path: root/60962-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 60962 ***

                        BY F. SCOTT FITZGERALD


                                Novels

                         THIS SIDE OF PARADISE
                       THE BEAUTIFUL AND DAMNED


                                Stories

                       FLAPPERS AND PHILOSOPHERS
                         TALES OF THE JAZZ AGE


                             And a Comedy

                             THE VEGETABLE




                             THE VEGETABLE




                             THE VEGETABLE
                                  or
                       from President to postman


                                  By
                          F. SCOTT FITZGERALD

              “_Any man who doesn’t want to get on in the
              world, to make a million dollars, and maybe even
              park his toothbrush in White House, hasn’t
              got as much to him as a good dog has--he’s
              nothing more or less than a vegetable._”

                        --_From a Current Magazine._


                 NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 1923


              COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS

                Printed in the United States of America

                         Published April, 1923


                       [Illustration: colophon]


               TO KATHERINE TIGHE AND EDMUND WILSON, JR.

 WHO DELETED MANY ABSURDITIES FROM MY FIRST TWO NOVELS I RECOMMEND THE
                       ABSURDITIES SET DOWN HERE




                             THE VEGETABLE




ACT I


     _This is the “living” room of Jerry Frost’s house. It is evening.
     The room (and, by implication, the house) is small and stuffy--it’s
     an awful bother to raise these old-fashioned windows; some of them
     stick, and besides it’s extravagant to let in much cold air, here
     in the middle of March. I can’t say much for the furniture, either.
     Some of it’s instalment stuff, imitation leather with the grain
     painted on as an after-effect, and some of it’s dingily,
     depressingly old. That bookcase held “Ben Hur” when it was a
     best-seller, and it’s now trying to digest “A Library of the
     World’s Best Literature” and the “Wit and Humor of the United
     States in Six Volumes.” That couch would be dangerous to sit upon
     without a map showing the location of all craters, hillocks, and
     thistle-patches. And three dead but shamefully unburied clocks
     stare eyelessly before them from their perches around the walls._

     _Those walls--God! The history of American photography hangs upon
     them. Photographs of children with puffed dresses and depressing
     leers, taken in the Fauntleroy nineties, of babies with toothless
     mouths and idiotic eyes, of young men with the hair cuts of ’85 and
     ’90 and ’02, and with neckties that loop, hoist, snag, or flare in
     conformity to some esoteric, antiquated standard of middle-class
     dandyism. And the girls! You’d have to laugh at the girls!
     Imitation Gibson girls, mostly; you can trace their histories
     around the room, as each of them withered and stated. Here’s one in
     the look-at-her-little-toes-aren’t-they-darling period, and here
     she is later when she was a little bother of ten. Look! This is the
     way she was when she was after a husband. She might be worse.
     There’s a certain young charm or something, but in the next picture
     you can see what five years of general housework have done to her.
     You wouldn’t turn your eyes half a degree to watch her in the
     street. And that was taken six years ago--now she’s thirty and
     already an old woman._

     _You’ve guessed it. That last one, allowing for the photographer’s
     kind erasure of a few lines, is Mrs. Jerry Frost. If you listen for
     a minute, you’ll hear her, too._

     _But wait. Against my will, I’ll have to tell you a few sordid
     details about the room. There’s got to be a door in plain sight
     that leads directly outdoors, and then there are two other doors,
     one to the dining-room and one to the second floor--you can see
     the beginning of the stairs. Then there’s a window somewhere that’s
     used in the last act. I hate to mention these things, but they’re
     part of the plot._

     _Now you see when the curtain went up, Jerry Frost had left the
     little Victrola playing and wandered off to the cellar or
     somewhere, and Mrs. Jerry (you can call her Charlotte) hears it
     from where she is up-stairs. Listen!_

“Some little bug is going to find you, so-o-ome day!”

     _That’s her. She hasn’t got much of a voice, has she? And she will
     sing one key higher than the Victrola. And now the darn Victrola’s
     running down and giving off a ghastly minor discord like the death
     agony of a human being._

CHARLOTTE. [_She’s up-stairs, remember._] Jerry, wind up the
graphophone.

     _There’s no answer._

Jer-ry!

     _Still no answer._

Jerry, wind up the graphophone. It isn’t good for it.

     _Yet again no answer._

All right-- [_smugly_]--if you want to ruin it, _I_ don’t care.

     _The phonograph whines, groans, gags, and dies, and almost
     simultaneously with its last feeble gesture a man comes into the
     room, saying: “What?” He receives no answer. It is Jerry Frost, in
     whose home we are._

     _Jerry Frost is thirty-five. He is a clerk for the railroad at
     $3,000 a year. He possesses no eyebrows, but nevertheless he
     constantly tries to knit them. His lips are faintly pursed at all
     times, as though about to emit an enormous opinion upon some matter
     of great importance._

     _On the wall there is a photograph of him at twenty-seven--just
     before he married. Those were the days of his high yellow
     pompadour. That is gone now, faded like the rest of him into a
     docile pattern without grace or humor._

     _After his mysterious and unanswered “What?” Jerry stares at the
     carpet, surely not in æsthetic approval, and becomes engrossed in
     his lack of thoughts. Suddenly he gives a twitch and tries to reach
     with his hand some delicious sector of his back. He can almost
     reach it, but not quite--poor man!--so he goes to the mantelpiece
     and rubs his back gently, pleasingly, against it, meanwhile keeping
     his glance focussed darkly upon the carpet._

     _He is finished. He is at physical ease again. He leans over the
     table--did I say there was a table?--and turns the pages of a
     magazine, yawning meanwhile and tentatively beginning a slow clog
     step with his feet. Presently this distracts him from the magazine,
     and he looks apathetically at his feet. Then suddenly he sits in a
     chair and begins to sing, unmusically, and with faint interest, a
     piece which is possibly his own composition. The tune varies
     considerably, but the words have an indisputable consistency, as
     they are composed wholly of the phrase: “Everybody is there,
     everybody is there!_”

     _He is a motion-picture of tremendous, unconscious boredom._

     _Suddenly he gives out a harsh, bark-like sound and raises his hand
     swiftly, as though he were addressing an audience. This fails to
     amuse him; the arm falters, strays lower---- _

JERRY. Char-_lit_! Have you got the Saturday Evening Post?

     _There is no reply._

Char-_lit_!

     _Still no reply._

Char-_lit_!

CHARLOTTE [_with syrupy recrimination_]. You didn’t bother to answer me,
so I don’t think I should bother to answer you.

JERRY [_indignant, incredulous_]. Answer you what?

CHARLOTTE. You know what I mean.

JERRY. I mos’ certainly do not.

CHARLOTTE. I asked you to wind up the graphophone.

JERRY [_glancing at it indignantly_]. The phonograph?

CHARLOTTE. Yes, the graphophone!

JERRY. It’s the first time I knew it. [_He is utterly disgusted. He
starts to speak several times, but each time he hesitates. Disgust
settles upon his face, in a heavy pall. Then he remembers his original
question._] Have you got the Saturday Evening Post?

CHARLOTTE. _Yes_, I told you!

JERRY. You did not tell me!

CHARLOTTE. I can’t help it if you’re deaf!

JERRY. Deaf? Who’s deaf? [_After a pause._] No more deaf than you are.
[_After another pause._] Not half as much.

CHARLOTTE. Don’t talk so loud--you’ll wake the people next door.

JERRY [_incredulously_]. The people next door!

CHARLOTTE. You heard me!

     _Jerry is beaten, and taking it very badly. He is beginning to
     brood when the telephone rings. He answers it._

JERRY. Hello!... [_With recognition and rising interest._] Oh,
hell_o_.... Did you get the stuff.... Just one gallon is all I want....
No, I can’t use more than one gallon.... [_He looks around
thoughtfully._] Yes, I suppose so, but I’d rather have you mix it before
you bring it.... Well, about nine o’clock, then. [_He rings off, gleeful
now, smiling. Then sudden worry, and the hairless eyebrows knit
together. He takes a note-book out of his pocket, lays it open before
him, and picks up the receiver._] Midway 9191.... Yes.... Hello, is this
Mr.--Mr. S-n-o-o-k-s’s residence?... Hello, is this Mr. S-n-o-o-k-s’s
residence?... [_Very distinctly._] Mr. Snukes or Snooks.... Mr. S-n-,
the boo--the fella that gets _stuff_, hooch ... h-o-o-c-h.... No, Snukes
or Snooks is the man I want.... Oh. Why, a fella down-town gave me your
husband’s name and he called me up--at least, I called him up first, and
then he called me up just now--see?... You see? Hello--is this--am I
talking to the wife of the--of the--of the fella that gets _stuff_ for
you? The b-o-o-t-l-e-g-g-e-r? Oh, you know, the bootlegger. [_He
breathes hard after this word. Do you suppose Central will tell on
him?_] ... Oh. Well, you see, I wanted to tell him when he comes
to-night to come to the back door.... No, Hooch is not my name. My name
is Frost. 2127 Osceola Avenue.... Oh, he’s left already? Oh, all right.
Thanks.... Well, good-by.... Well, good-by ... good-by. [_He rings off.
Again his hairless brows are knit with worry._] Char-lit!

CHARLOTTE [_abstractedly_]. Yes?

JERRY. Charlit, if you want to read a good story, read the one about the
fella who gets shipwrecked on the Buzzard Islands and meets the Chinese
girl, only she isn’t a Chinese girl at all.

CHARLOTTE [_she’s still up-stairs, remember_]. What?

JERRY. There’s one story in there--are you reading the Saturday Evening
Post?

CHARLOTTE. I would be if you didn’t interrupt me every minute.

JERRY. I’m not. I just wanted to tell you there’s one story in there
about a Chinese girl who gets wrecked on the Buzzard Islands that isn’t
a Chinese----

CHARLOTTE. Oh, let up, for heaven’s sakes! Don’t nag me.

     _Clin-n-ng! That’s the door-bell._

There’s the door-bell.

JERRY [_with fine sarcasm]_. Oh, really? Why, I thought it was a
cow-bell.

CHARLOTTE [_witheringly_]. Ha-ha!

     _Well, he’s gone to the door. He opens it, mumbles something,
     closes it. Now he’s back._

JERRY. It wasn’t anybody.

CHARLOTTE. It must have been.

JERRY. What?

CHARLOTTE. It couldn’t have rung itself.

JENNY [_in disgust_]. Oh, gosh, you think that’s funny. [_After a
pause._] It was a man who wanted 2145. I told him this was 2127, so he
went away.

     _Charlotte is now audibly descending a crickety flight of stairs,
     and here she is! She’s thirty, and old for her age, just like I
     told you, shapeless, slack-cheeked, but still defiant. She would
     fiercely resent the statement that her attractions have declined
     ninety per cent since her marriage, and in the same breath she
     would assume that there was a responsibility and shoulder it on her
     husband. She talks in a pessimistic whine and, with a sort of dowdy
     egotism, considers herself generally in the right. Frankly, I don’t
     like her, though she can’t help being what she is._

CHARLOTTE. I thought you were going to the Republican Convention down at
the Auditorium.

JERRY. Well, I am. [_But he remembers the b-o-o--._] No, I can’t.

CHARLOTTE. Well, then, for heaven’s sakes don’t spend the evening
sitting here and nagging me. I’m nervous enough as it is.

     _They both sit. She produces a basket of sewing, selects a man’s
     nightshirt and begins, apparently, to rip it to pieces. Meanwhile
     Jerry, who has picked up a magazine, regards her out of the corner
     of his eye. During the first rip he starts to speak, and again
     during the second rip, but each time he restrains himself with a
     perceptible effort._

JERRY. What are you tearing that up for?

CHARLOTTE [_sarcastically_]. Just for fun.

JERRY. Why don’t you tear up one of your own?

CHARLOTTE [_exasperated_]. Oh, I know what I’m doing. For heaven’s
sakes, don’t _n-a-a-ag_ me!

JERRY [_feebly_]. Well, I just asked you. [_A long pause._] Well, I got
analyzed to-day.

CHARLOTTE. What?

JERRY. I got analyzed.

CHARLOTTE. What’s that?

JERRY. I got analyzed by an expert analyzer. Everybody down at the
Railroad Company got analyzed. [_Rather importantly._] They got a chart
about me that long. [_He expresses two feet with his hands._] Say-- [_He
rises suddenly and goes up close to her._] What color my eyes?

CHARLOTTE. Don’t ask me. Sort of brown, I guess.

JERRY. Brown? That’s what I told ’em. But they got me down for blue.

CHARLOTTE. What was it all about? Did they pay you anything for it?

JERRY. Pay me anything? Of course not. It was for my benefit. It’ll do
me a lot of good. I was _analyzed_, can’t you understand? They found out
a lot of stuff about me.

CHARLOTTE [_dropping her work in horror_]. Do you think you’ll lose your
job?

JERRY [_in disgust_]. A lot you know about business methods. Don’t you
ever read “Efficiency” or the “Systematic Weekly”? It’s a sort of
examination.

CHARLOTTE. Oh, I know. When they feel all the bumps on your head.

JERRY. No, not like that at all. They ask you questions, see?

CHARLOTTE. Well, you needn’t be so cross about it.

     _He hasn’t been cross._

I hope you had the spunk to tell them you thought you deserved a better
position than you’ve got.

JERRY. They didn’t ask me things like that. It was up-stairs in one of
the private offices. First the character analyzer looked at me sort of
hard and said “Sit down!”

CHARLOTTE. Did you sit down?

JERRY. Sure; the thing is to do what they tell you. Well, then the
character analyzer asked me my name and whether I was married.

CHARLOTTE [_suspiciously_]. What did you tell her?

JERRY. Oh, it was a man. I told him yes, of course. What do you think I
am?

CHARLOTTE. Well, did he ask you anything else about me?

JERRY. No. He asked me what it was my ambition to be, and I said I
didn’t have any ambition left, and then I said, “Do you mean when I was
a kid?” And he said, “All right, what did you want to do then?” And I
said “Postman,” and he said, “What sort of a job would you like to get
now?” and I said, “Well, what have you got to offer?”

CHARLOTTE. Did he offer you a job?

JERRY. No, he was just kidding, I guess. Well, then, he asked me if I’d
ever done any studying at home to fit me for a higher position, and I
said, “Sure,” and he said, “What?” and I couldn’t think of anything
off-hand, so I told him I took music lessons. He said no, he meant about
railroads, and I said they worked me so hard that when I got home at
night I never want to hear about railroads again.

CHARLOTTE. Was that all?

JERRY. Oh, there were some more questions. He asked me if I’d ever been
in jail.

CHARLOTTE. What did you tell him?

JERRY. I told him “no,” of course.

CHARLOTTE. He probably didn’t believe you.

JERRY. Well, he asked me a few more things, and then he let me go. I
think I got away with it all right. At least he didn’t give me any black
marks on my chart--just a lot of little circles.

CHARLOTTE. Oh, you got away with it “all right.” That’s all you care.
You got away with it. Satisfied with nothing. Why didn’t you talk right
up to him: “See here, I don’t see why I shouldn’t get more money.”
That’s what you’d have ought to said. He’d of respected you more in the
end.

JERRY [_gloomily_]. I did have ambitions once.

CHARLOTTE. Ambition to do what? To be a postman. That was a fine
ambition for a fella twenty-two years old. And you’d have been one if
I’d let you. The only other ambition you ever had was to marry me. And
that didn’t last long.

JERRY. I know it didn’t. It lasted one month too long, though.

     _A mutual glare here--let’s not look._

And I’ve had other ambitions since then--don’t you worry.

CHARLOTTE [_scornfully_]. What?

JERRY. Oh, that’s all right.

CHARLOTTE. What, though? I’d like to know what. To win five dollars
playing dice in a cigar store?

JERRY. Never you mind. Don’t you worry. Don’t you fret. It’s all right,
see?

CHARLOTTE. You’re afraid to tell me.

JERRY. No, I’m not. Don’t you worry.

CHARLOTTE. Yes, you are.

JERRY. All right then. If you want to know, I had an ambition to be
President of the United States.

CHARLOTTE [_laughing_]. Ho--_ho_--ho--_ho_!

     _Jerry is pretending to be interested only in sucking his
     teeth--but you can see that he is both sorry he made his admission
     and increasingly aware that his wife is being unpleasant._

CHARLOTTE. But you decided to give that up, eh?

JERRY. Sure. I gave up everything when I got married.

CHARLOTTE. Even gave up being a postman, eh? That’s right. Blame it all
on me! Why, if it hadn’t been for me you wouldn’t even be what you
are--a fifty-dollar-a-week clerk.

JERRY. That’s right. I’m only a fifty-dollar-a-week clerk. But you’re
only a thirty-dollar-a-week wife.

CHARLOTTE. Oh, I am, am I?

JERRY. I made a big mistake when I married you.

CHARLOTTE. Stop talking like that! I wish you were dead--dead and
buried--cremated! Then I could have some fun.

JERRY. Where--in the poorhouse?

CHARLOTTE. That’s where I’d be, I know.

     _Charlotte is not really very angry. She is merely smug and
     self-satisfied, you see, and is only mildly annoyed at this
     unexpected resistance to her brow-beating. She knows that Jerry
     will always stay and slave for her. She has begun this row as a
     sort of vaudeville to assuage her nightly boredom._

CHARLOTTE. Why didn’t you think of these things before we got married?

JERRY. I did, a couple of times, but you had me all signed up then.

     _The sound of uncertain steps creaking down the second floor. Into
     the room at a wavering gait comes Jerry’s father, Horatio--“Dada.”_

     _Dada was born in 1834, and will never see eighty-eight again--in
     fact, his gathering blindness prevented him from seeing it very
     clearly in the first place. Originally he was probably Jerry’s
     superior in initiative, but he did not prosper, and during the
     past twenty years his mind has been steadily failing. A Civil War
     pension has kept him quasi-independent, and he looks down as from a
     great dim height upon Jerry (whom he thinks of as an adolescent)
     and Charlotte (whom he rather dislikes). Never given to reading in
     his youth, he has lately become absorbed in the Old Testament and
     in all Old Testament literature, over which he burrows every day in
     the Public Library._

     _In person he is a small, shrivelled man with a great amount of
     hair on his face, which gives him an unmistakable resemblance to a
     French poodle. The fact that he is almost blind and even more
     nearly deaf contributes to his aloof, judicial pose, and to the
     prevailing impression that something grave and thoughtful and
     important is going on back of those faded, vacant eyes. This
     conception is entirely erroneous. Half the time his mind is a
     vacuum, in which confused clots of information and misinformation
     drift and stir--the rest of the time he broods upon the minute
     details of his daily existence. He is too old, even, for the petty
     spites which represent to the aged the single gesture of vitality
     they can make against the ever-increasing pressure of life and
     youth._

     _When he enters the room he looks neither to left nor right, but
     with his head shaking faintly and his mouth moving in a shorter
     vibration, makes directly for the bookcase._

JERRY. Hello, Dada.

     _Dada does not hear._

JERRY [_louder_]. Looking for the Bible, Dada?

DADA. [_He has reached the bookcase, and he turns around stiffly._] I’m
not deaf, sir.

JERRY. [_Let’s draw the old man out._] Who do you think will be
nominated for President, Dada?

DADA [_trying to pretend he has just missed one word_]. The----

JERRY [_louder_]. Who do you think’ll be nominated for President,
to-night?

DADA. I should say that Lincoln was our greatest President. [_He turns
back to the bookcase with an air of having settled a trivial question
for all time._]

JERRY. I mean to-night. They’re getting a new one. Don’t you read the
papers?

