ACT III
Scene: The scene is the same as that of Act I, except that it is five o’clock in the afternoon of a day in late October.
Martin is discovered behind the desk, right. Before him is a pile of evening papers and some unopened letters. As the curtain rises he opens one, displaying to the audience on its back page a page-advertisement of 13 Soap. In a moment he turns over to others, gives an annoyed exclamation and tosses it aside. He picks up one of the letters, opens it, gives an angry grunt, mutters disgustedly “13 Soap”, and throws it into the waste basket.
Johnson. (Entering door upper L.) Miss Grayson is here to see you, sir——
Martin. (A bit surprised) Miss Grayson? Well, show her in.
Johnson. Very good, sir. (He exits. Martin opens another paper, again sees an advertisement of 13 Soap and with considerable irritation sweeps the whole pile off the desk as Johnson enters, followed by Mary) Miss Grayson. (Johnson exits)
Mary. How do you do, Mr. Martin?
Martin. Come to get your job back, I suppose?
Mary. No, sir.
Martin. Well, you can have it—at the old salary.
Mary. I don’t want it.
Martin. Oh, Rodney sent you to plead for him?
Mary. No, sir.
Martin. Then, what are you here for?
Mary. To make you a business proposition.
Martin. Why doesn’t Rodney make it himself?
Mary. He doesn’t know I’m here.
Martin. That’s something in his favor: can’t see much use in women tying up in men’s business.
Johnson. (Entering) Mr. Rodney Martin and Ambrose Peale.
Martin. Oh, the whole firm! Send ’em in, Johnson.
Johnson. Very good, sir. (He exits)
(Rodney and Peale enter.)
Rodney. Hello, father. (Crosses to table)
Peale. How do you do, sir? (Coming down L.)
(Martin grunts to them both.)
Rodney. (Seeing Mary) Mary, what on earth are you doing here?
Mary. I came to tell your father about Marshall Field’s order.
Rodney. That’s why we’re here, too.
Peale. Absolutely.
Martin. Let me tell you right now, I won’t back any fake company.
Rodney. But we’re not a fake any longer.
Peale. We’ve actually sold some soap.
Mary. Fifty thousand cakes.
Rodney. To Marshall Field.
Martin. Then why did you send ’em only five thousand cakes?
Rodney. Because after we’d got that much from one of your branch factories you shut off our supply.
Peale. And we couldn’t get any more soap anywhere.
Mary. (Accusingly) And you knew it very well. (Crossing to R. side of Mr. Martin)
Rodney. We’ve still got 45,000 cakes to deliver, if we can get ’em from you. Why let all that money get out of the family? It’s a business proposition.
Martin. No, it isn’t. Don’t fool yourself: I sent that telegram.
Rodney. What telegram?
Martin. The telegram from Marshall Field’s ordering the 50,000 cakes.
Mary. You sent it?
Martin. That day at the office you were pretty game, son, and to tell the truth, I felt so sorry for you, I kind of had to do something, so I sent that wire——
Rodney. So that success is all a bluff, too? (Sits on sofa)
Mary. But what did you do it for?
Martin. Well, I figured an order like that would stall off your creditors, and then I had fixed it with one of our factories to let you have 5,000 cakes at three cents a cake. I knew it would mean some ready cash for you from Marshall Field——
Peale. But how did you square Marshall Field?
Martin. Oh, I just wired ’em I’d be responsible, and, say—(Turning to Rodney, who rises) you had a nerve to charge ’em sixty cents a cake—and I had to pay the bill! That shipment cost me $3,000 for $150 worth of soap. (Peale laughs) That isn’t funny, young man.
Rodney. No, it isn’t: I thought we’d really made good, and all the time it was you behind us——
Martin. You see, my boy, even if you did nearly trim me, I’ve got a sort of sneaking fondness for you. Look here, son, why not quit? There’s no market for dollar soap.
Rodney. But how do you know?
Martin. I had a letter from Marshall Field a few days ago asking me what to do with the soap. They hadn’t sold a cake. I told ’em to dump it in the Chicago River; it might help to clean it up.
Rodney. But you didn’t give our advertising a chance.
Peale. We only finished a great big advertising campaign in Chicago two days ago.
Rodney. I know the soap’ll make good—with that trade-mark.
Martin. If your trade-mark was so marvelous, somebody besides your poor old father would have bought your soap.
Peale. Oh, what’s the use? He doesn’t believe in advertising!
Martin. Oh, yes, I do: sound, conservative advertising, but not the crazy, sensational stuff you go in for.
Mary. Oh, you’re just mad because the soap trust didn’t think of 13 Soap itself.
Martin. Why, we wouldn’t touch a fool thing like that. If you deliver the goods, your goods will advertise you—that’s always been our policy.
