=* A Distributed Proofreaders Canada eBook *= This ebook is made available at no cost and with very few restrictions. These restrictions apply only if (1) you make a change in the ebook (other than alteration for different display devices), or (2) you are making commercial use of the ebook. If either of these conditions applies, please contact a FP administrator before proceeding. This work is in the Canadian public domain, but may be under copyright in some countries. If you live outside Canada, check your country's copyright laws. IF THE BOOK IS UNDER COPYRIGHT IN YOUR COUNTRY, DO NOT DOWNLOAD OR REDISTRIBUTE THIS FILE. _Title:_ Merrily We Roll Along _Date of first publication:_ 1934 _Author:_ George S. Kaufman & Moss Hart _Date first posted:_ Jan. 29, 2015 _Date last updated:_ Jan. 29, 2015 Faded Page eBook #20150152 This ebook was produced by: Barbara Watson, Mark Akrigg, Alex White & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net Merrily We Roll Along A PLAY BY GEORGE S. KAUFMAN AND MOSS HART RANDOM HOUSE NEW YORK COPYRIGHT, 1934, BY GEORGE S. KAUFMAN AND MOSS HART NOTE “MERRILY WE ROLL ALONG” is the sole property of the producer and the authors, and is fully protected by copyright. It may not be acted either by professionals or amateurs, without the payment of a royalty. Public readings and radio broadcastings are likewise forbidden. All inquiries concerning rights should be addressed to the producer, Sam H. Harris, 239 West 45th Street, New York City. MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA “Merrily We Roll Along” was produced by Sam H. Harris at the Music Box Theatre, New York, on Saturday night, September 29th, 1934, with the following cast: _Julia Glenn_ MARY PHILIPS _David Haskell_ GILBERT SQUAREY _Ivy Carroll_ MURIAL WILLIAMS _Rosamond Ogden_ MARY HOWES _Val Burnett_ JACK EDWARDS _Albert Ogden_ GRANT MILLS _Sam Frankl_ HERBERT STEINER _Lady Patricia Dorson_ MARY HEBERDEN _Laura Nash_ JACQUELINE LOGAN _Richard Niles_ KENNETH MACKENNA _Everett Nash_ WILFRID SEAGRAM _Althea Royce_ JESSIE ROYCE LANDIS _Cyrus Winthrop_ CHARLES HALTON _A Butler_ EDWARD LOUD _A Maid_ PEGGY BANCROFT _A Man_ JOHN COSBY _A Woman_ OTIS SCHAEFER _The Waiter_ BURTON MALLORY _The Headwaiter_ GEORGE JACKSON _Two Very Young Girls_ { PATRICIA PALMER { BETTY REYNOLDS _P. J. Morton_ GEORGE ALISON _Jonathan Crale_ WALTER ABEL _Ito_ BIACOUREN YOSHIWARA _George Niles_ HAROLD MOFFET _Molly_ BEATRICE BLINN _Court Attendants_ { LEO KENNEDY { BURTON MALLORY { ELSA RYAN _Women Coming from the Trial_ { JENNY MAC { ELIZABETH KENNEDY _Reporters_ { JOHN KENNEDY { WILLIAM MACFADDEN _Mrs. Murney_ LESLIE BINGHAM _Helen_ ADRIENNE MARDEN _Richardson_ CHARLES ENGEL _Mr. Murney_ GRANVILLE BATES _The Head Photographer_ LOUIS CRUGER _Wertheimer_ GEORGE PARSONS _A Captain of Waiters_ JAMES SEELEY _A Bellboy_ EDWIN MILLS _Althea Royce’s Maid_ MARTHA BROWN _Harry Nixon_ MALCOLM DUNCAN _Sid Kramer_ GEORGE MCKAY _Mrs. Riley_ CECELIA LOFTUS _Janet Newcombe_ CHOUTEAU DYER { GERALDINE WALL { OTIS SCHAEFER _A Few Important Guests_ { PEGGY BANCROFT { PATRICIA ALLEN { HENRY EPHRON _A Policeman_ LEO KENNEDY _A Man With a Dog_ JAMES SEELEY _Two Boys_ { EDWIN MILLS { IRVING SCHNEIDER _Two Girls_ { CONNIE MADISON { DORIS EATON _Patrons of Le Coq D’Or, Courtroom Crowd, Party Guests, Waiters, Soldiers, College Students._ ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── _Stage Manager_ JOHN KENNEDY _Assistant Stage Manager_ WILLIAM MACFADDEN _The action of the play moves backward. Each scene takes place at an earlier time than the scene preceding._ SYNOPSIS OF SCENES _ACT ONE_ SCENE I. The Home of Richard Niles, Long Island. 1934. SCENE II. Restaurant Le Coq D’Or. 1927. SCENE III. Richard Niles’s Apartment. 1926. _ACT TWO_ SCENE I. Jonathan Crale’s Studio. 1925. SCENE II. A Court-house Corridor. 1924. SCENE III. Althea Royce’s Apartment. 1923. _ACT THREE_ SCENE I. Living Room of the Murneys. 1922. SCENE II. Madison Square Park. 1918. SCENE III. A College Chapel. 1916. ACT ONE _SCENE I_ _The country house of Richard Niles—Sands Point, Long Island, an evening in September, 1934. The room we see is oval in shape and is fringed with French windows, which look out upon the Sound itself. It is night, but there is a glimpse of tall white pillars through the windows._ _It is the kind of room you have often seen as a fullpage illustration in_ Town and Country, _over a caption reading: “This unusual décor is a glimpse of the drawing room in the Long Island home of . . .”_ _There are some ten or twelve people present, the men in tails, the women in evening dress. There is a game of bridge, a game of backgammon. A dark-haired young_ MAN _is at the piano, playing, with a good deal of skill, one of the popular tunes of the day. Leaning across the piano, listening with a professional interest, is a handsome, flaxen-haired_ LAD _of about twenty-three or four._ A LADY _with a highball in her hand sits a little apart, surveying the scene with a certain detachment. There is a relaxed air about all of these people—it is merely an informal Sunday evening on Long Island._ _For a moment the music plays, the flaxen-haired young man hums a little, the bridge and backgammon games go on. Through the music, you catch the routine chatter at the tables: “Double.”_ . . . “_I’ll take it._” . . . “_Spade._” . . . “_Two hearts._” . . . “_Pass._” . . . “_Pass._” . . . “_Two spades._” . . . “_Pass._” . . . “_Pass._” . . . “_Pass._” _After a bit of this_, DAVID HASKELL _comes in through the French windows. He is an ardent young man of about twenty-six, with a rather sensitive face. He goes to the liquor table, mixes a drink, and then notices the lady with the highball._ =Julia Glenn= _is a woman close to forty. She is not unpretty, but on her face are the marks of years and years of quiet and steady drinking—eight, ten hours a day. In contrast to the modish evening clothes of the other women_, JULIA _wears something from about three years ago, and which wasn’t quite right then. Withal, there is about her definitely an air. Here is a person._ DAVID _raises his glass to her in grave salute_. JULIA (_Returning the salute with her own glass. Then, ever so brightly_) Know what _I’m_ having? DAVID What? JULIA (_Grimly_) Not much fun. (DAVID _gives an appreciative chuckle and goes out through the windows with the highball_) (_An extremely beautiful girl named_ IVY CARROLL _comes down the stairs, a book tucked rather showily under her arm. For a moment she stands surveying the room and its occupants with a quiet superiority, then she moves up to the windows, breathes deeply, and is gone_) (_The flaxen-haired young man, who has been humming, now finishes a song in full voice and breaks away from the piano. His name is_ VAL BURNETT) ROSAMOND OGDEN (_Who has been watching her husband at the backgammon board_) Tell me, Mr. Burnett—I thought you broadcast every Sunday night. Is that changed now? VAL Oh, sure. That was the Miracle Mayonnaise Hour. I’m on the Black Star Axle Grease Hour now. Tuesdays and Fridays, eight-thirty. ROSAMOND OGDEN Really? I must listen. JULIA (_Into her drink_) Mayonnaise to axle grease. Just a step. VAL It’s really the biggest hour there is. Blue and Red network, you know. National hook-up. ALBERT OGDEN (_Shaking his dice cup_) Yeah! Fifteen minutes twice a week and gets more than the President of the United States. ROSAMOND OGDEN Really, we’re so spoiled! Here’s Mr. Burnett—millions of people listen to him every time he broadcasts—and here he is tossing off these golden notes— VAL (_Assuming a false modesty_) Oh, I’m just a crooner. I guess you people would rather hear Lawrence Tibbett, or something like that. JULIA Why, Mr. Burnett, we would _not_! (_Scornfully_) Lawrence Tibbett! I’ll bet you he couldn’t croon if he tried. VAL I never know whether you’re kidding me or not, Miss Glenn, but honest—do you like my singing? JULIA Like it? Why, I’m your greatest admirer. VAL Say, that means more to me than you think, because I’m just crazy about your stories. I think you write just about the best stories I ever read. That one about the boy and the girl—I read it over and over. JULIA Why, I’m—touched. Didn’t you get it the first time? SAM FRANKL (_At the piano_) Hey, Val! Remember this one? (_He plays a phrase or two_) VAL _Do_ I? (_His voice picks up the music_) CYRUS WINTHROP (_Putting down his cards_) Two and one. LADY PATRICIA DORSON (_Also a bridge player. She has listened to the music, rapt_) Oh! That divine song! It just _swept_ London. The Prince couldn’t get enough of it. He still sings it. The Prince has quite a nice voice, you know. JULIA What hour is he on? LADY PAT (_Abstractedly_) H’m? CYRUS WINTHROP I think we make three no-trump, too. RICHARD NILES Do you? ROSAMOND OGDEN Lady Dorson, didn’t I read somewhere that the Prince was coming over for a visit? LADY PAT Well, there was some talk about it just before I left. JULIA (_Into that same drink_) I should say there was. CYRUS WINTHROP (_Who has been thinking it over_) No, I guess we go down one. LADY PAT I say, Mr. Frankl, there was another song of yours the Prince simply adored. (_She hums a fragment_; FRANKL _picks it up on the piano_) That’s it. Isn’t that too soothing, my dear? LAURA NASH (_The fourth bridge player_) I love everything of Sam’s. (_Raising her voice_) Sam, why don’t you write more songs like that? You never do any more. FRANKL Well, I’ve been pretty busy lately on my concerto. I promised Stokowski he’d get it by the fifteenth. ROSAMOND OGDEN But, Sam, those glorious songs! We’ll have nothing to dance to next winter. FRANKL Oh, I’ll do a show or two, I suppose—they’re always after me. I’m in the middle of a new symphony, too. You see, the trouble with me is—— (_He rises from the piano_) I’ve got three different careers. My light music, my serious music, and my sculpture. LADY PAT Sculpture? Why, I didn’t know you were a sculptor, too. FRANKL Oh, sure. Didn’t you see those heads I did of myself? They were in the _Times_. LADY PAT How astonishing! IVY (_In the windows_) Oh! To play under the stars on a night like this! The Greek theatre must have been magnificent. LAURA NASH Who dealt? WINTHROP I did. . . . Pass. LADY PAT (_Resuming her seat_) Oh, so sorry. What happened? WINTHROP I dealt and passed. RICHARD I pass. LADY PAT Is there a score? WINTHROP They’re vulnerable. We have sixty. LADY PAT I pass. LAURA NASH I’m bidding. IVY Mr. Frankl, play me that Chopin Waltz—you know the one I mean. Opus 3, Number 9. FRANKL Sorry. I don’t play Chopin. JULIA You’ll take Frankl or nothing. (_The piano starts up again_; JULIA _makes a slight genuflexion in the direction of the music_) LAURA NASH Two no-trump. WINTHROP By me. RICHARD Three no-trump. LADY PAT I pass. LAURA NASH Pass. WINTHROP My lead? RICHARD (_Putting down his hand as_ WINTHROP _leads_) The clubs aren’t so good, but I’ve got my values. (_He rises._ RICHARD NILES, _at forty, is the layman’s idea of what a fashionable playwright should look like. His portrait by Pirie MacDonald has long been familiar to readers of_ Vanity Fair. _He is faultlessly attired, has that distinguished touch of gray at the temples_) Well! . . . How are you backgammon boys coming along? Who’s winning? OGDEN (_Indicates_ NASH) He doesn’t have to produce plays for a living. I never saw such luck. (NASH _rolls the dice_) My God! Doubles again! RICHARD Tell me, Everett—where do you go from London? NASH Well, I’ve got to stay there till the 18th, you know—the Gladys Cooper opening. Then I go over to Budapest to see Molnar, and I’ve got to be back in London in November—got to find something for the Adelphi—that Cochran show won’t do. RICHARD No chance of your coming South with me? Give you some great shooting. NASH Sailing Wednesday. RICHARD Well, Althea and I are going to be in St. Moritz for Christmas. Why don’t you and Laura join us there and we’ll go to Antibes together? LAURA NASH (_From the bridge table_) We could do that, Everett. RICHARD Oh, that’s fine. LAURA We make three. Shall we stop? LADY PAT Yes—let’s. LAURA Have you got a house yet, Richard? I mean in Antibes? RICHARD Got a cable this morning. We’re taking the Elliott place. LAURA NASH Oh, Richard, that’s a divine house! LADY PAT Isn’t that right next to Willie Maugham’s place? LAURA NASH It’s that house on the cliff. It’s simply huge. You’ll have to give loads of parties, Richard. RICHARD I like a big place—lots of people. I think if we come back to Long Island next summer we’ll take the Atherton place, instead of this. WINTHROP Really? This is a charming place. Seems quite large. RICHARD Ye-es, but there’s no place to dock the boat—you’ve got to land at Manhasset and have the car meet you. JULIA (_So distressed_) O-oh! RICHARD Well, next summer’s a long ways off. First I’m going down to Carolina—I’ve got to get away. Those four weeks of rehearsal and the two weeks out of town—pretty wearing. But if I get some good shooting, and a month in London before St. Moritz, I’ll be ready to start work again when we get to Antibes. JULIA I’ve got _my_ year pretty well laid out, too. Let’s see. I’m going to spend November in Tony’s, if they’ll give me credit, and December trying to keep from getting thrown out of my apartment. I think in January I’ll put a piece of paper in the typewriter, and if anything comes of that I’ll be very much surprised. February and March are going to be tough sledding, but in April it’s warm again and I can go right back to the gutter, only next year I’m going to give up the _little_ gutter and take a great, big _hell_ of a gutter. Hi, Richard! (_She lifts her glass in drunken salute_) RICHARD (_In a low tone_) Will you stop drinking? JULIA (_In a voice just as high as his was low_) Will I stop drinking? No, I won’t stop drinking! RICHARD Julia— (DAVID HASKELL _comes back through the windows_) DAVID Say, they must have the papers by this time. It’s twelve-thirty. LAURA NASH That’s the worst of these Saturday openings. You have to wait all day Sunday for the reviews. DAVID I think I’ll jump in the car and get them. If you wait for them to bring ’em it’ll take hours. (_He dashes out again_) OGDEN Say, young Haskell’s more nervous than you are, Dick. You’d think it was his play instead of yours. RICHARD Oh, I’m reconciled to whatever they say. IVY (_Who has come close to_ RICHARD _as the conversation turned on the newspapers_) Richard! (_She extends her hand_) RICHARD (_Gently taking her hand_) Now, you mustn’t be nervous. You’ve no reason to be. IVY This was my great chance, Richard. I know it better than anybody. Whatever happens, I’ll always be grateful to you. RICHARD Ivy, believe me, no matter what they say about the play, they’re certain to say that you were magnificent. ALTHEA ROYCE (_On the stairway_) I’m sure they will. No matter what they say about the play. (_Her entrance has been quiet, unobtrusive. Her voice turns every head toward her_) RICHARD (_Quietly_) Why, hello, Althea. Have you been upstairs all the time? ALTHEA Didn’t you know? (ALTHEA ROYCE _is just over forty, and still a beautiful woman. She moves with a certain conscious grace—the result of many years of hearing people say “There goes Althea Royce!” when she entered a restaurant or passed down a theatre aisle_) LAURA NASH Althea darling, I hear you’ve taken the Elliott house. I’m terribly excited! ALTHEA Yes, won’t it be lovely! LADY PAT Do you know the Pendergasts, Althea? They’re going to be there this season—they’re both darlings, and _such_ fun? All they _do_ is give parties! Of course they’re not married . . . (IVY _has disappeared through the windows again. From time to time you get a glimpse of her, nervously pacing. After a moment or two_ RICHARD _joins her_) ROSAMOND OGDEN (_To_ ALTHEA) My dear, how I envy you! The Carolinas, St. Moritz, London, Antibes! I think if one could really choose one’s husband, the smartest thing to do is to marry a playwright. ALTHEA A successful playwright, of course. (_She, too, drifts toward the windows, keeping a weather eye on the two figures without_) ROSAMOND OGDEN Oh, yes. No Cape Cod for me in the summer time . . . Or marry a producer. (_She turns toward_ EVERETT NASH) Everett, why didn’t you marry for money instead of social position? I’m awfully rich, you know. OGDEN Here, here, now! Don’t you give people the wrong impression, my dear. I loved you from the minute I looked you up in Bradstreet’s. LAURA NASH Tell the truth, Everett. Why did you really marry _me_? NASH Rosamond has told you. I wanted to meet the best people. JULIA (_Half to herself_) You got stuck. BUTLER (_In the doorway_) Mr. Winthrop’s car is here, madam. WINTHROP Oh! (_A look at his watch_) Tell him I’ll be right out. ALTHEA Now, Cyrus, you’re not going. You must wait for the notices. They’ll be here in a minute. JULIA (_Beckoning to_ BURNETT) Val! WINTHROP Well, it’s a good hour’s drive, you know. JULIA (VAL _having joined her_) Sit here. (_He drops down at her feet_) ALTHEA Oh, Cyrus! Suppose you _do_ get to bed twenty minutes later. JULIA (_Drunkenly tender_) You like me, Val? (_She runs a hand through his hair_) OGDEN Yes, Winthrop, if you don’t get around to that office in the morning it’ll be all right too. They’ll turn out just as much of that cellopaper without you there. (_He picks up a package of cigarettes and rips off the cellopaper wrapper_) And suppose this stuff _wasn’t_ on here. You could get to the cigarettes quicker. WINTHROP Don’t say such things. If that stuff wasn’t on there, where would _I_ be? JULIA (_To_ VAL, _under cover of a light laugh from the group_) I think you’re very beautiful—do you mind? OGDEN Imagine making a million dollars a year out of this! Cellopaper! I wish I had a graft like this. LAURA NASH Some people have all the luck. WINTHROP Listen, Mrs. Nash, ten years ago anybody could have had it. I went around begging people—they wouldn’t touch it. They thought I was crazy. NASH Crazy like a fox. They tell me it’s all profit, Winthrop. Doesn’t cost you anything to make. WINTHROP God knows I don’t hang onto it long. The art galleries get most of it. JULIA (_Softly, as_ VAL’S _eyes meet hers for a second_) Hello. OGDEN Well, a man’s money is his own, of course, but if I had two hundred thousand to throw away I don’t think I’d put it into a picture. Think I’d buy a racing stable or something—get some fun out of it. WINTHROP I just happen to get my fun out of pictures. When you look at a canvas that’s got that spark in it, and you feel it’s going to mean something three hundred years from now, and _you_ can _own_ it—that’s got horse-racing beat a mile. Because you’re betting on a man’s talent—whether you’re right about it—and that’s more important than you, or your money, or anything else. Right now, I’m betting on a man named Jonathan Crale. You know Jonathan Crale? Well, it’s a name your grandchildren are going to know. Every hundred years or so there’s a Jonathan Crale, and when he comes along it’s history. Know what I mean? (_He looks around him for corroboration, but a dead silence has fallen upon the group. Obviously, he has said something he shouldn’t_) JULIA Why, Cyrus Winthrop! Don’t you know you shouldn’t mention Jonathan Crale in this house? You’ll never be invited again. OGDEN Julia, for God’s sake! JULIA (_Ploughing right on_) Where have you been all these years—wrapped in cellopaper? Don’t you know Jonathan Crale painted a horrid picture of our host? RICHARD Julia, please! JULIA (_Not to be stopped_) And our hostess! Althea was in it, too! With a hundred arms, like an octopus! ALTHEA (_White with rage_) Julia, I told you that if you came into my house—— (_The tension is broken by the arrival of a highly excited and exuberant_ DAVID HASKELL, _a sheaf of newspapers under his arm_) DAVID I got ’em! They’re wonderful—every single notice! It’s a hit, Richard—it’s a hit! (_There is an excited reaching for papers as the group receives this news._ NASH: “_Let me see ’em!_” LADY PAT: “_How exciting!_” LAURA NASH: “_Everett, do I get that sable?_” ROSAMOND OGDEN: “_Of course it’s a hit! You’re not surprised?_” WINTHROP: “_Well, I’m glad I waited!_” FRANKL: “_Congratulations, Richard, I know the feeling!