Class of '29

by Orrie Lashin; Milo Hastings

ACT I

SCENE I: It is Saturday afternoon, about one o'clock.

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.

KEN. Take a squint at that, Tippy.

[TIPPY carefully turns iron on end and steps over to look at drawing.]

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.

TIPPY. Sorry. That comes of my not reading Hearst.

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.

KEN. Work. I just do this to keep from going nuts.

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

KEN. I've given up hope of hearing from Moscow. It's been five months ...

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.

TIPPY. Hi, Ted! Give a look on your fellow artist's work.

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

TED. [Indifferently.] It's very nice.

[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. As soon as Ken learns Krasnaya Armeya I'll teach him the International.

TIPPY. I can bellyache the Armeya better now than he can.

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.

KEN. Boy, what an alphabet!

MARTIN. [Snapping his fingers.] Da, da, da--ah, be, ve, ge.

TIPPY. [Picking up book.] Ya, ya, ya,--vas ist das? Das ist ein buch.

KEN. Da, da, da,--chto etto takoye? Etto kneega.

MARTIN. Fine. Let's go. [Holds up pencil.] Chto etto takoe?

KEN. Etta karandash.

MARTIN. [Stands book on table.] Chto?

KEN. Kneega stoeet na stolom.

MARTIN. [Throws book under table.] Gdye kneega?

KEN. Kneega pod stalom.

MARTIN. Great! Now make a sentence of your own.

KEN. [Lamely.] Tovarisch Stalin ... [Stalls.]

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

[MARTIN goes to book shelf and gets Russian reader and dictionary.]

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.

KEN. For eternity you mean.

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

KEN. God, what faith you have!

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.]

[KEN hesitates.]

KEN. I'm not kidding myself.--I've been doing this more to help you.

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.

TIPPY. Sez you.

MARTIN. You read the New York Times. Where does the real news come from?

TIPPY. That depends on who is shooting which.

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.]

TIPPY. Word? It sounded to me like a derogatory sentence.

[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. Hello, Tippy.

TIPPY. Hello, Kate.

KATE. Hi, Ted.

TED. [Closing book.] Hello, Kate.

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.

KATE. Good for Tippy! He's the only real American among you.

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.

KATE. How much did you pay for it?

TED. Fifty cents.

KATE. Swell!

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.

TED. I will if I can find the right man.

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!

TIPPY. Then would I shock you by telling you that the landlord means business?

MARTIN. Huh? Oh rent! All right, I have my share. Here, take it now.

[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 goes to put money in pocket and discovers he has no pants on.]

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.

KATE. I'm only lending him the money. He'll pay it back.

MARTIN. Like hell he will! The man's been a deadbeat for years.

KATE. [Desperately.] Martin!

MARTIN. He borrowed off his prosperous friends till he exhausted that source.

KATE. He sold them books.

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. [Angrily.] What business was it of yours, checking up on him?

MARTIN. None whatever, so long as it hurt only him and you.

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.

[TIPPY enters, bathrobe gone, pants on.]

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.

[TIPPY tries to gesture him to shut up.]

TED. Yes?

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

TIPPY. You're not speaking for me, Martin.

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.

TIPPY. I'll have it. I'll have it. Give me time.

MARTIN. You'll not have it so long as you let people sponge on you.

TIPPY. That's my business.

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.

TIPPY. Now just wait a minute. I can explain last month's ...

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.

KATE. You said a friend gave it to you.

TED. I haven't a friend left who'll even give me cast-off clothing.

KATE. But why did you have to lie about it?

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.

KATE. I hope you can.

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.]

KEN. Well, I might as well tell you I haven't got my share of the rent, either.

TIPPY. What's the matter? Check late?

KEN. No.--I sent it back.

TIPPY. You what?

KEN. I sent it back.

KATE. Did your father lose his job?

KEN. Bishops don't lose their jobs.

TIPPY. So what are you talking about?

KEN. I've been living off dad for five years.

TIPPY. Starving off him.

KEN. Don't blame dad. I set the amount under Hoover. Bishops aren't economists.

TIPPY. You sent the check back and asked for a new deal?

KEN. No.

TIPPY. [Patiently.] Why did you send the check back?

KEN. I'm through letting dad pay me for piddling around here.

