Strong: I’m sorry to hear that your mother is not well. There isn’t a remedy going that my mother doesn’t know about. I’ll get her advice and let you know. (Turning to Tom) Well, Tom, how goes it? (Strong and Tom sit).
Tom (Smiling grimly): There’s plenty of “go,” but no “git there.”
(There is a pause).
Strong: I was hoping for better news.
Tom: If I remember rightly, not so many years ago, you tried—and failed. Then, a colored man had hardly a ghost of a show;—now he hasn’t even the ghost of a ghost. (Rachel has finished and goes into the kitchenette).
Strong: That’s true enough. (A pause). What are you going to do?
Tom (Slowly): I’ll do this little “going act” of mine the rest of the week; (pauses) and then, I’ll do anything I can get to do. If necessary, I suppose, I can be a “White-wing.”
Strong: Tom, I came—(Breaks off; continuing slowly) Six years ago, I found I was up against a stone wall—your experience, you see, to the letter. I couldn’t let my mother starve, so I became a waiter. (Pauses). I studied waiting; I made a science of it, an art. In a comparatively short time, I’m a head-waiter and I’m up against another stonewall. I’ve reached my limit. I’m thirty-two now, and I’ll die a head-waiter. (A pause). College friends, so-called, and acquaintances used to come into the restaurant. One or two at first—attempted to commiserate with me. They didn’t do it again. I waited upon them—I did my best. Many of them tipped me. (Pauses and smiles grimly). I can remember my first tip, still. They come in yet; many of them are already powers, not only in this city, but in the country. Some of them make a personal request that I wait upon them. I am an artist, now, in my proper sphere. They tip me well, extremely well—the larger the tip, the more pleased they are with me. Because of me, in their own eyes, they’re philanthropists. Amusing, isn’t it? I can stand their attitude now. My philosophy—learned hard, is to make the best of everything you can, and go on. At best, life isn’t so very long. You’re wondering why I’m telling you all this. I wish you to see things exactly as they are. There are many disadvantages and some advantages in being a waiter. My mother can live comfortably; I am able, even, to see that she gets some of the luxuries. Tom, it’s this way—I can always get you a job as a waiter; I’ll teach you the art. If you care to begin the end of the week—all right. And remember this, as long as I keep my job—this offer holds good.
Tom: I—I—(Breaks off) Thank you. (A pause; then smiling wryly) I guess it’s safe enough to say, you’ll see me at the end of the week. John you’re—(Breaking off again. A silence interrupted presently by the sound of much vigorous rapping on the outer door of the flat. Rachel appears and crosses over to the vestibule). Hear the racket! My kiddies gently begging for admittance. It’s about twenty minutes of nine, isn’t it? (Tom nods). I thought so. (Goes into the entryway; presently reappears with a group of six little girls ranging in age from five to about nine. All are fighting to be close to her; and all are talking at once. There is one exception: the smallest tot is self-possessed and self-sufficient. She carries a red geranium in her hand and gives it her full attention).
Little Mary: It’s my turn to get “Morning kiss” first, this morning, Miss Rachel. You kissed Louise first yesterday. You said you’d kiss us “alphebettically.” (Ending in a shriek). You promised! (Rachel kisses Mary, who subsides).