_”) (_On the heels of_ DAVID, IVY CARROLL _has also come back into the room, and stands tensely waiting_) NASH (_Paper in hand_) Whee! Listen to this, people! “Here is sophisticated comedy at its brightest. Expertly written, beautifully produced, admirably acted.” OGDEN (_Also with his paper_) “Richard Niles, whose flair for smart comedy is exceeded by none——” LAURA NASH “Our most fashionable playwright has written what will unquestionably be the most fashionable play of the season. It is Park Avenue’s own.” ROSAMOND OGDEN “You will hear its lines quoted at every smart dinner table, its clothes will set the mode for the younger set, the second-act boudoir will find itself duplicated in many a Southampton home.” LAURA NASH And Ivy, my dear, you’re a star! “Ivy Carroll, loveliest of our younger actresses, comes into her own in ‘Silver Spoon’.” ROSAMOND OGDEN “Starry-eyed and beautiful, her translucent performance . . .” NASH Here’s that next play, Richard! “Ivy Carroll is the perfect instrument for the deft and sparkling comedy of Richard Niles. Playwright and actress form an ideal combination.” ROSAMOND OGDEN (_Going to_ IVY _and embracing her_) Ivy, let me be the first! NASH Don’t be surprised if you see your name in lights tomorrow night, young lady! (IVY _presses a kerchief to her lips with a little choking sound_) LAURA NASH Ivy! My sweet! IVY (_Bravely_) I’m all right. But it makes me feel very humble, very little. Because you know it’s not me, really. It’s Richard’s beautiful play. ROSAMOND OGDEN Isn’t she a sweet child? NASH Well, Richard, I guess you can have your London and your St. Moritz—with a pretty light heart. OGDEN (_An arm around_ RICHARD _in great good fellowship_) You’ve rung the bell again, kid! What have you got to say to all this? Come on! “Author! Author!” ROSAMOND OGDEN Albert! What do you want him to say? RICHARD Well, no use pretending I’m not pleased. You never can tell till the notices, of course, but I will say it’s about as nice a birthday present as I ever received. LADY PAT Birthday! LAURA NASH Althea, is this Richard’s birthday? OGDEN By God, that’s right! Twenty-third of September! You’re forty! Year younger than I am! Well, this is an occasion! LAURA NASH Now, that does call for a speech, Richard! OGDEN Wait a minute! (_He reaches for a wine glass and hoists it high_) I’ve been with Richard on a good many birthdays—ever since we were at college together. I guess I’m just about his oldest friend—eh, Dick? But I want to say that this is as happy a birthday as I can remember. A new hit, his friends around him, right in the prime of life—— (_There is a chorus of good-natured protest. “All right!” “Never mind!” “We know!_”) ROSAMOND OGDEN It isn’t a banquet, Albert. JULIA (_Getting drunkenly to her feet_) Are speeches in order? (_Her glass comes up_) To Richard Niles! Our most fashionable playwright! The man who has everything! And I’d rather be what _I_ am—a drunken whore! (_There is a horrified pause—a short gasp from one of the women_) LADY PAT (_In a constrained voice_) Althea, I really must be going. I’m expecting a ’phone call from London. JULIA Who from? The Prince or the King? RICHARD (_Quietly taking_ JULIA’S _glass_) All right, Julia—you’ve had enough now. JULIA Disgraced myself again, have I, Richard? (_She turns to_ VAL) Come on, Beautiful. Take me home. VAL (_Half apologetically, to the others_) I’ll see that she gets home all right. JULIA (_Weaving an uncertain way toward the door_) Well, I guess I’ll never see the inside of this house again. And that’s O.K. with—— (_She gives a drunken lurch and crashes into the table with the drinks, which goes down under her. Glasses, bottles, ice bowl, whiskey, White Rock. The women give a little cry; the men rush to her assistance. She is helped to her feet_) Ooh! Look what I got! (_She produces a solitary ice cube, which she has happened to clutch in the mêlée. Playfully she presses it against her breast, as though it were an ornament_) The very latest! Can be worn here . . . Here . . . (_She moves it from left to right_) Or as a brooch! (_For the final gesture she turns in the doorway and presses the ice cube none too daintily against her bottom. On this pretty note she makes her departure_) (_She is followed by_ VAL _and_ RICHARD, _the latter stopping to throw an agonized look back at his guests_) ROSAMOND OGDEN Althea, darling—you mustn’t mind. FRANKL Drunken sot! Why anybody invites her I don’t know. She came up to my place once and broke two heads of myself. LADY PAT I was simply stunned! What a vile woman! ALTHEA (_Tight of lip_) Perhaps this will teach Richard a lesson. OGDEN Well, those things can’t be helped. (_There is an awkward pause_) ROSAMOND OGDEN Albert, you’ve got to get up awfully early. OGDEN Ah—yes. WINTHROP Frankl, can I drive you in? FRANKL Fine! Good night, Althea. Glad the play’s a hit. (_There is the routine exchange of farewells._ OGDEN: “_Lady Dorson, you’re coming with us—that right?_” LADY PAT: “_Yes, thank you._” OGDEN: “_Everett, you’ve got your own car?_” NASH: “_We’re staying over—going in in the morning._” WINTHROP: “_Anybody else want to be dropped? Haskell?_” DAVID: “_I’m staying too._” WINTHROP: “_How about you, Miss Carroll?_” IVY: “_No, thank you. So am I._” LADY PAT: “_Althea dear, it’s been so nice. Do let’s have lunch before I go._” ALTHEA: “_We must._” WINTHROP: “_Good night, Althea. Where’s Richard—outside? Richard!_” FRANKL: “_Don’t forget my concert on the 28th. The new concerto. Good night, Everett._” ALTHEA: “_Good night, Rosamond dear._” ROSAMOND OGDEN: “_Good night, darling. See you Tuesday at the Cunninghams’._” OGDEN: “_’Night, Althea. . . . Hope we’re late enough to dodge the bridge traffic._”) (ALTHEA _follows them out for a moment_, =Laura Nash= _picks up her evening bag, preparatory to going upstairs_. DAVID HASKELL _turns eagerly back to the newspapers_. IVY CARROLL _stands a little apart, one hand clutched in the other_) LAURA NASH Wasn’t that awful? NASH (_Shaking his head in a thoughtful sort of way_) Too bad that had to happen tonight. (_He takes a breath_) Well, we’ve got a hit, anyway. LAURA NASH I must say I think Althea behaved beautifully—don’t _you_, Ivy? . . . My dear, what’s the matter with your hand? IVY I cut it, picking up that glass. LAURA NASH Let me see it. Oh! It’s bleeding quite a lot. ALTHEA (_Returning just in time to catch a bit of this_) What’s the matter? LAURA NASH Ivy cut her hand on that glass. IVY Oh, it’s nothing much. DAVID I’ll go up and get you some iodine. IVY No, don’t bother. DAVID It’s no bother. Just take a minute. (_He bounds up the steps_) NASH Let him get it. We can’t have _you_ incapacitated. LAURA NASH See what it is to be a star, Ivy! The merest trifle and they run off in all directions. ALTHEA (_Lightly_) How well I remember. IVY I don’t really need anything. It’s—it’s stopping already. (_An impulsive moment, and she is out on the lawn again_) NASH Great kid. She’s a star, all right. . . . Well, Laura, what do you say? Bed? LAURA NASH Oh, dear! Once he knows it’s a hit he gets sleepy. All right. (_She moves toward the steps_) NASH See you in the morning, Althea. RICHARD (_Returning_) What’s this? Going to bed already? NASH Yeah—I’m sleepy. And thanks to you, Richard, I think I’ll have a very good night. You’re still my favorite playwright. (_He salutes_ RICHARD _gratefully and disappears_) LAURA NASH Good night, darlings. Pleasant dreams. (_Then to_ DAVID, _as he passes her on the steps_) Good night, Davy. DAVID Good night. . . . Where’s Ivy? ALTHEA (_The venom beginning to appear_) In an ambulance with two surgeons operating. RICHARD (_Vaguely_) What? DAVID Ivy cut her finger. I brought down some iodine. RICHARD (_Concerned_) She did? Where is she? DAVID Where’d she go? Outside? ALTHEA For that last look at the moon on the water. DAVID I’d better take this out to her. (_He starts for the windows, then stops and turns to_ RICHARD _rather boyishly_) I didn’t have a chance to congratulate you, Richard, but you know how I feel. RICHARD Thank you, David. You’ll have your own hits pretty soon. DAVID I hope so. But I’m never going to forget what I owe to Richard Niles. I’d have given up after the first one, if it hadn’t been for you. RICHARD The first failure doesn’t mean anything. You’ve got stuff. Just go right ahead and don’t listen to anybody. Not even me. DAVID (_Haltingly, hero worship plain on his face_) Well, on _my_ fortieth birthday, if I’m where you are, I’m going to be a pretty happy man. RICHARD (_Good-humoredly_) Oh, get out of here, David. (DAVID _goes_) ALTHEA Well, that was quite royal of you. Advice from the Great Man. (_She mimics his tone_) “Don’t listen to anybody. Not even me.” RICHARD What’s the matter with you? ALTHEA What’s the matter with _me_? I take it you’re quite satisfied with the entertainment furnished by your good friend Miss Glenn. RICHARD I don’t want to talk about that. I feel very sorry for Julia. ALTHEA Oh, stop it! You don’t feel sorry for anybody. You’ve got your hit and that’s all you care about. RICHARD (_In the resigned tone of one who wants to avoid a scene_) All right, Althea. (_He moves toward the stairs_) ALTHEA Oh, no, you don’t! I’ve got something to say to you. If you think I don’t know what’s going on between you and Ivy Carroll, you’re crazy! RICHARD That’s not true! ALTHEA You’re a liar! I know how you work! RICHARD (_Anything for peace_) All right. It’s true—if that’s the way you want it. ALTHEA Oh, now you’re the martyred husband, eh? It won’t do. I knew it was true the minute Everett told me I wasn’t right for the part. And I knew it last year, too, with Judith Marshall. I suppose _that_ wasn’t true, either. The idea is I’m finished, eh? Well, I know damn well who’s helping to finish me. RICHARD Lower your voice, will you? ALTHEA Shut up! Althea Royce—not right for the part! I was all right for you to use as a stepladder, though, wasn’t I? Where do you think you’d have been if I hadn’t played Penelope for you in “The Ostrich”? I made P. J. produce it. . . . And I needed this play. I needed it to come back in, and you killed it! What do you think they’re saying, not seeing me in that part? RICHARD (_Forcing himself to be calm_) Althea, believe me, if I’d thought you were right for that part— ALTHEA You! You don’t care about anybody but yourself! You’d sell your soul to get a hit. Fashionable playwright! Fashionable prostitute—that’s what you are! RICHARD (_Stung_) What did you want me to do? Let you play a nineteen-year-old girl? You can see yourself, can’t you, playing that balcony scene in a negligee! Why, they’d have laughed you off the stage! ALTHEA (_In a low tone_) You . . . dirty . . . bastard! (_She takes a breath_) Well, maybe I _am_ through, but you’re not far behind me. Your trick won’t last. You may write a couple more of these powder puffs, but they’re onto you even now. And when you go you’re going to go quick. _Then_ see how you like it. Wait till you write those three straight flops and see who’s out here on Sunday nights! Because you haven’t got any _real_ friends. No snob ever has. RICHARD (_With a dangerous calm_) I see. Well, you asked for this and you’re going to get it. It’s true about Ivy, and it was true about Judith, and it’s going to be true about all of them. How do you like _that_? ALTHEA I like it fine. Because you’re never going to get rid of me. Never, never, never! RICHARD (_Slowly_) I know that. And a pretty prospect it is, too. ALTHEA God, but it’s funny! That _you_ should be telling _me_—why, I picked you up out of the Provincetown Theatre—a snivelling little failure—and gave you your chance. You were so frightened—you were going to be so grateful. Well, I can see now that you just used every one of us—me, and Julia, and Helen, and P. J.—all of us! You never made a move without knowing exactly where you were going. The only one you never fooled was Crale. How right he was! You don’t see _him_ hanging around. He recognized you for what you were—a money-loving, social-climbing, second-rate hack. And he put it all on canvas. RICHARD (_Bitterly_) Well, God knows he was right about you, too. If I’d listened to him I might still be writing those failures for the Provincetown Theatre, but I wouldn’t be bored and fed up with myself and sick of my life. You think these plays mean anything to me? I do them because I can’t do anything else—I don’t dare stop and take a look at myself. But all they bring with them is more of _this_—and I don’t give a goddam what happens to me, or anything else. I’d just as soon have that tombstone over my head right now. ALTHEA Oh, don’t ask me to feel sorry for you—you knew what you wanted and you’ve got it. But if you think I’m going to stand around— (IVY _bursts through the windows, vibrant with youth_. DAVID _is with her_) IVY Oh, there never _was_ such a night! There never was a moon like this one, and the stars never hung so low—you can reach up and touch them! DAVID The patient is doing pretty well, Richard. All she needed was the moon. (_There is a dead silence. Even_ IVY _is aware that something is wrong_) RICHARD (_Tensely_) David, could you drive Miss Carroll into town tonight? DAVID (_Confused_) Why—of course, if— ALTHEA (_Taking a moment to survey her_) I have just discovered, Miss Carroll, why you were so right for the part. RICHARD Althea! ALTHEA “Most beautiful of our younger actresses.” “Starry-eyed and translucent . . .” Well, perhaps you won’t be so starry-eyed now! (_With a quick movement she picks up the bottle of iodine, which_ DAVID _had set down. In a flash she uncorks it and hurls the contents into_ IVY’S _face_. _The dark stain splotches over her white evening gown_) (IVY _screams_) RICHARD Christ! ALTHEA (_Hysterically laughing and crying_) There goes your hit, Richard! . . . Didn’t think I’d do that, did you? . . . I’ll do it all the time! . . . To your hits and your women! (_The men have rushed to_ IVY) IVY Richard! My eyes! RICHARD David! Telephone Manhasset nine three! Dr. Pritchard! Tell him what’s happened and ask him to rush! (_Yelling after the fleeing_ DAVID) Or we’ll take her down there! IVY My eyes! It’s my eyes! (_The_ NASHES, _in bathrobes, appear on the steps_. “_What’s the matter?_” “_Who screamed?_”) ALTHEA (_Her hysteria mounting_) I did it! I threw it at her, Laura! All over that beautiful face! . . . Starry-eyed! (_She laughs_) You wouldn’t give the part to me, Everett! And now you’ve got no one! (_The_ BUTLER _and a_ MAID, _also in bathrobes, appear in the doorway_) (LAURA _and_ EVERETT _hurry down the stairs_. NASH: “_Oh, my God!_” LAURA: “_Althea! Ivy!_” RICHARD _is bending over_ IVY: “_Be brave, darling. Just a couple of minutes. It’ll be all right._”) (_From the next room we hear_ DAVID’S _voice_: “_Dr. Pritchard? . . . I’m calling for Richard Niles . . ._”) ALTHEA (_Her voice, almost in a screech, rising above the confusion_) He was sleeping with her, Laura! That’s why I did it! He was sleeping with her! And he told me I was finished! Well, this’ll finish everything—Ivy, and me, and everything! THE CURTAIN IS DOWN _SCENE II_ _A corner in the Restaurant Le Coq D’Or, showing two or three tables. Le Coq D’Or is the place to lunch—expensive, exclusive, the afternoon rendezvous of the social and theatrical elite. It is to New York what the Ritz Bar is to Paris._ _The year is 1927, and an unseen orchestra is playing the song hits of the day—“Old Man River,” “Blue Skies,” etc._ _A solitary couple are finishing their luncheon—at the demi-tasse and liqueur stage._ HE Did I? (_He laughs_) You know, I don’t remember a single thing after we left the El Fay Club. SHE You were pretty well lit all evening. Don’t you remember meeting Jim and Laura Stanhope? HE No. When? SHE Well, that shows you. You walked right up to him and said, “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?” And Jim said, “No, just a corset salesman on the loose.” HE (_Laughs again_) You know, that case is liable to make or break the corset business. SHE I don’t know about corsets, but lots of women are thinking of buying sashweights. HE Imagine those two thinking they could get away with it. How could a woman do a thing like that? SHE Ruth Snyder isn’t a woman—she’s a hellcat. I feel a little sorry for Gray, though. HE I don’t. He helped kill him, didn’t he? SHE Yes, I suppose you’re right. HE Listen—they both did it and they’re both going to get the chair. You watch. . . . Check, please. SHE Her too, you think? HE You bet she will. SHE (_A glance at the check_) They charge the hell out of you, but everybody comes here. HE (_Giving a bill to the waiter_) Okay. WAITER Thank you very much, sir. HE Well, we’ve got till five o’clock. What do you want to do? See a picture? SHE You know what I’d love. HE What? SHE Let’s go to the Palace and see Nora Bayes. She’s always marvelous. HE All right. (_They go_) (_The_ WAITER _picks up a plate or two—gives an annoyed glance around. The_ HEADWAITER _enters_) WAITER That damn boy, he ain’t never here. HEADWAITER Bus! Hey, boy! Where are you? WAITER Always by the band, instead of the tables. HEADWAITER Boy! Come here! (_The_ BUS BOY _comes in. It is none other than that radio star-to-be_, VAL BURNETT, _just now pretty frightened at the prospect of a bawling out_) Fix up this table! (VAL _hurries to the table and begins piling plates onto his tray_) WAITER Dumbkopf! (_He goes_) HEADWAITER (_To_ VAL) What do you think you’re getting paid for? To stand and listen to the orchestra all day? Believe me, if help wasn’t so hard to get you’d have been fired long ago! Hurry up that table, now! (_He goes_) (VAL _continues with his work for a moment, but as the orchestra picks up a new tune, a dreamy look comes into his face. He begins to hum the tune. Then he gets an idea. First taking a quick look around, he picks up a menu from the table, rolls it into a megaphone, places it to his lips and sings through it. It is a great discovery. If someone had killed_ VAL BURNETT _at this particular moment, there would be no crooners today_) (_At the sound of approaching guests he quickly puts down the menu, gathers up his tray, and goes_) (_It is a couple of girls who enter—about seventeen or eighteen. The debutante type. They are in a state of considerable nervous excitement, throwing ecstatic glances back into the main room_) FIRST GIRL Doesn’t she look beautiful? SECOND GIRL Yes, she’s just as beautiful off the stage. Did you see those orchids? FIRST GIRL And that bracelet! That was a wedding present from _him_. He’s _so_ good-looking. SECOND GIRL Let’s go and see the show again next week, if we can get tickets. FIRST GIRL All right. I could see it over and over. That scene where he makes love to her on the divan— SECOND GIRL Isn’t that wonderful? That’s why I like her plays—she always has a scene like that. FIRST GIRL I know. I wasn’t allowed to see her plays till I was sixteen. SECOND GIRL I wasn’t either. But I went anyhow. FIRST GIRL Oh! She’s coming in here! I dare you to speak to her! SECOND GIRL (_In a great lather at the very thought_) I wouldn’t _dare_! FIRST GIRL I’ll do it! SECOND GIRL You would not! FIRST GIRL Sssh! (_They back away a few steps, in a great state of nervous giggles_) (ALTHEA _enters. The_ ALTHEA ROYCE _of 1927 is ALTHEA Royce at her height. Her very gesture denotes the actress who has New York at her feet_) (_She casts an annoyed glance over her shoulder as the_ HEADWAITER _hurries in_) HEADWAITER This table all right, Miss Royce? ALTHEA No, I’m not lunching just yet. I just saw someone I wanted to avoid. HEADWAITER Oui, Madame. ALTHEA The trouble with your place, Louis, is that one not only sees everyone one wants to see, but also the other kind. HEADWAITER (_Accepting the blame for this_) I am sorry, Madame. ALTHEA It doesn’t matter. Will you tell Mr. Niles, when he comes, that I’m in here? HEADWAITER (_Bowing_) Oui, Madame. And may I offer my little congratulations on Madame’s marriage? (ALTHEA _gives an imperious nod, which dismisses him. One of the debutantes, in a great fresh burst of giggling, pushes her friend toward_ ALTHEA) FIRST GIRL (_Hardly able to get the words out_) Miss Royce, could we congratulate you too? We think you’re wonderful. ALTHEA (_So graciously_) Thank you. FIRST GIRL We saw a picture of the wedding in the Sunday paper, and you looked just like you do in the play. (_Suddenly the words come with a great rush_) We saw you in “The Ostrich” about four times, and we’ve seen you twice in this already, and we’re coming back again next Wednesday afternoon. ALTHEA I’m so glad you liked me. SECOND GIRL Is your—is your husband going to write all your plays from now on? ALTHEA (_With a light laugh_) I hope so. He’s my favorite playwright. (_There is a little pause as the_ GIRLS _try to think of another question, but can’t_) FIRST GIRL Well—thank you for being so nice to us. (_They hesitate again for a second, then with a renewed burst of giggling they make their departure_) (ALTHEA, _turning, has barely had time to drop the gracious manner before she finds herself confronting the man she had been seeking to avoid. He is somewhere in the early sixties, gray-haired, on the shabby side. But instinctively you feel that he had been someone in his day. His name is_ P. J. MORTON) MORTON Althea! ALTHEA Oh! Hello, P. J. MORTON Althea, did you get my note at the theatre? ALTHEA Oh! Yes—yes. I—I meant to call you, P. J., but we’ve been so rushed. MORTON Yes, I know. I read about it. That’s fine. (_Plunging_) Althea, can you let me have it? The five hundred. I’ve found a hell of a play, Althea, and if I can just tie it up I know I can get the money to produce it. I think my name as a producer would still mean something. ALTHEA (_Kindly_) P. J.