ACT II
Scene: The private office of the 13 Soap Company. A rather commonplace room, furnished comfortably but not elaborately. The walls have several posters extolling the virtues of 13 Soap—such as “Do you believe in signs?” “13 Soap is unlucky for dirt.” “Be Clean. Cheap Soap for Cheap People.” “13 Soap is the most expensive soap in the world, one dollar a cake.” There is a particularly large stand in the up-stage wall bearing the legend:
“The average cake of soap gives you 56 washes. A cake of 13 soap gives you only 24,
But
What Washes!”
There is a door on the left and two more at right. At back are windows through which the audience sees the building across the street literally covered with 13 Soap posters. There is a desk, down C., with chairs, cabinets, a hatrack, a water-cooler, a safe, etc., which complete the equipment of the room. Light oak office furniture. Three telephones, one on stand right, one on desk left, and one on desk center. Shades on windows. All over carpet. Four brackets.
The time is one month after the first act, about ten o’clock in the morning.
The curtain rises on an empty stage. Rodney’s voice heard off-stage:
Rodney. (Enters from door upper R.) Forward march! (Six sandwich-men enter door upper R., bearing boards: “13 Soap—unlucky for dirt”) Halt! (They stop) Now, you understand you’re all to go down to Mr. Cyrus Martin’s office, 226 Broadway, and parade there all day—and to-morrow the same thing. Be in front of his house to-night at six sharp, you understand?
Sandwich Men. Yes, sir.
Rodney. Then forward march! (They exit through door L. Rodney goes to his desk. Business with papers, etc. Peale enters from door upper R.)
Peale. Hello, little boss. Holy Peter Piper, you’ve shaved off your mustache!
Rodney. (Grinning) Yes, I’m just beginning to get on to myself. By George, I certainly used to look like the devil. Do you observe the clothes?
Peale. (R. C. Crosses up; removes coat, and places it L. of C. corner L. of desk) Why, you are getting to be a regular business man.
Rodney. Business is great stuff. I thought it’d bore me, but it’s immense; it’s the best game I ever played. What’s the news with you?
Peale. We only just got back from Buffalo this morning.
Rodney. We?
Peale. (Sits in chair L. of desk) Yes, your father and I. He went to the Iroquois in Buffalo. I had all the billboards in the neighborhood plastered thick—and 48-sheet stands along the streets to the Union Station. From the time the old man got in until he got out, he couldn’t look anywhere without seeing 13 Soap. I even found out the number of his room and had a small balloon floating 13 Soap streamers right outside his window. I took a page in all the Buffalo papers—bribed the hat boy to keep putting circulars in his hat every time he checked it, and sent him one of our new folders every mail. They have eight mails a day in Buffalo. I came back with him on the train and when he went into the washroom last night I had the porter say “Sorry, sir, we ain’t got no Thirteen Soap, but you can’t hardly keep any on hand—it’s such grand, grand soap.” (Rises and crosses to R.)
Rodney. Gee, that’s great. (Crosses to L.)
Peale. Well, what’s on for to-day?
Rodney. I’ve got a bully new advertising scheme. When you go into a barber shop where do you look?
Peale. At the manicure.
Rodney. No, no, at the ceiling—we’ll put ads on all the barber’s ceilings.
Peale. (Scornfully) Old stuff! It’s been done—is that what you call a new scheme?
Rodney. Well, that wasn’t my big idea. (Goes up-stage, sits in chair behind desk)
Peale. (Mockingly) No? Well, what is your big idea?
Rodney. Plans for our new factory.
Peale. Plans for what? Have you gone dippy?
Rodney. Here they are. (He produces large blue-print) Pretty real looking, aren’t they?
Peale. You don’t mean you’ve actually got some nut to build us a factory?
Rodney. No, no, they are for father.
Peale. Oh, yes, I must admit that is some idea. (Takes blue-print)
Rodney. If he ever does drop in to make a deal I thought we ought to have something to make a front, something that looks like a plant.
Peale. Plant is right.
Rodney. And by the way, if we can, let it leak out that it’s the Ivory Soap people who are backing us with unlimited capital.
Peale. The Ivory Soap people?
Rodney. Sure, father’s always hated ’em in business. His oldest friend, though, is John Clark, one of the big bugs in Ivory Soap. Clark’s got a son, Ellery, that father dislikes because he’s such a success in business—always held him up to me as a model son to pattern by. It’d make father wild if he thought that old Clark was going to back us; Ivory Soap’s the only bunch he’s never been able to lick. (Rises and goes down R.)
Peale. (Goes down L.) Then that scheme ought to be good for a great rise out of father.
Rodney. Say, by the way, I put over a corker on him this morning: I arranged for a parade of sandwich-men up and down in front of his house. I just sent another bunch to his office.
Peale. Oh, we’re bound to land him sooner or later, keeping after him the way we have.
Rodney. Funny, though, nobody’s tried to buy any soap from us yet.
Peale. Well, it takes time to create a demand. These 200 cakes of pink castile you bought looked swell in our old rose wrappers, didn’t they?
Rodney. Say, where’s Miss Grayson? Have you seen her to-day?
Peale. No, and it’s after eleven.
Rodney. I’ll bet she was here before either of us—she always is. By George, isn’t she a corker?
Peale. (Indifferently) Oh, she’s all right. (Takes pad and pencil from pocket and sits in arm-chair L.)
Rodney. All right!? Why, the girls you read about don’t mean anything compared to Mary. She’s got Juliet beat a mile. Every time I think of her I want to yell or do some darn fool thing, and every time I see her I just want to get down and kiss her shoes. I just want to walk around after her all the rest of my life and say “Are you comfortable, my love? Are you happy? If there is anything on the wide earth you want, let me get it for you, Mary.” What a wonderful name that is—just like her, simple and honest and beautiful! Mary!
Peale. (Reflectively) If we could only land one hard wallop on father after that Buffalo business!
Rodney. (Indignantly) Didn’t you hear what I said?
Peale. Not a word.
Rodney. I was talking about Mary.
Peale. I know you were. That’s why I didn’t listen.
(Mary enters from door upper R. with MSS. case. Hangs up hat, then goes to desk, sitting back of it C.)
Mary. Good-morning.
Rodney. (To Mary) Ah, you’re here—now everything’s all right, it’s a great world.
Mary. Don’t be silly; this is a business office.
Rodney. By George, Mary——
Mary. Miss Grayson!
Rodney. By George, Miss Grayson, you do look simply stunning! You’re twice as pretty to-day as you were yesterday, and to-morrow you’ll be——
Peale. Hey, hey, change the record or put on a soft needle!