DADA [_who has heard only a faint murmur_]. Hm.

CHARLOTTE. You _know_ he never reads anything but the Bible. Why do you
nag him?

JERRY. He reads the encyclopædia at the Public Library. [_With a rush of
public spirit._] If he’d just read the newspapers he’d know what was
going on and have something to talk about. He just sits around and
never says anything.

CHARLOTTE. At least he doesn’t gabble his head off all day. He’s got
sense enough not to do that _any_way, haven’t you, Dada?

     _Dada does not answer._

JERRY. Lookit here, Charlit. I don’t call it gabbling if I meet a man in
the street and he says, “Well, I see somebody was nominated for
President,” and I say, “Yes, I see saw--see so.” Suppose I said, “Yes,
Lincoln was our greatest President.” He’d say, “Why, if that fella isn’t
a piece of cheese I never saw a piece of cheese.”

DADA [_turning about plaintively_]. Some one has taken my Bible.

JERRY. No, there it is on the second shelf, Dada.

DADA. [_He doesn’t hear._] I don’t like people moving it around.

CHARLOTTE. Nobody moved it.

DADA. My old mother used to say to me, “Horatio--” [_He brings this word
out with an impressive roundness, but as his eye, at that moment,
catches sight of the Bible, he loses track of his thought. He pounces
upon the Holy Book and drags it out, pulling with it two or three other
books, which crash to the floor. The sound of their fall is very faint
on his ears--and under the delusion that his error is unnoticed, he
slyly kicks the books under the bookcase. Jerry and Charlotte exchange a
glance. With his Bible under his arm Dada starts stealthily toward the
staircase. He sees something bright shining on the first step, and, not
without difficulty, stoops to pick it up. His efforts are
unsuccessful._] Hello, here’s a nail that looks just like a ten-cent
piece. [_He starts up-stairs._]

JERRY. He thought he found a ten-cent piece.

CHARLOTTE [_significantly_]. Nobody has yet in _this_ house.

     _In the ensuing silence Dada can be heard ascending the stairs.
     About half-way up there is a noise as if he had slipped down a
     notch. Then a moment of utter silence._

JERRY. You all right, Dada?

     _No answer. Dada is heard to resume his climb._

He was just resting. [_He goes over and starts picking up the books.
Cli-n-ng! There’s the front door-bell again. It occurs to him that it’s
the b-o-o._] I’ll answer it.

CHARLOTTE [_who has risen_]. _I’ll_ answer it. It’s my own sister Doris,
I _know_. You answered the last one.

JERRY. That was a mistake. It’s my turn this time by rights.

     _Answering the door-bell is evidently a pleasant diversion over
     which they have squabbled before._

CHARLOTTE. I’ll answer it.

JERRY. You needn’t bother.

     _Cli-n-ng! An impatient ring that._

CHARLOTTE AND JERRY [_together_]. Now, listen here--

     _They both start for the door. Jerry turns, only trying to argue
     with her some more, and what does the woman do but slap his face!
     Then, quick as a flash, she is by him and has opened the door._

     _What do you think of that? Jerry stands there with an
     expressionless face. In comes Charlotte’s sister Doris._

     _Well, now, I’ll tell you about Doris. She’s nineteen, I guess, and
     pretty. She’s nice and slender and dressed in an astonishingly
     close burlesque of the current fashions. She’s a member of that
     portion of the middle-class whose girls are just a little bit too
     proud to work and just a little bit too needy not to. In this city
     of perhaps a quarter of a million people she knows a few girls who
     know a few girls who are “social leaders,” and through this
     connection considers herself a member of the local aristocracy. In
     her mind, morals, and manners she is a fairly capable imitation of
     the current moving-picture girl, with overtones of some of the
     year’s débutantes whom she sees down-town. Doris knows each
     débutante’s first name and reputation, and she follows the various
     affairs of the season as they appear in the society column._

     _She walks--walks, not runs--haughtily into the room, her head
     inclined faintly forward, her hips motionless. She speaks always in
     a bored voice, raising her eyebrows at the important words of each
     sentence._

DORIS. Hello, people.

JERRY [_a little stiffly--he’s mad_.] Why, hello, Doris.

     _Doris sits down with a faint glance at her chair, as though
     suspecting its chastity._

DORIS. Well, I’m engaged again.

     _She says this as though realizing that she is the one contact this
     couple have with the wider and outer world. She assumes with almost
     audible condescension that their only objective interest is the
     fascinating spectacle of her career. And so there is nothing
     personal in her confidences; it is as though she were reporting
     dispassionately an affair of great national, or, rather, passional
     importance. And, indeed, Jerry and Charlotte respond magnificently
     to her initial remark by saying “Honestly?” in incredulous unison
     and staring at her with almost bated breath._

DORIS [_laconically_]. Last night.

CHARLOTTE [_reproachfully_]. Oh, Doris! [_flattering her, you see, by
accusing her of being utterly incorrigible_.]

DORIS. I simply couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stand him any longer, and
this new fella I’m engaged to now simply had to know--because he was
keeping some girl waiting. I just couldn’t stand it. The strain was
awful.

CHARLOTTE. Why couldn’t you stand it? What was the trouble?

DORIS [_coolly_]. He drank.

     _Charlotte, of course, shakes her head in sympathy._

He’d drink anything. Anything he could get his hands on. He used to
drink all these mixtures and then come round to see me.

     _A close observer might notice that at this statement Jerry,
     thinking of his nefarious bargain with the b-o-o, perceptibly
     winces._

CHARLOTTE. Oh, that’s too bad. He was such a clean-cut fella.

DORIS. Yes, Charlotte, he was clean-cut, but that was all. I couldn’t
stand it, honestly I couldn’t. I never saw such a man, Charlotte. He
took the platinum sardine. When they go up in your room and steal your
six-dollar-an-ounce perfume, a girl’s got to let a man go.

CHARLOTTE. I should say she has. What did he say when you broke it off?

DORIS. He couldn’t say anything. He was too pie-eyed. I tied his ring on
a string, hung it around his neck and pushed him out the door.

JERRY. Who’s the new one?

DORIS. Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t know much about him, but
I’ll tell you what I _do_ know from what information I could gather from
mutual friends, and so forth. He’s not quite so clean-cut as the first
one, but he’s got lots of other good qualities. He comes from the State
of Idaho, from a town named Fish.

JERRY. Fish? F-i-s-h?

DORIS. I think so. It was named after his uncle ... a Mr. Fish.

JERRY [_wittily_]. They’re a lot of Fish out there.

DORIS [_not comprehending_]. Well, these Fishes are very nice. They’ve
been mayor a couple of times and all that sort of thing, if you know
what I mean. His father’s in business up there now.

JERRY. What business?

DORIS. He’s in the funereal-parlor business.

JERRY [_indelicately_]. Oh, undertaker.

DORIS. [_She’s sensitive to the word._] Well, not exactly, but something
like that. A funereal parlor is a sort of--oh, a sort of a _good_
undertaking place, if you know what I mean. [_And now confidentially._]
As a matter of fact, that’s the part of the thing I don’t like. You see,
we may have to live out in Fish, right over his father’s place of
business.

JERRY. Why, that’s all right. Think how handy it’ll be if----

CHARLOTTE. Keep still, Jerry!

JERRY. Is he in the same business as his father?

DORIS. No. At least not now. He was for a while, but the business wasn’t
very good and now he says he’s through with it. His father’s bought him
an interest in one of the stores.

JERRY. A Fish store, eh?

     _The two women look at him harshly._

CHARLOTTE [_wriggling her shoulders with enjoyment_]. Tell us more about
him.

DORIS. Well, he’s wonderful looking. And he dresses, well, not loud, you
know, but just _well_. And when anybody speaks to him he goes sort
of-- [_To express what Mr. Fish does when any one speaks to him, Doris
turns her profile sharply to the audience, her chin up, her eyes
half-closed in an expression of melancholy scorn._]

CHARLOTTE. I know--like Rudolph Valentine.

DORIS [_witheringly--do you blame her?_]. Valentino.

JERRY. What does it mean when he does that?

DORIS. I don’t know, just sort of--sort of passion.

JERRY. Passion!

DORIS. Emotion sort of. He’s very emotional. That’s one reason I didn’t
like the last fella I was engaged to. He wasn’t very emotional. He was
sort of an old cow most of the time. I’ve got to have somebody
emotional. You remember that place in the Sheik where the fella says:
“Must I play valet as well as lover?” That’s the sort of thing I like.

CHARLOTTE [_darting a look at Jerry_]. I know _just_ what you mean.

DORIS. He’s not really as tall as I’d like him to be, but he’s got a
wonderful build and a good complexion. I can’t stand anybody without a
good complexion--can you? He calls me adorable egg.

JERRY. What does he mean by that?

DORIS [_airily_]. Oh, “egg” is just a name people use nowadays. It’s
considered sort of the thing.

JERRY [_awed_]. Egg?

CHARLOTTE. When do you expect to get married?

DORIS. You never can tell!

     _A pause, during which they all sigh as if pondering. Then Doris,
     with a tremendous effort at justice, switches the conversation away
     from herself._

DORIS [_patronizingly, condescendingly_]. How’s everything going with
you two? [_To Jerry._] Does your father still read the Bible?

JERRY. Well, a lot of the time he just thinks.

DORIS. He hasn’t had anything to do for the last twenty years but just
think, has he?

JERRY [_impressed_]. Just think of the things he’s probably thought out.

DORIS [_blasphemously_]. That old dumb-bell?

     _Charlotte and Jerry are a little shocked._

How’s everything else been going around here?

JERRY. I got analyzed to-day at----

CHARLOTTE [_interrupting_]. The same as ever.

JERRY. I got anal----

CHARLOTTE [_to Jerry_]. I wish you’d be polite enough not to interrupt
me.

JERRY [_pathetically_]. I thought you were through.

CHARLOTTE. Well, you’ve driven what I had to say right out of my head.
[_To Doris._] What do you think he said to-night? He said if he hadn’t
married me he’d be President of the United States.

     _At this Jerry drops his newspaper precipitately, walks in anger to
     the door, and goes out without speaking._

You see? Just a display of temper. But it doesn’t worry _me_. [_She
sighs--the shrew._] I’m used to it.

     _Doris tactfully makes no reply. After a momentary silence she
     changes the subject._

DORIS. Well, I find I just made an awful mistake.

CHARLOTTE [_eagerly_]. Not keeping both those men for a while? That’s
what I think.

DORIS. No. I mean--do you remember those three dresses I had lengthened?

CHARLOTTE [_breathlessly_]. Yes.

DORIS [_tragically_]. I’ll never be able to wear them.

CHARLOTTE. Why?

DORIS. There’s a picture of Mae Murray in the new Motion Picture
Magazine ... my dear, half her calf!

CHARLOTTE. Really?

     _At this point the door leading to the dining-room opens and Jerry
     comes in. Looking neither to left nor to right, he marches to his
     lately vacated place, snatches up half his newspaper, and goes out
     without speaking. The two women bestow on him a careless glance and
     continue their discussion._

DORIS. It was just my luck. I wish I’d hemmed them like I thought of
doing, instead of cutting them off. That’s the way it always is. As soon
as I get my hair bobbed, Marilyn Miller begins to let hers grow. And
look at mine-- [_She removes her hat._] I can’t do a thing with it. [_She
replaces her hat._] Been to the Bijou Theatre?

CHARLOTTE. No, what’s there?

     _Again Jerry comes in, almost unbearably self-conscious now. The
     poor man has taken the wrong part of the paper. Silently, with a
     strained look, he makes the exchange under the intense supervision
     of four eyes, and starts back to his haven in the dining-room. Then
     he jumps as Doris speaks to him._

DORIS. Say!

JERRY [_morosely dignified_]. What?

DORIS [_with real interest_]. What makes you think you could be
President?

JERRY [_to Charlotte_]. That’s right. Make a fool of me in front of all
your relations! [_In his excitement he bangs down his paper upon a
chair._]

CHARLOTTE. I haven’t said one word--not one single solitary word--have
I, Doris?

     _Jerry goes out hastily--without his paper!_

Did I say one word, Doris? I’ll leave it to you. Did I say one single
word to bring down all that uproar on my head? To have him _swear_ at
me?

     _Jerry, crimson in the face, comes in, snatches up his forgotten
     paper, and rushes wildly out again._

He’s been nagging at me all evening. He said I kept him from doing
everything he wanted to. And you know very well, Doris, he’d have been a
postman if it hadn’t been for me. He said he wished I was dead.

     _It seems to me it was Charlotte who wished Jerry was dead!_

He said he could get a better wife than me for thirty dollars a week.

DORIS [_fascinated_]. Did he really? Where did he say he could get her?

CHARLOTTE. That’s the sort of man _he_ is.

DORIS. He’d never be rich if you _gave_ him the money. He hasn’t got any
_push_. I think a man’s got to have _push_, don’t you? I mean sort of
_uh_! [_She gives a little grunt to express indomitable energy, and
makes a sharp gesture with her hand._] I saw in the paper about a fella
that didn’t have any legs or arms forty years old that was a
millionaire.

CHARLOTTE. Maybe if Jerry didn’t have any legs or arms he’d do better.
How did this fella make it?

DORIS. I forget. Some scheme. He just thought of a scheme. That’s the
thing, you know--to think of some scheme. Some kind of cold cream or
hair--say, I wish somebody’d invent some kind of henna that nobody could
tell. Maybe Jerry could.

CHARLOTTE. He hasn’t brains enough.

DORIS. Say, I saw a wonderful dog to-day.

CHARLOTTE. What kind of a dog?

DORIS. It was out walking with Mrs. Richard Barton Hammond on Crest
Avenue. It was pink.

CHARLOTTE. Pink! I never saw a pink dog.

DORIS. Neither did I before. Gosh, it was cunning.... Well, I got to go.
My fiancé is coming over at quarter to nine and we’re going down to the
theatre.

CHARLOTTE. Why don’t you bring him over some time?

DORIS. All right. I’ll bring him over after the movies if you’ll be up.

     _They walk together to the door. Doris goes out and Charlotte has
     scarcely shut the door behind her when the bell rings again.
     Charlotte opens the door and then retreats half-way across the
     room, with an alarmed expression on her face. A man has come in,
     with a great gunny-sack slung over his shoulder. It is none other
     than Mr. Snooks or Snukes, the bootlegger._

     _I wish I could introduce you to the original from whom I have
     taken Mr. Snooks. He is as villainous-looking a man as could be
     found in a year’s search. He has a weak chin, a broken nose, a
     squint eye, and a three days’ growth of beard. If you can imagine
     a race-track sport who has fallen in a pool of mud you can get an
     idea of his attire. His face and hands are incrusted with dirt. He
     lacks one prominent tooth, lacks it with a vulgar and somehow awful
     conspicuousness. His most ingratiating smile is a criminal leer,
     his eyes shift here and there upon the carpet, as he speaks in a
     villainous whine._

CHARLOTTE [_uneasily_]. What do you want?

     _Mr. Snooks leers and winks broadly, whereat Charlotte bumps back
     against the bookcase._

SNOOKS [_hoarsely_]. Tell your husband Sandy Claus is here.

CHARLOTTE [_calling nervously_]. Jerry, here’s somebody wants to see
you. He says he’s--he’s Santa Claus.

     _In comes Jerry. He sees the situation, but the appearance of the
     b-o-o evidently shocks him, and a wave of uneasiness passes over
     him. Nevertheless, he covers up these feelings with a magnificent
     nonchalance._

JERRY. Oh, yes. How de do? How are you? Glad to see you.

SNOOKS [_wiggling the bag, which gives out a loud, glassy clank_]. Hear
it talking to you, eh?

     _Charlotte looks from one to the other of them darkly._

JERRY. It’s all right, Charlit. I’ll tend to it. You go up-stairs. You
go upstairs and read that--there’s a story in the Saturday Evening Post
about a Chinese girl on the Buzzard Islands that----

CHARLOTTE. I know. Who isn’t a Chinese girl. Never mind that. I’ll stay
right here.

     _Jerry turns from her with the air of one who has done his
     best--but now--well, she must take the consequences._

JERRY [_to Snooks_]. Is this Mr. Snukes? Or Snooks?

SNOOKS. Snooks. Funny name, ain’t it? I made it up. I got it off a can
of tomatoes. I’m an Irish-Pole by rights. [_Meanwhile he has been
emptying the sack of its contents and setting them on the table. First
come two one-gallon jars, one full, the other empty. Then a square,
unopened one-gallon can. Finally three small bottles and a medicine
dropper._]

CHARLOTTE [_in dawning horror_]. What’s that? A still?

SNOOKS [_with a wink at Jerry_]. No, lady, this here’s a wine-press.

JERRY. [_He’s attempting to conciliate her._] No, no, Charlit. Listen.
This gentleman here is going to make me some gin--very, very cheap.

CHARLOTTE. Some gin!

JERRY. Yes, for cocktails.

CHARLOTTE. For whose cocktails?

JERRY. For you and me.

CHARLOTTE. Do you think _I’d_ take one of the poison things?

JERRY [_to Snooks_]. They’re not poison, are they?

SNOOKS. Poison! Say, lady, I’d be croaked off long ago if they was. I’d
be up wid de angels! This ain’t _wood_ alcohol. This is _grain_ alcohol.
[_He holds up the gallon can, on which is the following label_]:

[Illustration: Skull and crossed-bones

WOOD ALCOHOL!

POISON!]

CHARLOTTE [_indignantly_]. Why, it says wood alcohol right on the can!

SNOOKS. Yes, but it ain’t. I just use a wood-alcohol can, so in case I
get caught. You’re allowed to sell wood alcohol, see?

JERRY [_explaining to Charlotte_]. Just in case he gets caught--see?

CHARLOTTE. I think the whole performance is perfectly terrible.

JERRY. No, it isn’t. Mr. Snooks has sold this to some of the swellest
families in the city--haven’t you, Mr. Snooks?

SNOOKS. Sure. You know old man Alec Martin?

JERRY [_glancing at Charlotte, who is stony-eyed_]. Sure. Everybody
knows who _they_ are.

SNOOKS. I sole ’em a gallon. And John B. Standish? I sole him five
gallons and he said it was the best stuff he ever tasted.

JERRY [_to Charlotte_]. See--? The swellest people in town.

SNOOKS. I’d a got here sooner, only I got double crossed to-day.

JERRY. How?

SNOOKS. A fella down-town sold me out to the rev’nue officers. I got
stuck for two thousand dollars and four cases Haig and Haig.

JERRY. Gee, that’s too bad!

SNOOKS. Aw, you never know who’s straight in this game. They’ll double
cross you in a minute.

JERRY. Who sold you out?

SNOOKS. A fella. What do you suppose he got for it?

JERRY. What?

SNOOKS. Ten dollars. What do you know about a fella that’d sell a guy
out for ten dollars? I just went right up to him and said: “Why, you
Ga----”

JERRY [_nervously_]. Say, don’t tell us!

SNOOKS. Well, I told him where he got off at, anyways. And then I
plastered him one. An’ the rev’nue officers jus’ stood there and
laughed. My brother ’n I are goin’ ’round an’ beat him up again tomorra.

JERRY [_righteously_]. He certainly deserved it.

     _A pause._

SNOOKS [_after a moment’s brooding_]. Well, I’ll fix this up for you
now.

CHARLOTTE [_stiffly_]. How much is it?

