The Project Gutenberg etext of Class or '29, by Orrie Lashin and Milo Hastings

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WINTERSET, by Maxwell Anderson.
YELLOW JACK, by Sidney Howard and Paul de Kruif.
THREE MEN ON A HORSE, by John Cecil Holm and George Abbott.
CLASS OF '29, by Orrie Lashin and Milo Hastings.
ETHAN FROME, by Owen and Donald Davis.
THE PETRIFIED FOREST, by Robert E. Sherwood.
AROUND THE CORNER, by Martin Flavin.
BOY MEETS GIRL, by Bella and Samuel Spewack.
AGED 26, by Anne Crawford Flexner.
A HOUSE IN THE COUNTRY, by Melvin Levy.
SEEN BUT NOT HEARD, by Marie Baumer and Martin Berkeley.
SPRING SONG, by Bella and Samuel Spewack.
DAUGHTERS OF ATREUS, by Robert Turney.
WE THE PEOPLE, by Elmer Rice.
SO PROUDLY WE HAIL, by Joseph M. Viertel.
CAPONSACCHI, by Arthur Goodrich and Rose A. Palmer.
MASSES AND MAN, by Ernst Toller.

AROUND THE CORNER, comedy In 3 acts, by Martin Flavin. This timely work, described as an "American play for the American people," has just been released. It was produced in December, 1936, on Broadway by Lodewick Vroom. Mr. Flavin's latest produced play is a dramatic picture of an average middle-class American family at grips with the recent depression. The author has adopted the viewpoint that even the dark years have their aspects of comedy, and the play is a rare mixture of character, humor and serious preachment. The play requires only one interior setting and calls for a cast of 7 men and 3 women. (Production fee quoted upon request.) Paper bound books, including prefaces by the author and Clayton Hamilton, 75 cents.

SEEN BUT NOT HEARD, melodrama in 2 acts, by Marie Baumer and Martin Berkeley. This new play was produced by D. A. Doran with International Productions, Inc., on Broadway in the fall of 1936, featuring Frankie Thomas. An entirely new twist is here given to the murder mystery, in that the authors have placed the burden of discovery upon three children whose intelligence and innocence are brought to bear on an adult problem. A most ingenious mystery play worked out, however, in terms of modern theatrical realism. The play has one interior setting and calls for 15 characters, of whom 8 are adult men and 2 young boys, and 4 adult women and one young girl. (Production fee quoted upon request.) Paper bound books, 75 cents.

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Following is a copy of the program of the original production, in New York City, May 15, 1936:

SCENE 1. A basement apartment on a Saturday afternoon about one o'clock, Fall, 1935.

This play can be produced without using Scene 2, Act I at all, and has been so produced by both Federal Theatres and nonprofessionals. This reduces the settings required to one. In case this scene is not played, then of course the characters Lucille Brown and Stanley Prescott are also omitted. The omission of this scene requires no alteration of the lines or action of any other part of the play.

DESCRIPTION OF CHARACTERS

KEN HOLDEN. A young man about 28 or 29, a graduate of Harvard. Trained as an architect. But unemployed since his graduation. He is in love with "Laura." But is very dispirited at his inability to obtain employment.

TIPPY SAYRE. About the same age as Ted. Also a graduate of Harvard. He also has been unable to find employment. But is a man of very happy-go-lucky type whom it is hard to dishearten. He is making a living by washing dogs.

TED BROOKS. Age 28. Also a Harvard graduate of the same class as the others and also unemployed since graduation. He comes of wealthy parents who lost their money in the market crash. And seems quite unable to find any work for which he is suited. And has no special training. He is being partly supported by Kate Allen who is in love with him.

MARTIN PETERSON. About the same age as the others, also a graduate of Harvard. He is an artist and is making a little money. He is also a very enthusiastic Communist.

KATE ALLEN. About the same age as the men. She is a graduate of Vassar, but although she is working she only earns a small salary, half of which she gives to Ted, with whom she is in love.

LAURA STEVENS. A pretty girl of about the same age as the others. A graduate of Vassar. She is in love with Ken Holden and is working at a salary of about $25 a week.

BISHOP HOLDEN. A bishop and typical gentleman of his calling. Ken Holden is his son.

* NOTE: These characters are not in the play in case Scene 2, Act I, is omitted.

CLASS OF '29

ACT I

The room is a large one in an old brown-stone house. The ceiling is high, the floor ancient. It serves for a sleeping as well as a living room. Off it at one end is a kitchen, at the other a small bedroom.

There is no woman's touch in the place, but in spite of its dilapidation there is a mellow and intellectual air--lent, perhaps, by the books and magazines that lie scattered about; some old college pennants on the wall; also both architectural drawings and original cartoons. There is a good architect's drawing board in use by a window and a rack containing many rolls of drawings and prints.

TED is sitting on the couch, reading an old book. He wears a once excellent but now threadbare suit.

TIPPY wears shabby old dressing gown, short. He has no trousers on. He is pressing his pants on an ironing board.

Each is silent and preoccupied, KEN makes a finishing touch with color brush, then turns his board down to a more vertical position and backs off, surveying his work.

TIPPY. H'm. Very charming. Very charming. If Comrade Stalin could see that he would order one for each member of his harem.

KEN. That's a bum joke. Not even Hearst has accused Stalin of irregularity in his private life.

KEN. What's more, this drawing's not intended for the Soviets. It's distinctly American.

TIPPY. But Ken, they like it Americanskee. They approve of the way we do our living, if not of the way we get it.

KEN. They like our gadgets. The plans I sent to Moscow were all American inside. But the exteriors were different.

TIPPY. [Slaps him on shoulder and returns to pants pressing.] Well, keep at it, old man. All things come to those who work while they wait.

TIPPY. O. K. Keep occupied. American recovery may yet prove speedier than Soviet red tape.

TIPPY. Make allowances for bureaucracy, Ken. They're in such a hurry over there they haven't time to do anything.

KEN. [Starts to remove drawing.] I don't want Martin to see this. He'd never forgive me if he knew I'd quit working on stuff for Russia.

[KEN stands aside, TED rises politely, keeping finger in place in book and looking at drawing briefly.]

[He goes back to couch and his book, KEN removes drawing and rolls it up. TIPPY finishes pants and cuts off iron, MARTIN'S voice heard in hall, singing.]

MARTIN. Belaya armeya chornee barone
Snova gotovyat nam tsarskee trone
[MARTIN enters, marching and singing.]
No ot tigee doe bretanskeye Morye
[Stamps and accents each syllable.]
Anneya krasnaya vsekh seelnaye.

TIPPY. Jesus, Martin, why don't you get Billy Rose to write a new song for the Red Army?

MARTIN. Damned pity you won't study Russian with us. You have a natural gift for languages.

TIPPY. The reason Russian is easy for me is because I never learned the alphabet.

TIPPY. [Cutting in smartly.] Krasnaya armeya pod stalom. [TIPPY hangs pants on chair back, and puts away ironing paraphernalia.]

MARTIN. I've only a few minutes. But we can do half a page. We'll never get it unless we keep at it eternally.

MARTIN. You're doing fine with the reading. It'll help you no end when you get to Russia.

MARTIN. Sure you're going to Russia. They have millions of buildings to build, and they can't train architects fast enough. [Finds place in book.]

MARTIN. Listen, Ken. Even if you don't go, you should know Russian so you can read Soviet architectural journals. The years we wasted on dead languages!--Russia's alive. They're doing things, new things, big things! Russian is the language of the next great sweep in world progress.

MARTIN. Shooting isn't news. War isn't news. War is old--atavistic, a confession of failure, evidence of retrogression. News deals with new things: progress, science, art, invention, the conquest of nature. That's real news. And where is it coming from today?

TIPPY. All right, all right. When you have learned six thousand more verbs, each with a hundred irregular forms, then you can read it in Pravda.

[TIPPY carries board out to kitchen, MARTIN sits at table, KEN with him. MARTIN finds place in book and points to a word.]

KEN. [Slowly, pronouncing all syllables in monotone, as TIPPY enters.] Al-yek-tree-feet-see-row-von-nuim ...

MARTIN. [In disgust.] Stuck on the first word. [Starts thumbing dictionary.]

[Knock on the door, TIPPY sees envelope that was stuck under it and picks it up. He is opening envelope when knock is repeated. He opens door and KATE enters.]

KATE. [Starts toward him but stops at table.] Hello, you bums. How's the Red Army?

KEN. [Rising, glad of chance to get away from book.] Tippy just put it under the table.

TIPPY. The only real American by conviction. Ted's American by innocence. He won't know there was a Russian revolution until it becomes a classic.

KATE. [Fondly] That makes him very English. [Takes TED'S book.] Is it Chaucer? Or just dear old Ben Jonson?

TED. No such luck. It's a first edition of Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises." For a man who wanted it, it's worth ten dollars.

TED. As long as ignorant people go into the secondhand book business ... It's a tedious business, but if you look over enough stalls, you're bound to pick up something.

TIPPY. I'm sorry to be sordid in this literary atmosphere, but if you really have a book worth ten bucks, you'd better sell it.