Mary. (To Peale) Quite right—in business hours, only business. (Takes list of assets and liabilities from case)
Rodney. But you are the prettiest thing——
Mary. Never mind that—you listen to me. This firm’s broke.
Rodney. That we can’t be——
Peale. It must be some mistake in the books——
Mary. Is it? I was surprised myself when I balanced our accounts this morning. I have here a statement of our assets and liabilities. We owe $22,818.09.
Peale. What’s the 9 cents for?
Rodney. What are our assets?
Mary. $133.13.
Rodney. That’s quite a showing for a month.
Mary. Mr. McChesney, the advertising man, was here this morning, and he won’t wait any longer for his money.
Rodney. But we paid him $5,000.
Mary. (Looking at statement) Yes, and owe him $9,400. And unless he has $2,500 of it to-day he’ll put you out of business.
Peale. That’s the trouble of dealing with business men. They’re so particular about being paid. Now, you take a lot of actors——
Mary. But what about McChesney?
Rodney. Yes, what are we going to do when McChesney comes here to-day for money—cash?
Peale. Well, we don’t do any more business with him.
Mary. No, I guess we won’t.
Peale. Well, don’t you worry, old son, we’ll fix father somehow. Nobody can stop good advertising. Why, I met a little fellow on the train last night. He gets $50,000 a year just for writing ads. He says a good trade-mark is 70% of the battle, and we’ve got the best trade-mark I ever heard of.
Mary. You think we ought to keep on advertising?
Peale. Sure, if we can get credit.
Rodney. I suppose we might as well owe forty thousand as twenty.
Peale. Absolutely. Half of all modern advertising success is based on a good trade-mark, and ours is a bird.
Rodney. By George, that’s true, we simply have got to keep going. We’ll manage somehow.
Mary. I like to hear you say that.
Peale. Now you’re talking. We’ll conduct the greatest campaign since George W. Advertising was a young man.
Miss Burke. (Entering with one letter from door upper R.) Here’s the morning mail. (Rodney takes letter, returns front of desk, Miss Burke exits R.)
Peale. Pretty heavy mail. (Coming down L. of Rodney)
Mary. I’ll bet it’s another bill. (Coming down R. of Rodney)
Rodney. Hurrah! Hurrah! It’s from the Countess.
Mary. What does she say?
Peale. (Grabbing letter, and looking at it) Oh, French stuff.
Rodney. She says she was delayed abroad, but that she’s due to-day on the Imperator or Rotter or whatever you call it, this morning, and that she’s coming to see us at eleven.
Mary. It’s half-past eleven now. Oh, dear.
Peale. Fear not. Remember, though a Countess, she is still a woman: give her time.
Mary. Does she say anything about the $15,000?
Rodney. No.
Peale. Well, I’ve got a hunch everything’s going to be all right, or she wouldn’t have written us at all.
Rodney. Her $15,000’ll keep us going for quite a while.
Miss Burke. (Entering from door upper R.) Mr. McChesney is here to see you.
Mary. The advertising man. (Goes to typewriter desk, and pounds on it)
Miss Burke. He seems very angry, too.
Rodney. Tell him I’m out. (Goes to chair behind desk and sits)
McChesney. (Entering from door upper R.) Thought I’d come right in instead of waiting to have her tell me you were out. (Going to Rodney)
(Miss Burke exits.)
Rodney. (Genially) Why, hello, Mr. McChesney.
Peale. (Trying to shake hands) How are you, Mac?
McChesney. (Throwing him off) You may be in the soap business, but cut out the soft soap with me. Where’s my money? Have you got it?
Rodney. Why—er—the fact is——
McChesney. That means you haven’t.
Rodney. Well, you see——
McChesney. That doesn’t go with me. Do you think you can put me off? You can bet your blooming liabilities you can’t. I think this whole concern is bunk and I’m going after you good——
Rodney. I don’t care for that kind of loud talk. Drop it.
Peale. Drop it.
McChesney. (Surprised) What?
Peale. He said, drop it.
Rodney. It’s simply that I haven’t had time to examine your bill in detail. This afternoon, however, I——
McChesney. I’ve heard that before. Now, see here, Mr. Martin—your father’s an honest man: he won’t stand for his son not paying me my money. I’ll see him now. (He starts for door)
Rodney. Wait a minute, wait a minute. I’ll give you a check for $2,500 on account. I presume that will be satisfactory.
McChesney. (Taken aback) Why, yes—sure—but——
Rodney. You understand, Mr. Peale, that not a cent of that fifty thousand dollars we appropriated for our October advertising campaign is to go to him?
Peale. Absolutely.
McChesney. Now, Mr. Martin, I’ll admit I’m hasty tempered. I’m sorry I made a mistake, but a contract is a contract and——
Rodney. Here’s your check. Good-day.
McChesney. But, Mr. Martin——
Rodney. Show Mr. McChesney out.
Peale. (Goes to McChesney, takes his arm and leads him to door upper R.) Come on, Mac—this way to the elevator. (Delighted) Watch your step.
(Mr. McChesney exits.)
Rodney. (Gleefully) Well, I fixed him, didn’t I?
Mary. (Rises and goes to Rodney) No, you’ve only got us into more difficulty. You know, there’s no money in the bank.
Rodney. But the check won’t go through the clearing-house until to-morrow morning and by then we’ll have the $15,000 from the Countess.
Peale. But where is the Countess?
Mary. I’ll go telephone now to see if the Imperator’s docked yet.
Peale. I’ll bet she sank in mid-ocean!
Miss Burke. (Entering) Mr. Ellery Clark to see you.
Rodney. How I hate that fellow!
Peale. What’ve you ever done to him?
Rodney. Nothing. I wish I could. That’s the fellow I told you about. John Clark’s pride.
Peale. Oh, yes, the son of Ivory Soap. Let’s have a peek at him?
Miss Burke. Yes, sir. (She exits)
Peale. I never saw a model son before.
Mary. (She starts down R.) Oh, Rodney, find out how Ellery’s doing in business, will you?
Rodney. Oh, I suppose so.
(Mary exits door lower R.)
Peale. (Crosses to arm-chair L.) You’re spoiling that girl. She used to be a good business woman. Now half the time, instead of using her brains she just sits and looks at you as if you were some marvellous antique work of art. (Sits)
(Ellery enters door upper R.)
Ellery. Hello, Rodney, mind if I come in?
Rodney. I’m very busy to-day, Mr. Clark.
Ellery. Oh, I suppose you are. Must take a lot of time to get up your advertisements.
Peale. (Rises, goes to Ellery and offers hand) You like ’em? I write ’em! My name’s Peale! (Goes back to chair L. Sits)
Ellery. (Turning from him, bored) How do you do? (Sits in arm-chair R.)