—it’s terribly hard to refuse you, but—you said that about the last five hundred, and—I can’t just go on. . . . Can I? MORTON (_The mask completely falling. A pitiable figure_) You’re right, Althea. I haven’t any play. But I don’t know who to turn to any more. I haven’t got—fifty cents. ALTHEA (_Looking away from him, quickly opens her pocketbook and presses a bill into his hand_) You come to the theatre tonight, and I’ll have something more for you. I’ll talk to Richard about it, too. I’ll see what we can do. MORTON Althea, you don’t know what it does to me to have to—— ALTHEA (_Seizing upon the providential return of the_ HEADWAITER) Oh, Louis, that woman who’s going to interview me—did you say she was in the bar? HEADWAITER (_Catching on_) Oh—yes, Madame. ALTHEA Oh! Excuse me, P. J. I just have to run. (_She goes._ MORTON _stands uncertainly in his tracks for a moment. The_ HEADWAITER _regards him_) HEADWAITER (_In his most austere manner_) Is there anything I can do for you, Monsieur? MORTON No. No—thank you. (_He starts slowly out, hurrying a little as he gets past the door_) (_The_ HEADWAITER _looks around, touches a napkin, fixes a flower_) (JULIA GLENN _and_ JONATHAN CRALE _come in. The_ JULIA _of 1927 is just beginning to show the faint traces of the woman we have seen in 1934. She has not yet acquired the flabby look of the steady drinker, but even this early in the day she is not quite sober_) (JONATHAN CRALE _is_ RICHARD’S _age, which means that just now he is 33. He is, however, the very opposite of_ RICHARD _in looks, dress, and manner. He is none too particular about the daily shave, and it is a long time since his suit was pressed. One forgets all this, however, under the spell of his personality_) (_The_ HEADWAITER _regards them with a certain hauteur. They so definitely do not belong in the Restaurant Le Coq D’Or_) HEADWAITER You are lunching here, Monsieur? CRALE Why not? HEADWAITER Yes, sir. Right here, sir. (_He seats them with a good deal of chair-pulling and bowing. Proffers a menu to_ JULIA) JULIA (_Waving the card aside_) I don’t want any food. Scotch highball. (_The_ HEADWAITER _receives this order with quiet dignity and turns his attention to_ CRALE, _who is scanning a menu_) HEADWAITER A little caviar first, sir? CRALE (_Looking thoughtfully at the_ HEADWAITER) Orange juice, wheat cakes and country sausages, coffee—got any angel cake? HEADWAITER (_Shocked, but carrying on_) I’m afraid not, sir. CRALE Well—that’s all. HEADWAITER Yes, sir. (_He goes_) JULIA Angel cake? Where do you think you are? Childs’? CRALE (_His eyes following the_ HEADWAITER) You know, _he_ ought to sit down and let us wait on _him_. JULIA And now, Mr. Crale, will you tell me what we are doing in this cradle of luxury? A couple of bums. CRALE Oh, just spying on the rich. . . . Don’t you love flowers? (_He picks up a vase of roses from the table and sets it on the floor_) JULIA I hate flowers, I hate music, little children and open fires. (_She looks him over_) How have you been, Jonathan? CRALE I’ve been in bed for three days. JULIA Sick? CRALE (_Matter of factly_) No. But I didn’t feel like painting and there was nobody I wanted to see, so I just didn’t get up. JULIA Maybe that’s an idea for me. The rest of my life. CRALE (_His hand closes over hers for a second_) You’ll be all right, Julie. (_With a slightly false brightness_) Look! How about taking a walking trip with me? Bear Mountain. It’s beautiful. JULIA That would be what I’d draw. A walking trip. Other girls get Cadillacs and Pierce-Arrows, and I get a walking trip. No, you son-of-a-bitch. CRALE Well, you’re a fool. Nothing like the Palisades this time of year. (_The_ WAITER _enters, bearing the orange juice and the highball_) WAITER (_With the infallible instinct of his kind_) Orange juice for Madame? CRALE No, that’s for me. (_The_ WAITER _puts down the glasses and goes_. JULIA _immediately takes a long swig of her drink and gives a little sigh of relief_) CRALE How many have you had today? JULIA I don’t know. Couple. CRALE A few more than that, I should say. JULIA What’s the difference? I’ve got to do something. CRALE Well—you could work, you know. JULIA I’m never going to write another line, Jonny. Except just enough to keep myself in liquor. CRALE Oh, yes, you are. You’ve got to get hold of yourself, Julie—quick. You can’t go ahead this way—drinking Scotch highballs in the morning, sitting in speakeasies all night. That just gets worse and worse, you know. You’ve got no right to let that happen to you. JULIA I’ve got a right to do anything that’ll make it easier for me. Because if I live to be a hundred I’m still going to be in love with you. Only I hope to God I don’t live to be a hundred. (_The_ HEADWAITER _comes importantly into view, gives a rather suspicious glance at_ CRALE _and_ JULIA, _and goes on out again_. JULIA _looks venomously after him_) What did you think we were doing? Stealing the napkins? (_She turns on_ CRALE) In God’s name, will you tell me why you brought me here? I hate it. CRALE Certainly I’ll tell you. I wanted to see Richard. (JULIA’S _highball glass comes down on the plate with a little bang_) It’s nothing to do with you, Julie. I want to see him myself. He won’t talk to me on the telephone and he won’t answer my letters. I know this is where he generally lunches, so I came here. JULIA (_After a moment_) It was wrong of you, Jonny. You never should have shown that picture. CRALE Oh, I suppose not. You never should do anything where your friends are concerned. But I didn’t know it was going to stir up all this fuss. JULIA You knew people would see it. CRALE No, I didn’t. Nobody ever saw any of my pictures before. It was just tough luck this one happened to get into the newspapers. Only I didn’t know Richard was going to get so mad. God, he won’t answer my letters; he won’t talk to me; he told Albert he never wants to see me again. I can’t believe it. What’s he so mad about? JULIA You didn’t think he’d be pleased, did you? A picture of himself embracing a cash register with one arm and Althea with the other. Why did you ever paint it in the first place? CRALE Because I felt it. The way I feel about things has got to come out. And I’m a _painter_. JULIA I’m sorry you did it, Jonny. CRALE So am I—now. I wouldn’t have anything come between Richard and me for anything in the world. God, he’s my best friend. I love him. The big baby. But I know if I run into him that we’ll wind up with our arms around each other and everything’ll be all right. JULIA And how do I fit into this touching scene of reconciliation? CRALE Because I wanted you here. The three of us have always been together, and—I wanted you here. (_The_ WAITER _returns, this time with the wheat cakes and sausages_) WAITER Wheat cakes for Madame? JULIA No, no—there. It’s always the other person, just remember that. (_The_ WAITER _puts the plate in front of_ CRALE) And another Scotch highball, please. (_The_ WAITER _goes_) CRALE (_Regards his food_) Mm. Three pancakes. Only a dollar-eighty. (_He takes a bite with evident relish_) Anyhow, Julia, one thing has come out of the whole business. I’m in demand. Two people want me to do their portraits. Not going to do them. And I got a letter this morning from some—ah—where is it?—— (_He fishes in his pockets and brings out a letter. Refreshes his memory with a glance at the envelope_) What is the _Cosmopolitan Magazine_? Is that a magazine? JULIA It’s something Fannie Hurst writes every month. CRALE And I got another letter— (_Feels in his side pocket and apparently encounters a foreign substance_) —what the hell is this? (_He pulls out a good-sized pair of pliers and regards them vacantly. Then he suddenly remembers_) Oh, yes! I was going to fix my razor. JULIA (_Regarding the two days’ growth_) I see you fixed it. CRALE I _had_ that letter . . . (_He tries the other side pocket_) Now, what—— (_This time he brings out a top—one of those gayly colored, self-winding affairs that are just the thing for children of five_) JULIA Why, Tiny Tim! CRALE (_Childishly excited_) Oh! Picked this up on a pushcart—wait till you see it go! (_Instantly he is out of his seat and down on the floor, busily winding the top_) JULIA Crale, are you crazy? CRALE (_He spins it_) Look at it go, Julie! JULIA Look at _us_ go! (CRALE _tilts himself back on his heels and watches the top with profound admiration. At this moment, unfortunately, the_ HEADWAITER _returns. He does not quite believe what he sees, but, equal to any crisis, he steps over the spinning top and continues his progress, his head held high._ CRALE _guiltily gathers up the toy and stuffs it into his pocket_) JULIA (_When the_ HEADWAITER _has disappeared_) We might as well steal the napkins and go, because we’re going to be thrown out anyway. CRALE I don’t know why you shouldn’t be allowed to spin tops, just because you’re grown up. Do kids have to have all the fun? JULIA Jonny, you’re 33. People are going to quit making allowances pretty soon. CRALE (_In high excitement_) Remember the time you and Richard and I spent the whole day calling people up and telling ’em the water supply was going to be shut off? JULIA All over the Bronx! CRALE We had ’em filling up bathtubs, wash basins, milk bottles—— JULIA Richard sounded so official! They always believed him! CRALE We had a wonderful trick we used to work in college, Julie. Richard used to pretend—— (_He stops short as_ RICHARD _enters. He rises and goes toward him with proffered hand_) Hello, Richard. (_Without a word_ RICHARD _strikes him with his fist_. CRALE _reels slightly, then hits back_. RICHARD _swings again—they are at it_) JULIA (_White and stricken_) Richard! Jonny! Don’t! Don’t! It mustn’t end this way! It mustn’t! (_The sounds of scuffle bring an increasing horde of excited patrons into the room._ JULIA’S _pitiful cries of “Dickie! Jonny! Don’t! Don’t!” come through the excited shouts of the crowd as——_ THE CURTAIN FALLS _SCENE III_ RICHARD NILES’S _rooms in an apartment-hotel just off Park Avenue. An interior decorator has clearly been given a free hand, and the result is a modernistic room done to the hilt. The hilt of 1926, of course, for the time is the fall of that year._ _A Japanese servant_, ITO _by name, is setting the breakfast table, which is being laid for two_. _The telephone rings._ ITO Hello. . . . Apartment Mr. Richard Niles. . . . Who? . . . Miss Royce? . . . Oh! I call him. . . . What? . . . Oh! . . . All right, Miss Royce, I tell him. (_The door bell sounds. A refined buzz_) I tell him. . . . Yes, Miss Royce. (_He goes to the door_) Yissir? (_There enters a rather nondescript man in the middle forties, an indefinable air of the small-towner about him_) THE MAN (_Heartily_) Good morning! ITO (_Uncertainly_) Yissir? THE MAN You remember me. I’m Mr. Niles’s brother. Is he up yet? ITO Oh! Mr. Niles shaving. I tell him. GEORGE NILES It’s all right. (_He raises his voice_) Hello, Dick! RICHARD (_From the bedroom_) Hello! Who is it? GEORGE It’s me. George. RICHARD With you in a minute. GEORGE No hurry. All the time in the world. (_There is a pause. His eye goes to the breakfast table_) Somebody coming to breakfast, eh? RICHARD What? Oh—yes. GEORGE Well, I’ll get right out. (_He strolls over to the breakfast table_) Pretty soft for you writers—breakfast at eleven-thirty. (_He looks over a bowl of fruit on the table, sinks an inquiring finger nail into a pear, puts it down and takes up another one. He takes a juicy bite of it and speaks with his mouth full_) Always through with _my_ breakfast seven o’clock. (RICHARD _comes out of the bedroom. He is in bathrobe and pajamas, and both are Finchley’s best_) RICHARD (_Polite, but that’s all_) Hello, George. GEORGE Hi! How’s the kid brother? RICHARD Fine, thanks. GEORGE Just dropped in to say good-bye. I’m going back this afternoon. RICHARD Oh, thought you were staying till Wednesday, George. GEORGE Well, finished up yesterday. Might as well go back. You know, Dick, I was thinking: why don’t _you_ come home for awhile? Be _good_ for you. Get away from all this—— (_He feels for the right phrase_) . . . New York, running around, restaurants. Get some good fresh air in your lungs, and some home cooking under your belt, and I bet you’d write better. I couldn’t write a letter in this place. RICHARD (_Starts to open the morning mail_) Oh, I’m all right. GEORGE You know, we’d get an awful kick having you back. You’re a big man in Evansville. Gosh, what a kick Mom and Pop would have got if they could see you now. RICHARD (_Glancing up from a letter_) You look after the cemetery, don’t you, George? GEORGE Sure—Ed and I don’t let a year pass. ITO (_Returning from the pantry_) Excuse, Mr. Niles. Miss Royce call while you shave. She say you wait here. She come over. RICHARD She did? (_A glance at his watch_) What time did she say she was coming? ITO She not say. (RICHARD, _annoyed by this news, starts for the telephone_) She say you not call her. She come over. RICHARD (_Puzzled_) Not call her? Are you sure you got that straight, Ito? ITO Yes, Mr. Niles. She talk very low, but I understand. RICHARD (_Thoughtfully_) That’s funny. GEORGE (_With considerable innuendo_) I thought maybe it was her coming to breakfast. RICHARD What? No. GEORGE Good-looking woman, all right. Stunner. Darned good in your show, too. Of course she’s pretty sexy, but I guess that’s what they want. (RICHARD, _his mind on the ’phone message, is pacing thoughtfully up and down_. GEORGE, _with no little hesitancy, continues_) I don’t suppose any of that stuff in the newspapers about you and her was true—huh? Just newspaper talk? RICHARD What did you say? (_The telephone rings_) GEORGE (_Half to himself_) Not that I’d blame you. . . . Good-looking woman. ITO (_At the telephone_) Apartment Mr. Richard Niles. . . . Who? . . . Mr. Who? . . . Wertheimer? RICHARD I’ll take that, Ito. . . . Hello, Jack—Richard. . . . What new grief have you got for me today? . . . Well, when your lawyer calls up it isn’t just to say hello. . . . Well, look, Jack. Tell Helen to keep the child for another six months. . . . That’s right. . . . I’m foregoing my privilege. She’s to keep him for my six months. . . . She might send me a snapshot of the youngster. . . . Okay. Thanks. . . . Oh, Jack! If you’re uptown tomorrow afternoon drop in around five for a cocktail. Good-bye. GEORGE Say, how _is_ that kid of yours, Dick? You don’t see much of him, do you? RICHARD (_Not eager for the subject_) I see him occasionally. It’s difficult for me to—ah—— GEORGE How old is he now? About five, isn’t he? RICHARD Yes. GEORGE Gee, how time flies! You know, it seems like yesterday when you brought Helen to Evansville on your honeymoon. Don’t suppose _you_ two ever see each other? RICHARD (_Now definitely annoyed_) No, we don’t! (_The door bell sounds_) GEORGE Well, marriage sure is a lottery, all right. Say, talking about kids, you’ve got a couple of nephews back in Evansville that you’ve never even seen. We were saying the other night—— (ITO _opens the door. It is_ EVERETT NASH _who enters_) NASH Good morning, Ito. Forgive my barging in this way, Richard, but——Oh, excuse me. (_He stops as he sees a stranger_) RICHARD It’s all right, Everett. My brother. This is Mr. Nash. GEORGE How do you do? NASH How are you? Listen, Richard, Metro called me on the ’phone last night from Hollywood. I tried to reach you. They must want the show, all right. They came up to seventy-five. RICHARD They did? GEORGE (_Eyes bulging_) Seventy-five what? NASH Seventy-five thousand. GEORGE (_Stunned_) Seventy-five thousand _dollars_? For _that_ play? RICHARD (_With a smile_) We feel the same way, George. GEORGE Oh, I didn’t mean the play wasn’t good, Mr. Nash, but the story isn’t much, is it? It’s just those funny lines of Richard’s, and you can’t hear words in a picture. NASH (_Smilingly_) No. . . . What do you say, Dick? Do you want to take it? RICHARD I don’t know. Think they’ll go any higher? NASH They might. They want it for Mae Murray. RICHARD Oh—let’s take it. NASH All right—I’ll shoot ’em a wire. GEORGE (_To himself_) Seventy-five thousand dollars. NASH By the way, Richard, I see somebody’s going to produce that night-club melodrama that I turned down. _You_ read it. RICHARD Oh, yes. “Bright Lights.” Wasn’t that the name of it? NASH That’s it. They’ve changed the name, though. Calling it “Broadway.” Good title, but the play won’t get a nickel. You didn’t like it, did you? RICHARD No. Who’s producing it? NASH I don’t know. Nobody you ever heard of. So long, Richard. Good day, Mr. Niles. (_They toss “good-byes” at him as he disappears_) GEORGE Well, I got to be going too. RICHARD Well, George, nice to have seen you. Give my love to every one back home. GEORGE Seventy-five thousand dollars. Well, I guess it was worth it—Ed and I putting you through college. Ed working all those years in the knitting mill, and me nights in the drug-store, just so you could go to college and earn all this money. Yes, _sir_. Ed and I never regretted doing it, either—not for one minute. No, _sir_. (_His eyes finally meet_ RICHARD’S) RICHARD (_Realizing, only too well, what is expected of him_) What’s the name of that oldest boy of yours, George? GEORGE (_Brightening immediately_) Lester. Why? RICHARD (_Heading for the checkbook_) I just thought I’d like to make him a little present. GEORGE (_A shade too heartily_) Oh, you don’t have to bother with anything like that. RICHARD How old is he? GEORGE Fourteen. Hell of a kid. Lot like you used to be, Dick. (_As_ RICHARD _starts to write_) Say, Lester certainly will appreciate this. Just make it out to cash. (_The door bell sounds_) Can’t trust a kid of his age with that amount of money. You know, he writes, too. Like a son of a gun. I’m going to send you some of his stuff. (_As_ RICHARD _hands him the check_) Thanks, Dick! Well, good-bye! (_Without another word, he rushes pell-mell to the door, which_ ITO _has just opened. In his haste to get out he almost knocks down_ JONATHAN CRALE, _who is entering_) RICHARD Jonny! My God, but I’m glad to see you! (_He throws his arms around_ CRALE _and gives him a great friendly hug_) Where the hell have you been? It’s been weeks! CRALE Listen—don’t hang it on me, you big stiff. _I’m_ always around. It’s you, posing for those lousy pictures in _Vanity Fair_ all day. RICHARD Crale, you’re getting soft. Have you been reading _Vanity Fair_? CRALE God, no! Saw a copy lying on a garbage can. RICHARD Well, anyway, I got you at last. . . . All right, Ito. CRALE Yeah—a breakfast date. What is this—a new style or something? I don’t like it. RICHARD The whole thing is a big conspiracy to get you out of bed before noon. The reason you’ve got no sense, Crale, is that when we were at college all the important classes were held in the mornings, so of course you never knew anything about them. (_They are at the breakfast table by this time, about to start in on the orange juice_) CRALE Well, you’re wrong today. I’ve been up for hours. Just got back from the morgue. RICHARD The morgue? What happened? CRALE Nothing happened. I just like to go down there. RICHARD You mean you just like to go down to the morgue? CRALE Sure. There’s nothing gives you such a sense of life and death. Whenever I’m feeling too cocky about my work, or if I’m low about anything, I go down there, and I come out feeling fine. RICHARD Ever think of going to a movie? Honest, Jonny, the longer I know you—— CRALE Well, I don’t let myself get bored, anyhow. That’s one of the secrets of my failure, I guess. RICHARD How are things going, Jonny? Sold any pictures? CRALE Don’t be a goddam fool. Nobody buys my pictures. In the first place, I haven’t painted any for six months. RICHARD Oh, dear. Well, no use my lecturing you again. What have you been up to otherwise? CRALE Well, I was in jail last week. RICHARD (_His fork, descending on the plate with a clank_) Now, don’t tell me you just went _there_ for the fun of it. CRALE No. I was arrested. That’s why I missed your opening—I was locked up. RICHARD (_Helplessly_) What did you get into this time? CRALE Garment workers’ strike. I was picketing. RICHARD You’re not a garment worker. CRALE No, but I thought they were right. So I picketed for them, and—happened to beat up a cop. RICHARD I give up. (_As he is served_) Thank you, Ito. (_He takes a bite of egg_) You missed a good show, you know. CRALE I saw it last night. RICHARD You did? . . . Well? CRALE (_Hesitates for a second, then takes the plunge_) My God, Richard, what do you want me to say? You know how I feel about those plays. I liked it; I laughed. And by the time I got to Broadway and Forty-fifth Street I’d forgotten all about it. It’s a carbon copy of the other two you wrote. This year’s model. RICHARD (_Good-humoredly_) Well, a lot of people don’t agree with you. CRALE Oh, I know it’s a hit. But what are you going to do? Keep _on_ writing those things? You’re better than that, Richard. My God, you wrote a fine play once. RICHARD All right, and what happened to it? Two weeks at the Provincetown Playhouse. CRALE Yes, and you were better off then with a failure than you are now with a hit, whichever way you look at it. RICHARD (_Pushing his chair back_) So that’s the new argument, eh? If it’s a hit it isn’t a good play. It’s wrong to be successful. You’ve got to starve to death and write plays for a little art theatre that nobody comes to see. CRALE I don’t mean that. You _know_ I don’t mean that. RICHARD All right. What _do_ you mean? CRALE I mean—all _this_. (_A wave of the arms that takes in the room_) That