake, George, don't speak of it again,—don't think of it! There's no sacrifice I wouldn't make for you, in reason, but you're asking me to go against my life-long convictions. As your father, I forbid you to entertain such ideas—(he breaks off, choking). Don't speak of them, don't think of them!
(TIMOTHY FARRELL Steps inside the doorway, upper right, followed byBERT, and after a few moments by DR. JONATHAN.)
TIMOTHY. Excuse me sir, but you asked me to be letting you know if I heard anything. There's a meeting called for tonight, and they'll strike on Monday morning. It's certain I am, from the way the men are talking,—unless ye'd agree to meet the committee this afternoon and come to an understanding like.
ASHER. Let them strike. If they burned down the shops this afternoon, I wouldn't stop them! (He waves TIMOTHY Off.) My boy is leaving for France, and I'm going to New York with him.
TIMOTHY (with a sudden flaring up of sympathy). It's meself has a boy going, too, Mr. Pindar. And maybe it's almost the last I'll be seeing of him, this noon hour. Just a word with ye, before it's too late, sir.
ASHER (suppressing him). No, let them strike!
(He turns to hide his emotion and then rushes out of the door, lowerright. GEORGE and BERT come forward and stand with TIMOTHY, silentafter ASHER's dramatic exit; when TIMOTHY perceives DR. JONATHAN.)
TIMOTHY. Did you see my Minnie, doctor? She went to your house.
DR. JONATHAN. I met her on the street just now, and left her with Mrs. Prag.
GEORGE. Prag's wife! You've been to see her?
DR. JONATHAN. Yes. Her condition is serious. She needs a nurse, and Minnie volunteered.
TIMOTHY. My Minnie, is it? Then she won't be going back to Newcastle.
DR. JONATHAN (looking at GEORGE). She won't be going back to Newcastle.
TIMOTHY. That's Minnie! (he turns to GEORGE). Well, goodbye, Mr. George,—I'll say God bless you again. (He looks at BERT.) You'll be fighting over there, the pair of you, for freedom. Have an eye on him, Sir, if you can,—give him some good advice.
GEORGE (his hand on BERT'S shoulder). Bert can take care of himself, I guess. I'll be needing the advice!
(He shakes hands with TIMOTHY.)CURTAIN.
SCENE: A fairly large room in DR. JONATHAN's house in Foxon Falls, whichhas been converted into a laboratory. The house antedates thePINDAR mansion, having been built in the first decade of thenineteenth century, and though not large, has a certain distinctionand charm. The room has a panelled wainscoting and a carved woodenmantel, middle left, painted white, like the doors. Into thefireplace is set a Franklin stove. The windows at the rear havesmall panes; the lower sashes are raised; the tops of the hollyhocksand foxgloves in the garden bed may be seen above the window sills,and the apple trees beyond. Under the windows is a long table, onwhich are chemical apparatus. A white enamelled sink is in the rearright corner. The walls are whitewashed, the wooden floor bare. Adoor, left, in the rear, leads into DR. JONATHAN'S office; another,middle right, into a little front hall.
TIME: A July morning, 1918.
MINNIE FARRELL, in the white costume worn by nurses and laboratoryworkers, is at the bench, pouring liquid into a test tube andholding its up to the light, when DR. JONATHAN enters from theright.
DR. JONATHAN. Has anyone been in, Minnie?
MINNIE (turning, with the test tube in her hand). Now, what a question to ask, Dr. Jonathan! Was there ever a morning or afternoon that somebody didn't stray in here with their troubles? (Fiercely.) They don't think a scientist has a real job,—they don't understand, if you put this across—(she holds up the test tube)—you'll save the lives of thousands of soldiers, and a few ordinary folks, too, I guess. But you won't let me tell anyone.
DR. JONATHAN. It will be time enough to tell them when we do put it across.
MINNIE. But we're going to,—that is, you're going to.
DR. JONATHAN. You're too modest, Minnie.
MINNIE. Me modest! But what makes me sore is that they don't give you a chance to put this thing across. Dr. Senn's a back number, and if they're sick they come here and expect you to cure 'em for nothing.
DR. JONATHAN. But they can't complain if I don't cure them.
MINNIE. And half the time they ain't sick at all,—they only imagine it.
DR. JONATHAN. Well, that's interesting too,—part of a doctor's business. It's pretty hard to tell in these days where the body ends and the soul begins.
MINNIE. It looks like you're cutting out the minister, too. You'd ought to be getting his salary.
DR. JONATHAN. Then I'd have to do his job.
MINNIE. I get you—you'd be paid to give 'em all the same brand of dope. You wouldn't be free.
DR. JONATHAN. To experiment.
MINNIE. You couldn't be a scientist. Say, every time I meet the minister I want to cry, he says to himself, “She ran away from Jesus and went to the bad. What right has she got to be happy?” And Mrs. Pindar's just the same. If you leave the straight and narrow path you can't never get back—they keep pushing you off.