Rodney. What is it, Mr. Clark?
Ellery. You see, it’s like this, old top. I’ve been having rather a time with father lately—silly old man—insisted on the absurd idea of my going into business. Beastly bore.
Rodney. But you wanted to do that?
Ellery. I should say not.
Rodney. But I thought you loved work?
Ellery. It’s a preposterous idea—men of intelligence go in for the professions. I paint.
Peale. (Half aside) You look it!
Rodney. I’d heard you were a model son.
Ellery. But I don’t consider it a compliment to be a success in business—think of all the blighters who are.
Peale. Yes, the bally rotters!
Ellery. Father keeps reminding me of your success every day—most irritating. You see, of course he’s sore, because I never bothered much about business. Oh, I have tackled a thing or two. But luck was always against me. It just happened it didn’t work out right. Not my fault, you understand?
Peale. You couldn’t be to blame.
Ellery. Of course, if I ever devoted myself to business! But, after all, when you know you can do a thing you want to, why bother to do it, if it bores you?
Peale. Yes, life is a damn nuisance.
Ellery. (Sighing) And father has been so offensive lately, I’ve decided to give a little time to business and make a success of it. I can, you know.
Rodney. Indeed?
Peale. Seems simple.
Ellery. Oh, rather. I have it all figured out. For my scheme I’ve got to raise seventy-five hundred dollars, and I wanted to talk to you about it. This idea of mine is an automobile proposition. I really need $10,000, and I’ve only got $2,500.
(Rodney and Peale exchange looks and walk over to Ellery, one on each side of him.)
Rodney. Ellery, why do you want to go into the automobile business? It’s dangerous—unsafe——
Peale. The risk’s tremendous.
Rodney. Ellery, our families are old friends. Now, if you really want to show your father you’re a money-maker, why don’t you buy some shares in our company?
Ellery. I don’t care much about the idea of being in the soap business—rather vulgar.
Rodney. But you don’t have to be in the business.
Peale. Absolutely not.
Rodney. It’s a very simple proposition. All you do is invest and then sit still and deposit your checks when we pay dividends.
Ellery. I say, that sounds a bit better.
Rodney. We’re not letting the general public in—but it’d be such a joke on your father for you to make money.
Ellery. Yes, wouldn’t it? (They all laugh) I fancy he’d be mighty glad I had sense enough to go in with you.
Rodney. Yes, wouldn’t he?
Ellery. But is it a safe investment?
Rodney. Why, we’d guarantee you against loss from our assets.
Peale. Yes, from our assets.
Ellery. That sounds rather ripping. But what would I get for my twenty-five hundred?
Peale. A receipt.
Ellery. I know, I know, but what interest in the business?
Rodney. Two and one-half per cent.
Ellery. I say, is that much?
Rodney. Think what two and a half per cent in the steel trust would mean.
Peale. And more people use soap than steel.
Ellery. (Wisely) Isn’t steel dearer?
Rodney. It’s quantity that counts.
Peale. Four cakes a year to every person in this country would represent an annual output of 400,000,000 cakes—and think of all the babies who’ll be born next year. They’ll all have to be washed.
Ellery. Very true, very true. What is the annual birth-rate?
Rodney. Let me see, let me see; do you know, Peale?
Peale. There’s one born every minute.
Ellery. I fancy that’s true.
Peale. You can bet it is.
Rodney. Now, what do you say, Ellery, about investing in our company?
Ellery. (After a long pause, rises and shakes hands with Rodney) I’ll do it.
Peale. God’s in His Heaven, all’s right with the world! (Crosses L.)
Rodney. Have you the money with you?
Ellery. Why, no.
Peale. Then you’ll send us a check to-day?
Ellery. I don’t get the money until next week.
Rodney. Why not?
Ellery. Father didn’t promise it to me till next Monday.
Peale. Well, ask him for it now.
Ellery. Oh, I’m afraid I can’t. He’s out of town.
Rodney. We can’t agree to hold the matter open until next Monday. (Goes to chair behind desk and sits)
Peale. No, not till way next Monday. Why don’t you telephone him?
Ellery. Yes, that wouldn’t be so distressing. If I can get him—I find him considerably easier to talk to on the ’phone. I can always ring off.
Peale. Come this way—it’ll be quieter for you if he’s noisy. (Goes to Ellery, takes his arm, and leads him to door lower R.)
Mary. (Enters door lower R.) Oh, how do you do, Mr. Clark?
Ellery. Oh, how do you do? (They shake hands)
Peale. (Pushing him out) Never mind the social chatter. Ellery, you don’t mind my calling you Ellery—do you, Ellery? (To her) You see, Ellery has work to do. (Exit Ellery. Mary goes to L.) If that’s a model son, thank God I was born a black sheep!
Rodney. (To Mary) Has the Imperator docked?
Mary. Three hours ago.
Peale. Then I’ll bet the Countess has been hit by a taxi! (Drinks)
Mary. Oh, Rodney, did you find out how well Ellery’s doing?
Rodney. Oh, great! Hasn’t made a cent. Wanted to borrow some money from me.
Mary. Your father’d be glad to hear that.
Peale. Oh, where is our wandering Countess? (Crosses to L.)
Miss Burke. (Entering) The Countess de Boureen.
Peale. By golly, she enters on the cue.
Rodney. We’re saved now.
Mary. Oh, I do hope so.
Rodney. Get her right in here, quick.
(Miss Burke exits.)
Ellery. (Sticking his head in at door) How do you use this ’phone? I’ve never run a switchboard!
Mary. Oh, I’ll come show you. (Crosses to R.)
Ellery. Oh, thank you. I’m not much at mechanical problems. (He exits)
Rodney. (To Mary as she goes) And get his father for him; it may mean $2,500 more for us.
Peale. (Runs to door R. shouting to Mary) Do anything: hold his hand—kiss him! (She exits. To Rodney) Do you need an interpreter for the Countess?
Rodney. (As he speaks, goes over and pulls down a shade on which is painted an advertisement in French) I can understand anything she says about money. You can help me count it.
Peale. That’s the grandest sensation I know. (Crosses to L.)
Miss Burke. (Announcing) The Countess de Bowreen.
(Countess sweeps in. Rodney delighted. Goes to her and kisses her hand.)
Rodney. Ah, bonjour—bonjour.
Countess. Bonjour—bonjour.
Rodney. (Pointing to window shade) Regardez.
Countess. Ah, magnifique, superbe, superbe! Je suis désolée d’être si en retard, mais c’est très compliqué à la douane. (Coming down in front of desk)
Rodney. Not at all. (Going to her)
Peale. Not at all. (Going to her)
Countess. (Threatening) Vous avez reçu ma lettre?