TIPPY. Well--the landlord informs us that he has a more desirable tenant who wants these quarters. He gives us till tomorrow morning to raise the rent or he will out us kick.

[KEN turns away and putters with his drawing instruments, TED goes into bedroom.]

MARTIN. [Who has been absorbed in dictionary.] Hell, it means electrification!

[Hands TIPPY eight dollars, KATE takes money out of her purse, TIPPY takes it quietly, nodding understanding.]

KATE. [With gesture toward bedroom.] If he does sell his book, take his eight dollars and hold it. He may not find a ten-dollar book next month.

TIPPY. Hell. I have no pants.... Sorry, Kate. [He grabs pants off chair and goes into bedroom.]

MARTIN. Why don't you quit it, Kate? You aren't helping Ted. You're ruining him.

MARTIN. Sold nothing!--Disguised gifts. He made the mistake of naming prices. Fooled me for a while. Then I happened to meet a real second-hand books man.

KATE. You boys need his rent. As long as you get it, why can't you treat him like a gentleman? His pride is all he's got left.

[TED re-enters. Wears different tie, good fall topcoat, not new. His hat and book in his hand.]

TED. The man I think should have this book happens to be out of town. But I know someone else who might take it. I'll go and see him.

MARTIN. Just a minute, Ted. I've just been told I'm butting in on something that's none of my business. So, having been accused, I'm going to justify it.

MARTIN. You've been imposing on Tippy here, who is too damned charitable to speak in his own behalf.

MARTIN. All right, then, I'm speaking for myself. Here is Tippy, a sanitary engineer, cashing in on his education by washing dogs. He's making a little money. But he could make a lot more if he had a place of his own.

MARTIN. You paid Ted's share of the rent last month, [KATE looks surprised.] So this month, if Ted stays here he pays not eight but sixteen dollars. And you stick eight in the savings bank for that dog laundry.

MARTIN. I'll not wait for you to think up another kind lie. God knows I don't enjoy hurting Ted. He was born and raised a capitalist and an aristocrat. Now he is a cast-off wreck of the system that made him. I hate the system, not the men it makes--and least of all the weak ones it throws into the scrap heap. [Sees that all are hurt and offended.] Damn it, I'm sorry. My infernal sense of justice got the better of me. [He goes out.]

TED. [With stolid anguish. To KATE.] I'm guilty. I took my rent money and bought this topcoat at a second-hand store.

TIPPY. That coat's an investment. You can't peddle books on Park Avenue without a topcoat.--Go along and cash in on your investment. Sell that book.

TED. I probably can--by going through another half hour as pleasant as this one. [He goes, shutting door sharply. There is a brief silence.]

TIPPY. No tickee, no shirtee; no money, no housee. [Pause.] And there's the little matter of our own nutrition.

KEN. Martin's right, Tippy. You ought to clear out of here and take that place you wanted.

KEN. There are other places. But you won't get one as long as you stay here and we graft off of you. You've been buying half the grub for the four of us. You fudge the bills against yourself. You're a goddam fool.

KEN. Listen, Tippy. Martin can take care of himself, anywhere. He loves flop houses and flop people.

KEN. [Savagely.] If you'll recall, we only took him in temporarily because your mother was coming.

[Angrily, to TIPPY.] Why the hell do you have to plan for Ted? Or Martin? Or me? I'm not planning for anyone.--I'm clearing out.

KEN. That's my affair. I'm packing tonight and leaving tomorrow. [He goes into bedroom.]

TIPPY. How much did you girls, as seniors, put down as your expectation of earning power in five years?

KATE. We didn't do such sordid things at Vassar. And besides, it's been six years, not five.

TIPPY. Class of '29. Six years, and six of us. Well, we've stuck together. In solidarity there is strength.

TIPPY. [Snappily.] As an investment. Business is picking up. Stocks are going up. Culture is coming back. More dogs are being washed. Rare books will come next.

TIPPY. Katie, the coming revolution is poppycock. What's coming is the same damn thing we used to have. And when it gets back it'll take its old darlings back into its lap. Ted is one of them. So hold his hand a little longer.

[There is a hanging against the door with a foot. TIPPY opens door, and LAURA enters with a tall sack of groceries, which she shoves into TIPPY'S arms.]

TIPPY. Fortune. Tea. Ceres. Cornucopia. [Drops bag on arm, posing as Goddess with the horn of plenty, and spewing groceries over the table, fruit rolling to floor.]

LAURA. Nor any baby. But doctors say nervous girls must be careful, or they'll have both.

[TIPPY starts with bag to kitchen, KATE following. At door he warns her back.]

TIPPY. The preparing of this tea must be a strictly masculine affair, [KATE gestures toward KEN and LAURA.] I'm sorry, but I want tea. If a woman enters that kitchen, there won't be tea. There'll be house-cleaning. [He goes in and bolts door behind him. She tries it and finds it locked. She pretends to be interested in drawings, KEN has turned away from LAURA and there is a pause.]

LAURA. It doesn't mean anything. Just a little light conversation to kill that first awkward moment.

LAURA. Well, you will have one. And more than a job. Some day somebody will accept your plans for fabricated houses. And you'll be rich and famous.

KEN. Won't come to anything. I do it from habit. I do it to keep from going crazy.

LAURA. There are going to be dozens of firms in the field, and they'll all want yearly models.

TIPPY. [Sticking his head in door.] Attention! Sergeant Holden, go at once to the nearest Commissary and requisition 454 grams of sucrose.

TIPPY. Sorry? It gives him a chance to buy something.--Your failure to understand the masculine nature is appalling.

LAURA. You are grouched. Ken is touchy, he wants to quarrel. Tippy is too nonsensical, even for Tippy. Is something wrong?

KATE. It seems I gave Ted money for his share of the rent last month, and he bought a coat with it instead.

KATE. Maybe he was right. They all but told me to take Ted back and keep him with me.

KATE. Every time he said "I'm an old man" I'd say, "Oh, no, Mr. Selden" till I convinced him.

KATE. So he thinks he wants me for myself alone. He isn't the least bit vicarious.

KATE. He wants to reduce his income tax by gifts to eleemosynary institutions. Don't I look eleemosynary?

KATE. Ah, but I am. And I've been buying love long enough to have learned the trade. So now I'm going to sell some.

KATE. No, I don't, I used to love him.... But I don't any more. You can't stay crazy about a man when you give him half your salary every week. You get to hate him.... Oh, it's worse than hate. It's contempt.

KATE. But I feel old! And if I don't look it now, I will soon. [Pause.] What am I to do, Laura? Keep on working at eighteen dollars a week till I'm forty?--I haven't a decent thing to wear. I haven't had a new coat in three years. [Feverishly.] And I'm frightened. Calendars frighten me.--I want to have some fun. I want a man to take me to the Ritz and--pay the check.

LAURA. I know how you feel. Don't you think that I ... What do you want me to say, Kate?

LAURA. Look, dear. I don't say you should keep Ted. Drop him and go it alone a while. If you've been living on nine dollars a week, eighteen will seem a fortune.

KATE. I do worry about it. That's one of the reasons I'll take the old man and his money.

KATE. Oh, stop it! That just isn't done! You don't know anything. You don't even know how I feel ... week after week giving Ted money. You've been in love with a man whose fond papa's supported him so you haven't had to soil your lovely ethics with dirty money.

KATE. Don't darling me. And don't tell me what's decent and proper--and what isn't done!

KATE. You didn't mean anything because you don't know anything. But maybe you're going to learn.--Maybe now you're going to learn because this gang is breaking up. Not only because my man is a dead-bent, but because yours is broke.--So now maybe you'll try keeping a man and see how it feels!

KEN. No. No, indeed--I merely sent dad's check back. It's time, don't you think? [With elaborate unconcern.] And as for this arrangement here ... we're getting on each other's nerves. And Tippy ought to get out on his own.

KEN. Why don't you clear out like Kate? Forget me. I'm no good to you. I never will be.

KEN. It's too late for that. If that was what we'd wanted it would have happened three years ago.

KEN. In the last three years I've seen a man I used to love and respect degenerate under my eyes, become a lousy parasite, living off a woman whose whole income isn't enough for her to live on decently.

LAURA. Ted expected the world to support him. He had nothing to give it. You have ability and ambition. You want to give things to the world.

KEN. [Fiercely.] That's all I want. A job. I lay awake nights, saying over and over, "I want a job, a job, a job ..."

KEN. I don't think about you when I lie awake at night. I don't think how nice it would be to have you there in my arms. All I think about is a job. If it were a choice between you and a job I'd take the job.--What's the use of kidding ourselves any longer? [She is silent. He goes on desperately.] I'm not the same fellow I was three years ago. People slam doors in my face. Do you understand? They look at me. They see my clothes, my eyes.... They're antagonized before they speak to me,--just as people are to a beggar. They say "no" before I ask for anything. No, no, no. They say it as if I were asking for charity instead of a job. "Nothing for you." "Sorry." "Nothing today."--It makes a beggar out of you!

TIPPY. Hello! Where's the rest of the tea party? [Neither answers.] Well, we'll have double portions, that's nice.