TIPPY. But Ken, be reasonable. The landlord must eat.

KEN. Then give him back this place. He can eat the cockroaches.

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

KEN. I don't expect you and Martin to feed me.

TIPPY. I doubt if we could.

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

TIPPY. Hell, that place has been taken. Bargains like that don't wait.

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.

TIPPY. Must you bring that up?

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

TIPPY. And what about Ted?

KEN. Ted is Kate's problem.

KATE. Why do you feel so bitter toward him?

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.

TIPPY. Where are you going?

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

KATE. Lord, what a mess!

TIPPY. Katie, I'm afraid our children are showing too much spirit.

KATE. What's Ken planning? Going on Laura?

TIPPY. Lord, no.

KATE. I'd hardly think so with all that bluff at independence! [Pause.]

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.

KATE. This looks like a bust up.

TIPPY. Look here, Kate, you'll take care of Ted, won't you?

KATE. Why should I?

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.

KATE. So what?

TIPPY. Ted was born a gentleman. The rest of us merely went to Harvard.

KATE. Believe it or not.

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.]

LAURA. Hello. Where's the gang?

TIPPY. Some are in and some are out.

KATE. We speak of Fortune and Dame Fortune walks in.

LAURA. Bringing her own tea.

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.]

KEN. [Entering from bedroom.] What in ...?

TIPPY. Tea.

KATE. Thank God it wasn't eggs.

LAURA. [To KEN.] Hello, darling.

[TIPPY retrieves groceries.]

KEN. [Severely.] What's the idea, Laura?

LAURA. What idea, honey?

KEN. You promised to quit it. There's plenty of grub here.

LAURA. But darling, I can't eat canned baked beans. My ulcer, you know.

KEN. You haven't any ulcer.

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

KEN. Don't be a fool.

[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. [Casually.] Anything new, dear?

KEN. [Savagely.] No. You always ask me that.

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

KEN. It means, have I got a job.

LAURA. Have you?

KEN. No.

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. If I kid myself, you needn't.

LAURA. But all this work, Ken ...

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

LAURA. You do it because you know that fabricated houses are the coming thing.

KEN. Hell of a chance I'll get at them.

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.

[KEN salutes and goes. The girls stare after him.]

KATE. Now what in the world!

TIPPY. Sugar, Katie. Sugar.

KATE. But how much?

TIPPY. One pound. He understood. A year in Paris, you know.

LAURA. Oh, I'm so sorry! I forgot sugar.

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

KATE. I'll bet you had sugar.

TIPPY. Yes, we had no sugar.--Forget it. [Exits.]

LAURA. Oh these men!

KATE. You said it!

LAURA. [Turns on her suddenly.] Kate, what's the matter?

KATE. Matter? Why?

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

KATE. Everything's wrong.

LAURA. Tell me.

KATE. Martin started it. He bawled Ted out for living off me.

LAURA. Oh, well--Martin!

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

LAURA. Oh.

KATE. So Tippy had to pay again.

LAURA, Tippy didn't tell on him?

KATE. You know he wouldn't. Martin found out some way and told for him.

LAURA. Martin's a beast.

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

LAURA. And you will, I suppose? [KATE is silent.] I'm sorry.

KATE. I don't mind your question.

LAURA. There's nothing else you can do, really.

KATE. Yes. There's one thing. There's another man.

LAURA. Are you serious?

KATE. He is. Serious, and rich, and--sixty.

LAURA. That beastly old man!

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

LAURA. So what, Kate?

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

LAURA. Kate, do be serious.

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

LAURA. No. Nor mercenary, either.

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.

LAURA. And Ted?

KATE. [Bitterly.] What about him?

LAURA. You love him.

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.

LAURA. You've stuck it out so long.

KATE. Too long.

LAURA. It'll be different as soon as he strikes something.

KATE. Strikes what? Gold or oil?

LAURA. He'll find something. It takes time.

KATE. Time is the only thing I haven't got to spare. Look, I'm twenty-seven.

LAURA. But you don't look it.

KATE. I do--I have wrinkles.

LAURA. Don't be silly.

KATE. Around the eyes.

LAURA. You're imagining.

KATE. And yesterday I found a gray hair.

LAURA. Girls of eighteen sometimes have gray hairs.