Rodney. Letter? Yes, I got your letter.
Peale. (Leaning forward eagerly to her) Oh, you little life-saver.
Rodney. (To her) Mon manager, you remember?
Countess. Je suis enchantée de vous revoir.
(Peale bows very low.)
Rodney. Kiss her hand—it’s French stuff.
(Peale kisses her hand.)
Peale. She looks like money—ask her—ask her.
Rodney. (Nervously) You have the money?
Countess. Eh?
Peale. (Snapping his fingers) Come on, kid, say yes, say yes.
Rodney. Vous avez argent?
Countess. Oui, oui, j’ai l’argent.
Peale. What does she say?
Rodney. She says yes.
Peale. Shall I kiss her?
Rodney. Do you want to spoil everything? Don’t kiss her till we get the money. The money with you?
Countess. Eh?
Rodney. Argent avec vous?
Countess. Oui, j’ai l’argent ici. (Opening bag and taking out check)
Peale. It’s real.
Countess. C’est un chèque de Morgan Harjes pour cent mille francs.
Rodney. (Looking at it) Draft for $20,000 in full payment for French rights of the 13 Soap.
Countess. Je vous donnerai ce chèque pour vingt mille dollars, mais comme je ne vous dois que quinze mille, vous pourrez me donner votre chèque pour cinq mille. Cela finira notre affaire.
Peale. Slip it to me, kid, slip it to me. I’m dying on my feet. (Takes check from Rodney)
Rodney. She says she’ll give us the draft for $20,000, but as she only owes us $15,000, we must give her back our check for $5,000.
Peale. That seems simple, give her the check.
Rodney. But we haven’t any money in the bank. Suppose we get her check cashed first. Then we can pay her.
Peale. Sure, great! I’ll go right over to the bank to get it certified. (Countess takes check from Peale and tears it up) What’s the matter with you? What’s the matter?
(Countess is smiling.)
Rodney. She’s crazy——
Countess. Ah mais non, l’affaire c’est fini maintenant——
Peale. Talk French to her.
Rodney. Pourquoi tear it up—pourquoi—pourquoi?
Countess. Gee, but you’re funny!
Rodney. She spoke English! She’s a fake. (Rodney and Peale stare at her speechless, Peale pointing toward the draft)
Peale. The draft was phoney, too.
Countess. (Smiling) Sure it was.
Peale. But what’s the idea, kid?
Countess. (Sits on desk) You see, I was going to trim you out of your $5,000 check, but as long as you haven’t any money, your check’s no good, so you’ve busted up my whole scheme.
Peale. But why pick on us?
Countess. I didn’t start out to: you wished it on yourselves. I came to trim your father. You remember, I wanted to see him, but I looked so soft you thought you’d grab me off and sell me the French agency of your Thirteen Soap. I didn’t think your father could be as big a boob as you were, so I changed my plans. Do you get me?
Peale. Yes, I get you and now I’m going to get the cops to get you. (Starts up-stage)
Countess. (Laughs. Crosses down L.) I should burst into laughter. Why, you pikers, I’m on: you’re busted. You haven’t any money and you have got a phoney company.
Rodney. Now, see here—(Goes to her)
Countess. Preserve it. Preserve it. (Crosses to center) Don’t forget, I’ve understood everything you two guys were talking about.
Peale. Whew! (Sits in arm-chair R.)
Rodney. Gee! (Goes to arm-chair L.)
Countess. (To Rodney) “Kiss her hand—it’s French stuff.” (To Peale) “Ah, there, you little life-saver.” (To Rodney) “The money with you—argent avec vous?” Gee, your French is rotten. (To Peale, who moves away) “Shall I kiss her?” (A pause) Send for the cops and I’ll blow the whole thing to the papers. (A pause) Well, I guess we’re quits. If you had any money I’d ask for a piece of change to keep me quiet, but as it is, I can’t waste my time.
Rodney. (Rises) You’re not French at all?
Countess. I was educated over there—immense, wasn’t I? You never tumbled at all.
Peale. (Rises) But why the foreign stuff?
Countess. Well, I can talk good French—but my English is punk. (Sits on desk)
Rodney. You won’t say anything now?
Countess. No, I don’t hit a fellow when he’s down. Anyhow, we’re all in the same class. Three fakes.
Peale. She has spilled the beans.
Rodney. Great Scott! And McChesney has our check for $2,500.
Peale. (To Rodney) Gee! We will just have to get that $2,500 from Ellery.
Rodney. What’s happened to Ellery? Let’s find him. (They start for door R.)
Peale. If he falls down on us——
Ellery. (Entering) Can I see you a moment?
Rodney. I should say you could.
Peale. You seem very beastly pleased, Ellery.
Ellery. Oh, I am.
Rodney. Then everything’s all right about father?
Ellery. Oh, yes, so to speak—in a way.
Rodney. Ah?
Peale. (Suddenly suspicious) What do you mean—so to speak, in a way?
Ellery. Well, I couldn’t reach the old man on the ’phone, and that did make matters so much easier. I don’t fancy talking to father on the ’phone.
Peale. Why couldn’t you reach him?
Ellery. (Smiling happily) Why, he’s on his yacht somewhere on the Sound—he won’t be home till Monday, so I can’t possibly get the money for you to-day.
(Rodney and Peale walk up-stage while the Countess drops her handkerchief. Ellery picks it up and smiles back delightedly at her. Mary enters from door lower R.)
Mary. Look out. McChesney’s coming back here—I just saw him across the street.
Peale. Try and keep him out.
Mary. I’ll do my best. (She exits door upper R.)
Rodney. Ellery, you’ll have to go—we’ve got a big job on our hands. Au revoir, Countess.
Countess. Au revoir, Monsieur. (With marked accent) Is there no one to see me to my taxi? These American buildings are so big I am lost.
Rodney. Ellery, you take the Countess.
Ellery. Oh, I’d love to.
Rodney. Madame la comtesse de Beaurien—Ellery Clark.
Countess. Dee-lighted.
Ellery. So am I.
Rodney. (Opens door lower L.) You can go out the private entrance.
Ellery. (Going toward left) Oh, certainly.
Countess. (As they go) You speak the French?
Ellery. No, not at all.
Countess. A pitee.
Ellery. But I can speak German.
Countess. Aber prachtvoll—Ich habe die Deutche sprache so furchtbar gern.
Ellery. Ich auch——
Countess. Warum laden sie mich nicht zum Biltmore zum Thee ein?
Ellery. Mit dem grössten——
Countess. Vergnuegen?
Ellery. (Relieved) Yes, that’s the word—Vergnuegen.