Rodney. I’m sorry, father, but you are old-fashioned to knock the modern way of advertising. Why, do you know, the National Biscuit Company was on the verge of failing until they hit on the title, Uneeda Biscuit?
Mary. And since then, they have had over four hundred lawsuits to protect it.
Rodney. Their trade-mark made ’em. They value that trade-mark now at six million dollars.
Peale. Great stuff. (Turning to Martin)—and Spearmint Gum just as a trade-mark is worth seven millions.
Rodney. And the Fairbanks people count their trade-mark, The Gold Dust Twins, at $10,000,000.
Mary. Ever hear of the Gillette Safety Razor?
Martin. I use it myself.
Mary. Tell him about it, Rodney.
Rodney. It costs you five dollars. Don’t you know there’s a mighty good safety razor for a quarter, and dozens at a dollar, but you use the Gillette because Gillette was there first; you buy his razor at a high price simply because of its trade-mark.
Mary. (With gesture) Advertising.
Rodney and Peale. (With gesture) Absolutely.
Peale. Ivory Soap in the magazines alone used $450,000 worth of space in 1913—and at three cents a cake wholesale, that represents 15,000,000 cakes for magazine advertising alone.
Martin. I don’t believe it.
Peale. Yes, and a lot of other guys didn’t believe that iron ships would float or that machines heavier than air would fly, or that you could talk to ’Frisco on a wire or send a message across the Atlantic without a wire. Pardon me, sir, but you want to get on to yourself.
Rodney. Yes, father, you certainly do.
Mary. And you’d better hurry up.
Martin. You’ve got a fine lot of theories, but what have they done for those 5,000 cakes of 13 Soap out at Marshall Field’s?
Peale. Why, we haven’t really spent enough money advertising.
Rodney. That’s true. Every time the American Tobacco Company puts out a new cigarette they start off by appropriating $200,000 to boom it.
Peale. And I suppose they are a lot of boobs?
Rodney. And think what other firms spend! I’ve gone into this thing, father——
Mary. Yes, Rodney, let’s show him our list.
Rodney. Sure, it’s an absolutely accurate list of what some of the big advertisers spent in the thirty-one leading magazines last year. Eastman Kodak, $400,000, Postum Coffee, $125,000, Arrow Collars, $400,000, Melachrino Cigarettes, $100,000, Welch’s Grape Juice, $100,000.
Peale. Grape Juice, my friend!
Mary. Uneeda Biscuit, $150,000. Spearmint Gum, $140,000.
Martin. That’s enough.
Rodney. I’ve only just begun. Grape Nuts, $228,000.
Mary. Colgate’s Dental Cream, $230,000.
Peale. Campbell’s Soups, $186,000.
Mary. Kellogg’s Toasted Cornflakes, $200,000.
Rodney. Quaker Oats, $367,000, and these are only a few. You can’t see how it pays, but you do know that it must pay or they wouldn’t do it.
Mary. Does that mean anything to you?
Peale. Yes. Does it when you realize that those thirty-one magazines have only about 10,000,000 readers?
Rodney. And that there are a hundred million people in this country. Why just to appeal to one-tenth of the population, fifty million dollars was spent in magazines last year, and each year people are getting better educated—more people are wanting to read. It won’t be long before there are 25,000,000 people buying magazines, and you can reach all of them by advertising—get a new market, a new population to deal with. Think what national advertising is accomplishing! It sells automobiles, vacuum cleaners, talking machines, rubber heels, kodaks, washing machines, foods, clothes, shoes, paints, houses, plumbing, electric irons, fireless cookers—mostly to a lot of people who’d never even hear of ’em if it weren’t for advertisements.
Peale. But nowadays it isn’t only people who have stoves to sell or tooth-brushes, that are spending money on publicity. Banks are advertising for money, nations for immigrants, colleges for students, cities for citizens, and churches for congregations, and you sit there thinking it doesn’t pay to advertise.
Mary. Six hundred and sixteen million dollars were spent last year in magazines and newspapers, billboards and electric signs.
Rodney. Bringing education and comfort and fun and luxury to the people of the United States. It’s romance, father, the romance of printing-presses, of steel rails, of the wireless, of trains and competition, the romance of modern business, and it’s all built on advertising. Advertising is the biggest thing in this country, and it’s only just begun.
Martin. (After a pause) Why didn’t you boys go into the advertising business? You seem to know something about that?
Peale. (Fairly tearing his hair) Oh, what’s the use! He’s the old school—we’re new blood. (Coming to L. of C.)
Rodney. (With enthusiasm) Youth has got it on old age.
Mary. (Coming down between Peale and Rodney) You bet it has!
Martin. When you boys get through talking and you’re flat broke and down and out, come around and see me: I’ll show you an old business that has a lot of money that isn’t radical and manages to keep going without wasting a fortune in fool advertising.