Mongolian you’ve got out there. The whole life you’re leading now. The people around you. It’s doing something to you. You’re not the same Richard I used to know. RICHARD Why? Because I don’t eat in those bum restaurants and don’t have to worry about where my next dollar’s coming from? CRALE Yes—among other reasons. You’re getting away from the guts of things into a whole mess of nice polite _nothing_. And that’s what your plays are about. Why, I used to come into the studio and find you bubbling over with ideas—good, juicy ones. And in the past year all I’ve heard you talk about is how much the play grossed, and what you got for the movie rights, and you met Noel Coward. RICHARD All right—now let me tell _you_ something. I _like_ my life the way it is now. I like meeting Noel Coward, and I like being successful. I’m enjoying myself for the first time. I had plenty of the other thing—all those years with Helen. Working in a shoe store all day and writing that fine play at night. And what for? So that you and Julia could tell me how great I was? I don’t see myself writing plays for two people, and being miserable the rest of the time. Why has that got to be part of it? Why do you have to be poor to write a fine play? CRALE Because when you’re rich you never write it. That’s why. RICHARD I don’t want to be _rich_, Jonny. But give me a chance. Give me a chance to get a little money in the bank and I’ll write you a fine play. I’ll write you the finest play that ever closed in a week. CRALE No, you won’t. The longer you wait the tougher it gets. It’s like a man saying he’s going to take up reading when he’s forty. You start reading at ten or you don’t read at all. Besides, the trouble with these plays you’re doing is you don’t dare stop. You’ve got to write one a year or they’ll forget you ever wrote a line. But you write one good play and they’ll _always_ know who you are. If I paint one good picture they’ll remember _me_. RICHARD But I’m not like you, Jonny. That’s the answer to the whole thing. I’m not like you! CRALE But you _are_, Richard. I know you too well for you to tell me that. You _are_, but you _won’t_ be if you go on living this way, getting in deeper and deeper with these people. I know all this isn’t hard to take— (_A gesture that takes in the room_) —it must be very pleasant. It’s fine for Ogden, and Nash, and people like that, but you and I have got no right to it. I get my fun in front of an easel, and it’s the only fun I’m entitled to. And that’s where you ought to get yours—in front of a typewriter. I don’t know whether you ever get any reward for it, but I do know this: you’ve only got so many good years, and when they’re gone—and that may come sooner than you think, Richard—if you haven’t made use of them, it’s very tough. Because then you’ve got nothing. (RICHARD _says nothing for a long moment. Then:_) RICHARD (_Pacing, thinking_) It’s hard, Jonny. I’d rather have your respect than anything. But it’s hard to know which way to turn. When you’ve had nothing all your life, and suddenly get all this, maybe you have to be stronger than I am to push it aside. That’s what I meant by a couple of years more—— CRALE No, Richard. You’ve got to make a clean cut. (_He pauses a moment_) Right from the very core. RICHARD What do you mean by that? CRALE Althea. You’ve got to start by cutting her right out of your life. RICHARD (_Stiffening_) So that’s it. CRALE Richard, I couldn’t say this if I didn’t feel closer to you than I do to—my mother. Althea’s poison for you. It’s just sex—that’s all it is. You can’t love that woman. And as long as you’re tied up with her you’re tied up with everything she stands for. Get rid of her. You don’t love her. You wouldn’t _marry_ her, would you? RICHARD Marry her? She’s got a husband, in the first place. CRALE All right, then it’s just a question of sleeping with her. Isn’t it? (RICHARD _looks at him without answering. He takes a turn around the room_) RICHARD (_Slowly_) Jonny, I’ve got nothing on this afternoon that I can’t call off. Let’s spend the day together, have dinner, and talk right through the whole goddam night. CRALE That’s the stuff—that sounds like the old Richard. (_An arm thrown around_ RICHARD’S _shoulder_) Richard, I’m—I’m very glad. It’s going to seem like old times, having a day together. Listen—let’s pick up Julie and make it an old-fashioned session. What do you say? RICHARD All right. I’ve been feeling a little guilty about Julia lately. I haven’t seen as much of her as I—Jonny, isn’t she drinking a good deal? CRALE (_Quietly_) She certainly is. A great deal. RICHARD Why? She never used to. What’s the matter with her? CRALE Don’t you know? RICHARD (_Trying to think_) No, I don’t think I do. CRALE Ever occur to you that she might be in love with you? RICHARD (_Stunned_) Julia? In love with me? CRALE So in love with you that she can’t bear—what’s going on. RICHARD (_Unable quite to realize it_) Why—I never thought of Julia that way. She’s the swellest person in the world to be with, but Julia’s like—well, she’s like _you_. She’s some one you talk to like a man. I never thought of her as—— CRALE Well, there you have it. Come on—get your things on. RICHARD (_Still turning it all over in his mind_) Julia. . . . CRALE Well! Want to get dressed? RICHARD What? CRALE You can’t go _that_ way. RICHARD Oh! (_He starts toward the bedroom, then stops short, remembering_) Oh, look, Jonny! I can’t go right away. I just remembered. CRALE What’s the matter? RICHARD Well—nothing important—just something I’ve got to—where’ll you be in about an hour? CRALE How about picking me up at Julie’s? RICHARD Okay. CRALE It’s a date. (_He goes to him_) Listen, you dirty capitalist—you still love me after all the things I said? RICHARD Don’t be an idiot. Nothing can ever change that, no matter what you say or do. Now get the hell out of here, before we both bust out crying. CRALE See you in an hour! (_He goes_) (RICHARD _stands looking after him for a moment, then takes a few thoughtful steps around the room_) (ITO _comes in from the pantry. He looks surprised, and a little hurt, at the remains of the breakfast on the table_) ITO Something matter breakfast, Mr. Niles? RICHARD H’m? No, no—fine. Just take everything away. (ITO _clears the table as_ RICHARD, _still pacing, nervously lights a cigarette_) (_The door bell sounds_) I’ll go, Ito. (_He opens the door as_ ITO _vanishes into his pantry_. ALTHEA ROYCE _stands framed in the doorway, a small over-night bag in her hand_) ALTHEA (_Rushing in and throwing herself into his arms. Obviously in a state of great emotional stress_) Oh, my darling! RICHARD Althea! What’s the matter? ALTHEA I’ve left him, Richard! I’ve left him at last! RICHARD What? ALTHEA It was terrible! I haven’t slept all night! He kept following me from one room to another, hammering on the doors! (_She is near hysteria_) RICHARD Althea! Get hold of yourself! Tell me what happened! ALTHEA (_Tensely_) Last night—after I left you—I went home. I didn’t mean to say anything—but suddenly—it all came over me. I saw myself—night after night—coming home—him sitting there. I couldn’t stand it—I said, “Harry, I’m leaving you—I want a divorce.” RICHARD (_Almost inaudible_) Good God! ALTHEA He began to cry . . . I’ve been very good to him, Richard. All these years. I owe him nothing. . . . All night he kept it up. All morning. You don’t know what I’ve been through! Finally I just—left. I told Della to pack my things, and—left. RICHARD But—what are you going to do—Althea? ALTHEA Do? Here I am, Richard. You’re all I care about. (_The telephone rings. Her hand goes convulsively to her throat_) What’s that? (RICHARD _goes to the ’phone_) RICHARD Hello. . . . Yes . . . Yes, she’s here. (_He turns to_ ALTHEA) It’s Della. (ALTHEA _hesitates for a brief moment, then goes jerkily to the ’phone and takes the receiver_) ALTHEA Yes, Della? (_She listens for a long, taut moment, her face expressionless. Suddenly her hand goes limp. Staring vacantly in front of her, she slowly hangs up the receiver. Her lips move, but no sound comes forth_) RICHARD (_Sharply_) Althea! ALTHEA It’s—Harry. He’s killed himself. RICHARD (_With a sharp intake of breath_) Oh, God! (ALTHEA _starts uncertainly toward him, then suddenly rushes to him_) ALTHEA (_Her arms around his neck_) Richard! . . . Richard! . . . Richard! (_He stands dully for a moment. Then, as if they were weighted, his arms come up and envelop her_) CURTAIN ACT TWO _SCENE I_ JONATHAN CRALE’S _studio. A skylight room on the top floor of an old house, somewhere in the East Twenties._ _It is cluttered up, of course, with all the traditional paraphernalia of the artist—easel, model stand, brushes, canvases. In addition, however, there are several objects around that are much more difficult to explain. A huge brass telescope, on a tripod, stands near the window. There is an old-fashioned Russian samovar, enormous, pushed into a corner. A pair of ice skates have been tossed onto a chair, and a pogo stick leans against the wall._ _The year is 1925, the time approximately ten o’clock of a bright Spring morning._ JONATHAN CRALE _is sprawled in a dilapidated easy chair. He is in his pajamas, but, since the morning is a trifle chilly, he is wearing a coat. It is, however, a woman’s coat with an imitation fox collar._ _To top it all off he is very seriously playing an accordion, or at least trying to. He has set his heart on mastering the popular tune of the day, but is having a hard time of it._ _From the bedroom comes a_ GIRL’S voice. THE GIRL Craley! (_He is preoccupied with his music_) Craley! CRALE What is it? THE GIRL I can’t find my step-ins. CRALE Well, I haven’t got them on. (_He starts playing again_) THE GIRL (_After a moment_) It’s all right—I got ’em! (_There is another pause, during which the music is atrocious_) Craley, help me close this bag, will you? It won’t shut. CRALE (_Not stirring_) You can shut it. Take some things out of it. (_He resumes playing, trying a few extra flourishes this time_) (THE GIRL _comes out of the bedroom—something very attractive in the early twenties. She carries a small suitcase in one hand and a hat in the other_) THE GIRL I don’t see why I have to get out of here just because this friend of yours is coming back. You’d think he was a minister or something. I don’t see why I can’t stay. There are two beds in there. We wouldn’t bother him any. CRALE (_Musingly_) Molly, I just thought of a one-word description of you. Inhibited. MOLLY I don’t see why you have to be so squeamish about _him_, anyway. _He_ knows what it’s all about—your Mr. Niles. From what I read in the papers he could give us _all_ lessons. No wonder he went away. I’m surprised he’s got the nerve to come back. CRALE Come on, Toots—out you go. MOLLY I guess that Althea Royce must be pretty hot stuff, if she’s anything like her plays. CRALE “‘The time has come,’ the Walrus said”—— MOLLY Aw, Craley! You haven’t painted my picture yet. I haven’t even posed for you. (_She gestures toward the easel, on which is a perfectly blank canvas_) CRALE Molly, I’m afraid that if you haven’t posed in three months, something must have happened to prevent it. MOLLY Well, let me just stay and get a look at him. CRALE Am I going to have to—— MOLLY Oh, all right! Give me my coat and I’ll go! (_The downstairs buzzer sounds._ MOLLY _is immediately excited_) Oh, is that him? CRALE Listen, his boat doesn’t get in until eleven-thirty, so you haven’t got a chance. Press the button, will you? (MOLLY _goes to the push button as_ CRALE _gets himself out of her coat_) MOLLY (_As_ CRALE _helps her on with the coat_) Craley, you still love me, don’t you? CRALE Crazy about you. Good-bye. MOLLY Oh, you! (_She gathers up her bag_) CRALE Take care of yourself, Molly. You were a good fellow when you had it. (_She goes_) (CRALE _looks around the room—decides to be an astronomer for awhile. Draws a chair up to the telescope, starts to sit down, discovers the ice skates and tosses them onto the floor. He is intently peering through the telescope when_ JULIA _enters_) Julie, the sun’s out! JULIA You don’t say so! Do you mean to say that you can look through a little bit of a thing like that and tell when the sun is out? That’s a wonderful invention! Do people know about that? (_The_ JULIA _of 1925 is fresh, buoyant, youthful, happy. There is a definite glow about her_) CRALE Why, you’re all dressed up, you little son-of-a-gun. JULIA (_Throwing her arms around his neck in sheer joy_) Of course I’m dressed up! And of course the sun is out! Do you think it would dare stay in with Richard coming home! There’ll be a moon tonight, and stars, and a milky way, and what the hell are you doing in pajamas? We’ve got to meet that boat! CRALE I overslept. JULIA I know. I met her going down the stairs. . . . What was that she had with her—a sample case? CRALE Uh-huh. Fuller brush lady. JULIA (_Unable to contain her high spirits_) Oh, Jonny! I never realized how much I wanted to see that man! Eight months! For God’s sake get out of those pajamas! I was up at five o’clock! CRALE Fifty-six shakes of a lamb’s tail! (_He disappears into the bedroom, the pajama top coming off over his head as he goes_) JULIA Well, make it fast! I want to see that boat come up the bay, I want to wave to him from the end of the pier. I want to see him walk down the gangplank! Have you got money for a taxi? CRALE (_From the bedroom_) Huh? JULIA Have you got money for a taxi? CRALE (_Still in the bedroom_) I think so. How far is it? JULIA I don’t know. Where’s the pier? CRALE (_Calling_) What? JULIA Where’s the pier? (CRALE _appears in the doorway. He has donned a shirt, but still wears his pajama pants_) CRALE Don’t _you_ know where the pier is? JULIA No. You said you were going to find out. CRALE No, I didn’t. You said _you_ were going to. JULIA Oh, Jonny! CRALE Well, we can find out in two minutes. What’s the name of the boat? JULIA The _Rosamond_, of course. CRALE Well, let’s see. Do they put private yachts in the newspaper? JULIA I don’t know. Where’s the newspaper? CRALE I haven’t got one. JULIA Don’t you take a morning paper? CRALE No, I don’t. Does Mr. Hearst buy my paintings? JULIA _Very_ funny. But where does the boat dock? CRALE Now, don’t get panicky. People have been in worse jams than this. We can figure it out. JULIA I know. You sit down and say to yourself, “Where would I go if I was a yacht?” CRALE My God, it’s Ogden’s boat, isn’t it? We’ll call up his house and _ask_ them. _They’d_ know. JULIA (_Shaking her head_) Not listed. He’s too rich now. CRALE All right—his office! JULIA Now you’ve got it! . . . What’s the name of that company? Investment—investment. The Something-or-Other Investment Company. CRALE That’s a big help. JULIA (_Thinking it out_) What do people invest in? CRALE (_A sudden idea_) I know how we can find out! I know just the man! (_He goes to the telephone_) Stuyvesant 1840. . . . Old fellow at the Sailors’ Home. Knows every boat that comes into the harbor—I don’t care what it is. That’s all he does all day. Looks up boats. Mud scows to the _Aquitania_. . . . Sailors’ Home? . . . I want to talk to Captain Peterson. . . . Peterson. . . . Well, tell him to stop for a minute and come to the ’phone. It’s important. (_He turns to Julia_) He’s playing chess. JULIA Not looking up boats today, huh? CRALE Greatest sea dog you ever met in your life. Didn’t I tell you about him, Julie? Picked him up on the Battery. Looks magnificent. Right out of Conrad! I brought him straight up here to paint his picture. Tickled him no end. JULIA (_Eyeing the blank canvas_) It’s good, too. CRALE Say, once he started talking, Michael Angelo couldn’t have painted. What a life he’s had! Mutiny on two ships. Feet frozen to the mast. Why, once in Tahiti—hello! Captain Peterson? . . . This is Jonathan Crale. . . . How are you? . . . Huh? . . . Well, I haven’t started painting it yet, Captain. Just some rough sketches. But it’s going to be a great picture. Wait till you see it! JULIA He should live so long. CRALE Listen, Captain, there’s a private yacht coming in today and I want to know where it docks. . . . Huh? . . . It’s called the _Rosamond. . . . Rosamond_. Owner, Albert J. Ogden. And it’s got a lot of rich bastards on board, if that’ll help you any. . . . All right. I will. (_To_ JULIA) He’s talking it over with the boys. JULIA Tell ’em to take their time. CRALE You watch—they’ll know. They’ll know it, if anybody—— (_The ’phone again_) —what? . . . How’s that? (_To_ JULIA _again_) Captain Schmidt says it got in two days ago. JULIA Oh, for God’s sake! CRALE (_Into the ’phone_) No, that must be another boat, Captain. . . . The _Rosamond_. . . . That’s right. Coming in from Gibraltar. . . . That’s it! That’s the one! (_To_ JULIA) I told you he’d know it. . . . I’m listening. . . . Pier 19, foot of 26th Street. That’s fine—I’m right at 24th Street. . . . Huh? . . . Oh! 26th Street, Brooklyn. JULIA Oh, dear! CRALE Well, thanks a lot, Captain. I’m coming down there some day and beat the pants off you boys at chess. . . . Well, you practice up. . . . Good-bye. (_He hangs up_) JULIA (_Who has been pacing impatiently_) Jonny, will you get dressed? Brooklyn! It’ll take hours! CRALE I’ll hurry! Honest I will! (_He scoots into the bedroom_) JULIA Brooklyn! If I was rich enough to own a yacht, I’d own a pier too. And I’d have it on the lake in Central Park, where you could get at it. CRALE (_From the bedroom_) What did you say? JULIA Never mind! Get dressed! (_A look around. She begins to tidy the room_) It’s a wonder you wouldn’t fix this place up, with Richard coming. Everybody doesn’t like to live in a mess. CRALE I do! JULIA (_Pausing in her work. A rapt look comes into her eyes_) Jonny, won’t it be wonderful to have him back! Fresh, and starting all over again! That whole terrible business behind him. I’m so excited I could sing! I _will_ sing! (_And she does. A phrase of “Look for the Silver Lining”_) CRALE You’re terrible! JULIA I don’t care! I don’t care about anything! (_She stands for a moment, smiling at nothing in particular_) You know, Jonny, I was thinking this morning—it’s funny how things work out. For the best, I mean. Everything seemed so hopeless eight months ago, but when you look at it now it seems as if it was all planned. He _had_ to go through all that. That one taste of success was bad for him anyway, Jonny—he liked it. That shake-up was just what he needed. We were able to get him away. CRALE (_Emerging from the bedroom, struggling with his necktie_) “This world is so full of a number of things, I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings.” (_He gives a little snarl_) JULIA Jonny, do you think he’s finished the play? CRALE (_At the mirror_) Maybe. JULIA In Cairo he had one act done. If he’s had any luck at all—— CRALE Well, we’ll know soon enough. He’ll be full of it. JULIA I’ve got some news for Richard. And you too. CRALE Yeah? JULIA I’ve started the novel, Jonny. Day before yesterday. CRALE You don’t say? JULIA Thirty-five pages. I think it’s good, too. CRALE Gosh, Julie, I’m tickled to death. JULIA Jonny, I want to kick up my heels! Where can I learn to kick up my heels? CRALE United Cigar Stores. JULIA Ooooooh! . . . On Saturday something terrible is going to happen to me. CRALE Huh? Why? JULIA Everything is too swell right now. I’m too happy. I always figure if I have a Thursday and Friday like this, on Saturday I’m due for a sock in the nose. Oh, Jonny, I’m glad I was born! (_In sheer exuberance of spirits she picks up a crayon and quickly sketches in a huge black mass on the canvas_) CRALE Hey! What are you doing? Do you think canvas grows on trees? JULIA It’s Captain Peterson! Don’t you see his beard? (_The buzzer sounds_) Who’s that? CRALE How do I know? JULIA We’re not stopping for anybody! CRALE (_As he presses the button_) Okay! (_He opens the hall door and calls down_) Who is it? A VOICE (_From two or three flights down_) It’s me! Richard! CRALE It’s Richard! JULIA Richard! (_They almost fly out of the door—you hear the clatter of their feet as they rush down the stairs, and their excited cries: “Richard! For God’s sake!” . . . “We were coming to meet you!” . . . “Richard!” . . . “Look at him, Julie—he’s ten pounds heavier!” . . . “Did you miss me? I’ll bet you never knew I was away!”_) (_The voices swell as they approach the room._ CRALE: “_Honest to God, we were just this minute leaving the house!_” JULIA: “_We’d have been there hours ago, but he wouldn’t put his pants on!_” RICHARD: “_Say, I know you two! I’m surprised you remembered the day, even! Gosh but it’s good to see you!