SNOOKS. This? Sixteen a gallon.

JERRY [_eagerly_]. See, that makes two gallons of the stuff, Charlotte,
and that’s eight quarts, and eight quarts of the stuff makes sixteen
quarts of cocktails. That’s enough to last us--oh, three years anyhow.
Just think how nice it’ll be if anybody comes in. Just say: “Like a
little cocktail?” “Sure.” “All right.” [_He makes a noise to express
orange squeezing._] Oranges! [_A noise to express the cracking of ice._]
Ice! [_A noise to express the sound of a shaker._] Shaker! [_He pours
the imaginary compound into three imaginary glasses. Then he drinks off
one of the imaginary glasses and pats his stomach._]

CHARLOTTE [_contemptuously_]. Well, I think you’re a little crazy, if
you ask me.

SNOOKS [_taking off his hat and coat_]. You got a big bowl?

CHARLOTTE. No. Why didn’t you bring your own bowl?

JERRY [_uncertainly_]. There’s a nice big bowl in the kitchen.

CHARLOTTE. All right. Go on and spoil all the kitchen things.

JERRY. I’ll wash it afterward.

CHARLOTTE. Wash it? [_She laughs contemptuously, implying that washing
will do it no good then. Jerry, nevertheless, goes for the bowl. He
feels pretty guilty by this time, but he’s going through with it now,
even though he may never hear the last of it._]

SNOOKS [_hollering after him_]. Get a corkscrew, too. [_He holds up the
tin can to Charlotte._] Grain alcohol. [_Charlotte’s lips curl in
answer. He holds up a small bottle._] Spirits of Jupiter. One drop of
this will smell up a whole house for a week. [_He holds up a second
bottle._] Oila Aniseed. Give it a flavor. Take the arsenic out. [_He
holds up a third bottle._] Oila Coreander.

CHARLOTTE [_sardonically_]. Wouldn’t you like me to look in the
medicine-chest and see if there’s something there you could use? Maybe
you need some iodine. Or some of Dada’s ankle-strengthener.

     _Jerry comes in, laden._

JERRY. Here’s the bowl and the corkscrew.

CHARLOTTE. You forgot the salt and pepper.

     _Amid great pounding the bootlegger breaks the corkscrew on the tin
     can. His exertions send him into a fit of coughing._

You’ll have to stop coughing. You’ll wake the people next door.

SNOOKS. You got a hairpin, lady?

CHARLOTTE. No.

SNOOKS. Or a scissors?

CHARLOTTE. No.

SNOOKS. Say, what kind of a house is this? [_He finally manages to open
the can._]

SNOOKS. [_With some pride._] Grain alcohol. Costs me $6.00 a gallon.
[_To Charlotte._] Smell it.

     _She retreats from it hastily._

CHARLOTTE. I can smell _some_thing horrible.

SNOOKS. That’s the spirits of Jupiter. I haven’t opened it yet. It rots
a cork in ten days. [_He fills the bowl with water from one jar._]

JERRY [_anxiously_]. Hadn’t you better measure it?

SNOOKS. I got my eye trained.

CHARLOTTE. What’s that--arsenic?

SNOOKS. Distilled water, lady. If you use regular water it gets cloudy.
You want it clear. [_He pours in alcohol from the can._] Got a spoon?...
Well, never mind. [_He rolls up his sleeve and undoubtedly intends to
plunge his whole arm into the mixture._]

JERRY [_hastily_]. Here! Wait a minute. No use--no use getting your hand
wet. I’ll get you a spoon. [_He goes after it._]

CHARLOTTE [_sarcastically_]. Get one of the best silver ones.

SNOOKS. Naw. Any kind’ll do.

     _Jerry returns with one of the best silver spoons, which he hands
     to Mr. Snooks._

CHARLOTTE. I might have known you would--you fool!

     _Mr. Snooks stirs the mixture--the spoon turns
     rust-colored--Charlotte gives a little cry._

SNOOKS. It won’t hurt it, lady. Just leave it out in the sun for an
hour. Now the spirits of Jupiter. [_He fills the medicine dropper from a
small bottle and lets a slow, interminable procession of drops fall into
the bowl. Jerry watches intently and with gathering anxiety. At about
the fourteenth drop he starts every time one falls. Finally Mr. Snooks
ceases._]

JERRY. How many did you count?

SNOOKS. Sixteen.

JERRY. I counted eighteen.

SNOOKS. Well, a drop or so won’t make no difference. Now you got a
funnel?

JERRY. I’ll get one. [_He goes for it._]

SNOOKS. Good stuff, lady. This is as good as what you used to buy for
the real thing.

     _Charlotte does not deign to answer._

You needn’t worry about that spoon. If that spoon had a been the real
thing it w’na done like that. You can try out all your stuff that way. A
lot of stuff is sold for silver nowadays that ain’t at all.

     _Jerry returns with the funnel, and Mr. Snooks pours the contents
     of the bowl into the two glass jars._

SNOOKS [_holding up one jar admiringly_]. The real thing.

CHARLOTTE. It’s cloudy.

SNOOKS [_reproachfully_]. Cloudy? You call that cloudy? That isn’t
cloudy. Why, it’s just as clear----

     _He holds it up and pretends to look through it. This is
     unquestionably a mere gesture, for the mixture is heavily opaque
     and not to be pierced by the human eye._

CHARLOTTE [_disregarding him and turning scornfully to Jerry_]. I
wouldn’t drink it if it was the last liquor in the world.

SNOOKS. Lady, if this was the last liquor in the world it wouldn’t be
for sale.

JERRY [_doubtfully_]. It does look a little--cloudy.

SNOOKS. No-o-o--! Why you can see right through it. [_He fills a glass
and drinks it off._] Why, it just needs to be filtered. That’s just
nervous matter.

CHARLOTTE AND JERRY [_together_]. Nervous matter?

JERRY. When did we put that in?

SNOOKS. We didn’t put it in. It’s just a deposit. Sure, that’s just
nervous matter. Any chemis’ will tell you.

CHARLOTTE [_sardonically_]. Ha-ha! “Nervous matter.” There’s no such
thing.

SNOOKS. Sure! That’s just nervous matter. [_He fills the glass and hands
it to her._] Try it!

CHARLOTTE. Ugh!

     _As he comes near she leans away from him in horror. Snooks offers
     the glass to Jerry._

If you drink any of that stuff they’ll have to analyze you all over
again.

     _But Jerry drinks it._

CHARLOTTE. I can’t stand this. When your--when _he’s_ gone I’ll thank
you to open the windows. [_She goes out and up-stairs._]

SNOOKS _[with a cynical laugh_]. Your old lady’s a little sore on you,
eh?

JERRY [_bravely_]. No. She doesn’t care what I do.

SNOOKS. You ought to give her a bat in the eye now and then. That’d fix
her.

JERRY [_shocked_]. Oh, no; you oughtn’t to talk that way.

SNOOKS. Well, if you like ’em to step around.... Sixteen bucks, please.

     _Jerry searches his pockets._

JERRY [_counting_].--thirteen--fourteen--let’s see. I can borrow the
ice-man’s money if I can find where--Just wait a minute, Mr. Snooks.

     _He goes out to the pantry. Almost immediately there are steps upon
     the stairs, and in a moment Dada, resplendent in a flowing white
     nightshirt, trembles into Mr. Snooks’s vision. For a moment Mr.
     Snooks is startled._

DADA [_blinking_]. I thought I smelled something burning.

SNOOKS. I ain’t smelled nothin’, pop.

DADA. How do you do, sir. You’ll excuse my costume. I was awake and it
occurred to me that the house was on fire. I am Mr. Frost’s father.

SNOOKS. I’m his bootlegger.

DADA. The----?

SNOOKS. His bootlegger.

DADA [_enthusiastically_]. You’re my son’s employer?

     _They shake hands._

DADA. Excuse my costume. I was awake, and I thought I smelled something
burning.

SNOOKS [_decisively_]. You’re kiddin’ yourself.

DADA. Perhaps I was wrong. My sense of smell is not as exact as it was.
My son Jerry is a fine boy. He’s my only son by my second wife, Mr.--?
The----? [_He is evidently under the impression that Snooks has supplied
the name and that he has missed it._] I’m glad to meet his employer. I
always say I’m a descendant of Jack Frost. We used to have a joke when I
was young. We used to say that the first Frosts came to this state in
the beginning of winter. Ha-ha-ha! [_He is convinced that he is giving
Jerry a boost with his employer._]

SNOOKS [_bored_]. Ain’t it past your bedtime, pop?

DADA. Do you see? “Frosts” and “frosts.” We used to laugh at that joke a
great deal.

SNOOKS. Anybody would.

DADA. “Frosts,” you see. We’re not rich, but I always say that it’s
easier for a camel to get through a needle’s eye than for a rich man to
get to heaven.

SNOOKS. That’s the way I always felt.

DADA. Well, I think I’ll turn in. My sense of smell deceived me. No harm
done. [_He laughs._] Good night, Mr.----?

SNOOKS [_humorously_]. Good night, pop. Sleep tight. Don’t let the
bedbugs bite.

DADA [_starting away_]. I hope you’ll excuse my costume. [_He goes
up-stairs. Jerry returns from the pantry just in time to hear his
voice._]

JERRY. Who was that? Dada?

SNOOKS. He thought he was on fire.

JERRY [_unaware of the nightshirt_]. That’s my father. He’s a great
authority on--oh, on the Bible and a whole lot of other things. He’s
been doing nothing for twenty years but thinking out a lot of
things--here’s the money. [_Jerry gives him sixteen bucks._]

SNOOKS. Thanks. Well, I guess you’re all fixed. Drink a couple of these
and then you’ll know what to say to your wife when she gets fresh.

CHARLOTTE [_from up-stairs_]. Shut the door! I can smell that way up
here!

     _Jerry hastily shuts the door leading up-stairs._

SNOOKS. Like any whiskey?

JERRY. I don’t believe so.

SNOOKS. Or some cream de menthy?

JERRY. No, I don’t believe so.

SNOOKS. How about some French vermuth?

JERRY. I don’t think I’ll take anything else now.

SNOOKS. Just try a drink of this.

JERRY. I did.

SNOOKS. Try another.

     _Jerry tries another._

JERRY. Not bad. Strong.

SNOOKS. Sure it’s strong. Knock you over. Hard to get now. They gyp you
every time. The country’s goin’ to the dogs. Most of these bootleggers,
you can’t trust ’em two feet away. It’s awful. They don’t seem to have
no conscience.

JERRY [_warming_]. Have you ever been analyzed, Mr. Snooks?

SNOOKS. Me? No, I never been arrested by the regular police.

JERRY. I mean when they ask you questions.

SNOOKS. Sure, I know. Thumb-prints--all that stuff.

     _Jerry takes another drink._

JERRY. You ought to want to rise in the world.

SNOOKS. How do you know I oughta.

JERRY. Why--why, everybody ought to. It says so.

SNOOKS. What says so.

JERRY [_with a burst of inspiration_]. The Bible. It’s one of the
commandments.

SNOOKS. I never could get through that book.

JERRY. Won’t you sit down?

SNOOKS. No, I got to hustle along in a minute.

JERRY. Say, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?

SNOOKS. Not at all. Shoot!

JERRY. Did you ever--did you ever have any ambition to be President?

SNOOKS. Sure. Once.

JERRY [_ponderously_]. You did, eh?

SNOOKS. Once. I guess bootleggin’s just as good, though. More money in
it.

JERRY [_weightily_]. Yes, that’s true.

SNOOKS. Well, I got to hustle along now. I got to take my old woman to
church.

JERRY. Oh. Yes.

SNOOKS. Well, so long. You got my address in case you go dry.

     _They both smile genially at this pleasantry._

JERRY [_opening the door_]. All right. I’ll remember.

     _Snooks goes out. Jerry hesitates--then he opens the door to the
     up-stairs._

JERRY. Oh, Char-lit!

CHARLOTTE [_crossly_]. Please keep that door shut. That smell comes
right up here. It’ll start my hayfever.

JERRY [_genially_]. Well, I just wanted to ask you if you’ll take one
little cocktail with me.

CHARLOTTE. _No!_ How many times do I have to tell you?

JERRY [_crestfallen_]. Well, you don’t need to be so disagreeable about
it.

     _He receives no answer. He would like to talk some more, but he
     shuts the door and returns to the table. Picking up one of the
     jars, he regards its opaqueness with a quizzical eye. But it is his
     and quite evidently it seems to him good. He looks curiously at the
     three little bottles, smells one of them curiously and hastily
     replaces the cork. He hesitates. Then he repairs to the
     dining-room, singing: “Everybody is there!”--and returns
     immediately with an orange, a knife, and another glass. He cuts the
     orange, squeezes half of it into a glass, wipes his hands on the
     fringe of the tablecloth, and adds some of his liquor. He drinks
     it slowly--he waits. He prepares another potation with the other
     half of the orange._

     _No! He does not choke, make horrible faces, nor feel his throat as
     it goes down. Nor does he stagger. His elation is evinced only by
     the vague confusion with which he mislays knife, oranges, and
     glasses._

     _Impelled by the gregarious instinct of mankind, he again repairs
     to the door that leads up-stairs, and opens it._

JERRY [_calling_]. Say, Char-_lit_! The convention must be over. I
wonder who was nominated.

CHARLOTTE. I asked you to shut that door.

     _But the impulse to express himself, to fuse his new elation into
     the common good, is irresistible. He goes to the telephone and
     picks up the receiver._

JERRY. Hello.... Hello, hello. Say! I wonder’f you could tell me who was
nominated for President.... All right, give me Information....
Information, I wonder if you could tell me who was nominated for
President.... Why not?... Well, that’s information, isn’t it?... It
doesn’t matter what _kind_ of information it is. It’s information, isn’t
it? Isn’t it? It’s information, isn’t it?... Say, what’s your hurry?
[_He bobs the receiver up and down._] Hello, give me Long Distance
again.... Hello, is this Information?... This is _mis_information, eh?
Ha-ha! Did you hear that? _Mis_information.... I asked for
Information.... Well, you’ll do, Long Distance.... Long Distance--how
far away are you? A long distance! Ha-ha!... Hello.... Hello!

     _She has evidently rung off. Jerry does likewise._

JERRY [_sarcastically_]. Wonderful telephone service! [_He goes quickly
back to the ’phone and picks up the receiver._] Rottenest telephone
service I ever saw! [_He slams up and returns to his drink._]

     _There is a call outside, “Yoo-hoo!” and immediately afterward
     Doris opens the front door and comes in, followed by Joseph Fish, a
     red-headed, insipid young man of about twenty-four. Fish is dressed
     in a ready-made suit with a high belt at the back, and his pockets
     slant at a rakish angle. He is the product of a small-town
     high-school and a one-year business course at a state university._

     _Doris has him firmly by the arm. She leads him up to Jerry, who
     sets down his glass and blinks at them._

DORIS. Gosh! This room smells like a brewery. [_She notices the jars and
the other débris of Jerry’s domestic orgy._] What on earth have you been
doing? Brewing whiskey?

JERRY [_attempting a dignified nonchalance_]. Making cocktails.

DORIS [_with a long whistle_]. What does Charlotte say?

JERRY [_with dignity_]. Charlit is up-stairs.

DORIS. Well, I want you to meet my fiancé, Mr. Fish. Mr. Fish, this is
my brother-in-law, Mr. Frost.

JERRY. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Fish.

FISH. How de do. [_He laughs politely._]

JERRY [_horribly_]. Is this the undertaker?

DORIS [_tartly_]. You must be tight.

JERRY [_to Fish_]. Have a little drink?

DORIS. He doesn’t use it.

FISH. Thanks. I don’t use it. [_Again he laughs politely._]

JERRY [_with a very roguish expression_]. Do you know Ida?

FISH. Ida who?

JERRY. Idaho. [_He laughs uproariously at his own wit._] That’s a joke I
heard to-day. I thought I’d tell it to you because you’re from Idaho.

FISH [_resentfully_]. Gosh, that’s a rotten joke.

JERRY [_high-hatting him_]. Well, Idaho’s a rotten state. I wouldn’t
come from that State.

DORIS [_icily_]. Maybe they’d feel the same way about you. I’m going up
and see Charlotte. I wish you’d entertain Mr. Fish politely for a
minute.

     _Doris goes up-stairs. The two men sit down. Fish is somewhat
     embarrassed._

JERRY [_with a wink_]. Now she’s gone, better have a little drink.

FISH. No, thanks. I don’t use it any more. I used to use it a good deal
out in Idaho, and then I quit.

     _A faint, almost imperceptible noise, as of a crowd far away,
     begins outside. Neither of the men seems to notice it, however._

JERRY. Get good liquor up there?

FISH. Well, around the shop we used to drink embalming fluid, but it got
so it didn’t agree with me.

JERRY [_focussing his eyes upon Fish, with some difficulty_]. I
shouldn’t think it would.

FISH. It’s all right for some fellas, but it doesn’t agree with me at
all.

JERRY [_suddenly_]. How old are you?

FISH. Me? Twenty-five.

JERRY. Did you ever--did you ever have any ambition to be President?

FISH. President?

JERRY. Yes.

FISH. Of a company?

JERRY. No. Of the United States.

FISH [_scornfully_]. No-o-o-o!

JERRY [_almost pleadingly_]. Never did, eh?

FISH. Never.

JERRY. Tha’s funny. Did you ever want to be a postman?

FISH [_scornfully_]. No-o-o-o!... The thing to be is to be a senator.

JERRY. Is that so?

FISH. Sure. I’m goin’ to be one. Say! There’s where you get the _real_
graft.

     _Jerry’s eyes close sleepily and then start open._

JERRY [_attentively_]. Do you hear a noise?

FISH [_after listening for a moment_]. I don’t hear a sound.

JERRY [_puzzled_]. That’s funny. I hear a noise.

FISH [_scornfully_]. I guess you’re seeing things.

     _Another pause._

JERRY. And you say you never wanted to be President?

FISH. Na-ah!

     _The noise outside has now increased, come nearer, swollen to the
     dimensions of a roar. Presently it is almost under the windows.
     Fish apparently does not hear it, but Jerry knits his hairless
     brows and rises to his feet. He goes to the window and throws it
     open. A mighty cheer goes up and there is the beating of a bass
     drum._

JERRY. Good gosh!

     _Cli-in-ng! Cli-in-ng! Cli-in-ng! The door-bell! Then the door
     swings open, and a dozen men rush into the room. In the lead is Mr.
     Jones, a politician._

MR. JONES [_approaching Jerry_]. Is this Mr. Jeremiah Frost?

JERRY [_with signs of fright_]. Yes.

MR. JONES. I’m Mr. Jones, the well-known politician. I am delegated to
inform you that on the first ballot you were unanimously given the
Republican nomination for President.

     _Wild cheers from inside and out, and renewed beating of the bass
     drum. Jerry shakes Mr. Jones’s hand, but Fish, sitting in silence,
     takes no heed of the proceeding--apparently does not see or hear
     what is going on._

JERRY [_to Mr. Jones_]. My golly! I thought you were a revenue officer.

     _Amid a still louder burst of cheering Jerry is elevated to the
     shoulders of the crowd, and borne enthusiastically out the door as_


THE CURTAIN FALLS




ACT II


     _Any one who felt that the first Act was perhaps a little vulgar,
     will be glad to learn that we’re now on the lawn of the White
     House. Indeed, a corner of the Executive Mansion projects
     magnificently into sight, and steps lead up to the imposing
     swinging doors of a “Family Entrance.” From the window of the
     President’s office a flag flutters, and the awning displays this
     legend_:

                            THE WHITE HOUSE

                          JERRY FROST, PRES.