Rodney. Then you won’t let us get any soap.
Martin. Risk my business reputation on a silly scheme like Dollar Soap? I should say not!
Peale. Oh, come on. What’s the use of talking to a man whose brain is deaf? (Exit door upper L., keeping in step, single-file)
Martin. (Rises and comes to center) Say when you get a new line of patter, come around. I like to hear you. Dollar Soap!
Johnson. (Enters) I beg pardon, a gentleman to see you, sir. (Johnson hands Martin a card on silver tray)
Martin. “Mr. Charles Bronson.” What does he want?
Johnson. He says he’s from Marshall Field.
Martin. Oh, a kick, I suppose? Send him in.
Johnson. Yes, sir. (He exits)
(Enter Bronson.)
Bronson. (Inquiringly) Mr. Martin?
Martin. Yes.
Bronson. I just arrived from Chicago. I am here in reference to the 13 Soap.
Martin. Be seated. Well, what about it? (Sits in chair L. of table)
Bronson. (Sits in chair R. of desk) While, of course, we understand that the 13 Soap is made by your son, Mr. Rodney Martin, at the same time as you wired us you would be responsible for that order, Marshall Field felt that I should first see you in the matter.
Martin. Humph!
Bronson. We realize, of course, that you are backing your son——
Martin. (Gruffly) Well, why shouldn’t I back him?
Bronson. Of course, of course. That is why we’d like to place our order through you.
Martin. (Amazed) Place your what?
Bronson. Through some error we received only 5,000 cakes, instead of 50,000 but that’s all gone.
Martin. All gone? What happened to it?
Bronson. We’ve sold it.
Martin. Sold it?
Bronson. Yes, and we want the balance of the original order you were kind enough to throw our way, and as much more soap as we can get.
Martin. But only the other day I had a letter from Marshall Field saying they hadn’t sold a cake.
Bronson. (Laughing) I know, I know. We felt at first that of course there could be no popular market for a dollar soap; we weren’t as far-sighted as you were. (Martin clears his throat) But of course, when those extraordinary advertisements appeared, so different from your usual conservative publicity, the sales began immediately! We sold the 5,000 cakes in two days.
Martin. And the advertising did it?
Bronson. Of course, what else? Now we want to handle your goods exclusively in the west—with extensive immediate deliveries. Can that be arranged?
Martin. It ought to be. What do you offer?
Bronson. I dare say we would contract for a quarter of a million cakes of soap.
Martin. (Amazed) A quarter of a million!
Bronson. (Misunderstanding him) Of course we might do a little better if we could settle the matter at once.
Martin. I should have to consult my son first.
Bronson. (Rising) Oh, then perhaps I ought to go see him?
Martin. (Rising) Not at all—not at all. I’ll attend to it.
Bronson. But we thought that you would have full power.
Martin. As a matter of courtesy I should like to talk things over with my own boy——
Bronson. But you control the product?
Martin. Bronson, you can trust me to handle this thing.
Bronson. Of course, of course. When can I see you again?
Martin. In half an hour.
Bronson. Very well. I’ve some matters to attend to. I’ll be back in half an hour. (Going to door upper L.) It’s a wonderful soap, Mr. Martin.
Martin. (Dryly) Oh, wonderful.
Bronson. See you in half an hour. (Bronson exits)
Martin. Wonderful soap—plain pink castile, I’ve got to get in on this. (He goes to ’phone) 1313 Bryant. Hello, is this the 13 Soap Company?
Johnson. (Enters) Oh, beg pardon, sir, but—
Martin. Just a minute. Is Mr. Rodney Martin in? No? Never mind who I am. Good-bye. Johnson, call up my son’s office every ten minutes and let me know the minute he comes in. Don’t tell ’em who’s calling. (Crosses to R.)
Johnson. Yes, sir.
Martin. And when Mr. Bronson comes back, be sure to have him wait for me.
Johnson. Yes, sir. There’s a lady to see you, sir. She speaks English now.
Martin. She does, eh? That’s unusual, isn’t it?
Johnson. I mean, sir, when she was here two months ago she could only talk French.
Martin. Indeed! Well, I’m not interested in the languages she speaks. Who is she, and what does she want?
Johnson. She wishes to see you about the French rights of the 13 Soap.
Martin. The what?
Johnson. The French rights.
Martin. Great Scott! Send her right in.
Johnson. Yes, sir. The Countess de Bowreen. (He exits)
Countess. (Enters) How do you do?
Martin. (Comes down in front of table) How do you do?
Countess. I am the Countess de Beaurien. Your son have told you of me!
Martin. No.
Countess. I bet he have not. He is a cheat—he trick me.
