Mr. G. (staring after her). Have all the women gone crazy? I have been married twenty-five years and I never knew my wife to speak in that way before. It's all Kate's fault! I must forbid this radical talk or my household will be utterly demoralized. But she was right in saying that Eugene is going to ruin. This constant struggle with money matters has given me no time to attend to my son, and now, what shall be done? (Rises and walks back and forth.)
(Enter Eugene, L. U. E.)
Eug. Father!
Mr. G. Ah! have you come to tell me what you mean by your disgraceful conduct, sir?
Eug. Disgraceful conduct? You are talking in enigmas to me; I'm all right. I have been a little jolly sometimes, to be sure, but that is no more than all the boys are. You had your fun when you were young, I suppose, so why shouldn't I?
Mr. G. How dare you, boy, insinuate that I—
Eug. Ah! come, come, father, you know you wasn't a milk-sop any more than I am. It's all very well for the girls, but it won't do for us men, you know. So, now, let me have that five hundred, that's a good old dad.
Mr. G. Five hundred dollars! Do you know that I am on the verge of ruin?
Eug. The deuce you are!
Mr. G. Nothing but a steady hand will save me. While I am struggling with all my might—sick enough to be in bed—to pull through, you all, not content with being dead weights on my shoulders, run into extravagance and profligacy. (Takes bill from desk.) The bill for my daughter Alice's last ball dress is here, $500. Here are two of your champagne bills, $100. I tell you this must be stopped. Your debauchery must be stopped. You have not the strength of mind to go through profligacy and come out solvent; if you had Kate's brains you might, but you have not; so I tell you this must be stopped, or you will have the pleasure of sowing the remainder of your wild oats in a pauper's back yard, if you do not fill a drunkard's grave! (Exit, R. 1 E.)