DR. JONATHAN (who has started to work at the bench). I've always had my doubts about your sins, Minnie.
MINNIE. Oh, I was a sinner, all right, they'll never get that out of their craniums. But being a sinner isn't a patch on being a scientist! It's nearly a year now since you took me in. The time's flown! When I was in the Pindar Shops, and in the Wire Works at Newcastle I could always beat the other girls to the Main Street when the whistle blew, but now I'm sorry when night comes. I can't hardly wait to get back here—honest to God! Say, Dr. Jonathan, I've found out one thing,—it's being in the right place that keeps a man or a woman straight. If you're in the wrong place, all the religion in the world won't help you. If you're doing work you like, that you've got an interest in, and that's some use, you don't need religion (she pauses). Why, that's religion,—it ain't preaching and praying and reciting creeds, it's doing—it's fun. There's no reason why religion oughtn't to be fun, is there?
DR. JONATHAN. None at all!
MINNIE. Now, if we could get everybody in the right job, we wouldn't have any more wars, I guess.
DR. JONATHAN. The millennium always keeps a lap ahead—we never catch up with it.
MINNIE. Well, I don't want to catch up with it. We wouldn't have anything more to do. Say, it's nearly eleven o'clock—would you believe it?—and I've been expecting Mr. Pindar to walk in here with the newspaper. I forgot he was in Washington.
DR. JONATHAN. He was expected home this morning.
MINNIE. What gets me is the way he hangs around here, too, like everybody else, and yet I've heard him call you a Socialist, and swear he hasn't any use for Socialists.
DR. JONATHAN. Perhaps he's trying to find out what a Socialist is. Nobody seems to know.
MINNIE. He don't know, anyway. If it hadn't been for you, his shops would have been closed down last winter.
DR. JONATHAN. It looks as if they'd be closed down now, anyway.
MINNIE (concerned, looking up). Is that so? Well, he won't recognize the union—he doesn't know what century he's living in. But he's human, all the same, and he's good to the people he's fond of, like my father,—and he sure loves George. He's got George's letters all wore out, reading them, to people. (A pause.) He don't know where George is, does he, Dr. Jonathan?
DR. JONATHAN. Somewhere in France.
MINNIE. We spotted Bert because he's with the Marines, at that place where they put a crimp in the Huns the other day when they were going to walk into Paris.
DR. JONATHAN. Chateau-Thierry.
MINNIE. I'll leave it to you. But say, Dr. Jonathan, things don't look good to me,—I'm scared we won't get enough of our boys over there before the deal's closed up. I've got so I don't want to look at a paper.
(A brief silence.)
I never told you George wrote me a couple of letters, did I?
DR. JONATHAN. No, I'm quite sure you didn't.
MINNIE. I never told nobody. His father and mother would be wild if they knew it. I didn't answer them—I just sent him two post cards with no writing on except the address—just pictures.
DR. JONATHAN. Pictures?
MINNIE. One of the Pindar Church and the Other of the Pindar Shops. I guess he'll understand they were from me, all right. You see, when I ran away from the Pindar Shops and the Pindar Church—I always connect them together—I was stuck on George. That's why I ran away.
DR. JONATHAN. I see.
MINNIE. Oh, I never let him know. I don't know why I told you—I had to tell somebody,—and you won't give me away.
DR. JONATHAN. You may count on me.
MINNIE. He didn't care nothing about me, really. But you can't help liking George. He's human, all right! If he was boss of the Pindar Shops there wouldn't be any strike.
(A knock at the door, right.)
I wonder who's butting in now!
(She goes to the door and jerks it open.)(A man's voice, without.) Good morning, Miss Farrell. Is the doctorin?
MINNIE. This is his busy day.
DR. JONATHAN (going toward the door). Oh, it's you, Hillman. Come in.
MINNIE. I guess I'll go for the mail.
(With a resigned expression she goes oust right as HILLMAN comes in,followed by RENCH and FERSEN. They are the strike committee.HILLMAN is a little man, with red hair and a stiff, bristling redmoustache. He holds himself erect, and walks on the balls of hisfeet, quietly. RENCH is tall and thin, with a black moustache,like a seal's. He has a loud, nasal voice, and an assertive manner.FERSEN is a blond Swede.)(DR. JONATHAN puts one or two objects in place on the bench. Hismanner is casual but cordial, despite the portentous air of theCommittee.)(The men, their hats in their hands, go toward the bench and inspectthe test tubes and apparatus.)
RENCH (New England twang). Always manage to have something on hand when you ain't busy with the folks, doctor. It must be interestin' to fool with these here chemicals.
DR. JONATHAN. It keeps me out of mischief.
HILLMAN. I guess you haven't much time to get into mischief.
FERSEN. We don't like to bother you.
DR. JONATHAN. No bother, Fersen,—sit down. (He draws forward some chairs, and they sit down.) How is the baby?
FERSEN. Oh, she is fine, now, since we keep her outside in the baby carriage, like you tell us.