Martin. Now, my dear lady——
Countess. Attendez, you listen to me: two months ago there in that very room, I buy the French rights for the 13 Soap. I pay him 15,000 dollar and now I cannot get any soap.
Martin. You will have to see my son.
Countess. But I have seen him, and he give me no satisfaction. If I cannot get any soap, I must have my money, one or the other, or I put him in the jail. He is a cheat. I have here ze contract. I sue him in the court.
Martin. My dear lady, you mustn’t feel that way.
Countess. Feel! Ah, mon dieu—I trick no one, I play fair, I am an honest woman. Mais je vous dis que je suis honnête, très honnête dans mes affaires. Monsieur votre fils m’a donné le contrat, et j’insiste qu’il est très malhonnête. Je n’ai pas l’habitude d’être si maltraitée, monsieur, et je répète que je ferai tout mon possible d’obtenir les quinze mille dollars que me doit Monsieur votre fils, et s’il ne me les donne pas, je le poursuivrai sans cesse. Comprenez-vous, Monsieur? (She takes the contract from him)
Martin. But I don’t understand French.
Countess. Pardon, Monsieur, always I am excited I speak the French. But! If you love your son, you pay me back, or else he go to jail. What you say?
Martin. But $15,000 is a lot of money.
Countess. Yes. But it is more to me than it is to you. You pay me, or he go to prison. Now what you say?
(Johnson enters.)
Martin. What is it?
Johnson. I beg pardon, a gentleman to see you, sir.
Martin. (Comes to Johnson) Is it Bronson?
Johnson. No, sir. (Johnson hands him card)
Martin. By George, just the man I want to see! Show him right in. Hold on, hold on. Now, Duchess, if you don’t mind, just step in this room a minute. (Indicating room lower R.)
Countess. No, no, I do not like that room: I have been there before.
Martin. Here is a nice room. (Points to room lower L.) You will find it very comfortable.
Countess. Very well, I wait. (Crosses to left) But in fifteen minutes if I do not get the 15,000 dollar, I go to my lawyers, and your son—poof! he is done. (Talking in French as she exits)
Martin. (To Johnson) Did you get my son’s office?
Johnson. Yes, sir—he hasn’t come in.
Martin. If you reach him while Mr. Peale’s here don’t mention Rodney’s name; just call him “that party.” I’ll understand. (Crosses R.)
Johnson. Yes, sir. (He exits)
(Peale enters door upper L.)
Martin. Now, see here, young man!
Peale. Now, one moment, Mr. Martin. I just want to say that I am a man of few words—that this isn’t advertising, it’s personal. I know you don’t like me.
Martin. Why do you say that?
Peale. Because I’m a pretty wise gink.
Martin. Well, you are a bit——
Peale. Fresh? Well, I guess that’s right, too. But that’s me—I’m not your style. Here’s the idea: your son has been immense to me. Great kid, and it struck me the reason you wouldn’t back him was because I was mixed up in his business. So I just came to say if that’s the situation, why I’m out, that’s all. You go ahead with him alone.
Martin. You’re not a partner?
Peale. I should say not. I’m just a hired hand. He could can me any moment, but he’s not the kind of guy who’d do that.
Martin. Then you haven’t power to sign, to make a deal?
Peale. I should say not. Why, he and Miss Grayson do all the signing. If I could have signed contracts, I’d have spent a million dollars in advertising. And believe me, you ought to back him, because, honest, Mr. Martin, it’s a great scheme—the 13 Soap, on the level, if it’s handled right and the publicity end is——
Martin. Now don’t get started on advertising.
Peale. That’s right, too. Well, I guess that’s all. I wanted to tell you how I stood about Rodney. That’s off my chest, so good afternoon. (Starts to go)
Martin. Wait a minute. What did you boys mean by trimming that poor Countess on the French rights?
Peale. Jumping Jupiter; has she been here?
Martin. She’s here now.
Peale. What did she come to see you for?
Martin. She said she’d put Rodney in jail for fraud unless I made good that $15,000. I’ve got to pay her—can’t see the boy disgraced.
Peale. Say, if you’d like to save that $15,000, I’ll fix it for you.
Martin. But she’s got a contract.
Peale. I’ll get it for you cheap. Pardon me, sir, but I know how to handle dames like her.
Martin. Mr. Peale, I like you. (Slaps him on shoulder)
Peale. Huh!
Martin. Have a cigar?
(Peale crosses R. He takes it as Johnson enters.)
Johnson. I just telephoned that party, he is at his office now.
Martin. Good, good. Peale, I’ve got to go out on an important soap deal. (He starts to go, then goes to Peale) Oh, by George, I nearly forgot. There’s another matter I must attend to first. Peale, you’ll find the Countess in there. Do the best you can—we’ll settle the details when I get back. Make yourself at home.
Peale. Sure. This cigar’s great company.
Martin. Good cigar, eh?