TIPPY. No kidding?--No, my world doesn't drop out from under me. It merely turns wrong side out in my hand.--Your tea, Ken. It contains teaffein, which stimulates the heart but quiets the nerves. Teaffein in tea is the same as caffein in coffee. But under the profit system we don't know that yet--because no one has invented a teaffeinless tea.

KEN. I wouldn't need Martin to turn me into a Communist. All I'd have to do would be to knock out the partition in the middle of my brains and let the left side mingle with the right.

MARTIN. Hey, fellows, see what I've got! [He hangs one up while the others are inspecting the first.]

TIPPY. [To MARTIN.] Sow your seed now, Soviet sower. The powers of darkness have been fertilizing the ground.

KEN. A Soviet poster compared to an American lithograph is like a Soviet film compared with the stuff they grind out in Hollywood.

LAURA. [Hysterically jovial.] 'Fess up, Ken. Who's been taking you to American movies?

KEN. I still remember some I saw during Hoover's administration. You don't mean they've changed them?

LAURA. Gently, Martin. I just told Tippy I was all ripe to turn Communist. But let's enter by the Socialist door. I don't like revolutzia. It's bloody.

[MARTIN pours himself tea. KEN squints at posters, LAURA munches sandwich and giggles.] Comrade Martin--bring on your material dialectics.

[Before MARTIN has chance to answer, TIPPY'S voice sings stridently, as he comes marching in.]

[He is now in. A towel is tied about his head with a big blotch of red ink over his temple. He carries a broom as a flagstaff to which a red bandanna handkerchief is attached as a red flag.]

[On chorus, MARTIN'S better voice cuts in strong. He seizes LAURA by the arm, forcing her to march with TIPPY. And KEN, beating time with goose step, also sings.]

ALL. Tak poost Zheh krasnaya
Shumayet vlasno
Svoe shtik mozoleestoy rookoy
Es vse dolshnee mwee
Neudersheemo
Ette v poslednee sharkee boy.
[This chorus repeats.]

[The BISHOP has appeared in the open doorway; they do not see him and march and sing lustily, BISHOP HOLDEN stands and watches them in growing consternation. They see him and stop suddenly. Only MARTIN'S voice finishes the last line.]

TIPPY. Just a bit of fun. [He tosses the broom with its flag into a corner, but has forgotten to take off bandage. He steps up and offers his hand to the Bishop.] How are you, sir?

BISHOP. So you were all engaged in a little burlesque? Sorry to have disturbed you.

BISHOP. Ah, it is the unique art and the martial music you find entertaining--or were you burlesquing a Communist meeting?

BISHOP. [Not quite satisfied.] But you were all singing that song as if you know it well.

LAURA. Martin's always singing it--till we've memorized it without the least idea what it means.

KEN. It's quite a language, dad. It would be easy for you with your knowledge of Greek.

KEN. Martin's been teaching me a little. I wish I had your linguistic preparation for it.

BISHOP. You're a very witty young man. Your sense of humor will save you from any dangerous doctrine.

BISHOP. While I don't approve of a flippant attitude toward life, it is far better than accepting dangerous and destructive doctrines--such as Russian Communism.

MARTIN. I was born on a Dakota farm. My father was an American kulak. An insurance company expropriated him.

BISHOP. Another time, perhaps. I think I could convince you that you're following a dangerous delusion.

BISHOP. And how is your business progressing, Timothy? Kenneth wrote me about it. Don't be ashamed of it. Don't be ashamed of honest labor, young man.--You are boarding dogs, I believe.

MARTIN. Lap dogs for kept women.--People are desperate and destitute.--And Tippy washes dogs for a living!

BISHOP. It's a sad world. It's true that some have too much, and many have too little....

MARTIN. I respect any man for his convictions. But it seems to me, sir, if you want to save the church when the revolution comes to America, you had better see to it that the class sympathy of the church agrees with the class sympathy of the man who founded it.

[LAURA quickly gathers up the tea things and puts them on a tray and goes to kitchen. In the following scene she is on and off. The BISHOP walks about, troubled and silent. He looks at posters, picks up the Russian books and looks at them.]

TED. [Sees KEN looking at his book.] My man wasn't in. I'll go back and try again later. Is Kate here?

TED. Then, if you'll excuse me I'll go into the other room and lie down. I've developed a frightful headache.

BISHOP. Now there is a fine young man who's facing a real problem. He certainly wasn't trained for commercial pursuits. Yet there he is--selling. Uh, what is he selling, Kenneth?

BISHOP. I knew his father well. A gentleman and a scholar. Unfortunately, he was a gambler. The depression finished him.

BISHOP. My boy, I would not have you be extravagant, but I still have enough. I can still support you.

BISHOP. Be patient a little longer. Our system is not perfect, but it's the best the world has known. It has been responsible for all our progress.

KEN. We're not even aiming at progress, only at recovery; only trying to gain back something we had in the past.

BISHOP. But how can you think there is progress in Russia? It's a slave state; a tyranny. Freedom is essential to progress.

KEN. I don't want freedom. I want a chance to work. I want my share.... Other people have their share, and they have dogs. I don't want dogs, but I want a right to have them.

KEN. It's a short life, dad, and mine is half gone already. There is beauty; I want to enjoy it. There are good things; I want some of them. Disease and death we can't help, but poverty we can help.

BISHOP. This is Martin's influence. [Excited.] Ken, you must not turn Communist. Do you hear? I forbid it.

KEN. I'm fed up. [More savage and bitter as he goes on.] One can go on so long. Things look hopeless but you still hope. Important people make cheerful speeches. You believe them. You want to believe them. You think tomorrow something's going to happen. Something's got to happen! Tomorrow comes and goes--a lot of tomorrows. Nothing happens, nothing. And nothing's going to happen.

BISHOP. My son, you are wrong. The situation is improving. Business conditions are already vastly better. It takes time. You'll get a job, very soon.

BISHOP. [Clearing his throat; takes check from pocket.] Now this check you returned ...

KEN. By sleeping on park benches, eating in our bread lines.--Or I'll tell the government I'm destitute--or get a relief job.--I won't go on the way I've been doing.--Laura comes and brings food; Tippy leaves cigarettes around; you send me checks. I'm sick of having to take from you all!--If I've got to live by charity, I want to be free to hate charity. That's a beggar's right.

KEN. Oh, the hell with Prescott! [Contrite.] Don't misunderstand me. I wouldn't refuse any job he had to offer me. I'd black his boots if that was the job. But I've been to see him as much as I can. I can't sit on his doorstep and whine.

BISHOP. Certainly not. You must not do anything that would hurt your self-respect. [He has been holding the check, which he now lays down on the table.]

BISHOP. I'll leave this check with you, Laura. Give it to him when he--when he is himself again. [At this KEN picks up his hat and walks out without a word. The two look unhappily after him. BISHOP, shaken.] That boy--that sane youth ... What's happened to him?

BISHOP. Why, for years you've meant everything to him. He planned to marry you as soon as he graduated. ...

LAURA. It's not a lovers' quarrel. Oh, don't you understand? His morale's all shot.

BISHOP. Kenneth is essentially sound. Now don't worry, my dear. [Indulgently.] I'll wait and have another talk with him, eh? Perhaps that's what he needs; a good, sound, heart-to-heart talk with his father.

LAURA. He needs a job! He needs a job! It's more important than I am--more important than you--more important than anything in the world.

[TED opens the door; starts to come out; hears the tense conversation and stands, hesitant.]

BISHOP. You are right. Work is essential,--more essential than love. That's what all these young people need. Something to do with their hands, with their heads. To feel that the world needs them--that they have a right to live.

SLOW CURTAIN

ACT I

SCENE 2*: PRESCOTT'S office has an air of magnificence. Seems high above the street. In an anteroom can be seen the BISHOP, waiting, LUCILLE, PRESCOTT'S secretary, a smartly-dressed young woman, is in the office, reading a newspaper. After a moment, BISHOP HOLDEN comes to the door.]

BISHOP. I beg your pardon, [LUCILLE looks up.] Are you sure Mr. Prescott will be back?

BISHOP. I must see him today. If I can't see him here I shall try to see him at his home.

BISHOP. Very well. [He goes out, sits down, LUCILLE begins to type; the telephone rings. Before answering, she closes door, shutting out the BISHOP.]

LUCILLE. Hello? Yes, Mrs. Prescott. Not yet, but he took the eleven-thirty train out of Washington and should be here any moment. [Listens.] At the Colony? I'll tell him the minute he comes in. [Hangs up.]

[In a moment the door opens, PRESCOTT stands in the doorway, with his back turned, speaking to the BISHOP.]

PRESCOTT. Spoiled everything. Well, it can't be helped. Anything need my attention here?

LUCILLE. It's been very quiet. Your wife telephoned. She said she'd be at the Colony Club, and would you 'phone her there.

PRESCOTT. Can't I get any protection around here? You could have said I was out of town for the weekend.

PRESCOTT. I'm glad to see you, James. Although [Looks at watch.] If you'd let me know I might have kept myself free....

BISHOP. So do I. Sincerely. I have the deepest, profoundest faith in our democracy.

PRESCOTT. [Impatient with the other's irrelevancy.] The world has not yet found anything better.

BISHOP. Social unrest is growing. Young people, in their enforced idleness, are turning away from all that we have taught them.