     _And if you look hard enough at the office window you can see the
     President himself sitting at his desk inside._

     _The lawn, bounded by a white brick wall, is no less attractive.
     Not only are there white vines and flowers, a beautiful white tree,
     and a white table and chairs, but, also, a large sign over the
     gate, which bears the President’s name pricked out in electric
     bulbs._

     _Two white kittens are strolling along the wall, enjoying the
     ten-o’clock sunshine. A blond parrot swings in a cage over the
     table, and one of the chairs is at present occupied by a white
     fox-terrier puppy about the size of your hand._

     _That’s right. “Isn’t it darling!” We’ll let you watch it for a
     moment before we move into the Whirl of Public Affairs._

     _Look! Here comes somebody out. It’s Mr. Jones, the well-known
     politician, now secretary to President Frost. He has a white broom
     in his hands, and, after delighting the puppy with an absolutely
     white bone, he begins to sweep off the White House steps. At this
     point the gate swings open and Charlotte Frost comes in. As befits
     the first Lady of the Land, she is elaborately dressed--in the
     height of many fashions. She’s evidently been shopping--her arms
     are full of packages--but she has nevertheless seen fit to array
     herself in a gorgeous evening dress, with an interminable train.
     From her wide picture hat a plume dangles almost to the ground._

     _Mr. Jones politely relieves her of her bundles._

CHARLOTTE [_abruptly_]. Good morning, Mr. Jones. Has everything gone to
pieces?

     _Mr. Jones looks her over in some surprise._

JONES [_apologetically_]. Well, perhaps the petticoat----

CHARLOTTE [_a little stiffly_]. I didn’t mention myself, I don’t think,
Mr. Jones. I meant all my husband’s public affairs.

JONES. He’s been in his office all morning, Mrs. Frost. There are a lot
of people waiting to see him.

CHARLOTTE. [_She’s relieved._] I heard them calling an extra, and I
thought maybe everything had gone to pieces.

JONES. No, Mrs. Frost, the President hasn’t made any bad mistake for
some time now. Of course, a lot of people objected when he appointed his
father Secretary of the Treasury; his father’s being so old----

CHARLOTTE. Well, I’ve had to stand for his family all my life--so I
guess the country can. [_Confidentially._]

JONES [_a little embarrassed_]. I see you’ve been shopping.

CHARLOTTE. I’ve been buying some things for my sister’s wedding
reception this afternoon.

     _The window of President Frost’s office opens abruptly. A white
     cigar emerges--followed by Jerry’s hairless eyebrows--passionately
     knit._

JERRY. All right. Go on and yell--and then when I make some awful
mistake and the country goes to pieces, blame it on me!

CHARLOTTE [_very patiently_]. Nagging me again. Picking on me.
Pick--pick--pick! All day!

JERRY. Gosh, you can be disagreeable, Charlit!

CHARLOTTE. Pick--pick--pick!

JERRY [_confused_]. Pick?

CHARLOTTE [_sharply_]. Pick!

     _Jerry jams down his window._

     _Meanwhile from the window above has emerged a hand holding a
     mirror. The hand is presently followed by a head with the hair
     slicked back damply. Doris, sister-in-law to the President, is
     seeking more light for her afternoon toilet._

DORIS [_disapprovingly_]. I can hear you two washing your clothes in
public all over the lawn.

CHARLOTTE. He keeps nagging at me.

     _Doris begins to apply a white lotion to her face. She daubs it at
     a freckle on her nose, and gazes passionately at the resultant
     white splotch._

DORIS [_abstractedly_]. I should think you’d get so you could stand him
in public, anyways.

CHARLOTTE. He makes me madder in public than anywhere else.

     _She gathers her bundles and goes angrily into the White House.
     Doris glances down at Mr. Jones, and, deciding hastily that she is
     too publicly placid, withdraws her person from sight._

     _Jones picks up his broom and is about to go inside when a
     uniformed chauffeur opens the gate and announces:_

“The Honorable Joseph Fish, Senator from Idaho.”

     _And now here’s Joseph Fish, in an enormous frock-coat and a tall
     silk hat, radiating an air of appalling prosperity._

FISH. Good morning, Mr. Jones. Is my fiancée around?

JONES. I believe she’s in her boudoir, Senator Fish. How is everything
down at the capital?

FISH [_gloomily_]. Awful! I’m in a terrible position, Mr. Jones--and
this was to have been my wedding reception day. Listen to this. [_He
takes a telegram from his pocket._] “Senator Joseph Fish, Washington, D.
C. Present the State of Idaho’s compliments to President Frost and tell
him that the people of Idaho demand his immediate resignation.”

JONES. This is terrible!

FISH. It’s because he made his father Secretary of the Treasury.

JONES. This will be depressing news to the President.

FISH. But think of _me_! This was to have been my wedding reception
day. What will Doris say when she hears about this. I’ve got to ask her
own brother-in-law to--to move out of his home?

JONES. Have a cocktail.

     _He takes a shaker and glasses from behind a porch pillar and pours
     out two drinks._

JONES. I saw this coming. But I’ll tell you now, Senator Fish, the
President won’t resign.

FISH. Then it’ll be my duty to have him impeached.

JONES. Shall I call the President now?

FISH. Let’s wait until eleven o’clock. Give me one more hour of
happiness. [_He raises his eyes pathetically to the upper window._]
Doris--oh Doris!

     _Doris, now fully dressed and under the influence of cosmetics,
     comes out onto the lawn. Mr. Jones, picking up the broom and the
     puppy, goes into the White House._

FISH [_jealously_]. Where were you all day yesterday?

DORIS [_languidly_]. An old beau of mine came to see me and kept hanging
around.

FISH [_in wild alarm_]. Good God! What’d he say?

DORIS. He said I was stuck up because my brother-in-law was President,
and I said: “Well, what if I am? I’d hate to say what your
brother-in-law is.”

FISH [_fascinated_]. What is he?

DORIS. He owns a garbage disposal service.

FISH [_even more fascinated_]. Is that right? Can you notice it on his
brother-in-law?

DORIS. Something awful. I wouldn’t of let him come in the house. Imagine
if somebody came in to see you and said: “Sniff. Sniff. Who’s been
sitting on these chairs?” And you said: “Oh, just my brother-in-law, the
garbage disposal man.”

FISH. Doris--Doris, an awful thing has occurred----

DORIS [_looking out the gate_]. Here comes Dada. Say, he must be going
on to between eighty and ninety years old, if not older.

FISH [_gloomily_]. Why did your brother-in-law have to go and make him
Secretary of the Treasury? He might as well have gone to an old men’s
home and said: “See here, I want to get eight old dumb-bells for my
cabinet.”

DORIS. Oh, Jerry does everything all wrong. You see, he thought his
father had read a lot of books--the Bible and the Encyclopædia and the
Dictionary and all.

     _In totters Dada. Prosperity has spruced him up, but not to any
     alarming extent. The hair on his face is not under cultivation. His
     small, watery eyes gleam dully in their ragged ovals. His mouth
     laps faintly at all times, like a lake with tides mildly agitated
     by the moon._

FISH. Good morning, Mr. Frost.

DADA [_dimly_]. Hm.

     _He is under the impression that he has made an adequate response._

DORIS [_tolerantly_]. Dada, kindly meet my fiancé--Senator Fish from
Idaho.

DADA [_expansively_]. Young man, how do you do? I feel very well. You
wouldn’t think I was eighty-eight years old, would you?

FISH [_politely_]. I should say not.

DORIS. You’d think he was two hundred.

DADA [_who missed this_]. Yeah. [_A long pause._] We used to have a joke
when I was young--we used to say the first Frosts came to this country
in the beginning of winter.

DORIS. Funny as a crutch.

DADA [_to Fish_]. Do you ever read the Scriptures?

FISH. Sometimes.

DADA. I’m the Secretary of the Treasury, you know. My son made me the
Secretary of the Treasury. He’s the President. He was my only boy by my
second wife.

DORIS. The old dumb-bell!

DADA. I was born in 1834, under the presidency of Andrew Jackson. I was
twenty-seven years old when the war broke out.

DORIS [_sarcastically_]. Do you mean the Revolutionary War?

DADA [_witheringly_]. The Revolutionary War was in 1776.

DORIS. Tell me something I don’t know.

DADA. When you grow older you’ll find there are a lot of things you
don’t know. [_To Fish._] Do you know my son Jerry?

DORIS [_utterly disgusted_]. Oh, gosh!

FISH. I met your son before he was elected President and I’ve seen him a
lot of times since then, on account of being Senator from Idaho and all,
and on account of Doris. You see, we’re going to have our wedding
reception this afternoon----

     _In the middle of this speech Dada’s mind has begun to wander. He
     utters a vague “Hm!” and moves off, paying no further attention,
     and passing through the swinging doors into the White House._

FISH [_impressed in spite of himself by Dada’s great age_]. He’s
probably had a lot of experience, that old bird. He was alive before you
were born.

DORIS. So were a lot of other old nuts. Come on--let’s go hire the music
for our wedding reception.

FISH [_remembering something with a start_]. Doris--Doris, would you
have a wedding reception with me if you knew--if you knew the
disagreeable duty----

DORIS. Knew what?

FISH. Nothing. I’m going to be happy, anyways [_he looks at his
watch_]--for almost an hour.

     _They go out through the garden gate._

     _And now President Jerry Frost himself is seen to leave his window
     and in a minute he emerges from the Executive Mansion. He wears a
     loose-fitting white flannel frock coat, and a tall white stovepipe
     hat. His heavy gold watch-chain would anchor a small yacht, and he
     carries a white stick, ringed with a gold band._

     _After rubbing his back sensuously against a porch pillar, he walks
     with caution across the lawn and his hand is on the gate-latch when
     he is hailed from the porch by Mr. Jones._

JONES. Mr. President, where are you going?

JERRY [_uneasily_]. I thought I’d go down and get a cigar.

JONES [_cynically_]. It doesn’t look well for you to play dice for
cigars, sir.

     _Jerry sits down wearily and puts his hat on the table._

JONES. I’m sorry to say there’s trouble in the air, Mr. President. It’s
what we might refer to as the Idaho matter.

JERRY. The Idaho matter?

JONES. Senator Fish has received orders from Idaho to demand your
resignation at eleven o’clock this morning.

JERRY. I never liked that bunch of people they got out there in Idaho.

JONES. Well, I just thought I’d tell you--so you could think about it.

JERRY [_hopefully_]. Maybe I’ll get some idea how to fix it up. I’m a
very resourceful man. I always think of something.

JONES. Mr. President, would you--would you mind telling me how you got
your start?

JERRY [_carelessly_]. Oh, I got analyzed one day, and they just found I
was sort of a good man and would just be wasting my time as a railroad
clerk.

JONES. So you forged ahead?

JERRY. Sure. I just made up my mind to be President, and then I went
ahead and did it. I’ve always been a very ambitious sort of--sort of
domineerer.

     _Jones sighs and takes several letters from his pocket._

JONES. The morning mail.

JERRY [_looking at the first letter_]. This one’s an ad, I’ll bet. [_He
opens it._] “Expert mechanics, chauffeurs, plumbers earn big money. We
fit you in twelve lessons.” [_He looks up._] I wonder if there’s
anything personal in that. If there is it’s a low sort of joke.

JONES [_soothingly_]. Oh, I don’t think there is.

JERRY [_offended_]. Anybody that’d play a joke like that on a person
that has all the responsibility of being President, and then to have
somebody play a low, mean joke on him like that!

JONES. I’ll write them a disagreeable letter.

JERRY. All right. But make it sort of careless, as if it didn’t matter
to me.

JONES. I can begin the letter “Damn Sirs” instead of “Dear Sirs.”

JERRY. Sure, that’s the idea. And put something like that in the ending,
too.

JONES. “Yours insincerely,” or something like that.... Now there’s a few
people waiting in here to see you, sir. [_He takes out a list._] First,
there’s somebody that’s been ordered to be hung.

JERRY. What about him?

JONES. I think he wants to arrange it some way so he won’t be hung. Then
there’s a man that’s got a scheme for changing everybody in the United
States green.

JERRY [_puzzled_]. Green?

JONES. That’s what he says.

JERRY. Why green?

JONES. He didn’t say. I told him not to wait. And there’s the Ambassador
from Abyssinia. He says that one of our sailors on leave in Abyssinia
threw the king’s cousin down a flight of thirty-nine steps.

JERRY [_after a pause_]. What do you think I ought to do about that?

JONES. Well, I think you ought to--well, send flowers or something, to
sort of recognize that the thing had happened.

JERRY [_somewhat awed_]. Is the king’s cousin sore?

JONES. Well, naturally he----

JERRY. I don’t mean sore that way. I mean did he--did he take it hard?
Did he think there was any ill feeling from the United States Government
in the sailor’s--action?

JONES. Why, I suppose you might say yes.

JERRY. Well, you tell him that the sailor had no instructions to do any
such thing. Demand the sailor’s resignation.

JONES. And Major-General Pushing has been waiting to see you for some
time. Shall I tell him to come out here?

JERRY. All right.

     _Jones goes into the White House and returns, announcing:
     “Major-General Pushing, U. S. A.”_

     _Out marches General Pushing. He is accompanied at three paces by a
     fifer and drummer, who play a spirited march. When the General
     reaches the President’s table the trio halt, the fife and drum
     cease playing, and the General salutes._

     _The General is a small fat man with a fierce gray mustache. His
     chest and back are fairly obliterated with medals, and he is
     wearing one of those great shakos peculiar to drum-majors._

JERRY. Good morning, General Pushing. Did they keep you waiting?

GENERAL PUSHING [_fiercely_]. That’s all right. We’ve been marking
time--it’s good for some of the muscles.

JERRY. How’s the army?

GENERAL PUSHING. Very well, Mr. President. Several of the privates have
complained of headaches. [_He clears his throat portentously._] I’ve
called on you to say I’m afraid we’ve got to have war. I held a
conference last night with two others of our best generals. We discussed
the matter thoroughly, and then we took a vote. Three to nothing in
favor of war.

JERRY [_alarmed_]. Look at here, General Pushing, I’ve got a lot of
things on my hands now, and the last thing I want to have is a war.

GENERAL PUSHING. I knew things weren’t going very well with you, Mr.
President. In fact, I’ve always thought that what this country needs is
a military man at the head of it. The people are restless and excited.
The best thing to keep their minds occupied is a good war. It will leave
the country weak and shaken--but docile, Mr. President, docile.
Besides--we voted on it, and there you are.

JERRY. Who is it against?

GENERAL PUSHING. That we have not decided. We’re going to take up the
details to-night. It depends on--just how much money there is in the
Treasury. Would you mind calling up your--_father_-- [_the General gives
this word an ironic accentuation_]--and finding out?

     _Jerry takes up the white telephone from the table. Jones meanwhile
     has produced the shaker and glasses. He pours a cocktail for every
     one--even for the fifer and drummer._

JERRY [_at the ’phone_]. Connect me with the Treasury Department,
please.... Is this the Treasury?... This is President Frost.... Oh, I’m
very well, thanks. No, it’s better. Much better. The dentist says he
doesn’t think I’ll have to have it out now.... Say, what I called you
up about is to find how much money there is in the Treasury.... Oh, I
see.... Oh, I see. Thanks. [_He hangs up the receiver._]

JERRY [_worried_]. General Pushing, things seem to be a little confused
over at the Treasury. Dada--the Secretary of the Treasury isn’t there
right now--and they say nobody else knows much about it.

GENERAL PUSHING [_disapprovingly_]. Hm! I could put you on a nice war
pretty cheap. I could manage a battle or so for almost nothing. [_With
rising impatience._] But a good President ought to be able to tell just
how much we could afford.

JERRY [_chastened_]. I’ll find out from Dada.

GENERAL PUSHING [_meaningly_]. Being President is a sacred trust, you
know, Mr. Frost.

JERRY. Well, I know it’s a sacred trust, don’t I?

GENERAL PUSHING [_sternly_]. Are you proud of it?

JERRY [_utterly crestfallen_]. Of course, I’m proud of it. Don’t I look
proud? I’m proud as a pecan. [_Resentfully._] What do you know about it,
anyways? You’re nothing but a common soldier--I mean a common general.

GENERAL PUSHING [_pityingly_]. I came here to help you, Mr. Frost.
[_With warning emphasis._] Perhaps you are aware that the sovereign
State of Idaho is about to ask your resignation.

JERRY [_now thoroughly resentful_]. Look at here, suppose you be the
President for a while, if you know so much about it.

GENERAL PUSHING [_complacently_]. I’ve often thought that what this
country needs is a military man at the head of it.

JERRY. All right, then, you just take off that hat and coat!

     _Jerry takes off his own coat. Jones rushes forward in alarm._

JONES. If there’s going to be a fight hadn’t we all better go into the
billiard-room?

JERRY [_insistently to General Pushing_]. Take off that hat and coat!

GENERAL PUSHING [_aghast_]. But, Mr. President----

JERRY. Listen here--if I’m the President you do what I say.

     _General Pushing obediently removes his sword and takes off his hat
     and coat. He assumes a crouching posture and, putting up his fists,
     begins to dance menacingly around Jerry._

     _But, instead of squaring off, Jerry gets quickly into the
     General’s hat and coat and buckles on the sword._

JERRY. All right, since you know so much about being President, you put
on my hat and coat and try it for a while.

     _The General, greatly taken aback, looks from Jerry to Jerry’s
     coat, with startled eyes. Jerry swaggers up and down the lawn,
     brandishing the sword. Then his eyes fall with distaste upon the
     General’s shirtsleeves._

JERRY. Well, what are you moping around for?

GENERAL PUSHING [_plaintively_]. Come on, Mr. President, be reasonable.
Give me that coat and hat. Nobody appreciates a good joke any more than
I do, but----

JERRY [_emphatically_]. No, I _won’t_ give them to you. I’m a general,
and I’m going to war. You can stay around here. [_Sarcastically, to Mr.
Jones._] He’ll straighten everything out, Mr. Jones.

GENERAL PUSHING [_pleadingly_]. Mr. President, I’ve waited for this war
for forty years. You wouldn’t take away my coat and hat like that, just
as we’ve got it almost ready.

JERRY [_pointing to the shirtsleeves_]. That’s a nice costume to be
hanging around the White House in.

GENERAL PUSHING [_brokenly_]. I can’t help it, can I? Who took my coat
and hat, anyhow?

JERRY. If you don’t like it you can get out.

GENERAL PUSHING [_sarcastically_]. Yes. Nice lot of talk it’d cause if I
went back to the War Department looking like this. “Where’s your hat and
coat, General?” “Oh, I just thought I’d come down in my suspenders this
morning.”

JERRY. You can have my coat--and my troubles.

     _Charlotte comes suddenly out of the White House, and they turn
     startled eyes upon her, like two guilty schoolboys._

CHARLOTTE [_staring_]. What’s the matter? Has everything gone to pieces?

GENERAL PUSHING [_on the verge of tears_]. He took my coat and hat.

CHARLOTTE [_pointing to the General_]. Who is that man?

GENERAL PUSHING [_in a dismal whine_]. I’m Major-General Pushing, I am.

CHARLOTTE. I don’t believe it.

JERRY [_uneasily_]. Yes, he is, Charlit. I was just kidding him.