Peale. Corker.
Martin. Johnson, send over half a dozen boxes of these cigars to Mr. Peale’s house. He’ll give you the address. (He exits left)
Peale. And, say, Johnson, wrap ’em up now and I’ll take ’em with me.
Johnson. Very good, sir. (He exits. Peale walks over to the window and looks out at the 13 Soap signs)
Peale. (The telephone rings. Peale looks at it, it rings again, he goes over to desk and raises it) Yes, Sweetie—this is the garage. How long does it take to go to Coney Island? How in hell do I know? (Business of changing money and watch to different pockets. Goes to door L., and opens it) Countess de Bull Run. (He goes into some fake French) De juis—de joie—politesse noblesse oblige.
Countess. You ought to take up French—your accent’s immense. Well, little sweetheart?
Peale. Say, what are you doing in these parts?
Countess. Oh, I came to see Mr. Martin.
Peale. What for?
Countess. What do you think?
Peale. See here, now, if you’re aiming to trim the old man, I won’t stand for it.
Countess. Ambrose, do me a favor.
Peale. What is it?
Countess. Don’t tell old Martin what I tried to do to you boys. He’s the kind that would put me in jail. I’ll be on the level. I did come here to try to trim him, but I’ll cut it out. Honest, I will. Oh, Ambrose, I don’t like being a grafter. I’ve had to do a lot of things I didn’t want to. You don’t know how hard it is for girls like me. I never had a show. I ran away from home when I was a kid. I’ve been pretty much up against it. Is what I’ve done to other guys going to butt in and queer me?
Peale. Nix, nix——
Countess. Give me a chance to be on the square. It ain’t easy for a girl to fight it out all by herself when she’s all alone: no money—no friends and you got to live—live on five a week. You got a lot for a good time, haven’t you? God, I’ve been lonely sometimes; you’ve got to be pretty smart to steer straight—but I’ve done it, I’ve done it, I’ve done it. (She breaks down and sits on chair R. of desk)
Peale. (Kindly) Now, see here, Countess—(He pats her on back)—don’t do that—don’t, don’t—(She is sobbing a little) Oh, quit it. (A pause) Keep it for some poor boob who’ll fall for it.
Countess. (Tearfully) Oh, Ambrose, don’t talk like that——
Peale. Say, honest, it’s foolish wasting it on me, kid.
Countess. (Completely changing to a radiant smile. Rises) Well, it’s always worth trying once.
Peale. (Genially) Sure it is. Why, you had me winging for a minute, but when you pulled that wheeze about “I’ve done it,” three times in succession, I knew it was phoney.
Countess. But, honest, I was on the level about old Martin.
Peale. Nix, nix, you came here to trim him for the $15,000 on the French rights.
Countess. Gosh, have you seen him?
Peale. Yes, he left me here to settle it. Where’s the contract? Come on—gimme—gimme——
Countess. You mean you’ve been on all the time?
Peale. Sure.
Countess. And you let me sit there and emote all over the place.
Peale. Gimme—gimme——
Countess. Oh, I suppose I’ve got to. Oh, I’m sick of soap anyhow. 13 may be a lucky hunch for you boys, but it has been a hoodoo for me.
Peale. And now, my little hearts of lettuce, this concludes your portion of the evening’s entertainment.
Countess. But at that, don’t give me away, will you?
Peale. I like you, you’ve got brains. Most chickens are just chickens.
Countess. You are 18-karat, kid.
(Mary, followed by Rodney, enters hurriedly and sees Peale.)
Rodney. Oh, have you seen father? Is he here?
Peale. I’m waiting for him now.
Mary. It’s most important.
Peale. You remember the Countess? (All bow embarrassed. Pause)
Countess. Well, I guess I’m not wanted, so I’ll trot. I’ll trot. (Goes to door upper L.) So long, you 13 Soap suds. (Exits)
Mary. Where is father?
Peale. Yes, what’s the excitement?
Mary. Just after we got to the office there was a letter from Macy’s.
Rodney. Ordering 10,000 cakes of 13 Soap.
Mary. Now what do you think of that?
Peale. Pinch me, I’m dreaming! (Going down R.)
Rodney. They say our advertising’s wonderful and has created such a demand they want to handle the soap in town. (Goes around table down R.)
Peale. (Wonderingly) Then all the things we said to your father are really true? (Goes up center)
Mary. Of course they are.
Rodney. (Protesting) Now, see here, old man—
Peale. Gosh! (Coming down in front of table)
Rodney. You see, when I show father this letter from Macy’s he’s got to admit we’ve won out, and supply us with soap.
Mary. Isn’t it a shame that you can’t get soap from anybody but him?
Rodney. He certainly has got the soap business tied up tight.
Peale. Yes, if he busted, the whole world would go dirty.