PRESCOTT. You have been reading sensational papers. Of course a depression gives the radicals a chance to spread their doctrines. But there isn't any cause for worry. Prosperity is always a sure cure for radicalism. And things are picking up.

BISHOP. You are probably under the common delusion that all radicals are wild-eyed foreigners.

PRESCOTT. [Bitter in his thoughts.] If it wasn't for this foolery at Washington ...

BISHOP. They have education, in some cases, background, but unfortunately no experience.

PRESCOTT.... and at the same time it insists on unfair competition with private enterprise.

PRESCOTT. On the contrary, the Church should have benefited. People in misfortune turn to religion.

BISHOP. But with empty pockets. However, I am not complaining for the Church. It is my son I am worried about.

BISHOP. Of the six years he's been out of college he has worked only four months. Think of it.

BISHOP. Perhaps. If he were married and had a dependent wife and children he might get architectural work in a government slum clearance project.

PRESCOTT. Exactly what I was talking about. The sooner the government turns the building industry back to private enterprise the better.

BISHOP. Kenneth's situation is tragic. He is a mature man, long overdue to take a man's full place in the world.

BISHOP. Keeping him alive is not the point. It is not enough. His spirit is crushed, his education unused, his manhood wasted. He is ambitious, wants to work, to establish a home of his own. He is strong, and he is capable.

PRESCOTT. Yes, yes, I understand. I deplore the waste. It is shameful. But in any event, these conditions won't last much longer.

PRESCOTT. Yes, longer than they should.--I wish I could help you, James, but I cannot.

BISHOP. Any job. Anything that will make him feel useful and keep him occupied.--Surely in an organization like yours ...

PRESCOTT. At the moment we are doing no building whatever. One or two small projects; and a mere skeleton staff to keep my organization.

PRESCOTT. That I am interested in the mass production of fabricated houses. Yes!--And men associated with me are ready to launch large-scale production as soon as we are assured of freedom from competition with cheap government money and cheap government labor.

PRESCOTT. I have just returned empty-handed from a bunch of half-baked theorists who are heading us into socialism and calling it democracy!

BISHOP. With a view to your project going through, could you not take Kenneth on?

PRESCOTT. Impossible. My small staff has already done all the preparation that needs to be done. My hands are tied till these socialists in Washington are out.

PRESCOTT. I don't sell hot dogs. I build houses. People don't consume houses during a breathing spell.--I tell you I could put a capital of twenty millions at work tomorrow if we were guaranteed that in ten years, or even twenty years, we could get our money back.

PRESCOTT. I don't. I fear the continuance of what we already have. Stagnation and semi-socialism.

BISHOP. It is not the cost of his living. He needs work. I can't provide that. You could, if you would.

PRESCOTT. James, I know that your son is a capable young man and I would like to have him here with me. But I can't make a job for a man when I have nothing for him to do.

BISHOP. You, must, Stanley. I can afford to support him, but he refuses to accept support from me any longer.

PRESCOTT. I am surprised, James--that a man of your principles and profession ...

BISHOP. I don't know whether it is wise or not. But I know my son is desperate. I know I have got to do something. I can't see that fine boy going about lost and unwanted, with no place in the world. I can't see my son turning to Communism--and helping to pull down not only your temples of money, but my House of God.

BISHOP. Then until they do--for my sake, Stanley. For old times' sake. Because we were classmates.

PRESCOTT. But it's damned unethical! Do you realize ... [Telephone rings.] Hello!--Oh, hello, dear ... Yes, I am just leaving. I'll be there in a few minutes. [BISHOP takes out checkbook and writes.] I don't like this.

BISHOP. The ethical sin will be wholly mine. You don't know what it'll mean to my boy to be associated with your firm; you don't know what it'll mean to the girl. He's been engaged to her for three years.

BISHOP. It means new life for two young people, life for them in our way of life. This check, Stanley, is for twelve hundred dollars. Pay Kenneth twenty-five dollars a week. When your plans go through, pay him whatever he's worth to you.

BISHOP. There is a greater righteousness than business ethics. [Protesting still, PRESCOTT takes the check.] Good-bye, Stanley--God bless you. [BISHOP goes.]

PRESCOTT. Take a letter. Mr. Kenneth Holden. You have his address on file. Dear Kenneth: Sometime ago you came in to inquire if I could find a place for you. I am glad to tell you that there is a vacancy here now, and if you are still looking for something the place is yours. The work will be ... [Pause.] to develop the interesting plans you spoke to me about, pending possible use of them in the future.... [Pause.] The salary will be small to start with, twenty-five dollars a week. Paragraph. You can begin work at any time....

CURTAIN

ACT II

A few months later. The hour is dusk. A basement apartment lower than street level. There are four doors, one leading in from the street, one leading to a back yard, one to a kitchen, another to a bedroom. The room is large and serves as a combined living room and place of business for a dog specialist. Some of the furniture of the old place is here. There is a shelf displaying packages of dog biscuit, muzzles, etc. The walls are decorated with pictures of dogs and glaring advertisements of dog goods, especially insecticides. There is a large homemade sign:

At one side is Martin's sketching table, and on wall near it some of his drawings.

TIPPY is kneeling on the floor beside a wash-tub, bathing a terrier. He talks to it gently, soothingly, all through following scene.

During scene TIPPY takes dog out of tub and begins drying him with a Turkish towel. Has large stack of clean folded towels and uses one after the other.

MARTIN. [As he sketches.] Your persistent love of Class of '29 reunions seems to me more admirable than politic.

MARTIN. As if I were the only member of the Unholy Six with a capacity to make faux pas!

TIPPY. The fact that you and Ted still manage to live under the same roof proves that.

MARTIN. That poor devil would win the compassion of Hitler himself--with three Jewish grandmothers!

TIPPY. Well? If you can put up with Ted, who never did a lick of work in his life, why quarrel with Ken who is now a true worker, being duly exploited by a wicked capitalist?

TIPPY. If he high-hats you with his success I'll tell him that you've sold a drawing to the New Yorker and you can high-hat him back.

MARTIN. [Lays aside drawing, removes eyeshade and rises.] You've got me wrong if you think I've any qualms about a reunion with our blissfully-wed bourgeois comrades. Where I doubt your horse sense is in inviting Kate.

TIPPY. Listen, son: a man can be a revolutionist and still mix socially with the White Guard. But a female revolutionist must either assassinate them or seduce them.

MARTIN. In view of recent changes in social status, are you sure that Kate is still on the calling list of Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth Holden?

MARTIN. Another thing: What makes you so sure Ted will enjoy being put on social display in his frayed clothes alongside a lady gorgeously arrayed in the price of her shame?

TIPPY. The very fact that Ted is so shabby will make it less obvious that Kate is still--[Pause.]--helping him.

MARTIN. Kate is really showing remarkable restraint. I'd have expected her to squeeze enough out of a mink coat to dress Ted up a bit.

[All this time TIPPY has been wiping dog with one towel after another. He now gets up and leads dog to yard.]

TIPPY. Him must be ventilated so him will smell sweet. Him's mama rubs her nose in him and her is very particular. [He goes out with dog. MARTIN begins picking up the strewn array of used towels, TIPPY comes back.] Thanks, old man. [Takes the towels.] Want to dump the tub for me? [MARTIN carries tub into kitchen, TIPPY continues cleaning up. TED enters with KATE. She is richly dressed and has the mink coat, TED has on a complete new outfit: suit, hat shoes, topcoat. Everything. The coat is gray; suit brown; hat gray. And there is a price tag on tail of overcoat. TIPPY stares in astonishment.] Do my eyes deceive me?

KATE. Hello, Communist. [Indicates TED.] Does seeing Ted decently dressed make you see red?

MARTIN. [Surveying TED'S clothes.] No, indeed. The true Communist loves beauty and prosperity. His distinction is that he insists on both for everybody.

TIPPY. [Confidentially to KATE.] Half price in the New Yorker would be triple price in the New Masses. But selling to the New Yorker is the latest orders from the Comintern. It's the new plan for boring from within.

TED. [Trying to seem nonchalant, although he is obviously trying to justify himself.] I dropped by to remind Kate about the party.

KATE. And I inveigled him into a shop. Isn't it worth it? Transforms him. Ted wears clothes so well.

TIPPY. Agreed. The man makes the clothes. Martin in that outfit would look like an Oklahoma Indian who'd just struck oil.

KATE. Ted hasn't any business to look shabby. It's all right for Martin, but Ted just looks pathetic.

MARTIN. The only reason I don't wear good clothes is because I spill soup on them.

MARTIN. I'm not up much on sartorial etiquette. Is the hat supposed to match the coat or the suit?

TIPPY. [Looks at watch.] If we're going to have any party, I'd better clear up my work. I have a delivery to make now. [Goes to yard.]

KATE. If you want to change the hat, darling, go ahead. The store's open until seven.

TIPPY. [Re-enters from yard, carrying small dog in his arms.] Didn't realize it was getting so late. I'll be back as soon as I can. [He goes.]