Peale. I’ll bet there’s a Berlitz in her family somewhere.
Countess. Au revoir, Mr. Martin—(Turning to Rodney) Vous êtes trop aimable. Je vous remercie beaucoup de votre politesse. Au revoir—(Goes to Peale—in undertone) So long, kid, call me up sometime. (And then, chattering a stream of German to Ellery, they exit door left)
Rodney. (Closes door after Countess exits) Well, I’ve got to hand it to her. The Countess is a fake. Ellery is a flivver and McChesney’s on his way here with that phoney check. (Goes to his chair behind desk)
Peale. I can see Sing-Sing from here. (Goes to chair L. corner, sits quickly)
(McChesney bursts in, followed by Mary.)
McChesney. No, I won’t wait. You’re two swindlers. I’ve just come from the bank. Your check’s no good.
Rodney. No good! That’s impossible.
Peale. Absolutely.
McChesney. You haven’t any money in the bank.
Rodney. It must be some mistake on the part of our cashier.
McChesney. Yes it is—ask him.
Rodney. He’s at lunch.
McChesney. I’m going to the sheriff now, and unless you make the check good at my office in an hour, I’m going to cancel your advertising, cover up your billboards and send you both to jail, and that goes. (He exits)
Mary. Can’t you pay him?
Rodney. With what?
Mary. What happened to the Countess? Didn’t she give you the money?
Rodney. No, and she nearly got us for five thousand dollars.
Mary. What?
Rodney. She’s a fake.
Mary. The swindler! And the man from the Edison Company is here to say that unless they get some money at once they’ll cut off the current from all our signs, and the agent of the landlord is waiting for the rent. He seems very suspicious and wants to be paid for last month right away. What can I say to them?
(Rodney shakes his head.)
Peale. I don’t know.
Mary. Oh, please send for your father and give in.
Rodney. No.
Mary. You know I want you to succeed, but there’s no use fighting odds like these—you haven’t any money, you’re way in debt, and you mustn’t be disgraced. Please send for your father. I’m sure he’ll help you.
Rodney. I wonder if I’d better? What do you think, Peale?
Peale. I don’t know.
Mary. Do telephone him right away. (Crosses to door lower R.) Now I must try to fix the Edison man and the landlord, or they’ll be in here. (To Peale) What can I say to them?
Peale. I don’t know.
Mary. Oh, I’ll say you’re both out. (She exits door lower R.)
Peale. That’ll be a new one.
Rodney. Do you happen to know the sheriff?
Peale. Not yet. I’d like to have a pull enough to get a cell with a southern exposure.
Rodney. What are we going to do?
Peale. I don’t know.
Rodney. What are you here for?
Peale. I know, but I can’t think.
Miss Burke. (Entering) Mr. Cyrus Martin to see you.
Peale and Rodney. Who?
Miss Burke. Mr. Cyrus Martin.
Rodney. Have him wait.
Peale. Have him what? (Rises and goes to Rodney)
Rodney. Just a minute till I think. When I ring, show him in.
Miss Burke. Yes, sir. (She exits)
Peale. He must be here to make a deal. Our scheme worked—we’ve put it over, and what did it? Advertising.
Rodney. But father’s no fool. We’ve got to be very careful. How’ll we handle it? I’m not used to putting it over on father.
Peale. Don’t forget the factory and the Ivory Soap people and the plans, and get busy. You know. (He makes motions and brings letter-file from rack and throws contents on desk) That rubber-stamp stuff.
Rodney. But isn’t this playing it rather low down on father?
Peale. Oh, don’t get cold feet now?
Rodney. We really haven’t anything to sell him.
Peale. Yes, we have—a trade-mark. You know it’s good, so do I. We only need your father to back us and we’ll make a lot of money for him in spite of himself.
Rodney. I guess that’s true.
Peale. Sure it is, and anyhow all’s fair in love and business.
Ellery. (Coming in at private door left) Oh, I beg pardon, but I was so fascinated at meeting the Countess, I forgot my stick.
Rodney. Can’t see you now, Ellery. (He goes over and pulls down two windows shades on which are painted ads of 13 Soap)
Peale. (Giving him gloves) No, can’t ever see you again, Ellery. Here’s your cane. Now, hurry, Ellery. (He starts to lead him to door)
Ellery. The Countess is perfectly delightful—
Rodney. (Suddenly goes to Ellery) Hold on, hold on, Ellery, can you wait in there five minutes?
Ellery. (Pausing) But the Countess is downstairs in a taxi.
Rodney. Oh, she’ll wait for you, and charge the taxi to Mr. Peale. He’ll be right in and explain everything to you.
Peale. Oh, yes, I’ll explain.
Ellery. I don’t want to detain the Countess too long. Hate to keep a lady waiting—all that sort of thing. You know what women are. (He exits left)
Peale. Now, what is it, what do you want that gink for?
Rodney. Don’t you see?
Peale. No, I’m near-sighted.
Rodney. He’s the son of Ivory Soap. Coach him with some important message from old John Clark to us about a merger, and when father begins to wabble, have Ellery come in with the message. That’ll send father kerflop to the mat.
Peale. (Going) Master! Great, great, I get you. I’ll fix Ellery. This is your father’s Waterloo. (At door) As soon as I’ve taught Ellery his lesson I’ll be right back. I’ll tell him when we ring the bell twice, to bust in with his little recitation.
Rodney. But don’t let him get on to our game.
Peale. He couldn’t get on to anything but a weighing machine. (He goes out left)
(Rodney pushes the buzzer and then takes up the ’phone, keeping his eye on the door. In a moment Cyrus Martin enters.)
Rodney. No, much obliged, but we can’t consider it. No stock for sale—it’s quite out of the question. Good-bye. (Ringing off and then pretending to be surprised, turns and sees his father) Why, hello, father.
Martin. Hello, son.
Rodney. (Rodney gets very busy with papers and rubber-stamp) Sit down, won’t you? Be with you in just a minute.
Martin. (Drily) Thanks.
(Rodney very busy again with filing papers and opening and closing drawers. Martin looks at him in astonishment.)
Rodney. Have a cigar? (He abstractedly passes him a box)
Martin. Thanks—(He bites off end and lights it, and as he does so, Rodney again gets busy with similar business) Surprised to see me, I suppose?
Rodney. Not a bit. (He starts signing a contract. Martin, who has risen, attempts to glance at it, and as he does so, Rodney calmly turns it over and blots it. Martin turns away) There, that’s done! Now, father, what can I do for you?
Martin. Well, my boy—I just dropped in for a social call. The fact is, I’ve rather missed you.
Rodney. I’ve missed you too, father.