_”) (_They bring him into the room—_RICHARD _in the middle, the other two clinging to him. Looming up in the rear, his face beaming, is_ ALBERT OGDEN) (_Except for a coat of tan_, RICHARD NILES _has the beginnings of the man we have already seen—well-tailored, an air of assurance. His appearance and bearing, however, are in the nature of a surprise to_ CRALE _and_ JULIA. _Even the mustache is a product of the trip_) CRALE (_As they come in_) And maybe you don’t think _you’re_ a sight for sore eyes! Gee, but it’s good to see you, you bum! JULIA Richard, was it wonderful? Was it all wonderful—Egypt, and India, and—— CRALE Let’s get a look at him first! Stand over there in the light! OGDEN Doesn’t he look great? Did I do a good job? CRALE Look at that outfit, will you? What’s that—London? RICHARD Hawes and Curtis! JULIA Right out of Bond Street. Are they paid for? RICHARD (_Turning around, mannequin-fashion_) Like ’em? CRALE Stand still a minute! There’s something—my God, he’s got a mustache! JULIA He hasn’t! Why, so he has! Richard! CRALE A mustache! Why didn’t you cable? RICHARD Oh, it’s just a little thing. For God’s sake, stop talking about me and let me get a look at you two! Tell me some news! CRALE Listen—you’ve knocked everything out of our heads, coming in this way! What happened? RICHARD We got in an hour ahead of time. OGDEN Made the tide. RICHARD Look here, you people must know _something_. I’ve been away eight months. What have you been doing? Whom have you been seeing? What’s been going on? JULIA We haven’t got any news! You’re the one with the news! What about the new play, Richard? I can’t wait! Have you finished it? CRALE Have you, Richard? OGDEN You bet he finished it! And it’s great! JULIA Richard! (_She throws her arms around him_) CRALE Say, that’s real news! JULIA When can we hear it, Richard? It sounded so swell! I was so excited! When can we hear it? RICHARD (_Uncomfortable_) Well, I’m not so sure that you and Jonny—— OGDEN Just wait! You’ll die laughing! He read it to us and we almost fell overboard! Novel as hell—the whole thing takes place on a yacht! Everybody’s wife gets into the wrong cabin! “All on Deck”—isn’t that the name of it, Richard? RICHARD Ah—yes. (_A little nervous laugh_) It’s not as funny as all that, Albert. (_There is a slight pause_) JULIA But, Richard—that isn’t the play you wrote us about. RICHARD (_Ill at ease_) No—it isn’t, Julia. JULIA But—what happened to that? It—sounded—so swell. RICHARD You mean the coal-mine play? Well, I did an act of it—_you_ know, I wrote you—but I was afraid of it. I don’t think they want plays like that right now. OGDEN I should say not. There’s enough trouble in real life without going to the theatre for it. People want to laugh. RICHARD Well, they want serious plays too, but— (_He faces_ JULIA) —I read it to the crowd and they didn’t seem to think—— (_He is interrupted by a staccato buzzing of the door bell—two or three rings_) JULIA (_Turning_) What’s that? OGDEN (_Calling out the open door_) Coming right down! . . . It’s Rosamond and some of the crowd. I guess they’re getting impatient. CRALE Rosamond? Why didn’t you tell us? Ask ’em to come up! (_He starts for the door_) OGDEN No, no! We’ve got to go! Only stopped a minute—just wanted to say hello. CRALE Oh! Too bad we can’t all have lunch together. I’d like to see her. . . . Your bags in the car, Richard? I’ll bring ’em up. OGDEN Oh, Richard’s coming with us. JULIA What? RICHARD We’re—we’re spending the week-end at the Flemings’. We kind of made arrangements on the boat for a farewell get-together. The whole crowd are going out, and—I couldn’t—I’ll be back Monday morning. (_The buzzer sounds again—a long, imperative summons_) OGDEN (_Yelling down the stairs_) Oh, all right! . . . We’d better go down. Good-bye, people! Coming, Richard? RICHARD Ah—just a second. OGDEN Okay! (_The bell again. Still more demanding_) Coming down! Lay off the bell, will you? (_He is gone_) CRALE (_Making the best of it—giving_ RICHARD _a pat on the back_) All right, kid—have a good time. When are you coming in—Monday? Leave me your trunk keys and I’ll have you all unpacked. RICHARD Well, look, Jonny—would you care a lot if—if I didn’t come back here to live? You see, I found on the boat—I could work better being alone, and—anyway it puts you to a lot of trouble having me here. I thought I’d just take a room at the Lombardy or somewhere until I can get a place of my own. You don’t mind, do you? CRALE (_Masking his disappointment_) Why—no. If you think you can work better that way, Richard—that’s all right. RICHARD It isn’t as if we can’t see each other just as much. I—I want to talk to you both about the coal-mine play. Maybe I could go back to it, if—you liked it. Ah—how about dinner Monday night? Are you both free? CRALE We’re both free. If you are. RICHARD Fine. I’ll keep it open. (_There is an awkward pause_) Well—I guess I’d better go down before they start ringing again. Good-bye, Jonny, you old fool. See you Monday. . . . Good-bye, Julia. (_He blows her a kiss_) Can’t tell you how good it’s been to see you two again. CRALE Good-bye, Richard. RICHARD Good-bye. JULIA (_As he goes through the door_) Good-bye, Richard. (_She looks down the stairs after him_) Good-bye. (_Slowly she pulls the door shut and leans with her back against it. Her voice takes on a new meaning_) Good-bye, Richard. . . . (_She gives a shrill, unpleasant laugh_) Hail and farewell! . . . Jonny, we saw the last of Richard Niles eight months ago—the day he got on that boat. He’s met The Crowd, Jonny! He’s met The Crowd, and there he goes! And do you remember something, Jonny? _We did it!_ You and I. That day in the court-house. We made him get on that boat. Everything works out for the best, eh? Did I say that? Well, if I did I was a God-damned fool! (CRALE, _who has slumped into the easy chair, gives a single blast of discord on the accordion_) CURTAIN _SCENE II_ _A Court-house Corridor._ _The year is 1924._ _A couple of_ ATTENDANTS _stand guard outside a courtroom door, from behind which comes the droning voice of a_ JUDGE. THE JUDGE —at which time the plaintiff will proceed with the presentation of her evidence. Before taking an adjournment, may I remind the gentlemen of the press that this is a court of law, and that the dignity of the court must be upheld at all times? I will hold in contempt of court any newspaper photographer who attempts to take another picture in this courtroom, and if there are any further demonstrations from the public attending this trial I will order the courtroom cleared. (_There is the sound of the descending gavel_) Court is adjourned until nine o’clock tomorrow morning. (_From the courtroom come the voices of the_ BAILIFFS, _growing louder as the cry is picked up by those nearer the door. “Court is adjourned!” “Court adjourned!”_) (_Immediately a babel of sound springs up inside the courtroom, and from the door there emerges_ THE PUBLIC—_or, at least, those lovely representatives thereof as are inevitably drawn to any legal procedure that promises cheaply sensational developments. The women are sleazy, cheaply dressed, sensation-hungry. There is, however, a sprinkling of Bronx housewives and two or three over-dressed West End Avenue ladies. The men are of the variety generally referred to as loafers, but among them too there are a few who are better dressed_) (_The crowd is in holiday mood, and is happily discussing the juiciness of the day’s evidence as it crosses the corridor_) A GIRL Are you coming tomorrow, Evelyn? EVELYN You bet I am. Tomorrow’s going to be juicy. A WOMAN Did you get a good look at Niles? He looks paler than he did yesterday. HER FRIEND Paler? He ought to be blushing all over the place. THE WOMAN I feel sorry for that Mrs. Niles, with a baby and everything. A MAN The poor sucker’s unlucky, that’s all. It could happen to any of us. ANOTHER WOMAN (_Emerging from the courtroom_) Believe me, if he was my husband I wouldn’t be suing for a divorce. They’d have me on trial for murder. HER COMPANION Did you see what the paper said today about Althea Royce? That editorial in the _Mirror_? THE FIRST WOMAN Yeah—nice for that little kid of his, ain’t it? They’re the ones that suffer with these divorces. STILL ANOTHER WOMAN My little girl said to me today—she’s just old enough to read—she said: “Mama, what was it they did on the leopard skin?” What could I tell her? A PASSING MAN Tell her to keep away from leopard skins. THE WOMAN’S FRIEND Imagine how that poor Mrs. Niles must have felt—coming there and finding the two of them on that leopard skin! I know how I’d feel! A MAN (_To a male companion_) We’ve got a leopard skin up at the country club. Gives me an idea. HIS COMPANION Let me know how you make out. A WOMAN I wouldn’t miss tomorrow for anything. That’s when she’s going to tell how she found ’em. HER FRIEND Do you think Althea Royce will testify? THE WOMAN What could she say? She was caught, wasn’t she? HER FRIEND The _Mirror_ is going to run her love secrets. Her maid wrote it. THE ATTENDANTS No loitering, please! Keep these corridors clear. Do your talking outside. Outside, please! Keep moving! Outside! (_On the heels of the disappearing crowd three or four reporters come out of the courtroom_) A REPORTER How about a drink, boys? ANOTHER REPORTER Okay with me! A THIRD REPORTER Not me! I’ve got to knock out my story. My paper’s on the street at eight. THE FIRST REPORTER Say, you can bat this one out in twenty minutes. Whenever you’re stuck just put in some more dirt. THE SECOND REPORTER Yeah, this one’s from heaven. Thank God for that leopard skin. THE FIRST REPORTER That’s what Niles said. (_There is a ribald laugh from all of them as they pass on_) (_A new group comes out of the courtroom. It is headed by a frail, rather distraught young woman, leaning rather heavily on a woman who is obviously her mother. A little behind them comes a brisk businesslike gentleman, accompanied by an older man and a youth of nineteen or so_) THE MOTHER I’ve got some spirits of ammonia in my pocketbook, Helen. Do you want it? THE GIRL No, I’m all right, Mom. THE LAWYER Now look, Mrs. Niles—— (_The_ GIRL _stops and turns_) MRS. NILES Yes, Mr. Richardson? RICHARDSON I want you to get a good night’s sleep—— (_He turns suddenly to the older woman_) —see that your daughter gets a good night’s sleep, Mrs. Murney, because I may have to put you on the stand again tomorrow, Mrs. Niles. MRS. NILES I’ll try. HER MOTHER She’ll be all right. HER FATHER Mr. Richardson says this was a very good day for us, Helen. We’ll make that fellow feel sorry for what he did to you. THE YOUTH You bet we will! THE MOTHER (_As they are about to leave the corridor_) I’ll take the baby in my room tonight, Helen, so you—— (_They are interrupted by a trio of brash_ =Young Men= _who dash out of the courtroom. Two of them carry cameras_) A PHOTOGRAPHER Mrs. Niles! Oh, Mrs. Niles! RICHARDSON Now, boys, Mrs. Niles is very tired. No more pictures today. THE PHOTOGRAPHER Can’t we have just one? Please! Just one with her brother, showing how they came in the room and found ’em! We’ve got a leopard skin out here and everything! RICHARDSON (_Shepherding the family out_) Now, none of that, boys! No, no! THE PHOTOGRAPHER Well, can we come up to the house and get one of Mrs. Niles and the baby? Won’t take a minute? RICHARDSON No, no, boys! Mrs. Niles is very tired—can’t you understand that? THE PHOTOGRAPHER (_Following them out_) But just one, Mr. Richardson! We can’t go back without a picture. (_They are gone. A couple of_ COURT ATTENDANTS _are next, chatting as they walk_) FIRST ATTENDANT Ain’t had a case like this in a long time. Not since that Mrs. Fletcher sued for rape. SECOND ATTENDANT I wasn’t here then. Did she get it? (_From the courtroom there emerges_ ALBERT OGDEN, _accompanied by a serious-looking little man_) OGDEN Agonizing experience—my God, what an ordeal! How long’s it going to go on, Wertheimer? I don’t think Richard can stand much more of it. WERTHEIMER Oh, couple of days, I guess. They’re going to pile on plenty of dirt, you can make up your mind to that. OGDEN But it’s so horrible—Richard having to go through this. Sensitive fellow like that. These crowds staring at him, and jokes about it in the street—that composite picture in the paper this morning. You can see what it’s doing to him. WERTHEIMER Well, you’ve got to expect that in a case of this kind. Women like Althea Royce—all those sexy plays she’s been in. It was made to order for the tabloids. OGDEN But I tell you he’s going to crack up. How long’s it got to go on? WERTHEIMER Well, that’s up to you people. OGDEN What do you mean by that? WERTHEIMER I mean it’s one of those cases that never should have come into court in the first place. I told him that when he came to me. OGDEN God, I hate to give up now, after we’ve gone through all this. Don’t you think there’s any chance at all? WERTHEIMER (_A shake of the head_) It’ll only get worse. Tomorrow they’re going to have some of those people testify that were at the party—the last ones to go. You see, Mr. Ogden, it all ties in too well. His wife leaves the party in tears—comes back with her brother at ten minutes to four—and there they were. On that damned leopard skin. Trust the tabloids to pick up that leopard skin. It was all they needed. OGDEN Well, I’d like to save him from any more of this. I suppose there’s no use— (RICHARD _comes out of the courtroom, along with_ JULIA _and_ JONATHAN CRALE. RICHARD _shows the full effects of the ordeal that he is passing through. His white, drawn face is the face of a man shaken to the very roots. He looks old_) RICHARD Can’t we get out of here? I want to get out of here! JULIA You don’t want him for anything, do you, Mr. Wertheimer? CRALE I want to take him home. (_The_ PHOTOGRAPHERS, _having finished with the plaintiff, now return in search of the defendant_) A PHOTOGRAPHER Here he is! How about a picture, Mr. Niles? Just one! (RICHARD _makes a convulsive gesture with his arms, as the others instinctively screen him_) WERTHEIMER Get out of here! We’ve had enough of your damned pictures! Go on! Get out! THE PHOTOGRAPHER (_After looking him up and down_) O. K., counsellor. But you don’t have to get nasty about it. You’re glad enough to get pictures when you’re winning a case. (_The_ PHOTOGRAPHERS _withdraw_) JULIA Oh, why won’t they let him alone! (RICHARD, _with a deep sigh, brings his hands down from his face_) OGDEN (_Going to_ RICHARD) Listen, old man, I’ve been talking to Wertheimer. He feels you oughtn’t to go on with it. Now, if you stop now you can save yourself a lot of suffering. What do you say? RICHARD (_Dully_) What? OGDEN We don’t think you ought to go on with the case. We think you ought to stop now. What do you say? (RICHARD _looks at him dumbly_) All right? RICHARD (_Too far gone to care_) Whatever you think. JULIA Oh, Richard, I’m so glad! (CRALE _merely lays a steadying hand on his shoulder_) OGDEN (_With a sigh of relief_) It’s better already. JULIA Of course it is. WERTHEIMER Believe me, Niles, it’s the only thing to do. RICHARD I suppose so. I can’t seem to think any more. I just want it to be over. OGDEN Well, it’s over now, Richard—all finished. WERTHEIMER You won’t ever have to come back here any more. RICHARD Thank God for that. I’ve never thanked you, Jack, for everything you’ve tried to do—and you, Albert, for everything you’ve done—— OGDEN Now don’t worry about that. RICHARD Julia, you’ve been so wonderful. I don’t think I ever could have faced it if it hadn’t been for the way you and Jonny—— JULIA But Richard—we love you. We’re always going to be with you—whenever you need us. Always. CRALE Just you forget about us, Dickie. Right now you’ve got to think about yourself. JULIA Richard, what you’ve got to do is to get away—get away as quickly as possible. Just think—in ten days you can be on Albert’s boat, and this’ll all seem like a bad dream. RICHARD No, no. I don’t want to go away. CRALE It’s what you need, Richard. You’ve got to. JULIA You won’t be alone. You’ll have Albert with you, and all his friends. OGDEN You’ll love it, Richard. She’s a beautiful boat, if I do say so myself. And it’s a swell crowd that’s going. JULIA Richard, think of it! The Mediterranean, Egypt, India! RICHARD No. Just let me stay with you and Jonny. I’ll be all right if you and Jonny are with me. JULIA Listen, Richard. You’re worn out. You’re on the ragged edge. If you’re ever going to work again you’ve got to get fresh strength—you’ve got to see new people, new places—this is a heaven-sent chance. If you stay here, even with Jonny and me at your side, you’ll be constantly reminded of it—the whole city’ll remind you of it. Richard, you must go. Won’t you do it for _me_, Richard—for Jonny and me? RICHARD Julia, I’m afraid to go away now—the way I feel. I’m afraid to—— (_Without warning, the_ PHOTOGRAPHERS _spring their coup. One of them quickly dashes up behind_ RICHARD _with a leopard skin, which he holds up as a background. At the same time the man with a camera levels it at him, while his accomplice rushes in with the flash powder_) THE MAN WITH THE LEOPARD SKIN O. K.! Shoot! (_There is a quick flash; almost immediately the men are gone. But not before they throw a taunt back over their shoulders: “See how you like this tomorrow morning!”_) CRALE The God-damned—— WERTHEIMER (_Through set teeth_) If I can ever—— JULIA (_To_ RICHARD) Oh, my dear! RICHARD All right, Julia. I’ll go. I’ll go. Only get me away quick. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand it. (_He is sobbing hysterically as the others try to quiet him_) CURTAIN _SCENE III_ ALTHEA ROYCE’S _apartment. The year is 1923._ _Prominently visible is a leopard skin, which is thrown casually over a couch. A large Arabian sword hangs incongruously on the wall. An Indian drum, which is evidently used as a seat, stands in a corner. The room, in fact, is a strange combination of furniture supplied by the hotel and favorite pieces of her own added thereto by_ ALTHEA, _probably bits from this and that production in which she has appeared_. _It is about eleven-fifteen at night, and it is clear from what is going on that a party is about to be given._ WAITERS _are entering from the hallway and passing through to another room, laden with trays and glasses, cutlery and china. A_ CAPTAIN _hovers about, giving little unnecessary instructions. “Right in there!” . . . “The plates go on the small table.” . . . “Plenty of big glasses, too.”_ _A_ BELLBOY, _who has been pressed into service to take charge of the men’s coats, loafs in the entrance hall, while a colored_ MAID, _who is to perform a like service for the ladies, appears from time to time in one of the doorways_. CAPTAIN (_Signalling to his_ WAITERS) Come on—don’t loaf in there. BELLBOY Say, I ain’t got room for an awful lot of coats. Is it going to be a big party? MAID Can’t ever tell. Last time I was here Miss Althea says to me a few people is going to drop in, and by the time they was through coming there must have been a hundred. BELLBOY I guess she knows plenty of people, Miss Royce. Do you think there’s liable to be any movie stars here tonight? MAID That party I was just telling you about, Patsy Ruth Miller was here. BELLBOY You don’t say? She’s swell. Did you see her in “The Hunchback of Notre Dame”? Oh, good evening, Mr. Nixon. (_Two men in dinner coats have come through the open door. They are_ HARRY NIXON, ALTHEA ROYCE’S _husband, and_ SID KRAMER, _a vaudeville agent who is his constant companion_. HARRY NIXON _is in his middle forties, a trifle gray. It is not so long ago that he was considered a handsome juvenile. He still looks a trifle dashing in his evening clothes, but there is an indefinable air of sadness about him_) HARRY (_To the_ BELLBOY) Hello, Tommy. Got you working tonight, eh? BELLBOY Yes, sir. HARRY (_To the_ CAPTAIN) Hello, Gus. Everything under control? CAPTAIN Yes, sir. We are very nearly ready—just a few minutes more. HARRY Plenty of time—the show’s just over. CAPTAIN How was the opening, Mr. Nixon? Is it a hit? HARRY Seemed to go very well. CAPTAIN Oh, that is fine. Miss Royce will be very happy. My congratulations. HARRY Thank you, Gus. (_The_ CAPTAIN _departs. With the master of the house now home, the_ MAID _and the_ BELLBOY _have likewise disappeared to their respective cloakrooms_) (_As he takes off his coat_) Mix yourself a drink, Sid. You know where it is. SID I can wait. (_He lights a cigarette_) HARRY I thought it went darned well, didn’t you? SID They liked it. Downstairs draw, maybe, but it’ll go. Smart kid, that young Niles. Pretty good for a first play. HARRY Yeah—he’s got stuff, all right. (_He pulls a great batch of telegrams out of his pocket_) Look at this, would you? And still more in the dressing room. Althea gets more telegrams every time she opens. SID I don’t suppose _you_ got any, huh? You’re only her husband. (_He holds out a hand for some telegrams_) Let me see some of those. HARRY (_Paging through the messages_) They’re all here, all right—all the big ones. Elsie Ferguson, Glenn Hunter, Lenore Ulric, Conde Nast—— SID (_Reading from his own batch_) Irene Fenwick, Al Woods, Oliver Morosco, David Belasco—— HARRY Is there one from Belasco? Let me see it. (_He takes it_) Gee, what it would have meant to us ten years ago—a couple of vaudeville hicks—to get a telegram from David Belasco. SID (_Who is under no illusions_) You didn’t get it. It’s to Althea. HARRY That’s all right. She’s the one that was up there acting. SID Yeah—I know. (HARRY _puts the telegrams down and takes a nervous turn or two around the room_) HARRY I wish this party was over. I wish it was time for ’em to go home. SID Why? HARRY I hate these parties. They—they get on my nerves. I hate ’em. SID I don’t wonder. (_Suddenly bursting out_) You know, if I was you, Harry, I’d be so sore I couldn’t sleep nights. HARRY What do you mean? SID Hell, you know what I mean! Whose fault is it that she’s up there acting tonight? Whose fault is it that she ever came out of the chorus? HARRY What’s the difference, Sid? As long as one of us made the grade, what’s the difference? SID The difference is she’s got no gratitude. Everything she knows she learned from you. You can’t tell me anything about Althea Royce. I can remember catching your act when you first teamed up with her, and she didn’t know how to walk across a stage. HARRY (_He smiles reminiscently_) “Harry Nixon and Girlie.” Gee, that seems a long time ago. SID I don’t begrudge her having her name in lights—more power to you if you can get ahead in this business—but she’s forgotten you ever had anything to do with it. HARRY (_Trying hard to be loyal_) No, she hasn’t. SID Yes, she has. And it’s a mystery to me why you stand for it. HARRY No, no, Sid. Althea’s all right. It’s—me. You see, Althea’s an important actress now. She’s got to meet important people—be seen in the right places. I don’t like to—tag along with her. They don’t want _me_—it’s Althea. They’re nice enough, but—after about five minutes I’m always sort of standing around, wishing it was time to go home. That’s why I just don’t go any more. SID _She_ goes, though, _don’t_ she? HARRY Well, now, Sid, you can’t ask her to give up all that just because _I_ don’t fit in. She’s—she’s darned nice to me—lots of ways. It’s—it’s me. I just don’t know what to do with myself any more. I used to think, all right, I’ll go back and play a small part here and there, but—they don’t remember me. And anyhow it—wouldn’t look right. Althea Royce’s husband. SID What are you going to do? Sit here and rot? HARRY Oh, it’s not as bad as that. I guess maybe I ought to be pretty grateful—no worry about money, and a roof over my head. . . . But I don’t know. Some mornings I wake up, and I wish I could stay right in bed till the day was over. I don’t know what to do with the days. Sometimes I find myself, two o’clock in the afternoon, standing in one of those auctioneer places on Broadway. Just standing there listening. SID (_Kindly, for the first time_) Don’t you go to the Lambs’ Club any more? That used to be your regular hang-out. HARRY No, I—I stopped going there. SID What for? HARRY Well, maybe it was foolish of me—I don’t suppose the boys meant anything by it—but I’d come in there and all I’d hear was, “Pretty soft for you, Harry. See your wife’s in a new hit. _You_ don’t have to worry, do you?” It got so—I just couldn’t go there any more. (_There is a little silence. Then_ HARRY _laughs with a false brightness and slaps_ SID _on the back_) Oh, don’t mind me, Sid. I get days when I go on this way—feeling sorry for myself. Maybe it’s this darned party tonight—they always get me kind of low. I wish it was over, or I didn’t have to be here, or something. SID (_After a moment’s pacing_) Look, Harry! Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this. But I’m a friend of yours and I’m going to! This is what makes me so mad. It’s everything you did for her, and going through hell now, and her carrying on with other men. Right under your nose! It’s no secret around town, I can tell you that. And it was high time somebody told you. HARRY (_Quietly_) I know all about that, Sid. SID (_After looking at him for a long moment_) You do? And you’re still willing to take it. Well, I give up. HARRY You see, Sid, there’s one thing about it you don’t understand. I’m still—crazy about her. SID But my God, Harry! It’s one after another. You can see from the way she looks at young Niles— (_He pauses significantly_) HARRY I don’t care. I’m so in love with her that if she’ll just let me stay around, I don’t care what she does. That’s the only thing that scares me, Sid—if she ever left me. Because if that ever happens, then there’s no reason for me at all. SID (_A little frightened by his tone_) Oh, come on, now! That’s never going to happen! She’s very fond of you. I didn’t mean—let’s mix ourselves a drink. Where did all those waiters go? HARRY Gus! Hey, Gus! (GUS _does not appear, but there stands in the doorway instead a lady of formidable proportions. It is_ ALTHEA’S _mother_, MAGGIE RILEY. _She has one of those emphatic Irish faces, which just at the moment is laboring under such loads of make-up that it is difficult to tell her age, and she is wearing what would be considered evening clothes on anybody else. Something happens, during the course of an evening, to anything that_ MAGGIE RILEY _puts on. Her long white gloves are dirty at the fingertips; her evening cape, obviously handed down from_ ALTHEA, _is a trifle askew on her shoulders; the edge of her petticoat shows beneath her dress. People like_ MAGGIE RILEY _enormously—because she is not_ their _mother_) MRS. RILEY (_Booming_) Hello, Harry! Say, Harry! Coming up in the elevator just now I found my A! Listen! (_She bursts into “Alexander’s Ragtime Band”—good and loud_) How’s that? The old pipes are still there, eh? HARRY (_Considerably disturbed at seeing her_) Hello, mother. Sid, you know Althea’s mother, don’t you? Mrs. Riley. MRS. RILEY (_Before_ SID _can answer_) Say, I know Sid Kramer. He booked an act of mine once. “The Four Nightingales.” Remember that act, Sid? Boy, was that a stinkerino! SID It sure was. MAID (_Coming out of the bedroom_) Take your wraps, Madam? MRS. RILEY No, thanks. I ain’t a guest. I may get kicked out any minute. Hey, Puss! (_She hails a passing_ WAITER) Bring me a bottle of beer, will you? And make it fast! I’m going to get _something_ out of this wake! (_Another_ WAITER _is passing, bearing a platter with a huge cold ham on it, already partly sliced_) Hey, what you got there? Let’s see that! Boy, I’m hungry! Say, that looks good. (_She quickly removes her gloves and takes a large slice of ham in her fingers_) Mm. Wonder why food always tastes better in your fingers. Got that beer? Ah! Thanks. (_As the_ WAITER _pours it_) Everyone’s so goddam flossy these days. Beer out of bottles! Oh, well! (_She lifts her glass_) Up the chimney, boys! (_She drinks, spilling a little of it over her dress, then elaborately wipes her mouth with the back of her hand_) Ah! (_Glass in hand, she surveys the other two contentedly_) Well, boys, how did you like the show? HARRY Why—we thought it was fine, mother. I think it’s a big hit. Didn’t you like it? MRS. RILEY Like it? What the hell was it all about, will you tell me that? What did the name mean? “The Ostrich.” Wasn’t a goddam bird in it. HARRY Well, the whole idea is—people afraid to face things. Sticking your head in the sand. MRS. RILEY Well, why didn’t they come out and say so? “The Ostrich,” for Christ’s sake! What they get away with today! Those kind of plays give me a pain. (_She affects the pose and voice of what she considers the modern actress_) “There’s no one here, Alfred. They’ve all gone into the garden. Shall we dawnce?” . . . “I can face anything, dearest, as long as I know that I have you. Shall we dawnce?” . . . “Edgar! Father has just shot himself! Shall we dawnce?” Dawnce my behind! Believe me, that show could _use_ a couple of ostriches. And they call it acting, too—that’s what beats me. “Won’t you have a cup of tea?” “Yes, it _is_ warm.” Acting, for Christ’s sake! Leslie Carter swinging on that bell in “The Heart of Maryland”—that was acting. That blood dripping down in “The Girl of the Golden West”—that was acting. Why, Leslie Carter would have pooped Althea right off the stage! HARRY Well, mother, it’s a different kind of show business today. MRS. RILEY You bet your life it is! You had to _have_ something in the old days. When you could sing “The Holy City” in a burlesque show, the way I did, to a bunch of Hunkies in Youngstown, Ohio, and _hold ’em_—— (_She sings a phrase of “The Holy City”_) God damn it, you _had_ something! I don’t call _this_ show business! (_She heads for a side table to put down her beer glass_) (_At the same moment_ ALTHEA _appears in the entrance hall. She is resplendent. Great bursts of orchids peep out through the fur of her evening wrap, while behind her stand two_ MAIDS, _laden with flower boxes_) ALTHEA (_Not seeing_ MRS. RILEY _in the excitement of the moment_) What an opening! What an audience! What a glorious night! MRS. RILEY Shall we dawnce? (_She comes into_ ALTHEA’S _view_) Hello, Annie. Take off your things and make yourself at home. ALTHEA (_Surprised is not the word_) Why, mother dear. (_It is said sweetly, but from its very sweetness you understand how heartily she loathes_ MRS. RILEY) I—I thought you were going home. Won’t you miss your train? HARRY I—I was just going to tell your mother how tired you are after an opening. MRS. RILEY Tired? What the hell from? I sat in the first row of the balcony and couldn’t hear a goddam word you said. ALTHEA (_From a great height_) Oh, really? The rest of the audience heard every word. MRS. RILEY They must have good ears. What were you doing with your back to the audience all the time? I thought you were going right _up_ that fireplace. ALTHEA (_Icily_) Well, mother, I’m sure you’re right and everyone else is wrong. That’s why P. J. Morton pays me two thousand dollars a week and puts my name up in lights. MRS. RILEY Say, get it while you can, Annie—before they get onto you. ALTHEA (_Unable to stay calm any longer_) Mother, will you _please_ stop calling me Annie? MRS. RILEY Well, for Christ’s sake that’s your name, ain’t it? That’s what you were born. Annie Riley to Althea Royce—_that’s_ a sleeper jump for you. And I see by the program—— (_She unfolds it_) —where your grandfather was the founder of the Irish Theatre. Old Patrick Royce. The only place _he_ was ever found was under the seat drunk. (_She consults the program_) “Comes from a long line of distinguished Irish actors.” You should know some of them. Your great-grandfather was a horse-thief; old Patrick Royce was sent up for wife-beating, when he wasn’t busy founding the Irish Theatre, and—— ALTHEA (_With repressed fury_) Mother, are you going home or aren’t you? MRS. RILEY (_Squaring off_) Oh, I see. I’m not good enough for your fine friends. Listen—just because they wear ermine wraps and a lot of jewelry don’t fool _me_. I’m on to them all. Irene Bordoni! Where do you think _she_ came from—Tiffany’s? ALTHEA Now, that’s one thing I will not stand for! I will not have you saying things like that about my friends! MRS. RILEY Oh, save that for someone who doesn’t know you. You’re just shanty Irish, that’s all you are! You’re not lace-curtain Irish—you’re _shanty_! And don’t you forget it! ALTHEA (_Losing all control_) Get out of here! Get out of here before I throw something at you! HARRY Althea—please. You’re all tired out. ALTHEA (_In near hysteria_) That I have to put up with this on the night of my opening—— HARRY Althea, don’t get yourself upset. I’ll take mother back to Roseville. We’ll go right away. Come on, mother. MRS. RILEY (_Having had her fun_) Don’t worry. I wouldn’t stay at your goddam party. I don’t want to talk to a bunch of hams. ALTHEA Ooh! (_Unable to speak for anger, she flings herself into her room_) HARRY Ready, mother? MRS. RILEY You bet I’m ready. (_She gulps down the rest of the beer_) HARRY Listen, Sid—if I don’t get back to-night—it may be too late for me to get back—way over in Jersey—will you kind of look after things for Althea? SID Sure. MRS. RILEY Well, I got a bottle of beer out of it, anyway. (_She raises her voice in a final bellow_) Good-bye, Annie! Did I tell you I ran into your first husband the other day? He’s still tiling bathrooms! (_She goes, followed by_ HARRY) (SID _stands morosely looking after them for a moment, then turns and calls into the dining room_) SID Give me a highball, will you? Make it strong. (_An unseen_ WAITER _calls back, a “Yes, sir” as_ ALTHEA _returns to the room_) ALTHEA (_Still smouldering_) Really, what I have to put up with! No one else in the world would do it! SID (_Surveying her_) Yeah—you got it pretty tough. ALTHEA (_Bridling_) What’s that? SID (_Looking her straight in the eye_) I said you got it pretty tough. ALTHEA And just what do you mean by that? SID Oh, nothing. (_He takes a turn away_) Not a thing. ALTHEA Just a minute, Kramer. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I don’t have to take anything from you. Just remember that. (_She sweeps back into her room_) (SID _looks after her. He gives a little shake of the head; mutters something under his breath_) (_The_ WAITER _comes in with the highball, but for a moment_ SID _does not notice him_) WAITER Your highball, sir. SID Oh! Thanks! (A YOUNG MAN _appears in the entrance hall, looking around uncertainly. It is_ SAM FRANKL, _in a rather shiny dinner coat of uncertain cut, but_ =Sam Frankl= _nevertheless_) BELLBOY Your coat, sir? FRANKL Is this Miss Royce’s apartment? BELLBOY Yes, sir. FRANKL (_Addressing_ SID) Good evening. SID Hello. FRANKL I’m the piano player from Harms. To play for the party. SID Well, there’s the piano. FRANKL Okay. Bet you it’s out of tune—they always are. (_He runs his fingers over the keyboard, then indulges in a little display of fireworks_) SID (_Admiringly_) Say, you’re pretty good. FRANKL Uh-huh. (_Another musical flourish_) SID Lot of good songs this year, don’t you think? FRANKL As for instance? SID Well, that new song of Irving Berlin’s, and Kern’s got a couple of good ones. FRANKL Those old hacks. They were washed up ten years ago, only they don’t know it. Listen—when they write the history of American music they’re only going to mention one song writer. Sam Frankl. SID Sam Frankl? Who’s that? FRANKL _Me._ SID (_A trifle stunned_) Oh! Well, it doesn’t do a young fellow any harm to feel that way. FRANKL What do you mean feel that way? I _know_. Why should I be modest? I’m a genius. It’s got nothing to do with me—I just am. Say, I sit down in the morning and what comes out of that piano frightens me sometimes. It’s tremendous. Berlin, Kern, Friml—don’t make me laugh! Listen to this one. This is Frankl. (_He starts to play again just as the first guests begin to arrive. It is some eight or ten people, among them_ EVERETT NASH _and a young woman named_ =Laura Willoughby=. _The_ BELLBOY _advances to take the men’s coats and hats_; DELLA _comes forward to assist the women. One or two of the women follow_ DELLA _into the next room to freshen their make-ups, emerging a few moments later. The others surrender their evening wraps to_ DELLA) (_There is the customary buzz of all early arrivals. “Oh, are we the first ones?” . . . “What do you think of that?” . . . “We were lucky—I had Jack wait right at the theatre.” . . . “Oh, you know how these things are—everybody stops at Tony’s first.” . . . “Well, Althea said to come right up. She was coming right up.” . . . “Oooh! Althea!”_) ALTHEA (_Emerging from the room_) Oh, my darlings, was I terrible? I want you to tell me the truth, my dears, because I know when I’m bad. (_This is met, as_ ALTHEA _meant it to be, with a veritable gush of denial. “Althea, my darling, you were wonderful!” . . . “My dear, we loved you. We’ve never seen you better.” . . . “My dear, didn’t you hear that audience? They practically cheered—they never do that!” . . . “You were brilliant, Althea darling. That’s all I can say—brilliant!”_) ALTHEA Thank you, darlings. But you know it’s not me, really. It was Mr. Niles’s beautiful play. NASH That lad’s a comer, Althea. I’d like to get ahold of him. LAURA It really is a perfectly delightful play. A little gem. ALTHEA I discovered him, you know. Absolutely discovered him. (_Another_ COUPLE _or two appear in the entrance hall. “Hello, people!” . . . “How are you?” . . . “Hello, Everett!”_) A WOMAN (_Advancing toward_ ALTHEA _with outstretched hands_) Althea, darling, I never saw such a performance in my life. I’ve seen them all, my dear, and never in my life—it was absolutely stunning, that’s all. It was breath-taking. ALTHEA Oh, Janet darling, you’re the sweet of the world. Did you really like me? ANOTHER WOMAN I should think it would just run forever, that’s all. I’m going back and see it again and again. (_Into the entrance hall has come another group. It is headed by_ P. J. MORTON—P. J. MORTON _at his height as a producer. He is a far cry from the man we have seen in Le Coq D’Or, down to his last fifty cents_) ALTHEA (_Sighting him and advancing toward the entrance hall_) P. J.! My darling! Your roses were wonderful! (_From the crowd: “Hello, P. J.! Another hit, eh?”_) ALTHEA (_With a great show of humility_) Well! Did you like your little girl tonight, P. J.? MORTON (_After a kiss on the forehead and a paternal pat on the shoulder_) You made me very proud tonight, my dear, proud to be your manager. I’ve handled all the big ones, but you, my dear—tonight I think you are the biggest of them all. (_Two or three people applaud a little, echoing his sentiments. “Well, you can’t ask for more than that, Althea.” . . . “Now, do you believe you were wonderful?”_) ALTHEA (_Huskily_) That means more to me, P. J., than all the critics in the world. As long as I am able to walk onto the stage, I want you to be my producer. (_And she embraces him, to the accompaniment of ecstatic “Oh’s!” and “Ah’s!” from the crowd_) (_At the same moment another group of guests arrives. “Where is Althea? Where is she?” “I must tell her right away!” . . . “There she is!” . . . “My dear, you were divine!” . . . “Althea, you were wonderful! I never saw such a performance in all my life!”_) ALTHEA (_Advancing to the new group_) Darlings, did you really think so! Did you really like me? (_The group around_ P. J. _is lavishing attention on him, as due to the producer of the hour. “Well, P. J., the third hit and the season’s young yet. How many more are you going to have?” . . . “Say, you’re a combination of Augustin Daly and Charles Frohman rolled into one. He just pulls hits out of his sleeve.” . . . “What are you going to do with all your money?”_) MORTON Put it right back in the theatre—that’s what I’m going to do with it. The next ten years in the theatre are going to be bigger than you ever saw. I’m building three new theatres right now. I can’t find enough theatres to put my shows in—I got to build ’em! (_Still another handful of guests arrives—there is the same hullabaloo, the same gush of compliments for_ ALTHEA. _By this time the room is starting to be pretty crowded._ WAITERS _are pressing through with trays of highballs—almost everyone has a drink in his hand. Cigars and cigarettes are already beginning to fill the room with smoke_) (_It is at this point that_ RICHARD NILES _arrives. We see him framed in the doorway—Richard at 29,—youthful, eager, scared. Clinging to his arm, as though she were afraid ever to let go, is his wife_, HELEN. _She is very pretty, with the kind of good looks that go at thirty—one of those women whose chief allure is an excessive femininity, of the helpless, appealing kind. At the moment her bewilderment, almost her fright at her surroundings, is plain on her face_) ALTHEA (_Raising her voice above the crowd_) There he is! There’s the man who did it all! Richard! Everybody! Listen! Quiet, people, please! Stop that piano a minute! People, this is Richard Niles, our author! (_There is a little buzz from the crowd. “Why, isn’t he young?” . . . “Bravo! Mr. Niles!”_) ALTHEA Richard, come on! People are dying to meet you! Oh—Hello, Mrs. Niles. So glad you came. HELEN Hello, Miss Royce. ALTHEA (_Pulling him through the crowd with a predatory hand, with_ HELEN _trailing behind them_) Isn’t he a brilliant young man to have written that lovely play! He’s going to be so successful he won’t know any of us in a few years! (_She brings him to a halt in front of a little group_) I want you to meet two of my oldest friends. Mr. and Mrs. Maynard! And Mr. Kennedy, and Miss Newcombe. This is Richard Niles. RICHARD How do you do? (_At once the group surrounds him. “Mr. Niles, how did you ever think of all those funny lines?” . . . “Well, young man, you’ve written a very entertaining play.” . . . “It’s really the best comedy we’ve had in a long time.” . . . “Great show, all right!”_) RICHARD Why,—thank you. Thank you very much. This is—my wife, Mrs. Niles. ALTHEA Oh, yes—of course. HELEN How do you do? MRS. MAYNARD Well, Mrs. Niles, you must be very happy. Aren’t you proud of your husband tonight? HELEN (_Falteringly_) Yes. MAYNARD Must be an exciting night for _you_. HELEN Yes. MRS. MAYNARD Didn’t you think the audience received it well? HELEN Yes. ALTHEA Oh, come on, Richard! There’s Everett Nash—he asked especially to meet you. (_She hauls him to another group_, HELEN _still tagging along. Through all of this new guests have been entering—among them_ JONATHAN CRALE, JULIA GLENN, ALBERT OGDEN _and_ ROSAMOND COOPERTON. _The guests now no longer wait to be greeted by their hostess, but plunge immediately into the party_) Here he is, Everett! You wanted to meet him, I know. NASH Mr. Niles, I just wanted to shake you by the hand. You’ve written the best comedy I’ve seen in twenty years. RICHARD Thank you very much, Mr.