Mary. Suppose he’s still stubborn and won’t help you? What’ll you do?
Rodney. Oh, I’ll just have to plod along.
Peale. Don’t plod—gallop, son—gallop—gallop.
Rodney. You’re a great pal.
Mary. (Crosses to Peale) Do you know, Mr. Peale, I’d like you awfully.
Peale. Call me Ambrose.
Mary. (Coyly goes to L.) Ambrose.
Rodney. If we ever do come out of this, you’re going to be my partner, 50-50.
Peale. Aw, shut up.
Johnson. (Entering) Mr. Charles Bronson; shall I show him in?
Peale. You have my permission—(Crosses to L. Mary crosses to table R.) This isn’t my house. (Bronson enters. Johnson exits) This way, sir.
Bronson. Oh, I beg pardon—I expected to find Mr. Martin.
Rodney. I am Mr. Martin.
Bronson. (Eagerly) Mr. Rodney Martin?
Rodney. Yes.
Bronson. Just the very man I wanted to see—on private business.
Rodney. Oh, these are my partners. You can talk before them. This is Mr. Peale and Miss Grayson, may I present—Mr.——?
Bronson. Mr. Charles Bronson, of Marshall Field.
Mary. (Stunned) Marshall Field?
Peale. (Falls in chair R. of desk) Marshall Field?
Bronson. Now, about your soap——?
Peale. We’re very sorry—(Rises and goes to Bronson)
Mary. We are; but a bargain is a bargain. (Rises)
Bronson. Sorry? Why, your 13 Soap the last few days has had a most remarkable sale at our store.
(Mary and Peale, speechless, look at each other.)
Rodney. (Gasping) You mean it is really selling?
Bronson. Rather!
Mary. It’s really selling?
Bronson. Why, you seem surprised——
Mary. Oh, no—not a bit.
Rodney. Oh, not a bit.
Peale. You mean people are actually coming into the store and buying it?
Bronson. At a dollar a cake.
(Mary and Rodney take arm-chair from L. of table and place it in center of stage.)
Rodney and Mary. Have a chair?
Peale. Give me your hat! (Takes hat and fans himself)
Mary. It was those page advertisements in Chicago that did it.
Peale. Absolutely.
Bronson. Extraordinary advertisements they were, too.
Rodney. Oh, nothing to what we will do.
Bronson. You’ll keep up your campaign?
Rodney. Double it.
Peale. Triple it.
Bronson. Good, good. We foresee a tremendous sale for your goods. It’s an amazing soap.
Rodney. It’s more than that——
Peale. Absolutely.
Bronson. Do you control the company yourself?
Rodney. Oh, entirely.
Bronson. Then I can deal with you.
Rodney. With us—all of us.
Bronson. We would be glad to contract now for 250,000 cakes. (Peale just flops into chair) With deliveries to begin next week.
Mary. Our capacity just at present is limited.
Rodney. Yes, we have so many orders on hand.
Bronson. Naturally, but how much soap can you deliver now?
Rodney. I don’t quite know. (To Mary) Do you?
Mary. Not quite. (To Peale) Do you?
Peale. Not quite.
Bronson. Well, under the circumstances, what can we do?
Mary. That’s the question.
Peale. What’s the answer? (Rises. A pause)
Rodney. Here’s an idea: in view of our pressing orders, would you consider for the moment paying us merely for the use of our trade-mark without any soap at all?
Bronson. Yes, I think we would.
Peale. You would?
Bronson. Your trade-mark is of course your biggest asset.
Rodney. Yes, of course.
Bronson. You would naturally give us your formula?
Peale. Yes, if we still have that cook-book.
Bronson. I beg pardon?
Peale. Nothing, nothing. Have a cigar?
Rodney. You can have the formula.
Bronson. With a license from you to use the title, we could probably arrange to have the soap manufactured by Cyrus Martin of the soap trust.
Rodney. Oh, you think you could—?
Mary. How much would you be willing to pay us for the trade-mark?
Bronson. I should have to call up our Chicago office, but I think I can safely say we would be prepared to offer you at least two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
Peale. (Grasping) Indeed!
Bronson. Can I have an option at that figure?
Mary. No!
Peale. Yes!
Rodney. Yes——
(Together)
Mary. (Loudly) No!
Rodney. No!
Peale. No, but I hate to say it.
Bronson. But if you control the company, why not settle matters now?
Rodney. Why not, Mary?
Peale. Yes, why not, Mary?
Mary. Hadn’t we better discuss the matter a little more fully first among ourselves?
Bronson. Perhaps I could wait somewhere for a few minutes while you talk things over?
Mary. (Opening door left) Yes, do, please—in the library.
Bronson. I am very glad to have met you.
Rodney. Not half as glad——
Peale. Not half so glad——
Mary. —not half as glad as we are to have met you.