Martin. (Abruptly) Thought I’d have a look in and find out how things were going. (Sits in arm-chair R.)
Rodney. Fine—fine—everything’s breezing right along. Of course, I’m always glad to see you, but right now, father I’m pretty busy, so you’ll excuse me if—(He gets busy again with rubber-stamp)
Martin. (With a certain sarcasm) Well, if you can spare the time, I’d like a little business talk with you, Rodney.
Rodney. Certainly, in just a minute. (Gets busy with papers. Pushes the buzzer)
Peale. (Entering) Oh, excuse me.
Rodney. That’s all right, come right in. Father, you remember Mr. Peale—Peale, my father——
Peale. Indeed yes, I recall very well——
Martin. (Gruffly cutting him off) How are you?
Peale. (Sitting in chair left) A bit tired—just back from Buffalo where I’ve been conducting a big campaign.
Martin. Then it is to you I should address myself?
Rodney. Either or both of us.
Martin. (Rises and goes to desk) Then both of you listen to me. You’ve got to cut out this nonsense you call advertising.
Rodney. What nonsense?
Peale. (Weakly) Yes, what?
Martin. This morning there was a parade of sandwich-men in front of my house for two hours. I had to have them arrested. I got to the office to find another bunch. It annoys me.
Rodney. I’m sorry, father.
Martin. You’re trying to make a fool of me. I open a letter. It’s a circular for 13 Soap. I open my newspaper—you have a page ad. I look out of the window—there’s a billboard—I take a train, the damned porter apologizes because he’s all out of 13 Soap.
Rodney. Well, of course, all that proves how wonderful our publicity is.
Martin. (Grimly) You’re a grand young bluff, my son.
Rodney. Why, father, what do you mean?
Martin. I’ll tell you exactly what I mean: I’ve let you ramble on to see just how far you would go, but you’ve been spending a lot of money on ridiculous advertising, hoping that by annoying me I’ll buy your business to get rid of you. Well, I’m not going to. Now what have you got to say to that? Eh—eh?
Peale. (Rises quickly) Nothing—absolutely nothing. (Sits)
Rodney. (Quickly) But I have a lot to say. We may not have a big business now, but we have got a trade-mark, the catchiest trade-mark ever invented for soap. We’re a growing concern. Just because our advertising annoys you, you mustn’t think it’s valueless. Why, it’s so good that capital is chasing us: our money is practically unlimited. Is that a fair statement, Peale?
Peale. (Dazed at Rodney’s bluff) Very fair—very fair indeed——
Martin. Bluff, son, bluff!
Rodney. Not at all. And since you’re so skeptical, father, I don’t mind letting you see the plans for our new factory. (Takes plans from desk)
Martin. New factory?
Rodney. Yes, father—these are the offices, this is Miss Grayson’s office, this is Mr. Peale’s office, and this is mine.
Martin. Well, aren’t you going to make any soap?
Rodney. Right here, where our capacity will be——
Martin. Who’s putting up the money?
Rodney. (Reprovingly) Now, father, you cannot expect me to divulge a business secret to you, a rival manufacturer.
Peale. Oh, why not tell him, he is your father?
Rodney. Well, Peale, if you really think it is wise?
Peale. Oh, yes, I think it’s quite wise.
Rodney. It’s the Ivory Soap people.
Martin. (At once impressed and annoyed) The Ivory Soap people?
Peale. (Rises and goes to desk. Rubbing it in) Yes, the Ivory Soap people.
Martin. You mean John Clark?
Rodney. Yes.
Peale. Absolutely. (Martin turns and reflectively walks up-stage. Peale very obviously picks up push-button and pushes buzzer twice; it rings off left. There is a pause, and then in a moment, Ellery enters)
Ellery. Oh, excuse me. I didn’t know your father was here.
Rodney. (Very genially) That’s all right, Ellery.
Peale. (The same) Come right in.
Ellery. How do you do, Mr. Martin?
Martin. (Gruffly) How are you, Ellery?
Ellery. Well, I really can’t wait any longer. The party downstairs in the taxi—you follow me?
Peale. Yes, Ellery you told us that——
Ellery. Well, good-bye, then.
Rodney. Was that all you came in to say?
Ellery. (Remembering) Oh, yes, of course. If you’ll keep it open until Monday I’ll get the money for you then.
Rodney. But we can’t wait till Monday.
Ellery. But Mr. Peale told me——
Peale. (Interrupting quickly) We’ll see what we can do, but just now, Ellery, we’re very much occupied. (He has him by the arm)
Rodney. Oh, just a minute: you’d better give your father back the plans—say they’re quite satisfactory. (Gives plans to Peale)
Ellery. What plans?
Peale. Don’t you know?
Ellery. No.
Peale. That’s too bad. Well, good-bye, Ellery.
Ellery. I say, I do find business very confusing. (He exits)
Peale. (As he comes back) Ellery talks too much.
Rodney. He is very indiscreet—if it had been anybody but father he’d have given our whole plan away.
Martin. What’s he doing here—acting for his father?
Peale. Absolutely.
Martin. You’re not going to take him in—that pin-head? Why, he didn’t even seem to know what he was trying to get at.
Peale. No, he didn’t, did he?
Rodney. But after all, he does represent Ivory Soap.
Peale. Great soap, Ivory! Over 99 per cent pure. (Sits in arm-chair L.)
Martin. (Grunting) Ivory Soap? (He walks up and down while Rodney and Peale exchange gleeful glances. After a considerable pause) Well, thinking things over, why should you and I fight?
Rodney. You began it, father.
Martin. Quite true, and therefore I should be the one to call it off. Now, son, here’s the idea: I’d rather have you with me than against me—the money doesn’t matter much. In your way, while I don’t endorse that kind of publicity, I suppose you boys think your sensational ads are good.
Peale. (Rising) Thank you, sir.
Martin. Not at all. (To Rodney) And if you’re going to have a backer, wouldn’t I be better than the Ivory Soap people?
Rodney. After all, blood is thicker than business. What do you suggest?
Martin. Suppose I buy you out—including your trade-mark and goodwill?
Peale. Oh, you have our goodwill now, sir. (Rises and bows very profusely, then sits)
Rodney. (Reflectively) Buying us out might be expensive for you, father.
Martin. Oh, I guess it won’t take all the money I’ve got. What’s your proposition?
Rodney. What’s yours?
Martin. Well, I’ll give you $50,000 for your business as it stands.
Rodney. But we don’t want to give up our business. I like business.
Peale. (Grandly) We wish to continue in our chosen profession.
Martin. Well, suppose you take 25% of the profits in addition?
Rodney. It’s a wonderful autumn, isn’t it? These crisp cold bracing mornings.