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?

KATE. There is nothing to say.

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. And what will become of him?

LAURA. If you are leaving him you can't worry about that.

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

LAURA. You're crazy!

KATE. Am I?

LAURA. That's something that--that just isn't done!

KATE. A lot you know.

LAURA. Kate ...

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.

LAURA. Darling ...

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

LAURA. I didn't mean ...

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!

LAURA. Kate!

[KATE slams out, brushing KEN, who enters, violently aside.]

KEN. What's the matter with her?

LAURA. Nothing.

[KEN hands sugar to TIPPY and returns.]

KEN. She didn't act like it was nothing.

LAURA. She's going to leave Ted.

KEN. Good! The man's a leech.

LAURA. But he is so helpless.

KEN. He won't starve. We have no jobs in America, but we don't starve.

LAURA. Ken, are you in trouble?

KEN. In trouble?

LAURA. With your father?

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.

LAURA. And you?

KEN. I, too. On my own.

LAURA. But how?

KEN. I don't know. But I'll manage somehow.

LAURA. Oh, Ken ...

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

LAURA. Don't talk like that.

KEN. It's true, Laura. Face it. [She puts her arms around him.]

LAURA. Ken, let's get married.--We've put it off too long.

KEN. Married!

LAURA. Not married then. But let's be together. Let's ...

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

LAURA. I love you more now than I did then.

KEN. And I'm not saying I love you less.

LAURA. Then?

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. How can you compare yourself to Ted?

KEN. Good God, I don't! Yet Ted was once all right.

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. [Flatly.] I want a job.

LAURA. Of course you do, darling!

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 ..."

LAURA. Oh, I know!

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 enters, carrying tea tray.]

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

LAURA. Tippy, doesn't your world ever fall out from under you?

TIPPY. Certainly not! [Pause.]

LAURA. [With forced gayety.] I say, where's Martin?

TIPPY. Can it be that you are asking for Martin!

LAURA. Uh-huh. I'm ready for him to turn me into a Communist.

TIPPY. That is news!--Where did Kate go?

LAURA. To make a date with her boss. He's sixty and rich--and serious.

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 accepts sandwich and tea and tries to be a sport and make the party.]

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.

TIPPY. As if your brains weren't muddled enough already!

[MARTIN bursts in, carrying two Soviet posters. Leaves door ajar.]

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

LAURA. It's ugly.

KEN. I like them. Why can't Americans make ugly things look beautiful?

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

[TIPPY takes thumb tacks and bottle of red ink and goes to kitchen.]

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

MARTIN. By God, you're right.--It's the same in all the arts.

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?

MARTIN. Only the revolution will change that tripe.

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.]

TIPPY. Belaya armeya chornee barone
Snova gotovyat nam tsarskee trone

[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.]

No ot tigee do bretanskeye morye
Armeya krasnaya vsekh seelnaye.

[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.]

LAURA. Bishop Holden!

BISHOP. What is this?

KEN. Hello, Dad.

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. [Shaking hands.] What is the matter with your head?

TIPPY. Oh Jesus! [Yanks off towel.]

BISHOP. Were you rehearsing for a theatrical?

TIPPY. Full dress. My wound was dressed with red ink.

BISHOP. And that song you were singing? I couldn't quite place it.

MARTIN. That's a Red Army song.

BISHOP. Red Army?

MARTIN. Soviet--Russian.

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

MARTIN. Tippy was making it burlesque. He refuses to take anything seriously.

BISHOP. And the--uh--occasion?

MARTIN. The occasion was that I had just brought home those posters.

BISHOP. [Looking at the posters.] Ah, I see.

MARTIN. How do you like them?

BISHOP. The lettering has some Greek characters. I take it that is Russian?

KEN. Of course, dad. They're Soviet posters.--A rather distinctive form of art.

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

KEN. It was just Tippy's idea of fun.

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.

BISHOP. [Satisfied.] Ah yes, of course. I once learned a Japanese song.

MARTIN. I'm studying Russian.

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

BISHOP. Are you studying Russian, too?

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

BISHOP. I learned Greek so I could read the Gospels in the original tongue.

TIPPY. That's why they're learning Russian.

BISHOP. The Gospels in Russian?