—ah—— LAURA I’ve never laughed so much at any play in all my life. ALTHEA Everett, you never saw such a modest author in all your life. Why, during rehearsals we couldn’t find him—he used to hide. NASH Well, you’ve got nothing to be frightened of now, Niles. RICHARD Thank you. I—I’d like you to meet my wife. LAURA Why, how do you do, Mrs. Niles? HELEN How do you do? NASH Well, I guess you’re a pretty proud woman tonight, huh? HELEN Yes. ALTHEA (_Sighting a friend across the room_) Sybil! Richard, you must meet my oldest friend in all the world! (_Again she clutches him by the hand and hauls him across the room. This time a sudden movement of the crowd keeps_ HELEN _from following, and in a twinkling there is a solid mass of people between her and_ RICHARD) LAURA Don’t you think the theatre is very exciting this season, Mrs. Niles? HELEN (_Her eyes trying to follow_ RICHARD) Yes. NASH You know, I think that the Theatre Guild is going to do a lot of interesting things in the next couple of years. Don’t you, Mrs. Niles? HELEN How’s that? NASH I say, the Theatre Guild. Very interesting. HELEN Yes. (_She just stands there_) NASH (_Finding the whole thing pretty difficult_) Well, nice to have met you. See you later. LAURA Good-bye. HELEN Good-bye. (_They ease away_) (HELEN _looks around rather frantically for_ RICHARD, _but he is lost in the crowd_) (A WAITER _comes to her with a tray of drinks_) WAITER Highball, Madame? Sherry? HELEN No, thanks. I—I don’t drink. (_The crowd is beginning to press in upon her, buffeting her from side to side. She clutches her evening cape, which is about to be swung off her shoulders_) A MAN (_Catching her cape_) I beg your pardon. Awful crowded, isn’t it? HELEN Yes. THE MAN (_As he turns away from her_) So I says to Barney, I can play a part like that. Why do you managers always think—— (_Suddenly there is a little jovial commotion in another part of the room. “Yes, that’s the idea!” . . . “Come on, Althea!” . . . “Make her do it!” . . . “You can’t tell us you’re bashful!” . . . “Oh, make her do it!” . . . “Up she goes!”_) (_The figure of_ ALTHEA _is suddenly hoisted above the crowd—she is standing on a bench or chair_) ALTHEA (_As they lift her up_) Now really, this is too silly. (_”There you are! Now you’ve got to do it!” . . . “Hurray!” . . . “Shush, everybody! Everybody listen! Althea’s going to make a speech!” . . . “Attention, everybody!”_) (_The rest of the room quiets a bit—attention is transferred to_ ALTHEA. _A man, lifting his highball glass aloft, shouts: “Yea! Althea!”_) ALTHEA (_In a deep voice, pulling at an imaginary beard_) “Friends, Romans, countrymen——” (_There is a laugh from the crowd_) Oh, my dears, I’m very happy tonight, but I’m not going to make a speech. Because if you have a sprig of laurel to place on anybody’s brow, I want you to place it on Richard Niles. Richard, come up here. (_The crowd yells. “That’s the stuff! Author! Author!” . . . “Speech! Speech!” Over his protest, and with more noise from the crowd_, RICHARD _is elevated to a place beside_ ALTHEA. _The crowd applauds_) RICHARD (_Very much the trembling young author_) Why—I haven’t anything to say except—thank you, and—well, I do want to say I think Mr. Morton has been grand—— (_Applause. A cheer or two. Cries of “P.J.!”_) But more than anything else I want you to know that the play owes everything to—Althea Royce. It isn’t only the wonderful performance she gives, but—no one can ever know what a great help she’s been right through it all. I can only say— (_He turns to her_) —thank you, Althea. ALTHEA Why, Richard! Aren’t you a darling? (_Impulsively she throws her arms around him and kisses him full on the lips. The crowd roars its approval._ HELEN, _on the edge of the mob, tries to take it like a good fellow, but does not quite succeed. She turns away, her lips trembling, just in time to hear the conversation of a group standing near her_) A MAN (_A gesture toward_ RICHARD) Well, there he goes. I guess he’s going to be the next one. A WOMAN Yes. Leave it to Althea, with a good-looking playwright. A MAN She certainly works fast, all right. A WOMAN Well, you can’t blame her. She wants to make sure of that new play next season. A MAN Say! Pretty soft for these playwrights. (_They_ ALL _laugh_) (RICHARD _and_ ALTHEA, _who had disappeared into the crowd, now become visible again at the other side of the room, the center of a little group. Something that_ RICHARD _says draws a laugh from those around him_) ALTHEA (_Gayly_) Richard, you mustn’t _say_ those things! (_She leans forward and rubs her cheek playfully against his, a gesture far more intimate than the kiss had been. Then, drawing away, she carelessly rumples his hair_) (_It is more than_ HELEN _can stand. With a little sob she gathers her wrap around her and starts to fight her way through the crowd, toward the door. The room is packed pretty solidly by this time, and it takes an appreciable interval for her to make her way out. As she nears the hall she is met by a new onrush of guests, and has to battle to get through the door_) (_The party is now at its height. Late arrivals have come in such numbers that the room is literally jammed from wall to wall. People have stopped trying to move, and now stand just where they are. The noise is terrific, of course. Everyone is talking, and everyone is talking at the top of his voice, since it is impossible to be heard any other way. Four or five_ WAITERS _wedge their way through the mob, trays held aloft. The cigarette and cigar smoke has become a dense cloud, hanging over the room like a pall._ SAM FRANKL, _at the piano, pounds on_) THE CURTAIN FALLS ACT III _SCENE I_ _Living room of the_ MURNEYS. _The year is 1922._ _It is the regulation middle-class, $70-a-month apartment, located in West 111th Street, just below Morningside Heights. The living room itself, which also serves as a dining room, is a replica of countless other living rooms all over New York. The wall paper is characterless, the furniture equally so. A wide moulding, which runs around the room, holds a couple of fancy steins and a few pieces of dusty Wedgwood, which look as though they might have been won in a ring-the-cane game in Asbury Park. There is a large Kewpie doll in the corner—obviously a souvenir of another happy outing. The personal touch is given by two large, gold-framed, colored photographs of_ MR. _and_ MRS. MURNEY, HELEN’S _parents, in their wedding attire_. _All in all, it is not the pleasantest room to be in on a hot summer’s night, and this is one of the hottest. The family is just finishing the evening meal_; MRS. MURNEY _and_ HELEN _are carrying out the plates_. HELEN _wears a bungalow apron over her dress_; MRS. MURNEY _has a dish towel strung around her middle_. MR. MURNEY _is still at the table, finishing that second cup of coffee and absent-mindedly gathering up pie crumbs in his fingers. He has shed his coat, collar and tie—even loosened his belt. His shirt, as he has said many times that day, is sticking to him—there are great streams of discoloration around each armpit. From time to time he wheezes heavily from the heat._ RICHARD _is not present, but the other male member of the household_, BUDDY MURNEY, _is seated in front of that new wonder of 1922, the radio. He has the ear phones over his head, and is intently working with the copper wire, trying to find a sensitive spot in the crystal._ HELEN (_After a moment_) Want some more coffee, Dad? MR. MURNEY No—I got enough. HELEN I’ll do the rest, mama. You sit down. MRS. MURNEY No, it’s all right. (_She goes into the kitchen_) MR. MURNEY (_To_ BUDDY) I don’t see how you can sit there with those things over your ears on a night like this. BUDDY Sssh! I think I got something. (BUDDY _is a few years older than his sister—a pale, blondish youth. He spends his days in a shipping room, his evenings at Loew’s 110th Street, his Sundays on boat trips to Bear Mountain. And he looks it_) MRS. MURNEY (_Re-entering the room_) Buddy, it’s so hot. I don’t see how you can sit there with—— BUDDY Ssh! I’m getting something. MRS. MURNEY Can you understand that thing, Alfred? I can’t. MR. MURNEY A new toy. He’ll get tired of it. MRS. MURNEY Mrs. Levenson’s boy Harold made one himself, and they say it works. Anything to do with electricity, he picks up right away. BUDDY I got it! Hey, Pop! Come here! Listen! MR. MURNEY It’s too hot. BUDDY Come on! Listen! You can hear it as plain as anything. (MR. MURNEY _gets up from the table_) MRS. MURNEY Her other boy, Walter, he can’t do a thing. BUDDY (_As he hands his father the ear phones_) Be careful, now, not to shake the crystal. (MR. MURNEY _places the ear phones over his head and listens for a moment_) You hear it? You hear it, Pop? MR. MURNEY I hear something. Sounds like a ukulele. BUDDY That’s right. It _is_ a ukulele! (MR. MURNEY, _without a word, removes the ear phones and hands them back to_ BUDDY) HELEN (_Calling from the kitchen_) Mama! Will you ask Buddy to help me put the garbage pail on the dumbwaiter? MRS. MURNEY Buddy, go in and help Helen put the garbage pail on the dumbwaiter. BUDDY (_Picking up the ear phones again_) Wait a minute. (_He listens_) A man is talking now. MRS. MURNEY What’s he saying? BUDDY (_A moment of tense listening_) I can’t understand him. HELEN (_From the kitchen, pettishly_) Mama! MRS. MURNEY Buddy, go on. The janitor gets mad. BUDDY Oh, all right. (_He goes_) (MRS. MURNEY _spreads an embroidered cover over the table and places thereon a cut-glass bowl with imitation flowers in it_. MR. MURNEY _settles himself with his newspaper_) MRS. MURNEY Yesterday he told Mrs. Elsman she could take her own garbage down. MR. MURNEY (_Craning his neck toward the window_) The awning down? MRS. MURNEY No. It’s up. MR. MURNEY No air at all, is there? MRS. MURNEY No. I think I’ll take off my corsets and make myself comfortable. MR. MURNEY Well, look, I got a man coming up to see me. I don’t suppose it matters. MRS. MURNEY Who is it? MR. MURNEY A fellow that used to work in the store. He’s got an idea he wants to talk to me about—some invention. MRS. MURNEY Invention? What’s he bringing it to _you_ for? MR. MURNEY I don’t know—it’s got something to do with the paper and twine business. MRS. MURNEY Well, I guess he won’t notice—I’ll take off my corsets anyhow. (_She goes to her bedroom_) (MR. MURNEY _settles himself again, turns a page of the newspaper, takes off one shoe for greater comfort. After a moment, from across the areaway, there comes the sound of a rather tinny player-piano, grinding out “Pretty Baby.”_ MR. MURNEY _gives an annoyed glance out of the window_) (BUDDY _comes out of the kitchen and heads for his bedroom_) MR. MURNEY Where are you going, Buddy? Loew’s? BUDDY Yeah. Picking up the girl friend. (_He disappears_) MR. MURNEY (_Calling after him_) It’s awful hot—why don’t you take a bus ride? (HELEN _returns from the kitchen, removing her apron as she comes in_) HELEN That kitchen’s like an oven. MR. MURNEY Yeah, it’s a sizzler, all right. . . . Where’s the big writer? Going to do without his supper altogether? HELEN I guess so. We’re not speaking. He’s mad. MR. MURNEY What’s _he_ got to be mad about? HELEN Oh, we had a fight. I found a pocketbook in the butcher’s today and it had eleven dollars in it. He said I ought to find out who lost it and I said finder’s-keepers. Isn’t that right, Dad? I can use that eleven dollars. MR. MURNEY Do you know who lost it? HELEN No, I don’t. MR. MURNEY Then of course you should keep it. He’s a fine one to complain about getting eleven dollars. It’s more than he’s brought into this house in the past six months. HELEN That’s what _I_ told him, too. (BUDDY _comes out again, a straw hat on the back of his head and struggling into his coat as he talks_) BUDDY Say, can’t that husband of yours find some place to do his writing except in my room? He has the light over on the table—a fellow can’t see to comb his hair. Honest to God, some people got no consideration. (_He is out of the door, just as_ RICHARD _appears in the bedroom doorway_) RICHARD (_In the tone of a man who has had a fight with his wife, but must speak to her nevertheless_) Helen, the baby’s crying. (_He goes right back again_) (HELEN _does not deign to answer; she has merely given him a look_) MR. MURNEY Why can’t he write in his own room? He upsets the whole house. HELEN Oh, don’t ask me. I’m sick of it. MRS. MURNEY (_Emerging from the bedroom doorway, now comfortable, if unappetizing, in a loose, flowered kimono_) Helen, the baby’s crying. I guess the heat bothers him. HELEN Oh, I know. (_She starts for the bedroom_) Dad, couldn’t we send down for some ice cream later on? It’d go good tonight. (_She goes_) MRS. MURNEY They had a fight today. MR. MURNEY Helen told me. I wish he’d say something to _me_ once. Believe me, _I’d_ tell him a thing or two. MRS. MURNEY It’s best not to interfere. (_She picks up the second section of the paper, which has slid onto the floor_) You through with this part? MR. MURNEY That feller! It’s time somebody took him down off his high horse. MRS. MURNEY (_As though dismissing the whole subject_) Well! (_For a moment they both sit with their papers. Then “Pretty Baby” starts again from across the areaway._ MR. MURNEY _is not pleased_) MRS. MURNEY (_Picking up the song_) . . . “Pretty Baby.” MR. MURNEY Do you have to sing it, too? MRS. MURNEY What? Pull your chair to the window, Alfred—there’s more air . . . “For I’d like to love a baby and it might as well be you, bum-bum, Pretty Baby of mine.” (HELEN, _the baby’s milk bottle in her hand, comes out of the bedroom and goes into the kitchen_) MRS. MURNEY (_Newspaper still in hand_) Hearn’s are having a Dollar Day next week. (MR. MURNEY _is unmoved_) Did I tell you Alice called up today? MR. MURNEY What about? MRS. MURNEY More trouble. I feel awful sorry for Alice. MR. MURNEY What’s the matter now? MRS. MURNEY It’s Lew again. Three of those people he gave the checks to, they’re willing not to prosecute, but they’re having a lot of trouble with the other man. MR. MURNEY He’s just no good, that boy. HELEN (_As she returns from the kitchen to the bedroom, carrying the filled bottle_) Mother, we’ve got to take more ice in this weather. The milk goes bad awful quick. (_She disappears_) MRS. MURNEY All right. (_She goes back to her newspaper; there is a moment’s pause_) They give you such little pieces now for twenty cents. (_The doorbell rings_) MR. MURNEY (_As he rises_) I’ll go. It’s that fellow that’s coming up to see me. MRS. MURNEY Shall I go inside? MR. MURNEY No, you can stay here. (_He opens the door_) Hello, Weintraub. Come right in. (_He turns to his wife_) This is Mr. Weintraub, Rose—Simon Weintraub. (SIMON WEINTRAUB _comes in. If the_ MURNEYS _but knew it, they are at this moment in the presence of a future millionaire, a man who is destined to change the entire surface of industrial America. For_ =Simon Weintraub= _is none other than that future art connoisseur and cellopaper king_, CYRUS WINTHROP) WEINTRAUB Good evening, Mrs. Murney. MRS. MURNEY How do you do? MR. MURNEY Well, Weintraub, what have you got? Let’s see this thing. Don’t mind Mrs. Murney—it’s all right. WEINTRAUB Thank you. (_He looks nervously around for a place to put his hat, then places a little black satchel on the table_) MR. MURNEY You got it all in there? WEINTRAUB Yes, sir. MR. MURNEY All right. Go ahead. WEINTRAUB (_Gathering his courage and plunging_) Mr. Murney, you are in the paper and twine business. What would you say if I could show you something that would change the whole paper business from the bottom up? MR. MURNEY Well, go ahead. What is it? WEINTRAUB (_Impressively_) All right, Mr. Murney. I’ll show it to you. (_He slowly opens his satchel, reaches into it, waits for one momentous moment, then draws forth a loaf of bread wrapped in the shiny, transparent material that is cellopaper. Proudly he holds it aloft_) MRS. MURNEY (_After looking at it for a puzzled moment_) It’s a loaf of bread. WEINTRAUB Sure it’s a loaf of bread. And this is a package of cigarettes, and this is a toothbrush—— (_He brings the respective articles out of his bag_) —but do you see what’s on the outside of them? MRS. MURNEY You mean that tissue paper? WEINTRAUB No, no, this isn’t tissue paper. This is called cellopaper. That’s my invention. That’s the whole idea. It not only protects the article—it makes it look better. And for the first time people will be able to see what they’re buying. Now, you take this toothbrush, Mr. Murney. Ordinarily you go into a drug-store and you ask for a toothbrush and the clerk digs it up out of some old drawer. But if it was wrapped in cellopaper it could be lying right on the counter and—— MR. MURNEY Hold on a minute, Weintraub. Not so fast. Wait a minute. Let me see that stuff once. (_He takes the cellopaper-wrapped loaf in his hand_) Why is it any better than regular paper? WEINTRAUB Well, the way it makes things look, in the first place. It makes the merchandise attractive. And not only that, Mr. Murney—— MR. MURNEY Now, wait a minute, Weintraub. Wait a minute. (_He turns to_ MRS. MURNEY) Let me ask you something, Rose. If you were to go into the grocery store to buy a loaf of bread, would you want it wrapped up in this—er—stuff of Weintraub’s? MRS. MURNEY (_After a judicial inspection of the loaf_) No, I don’t see any sense in it. WEINTRAUB But, Mrs. Murney, outside of the way it looks, don’t you see how much cleaner it is, how much more sanitary? MRS. MURNEY Mr. Weintraub, the grocery store I deal with, you could eat off the floor. Besides, it’d have to be wrapped up in regular paper before I could take it home. I wouldn’t want people on the street to see what I was carrying. So what good is it? MR. MURNEY You see, Weintraub, I’m afraid it’s no good. My wife is no different from millions of other women. WEINTRAUB (_Pleadingly_) But, Mr. Murney, look! Take these cigarettes—— MR. MURNEY Now, that’s silly, Weintraub. Cigarettes are wrapped up anyhow—that’s the last thing they’d put it on. It would just annoy people. WEINTRAUB All right—take this. Here’s a package of chewing gum—— MR. MURNEY Chewing gum! What good would it be on chewing gum? Listen, Weintraub—what’s the use of wasting your time and mine? You can’t sell the public something it doesn’t want. It’s like that radio thing over there—I bet you the fellow that invented that thought _he_ had something, too. Take a tip from me, Weintraub—stop wasting your time with this thing. WEINTRAUB (_Gathering his samples together_) Well, thank you for looking at it, anyhow, Mr. Murney. MR. MURNEY No trouble at all. Believe me, Weintraub, if I thought it was any good, I’d help you. WEINTRAUB Well—good night. MR. MURNEY You don’t have to go right away. Sit down awhile—we’re going to have some ice cream. WEINTRAUB No—I got to go. Thank you. MR. MURNEY Well, whatever you say. WEINTRAUB Good night, Mrs. Murney. MRS. MURNEY Good night. MR. MURNEY Good night, Weintraub. (_He has opened the door_) Say, it looks like one of those summers, don’t it? (WEINTRAUB _has gone; the door closes_) MRS. MURNEY Is he crazy or something? MR. MURNEY Too bad he’s got this bug. He’s a nice little fellow. MRS. MURNEY Nice little fellow! How much did he want you to put into that thing? MR. MURNEY Two thousand dollars for fifty per cent of it. MRS. MURNEY Two thousand dol—the nerve of some people! He must have thought you were an easy mark. MR. MURNEY (_With spirit_) All right—I didn’t do it, did I? MRS. MURNEY No, for once in your life you were smart. (HELEN _returns from the bedroom. She is in a mood_) HELEN No wonder the baby wakes up. He keeps walking up and down the hallway all the time. MR. MURNEY I always thought you sat down when you wrote. He must be a new kind of writer. HELEN He’s a new kind of writer, all right. The world isn’t good enough for his kind of writing. You’ve got to take a college course before you can come to see one of his plays. That’s why we’re so rich. MRS. MURNEY Helen, you two young people shouldn’t be fighting all the time. Why don’t you try to get along with him? HELEN Try? I’d like to know what I’ve been doing the past three years. No one can tell me I haven’t tried. I’ve done without all kinds of things, and what for? You saw. A crazy play that didn’t mean anything, put on in some old theatre that didn’t even have seats, just benches. And he didn’t get a nickel out of it. Well, if that’s what I’m bringing up my baby for, and going without new dresses and everything else—well, I’m just tired of it, that’s all. MRS. MURNEY Well, anyway, he tries all the time. He’s writing another one. HELEN What good is that? It’ll be just like the last one. We’re never going to get anywhere. He won’t even look for a job any more. Honest, I just don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m so sick of the whole business, I don’t care what happens any more. (_She is on the verge of tears_) MR. MURNEY It all comes down to marrying a man like that. Children