CHARLOTTE [_understanding immediately_]. Oh, you’ve been _nag_ging
people again.

JERRY [_beginning to unbutton the coat_]. The General was nagging me,
Charlit. I’ve just been teaching him a lesson--haven’t I, General?

     _He struggles out of the General’s coat and into his own. The
     General, grunting his relief and disgust, re-attires himself in the
     military garment._

JERRY [_losing confidence under Charlotte’s stare_]. Honest,
everything’s getting on my nerves. First it’s some correspondence school
getting funny, and then _he_ [_indicating the General_] comes around,
and then all the people out in Idaho----

CHARLOTTE [_with brows high_]. Well, if you want to know what _I_ think,
_I_ think everything’s going to pieces.

JERRY. No, it isn’t, Charlit. I’m going to fix everything. I’ve got a
firm grip on everything. Haven’t I, Mr. Jones? I’m just nervous, that’s
all.

GENERAL PUSHING [_now completely buttoned up, physically and mentally_].
In my opinion, sir, you’re a very dangerous man. I have served under
eight Presidents, but I have never before lost my coat and hat. I bid
you good morning, Mr. President. You’ll hear from me later.

     _At his salute the fife and drum commence to play. The trio execute
     about face, and the escort, at three paces, follows the General out
     the gate._

     _Jerry stares uneasily after them._

JERRY. Everybody’s always saying that I’m going to hear from ’em later.
They want to kick me out of this job--that’s what they want. They think
I don’t know.

JONES. The people elected you, Mr. President. And the people want
you--all except the ones out in Idaho.

CHARLOTTE [_anxiously_]. Couldn’t you be on the safe side and have
yourself reduced to Vice-President, or something?

A NEWSBOY [_outside_]. Extra! Extra! Idaho says: “Resign or be
Impeached.”

JERRY. Was that newsboy yelling something about me?

CHARLOTTE [_witheringly_]. He never so much as mentioned you.

     _In response to Mr. Jones’s whistle a full-grown newsboy comes in
     at the gate. He hands Jerry a paper and is given a bill._

JERRY [_carelessly_]. Keep the change. It’s all right. I’ve got a big
salary.

THE NEWSBOY [_pointing to Jerry’s frock coat_]. I almost had one of them
dress suits once.

JERRY [_not without satisfaction_]. I got six of them.

THE NEWSBOY. I hadda get one so I could take a high degree in the Ku
Klux. But I didn’t get one.

JERRY [_absorbed in the paper_]. I got six of ’em.

THE NEWSBOY. I ain’t got none. Well, much obliged. So long.

     _The newsboy goes out._

JONES [_reading over Jerry’s shoulder_]. It says: “Idaho flays Treasury
choice.”

CHARLOTTE [_wide-eyed_]. Does that mean they’re going to flay Dada?

JONES [_looking at his watch_]. Senator Fish will be here at any moment
now.

CHARLOTTE. Well, all I know is that I’d show some spunk and not let them
kick _me_ out, even if I _was_ the worst President they ever had.

JERRY. Listen, Charlit, you needn’t remind me of it every minute.

CHARLOTTE. I didn’t remind you of it. I just mentioned it in an ordinary
tone of voice.

     _She goes into the White House. Senator Joseph Fish comes in
     hesitantly through the gate._

JERRY [_to Jones_]. Here comes the State of Idaho.

FISH [_timorously_]. Good morning, Mr. President. How are you?

JERRY. Oh, I’m all right.

FISH [_hurriedly producing the telegram and mumbling his words_]. Got a
little matter here, disagreeable duty. Want to get through as quickly as
possible. “Senator Joseph Fish, Washington, D. C. Present the State of
Idaho’s compliments to President Frost, and tell him that the people of
Idaho demand his immediate resignation.” [_He folds up the telegram and
puts it in his pocket._] Well, Mr. President, I guess I got to be going.
[_He moves toward the gate and then hesitates._] This was to have been
my wedding-reception day. Of course, Doris will never marry me now. It’s
a very depressing thing to me, President Frost. [_With his hand on the
gate latch._] I suppose you want me to tell ’em you won’t resign, don’t
you?

JONES. We won’t resign.

FISH. Well, then it’s only right to tell you that Judge Fossile of the
Supreme Court will bring a motion of impeachment at three o’clock this
afternoon.

     _He turns melancholy eyes on Doris’s window. He kisses his hand
     toward it in a tragic gesture of farewell. Then he goes out._

     _Jerry looks at Mr. Jones as though demanding encouragement._

JERRY. They don’t know the man they’re up against, do they, Mr. Jones?

JONES. They certainly do not.

JERRY [_lying desperately and not even convincing himself_]. I’ve got
resources they don’t know about.

JONES. If you’ll pardon a suggestion, I think the best move you could
make, Mr. President, would be to demand your father’s resignation
immediately.

JERRY [_incredulously_]. Put Dada out? Why, he used to work in a bank
when he was young, and he knows all about the different amounts of
money.

     _A pause._

JERRY [_uncertainly_]. Do you think I’m the worst President they ever
had?

JONES [_considering_]. Well, no, there was that one they impeached.

JERRY [_consoling himself_]. And then there was that other fellow--I
forget his name. He was _ter_rible. [_Another disconsolate pause._] I
suppose I might as well go down and get a cigar.

JONES. There’s just one more man out here to see you and he says he came
to do you a favor. His name is--the Honorable Snooks, or Snukes,
Ambassador from Irish Poland.

JERRY. What country’s that?

JONES. Irish Poland’s one of the new European countries. They took a
sort of job lot of territories that nobody could use and made a country
out of them. It’s got three or four acres of Russia and a couple of
mines in Austria and a few lots in Bulgaria and Turkey.

JERRY. Show them all out here.

JONES. There’s only one. [_He goes into the White House, returning
immediately._]

JONES. The Honorable Snooks, or Snukes, Ambassador to the United States
from Irish Poland.

     _The Honorable Snooks comes out through the swinging doors. His
     resemblance to Mr. Snooks, the bootlegger, is, to say the least,
     astounding. But his clothes--they are the clothes of the Corps
     Diplomatique. Red stockings enclose his calves, fading at the knee
     into black satin breeches. His coat, I regret to say, is faintly
     reminiscent of the Order of Mystic Shriners, but a broad red ribbon
     slanting diagonally across his diaphragm gives the upper part of
     his body a svelte, cosmopolitan air. At his side is slung an
     unusually long and cumbersome sword._

     _He comes in slowly, I might even say cynically, and after a brief
     nod at Jerry, surveys his surroundings with an appraising eye._

     _Jones goes to the table and begins writing._

SNOOKS. Got a nice house, ain’t you?

JERRY [_still depressed from recent reverses_]. Yeah.

SNOOKS. Wite, hey?

JERRY [_as if he had just noticed it_]. Yeah, white.

SNOOKS [_after a pause_]. Get dirty quick.

JERRY [_adopting an equally laconic manner_]. Have it washed.

SNOOKS. How’s your old woman?

JERRY [_uneasily_]. She’s all right. Have a cigar?

SNOOKS [_taking the proffered cigar_]. Thanks.

JERRY. That’s all right. I got a lot of them.

SNOOKS. That’s some cigar.

JERRY. I got a lot of them. I don’t smoke that kind myself, but I got a
lot of them.

SNOOKS. That’s swell.

JERRY [_becoming boastful_]. See that tree? [_The white tree._] Look,
that’s a special tree. You never saw a tree like that before. Nobody’s
got one but me. That tree was given to me by some natives.

SNOOKS. That’s swell.

JERRY. See this cane? The band around it’s solid gold.

SNOOKS. Is that right? I thought maybe it was to keep the squirrels from
crawling up. [_Abruptly._] Need any liquor? I get a lot, you know, on
account of bein’ an ambassador. Gin, vermuth, bitters, absinthe?

JERRY. No, I don’t.... See that sign? I bet you never saw one like that
before. I had it invented.

SNOOKS [_bored_]. Class. [_Switching the subject._] I hear you made your
old man Secretary of the Treasury.

JERRY. My father used to work in a----

SNOOKS. You’d ought to made him official Sandy Claus.... How you gettin’
away with your job?

JERRY [_lying_]. Oh, fine--fine! You ought to see the military review
they had for me last week. Thousands and thousands of soldiers, and
everybody cheered when they saw me. [_Heartily._] It was sort of
inspiring.

SNOOKS. I seen you plantin’ trees in the movies.

JERRY [_excitedly_]. Sure. I do that almost every day. That’s nothing to
some of the things I have to do. But the thing is, I’m not a bit stuck
up about any of it. See that gate?

SNOOKS. Yeah.

JERRY [_now completely and childishly happy_]. I had it made that way so
that anybody passing by along the street can look in. Cheer them up,
see? Sometimes I come out here and sit around just so if anybody passes
by--well, there I am.

SNOOKS [_sarcastically_]. You ought to have yourself covered with radium
so they can see you in the dark. [_He changes his tone now and comes
down to business._] Say, you’re lucky I found you in this morning. Got
the time with you?

     _Jerry pulls out his watch. Snooks takes it as though to inspect it
     more closely._

Look here now, Mr. President. I got a swell scheme for you.

JERRY [_trying to look keen_]. Let’s hear it.

SNOOKS. You needn’t got to think now, just ’cause I’m a hunerd per cent
Irish Pole, that I ain’t goin’ to do the other guy a favor once in a
while. An’ I got somep’m smooth for you. [_He puts Jerry’s watch in his
own pocket--the nerve of the man!_]

JERRY. What is it?

SNOOKS [_confidentially_]. Islands.

JERRY. What islands?

SNOOKS. The Buzzard Islands.

     _Jerry looks blank._

Ain’t you neva hearda the Buzzard Islands?

JERRY [_apologetically_]. I never was any good at geography. I used to
be pretty good in penmanship.

SNOOKS [_in horror_]. You ain’t neva hearda the Buzzard Islands?

JERRY. It’s sort of a disagreeable name.

SNOOKS. The Buzzard Islands. Property of the country of Irish Poland.
Garden spots. Flowery paradises ina middle of the Atlantic. Rainbow
Islandsa milk an’ honey, palms an’ pines, smellin’ with good-smellin’
woods and high-priced spices. Fulla animals with million buck skins and
with birds that’s got feathers that the hat dives on Fifth Avenue would
go nuts about. The folks in ee islands--swell-lookin’, husky, square,
rich, one hunerd per cent Buzzardites.

JERRY [_startled_]. You mean Buzzards?

SNOOKS. One hunerd per cent Buzzardites, crazy about their island,
butter, milk, live stock, wives, and industries.

JERRY [_fascinated_]. Sounds sort of pretty, don’t it?

SNOOKS. Pretty? Say, it’s smooth! Now here’s my proposition, an’ take it
from me, it’s the real stuff. [_Impressively._] The country of Irish
Poland wants to sell you the Buzzard Islands--cheap.

JERRY [_impressed_]. You’re willing to sell ’em, eh?

SNOOKS. Listen. I’ll be fair with you. [_I regret to say that at this
point he leans close to Jerry, removes the latter’s stick pin and places
it in his own tie._] I’ve handed you the swellest proposition ever laid
before a President since Andrew Jackson bought the population of Ireland
from Great Britain.

JERRY. Yeah?

SNOOKS [_intently_]. Take it from me, Pres, and snap it up--dead cheap.

JERRY. You’re sure it’s a good----

SNOOKS [_indignantly_]. Say, do you think an ambassador would tell you
something that ain’t true?

JERRY [“_man to man_”]. That’s right, Mr. Snooks. I beg your pardon for
that remark.

SNOOKS [_touching his handkerchief to his eyes_]. You hurt me, Pres, you
hurt me, but I forgive you.

     _They shake hands warmly._

     _And now Jerry has an idea--a gorgeous idea. Why didn’t he think of
     it before? His voice literally trembles as he lays his plan before
     Snooks._

JERRY. Honorable Snooks, listen. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll--I’ll
take those Islands and pay--oh, say a round million dollars for them, on
one condition.

SNOOKS [_quickly_]. Done. Name your condition.

JERRY [_breathlessly_]. That you’ll let me throw in one of the States on
the trade.

SNOOKS. What State?

JERRY. The State of Idaho.

SNOOKS. How much do you want for it?

JERRY [_hastily_]. Oh, I’ll just throw that in free.

     _Snooks indicates Mr. Jones with his thumb._

SNOOKS. Get him to take it down.

     _Jones takes pen in hand. During the ensuing conversation he writes
     busily._

JERRY [_anxiously_]. The State of Idaho is just a gift, see? But you
_got_ to take it.

     _Suddenly the Honorable Snooks realizes how the land lies. He looks
     narrowly at Jerry, marvelling at an opportunity so ready to his
     hand._

JERRY [_to Jones_]. Here, get this down. We agree to buy the Buzzard
Islands from the nation of Irish Poland for one million----

SNOOKS [_interrupting_]. Two million.

JERRY. Two million dollars, on condition that Irish Poland will also
incorporate into their nation the State of Idaho, with all its people.
Be sure and get that, Jones. With all its people.

JONES. I have it. The State of Idaho and four hundred and thirty-one
thousand, eight hundred and sixty-six people. Including colored?

JERRY. Yes, including colored.

SNOOKS [_craftily_]. Just a minute, Pres. This here State of Idaho is
mostly mountains, ain’t it?

JERRY [_anxiously_]. I don’t know. Is it, Mr. Jones?

JONES. It has quite a few mountains.

SNOOKS [_hesitating_]. Well, now, I don’t know if we better do it after
all----

JERRY [_quickly_]. Three millions.

SNOOKS. I’ll tell you, I’d like to pull it off for you, Pres, but you
see a State like that has gotta have upkeep. You take one of them
mountains, for instance. You can’t just let a mountain alone like you
would a--a ocean. You got to--to groom it. You got to--to chop it down.
You got to explore it. Now take that alone--you got to explore it.

JERRY [_swallowing_]. Four millions.

SNOOKS. That’s more like it. Now these Buzzard Islands don’t require no
attention. You just have to let ’em alone. But you take the up-keep on a
thing like the State of Idaho.

JERRY [_wiping his brow_]. Five millions.

SNOOKS. Sold! You get the Buzzard Islands and we get five million bucks
and the State of Idaho.

JERRY. Got that down, Jones?

SNOOKS. On second thoughts----

JERRY [_in a panic_]. No, no, you can’t get out of it. It’s all down in
black and white.

SNOOKS [_resignedly_]. Awright. I must say, Mr. President, you turned
out to be a real man. When I first met you I wouldn’t have thought it,
but I been pleasantly surprised.

     _He slaps Jerry heartily on the back. Jerry is so tickled at the
     solution of the Idaho problem that he feverishly seizes Snooks’s
     hand._

SNOOKS. And even if Irish Poland gets stung on the deal, we’ll put it
through. Say, you and me ain’t politicians, fella, we’re statesmen, real
statesmen. You ain’t got a cigarette about you, have you?

     _Jerry hands him his cigarette case. Snooks, after taking one,
     returns the case to his own pocket._

JERRY [_enthusiastically_]. Send me a post-card, Ambassador Snooks. The
White House, City, will reach me.

SNOOKS. Post-card! Say, lay off. You and me are pals. I’d do anything
for a pal. Come on down to the corner and I’ll buy you a cigar.

JERRY [_to Mr. Jones_]. I guess I can go out now for a while.

JONES. Oh, yes.

JERRY. Hang on to that treaty. And, say, when the Secretary of the
Treasury wakes up tell him I’ve got to have five million dollars right
away.

JONES. If you’ll just come into the office for a moment you can put your
signatures on it right away.

     _Jerry and the Honorable Snooks go into the White House arm in arm,
     followed by Mr. Jones. Presently Jerry can be seen in the window of
     the President’s office._

     _A moment later the doors swing open again, this time for the
     tottering egress of Dada._

     _Dada, not without difficulty, arranges himself a place in the sun.
     He is preparing for his morning siesta, and, indeed, has almost
     managed to spread a handkerchief over his face when in through the
     gate comes Doris. Her eye falls on him and a stern purpose is
     born. Dada, seeing her approach, groans in anticipation._

DORIS. Dada, I want to speak to you.

     _Dada blinks up at her, wearily._

Dada, I want to tell you something for your own good and for Jerry’s
good. You want Jerry to keep his position, don’t you?

DADA. Jerry’s a fine boy. He was born to my second wife in eighteen
hundred and----

DORIS [_interrupting impatiently_]. Yes, I know he was. But I mean now.

DADA. No, I’ll never have any more children. Children are hard to raise
properly.

     _This is aimed at her._

DORIS. Look at here, Dada. What I think is the best thing to do is to
resign your position.

DADA. The----?

DORIS. You’re too old, you see, if you know what I mean. You’re sort
of--oh, not crazy, but just sort of feeble-minded.

DADA [_who has caught one word_]. Yes, I’m a little feeble. [_He dozes
off._]

DORIS [_absorbed in her thesis_]. I don’t mean you’re crazy. Don’t get
mad. I don’t mean you go around thinking you’re like Napoleon or a
poached egg or anything like that, but you’re sort of feeble-minded.
Don’t you understand, yourself? Sort of simple.

DADA [_waking up suddenly_]. How’s that?

DORIS [_infuriated_]. That’s _just_ the sort of thing I was talking
about! Going to sleep like that when a person’s trying to tell you
something for your own son’s good. That’s just _exactly_ what I mean!

DADA [_puzzled but resentful_]. I don’t like you. You’re a very forward
young girl. Your parents brought you up very unsuccessfully indeed.

DORIS [_smugly_]. All right. You’re just making me think so more than
ever. Go right ahead. Don’t mind me. Go right ahead. Then when you begin
to really _rave_ I’ll send for the lunatic-asylum wagon.

DADA [_with an air of cold formality_]. I’ll ask you to excuse me. [_He
wants to get to sleep._]

DORIS. First thing you know you’ll take all the money in the Treasury
and hide it and forget where you put it.

DADA [_succinctly_]. There isn’t any money in the Treasury.

DORIS [_after a stunned pause_]. Just what do you mean by that
statement?

DADA [_drowsily_]. There isn’t any money in the Treasury. There was
seven thousand dollars left yesterday, but I worked from morning till
night and now there isn’t one red penny in there.

DORIS. You must be crazy.

DADA. [_He can scarcely keep awake._] Hm.

DORIS. Look at here! What do you mean--have you been spending that
money--that doesn’t belong to you, you know--on some fast woman?

DADA [_as usual, he doesn’t quite hear_]. Yes, it’s all gone. I went
down yesterday morning and I said to myself: “Horatio, you got only
seven thousand dollars left, and you got to work from morning till night
and get rid of it.” And I did.

DORIS [_furious, but impressed at the magnitude of the crime_]. How much
was there altogether?

DADA. Altogether? I haven’t the figures with me.

DORIS. Why, you old dumb-bell, you. Imagine an old man your age that
hasn’t had anything to do for twenty years but just sit around and
_think_, going crazy about a woman at your age! [_With scornful pity._]
Don’t you know she just made a fool of you?

DADA [_shaking his finger at her_]. You must not talk like that. Be
courteous and----

DORIS. Yes, and pretty soon some woman comes along and you get
“courteous” with her to the extent of all the money in the Treasury.

DADA. Yes, that’s one thing that stood me in good stead. My mother used
to say to me: “Horatio----”

DORIS [_paying no attention to him_]. What was her name?

DADA. Her name was Roxanna.

DORIS. Where did she get hold of you?

DADA. My mother?