TIPPY. Saint Marx, Saint Engels, Saint Lenin and Saint Stalin.

BISHOP. But--if you mean Karl Marx, he wrote in German.

TIPPY. Hitler had him translated into Russian so the Germans couldn't read him.

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

MARTIN. His sense of humor saves him from anything serious.

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. Dangerous to world capitalism--but constructive of a new civilization.

BISHOP. Young man, may I ask if you are American born?

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

LAURA. Bishop Holden didn't come to get into arguments with you boys.

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

MARTIN. Thanks, Laura. You're right. I'll run along.

TIPPY. I'll go with you. I've a bit of shopping I ought to do.

MARTIN. I'll get your hat. [Goes to bedroom.]

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.

TIPPY. No. I have no place for that. I only wash them.

BISHOP. You wash them and they pay you?

TIPPY. Yes sir. That is, I wash the dogs, and the people pay me.

BISHOP. Ah yes. I understand.

[MARTIN comes out with TIPPY'S hat. Picks up his own.]

TIPPY. Clean dogs for clean people.

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. But we mustn't protest. The meek shall inherit the earth!

BISHOP. And the devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.

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.

TIPPY. [Hurriedly.] Good-bye, sir. [TIPPY and MARTIN go.]

[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.]

BISHOP. Russian. Why are you studying Russian?

KEN. I find it interesting.

BISHOP. Chinese would be interesting. Why Russian?

KEN. I am interested in their architectural developments.

BISHOP. My boy, you haven't it in mind to go to Russia?

KEN. [Evasive.] Wanting doesn't get you there.

BISHOP. Why, of all places in the world, should you want to go to Russia?

KEN. There is no unemployment there. They need men.

BISHOP. [Impatiently.] Oof! Russia ...

[TED enters. He still has the book.]

TED. [Greeting BISHOP with aloof diffidence.] How do you do, sir?

BISHOP. [Very cordial.] How are you? How are you?

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

KEN. No. She stepped out.

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

BISHOP. That is unfortunate. Have you aspirin?

TED. Yes, thank you. [He goes into bedroom, closing door.]

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?

KENNETH. [Sarcastically.] Books.

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

KEN. It's finishing a lot of us.

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

KEN. I'm sick of living on charity.

BISHOP. Charity?

KEN. On your charity.

BISHOP. You are my son. What little I give you is yours by right.

KEN. What right? I'm not a child, nor a cripple. I'm nearly thirty years old.

BISHOP. These are not normal times.

KEN. They are normal for me.

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.

BISHOP. Your soul is poisoned with envy.

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. The Inquisition tried forbidding convictions.

BISHOP. [Frightened.] Convictions?

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.

KEN. I've heard that for six years.

[Pause.]

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

KEN. [Shortly.] I don't want it.

BISHOP. But how can you get along without it?

KEN. I'll get along.

BISHOP. How do you propose to live?

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.

BISHOP. It gives us pleasure to help you.

KEN. But can't you see what you're doing to my self-respect?

BISHOP. I don't want to hurt your self-respect.

KEN. Then leave me alone.

[Pause.]

BISHOP. [Clearing his throat.] Have you been to see Stanley Prescott?

KEN. Yes.

BISHOP. Why hasn't he done something for you?

KEN. I suppose he can't.

BISHOP. Prescott's my friend. He ought to do something for you.

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.]

KEN. Don't leave that check, dad.

BISHOP. But son--

KEN. If you do, I'll tear it up.

[BISHOP picks up check, talks to LAURA.]

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?

LAURA. [With difficulty.] He wants to break our engagement.

BISHOP. Ah! That's the trouble then. You two have quarrelled.

LAURA. He doesn't need me. I don't mean anything to him....

BISHOP. But of course you do.--There, Laura, there!

LAURA. No. He doesn't. I feel it.

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

LAURA. Oh, he's so muddled--he's so muddled!

BISHOP. I know how you feel, my dear, but lovers' quarrels ...

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.

LAURA. That they belong!

BISHOP. Yes, yes ...

LAURA. You've got to find him a job. You've got to!

BISHOP. Dear child--if only I could!

LAURA. You've got to!--even if you have to buy one.

BISHOP. Buy one?

LAURA. [Moving closer to him.] He need never know....

[TED draws back and softly closes the door.]