KATE. I think, Ted, that gray gives your face more life, [TED puts hat on again, and surveys himself before the mirror, KATE views him in critical admiration, readjusts his hat several times, and stands off to contemplate her man. MARTIN watches them both, then inspired, takes pencil and cardboard and begins to sketch.] Brown is unutterably drab. It does the most terrible things to me. Put it a little more forward. There--I think that's stunning, Ted.

TED. This time of year the hat and coat would be seen together more than the hat and suit.

KATE. That's right.--Put the coat on again, [TED puts coat on again, and poses with both hat and coat before the mirror.] I don't know. Perhaps you're right.--If you really want to change the hat, go ahead.

[They continue posing, KATE angling the hat, etc., till MARTIN calls TED. There has been a low knock. MARTIN turns his sketch face down and opens the door. A middle-aged woman enters.]

MARTIN. Hi, Ted! [TED turns and CASE WORKER looks at him. He shows no recognition and does not start over.] This lady is calling on you.

CASE WORKER. Someone giving the name of Theodore Brooks and this address applied for relief.

CASE WORKER. [With restraint.] Very well. I must ask you a few questions. [Her antagonism is felt all through.]

TED. I'll try to answer them. [Desperately.] I needed relief or I wouldn't have applied for it.

CASE WORKER. Well ... Well, we'll go ahead. I have to fill my records. Your name is Theodore Brooks.

CASE WORKER. It depends. We can't force uncles and aunts to contribute, but we sometimes give them the opportunity to do so. However, this doesn't look like a kin folks case. And now, young man, just what is your occupation?

CASE WORKER. No occupation? You're not a minor. For adults occupation must be stated.

CASE WORKER. You are not helping me by lying and you may get yourself into trouble.

MARTIN. Is it the first time you ever ran into a man, who needed relief, not because he had worked, but because he hadn't?

CASE WORKER. [Snappily.] I didn't prepare those blanks, but I have to fill them out. One can have an occupation, like stenography, when trained for it, even though they have never been employed.

TED. [Bitterly.] We kept them as long as we could. My father died during the Wall Street panic. He'd gone bankrupt. Since you want to know how I lived, I lived for some time by selling my father's books.

CASE WORKER. [Writing.] Then you lived without working, on property that you inherited?

TED. I still have the family Bible, a set of Shakespeare with the marginal notations made by father while he was at Oxford, and a few others.

CASE WORKER. Because if you own anything worth two hundred dollars you are not eligible for relief.

CASE WORKER. And he bought a new outfit for this dinner.--Hasn't even had time to remove the price tags.--Do you mind removing your coat?

CASE WORKER. [She rises and looks at maker's label in coat.] H'm. Madison Avenue. [Noses his suit at close range.] And the suit is better than the coat.--This is the best I've run into yet. Expensive suit and coat; new shoes; matched accessories. Not much left of a hundred dollar bill, was there?--But I suppose your rich uncle died since you applied for relief?

CASE WORKER. Certainly he could, and many do, apply for relief just to get a little side graft from the government.

TED. [Desperately, humiliated.] I applied for relief because I wanted a job; because the only way to get a job is to go on relief first. I haven't anything. I have no source of income.

CASE WORKER. [Shortly.] You needn't. You can't bamboozle me. It's most unfortunate, isn't it, that I caught him unawares? Had he known I was coming he'd undoubtedly have dressed more correctly for the role of a relief applicant.

CASE WORKER. Our instructions are to report in detail on every application, and particularly on those that appear fraudulent. [Fully formidable.] Now, Mr. Brooks. Will you answer truthfully? Have you any means of support that you have not acknowledged?

CASE WORKER. [Rising, leaves report lying on table.] Then perhaps you will explain how you got those clothes?

KATE. [Who has had great difficulty keeping still.] I bought those clothes for him. Now are you satisfied?

MARTIN. The lady's name and address, I suppose--and whether she is married or single?

MARTIN. To a New York newspaper which would just love the story of a noble case worker and how well she works her cases.

MARTIN. And your picture. I always illustrate my own stories, and I can draw your face from memory.

MARTIN. You lost it! And Uncle Sam forgot it. It's only one of ten million. [He escorts her to door.]

CASE WORKER. [As she storms out.] I ought to report the whole lot of you to the police.

KATE. [As she further reduces the crumpled report to fragments and tosses them into wastebasket.]. I don't know how I managed to keep still as long as I did. I wanted to choke her.

MARTIN. Hang it, I shouldn't have lost my temper. I approve of relief. You should be on relief, Ted--of course you should.

MARTIN. That's tough luck. That angel of mercy should have seen you yesterday. She would have adored that hole in your elbow.

TED. I need a job. The government will give one a job, but only if he goes on relief first.

MARTIN. That's it. First you go broke, then you go hungry. Then you beg, then you take charity. Then you rake leaves--then the taxpayers raise hell, and throw the rascals out to save the Constitution.

MARTIN. If he's a skilled worker, perhaps. But they can't invent work fast enough. Many are still on straight relief.

MARTIN. They stand it because an empty stomach growls louder than insulted pride.

KATE. We could report her. We could go over her head to some responsible official.

MARTIN. There are plenty of fine people on relief. After all, what is relief? Relief is ...

TED. Relief! Relief! Relief!--I don't want to hear that word again! [He starts to door.]

MARTIN. Naturally. The transaction hasn't been according to Hoyle. Now if Ted were a Georgian Prince, and your grandpa had started the ten-cent stores, it would be a different matter. There'd be grandeur in it; intrigue, romance, finance--something to write up for the Sunday papers. But room rent and a suit of clothes ... that's shoddy. It's got to be Rolls Royces and polo ponies or nothing.

KATE. Oh shut up. Do you think I like the situation? But I can't see him starve.

KATE. [With sudden determination.] All right. If he wants a job, I'll get him a job.

KATE. By asking for it. How do you suppose? I'll go right now, before I lose my nerve. [She powders nose before pocket mirror.']

MARTIN. You were smart to dress him up first. Those clothes should spell the diff between wages and a salary.

TIPPY. That's good. [Crosses to yard.] Bet you never looked at Itzy. [Goes out to yard.]

MARTIN. [As KATE puts on fur coat.] Funny time of day, Kate, to start out to get a man a job.

TIPPY. [Re-enters from yard.] 'Im still smells a eetle bit soapy.--Kate! Where are you going? Ken and Laura will be here any minute.

KATE. Sorry, Tippy. I got my dates mixed. But I'll be back. Only don't wait dinner for me. [She goes.]

TIPPY. [Glumly.] That's a hell of a note.--I hope Ted gets back in time. I don't want my dinner party spoiled.

MARTIN. And her husband will tell me what a fine job he has, and all about the sweet spirit of loyalty that exists in that wonderful corporation. [Stops to light cigarette.] Jesus, Tippy, if prosperity really does come back, life is going to be an awful bore for us revolutionists.

[There is a knock, TIPPY goes and lets KEN and LAURA in. They are happy and gay and terribly in love. She can hardly keep her hands from caressing him. She finds threads to flick off his sleeve and must straighten his tie.]

LAURA. It's queer, isn't it? Often I look at him and I say why, out of all the millions of men--handsome men, brilliant men, wealthy men--did I fall in love with him?

LAURA. On two salaries and no babies, who wouldn't? May I lend you the price of a rented Tuxedo so you can come to dinner without embarrassing our butler?

KEN. Yeah--when we get the bedroom set paid for we're going to exchange the radio for a Cadillac.

LAURA. Oh, Martin! If you have any original drawings unsold, just name your price. All we have on the walls now is the Horse Fair and the Last Supper. But mind you--art only, no propaganda.

TIPPY. He'll draw the Palisades from the bottom looking up. That's an invitation to climb.

KEN. Ah, hell, Martin, you're just being stubborn. Kate showed us your drawing in the New Yorker.

KEN. That's your toehold. When you've sold them six you'll be back to pink socialism. And soon you'll be mailing things to the Saturday Evening Post--and signing them!

TIPPY. Ken, Ken--don't exaggerate. As an architect, you must keep your perspective.

KEN. I used to get sore as a pup when people said a man was radical only because he was unemployed. But it's true. I know because I've lived through it. A man's political views are colored by his situation.

MARTIN. Karl Marx; you're stealing his thunder. That's what the man wrote his big book about. Only--you see it for one man and a few months. Marx saw it for all humanity for all time.

LAURA. They're at it again. The dear little schoolboys.--Tippy, how does one make them grow up?

TIPPY. Opinions differ. Bobby Benson says Mother's Oats and Buck Rogers says Cocomalt. What do you give Ken for breakfast?

KEN. The trouble with you fellows is you encourage Ted in his weakness. Someone ought to put it to him straight. The man doesn't realize where he's drifting.

KEN. Say to him? Say to him that the least he could do is to apply for relief work.

MARTIN. [Pointedly.] Ken, you're welcome to your opinion. But I'd advise you not to say anything to Ted about relief.

KEN. Why not? There's no disgrace in relief work. You'd be surprised how many ...

MARTIN. Sure there is. Plain reliefers can sit on the benches. Relief workers have shovels to lean on. It's a true class distinction.

KEN. There are lots of loafers and piddling projects,--but the government's also doing some big jobs, some real construction work.