Peale. No, not half as much!
(Bronson exits L. lower door.)
Rodney. Why not give him an option at a quarter of a million?
Peale. Yes, why not? For the love of gee whiz, tell us that!
Mary. Because maybe we can get more money than that out of your father.
(Johnson enters with letter, and crosses to table R.)
Rodney. Mary, you are a wonder.
Peale. Gosh, I wish you were going to marry me!
Mary. Johnson, oh, Johnson, you know I’ve always liked you——
Johnson. I beg pardon, Miss?
Mary. Will you do me a favor?
Johnson. Why, yes, Miss.
Mary. When Mr. Martin comes back, don’t tell him that Rodney and Mr. Peale are here, or Bronson, either; say I’m alone.
Johnson. Yes, Miss, but Mr. Martin just drove up in his car, he’ll be here directly——
Mary. Hurry up, then, tell him I’m here, waiting for him.
(Johnson exits.)
Rodney. But I don’t understand?
Peale. Neither do I.
Mary. I do. I’ve got a great idea. You two boys go into that room, (Indicating lower R.) and stay there. When I ring this buzzer twice, you call me on this ’phone—there’s a switch in there—and never mind what I say. Hurry now, both of you.
Rodney. But what’s your plan?
Mary. I’m going to try to make a deal with your father.
Peale. Well, I’ll slip you something that may help you when you see father. You tell him that I’ve got that contract. He’ll understand.
Rodney. But I don’t know what any of this is about?
Peale. Neither do I. Come on, she’s got more brains than both of us. (They exit R.)
(Mary settles herself in chair L. of desk, as Martin enters.)
Martin. Hello, Miss Grayson, this is a pleasant surprise. Where is Rodney?
Mary. That doesn’t matter. I’m here.
Martin. Where’s that—that Mr.——?
Mary. Mr. Peale—oh, Mr. Peale’s gone back to the office—but he told me to tell you that he’d got that contract——
Martin. Great, great! He’s a smart boy.
Mary. We are all smart—it’s a smart firm. We just got a letter from Macy’s for 10,000 cakes of 13 Soap, and this time you didn’t send a telegram——
Martin. Macy’s, eh? Well, well. Now, I’ll be frank. I want Rodney to come in with me—and you’ve got to help. You started this scheme. Now finish it up.
Mary. What’s changed you all of a sudden?
Martin. Well, Macy’s, for one thing. That shows sensational advertising does pay. Those boys are right. I’ve been too conservative, but anyhow I’ve got the whip hand: Rodney can’t get his soap for Macy’s except from me, and if I’m going to furnish three-cent soap that he sells wholesale for sixty cents, I’m going to be in on the profits. Any young man who can do that is just bound to have me for a partner whether he wants me or not. What do you say, Miss Grayson?
Mary. I’ll do all I can for Rodney.
Martin. You have authority to close the deal?
Mary. Absolutely.
Martin. Good. Now, what’s your proposition? (Sits)
Mary. Five hundred thousand dollars cash.
Martin. (Rising) What!
Mary. (Calmly) Sit down. That isn’t all: we get 51% of the stock, you put up a factory and give Rodney $50,000 a year, Peale, $30,000, and me $20,000.
Martin. As my son once observed, what a lovely autumn we’re having! (He leans back and lights a cigar. As he does so, Mary pushes the buzzer twice. N. B. The audience must hear this buzzer. Almost instantly the ’phone rings. Mary quickly takes ’phone)
Mary. Shall I answer it?
Martin. Go ahead—say I’m out.
Mary. (In ’phone) Oh, hello—(To Martin) It’s for me. Hello, Rodney—you’ve seen Bronson?
Martin. (Sitting up) Bronson?
Mary. (In ’phone) He did? Why, that’s a splendid offer. I hardly dared think Marshall Field would be so generous.
Martin. (Promptly. Rises) I’ll accept your proposition, Miss Grayson.
Mary. Wait. (In ’phone) Have you closed with Bronson yet?
Martin. What’d he say?
Mary. Oh, you haven’t?
Martin. Good.
Mary. No, I think you’d better come right up from the office and see me before you sign anything.
Martin. Here, let me talk to him. (He reaches for ’phone)
Mary. (Quickly) Oh, hello, hello. (She jiggles ’phone) Oh, dear, we’ve been cut off. Still, it doesn’t matter; it’s all settled now.
Martin. That’s splendid, Miss Grayson. I’m mighty grateful to you.
Mary. (Nervously) Shall we sign a memorandum now?
Martin. Sure—sure—just the rough details.
Mary. Sure, never put off till to-morrow what you can sign to-day.
Martin. (He crosses to table R., sits and makes memoranda. Writing) Fifty-one per cent—Rodney—fifty thousand. And what’s that young man’s name again—Spiel——?