won’t ever listen to their parents. They think they don’t know anything. But they come running to them quick enough when they haven’t got a roof over their heads. And it’s lucky for them that their parents can take them in. MRS. MURNEY Now, Alfred, it’s no trouble at all to have Helen and Richard here. I’m glad of the company during the day. They’re no trouble. MR. MURNEY It’s plenty of trouble to pay the bills when they come in, I can tell you that. I have to work very hard for my money, every penny. A day like today in the store, with the perspiration running off me—— (_He stops short as_ RICHARD _comes into the room, hat in hand_) RICHARD I’ll be back later. (_He starts for the door_) HELEN Where are you going? RICHARD I won’t be long. HELEN Well, where are you going? RICHARD (_Patiently_) Just across the street to the park. HELEN Just across the street to the park to meet Jonny Crale—that’s where you’re going! RICHARD Yes. HELEN I suppose I’m not good enough for you to talk to. I’m not intellectual enough. RICHARD Helen, you’re very welcome to come along if you want to. HELEN Oh, sure I’m welcome! Jonny Crale just loves me. I’m welcome to stand there and listen while you two talk about books and art. I don’t have to be told when anybody looks down on me. He thinks I’m dumb. Well, maybe I _am_ dumb. But I know enough not to go where I’m not wanted. MR. MURNEY Dumb! And Crale is supposed to be smart, huh? Can’t find enough banks to put his money in, I suppose. RICHARD Jonny doesn’t feel that way about you, Helen. HELEN Oh, he does so. Don’t tell me. Why does he meet you over in the park if he wants to see _me_? Why doesn’t he come here? RICHARD (_Quietly_) What do you want to do, Helen? HELEN Oh, go ahead. Go ahead and see him. I wouldn’t think of stopping you. Maybe you should have married him—you like him so much. MR. MURNEY It’s a new style they’ve got now. The people that make the money are the dumb ones, and those that don’t are the smart ones. Is that what they call intellectuals? RICHARD Well—if you’re not coming, Helen, I’ll go ahead. I’m late now. HELEN (_Ignoring him_) Yes, that’s what intellectuals are, father. They don’t care about their wives or their baby or anything else. All they care about is books and art and—— (_The door bell rings_) RICHARD (_Starting for the door_) That must be Jonny. HELEN Don’t tell me Mr. Crale is lowering himself—— RICHARD (_As he opens the door_) Hello, Jonny. I’m sorry I’m late, but——Oh! (_He stops short upon seeing that_ CRALE _is not alone_) CRALE (_Entering_) Don’t you have clocks in this house? Come on in, Julia. (JULIA GLENN _comes into view_) Julia, this is Richard Niles. Richard, this is Julia Glenn. You two ought to know each other. RICHARD How do you do, Miss Glenn? Ah—this is my wife, and—my mother-in-law and father-in-law. (_There are unenthusiastic “How do you do’s?” from the_ MURNEYS _and_ HELEN) CRALE Well, Helen, haven’t seen much of you lately. HELEN I’ve been right here. CRALE Listen, Richard! We’re going up to hear Debs speak at Palm Garden. Going to be a hell of a meeting. Why don’t you and Helen come along? RICHARD (_Eagerly_) I’d love to. Helen, wouldn’t you like to go? HELEN What is it? RICHARD Eugene Debs is speaking tonight. I’d love to hear him. HELEN No, I don’t want to go. RICHARD I think you’d like it. Debs is a great man. HELEN I said I don’t want to go, Richard. RICHARD But why, Helen? HELEN Because I just don’t want to, that’s all. There’s nothing to stop _you_ from going. I don’t mind sitting here. I’m used to it. RICHARD (_After an embarrassed pause_) I don’t think I’d better go, Jonny. Helen’s had a hard day with the baby and—— CRALE (_Understandingly_) Okay. RICHARD I’m sorry. CRALE (_Uneasily_) Yeah. (_Then, not quite able to make an abrupt departure, he addresses_ MR. MURNEY) How are you, Mr. Murney? How’s business? MR. MURNEY (_Belligerently_) Business is very good for people who want to work, Mr. Crale. CRALE I see . . . well . . . good night, everybody. JULIA Good-bye, Mr. Niles. I—I just wanted to meet you, because—I saw your play at the Provincetown and—I think it was almost a great play, Mr. Niles. RICHARD (_Eyes lighting up_) Oh, did you see the play? I’m so glad you liked it. JULIA Liked it? I thought it said more than any other play I’d ever seen in my life. I thought it was beautiful. I saw it twice, Mr. Niles. RICHARD Did you really? I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. Not many people seemed to like it. JULIA Not many people liked Ibsen in the beginning either. Oh, Mr. Niles, you mustn’t let anything stand in your way. You’re going to do great things in the theatre. CRALE You needn’t worry about him, Julie. He’s the Rock of Gibraltar. Why, he just turned down an offer from P. J. Morton to write a play for Althea Royce. JULIA I should think he would. (The MURNEYS _and_ HELEN _exchange quick looks_) RICHARD (_Trying to pass it off_) Well, Miss Glenn, I’m awfully glad you liked the play. CRALE Come on, Julie. If we’re going to get seats at all . . . JULIA You’re writing a new play, aren’t you, Mr. Niles? RICHARD Yes. I am. JULIA I can’t tell you how eager I am to see it. I feel like some débutante gushing to a writer, but all I can say is—I mean it. I—I think you’re a great playwright. CRALE Good night, Helen. (_He turns to the_ MURNEYS) Good night. JULIA Good night, everybody. Good night, Mr. Niles. (_The_ MURNEYS _and_ HELEN _barely acknowledge the good-byes. Their eyes are fastened on_ RICHARD _as_ CRALE _and_ JULIA _go out the door_) HELEN What did that mean? RICHARD What? HELEN You didn’t tell me anything about an offer from P. J. Morton. RICHARD Didn’t I? HELEN You certainly didn’t. RICHARD Well—I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. HELEN Oh, you didn’t! MR. MURNEY What’s that mean—you got an offer from P. J. Morton? He’s a big producer, isn’t he? HELEN Sure he is! He’s the biggest! And Althea Royce is a big star! (_She turns to_ RICHARD) Did he make you a real offer, with some advance money? RICHARD What if he did? HELEN How much was it? RICHARD What’s the difference? (_He starts to go_) HELEN (_Barring his way_) I want to know how much it was! (RICHARD _is silent_) I know! I know how much they pay! It was five hundred dollars, wasn’t it? At least that! RICHARD (_Facing the guns_) Well? HELEN And you turned it down! You let my mother and father support you, and you turned down five hundred dollars and a chance of making a lot of money! What about _me_? Don’t I ever get any consideration? MR. MURNEY You’ve got no right to turn down anything! You ought to be damned glad of a chance to pay back some of what you owe! HELEN He doesn’t care! He doesn’t care about anything but himself! (_She wheels on_ RICHARD) What did you marry me for? Just to shut me up in a room? Just to tie me down with a baby, so I couldn’t ever go any place or have a good time again! MR. MURNEY (_Shouting_) You ought to be ashamed of yourself! MRS. MURNEY Alfred, the neighbors! MR. MURNEY I don’t care! Let ’em hear! They know it anyway. HELEN How do you think I feel when I haven’t got a dress to go out in? How do you think I feel when I meet all my friends? What are we going to do—go on like this? Pinching and scraping! Well, I won’t do it! I won’t! RICHARD (_Taking a deep breath_) Now, listen. I want to try to explain to you—all of you—how I feel about this. I’ve tried very hard, Helen, to give you the things you want—and that you ought to have. I was a floorwalker, and—I tried selling that coffee, and—for pretty near two years I worked in a shoe store. Didn’t I? I’ve got a duty toward you, Helen. I know that. But I see a little further than you do. I know what I’m trying to do. If I could only make you understand that. I know the kind of plays I’ve got to write, and what I want to say, and that’s everything to me. It’s all I’ve got. I know it’s hard on you, but—if you’ll only come along with me, Helen—if you’ll only help me fight it out. (_He is met with dogged silence_) You see, Helen, I know what it would mean—writing a play for Althea Royce. It’s just the opposite of—everything I’m trying to do. (_She remains silent_) I’m doing all this for you, Helen—for both of us. And I need your help. I need your help if we’re ever going to get there. Don’t you see that? Because if you don’t see that, then—there’s nothing more I can say. MR. MURNEY I’ll tell you what _I_ see. I see what I’ve been telling my wife and daughter ever since I first laid eyes on you. You’re a lazy good-for-nothing who doesn’t want to work, that’s what’s the matter with you. And I’ll tell you something else. I’m through supporting you. You can go out and get a job or you can get out of here! Because I’m through supporting you! (_He storms out of the room. There is a fractional pause; then, from over the areaway, come once more the strains of “Pretty Baby”_) HELEN (_In a low tone_) I wish I was dead. I wish the baby was dead. I wish I’d never seen you. MRS. MURNEY Helen, you mustn’t say such things. That’s a terrible thing to say. HELEN (_Shaking off her mother’s hand_) Oh, let me alone! (_She stalks out of the room_) MRS. MURNEY (_Following her_) Helen, please! He’s your husband. Helen! (_She is gone_) (RICHARD _stands stock still for a second, then his steps carry him slowly over to the window. He stands there, staring vacantly out_) (_There is a long pause._ MR. MURNEY _appears in the doorway_) MR. MURNEY As long as you’re not paying for it, perhaps you won’t mind if I put the lights out. (_He switches off the lights, and goes. The room is in darkness except for the light from the apartment across the areaway, where the piano continues to grind out “Pretty Baby.”_ RICHARD _stands motionless in the little circle of light_) CURTAIN _SCENE II_ _Madison Square Park. The year is 1918._ _The Metropolitan Life Insurance Building looks down over the little area of trees, grass and scattered benches that make up the park. It is evening, and the dim outline of the building is seen in the background. A lamp post sheds a gentle glow over a secluded corner of the park._ A POLICEMAN _strolls leisurely into view. From the other side comes a man with a dog._ POLICEMAN Hello there. You’re late tonight. THE MAN Am I? (_He looks up at the tower_) No—only quarter to nine. POLICEMAN (_Glancing down at the dog_) How’s Ping tonight? THE MAN He’s fine. . . . Well, things are kind of quieting down again, huh? POLICEMAN Yeah, it’s all over now, all right. But it sure was some celebration while it lasted. THE MAN Funny thing. We’ve got no children, but my wife bust right out crying when she heard the armistice was signed. POLICEMAN Yeah, it affected everybody, I guess—whether they had anybody in the war or not. People just let go. THE MAN Down at my place they let us all off at ten in the morning and I got the wife and we both stood at Forty-second Street and Fifth Avenue the whole day. I figured we’d never see anything like that again. POLICEMAN You bet your life you won’t. (_A couple of soldiers come across the park. The_ POLICEMAN _salutes them_) Hi, boys! (_The_ SOLDIERS _give a desultory salute and pass on_) THE MAN Guess they’ll _all_ be coming home pretty soon. POLICEMAN Yep. Fast as they can bring ’em. Take a lot of boats to bring ’em all back. THE MAN Bet you the good old Statue of Liberty will look pretty good to them, too. POLICEMAN Yeah, they’ll be glad to get home, all right. Say, what do you think of Wilson going over there? Lot of people seem to think he oughtn’t to do it. THE MAN That’s what I think. I don’t trust those babies over there. POLICEMAN Say, Wilson’s pretty smart. They’ll have to get up pretty early in the morning to put anything over on him. THE MAN Well, whatever they do, it won’t make any difference to you and me. POLICEMAN Yeah—no use losing any sleep over it. Kind of warm for November, ain’t it? THE MAN Sure is. I like it this way, though. Well—come on, Ping. See you tomorrow. POLICEMAN Good night. (_The_ MAN _goes_) (TWO BOYS _with roller skates over their shoulders cut through the Park. They are singing lustily as they walk_) THE BOYS “He doesn’t say very much, But when he starts in to speak— You’d be surprised! He isn’t good at the start, But at the end of a week— You’d be surprised! At a party or at a ball, I’ve got to confess that he’s nothing at all, But in a Morris chair—oh boy!— You’d be surprised!” (_The_ BOYS _are out of earshot; by this time the_ POLICEMAN _too has gone on his way_) (_A couple of_ GIRLS _come through the park, chattering busily_) FIRST GIRL —so I just came home and took off my hat and said, “Look, mother! It’s done. Now, is that so terrible?” SECOND GIRL I wouldn’t dare bob mine. My father would throw me out. Tell me, didn’t you feel awful when they started to cut it off? FIRST GIRL No, it was all over in a minute. Really, Mary, you ought to do it. You get up in the morning and in two minutes you’re all through. No hairpins or anything. It used to take me half an hour. (_They are gone_) (HELEN _and_ RICHARD _appear around a bend in the park. Their arms are interlocked, their heads close together. They are walking slowly, intent on each other._ RICHARD _is in uniform_) HELEN All that day the armistice was signed I just kept saying, “Richard is safe now,” “Richard is safe now”—over and over again. RICHARD Did you, Helen? You know, when the news came all I could think of was you. It didn’t mean that the greatest war in the history of the world was ended—somehow, it just meant you. Curious how, even at a great moment like that, one thinks selfishly. HELEN Let’s sit here for a minute. I’m tired. RICHARD Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I’ve been walking you for blocks, haven’t I? HELEN I didn’t mind. (_She moves closer to him; rests her head on his shoulder_) How long will it be, Richard, before they let you out of the army? RICHARD I don’t know. Some of the fellows say six weeks—some say longer. Nobody really knows yet. HELEN I hope it’s only six weeks. I miss you so when you’re at camp, Richard. RICHARD Comfortable? (_She makes a little sound of contentment_) It’s nice here, isn’t it? I always feel so grateful for a spot like this, set down in the midst of all these buildings. HELEN Yes . . . Richard—after we’re married, we don’t have to live in the country, do we? RICHARD Not necessarily. Why? HELEN Well, you said once you’d like to, but—I don’t know—I’m afraid I’d get lonely in the country. RICHARD Well, we don’t have to if you don’t want to. I love it, though. (_Playfully_) You know, I’m not a hardened city child, the way you are. I’m a little boy from a small town. HELEN Are you going to take me there on our honeymoon, to see your people? RICHARD We might. (_He tilts her face up to his_) Helen, the day I get out of uniform—that very day—let’s get married. HELEN I’m willing, Richard. That very day. (_He kisses her tenderly_) HELEN Richard, suppose we _can’t_ get married—I mean, if you haven’t got a job or anything. RICHARD We’re going to get married. HELEN But, Richard, you may not sell your plays right away, and what are we going to live on? RICHARD Air, my dear. Pure, rarefied, ecstatic air. (_He laughs a little_) Now, don’t you worry. I’ll get a job during the day—I don’t care what it is—and write at night. I’m going to work like seven devils. HELEN Won’t it be wonderful, Richard? RICHARD I’ve thought a good deal lately about our marriage, Helen. I want our love to be something that nothing can disturb, nothing uproot—something that will always be there for us to fall back on, no matter what happens. HELEN I love to hear you talk that way, Richard. It makes me feel all trembly inside. RICHARD We mustn’t ever be like other people, Helen. You see so many people who are disillusioned, bitter. We mustn’t ever let our marriage become tattered and shopworn. HELEN (_Looking up at him_) Richard, I love you so. (_He gently brushes the hair back from her forehead, and kisses her again, lightly._ HELEN _sighs happily. They sit in silence for a moment. A_ SAILOR, _whistling, vaguely crosses the park_) RICHARD You know, sometimes when I’m lying in bed, just after they turn out the light—that five minutes before I fall asleep—I let myself think of what the next few years are going to be like for us, Helen. All the new wonders we’re constantly going to find in each other. Sometimes I don’t get to sleep for hours—it’s almost more than I can bear. It’s like hearing great music for the first time—you want to rush out into the street and stop the first person you see, and tell him about it. HELEN I know, Richard. RICHARD Sometimes I feel I’m going to do great things, Helen. I can feel myself almost bursting with them. (_He takes a quick, deep breath_) Just the sheer joy of living, the excitement of being alive! The things there are to do, and see, and taste, and to enjoy! It’s such a wonderful world, Helen! It’s such a miracle to discover it with some one you love! HELEN Oh, I’d love to travel, Richard. It’s the dream of my life to go to Paris. RICHARD (_With a laugh_) You’re a funny little thing. HELEN You’re funny, too. RICHARD Am I? (_He draws her closer to him, protectingly_) I wonder what life is going to do to us, my dear. We’re starting out in a strange new time. Don’t you feel it? The world isn’t what it was yesterday. It’s all new. The war has changed everything. Things are going to be fresher, and cleaner—more honest, somehow. And we’re part of it, Helen—you and I. In our own small way we’re part of it. You can feel it in the air. People are breathing again. They’re lifting up their heads to a new America. All over the country, like millions of invisible wires, people are reaching out to be part of it, to shape their lives to this new world. HELEN (_Caught up in the sweep of his idealism_) Yes, Richard! And I want to do it all with you. RICHARD How lucky we are, Helen! How lucky we are to be young just at the start of it! (_Transported, he softly begins_:) “O world, be nobler, for her sake! If she but knew thee what thou art, What wrongs are borne, what deeds are done, In Thee, beneath thy daily sun, Know’st thou not that her tender heart For pain and very shame would break? O world, be nobler, for her sake!” (_He sweeps her into his arms; she gives him her lips, passionately. For a moment they are locked in a tight embrace—then the Metropolitan chimes begin to strike the hour_) HELEN (_Tremulously_) Richard, we’d better go. If we take the bus it’ll be almost ten before I get home. (_He kisses her once again. They rise and start out of the park. The chimes are still tolling the hour_) CURTAIN _SCENE III_ _A college chapel. The year is 1916._ _Gothic pillars frame a towering stained-glass window, through which floods a stream of sunlight. In half shadow, on the platform, sit a solid mass of students and faculty. Sunlit, in the centre of the platform, stands_ RICHARD. RICHARD . . . All of these things, and more, college has given us. (_He pauses_) And now, fellow students—and this, in the way of all things, is the last time that I shall be able to address you as fellow students—I stand before you as your valedictorian to speak for you and for myself. I have touched upon the educational aspects of these four years, I have dwelt with gratitude upon the stimulating influence of our teachers. But I have purposely left until the last the two things that lie closest to my heart, the two things which this college has helped to foster, and which will remain ever green so long as memory lasts. I have waited until the last to talk about _you_—you as I know you, not in the classroom or on the field, but in those small, chosen hours, those all-revealing hours when we sat and talked about ourselves and each other—talked with a richness and a warmth that never can be recaptured. Those were the hours when we discovered and embraced that greatest of all glories—friendship. Of all the things I take away with me, the one that I most treasure, for which I am the most humbly grateful, is a friendship that I have formed here. (_He makes a slight gesture toward_ =Jonathan Crale=) I hope he will always be beside me, all through my life. Many are the things that vanish in this changing world, but a real friendship will always endure. If I could make one wish for you—for all of you—I would ask that you be given a great friendship. (_He pauses momentously_) Lastly, this I have learned. I have learned to value ideals above all else. Let them ever be our heritage, our guiding force. As we go out in the world, as we take up our chosen professions, we are clad, as it were, in shining armor. Let nothing sully that. With you goes a new hope, a new idealism. Carry your banners high; compromise them never. I give you the words of Polonius; “This above all; to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. Farewell: my blessing season this in thee!” (_The organ peals thunderously forth as_—— THE CURTAIN DESCENDS TRANSCRIBER NOTES Mis-spelled words and printer errors have been fixed. Inconsistency in hyphenation has been retained. Inconsistency in accents has been retained. [The end of _Merrily We Roll Along_ by George S. Kaufman & Moss Hart]