LAURA. No, I can't wait. You sing it for us now, then after dinner we can all sing it. [She picks up guitar and thrusts it at him.] Come on, Lyric Writer, tune up.

MARTIN. [Singing.] Then little Andy Lang of the Lake Shore gang Said, "Boys, you know I'm countin' Each day and week until I see

MARTIN. Oh the Big Rock Candy Mountain Stands on a plain of bread. Our Uncle's got to feed us Or soon we'll all be dead. The more and more he feeds us The sooner we'll be red So serve the soup With a great big whoop And promise pie Up in the sky On the Big Rock Candy Mountain.

MARTIN. Belongs to Uncle Sam. To move the great big mountain Will take a million men. So come on with your tooth picks And bring your fountain pen. Go easy, don't jerk; We gotta make work. It'll take more moons If we use small spoons To move that great big mountain.

[On the last verse TIPPY has gone to yard and he is now back with Itzy on a leash.]

TIPPY. On with the concert while I take Itzy home. I won't be long. Itzy lives near.

TIPPY. Right you are. I forgot a dinner has to be cooked before it can be eaten.

TIPPY. I'm having tomato soup, and I'm going to make bran muffins. And there are pork chops.

MARTIN. He buys them to get the bones for his doggies. The meat we get is a by-product.

KEN. [Taking Itzy's leash.] If you people are going to talk salad, tell me where this dog lives.

LAURA. No. I see I'll have to go. No salad has been provided and I don't trust men on salad. Martin, you know where Itzy lives, so come along and carry the packages. And Tippy, you go light your oven and mix your muffins.

KEN. The trouble was, I'd lost my bearings. Thought I'd never get out of the woods.

KEN. No. That's just the trouble. He's a queer duck. Half the time I feel he doesn't know I'm there.

KEN. But, damn it, I've been there several months and ... [Laughs.] Maybe the trouble is that I don't have to take orders from anybody; maybe it's that I don't have to fuss and sweat over details the way the others do. Maybe that's the trouble. I can work on my plans in my own sweet way. Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm unhappy because Prescott doesn't bawl hell out of me the way he does the others.

KEN. That's right. Maybe I've got it too good, [TED enters. Now has new hat, brown; better taste, better fit, and more becoming. He and KEN greet each other with a little restraint.] Hello, Ted.

TIPPY. Ted's not going anywhere, but I'm going to the kitchen to start the muffins. The rest of the dinner is on the way, Ted. So lick your chops for a feast.

[He goes. There is an awkward pause, during which TED self-consciously removes his coat under KEN'S curious eyes.]

TED. Glad you like it.--Going to be like old times. Regular reunion of the Class of '29.

KEN. Hell yes. It's a great job. The salary isn't anything to boast of--yet. But the future looks like a million. You see, Prescott didn't hire me for any routine detail. He has men for that. His object in taking me on was to develop for him my plans for fabricated housing.

KEN. Christ, Ted, do you realize what it means, after you've wasted years, to get back and do real work?

KEN. But have you been going about it in the right way? Of course I realize you haven't any real professional training. But you know the rare books racket. There must be a lot of money in publishing limited editions. What's wrong with that business?

KEN. What you are and how you're considered isn't important. It's the way you go after things.--The trouble with you is you got started down and just kept on going down.--Oh, I know how that is. It looked that way for me once. Things were awful.

KEN. Sure. They've changed for everybody. The whole spirit of the country has changed. Man, don't you feel it?

KEN. We've turned that famous corner, and it's time for you to wake up and get out of your rut.

KEN. You still think there's something wrong with the world when your troubles are purely personal.

TED. My troubles are ... All right. What about the other millions of unemployed?

KEN. They're incompetents. Common laborers and workmen in industries that died--like soft coal mining. And maybe some technological unemployment. But you're not in any narrow technical field. As a matter of fact in not being specialized you actually have an advantage. All you've got to do is go after things.

KEN. Sure. Tippy here is make-shifting--but that's all right. It's something. Martin's radical, living off his wits. That's not your style. Neither of them can help you.

KEN. They've weakened you. For Christ's sake, Ted, snap out of it. Get away from here. Get away from it all. Make a break. You won't starve. If you can't get a real job, go on relief.

KEN. I know relief isn't pleasant for a man like you. But hell, it's better than ...

KEN. All right. You don't want advice and you won't take it. What are you going to do? Go on living off Kate forever?

KEN. It's your affair, but everybody knows it. And everybody knows what it is. It's the second oldest profession in the world--and the lousiest one.

KEN. You know where Kate gets her money and how she earns it.--And you know what that makes you.

[With an inarticulate cry, TED tries to stop him, but KEN goes on almost in spite of himself'.] A pimp! That's what it makes you. A pimp.

TED. Not from you.--Because we're in the same boat. We're in the same boat, do you hear? We're in the same boat!

TED. You'd rather eat Salvation Army bean soup than go on living off your father, too.

TED. A job. What kind of a job? [Hysterically.] Who got that job for you? Who is paying your salary?

TED. I'll tell you who got you that job and I'll tell you who's paying your salary. Your father.

TED. Ask her. She knows. It was her idea.--If I'm a pimp, what does that make you? [Takes his hat and coat, brushes by her and streaks out.]

[Silence, LAURA leans against the table, as though she had difficulty in breathing, TIPPY enters, apron on, egg beater in hand.]

TIPPY. Hello. You back? [Takes groceries.] What's up? [No answer.] Where's Ted? [No answer.]

KEN. [To LAURA.] What are you whimpering about? [Seizes her by the arms.] It's true. What he said was true, wasn't it? [She tries to speak, but cannot.] Who got my job for me? Who is paying my salary? Answer me!

KEN. It takes love.--That's what love is. [He goes to door.] That's what it does to a man. [Pause. The room is deathly quiet.] And when I was a boy I used to wonder why some of the world's wisest men hung out with whores.

CURTAIN

ACT III

Same. Several hours later, about 10 P. M. TED is sitting in a corner with a book, but unable to concentrate. He is wretchedly unhappy and jumpy.

MARTIN sits at a table with a pencil, sketching, evidently using TED, whose face is exposed to him in profile, as a model.

There is an air of tense, long waiting. Little is said, and then spoken in quick and jerky tempo, with long pauses.

[Silence, LAURA sits down apart from the others, TED rises and crosses to her. She does not look at him. He speaks haltingly.]

TED. Laura. Is there anything I can do? I am very sorry, very sorry it happened.

TED. Yes, I did it. To say that he provoked me till I was crazed with shame and anger does not undo it. That is true.

LAURA. All right, it's true. What he told you about yourself you already knew. Everybody knew it. It was nothing but words and made no real difference in your life. But you told him something about himself that makes all the difference in the world--and has ruined his life and mine. [She rises.]

LAURA. [Near hysteria.] Well, then, shut up! [To escape from him she goes into kitchen.]

MARTIN. [Dryly, as he shades drawing.] The lady, it seems, would have been quite satisfied if you had merely called her husband a traitor to his country, a robber of blind widows, a bombastic egotist, a thieving son-of-a-'bitch and a cock-eyed liar.

MARTIN. Precisely. The greater the truth the greater the libel. Ken Holden, you see, wanted to be an adult lion among the little monkeys, and you informed him that he was still an infant drawing sustenance from parental sources.

TED. [Sensing MARTIN'S friendliness approaches him like a friendless dog.] You understand, don't you, how he provoked me?

MARTIN. Glad you recognized it. Some people don't recognize themselves in profile.

MARTIN. Clothes make the man. I wanted to see if a uniform would make a soldier.

TED. But why do you draw me as a soldier? What did I do to suggest that? What made you do it?

MARTIN. Something in Kate's eyes, while you were posing for her, suggested it. She seemed to think your outfit lacked something. Well, what it lacked I have seen on parade grounds at West Point. There it is. [Holds up drawing.]

MARTIN. I'm sorry. [He rips cardboard across and throws the halves into wastebasket.] It had no significance to you personally, Ted.--It's all of us. All of us who are in the army.

TED. In the army? What are you talking about? We aren't in any army. We wouldn't go in. Why, half the men you meet say that in a war they'd be conscientious objectors. The jails wouldn't hold them.

MARTIN. They jailed conscientious objectors in the last war. This time they will shoot them.

TED. You radicals always say that. I don't agree with you--except about war. I think you are right about that.

TED. They want war. But you want revolution. You are against war and for revolution. That's silly. Just a different kind of war. You're both wrong. There's no sense in any of you.

MARTIN. That's right. The business men have all the sense. They know that an army in rags is more dangerous to them than an army in uniform. So we will wear uniforms. I just tried yours on to see how it would fit you.

TED. [Picks up the two halves out of basket and puts them together and stares at it.] No.--No. I'll never wear one. Never! [He crumples drawing and throws it back into basket, LAURA comes in from the kitchen. TED, looking for escape, goes into bedroom.]

LAURA. Oh, I hope so.--He ought to be back.... Martin, do you think Ken will ever forgive me?

MARTIN. I think he ought to spank you till you'd have to eat off the mantel for a week, and then take you back to his bed and board and forget it.

TIPPY. [Enters, looking gloomy.] He hasn't been at the apartment, Laura.--He hasn't been there and he hasn't 'phoned there.