DORIS. Your paramour.

DADA. She used to say to me: “Horatio----”

DORIS. She probably used to say a lot more than that! Oh, I know how
they handle old men like you. I’ve seen a lot of that. Slush is what
appeals to old men like you.

DADA. No--I said courtesy.

DORIS. You mean slush. What did she call you?--her old toodledums? And
all that sort of thing? How perfectly disgusting!

     _Out comes Jerry now, just in time to catch Dada’s next remark, and
     to realize that there’s persecution in the air._

DADA [_to Doris_]. It’s been a hot day and I’ll ask you to excuse me. I
never liked you, you know.

JERRY. Say, Doris, why can’t you leave Dada alone? He’s got more
important things to think about than your new dresses and your silk
stockings.

DORIS. Got something more important than silk stockings, has he? Ask
him!

JERRY. Dada’s got a lot more to him than anybody ever gives him credit
for, haven’t you, Dada?

DORIS [_excitedly_]. Yeah, yeah. All right. Wait till you hear what he’s
done now. Wait till you hear. [_To Dada._] Tell him what you did at your
age. Some woman came up to him and said “Horatio--” [_She gives an
awe-inspiring imitation of a passionate woman._] and he said: “Here----”

JERRY [_interrupting_]. What woman did?

DORIS. Her name was Roxanna. Ask him where all the money in the Treasury
is. At his age.

JERRY [_in growing alarm_]. Look at here, Doris----

DORIS. The--old--dumb-bell! I take back what I said about your not being
really crazy. [_To Jerry._] Look out, he’ll begin to rave. [_She
pretends to be alarmed._] Yes, Dada, you’re a poached egg. It’s all
right. I’ll send for the lunatic-asylum wagon.

DADA. I’ve been working in the dark. I thought it best.

DORIS. You needn’t tell us all the disgusting details. Please respect my
engagement. You must have bought her about everything in the world. No
wonder I can’t get any good shoes in Washington. Jerry should have got
you analyzed.

     _Jerry now begins to realize that something appalling has indeed
     happened. He sits down weakly._

DADA. I was working in the dark.

DORIS. Well, Jerry should of had you analyzed in the dark.

JERRY [_suddenly_]. Char-lit!

CHARLOTTE [_at the upper window_]. Stop screaming at me!

JERRY. Charlit, come on out here!

DORIS. Dada’s done something awful. At his age!

JERRY. Hurry up out, Charlit!

CHARLOTTE. You wouldn’t want me to come out in my chemise, would you?

DORIS. It wouldn’t matter. We’ll be kicked out, anyways.

CHARLOTTE. Has Dada been drinking?

DORIS. Worse than that. Some woman’s got ahold of him.

CHARLOTTE. Don’t let him go till I come down. I can handle him.

     _Mr. Jones comes out._

DADA [_impressively_]. I think the world is coming to an end at three
o’clock.

DORIS [_wildly_]. We’ve got a maniac here. Go get some rope.

MR. JONES [_in horror_]. Are you going to hang him?

     _Out rushes Charlotte._

DADA. The United States was the wealthiest country in all the world.
It’s easier for a camel to pass through a needle’s eye than for a
wealthy man to enter heaven.

     _They all listen in expectant horror._

So all the money in the Treasury I have had destroyed by fire, or dumped
into the deep sea. We are all saved.

JERRY. Do you mean to say that you haven’t even got five million
dollars?

DADA. I finished it all up yesterday. It was not easy. It took a lot of
resourcefulness, but I did it.

JERRY [_in horror_]. But I’ve got to have five million dollars this
afternoon or I can’t get rid of Idaho, and I’ll be impeached!

DADA [_complacently_]. We’re all saved.

JERRY [_wildly_]. You mean we’re all lost!

     _He sinks disconsolately into a chair and buries his face in his
     hands. Charlotte, who knew everything would go to pieces, stands
     over him with an “I told you so” air. Doris shakes her finger at
     Dada, who shakes his finger vigorously back at her. Mr. Jones,
     with great presence of mind, produces the cocktail shaker and
     passes around the consoling glasses to the violently agitated
     household._

       *       *       *       *       *

     _At two-thirty the horizontal sunlight is bright upon the White
     House lawn. Through the office window the President can be seen,
     bent over his desk in an attitude of great dejection. And here
     comes the Honorable Snooks through the gate, looking as if he’d
     been sent for. Mr. Jones hurries forth from the White House to
     greet him._

SNOOKS. Did you send for me, fella?

JONES [_excitedly_]. I should say we did, Honorable Snooks. Sit down and
I’ll get the President.

     _As Mr. Jones goes in search of the President, Dada comes in
     through the gate at a triumphant tottering strut. He includes the
     Honorable Snooks in the splendor of his elation._

DADA [_jubilantly_]. Hooray! Hooray! I worked in the dark, but I won
out!

SNOOKS [_with profound disgust_]. Well, if it ain’t Sandy Claus!

DADA. This is a great day for me, Mr.-- You see the world is coming to an
end.

SNOOKS. Well, Sandy Claus, everybody’s got a right to enjoy themselves
their own way.

DADA. That’s in strict confidence, you understand.

SNOOKS. I wouldn’t spoil the surprise for nothin’.

     _Out rushes Jerry._

JERRY [_in great excitement_]. Honorable Snooks--Honorable Snooks----

DADA [_suddenly_]. Hooray! In at the finish.

     _He tries to slap the Honorable Snooks on the back, but the
     Honorable Snooks steps out of the way, and Dada loses his balance.
     Snooks and Jerry pick him up._

JERRY [_suspiciously_]. Dada, have you been drinking?

DADA. Just a little bit. Just enough to fortify me. I never touched a
drop before to-day.

SNOOKS. You’re a naughty boy.

DADA. Yes, I think I’ll go in and rest up for the big event.

     _He wanders happily into the White House._

JERRY [_in a hushed voice_]. Honorable Snooks, Dada has done something
awful.

SNOOKS [_pointing after Dada_]. Him?

JERRY. He took all the money in the Treasury and destroyed it.

SNOOKS. What type of talk is that? You tryin’ to kid me?

JERRY. You see, he’s a very religious man, Honorable Snooks----

SNOOKS. You mean you ain’t got five million for me. [_Jerry shakes his
head._] Good _night_! This is a swell country. A bunch of Indian givers!

JERRY. There’s no use cursing at me, Honorable Snooks. I’m a broken man
myself.

SNOOKS. Say, can the sob stuff an’ call up the Treasury. Get ’em to
strike off a couple billion dollars more. You’re the President, ain’t
you?

     _Cheering up a little, Jerry goes to the telephone._

JERRY. Give me the Treasury Department.... Say, this is President Frost
speaking. I just wanted to ask you if you couldn’t strike off a little
currency, see? About--about five million dollars, see? And if you didn’t
know whose picture to put on ’em you could put my picture on ’em, see? I
got a good picture I just had taken.... You can’t strike any off?...
Well, I just asked you.... Well, I just thought I’d ask you.... Well, no
harm done--I just _asked_ you--it didn’t hurt to _ask_, did it? [_He
rings off despondently._] It didn’t hurt ’em to _ask_.

SNOOKS. Nothin’ doin’, eh?

     _In comes Mr. Jones._

JONES. It’s all over, Mr. President. I’ve just received word that Chief
Justice Fossile of the Supreme Court, accompanied by the Senate
Committee on Inefficiency, is on his way to the White House.

     _Jerry sits down, completely overcome. Jones retires._

SNOOKS. They goin’ to throw you out on your ear, eh?

JERRY [_brooding_]. It’s that low, mean bunch of people out in Idaho.

     _Snooks, who has been ruminating on the situation, comes to a
     decision._

SNOOKS. Look at here, Mr. President, I’m goin’ to help you out. I’ll
pass up that five million bucks and we’ll make a straight swap of the
Buzzard Islands for the State of Idaho.

JERRY [_in amazement_]. You’ll give me the Buzzard Islands for the State
of Idaho?

     _Snooks nods. Jerry wrings his hand in great emotion._

     _At this point Charlotte comes out of the White House. At the sight
     of the Honorable Snooks a somewhat disapproving expression passes
     over her face._

JERRY [_excitedly_]. Charlit--Charlit. This gentleman has saved me.

CHARLOTTE [_suspiciously_]. Who is he?

JERRY. His name is The Honorable Snooks, Charlit.

SNOOKS [_under Charlotte’s stern eye_]. Well, I guess I got to be goin’.

CHARLOTTE. Won’t you stay for my husband’s impeachment? We’re having a
few people in.

     _Out comes Doris, accompanied by Dada. Dada is in such a state of
     exultation that much to Doris’s annoyance he is attempting a
     gavotte with her._

DORIS [_repulsing him_]. Say, haven’t I got enough troubles having to
throw over my fiancé, without having you try to do your indecent old
dances with me?

     _Dada sits down and regards the heavens with a long telescope._

     _Jerry has now recovered his confidence and is marching up and down
     waving his arms and rehearsing speeches under his breath. Snooks
     taps Dada’s head and winks lewdly at Charlotte and Doris._

DORIS. Honestly, everybody seems to be going a little crazy around here.
Is Jerry going to be fired or isn’t he?

CHARLOTTE. He says he isn’t, but I don’t believe him for a minute.

     _Jones comes out, followed by an excitable Italian gentleman with
     long, musical hair._

JONES. This gentleman said he had an appointment with Miss Doris.

JERRY. Who are you?

THE GENTLEMAN. I am Stutz-Mozart’s Orang-Outang Band. I am ordered to
come here with my band at three o’clock to play high-class jazz at young
lady’s wedding reception.

DORIS. I remember now. I _did_ order him. It’s supposed to be the best
jazz band in the country.

JERRY [_to Stutz-Mozart_]. Don’t you know there’s going to be a big
political crisis here at three o’clock?

DORIS. We can’t use you now, Mr. Stutz-Mozart. Anyways, I had to throw
over my fiancé on account of political reasons.

STUTZ-MOZART [_indignantly_]. But I have my orang-outang band outside.

CHARLOTTE [_her eyes staring_]. Real orang-outangs?

DORIS. Of course not. They just call it that because they look kind of
like orang-outangs. And they play kind of like orang-outangs, sort of. I
mean the way orang-outangs would play if they knew how to play at all.

JERRY [_to Stutz-Mozart_]. Well, you’ll have to get them away from here.
I can’t have a lot of senators and judges coming in and finding me with
a bunch of men that look like orang-outangs.

STUTZ-MOZART. But I have been hired to play.

JERRY. Yes, but what do you think people would say? They’d say: Yes,
here’s a fine sort of President we’ve got. All his friends look sort of
like orang-outangs.

STUTZ-MOZART. You waste my time. You pay me or else we play.

JERRY. Look at here. If you’re one of these radical agitators my advice
to you is to go right back where you came from.

STUTZ-MOZART. I came from Hoboken.

     _He goes threateningly out the gate._

JONES [_announcing from the steps_]. Chief Justice Fossile of the
Supreme Court, accompanied by a committee from the Senate!

CHARLOTTE [_to Jerry_]. Speak right up to them. Show them you’re not
just a vegetable.

     _Here they come! Chief Justice Fossile, in a portentous white wig,
     is walking ponderously at the head of the procession. Five of the
     six Senators who follow him are large, grave gentlemen whose
     cutaway coats press in their swollen stomachs. Beside them Senator
     Fish seems frail and ineffectual._

     _The delegation comes to a halt before Jerry, who regards it
     defiantly, but with some uneasiness._

JUDGE FOSSILE. To the President of the United States--greetings.

JERRY [_nervously_]. Greetings yourself.

     _Mr. Jones has provided chairs, and the Senators seat themselves in
     a row, with Judge Fossile in front. Fish looks miserably at Doris.
     The Honorable Snooks lurks in the shadow of the Special Tree._

JUDGE FOSSILE. Mr. President, on the motion of the gentleman from
Idaho-- [_He points to Fish, who tries unsuccessfully to shrink out of
sight._] we have come to analyze you, with a view to impeachment.

JERRY [_sarcastically_]. Oh, is that so? [_He looks for encouragement at
Charlotte. Charlotte grunts._]

JUDGE FOSSILE. I believe that is the case, Senator Fish?

FISH [_nervously_]. Yes, but personally I like him.

CHARLOTTE. Oh, you do, do you? [_She nudges Jerry._] Speak right up to
them like that.

JERRY. Oh, you do, do you?

JUDGE FOSSILE. Remove that woman!

     _No one pays any attention to his request._

JUDGE FOSSILE. Now, Mr. President, do you absolutely refuse to resign on
the request of the Senator from Idaho?

JERRY. You’re darn right I refuse!

JUDGE FOSSILE. Well, then, I----

     _At this point Mr. Stutz-Mozart’s Orang-Outang Band outside of the
     wall launches into a jovial jazz rendition of “Way Down upon the
     Suwanee River.” Suspecting it to be the national anthem, the
     Senators glance at each other uneasily, and then, removing their
     silk hats, get to their feet, one by one. Even Judge Fossile stands
     at respectful attention until the number dies away._

JERRY. Ha-ha! That wasn’t “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

     _The Senators look confused._

DORIS [_tragically_]. This was to have been my wedding reception day.

     _Senator Fish begins to weep softly to himself._

JUDGE FOSSILE [_angrily to Jerry_]. This is preposterous, sir! You’re a
dangerous man! You’re a menace to the nation! We will proceed no
further. Have you anything to say before we vote on the motion made by
the State of Idaho?

CHARLOTTE. Yes, he has. He’s got a whole mouthful!

DORIS. This is the feature moment of my life. Cecil B. Demille would
shoot it with ten cameras.

JUDGE FOSSILE. Remove these women.

     _The women are not removed._

JERRY [_nervously_]. Gentlemen, before you take this step into your
hands I want to put my best foot forward. Let us consider a few aspects.
For instance, for the first aspect let us take, for example, the War of
the Revolution. There was ancient Rome, for example. Let us not only
live so that our children who live after us, but also that our ancestors
who preceded us and fought to make this country what it is!

     _General applause._

And now, gentlemen, a boy to-day is a man to-morrow--or, rather, in a
few years. Consider the winning of the West--Daniel Boone and Kit
Carson, and in our own time Buffalo Bill and--and Jesse James!

     _Prolonged applause._

Finally, in closing, I want to tell you about a vision of mine
that I seem to see. I seem to see Columbia--Columbia--ah--blindfolded--ah--covered
with scales--driving the ship of state over the battle-fields
of the republic into the heart of the golden West and the cotton-fields
of the sunny South.

     _Great applause. Mr. Jones, with his customary thoughtfulness,
     serves a round of cocktails._

JUDGE FOSSILE [_sternly_]. Gentlemen, you must not let yourselves be
moved by this man’s impassioned rhetoric. The State of Idaho has moved
his impeachment. We shall put it to a vote----

JERRY [_interrupting_]. Listen here, Judge Fossile, a state has got to
be part of a country in order to impeach anybody, don’t they?

JUDGE FOSSILE. Yes.

JERRY. Well, the State of Idaho doesn’t belong to the United States any
more.

     _A general sensation. Senator Fish stands up and sits down._

JUDGE FOSSILE. Then who does it belong to?

SNOOKS [_pushing his way to the front_]. It belongs to the nation of
Irish Poland.

     _An even greater sensation._

JERRY. The State of Idaho is nothing but a bunch of mountains. I’ve
traded it to the nation of Irish Poland for the Buzzard Islands.

     _Mr. Jones hands the treaty to Judge Fossile._

FISH [_on his feet_]. Judge Fossile, the people of Idaho----

SNOOKS. Treason! Treason! Set down, fella! You’re a subject of the
nation of Irish Poland.

JERRY [_pointing to Fish_]. Those foreigners think they can run this
country.

     _The other Senators shrink away from Fish._

JUDGE FOSSILE [_to Fish_]. If you want to speak as a citizen of the
United States, you’ll have to take out naturalization papers.

SNOOKS. I won’t let him. I’m goin’ to take him with me. He’s part of our
property.

     _He seizes the indignant Fish firmly by the arm and pins a large
     “Sold” badge to the lapel of his coat._

DORIS [_heartily_]. Well, I’m certainly glad I didn’t marry a foreigner.

     _Just at this point, when Jerry seems to have triumphed all around,
     there is the noise of a fife and drum outside, and General Pushing
     marches in, followed by his musical escort. The General is in a
     state of great excitement._

GENERAL PUSHING. Mr. President, I am here on the nation’s business!

THE SENATORS. Hurrah!

GENERAL PUSHING. War must be declared!

THE SENATORS. Hurrah!

JERRY. Who is the enemy?

GENERAL PUSHING. The enemy is the nation of Irish Poland!

     _All eyes are now turned upon Snooks, who looks considerably
     alarmed._

GENERAL PUSHING [_raising his voice_]. On to the Buzzard Islands!

THE SENATORS. Hurrah! Hurrah! Down with Irish Poland!

JUDGE FOSSILE. Now, Mr. President, all treaties are off!

GENERAL PUSHING [_looking scornfully at Jerry_]. He tried to trade the
State of Idaho for some islands full of Buzzards. Bah!

THE SENATORS. Bah!

SNOOKS [_indignantly_]. What’s ee idea? Is this a frame-up to beat the
nation of Irish Poland outa their rights? We want the State of Idaho.
You want the Buzzard Islands, don’t you?

GENERAL PUSHING. We can take them by force. We’re at war. [_To the
Senators._] We’ve ordered all stuffed Buzzards to be removed from the
natural history museums. [_Cheers._] And domestic Buzzards are now fair
game, both in and out of season. [_More cheers._] Buzzard domination
would be unthinkable.

JUDGE FOSSILE [_pointing to Jerry_]. And now, Senators. How many of you
vote for the impeachment of this enemy of the commonwealth?

     _The five Senators stand up._

JUDGE FOSSILE [_to Jerry_]. The verdict of a just nation. Is there any
one here to say why this verdict should not stand?

     _Dada, who all this time has been absorbed in the contemplation of
     the heavens, suddenly throws down his telescope with a crash._

DADA [_in a tragic voice_]. It’s too late!

ALL. Too late?

DADA. Too late for the world to end this afternoon. I must have missed
the date by two thousand years. [_Wringing his hands._] I shall destroy
myself!

     _Dada tries to destroy himself. He produces a pistol, aims at
     himself, and fires. He flounders down--but he has missed._

DORIS [_standing over him and shaking her finger_]. You miss
_ev_erything! I’m going to send for the lunatic-asylum wagon--if it’ll
_come_!

DADA [_shaking his finger back at her_]. Your parents brought you up
very unsuccessfully----

JUDGE FOSSILE. Silence! I will pronounce sentence of impeachment on this
enemy of mankind. Look upon him!

     _They all look dourly at Jerry._

Now, gentlemen, the astronomers tell us that in the far heavens, near
the southern cross, there is a vast space called the hole in the sky,
where the most powerful telescope can discover no comet nor planet nor
star nor sun.

     _They all look very cold and depressed. Jerry shivers. Fish picks
     up Dada’s abandoned telescope and begins an eager examination of
     the firmament._

In that dreary, cold, dark region of space the Great Author of Celestial
Mechanism has left the chaos which was in the beginning. If the earth
beneath my feet were capable of expressing its emotions it would, with
the energy of nature’s elemental forces, heave, throw, and project this
enemy of mankind into that vast region, there forever to exist in a
solitude as eternal as--as eternity.