Martin. Well, I hardly thought you’d grab at that. What will you take?
Rodney. (Rising quickly) One hundred thousand dollars cash, you assume all the contracts and obligations of this company, give us 40% of the profits, a contract for me at $20,000 a year; for Miss Grayson at $10,000, (Peale coughs)—and another for Mr. Peale at the same figure.
Martin. Done. (Shakes hands with Rodney)
(Peale and Rodney exchange looks and shake hands.)
Rodney. I congratulate you, father.
Martin. You needn’t. Your trade-mark might appeal to a lot of superstitious idiots, but as a business proposition I don’t think much of it. But now I’ll show old John Clark he can’t butt into my family affairs or get Ellery mixed up with my boy’s business.
Rodney. Yes, father, we’d much rather have you than Ellery.
Peale. Oh, much rather.
Miss Burke. (Entering) Oh, Mr. Martin!
Rodney. Yes?
Martin. Yes?
Rodney. (Going to her) That’s for me, father. (To Miss Burke) What is it?
Miss Burke. The agent for the landlord says he’s got to see you immediately.
Rodney. (Motioning her to be quiet) I’ll be right out. (To Martin, very nervously) You see, father, we’re thinking of taking larger offices. Come, Peale. We’ll be right back, father.
Peale. Yes, father, we’ll be right back. (They hurriedly exit)
Martin. (Stands there watching them proudly. Miss Grayson enters door lower R.) Hello, Miss Grayson, it’s mighty good to see you again—I——
Mary. Oh, Mr. Martin, I’m so glad Rodney finally sent for you.
Martin. (Surprised) Sent for me? (Goes in front of desk)
Mary. Have you talked to him?
Martin. Oh, yes, he just went out for a minute to see the agent of the landlord——
Mary. Oh, then he told you about that? (Goes to him)
Martin. (Puzzled) Yes, he told me—why not?
Mary. I am so glad to think he wasn’t ashamed to tell you the truth.
Martin. Oh, Rodney always was a truthful lad.
Mary. Oh, I’m so happy you’ve settled with him! You have settled, haven’t you? (Goes to arm-chair R.)
Martin. Yes, sure.
Mary. Oh, good. Isn’t it wonderful for him? (Very sweetly) Just think! Without you he couldn’t have lasted out the day. (Crossing down in front of desk)
Martin. Couldn’t have lasted out the day, ha, ha! Then our little scheme to put Rodney on his feet didn’t work?
Mary. But everything’s all right now. You’re going to help him——
Martin. Everything’s great now—(Knocked off his feet, then recovering himself) Oh, by the way, in our negotiations the one thing that Rodney didn’t fully go into was the nature of the assets.
Mary. The assets! They must have made even you laugh. Why, we haven’t any! (She laughs)
Martin. (Trying to laugh) Haven’t any! Ha—ha—by the way, there was a report on the Street to-day that the Ivory Soap people were going to make a deal with Rodney—build him a factory—
Mary. (Innocently) Oh, there’s nothing in that.
Martin. Are you sure? As I got here, I thought I saw Ellery Clark leaving.
Mary. Oh, he didn’t come here on business: Ellery came to borrow some money from Rodney—isn’t that funny?
Martin. Oh, yes, very funny—but the plans?
Mary. Rodney showed you some plans? He must have been joking!
Martin. (Changing his whole manner) The young scoundrel! (Starts to go up-stage)
Mary. What!
Martin. (Stops) Thank you, Miss Grayson, for telling me. Do you know what he tried to do to me? Hold me up for a hundred thousand dollars, make me think Ivory Soap was backing him, too—and but for you, he’d have succeeded.
Mary. What have I done?
Martin. You saved me a lot of money and kept me from being a fool. Thank you! Good-morning. (Starts for door upper R.)
Mary. You mean at last he’d succeeded in getting you to back him?
Martin. At last! (Coming to her, lays hat on desk) So that was his scheme all the time, was it? He didn’t go into business on the level, but just for my benefit? And you were helping him. Well, he can thank you again for having failed.
Mary. It’s all my fault.
Martin. Yes it is, from the start. You got up the plan of my pretending to put him out of the house——
Mary. Oh, but I tell you, you must help him.
Martin. Help him yourself. You’ve got $5,000.
Mary. But I gave it to him.
Martin. My son took money from you?
Mary. He didn’t know—I pretended it was from a friend.
Martin. Well, you got him in; now you can get him out.
Mary. But your bet—you bet $30,000 with John Clark. You don’t want to lose that?
Martin. Well, if Ellery’s trying to borrow money from Rodney it looks like an even break—and anyhow I’d lose the bet twice over rather than have my son think he could make a fool of his father.
Mary. But he is a good business man: he’d make you proud of him. You don’t know how hard he’s worked, how fine he’s been; he’s simply wonderful. If he could keep on a little longer, I know he’d succeed. If you’ll just help him, he’ll make money. You’ll see he will.
Martin. Of course, you want him to make money. You’re thinking of that percentage contract with me.
Mary. I’m not! Oh, I’m not! I can’t see him fail. Listen: I’ll try to give you back what you’ve given me—I don’t care anything about the contract. I’ll tear it up now if you’ll just help him.
Martin. By George, I believe you really are in love with him!
Mary. (Proudly) Yes, I am—now. But that doesn’t matter. We’ve got to save him—save his business.
Martin. I won’t give him a nickel. Good-bye! (Starts to go)
Mary. But you can’t go like this: he’ll be disgraced! He’s in debt.
Martin. Let him get out of it—it’ll do him good. I’ve been a sentimental fool. I’ve made it all too easy for him. (Coming down R.)
Mary. But that’s your fault, too.
Martin. Yes it is, and I don’t propose to repeat the error. He’s lied to me all the way through. We’ll let him face the truth; now we’ll see what he’s made of.
(Rodney and Peale enter.)
Rodney. (Coming in) Well, we’re going to move. (Goes to desk and sits)
Peale. Yes, nice chap, that fellow. (Coming down R.)
Rodney. Well, Mary, have you heard about our deal?
Martin. The deal’s off.
Mary. But—(Sits in arm-chair L.)
Rodney. (Back of desk) Off!
Peale. Off! (Goes up-stage to window)
Martin. Yes, off.
Rodney. But, why—why?
Martin. Because you took me for a bigger fool than I am. My own son can’t do that to me. I’ve found out now that you’re broke.
Mary. Oh, Mr. Martin!
Martin. (Stopping her) No! (To Rodney) And all the time you were lying to me about the Ivory Soap people and the factory they were going to put up. You thought you could make an ass of me—get the best of me, did you? Well, you can’t. I’m finished with you and your 13 Soap. You’ve got a swelled head, you’re a smart alec, you’re a complete fake, you’re a cheat, young man——
Rodney. (In utter dejection) I guess you’re right.