TIPPY. There were some messages for him. The girl at the switchboard said a man's voice asked for Ken and then asked for you. Called a couple of times. Left no name.

TIPPY. You stay here a while. I gave the girl this address and number and told her to give it to anyone who called. I also made her promise that if Ken came in she'd call you here at once.

TIPPY. There is nothing more we can do until you're ready to notify the Missing Persons Bureau.

TIPPY. No.--I hate to seem callous to your distress, dear, but involving the police department at this moment would be a little premature.

TIPPY. And what could you tell the police? Man quarrelled with wife, left house, has been gone four hours....

MARTIN. Now wait a minute. It's only a hunch, and my hunches aren't so hot. I don't believe in them, you see.

MARTIN. Please don't, Laura. I don't know where Ken is. It's just a mere possibility; an old dump I used to take him to. You stay here. [He goes. Just as he closes door TED walks into room.]

TED. Hello, Tippy. You back? [LAURA gives one look at TED, grasps wrap and runs out.] She hates me.

TIPPY. Well, what do you think? She tricked Ken into continuing the thing he'd come to hate most in the world; financial dependence on his father. She took a big chance, and lost.

TIPPY. Never mind. We know what Ken did to you. It was in his nature to do just that.--His nature was part of the thing Laura took a chance on too,--and lost.

TED. [After slight pause.] I suppose it's always hard to understand the other fellow's troubles. They seem so small compared with your own.

TIPPY. Circumstances do not excuse crimes, but they do explain them. [Pause.] We've all taken plenty. But I'll say this, old man. If I'm the first member of the Class of '29 to check in at the big Court House I'll look up the judge and I'll say to him, "See here, God, when Ted Brooks arrives, don't judge him till you've looked up his full record. The cards were stacked against that guy from the start! The rest of us merely needed jobs, but he needed ..." [Pauses, not knowing how to finish.]

TED. Guts. Guts is what I need.--My health's good enough for physical labor, but nobody wants me to dig ditches.

TIPPY. Did you ever see a steam shovel at work? I don't say you're any use to the world or have any right to live in it. But making a hundred men like you substitute for a steam shovel is plain damn silly. It's an insult to the steam shovel.

TED. [With deep, quiet desperation which grows more and more intense through the following scenes.] What should I do? What was it intended for me to do?

TIPPY. Then maybe you just fell off. The worker's back is broad, but it's not broad enough to accommodate all of us.

KATE. Oh, it's nothing fancy; but it'll pay enough for Ted to live better than he has been living.

[TED doesn't grow enthusiastic, and KATE becomes resentful. Sensing this, TIPPY keeps up the badinage.]

TIPPY. Come on, Ted, we'll alternate and spot it in ten questions. I'm first. Is it indoors or out?

TIPPY. Indoors. No office. Low wages. White collar. No selling. [Thinking.] Does he work with his hands or his head--or his mouth?

KATE. I got it the only way you can get jobs for anybody these days--by asking it as a favor from someone who had it to give.

KATE. Yes.--You guessed it. [TED grows dismayed.] The job is elevator operator in the Graybar Building. It's a cinch. You don't even have to stop the car. You just push buttons.

TED. And push buttons.... Floor, please. Two please. Five please. Right please. [Laughs harshly.]

KATE. Well, what do you want? Vice-president in a bank? Wake up! This isn't 1929. This is 1935. You take what you get and are grateful.

KATE. It pays more than I got for years. And I supported myself on it and you, too.

TED. Listen, Kate ... [Has some difficulty going on.] If it were an old freight elevator in a warehouse, and I could wear overalls, and pull on a rope that blistered my hands ...

KATE. It's the uniform that stalls you, is it?--Now I see why they make soldiers wear them.

TIPPY. [Wishing to save the situation.] The British started that with their Red Coats, to make them better targets so we could win the Revolutionary War.--I learned that in school.

KATE. [Bitter.] You got it wrong, brother. It's to take the conceit out of a coward by making him realize he's no better than anybody else. That's what it's for!

KATE. You said you wanted a job. I believed you. I asked for a job; any kind of a job that a man who had never worked could do. And I got one. [To TIPPY.] But he doesn't want it. It's not because of the uniform. It's because it's a job! [She has turned her back on TED. He quietly takes his new hat and coat and sneaks out. She turns as she hears the door.] He's gone. [Pause.] I never talked like that to him before. [With sudden fright.] Where's he going?--Ted! Ted! [She runs out after him.]

[TIPPY follows to the door which she leaves open. An elderly, richly-dressed spinster, whom KATE has nearly knocked down as she fled, stalks into the room. She glowers at TIPPY.]

MISS DONOVAN. So that's the kind of a place this is! [She stalks about and glares at everything.]

MISS DONOVAN. Irresponsible people! Wild and irresponsible people! To think that I trusted Itzy to wild, irresponsible people.

TIPPY. My dear Miss Donovan, the distresses of my personal guests have nothing to do with my professional work.

MISS DONOVAN. Dr. Sayre, I told you never to let any person but yourself touch that dog when he was out of my apartment.

MISS DONOVAN. The man you say! My maid said it was a silly boy and a giggling, irresponsible girl. How do I know what they did to Itzy? How do I know where they took him? Or in what company they had him? They might have let him get into a fight and get killed.

MISS DONOVAN. They, or you, exposed Itzy to a chill. Itzy is sneezing. Itzy has a cold. Itzy may develop pneumonia and die. [During this speech there is a knock and TIPPY goes to door and lets in the BISHOP while MISS DONOVAN continues.] I shall hold you responsible. If anything happens to Itzy, you alone are to blame. I shall hold you responsible for Itzy's death. [She addresses the BISHOP.] If you are a customer of this man, let me warn you. He is not to be trusted. He is not responsible.

MISS DONOVAN. There is no misunderstanding. I brought Itzy here on a friend's recommendation. She said it was a responsible place. It is not. It is full of wild, irresponsible people.

MISS DONOVAN. You look like a man who loves animals. If you do, do not bring them here. This man deliberately exposed my poor Itzy to a cold. He may die.

MISS DONOVAN. And such a darling. Everybody loves him. I shall tell everyone--all my friends. He suffers so--I shall warn them. His nose is running.... I shall destroy this irresponsible man's business!--If you could look into his eyes you'd understand! ... If you love dogs, never trust them to irresponsible people. [She goes to the door and out.]

MISS DONOVAN. [Opens door and sticks her head in.] I shall ruin your business! [Closes door with a slam.]

TIPPY. Dog lovers are gossips. But I get business by gossip as well as lose it. By gossip, sir, and perfumed soap. The art of perfuming dogs has a great future. It's an undeveloped field. I'm just beginning to explore it.

BISHOP. At least you are busy. You are occupied and happy. You have found congenial work. Why cannot all young men do as you have done?

TIPPY. True, sir. I considered the hanging of clothes lines for women whose husbands are mechanical morons.

TIPPY. But I found there weren't enough morons. Automobiles, sir, have taught even the gentry to use screw drivers.

BISHOP. I like your humor. You have enterprise and perspective. You renew my faith in youth. I wish my son had such morale. I wish ... Where is he, Timothy? Where is Kenneth? And Laura? Do you know where they went?

BISHOP. [Sitting again, speaks slowly.] I am guilty of a great wrong against my son.

BISHOP. No. I love my son. I meant to help him. Sometimes it is hard to know what is right and what is wrong. Timothy, I arranged for my son to have a job. [Pause.] I conspired to let him think he had secured the job in the usual manner. I fear I made a great mistake.

BISHOP. Thank you. [Pause.] He called me up on the telephone and said I had ruined his life with my meddling. He said I was an unworthy example of a man of God. He said I had betrayed him ... [He is too moved to go on,] He said harsh things--very harsh things.

TIPPY. I am very sorry, sir. [He feels helpless to comfort the old man. In the ensuing, uncomfortable silence, KEN, MARTIN and LAURA come in. KEN is drunk and boisterous, MARTIN is trying to hold him back, KEN backs into the room, dragging MARTIN with him. LAURA follows.]

KEN. I got to go in. Got to find Ted. I got to 'pologize to Ted. [MARTIN, seeing BISHOP, lets go of KEN who nearly falls, KEN does not see his father.] I got to shake hands with him and say, Ted, ol' boy, you're right. We're in the same boat. We're brothers under the skin. We are both kept men.

KEN. [Turns slowly and sees his father.] Hi, dad! [Gestures to LAURA.] Meet the wife. She got the job. You paid for it. [Silence. Gestures to MARTIN.] Meet Martin. He's a god-damned Communist. But I like him.

KEN. Drinking? [Laughs--to MARTIN.] He thinks I have been drinking. [To TIPPY.] Hi! Good old Tippy. Washes dogs.--Kept dogs. Kept women. Kept men.

TIPPY. [Taking him by the arm.] Come on, Ken. Come out in the kitchen and have some coffee.