     _When he finishes a funereal silence falls._

JERRY [_his voice shaken with grief_]. Well, Judge, all I’ve got to say
is that no matter what you’d done I wouldn’t want to do all those things
to you.

JUDGE FOSSILE [_thunderously_]. Have you anything more to say?

JERRY [_rising through his defeat to a sort of eloquent defiance_]. Yes.
I want to tell you all something. I don’t want to be President. [_A
murmur of surprise._] I never asked to be President. Why--why, I don’t
even know how in hell I ever _got_ to be President!

GENERAL PUSHING [_in horror_]. Do you mean to say that there’s one
American citizen who does not desire the sacred duty of being President?
Sir, may I ask, then, just what you do want?

JERRY [_wildly_]. Yes! I want to be left alone.

     _Outside the wall Mr. Stutz-Mozart’s Orang-Outang Band strikes up
     “The Bee’s Knees.” The Senators arise respectfully and remove their
     hats, and General Pushing, drawing his sword, stands at the
     salute._

     _Four husky baggage smashers stagger out of the White House with
     the trunks of the Frost family, and hurry with them through the
     gate. Half a dozen assorted suitcases are flung after the trunks._

     _The music continues to play, the Senators continue to stand. The
     Frost family gaze at their departing luggage, each under the spell
     of a different emotion._

     _Charlotte is the first to pick up her grip. As she turns to the
     Senators, the music sinks to pianissimo, so her words are
     distinctly audible._

CHARLOTTE. If it’s any satisfaction to you, I’m going to be a different
wife to him from now on. From now on I’m going to make his life
perfectly miserable.

     _Charlotte goes out to a great burst of jazz. Dada, with some
     difficulty, locates his battered carpet-bag._

DADA. I find I missed the date by two thousand years. Eventually I will
destroy myself.

     _Dada is gone now, hurried out between two porters, and Doris is
     next. With dignity she selects her small but arrogant hand-bag._

DORIS. All I want to say is if Cecil B. Demille ever saw the White House
he’d say: “All right, that may do for the gardener’s cottage. Now I’ll
start building a _real_ house.”

     _As she leaves she tries desperately to walk out of step with the
     music and avoid the suggestion of marching. The attempt is not
     altogether successful._

     _President Jerry Frost now picks up his bag._

JERRY [_defiantly_]. Well, anyways I showed you you couldn’t put
anything over on me. [_Glancing around, his eye falls on the “Special
Tree.” He goes over and pulls it up by the roots._] This was given to me
by some natives. That sign’s mine, too. I had it invented. [_He
pauses._] I guess you think I wasn’t much good as a President, don’t
you? Well, just try electing me again.

GENERAL PUSHING [_sternly_]. We won’t! As a President you’d make a good
postman.

     _At this sally there is a chorus of laughter._

     _Then Charlotte’s voice again. Does it come from outside the gate,
     or, mysteriously enough, from somewhere above?_

CHARLOTTE [_very distinctly_]. Shut the door! I can smell that stuff up
here!

     _A bewildered look comes into Jerry’s eyes. He says “What?” in a
     loud voice._

     _Then with the tree in one hand and his grip in the other, he is
     hurried, between two porters, briskly toward the gate, while the
     Orang-Outang Band crashes into louder and louder jazz and_


THE CURTAIN FALLS




ACT III


     _Now we’re back at the Frosts’ house, and it’s a week after the
     events narrated in Act I. It is about nine o’clock in the morning,
     and through the open windows the sun is shining in great, brave
     squares upon the carpet. The jars, the glasses, the phials of a
     certain memorable night have been removed, but there is an air
     about the house quite inconsistent with the happy day outside, an
     air of catastrophe, a profound gloom that seems to have settled
     even upon the “Library of Wit and Humor” in the dingy bookcase._

     _There is brooding going on upon the premises._

     _A quick tat-tat-tat from outdoors--the clatter of someone running
     up the porch steps. The door opens and Doris comes in, Doris in a
     yellowish skirt with a knit jersey to match, Doris chewing, faintly
     and delicately, what can surely be no more than a sheer wisp of
     gum._

DORIS [_calling_]. Char-lotte.

A VOICE [_broken and dismal, from up-stairs_]. Is that you, Doris?

DORIS. Yeah. Can I come up?

THE VOICE. [_It’s Charlotte’s. You’d scarcely have recognized it._] I’ll
come down.

DORIS. Heard anything from Jerry?

CHARLOTTE. Not a word.

     _Doris regards herself silently, but with interest, in a small
     mirror on the wall. In comes Charlotte--and oh, how changed from
     herself of last week. Her nose and eyes are red from weeping. She’s
     chastened and depressed._

DORIS [_with cheerful pessimism_]. Haven’t heard a word, eh?

CHARLOTTE [_lugubriously_]. No. Not one.

DORIS [_impressed in spite of herself_]. Son of a gun! And he sneaked
away a week ago to-night.

CHARLOTTE. It was that awful liquor, I _know_. He sat up all night and
in the morning he was gone.

DORIS. It’s the funniest thing I ever heard of, his sneaking off this
way.... Say, Charlotte, I’ve been meaning to say something to you for a
couple of days, but I didn’t want to get you depressed.

CHARLOTTE. How could I possibly be any more depressed than I am?

DORIS. Well, I just wanted to ask you if you’d tried the morgue yet.
[_Charlotte gives a little scream._] Wait a minute. Get control of
yourself. I simply think you ought to _try_ it. If he’s anywhere you
ought to locate him.

CHARLOTTE [_wildly_]. Oh, he’s not dead! He’s not dead!

DORIS. I didn’t say he was, did I? I didn’t say he was. But when a fella
wanders out tight after drinking some of this stuff, you can’t tell
_where_ you’ll find him. Let me tell you, Charlotte, I’ve had more
experience with this sort of thing than you have.

CHARLOTTE. The detective is coming to report this morning.

DORIS. Has he been combing the dives? You ought to have him comb the
dives, Charlotte. I saw a picture last week that ought to be a lesson to
any woman that loses her husband in a funny way like this. The woman in
this picture lost her husband and she just combed the dives and--there
he was.

CHARLOTTE [_suspiciously_]. What was he doing?

DORIS. Some vampire was sitting on his lap in a café. [_Charlotte
moans._] But it does show that if you do have the dives combed, you can
find ’em. That’s what this woman did.... There’s where most men go when
they wander out like that.

CHARLOTTE. Oh, no, Jerry wouldn’t go to the dives, or the--the morgue,
either. He’s never drank or done anything like that till that night.
He’s always been so mild and patient.

     _This is a new note from Charlotte._

DORIS [_after a thoughtful pause_]. Maybe he’s gone to Hollywood to go
in the movies. They say a lot of lost men turn up there.

CHARLOTTE [_brokenly_]. I don’t know what to do. Maybe I’m
re-responsible. He said that night he might have been P-President if it
hadn’t been for me. He’d just been analyzed, and they found he was
per-perfect.

DORIS. Well, with no reflections on the dead or anything like that,
Charlotte, he wasn’t so wonderful as you make out. You can take it from
me, he never would have been anything more than a postman if you hadn’t
made him be a railroad clerk.... I’d have the dives combed.

CHARLOTTE [_eulogistically_]. He was a good husband.

DORIS. You’ll get over it.

CHARLOTTE. What?

DORIS. Cheer up. In a year or so you’ll never know you ever had a
husband.

CHARLOTTE [_bursting into tears at this_]. But I want him back.

DORIS [_reminiscently_]. Do you know the song? Do you know the song?
[_She sings_:]

    “A good man is hard to find
     You always get the other kind
     And when you think that he is your friend
     You look around and find him scratching
     ’Round some other hen----”

     _She has forgotten her ethical connection and begins to enjoy the
     song for itself, when Charlotte interrupts._

CHARLOTTE [_in torture_]. Oh, don’t! Don’t!

DORIS. Oh, excuse me. I didn’t think you’d take it personally.... It’s
just about colored people.

CHARLOTTE. Oh, do you suppose he’s with some colored women?

DORIS [_scornfully_]. No-o-o! What you need is to get your mind off it
for a while. Just say to yourself if he’s in a dive, he’s in a dive, and
if he’s in Hollywood, he’s in Hollywood, and if he’s in the morgue----

CHARLOTTE [_frantically_]. If you say that word again, I’ll go crazy!

DORIS.--well, in that _place_, then, just say: “I can’t do anything
about it, so I’m going to forget it.” That’s what you want to say to
yourself.

CHARLOTTE. It’s easy enough to _say_, but I can’t get my mind----

DORIS. Yes, you can. [_Magnanimously._] I’ll tell you about what I’ve
been doing. I’ve had sort of a scrap with Joseph.

CHARLOTTE. Joseph who?

DORIS. Joseph Fish. He’s that fella I brought around here, only you
didn’t meet him. I told you about him. The one I got engaged to about
ten days ago. His patents were in the mortuary business.

CHARLOTTE. Oh.

DORIS. Well, I been trying to make him stop chewing gum. I offered to
give it up if he would. I think it’s sort of common when two people that
go together are always whacking away at a piece of gum, don’t you?

     _There’s a ring at the door-bell._

CHARLOTTE. That’s the detective.

DORIS [_prudently_]. Have you got that liquor hidden?

CHARLOTTE. I threw that horrible stuff away. Go let him in.

     _Charlotte goes to the door and ushers in the detective. The
     detective wears an expression of profound sagacity upon his
     countenance._

Have you found him?

THE DETECTIVE [_impressively_]. Mrs. Frost, I think so.

CHARLOTTE. Alive?

THE DETECTIVE. Alive.

CHARLOTTE. Where is he?

THE DETECTIVE. Wait. Be calm. I’ve had several clews, and I’ve been
following them up one at a time. And I’ve located a man, who answers to
the first name of Jerry, that I think is your husband.

CHARLOTTE. Where did you find him?

THE DETECTIVE. He was picked up trying to jimmy his way into a house on
Crest Avenue.

CHARLOTTE. Good heavens!

THE DETECTIVE. Yep--and his name is Jerry. He had it tattooed on his
arm.

CHARLOTTE. Good God!

THE DETECTIVE. But there’s one thing that’s different from your
description. What color is your husband’s hair?

CHARLOTTE. Brown.

THE DETECTIVE. Brown? Are you sure?

CHARLOTTE. Am I sure? Of course I’m sure.

THE DETECTIVE [_to Doris_]. Do you collaborate that?

DORIS. When he left here it was brown.

THE DETECTIVE. Well, this fella’s hair was red.

CHARLOTTE. Oh, it’s not Jerry then--it’s not Jerry.

DORIS [_to Charlotte_]. Well, now, how do you know? Maybe-- [_She turns
to the detective._] You see, this fella had been drinking some of this
funny liquor you get around here sometimes and it may just have turned
his hair red.

CHARLOTTE [_to the detective_]. Oh, do you think so?

THE DETECTIVE. I never heard of a case like that. I knew a fella whose
hair was turned white by it.

DORIS. I knew one, too. What was the name of the fella you knew?

CHARLOTTE. Did this man claim to be my husband?

THE DETECTIVE. No, madam, he didn’t. He said he had two wives out in
Montana, but none that he knew of in these parts. But of course he may
have been bluffing.

DORIS. It doesn’t sound like Jerry to me.

THE DETECTIVE. But you can identify him by that tattoo mark.

CHARLOTTE [_hastily_]. Oh, he never had one.

THE DETECTIVE. Are you sure?

CHARLOTTE. Oh, yes.

THE DETECTIVE [_his face falling_]. Well, then, he’s not our man,
because this fella’s tattoo marks are three years old. Well, that’s a
disappointment. That’s a great disappointment for me. I’ve wasted some
time over this man. I’d been hoping he’d--ah--do.

CHARLOTTE [_hastily_]. Oh, no, he wouldn’t do at all. I’ll have to have
the right man or I won’t pay you.

THE DETECTIVE. Well, now then, I’ve been following up another clew. Did
your husband ever have aphasia?

CHARLOTTE. Oh, no, he’s always been very healthy. He had some skin
trouble about----

DORIS. He doesn’t mean that, Charlotte. Aphasia’s where a man runs off
and commits murder and falls in love with a young girl under another
name.

CHARLOTTE. Oh, no, he’s never done anything like this ever before.

THE DETECTIVE. Suppose you tell me exactly what did happen.

CHARLOTTE. Well, I told you he’d been drinking something that had
spirits of nitrogen in it.

THE DETECTIVE. Spirits of nitrogen!

CHARLOTTE. That’s what the man said. It was sympathetic gin that this
man had persuaded Jerry into buying.

THE DETECTIVE. Yes.

CHARLOTTE. And he’d been talking all evening about all the things he
could have done if I hadn’t stood in his way. He had some examination
he’d just taken.

DORIS [_explaining_]. A psychical examination.

THE DETECTIVE [_wisely_]. I see.

CHARLOTTE. And my sister came over with the man she’s going to marry,
and she came up to see me, and when she came down Jerry was asleep in
his chair. Well, I didn’t go down. I wish I had now. And my sister here
and her fellow went away. Then I went to bed, and it seems to me I could
hear Jerry talking to himself in his sleep all night. I woke up about
twelve, and he was saying something loud, and I told him to shut the
door, because I could smell that awful sympathetic gin way up-stairs.

THE DETECTIVE. Yes.

CHARLOTTE. And that’s all. When I came down next morning at seven, he
was gone.

THE DETECTIVE [_rising_]. Well, Mrs. Frost, if your man can be located,
I’m going to locate him.

DORIS. Have you thought of combing the dives?

THE DETECTIVE. What?

DORIS. Have you combed the dives? It seems to me that I’d make the
rounds of all the dives, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if you’d see
this man with somebody sitting on his knee.

THE DETECTIVE [_to Charlotte_]. Does he run to that?

CHARLOTTE [_hurriedly_]. Oh, no. Oh, no.

DORIS [_to Charlotte_]. How do you know?

     _A brisk knock at the door. Doris opens it eagerly, admitting a
     small, fat, gray-haired man in a state of great indignation._

THE DETECTIVE [_to Charlotte_]. Is this the pursued?

THE MAN [_sternly_]. You are speaking to Mr. Pushing. I employ or did
employ the man who lives in this house.

CHARLOTTE [_wildly_]. Oh, where is he?

MR. PUSHING. That’s what I came here to find out. He hasn’t been at work
for a week. I’m going to let him go.

DORIS. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. He may be dead.

MR. PUSHING. Dead or alive, he’s fired. I had him analyzed. He didn’t
have any ambition, and my analyzer gave him nothing but a row of
goose-eggs. Bah!

CHARLOTTE. I don’t care. He’s mine.

DORIS [_correcting her_]. “Was” mine.

THE DETECTIVE. Maybe you could tell me something about his habits in
business hours.

MR. PUSHING. If you’ll come along with me I’ll show you his analyzed
record. We’re having it framed. [_Contemptuously._] Good morning.

     _He goes out. The Detective, after a nod at Charlotte and Doris,
     follows him._

DORIS. Well, I should think you’d be encouraged.

CHARLOTTE. Why?

DORIS. Well, that detective found a fella that’s something like him. The
same first name, anyway. That shows they’re getting warm.

CHARLOTTE. Somehow it doesn’t encourage me.

     _Uncertain steps on the stairs. Dada appears wearing a battered hat
     and carrying a book under his arm._

DORIS. Hello, Dada. Where you going?

DADA [_hearing vague words_]. Hm.

CHARLOTTE. He’s going down to the library.

DADA [_in spirited disagreement_]. No. You were wrong that time. I’m not
going to the park. I’m going to the library.

DORIS [_sternly_]. Where do you think your son is?

DADA. The----?

DORIS [_louder_]. Where do you think Jerry is, by this time?

DADA [_to Charlotte_]. Didn’t you tell me he was away?

     _Charlotte nods drearily._

DADA [_placidly_]. Hasn’t come back yet?

DORIS. No. We’re having the dives combed.

DADA. Well, don’t worry. I remember I ran away from home once. It was
in 1846. I wanted to go to Philadelphia and see the Zoo. I tried to get
home, but they took me and locked me up.

DORIS [_to Charlotte_]. In the monkey house, I bet.

DADA. [_He missed this, thank God!_] Yes, that’s the only time I ever
ran away.

DORIS. But this is a more serious thing, Dada.

DADA. Boys will be boys.... Well, it looks like a nice day.

CHARLOTTE [_to Doris_]. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t even understand what
it’s all about. When the detective searched his bedroom he thought it
was the plumber.

DORIS. He understands. Sure you do, don’t you, Dada? You understand what
it’s all about, don’t you, Dada?

DADA [_aggravatingly_]. The----?

CHARLOTTE. Oh, let him go. He makes me nervous.

DORIS. Maybe he could think out some place where Jerry’s gone. He’s
supposed to _think_ so much.

DADA. Well, good afternoon. I think I’ll go down to the library. [_Dada
goes out by the front door._]

DORIS. Listen, Charlotte. I was going to tell you about Joseph--to get
your mind off yourself, don’t you remember?

CHARLOTTE. Yes.

DORIS. I’ve gotten sort of tired of him. Honestly, I ought to get myself
psychoanalyzed.

CHARLOTTE. Why don’t you throw him over then? You ought to know how by
this time.

DORIS. Of course, having been unlucky in your own marriageable
experience, you aren’t in a position to judge what I should do.

CHARLOTTE. Do you love him?

DORIS. Well, not--not especially.

CHARLOTTE. Then throw him over.

DORIS. I would--except for one thing. You see, it’d be sort of hard.

CHARLOTTE. No, it wouldn’t.

DORIS. Yes, it would. It wouldn’t be any cinch.

CHARLOTTE. Why?

DORIS. Well, you see I’ve been married to him for three days.

CHARLOTTE [_astounded_]. What!

DORIS. That isn’t very long, but you see in marriage every day counts.

CHARLOTTE. Well, then, you can’t throw him over.

DORIS. It’s next to impossible, I guess.

CHARLOTTE. Was it a secret marriage?

DORIS. Yes, there was nobody there but I and Joseph and the fella that
did it. And I’m still living at home. You see, this girl that Joe was
keeping waiting to see whether he was going to marry me or not, got
impatient, and said she couldn’t be kept waiting any longer. It made her
sort of nervous. She couldn’t eat her meals.

CHARLOTTE. So you got married. And now you’re tired of him.

DORIS. No, not exactly that, but it just sort of makes me uncomfortable,
Charlotte, to know that you can’t throw over the man you’ve got without
causing a lot of talk. Suppose he took to drink or something. You know
everybody can’t get rid of their husbands as easy as you did.

CHARLOTTE. One husband was always enough for me.

DORIS. One may be all right for you, Charlotte, because you’re a
monographist, but supposing Rudolph Valentino, or the Prince of Wales,
or John D. Rockefeller was to walk in here and say: “Doris, I’ve
worshipped you from a distance on account of the picture that you sent
to the fame and fortune contest of the movie magazine, that got left out
by accident or lost or something. Will you marry me?” What would you
say, Charlotte?

CHARLOTTE. I’d say no. I’d say, give me back Jerry.

DORIS. Would you let having a husband stand in the way of your life’s
happiness? I tell you I wouldn’t. I’d say to Joe: “You run up to the
store and buy a bag of peanuts and come back in about twenty years.” I
would, Charlotte. If I could marry Douglas Fairbanks I’d get rid of
Joseph in some peaceful way if I _could_--but if I couldn’t I’d give him
some glass cough-drops without a minute’s hesitation.

CHARLOTTE [_horrified_]. Doris!