Mary. Peale.
Martin. That certainly is one hell of a name—thirty thousand—Grayson twenty thousand. There. (To Mary) You sign here.
Mary. No, you sign first. (Martin grunts and signs) Now I’ll sign for Rodney. (She does so gleefully)
Martin. That’s great. (Rises and goes L.)
Mary. You don’t know how great it is. (Mary starts for door) Now, I’ve a big surprise for you. Rodney’s not at the office—he’s in there.
Martin. What do you mean?
Mary. Only that I thought I’d handle you less sentimentally than he would. You see, once before I spoiled Rodney’s plan. This time I thought I ought to fix it up for him. (Opening door) Rodney—Ambrose.
Martin. Say, what is all this?
(Rodney and Peale enter.)
Rodney. Hello, father!
Mary. Rodney, it’s all settled. Your father has gone in with us. I’ve the contract.
Rodney. Then we can get some soap!
Martin. All you want.
Rodney. Then I don’t care what the arrangement is—now that we can make good—twenty per cent of the profits, and any old salary.
Martin. Twenty per cent! Why, she buncoed me out of fifty-one per cent and half a million down.
Peale. (Gasping) Half a million!
Rodney. (To Mary) You did? Mary, you are a peach!
Peale. Absolutely.
Mary. (To Rodney) And by the terms of my contract with you, you now owe me 10% of what Rodney has made: $50,000.
Rodney. What contract?
Peale. I don’t get you.
Martin. So that’s why you held me up, eh? Just to get your 10%. Say, young lady, I’ve got a lot of other money that you are overlooking.
Rodney. Father, what do you mean?
Martin. (To Rodney) I’ll tell you what I mean. She got engaged to you to make you go to work—she only left me to keep you on the job because I promised her 10% of what you earned. All the time that she’s been pretending she would marry you, she’s been making use of you. (Goes to R. of table to sign check)
Rodney. Mary, you did this to me?
Peale. I don’t believe it.
Mary. (To Martin) You owe me fifty thousand dollars—can I have the check, please?
Martin. Yes, if you’ll quit now—get out of here for good.
Mary. Certainly.
Martin. I’m disappointed to think you’d treat my boy like this.
Mary. What’s the difference? If I’d really loved him, you’d have objected to his marrying only a typewriter.
Martin. Objected! If you’d been on the level I’d have been proud to have you for my daughter. (Handing check to Rodney)
Rodney. (Gleefully) Hurrah, Mary, it’s all right!
Peale. I don’t get you.
Martin. What is this—a joke? (Rises)
Rodney. Certainly it is: you two put up a joke on me, and Mary and I thought we’d put up one for you. Mary told me about that fool contract weeks ago.
Martin. You mean you’re going to marry her?
Rodney. Certainly not.
Peale. Now see here——
Martin. Why aren’t you going to marry her?
Rodney. Because we were married this morning, and we thought before we told you of our marriage we’d get her percentage for a wedding present. (Hands check to Peale. He gives it to Mary)
Mary. And it’s bigger than we ever hoped for.
Martin. By George, you boys were right: I am an old fool. Anyhow, I’ll win that bet from old John Clark.
Mary. And now for Bronson. (Goes to door L. lower) Oh, Mr. Bronson?
Martin. You boys know Bronson?
Mary. Oh, yes, we had a long talk, with him, right in this room, about a proposition from Marshall Field——
(Enter Bronson.)
Bronson. (Crosses to Martin, Sr.) Mr. Martin—Mr. Peale.
Rodney. (To Bronson) Now you talk to father.
Mary. Yes, you talk to him, father.
Peale. Yes, father, you talk to him.
Bronson. (To Rodney) But I thought I was dealing with you?
Martin. No, sir, with me—now what’s your proposition?
Bronson. A quarter of a million cash just for the trade-mark.
Martin. A quarter of a million? Why, you ought to be ashamed of yourself to try to trim these poor boys like that. You know that 13 Soap is worth half a million in Chicago alone, and you try to take advantage of these kids’ ignorance. Why, it’s outrageous, but you can’t trim me! No, sir, we wouldn’t take a million. Do you know that the Uneeda trade-mark is valued at six million, the Gold Dust Twins at ten million and our trade-mark is better than theirs! We’re going to advertise all over the world. That’s what advertising means: the power of suggestion—the psychology of print. All you have to do is to say a thing often enough and hard enough, and ninety-seven per cent of the public’ll fall. Say, what kind of garters do you wear? Boston! Why? Because all your life every time you opened a magazine you saw a picture of a man’s leg with a certain kind of a garter on it—Boston!
Curtain.
IT PAYS TO ADVERTISE
ACT I & III
IT PAYS TO ADVERTISE
ACT II