KEN. [Shaking him off.] I don't want to forget. I want to explain. [Looking around at each.] Dad--Laura---Tippy--Martin. Whole god-damn Class of '29. Class of '29.... Six years. Hi, Martin, member the speeches? 'Member the Bac-ca-laurit address? [Struts and gestures.] Young men of the Class of '29. [Gestures left.] This is your god-damn old alma mater. [Gestures right.] And out there's the goddamn old world. [Gestures left.] In there you studied four years like sons-o'-guns, stuffing your empty heads full of useless knowledge. [Gestures right.] So you could go out there and get a job. And make money. And get a house. And a car. And a woman to sleep with. And have a baby, and vote the Republican ticket.... And so what happens? Depressions and Democrats. And Hoover--'member Hoover?--Hoover had to go back to Leland Stanford libr'y to read a book to tell him why there's jobs for everybody in Russia. [He stops, looks at his father.'] 'Scuse me. Hoover's all wet. [To MARTIN, belligerently.'] My father's a bishop, see? Russia's hell on bishops. This is the country for bishops. You are out of luck, Martin. Your father made a mistake being a farmer. He should have been a bishop. Nice jobs, lots of money. Buys a job for his son so he can get married and have a wife and a home and a baby and not be a Red. You think I'm a Red? Hell, no. I'm a hundred per cent American. I'm an individualist. Americans are individualists. Each man got his own wife 'n' his own bed. A Russian's a collectivist. Got everybody's wife in bed.

KEN. See? My dad doesn't like Russians. Russians shot all the churches and made the priests go to work. He doesn't like you.--You read the wrong books. My dad reads Mark and Luke and John--makes him a Christian. You read Marx and Lenin and Stalin--makes you a revolutionist. Why don't you read Hearst and Hoover and make yourself an American?

KEN. That was no revolution. That was only a depression. But it's all over now. My father bought me a job because my wife told him to. I've got a smart wife. She understands business methods. We are individualists, and must have initiative. So my wife, she has initiative. She says--Ken's got to have a job so we can get married. So she explains to my father how capitalism works. Lots of competition; too many lousy architects. So got to fabricate houses and put 'em all out of a job.

KEN. Too many architects--so what? Give 'em relief work, that's what. Make lots of little houses, with lots of little yards, with lots of little trees, so there'll be lots of little leaves to rake. [Faces LAURA.] That's why a man needs a smart wife with lots of initiative--to get him a job.

MARTIN. [Going to KEN.] All right, old man. Let's go in there and see whether we can figure this thing out.

BISHOP. [Wringing his hands.] Radicalism and liquor. Liquor and radicalism, [LAURA is unresponsive; sits stony-eyed and heart-sick.] My poor child. My poor child.

LAURA. If in some way I could return to him his lovely vanity. When he had no job, he had no thought of me--none--none....

LAURA. Oh don't! It was my fault. Don't blame yourself. And anyway, the only thing that matters is Ken. Don't you see?

LAURA. He's so crushed! And that despair that shuts me out! Why is it? Why is it that a woman loves a man most when he has nothing--and he wants her only when he has everything else? What's going to happen to us?

BISHOP. Everything will be all right, my child. Kenneth has suffered a bitter blow to his pride. But he'll sober up and resign himself to the situation.

BISHOP. Prescott gave me his word when I--when we made the arrangement--that he would make a real place for Kenneth as soon as he could.

BISHOP. It's a matter of time. Business is greatly improved. Building must revive by the spring. Therefore, don't you see, if our boy is patient until then ... [LAURA shakes her head.] We must make him go on. If he gives it up now he may lose a real opportunity. That is what you and I must make him see! The opportunity ahead.

BISHOP. [Still with his tender sentimentality.] I take it, since Kenneth spoke of a wife and baby ...

LAURA. That was just rhetoric.--I am not having any babies until I see some security for them.

BISHOP. Such responsibility has always been the most powerful force to make man go along the path of duty, even though the way seemed hard.

LAURA. At least I have spared Ken that! He can do as he pleases. I am still working, and can take care of myself.

BISHOP. Yes, quite right. That is the way we must present it to him. That he need consider only himself.

KEN. Who said I had no manners! [To BISHOP and LAURA, with absurd, ironic dignity.] The boys say I wasn't a gentleman. I apologize.

KEN. A man ought to be a gentleman, even to his wife. [She turns away. To his father.] A man ought to respect his father. I apologize.

KEN. [To boys.] There you are! I apologized to my father. He accepted my apology. [To LAURA.] I apologize.

LAURA. All right, Ken. I accept your apology. [At the end of her self-control.] And now that's enough.

KEN. I called him a lousy heel. If that's all right with you, I won't apologize.

KEN. Specifically?--Specifically I told him--Martin'll like this.... [Looks about blankly, doesn't see MARTIN.] I told him that as a multimillionaire, as a captain of industry, as a pillar of capitalistic society, he ought to be ashamed of himself for robbing the widows and the orphans and taking the money out of the collection baskets of the House of God to pay an architect to draw plans for a wastebasket.

BISHOP. If you really did say anything like that to Prescott, of course you will have to apologize.

KEN. [To LAURA.] Dad is a gentleman. And he thinks I ought to apologize. Well, what do you think?

BISHOP. But surely that is all a figment of your imagination.--When a man has been under the influence of liquor and then--then recovers from its influence, how much does he remember?

KEN. Let me explain. I know all about it. A man gets drunk in order to forget what he had on his mind when he was sober. And then he gets sober in order to forget what he said when he was drunk.

BISHOP. [Almost pathetically.] Then surely you are mistaken, son. You did not say these things to Mr. Prescott. You do not remember what you did say--or even if you spoke to him at all.

KEN. Oh, yes, I do remember. Because I was not drunk when I spoke to Prescott. And I am not drunk now.

KEN. I was drunk. That's how come I was disrespectful. A quart of whiskey makes any man disrespectful; but a cup of coffee makes a man respect his father, and two cups of coffee makes a man respect his wife.

MARTIN. I think you ought to go home and sleep it off and then go back on the job.

MARTIN. Yes, but there's work. And work is more important than the matter of who pays for it.

MARTIN. No. Not for the wastebasket. For whatever use it may be to the world. Your work is important because you are creating something. The pay system has stalled on you, so what? If your father is able to help to keep you at work, the best you can do is to accept it.

KEN. No. I don't believe in anything, in anything, do you hear? Not in the love of a father for his son, or in the love of a wife for her husband, or in the loyalty of friends--or in the integrity of one's purposes, or in the sincerity of one's hopes, or in the greatness of one's ambitions.

MARTIN. You know doggone well you believe in your work. You love it. You live it.

KEN. [Quietly.] So you think I ought to call up Prescott and apologize. Is that it?

KEN. [To TIPPY.] And you! [To his father.] And you, of course ... [To LAURA.] And you ...

KEN. So you all think I ought to apologize to Mr. Prescott. That's great. [Into telephone.] Circle 7-6799 ... That's great ... [Into telephone.] Mr. Kenneth Holden would like to speak with his employer, Mr. Stanley Prescott. [Plainly.] The name is Holden. That's right.--What do I want? I want to apologize. Tell him I want to apologize. [Pause.] Hello, Mr. Prescott? This is Kenneth Holden. I called up to apologize. [His voice is still high.] I called you up earlier in the evening, Mr. Prescott, and criticized our working arrangement. Well, sir, I have become convinced that the work is more important than the arrangement, so with your kind permission ... [Listens, as to an interruption. His confident manner slowly disappears. He listens with growing humiliation.] I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to use that tone. Yes--I mean it.--Yes, sir.... [Almost in a whisper.] Thank you. [Slowly, with an air of absolute defeat, he hangs up the receiver.]

BISHOP. My son, that was a brave thing. It's wisest for you to keep the arrangement for the present, until ... it won't be long ... [Clears his throat; looks at his watch.] My train. I've just time to catch it. [To KEN.] You'll feel better about it in the morning, son.

KEN. Didn't you hear my father? He said I'd feel better about it in the morning. [Sinks into apathy.] In the morning!

MARTIN. And he'll fabricate the houses; millions of houses, all according to Ken's plans--millions and millions and millions of 'em--and all for individualists.

LAURA. I know it--because Ken will be so famous; and I'll be proud. [There is a rapping at the door, TIPPY opens and POLICEMAN enters, bringing KATE, who is in state of collapse, KEN continues to sit staring bitterly into space. Repeats out loud: Feel better about it in the morning, LAURA rushes to KATE.] Kate! What happened?

[KATE stares wildly, shivers, LAURA attends her. POLICEMAN draws TIPPY and MARTIN aside.]

POLICEMAN. Killed outright. It was suicide. Plenty of witnesses. He was standing with her, waiting for the train. He jerked away and jumped just as the train came in. She'd have gone over with him if somebody hadn't grabbed her.

POLICEMAN. I guess there's nothing more I can do. I'll wait outside and see if the doc's coming. [To TIPPY.] Your man's at the morgue if you want him.

KEN. [Who has become aware, looks bewilderedly from one to the other.] What's up, Tippy? What's the matter?

CURTAIN

CLASS of '29

PROPERTY PLOT—ACT I, SCENE I

PROPERTY PLOT—ACT 1 SCENE 2

PROPERTY PLOT—ACT II

PROPERTY PLOT—ACT III

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CLASS OF '29 ***

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KEN HOLDEN	Jan Ullrich
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