DORIS. And I told Joseph so, too. This marriage business is all right
for narrow-minded people, but I like to be where I can throw over a
fella when it gets to be necessary.

CHARLOTTE. If you had Jerry you wouldn’t feel that way.

DORIS. Why, can’t you see, Charlotte, that’s the way Jerry must have
felt?

     _Charlotte, overcome, rises to go._

And, Charlotte, I don’t want to depress you, but if he _is_--if it turns
out that he is in the mor--in that place--I know where you can get some
simply _stunning_ mourning for----

     _Charlotte begins to weep._

Why, what’s the matter? I just thought it’d cheer you up to know you
could get it cheap. You’ll have to watch your money, you know.

     _Charlotte hurries from the room._

DORIS. I wonder what’s the matter with her.

JOSEPH FISH [_outside_]. Oh, Doris!

     _Doris goes to the window._

DORIS. How did you know I was here?

FISH [_outside_]. They told me at your house. Can I come in?

DORIS. Yes, but don’t holler around so. Haven’t you got any respect for
the missing?

     _Fish comes in._

FISH. Doris, I’m awfully sorry about----

DORIS. Oh, Joseph, haven’t you got any sense? Sitting there last night
everything was perfect, and just when I was feeling sentimental you
began talking about embalming--in the _twi_light. And I was just about
to take out my removable bridge....

FISH. I’m sorry.... Have they found your sister’s husband yet?

DORIS. No.

FISH. Has he gone away permanently? Or for good?

DORIS. We don’t know. We’re having the dives combed. Listen, has any one
in your family ever had aphasia?

FISH. What’s that?

DORIS. Where you go off and fall in love with girls and don’t know what
you’re doing.

FISH. I think my uncle had that.

DORIS. Sort of dazed?

FISH. Well, sort of. When there was any women around he got sort of
dazed.

DORIS [_thoughtfully_]. I wonder if you could inherit a thing from your
uncle. [_She removes her gum secretly._] What are you chewing, Joe?

FISH. Oh, just an old piece of something I found in my mouth.

DORIS. It’s gum. I thought I asked you not to chew gum. It doesn’t look
clean-cut for a man to be chewing gum. You haven’t got any sense of
what’s nice, Joseph. See here, suppose I was at a reception and went up
to Mrs. Astor or Mrs. Vanderbilt or somebody, like this: [_She replaces
her own gum in her mouth--she needs it for her imitation._] How do you
do, Mrs. Vanderbilt? [_Chew, chew._] What do you think she’d say? Do you
think she’d stand it? Not for a minute.

FISH. Well, when I start going with Mrs. Vanderbilt will be plenty of
time to stop.

     _From outside is heard the sound of a metallic whistle, a melodious
     call in C major._

What’s that?

DORIS. Don’t ask me.

FISH. It’s pretty. It must be some kind of bird.

     _The whistle is repeated. It is nearer._

There it is again.

     _Doris goes to the window._

DORIS. It’s only the postman.

FISH. I never heard a postman with a whistle like that.

DORIS. He must be a new one on this beat. That’s too bad. The old one
used to give me my mail wherever I met him, even if he was four or five
blocks from my house.

     _The sound again--just outside the door now._

I’ll let him in.

     _She goes to the door and opens it. The figure of the new postman
     is outlined in the doorway against the morning sky. It is Jerry
     Frost._

     _But for a particular reason neither Doris nor Joseph Fish
     recognize him. He is utterly changed. In the gray uniform his once
     flabby figure appears firm, erect--even defiant. His chin is
     up--the office stoop has gone. When he speaks his voice is full of
     confidence, with perhaps a touch of scorn at the conglomerate
     weaknesses of humanity._

JERRY. Good morning. Would you like some mail?

DORIS [_taken somewhat aback_]. Why, sure. I guess so.

JERRY. It’s a nice morning out. You two ought to be out walking.

FISH [_blankly_]. Huh?

JERRY. Is this number 2127? If it is, I’ve got a good-looking lot of
mail for you.

DORIS [_with growing interest_]. What do you mean, a good looking lot of
mail?

JERRY. What do I _mean_? Why, I mean it’s got variety, of course.
[_Rummaging in his bag._] I got eight letters for you.

DORIS. Say, you’re new on this beat, aren’t you?

JERRY. Yes, I’m new but I’m good. [_He produces a handful of letters._]
I’m the best one they ever had.

FISH. How do you know? Did they tell you?

JERRY. No, I just feel it. I know my job. I can give any other mailman
stamps and post-cards and beat him with bundles. I’m just naturally
_good_. I don’t know why.

DORIS. I never heard of a mailman being _good_.

JERRY. They’re mostly all good. Some professions anybody can get into
them, like business or politics for instance, but you take
postmen--they’re like angels, they sort of pick ’em out.
[_Witheringly._] They not only pick ’em out--they select ’em.

FISH [_fascinated_]. And you’re the best one.

JERRY [_modestly_]. Yes, I’m the best one they ever had. [_He looks over
the letters._] Now here’s what I call a clever ad. Delivered a lot of
these this morning. Children like ’em, you know. They’re from the carpet
company.

FISH. Let’s see it. [_He takes the ad eagerly._]

JERRY. Isn’t that a nice little thing? And I got two bills for you here.
I’ll hide those, though. Still, maybe you want to clear up all your
accounts. Some people like to get bills. The old lady next door wanted
to get hers. I gave her three and you’d think they were checks. Anyways,
these two don’t look very big, from the outside, anyhow. But of course
you can’t tell from the outside.

DORIS. Let me see them.

FISH. Let me see them too.

     _They squabble mildly over the bills._

JERRY. The thing is for everybody in the house to write what they guess
is the amount of the bill on the outside of the envelope, and then when
you open the envelope the one who guessed the closest has to pay the
bill.

FISH. Or he could get a prize.

JERRY. Something like that. [_He winks at Doris._] And here’s a couple
of post-cards. They’re sort of pretty ones. This one’s--the Union
Station at Buffalo.

FISH. Let me see it.

JERRY. And this one says Xmas greetings. It’s four months late. [_To
Doris._] I guess these are for you.

DORIS. No, they’re for my sister.

JERRY. Well, I haven’t read what’s written on the back. I never do. I
hope it’s good news.

DORIS [_inspecting the backs_]. No, they’re from an aunt or something.
Anything else?

JERRY. Yes, here’s one more. I think it’s one of the neatest letters
I’ve had this morning. Now, isn’t that a cute letter? I call that a cute
letter. [_He weighs it in his hand and smells it._] Smell it.

DORIS. It does smell good. It’s a perfume ad.

FISH. Say, that sure does smell good.

JERRY. Well, I’ve done pretty well by _you_ this morning. Maybe you got
a letter for me.

DORIS. No, there’s none to-day.

JERRY. Funny thing: I came near leaving that pink letter with a little
girl down the street who looked as if she needed one pretty bad. I
thought that maybe it was really meant for her, and just had the wrong
name and address on by mistake. It would of tickled her. I get tempted
to leave mail where it really ought to go instead of where it’s
addressed to. Mail ought to go to people who appreciate it. It’s hard on
a postman, especially when he’s the best one they ever had.

DORIS. I guess it must be.

FISH. Yeah, it must be tough.

     _They are both obviously fascinated._

DORIS. Well, there’s somebody in this house who needs the right letter
something _aw_ful. If you get one that looks as if it might do for her
you could leave it by here.

JERRY. Is that so? Well, that’s too bad. I’ll certainly keep that in
mind. The next one I think’ll do, I’ll leave it by here.

DORIS. Thanks.

JERRY. I’ve got one of these special delivery love-letters for a girl
around the corner, and I want to hurry up and give it to her, so as to
see her grin when she gets it. It’s for Miss Doris----

DORIS [_interrupting_]. That’s me. Give it to me now.

JERRY. Sure. Say, this is lucky. [_He starts to hand it to her._] Say,
listen--why are you like a stenographer?

DORIS. Me?

JERRY. Yes.

DORIS. I don’t know. Why?

JERRY. Because I say to you, “Take a letter.”

FISH [_wildly amused_]. Ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha!

JERRY [_with some satisfaction_]. That’s a good one, isn’t it? I made
that one up this morning.

FISH. Ha-ha! Ho-ho!

DORIS. Joseph, I asked you to have some respect for the missing. [_To
Jerry._] You see there’s a fella missing here and it’s his wife that
needs the letter.

FISH [_jealously_]. Who’s _your_ letter from?

DORIS [_reading it_]. It’s from my last fiancé. It says he didn’t mean
to drink the perfume, but the label was off the bottle and he thought it
was bay rum.

FISH. My God! Will you forgive him?

JERRY. Don’t worry, my boy. Bay rum or perfume, he killed her love with
the first swallow. [_He goes toward the door._] Good-by. I’ll try to
find that letter for the lady here that needs it so bad.

DORIS. Good-by--and thanks.

FISH. Let me open the door.

     _He opens the door. Jerry goes out. Doris and Fish stare at each
     other._

DORIS. Isn’t he wonderful?

FISH. He’s a peach of a fella, but----

DORIS. I know what you’re going to say; that you’ve seen him somewhere
before.

FISH. I’m trying to think where. Maybe he’s been in the movies.

DORIS. I think it’s that he looks like some fella I was engaged to once.

FISH. He’s _some_ mailman.

DORIS. The nicest one I ever saw. Isn’t he for you?

FISH. By far. Say, Charlie Chaplin’s down at the Bijou.

DORIS. I don’t like him. I think he’s vulgar. Let’s go and see if
there’s anything artistic.

     _Fish makes an indistinguishable frightened noise._

DORIS. What’s the matter?

FISH. I’ve swallowed my gum.

DORIS. It ought to teach you a moral.

     _They go out. Charlotte comes in drearily. She glances first
     eagerly, then listlessly at the letters and throws them aside._

     _Clin-ng! The door-bell. She starts violently, runs to open it. It
     is that astounding product of our constitution, Mr. Snooks._

CHARLOTTE [_in horror_]. Oh, what do you want?

SNOOKS [_affably_]. Good morning, lady. Is your husband around?

CHARLOTTE. No. What have you done with him, you beast!

SNOOKS [_surprised_]. Say, what’s biting you, lady?

CHARLOTTE. My husband was all right until you came here with that
poison! What have you done with him? Where is he? What did you give him
to drink? Tell me, or I’ll scream for the police! Tell me! Tell me!

SNOOKS. Lady, I ain’t seen your husband.

CHARLOTTE. You lie! You know my husband has run away.

SNOOKS [_interested_]. Say now, has he? I had a hunch he would, sooner
or later.

CHARLOTTE. You made him. You told him to, that night, after I went out
of the room! You suggested it to him. He’d never have thought of it.

SNOOKS. Lady, you got me wrong.

CHARLOTTE. Then where is he? If I’m wrong, find him.

SNOOKS [_after a short consideration_]. Have you tried the morgue?

CHARLOTTE. Oh-h-h! Don’t say that word!

SNOOKS. Oh, he ain’t in the morgue. Probably some Jane’s got hold of
him. She’ll send him home when she gets all his dough.

CHARLOTTE. He isn’t a brute like you. He’s been kidnapped.

SNOOKS. Maybe he’s joined the Marine Corpse.... Howsoever, if he ain’t
here I guess I’ll be movin’ on.

CHARLOTTE. What do you want of him now? Do you want to sell him some
more wood alcohol?

SNOOKS. Lady, I don’t handle no wood alcohol. But I found a way of
getting the grain alcohol out of iodine an’ practically eliminatin’ the
poison. Just leaves a faint brownish tinge.

CHARLOTTE. Go away.

SNOOKS. All right. I’ll beat it.

     _So he beats it._

     _Charlotte’s getting desperate from such encounters. With gathering
     nervousness she wanders about the room, almost collapsing when she
     comes upon one of Jerry’s coats hanging behind a door. Scarcely
     aware of what she’s doing, she puts on the coat and buttons it
     close, as if imagining that Jerry is holding her to him in the
     brief and half-forgotten season of their honeymoon._

     _Outside a storm is come up. It has grown dark suddenly, and a
     faint drum of thunder lengthens into a cataract of doom. A louder
     rolling now and a great snake of lightning in the sky. Charlotte,
     lonesome and frightened, hurriedly closes the windows. Then, in
     sudden panic, she runs to the ’phone._

CHARLOTTE. Summit 3253.... Hello, this is me. This is Charlotte.... Is
Doris there? Do you know where she is?... Well, if she comes in tell her
to run over. Everything’s getting dark and I’m frightened.... Yes,
_may_be somebody’ll come in, but _no_body goes out in a storm like this.
Even the policeman on the corner has gotten under a tree.... Well, I’ll
be all right. I’m just lonesome, I guess, and scared.... Good-by.

     _She rings off and stands silently by the table. The storm reaches
     its height. Simultaneously with a terrific burst of thunder that
     sets the windows rattling the front door blows open suddenly,
     letting in a heavy gust of rain._

     _Charlotte is on the verge of hysterics._

     _Then there is a whistle outside--the bright, mellow whistle of the
     postman. She springs up, clasping her hands together. Jerry comes
     in, covered with a rain cape dripping water. The hood of the cape
     partially conceals his face._

JERRY [_cheerfully_]. Well, it certainly is a rotten day.

CHARLOTTE [_starting at the voice_]. It’s awful.

JERRY. But I heard there was a lady here that was expecting a letter,
and I had one that I thought’d do, so no rain or anything could keep me
from delivering it.

CHARLOTTE [_greedily_]. A letter for me? Let me have it.

     _He hands it to her and she tears it open._

It’s from Jerry!

     _She reads it quickly._

JERRY. Is it what you wanted?

CHARLOTTE [_aloud, but to herself_]. It doesn’t say where he is. It just
says that he’s well and comfortable. And that he’s doing what he wants
to do and what he’s got to do. And he says that doing his work makes him
happy. [_With suspicion._] I wonder if he’s in some dive.... If I wrote
him a letter do you think you could find him with it, Mr. Postman?

JERRY. Yes, I can find him.

CHARLOTTE. I want to tell him that if he’ll come home I won’t nag him
any more, that I won’t try to change him, and that I won’t fuss at him
for being poor.

JERRY. I’ll tell him that.

CHARLOTTE [_again talking to herself_]. I was trying to nag him _into_
something, I guess. Before we were married I always thought there must
be some sort of mysterious brave things he did when he wasn’t with me. I
thought that maybe sometimes he’d sneak away to hunt bears. But when
he’d sneak away it was just to roll dice for cigars down at the corner.
It wasn’t forests--it was just--toothpicks.

JERRY. Suppose that he was nothing but a postman now--like me.

CHARLOTTE. I’ll be proud of him if he’s a postman, because I know he
always wanted to be one. He’d be the best postman in the world and
there’s something kind of exciting about being the best. It wasn’t so
much that I wanted him to be rich, I guess, but I wanted him to do
something he wouldn’t always be beat at. I was sort of glad he got drunk
that night. It was about the first exciting thing he ever did.

JERRY. You never would of told him that.

CHARLOTTE [_stiffening_]. I should say I wouldn’t of.

     _Jerry rises._

JERRY. I’ll try to get him here at six o’clock.

CHARLOTTE. I’ll be waiting. [_Quickly._] Tell him to stop by a store and
get some rubbers.

JERRY. I’ll tell him. Good-by.

CHARLOTTE. Good-by.

     _Jerry goes out into the rain, Charlotte sits down and bows her
     head upon the table._

     _Again there are steps on the porch. This time it is Dada, who
     comes in, closing a dripping umbrella._

DADA [_as one who has passed through a great crisis_]. I borrowed an
umbrella from a man at the library.

CHARLOTTE [_in a muffled voice_]. Jerry’s coming back.

DADA. Is he? A man at the library was kind enough to lend me his
umbrella. [_He goes over to the bookcase and begins an unsuccessful
search for the Scriptures. Plaintively_]. Some one has hidden my Bible.

CHARLOTTE. In the second shelf.

     _He finds it. As he pulls it from its place, several other books
     come with it and tumble to the floor. After a glance at Charlotte,
     he kicks them under the bookcase. Then, with his Bible under his
     arm, he starts for the stairs, but is attracted by something bright
     on the first stair, and attempts, unsuccessfully, to pick it up._

DADA. Hello, here’s a nail that looks like a ten-cent piece.

     _He goes up-stairs. When he is half-way up, there is a sound as if
     he had slipped back a notch, then silence._

CHARLOTTE [_raising her head_]. Are you all right, Dada?

     _No answer. Dada is heard to resume his climb._

Oh, if I could only sleep till six o’clock!

     _The storm has blown away, and the sun is out and streaming in the
     window, washing the ragged carpet with light. From the street there
     comes once again, faint now and far away, the mellow note of the
     postman’s whistle._

CHARLOTTE [_lifting her arms rapturously_]. The best postman in the
world!


                                CURTAIN

                   *       *       *       *       *

                       _By F. Scott Fitzgerald_


                       The Beautiful and Damned

“‘The Beautiful and Damned’ confirms the impression made by his first
novel, ‘This Side of Paradise,’ that of the younger American novelists
he has the greatest natural talent. He has romance and imagination and a
gaiety unknown to most of the young moderns, who on the whole take a
sorry view of life; he is not darkly and deeply engaged with the sacred
mysteries of Eros; he has apparently a great facility in writing, and
often beauty and felicity of expression. But, above all, he is able to
tell a story, and does not need to resort to the strange substitutes
that often pass for fiction-writing nowadays.”
                                --N. P. DAWSON in the _New York Globe_.

“No finer study of the relations between boy husband and girl wife has
been given us in American fiction.”
                         --HENRY SEIDEL CANBY in the _Literary Review_,
                                                  _N. Y. Evening Post_.


                         This Side of Paradise

“A very enlivening book, indeed; a book really brilliant and glamorous,
making as agreeable reading as could be asked.”--_New York Evening
Post._

“The glorious spirit of abounding youth glows throughout this
fascinating tale.... It could have been written only by an artist who
knows how to balance his values, plus a delightful literary
style.”--_New York Times._

“It is abundantly worth while; it is delightful, consciously and
unconsciously, amusing, keenly and diversely interesting; cracking good
stuff to read, in short.”
                                                      --_New York Sun._


                        CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS

                   *       *       *       *       *

                       _By F. Scott Fitzgerald_


                         Tales of the Jazz Age

This collection of the author’s most recent shorter writings includes:

                            THE JELLY-BEAN
                           THE CAMEL’S BACK
                            O RUSSET WITCH!
                          PORCELAIN AND PINK
                    THE DIAMOND AS BIG AS THE RITZ
                  THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON
                         TARQUIN OF CHEAPSIDE
                         THE LEES OF HAPPINESS
                                MAY DAY
                               MR. ICKY
                                JEMINA


                       Flappers and Philosophers

               An earlier volume of stories, containing:

                         THE OFF SHORE PIRATE
                            THE ICE PALACE
                          HEAD AND SHOULDERS
                          THE CUT-GLASS BOWL
                         BERNICE BOBS HER HAIR
                              BENEDICTION
                         DALYRIMPLE GOES WRONG
                            THE FOUR FISTS

“He is a story-teller with a courage of his own, and such story-tellers
are rare even in the midst of the modern quest for
unconventionality.”--_Boston Transcript._

“His eight short stories range the gamut of style and mood with a
brilliance, a jeu perle, so to speak, not to be found in the
novel.”--_New York Times._


CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Vegetable, or From President to
Postman, by F. Scott Fitzgerald

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 60962 ***