Martin. (With satisfaction) Ah!
Rodney. I did try to be smart. I was stuck on myself. I thought business was a cinch. But you’re right. I have been a fake. This whole thing never seemed real—it was just fun—like a game; but I’ve waked up, and now it’s serious. I tried to get the best of you, but I’ll take my licking. I don’t want any charity: I know what’s coming to me and I’ll take my medicine.
Martin. (Relenting a little) Well, maybe I’ve said a little too much——
Rodney. No, it’s all true.
Martin. But, see here, I don’t want you disgraced—I——
Rodney. You told me never to come back to you for a nickel, and I won’t. I told you, too, that I wouldn’t snivel—well, I’m not going to. Good-bye, father——
Martin. Now, see here——
Rodney. Please, father, it’s up to me and nobody else, to get out of this. Please go. (He holds out his hand)
Martin. (Gently) Good-bye, son. (He shakes his hand. He exits)
(Rodney sits in chair dejected.)
Peale. (Coming down to Rodney) Now, see here, little boss——
Rodney. Peale, I’m sorry, but you’re fired.
Peale. (Coming over and putting hand on his shoulder) Say, little boss, you can’t fire me. I’m just going to stick around, whatever happens.
(Mary touches Peale on the arm and motions him to go out. He nods understandingly and exits upper R. Mary comes to Rodney.)
Mary. Oh, Rodney, Rodney, it was all my fault. Your father had no idea of the truth—I didn’t understand; I thought you sent for him to help you. I told him about our company. I did it all—betrayed you.
Rodney. But you didn’t mean to: it’s all right, Mary.
Mary. You forgive me?
Rodney. Why, of course: I love you.
Mary. Oh, Rodney, I’m so sorry.
Rodney. (Changing completely. Rises) But if father thinks just because he laced it into me I’m licked, he’s wrong. Maybe I have been a fake but, by George, I won’t be any longer. (Goes down R.)
Mary. You’re really going on? (Goes down L.)
Rodney. When I’ve got you, you bet I am. Say, do you really think a long speech from father and no money to work with are enough to stop me? No, sir; what father said got me for a minute, but I’m not a quitter, and I’ll prove it. There must be something of father in me: I can’t be such a pin-head as I look. I’ll get out of this mess the best way I can, and then I’ll shine shoes or sell peanuts. I’ll start at the bottom instead of finishing there. I’ll make money—I’ll——
Mary. Oh, Rodney, Rodney, now I am proud of you! (She kisses him unexpectedly and heartily)
Rodney. (Overjoyed) What! That’s the first time you ever really kissed me—all by yourself—like that. By George, you must love me!
Mary. You bet I do. (She kisses him again and they clinch as Peale enters excitedly, coming down R.)
Peale. (Entering) Say, I didn’t mean to interrupt!
Rodney. (Still with Mary in his arms) Nothing in the world can interrupt me—What is it?
Peale. A telegram. It’s the first we ever received, and—I was afraid to open it.
(Mary, taking it, looks at it nervously.)
Mary. What awful thing can it be? (Goes in front of desk)
Rodney. Gee, I wonder what it says? (Crosses to her)
Peale. Read it. Read it. (Crosses to her)
Mary. (Having opened it) “Rodney Martin, President 13 Soap Company, 226 Broadway”——
Peale. Go on, we know the address——
Mary. “Ship at once, collect, 50,000 cakes 13 Soap. Marshall Field, Chicago.”
Rodney. Somebody really wants to buy some soap!
Peale. I don’t believe it.
Mary. (Handing Rodney the telegram) But here it is.
Rodney. (Reading) Fifty thousand cakes—it’s true.
Peale. We’ve started—we’ve begun! We’re actually going to sell some soap.
Rodney. The tide’s turned—didn’t I tell you advertising pays? We’ll sweep the country—Europe—Asia—Africa! Go in with father? Not for a million dollars! (Starts up-stage)
Peale. I’ll wire Marshall Field right away. (Starts for door upper R.)
Rodney. Go ahead.
Mary. (Suddenly) Great Heavens!
Peale. What is it?
Rodney. What’s happened?
Mary. That order is no good.
Peale. What! (Coming down R.)
Rodney. Why? (Coming down L.)
Mary. We can’t fill it: we’ve never made any soap. (Start stand staring at each other aghast)
Rodney. What’ll we do?
Peale. Let’s think. (They sit staring straight ahead)
(Rodney sits in chair L. Mary sits on table. Peale sits in chair R.)
Rodney. (Slowly) We must get some soap.
Peale. (Slowly) Yes, I thought of that.
Mary. (Slowly) Where can we get it?
Peale. From a soap factory!
Mary. (Slowly) But they all belong to father.
Rodney. (With dawning hope. Rises) But he can’t know about this Marshall Field order—maybe we could buy some soap before he’d have a chance to stop them selling to us?
(Peale and Mary rise.)
Peale. Great idea—let’s get busy.
Mary. How?
Rodney. Where’s the ’phone book? (She grabs red classified directory from desk) We’ll call up two or three of his branch offices. (He has hurriedly begun turning over pages, as Peale on one side and Mary on the other, help him) Skins, skates, shirts—where’s soap?
Mary. (Over his shoulder) Skylights, skates, slides——
Peale. (The same) Smelters, smoke-stacks, snuff.
Rodney. Ah, here it is! Soap manufacturers—(Skimming down page) 276 Broad—here’s one of father’s factories.
Peale. I’ve got one, too—374 Schuyler.
Mary. So have I: 480 Audubon. (They drop book and each dashes to a ’phone. As they give the number of ’phone, curtain. During two curtains, till they finish lines)
Rodney. 276 Broad.
Mary. 480 Audubon.
Peale. 374 Schuyler—and hurry, sweetie——
(Together)
Rodney. (Holding wire) It’ll have to be Old Rose.
Peale. Castile is the cheapest.
Mary. Order small cakes.
Rodney. Hello, this is the Martin Soap Company—we want to get some soap—pink castile—small cakes—40 or 50,000 cakes immediate delivery—what’s the price?
Mary. Hello, 480 Audbon. I want to find out if I can buy a lot of soap right away—Old Rose—castile—50,000 cakes; we want it this afternoon.
Peale. Hello, son, I want to buy a lot of soap: 50,000 cakes—got to have some of it to-day—smallest size castile cakes you keep. If you haven’t Old Rose—pink’ll do. Who am I? None of your business.
(Together)
(And as all three are talking together violently in their separate ’phones,
The curtain falls.)