The Show-Off (Kelly 1924)/Act I

After a slight pause a door out at the left is heard to close, and then Clara comes in carrying a fancy box of candy. She glances about the room and crosses to the kitchen-door at the right.

Clara. Anybody out there? [She crosses back again towards the left, laying the box of candy on the center-table as she passes. Upon reaching the parlor-doors, at the left, she opens them and calls into the parlor.] You in there, Mom? [Mrs. Fisher can be heard coming down the stairs. Clara turns, with a glance toward the hall-door, and moves over to the mirror above the mantelpiece. Mrs. Fisher appears in the hall-door and glances in at Clara.]

Mrs. Fisher. Oh, it’s you, Clara. [She peers out into the hall.]

Clara. Where is everybody?

Mrs. Fisher. I thought I heard that front-door open.

Clara. Where are they all?

Mrs. Fisher [Moving towards the parlor-door]. Your Pop’s gone over to Gillespie’s for some tobacco: I don’t know where Joe is. [She glances into the parlor, then turns and kisses Clara. Clara moves down to the chair at the left of the center-table and Mrs. Fisher moves over to the kitchen-door at the right.] I don’t know how you can stand that fur on you, Clara, a night like this.

Clara. It’s rather cool out.

​Mrs. Fisher [Calling out through the kitchen-door]. You out there, Joe?

Clara [Sitting down]. He isn’t out there.

Mrs. Fisher [Turning around to the cellar-door at her left]. He must be around here somewhere; he was here not two minutes ago, when I went upstairs. [Opening the cellar-door and calling down.] You down there, Joey?

Joe [From the cellar]. Yes.

Mrs. Fisher. All right. [Closes the cellar-door.]

Joe. What do you want?

Mrs. Fisher [Turning to the cellar-door again]. What?

Joe and Clara, speaking together.

Joe. What do you want?

Clara. He sez, “What do you want?”

Mrs. Fisher [Opening the cellar-door again]. I don’t want anything; I was just wonderin’ where you were. [She closes the cellar-door and comes a step or two forward, fastening an old-fashioned brooch that she wears on the front of her dress.] He spends half his time down in that cellar foolin’ with that old radio thing. He sez he can make one himself, but I sez, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Clara. There’s some of that candy you like.

Mrs. Fisher [Crossing to the center-table]. Oh, did you bring me some more of that nice candy? [Beginning to untie the ribbon around the candy.] I never got a taste of that last you brought.

Clara. Why not?

Mrs. Fisher. Why,—Lady Jane took it away with her down to the office, and never brought it back. She sez the girls down there et it. I sez, “I guess you’re the girl that et it.” She sez she didn’t, but I know she did.

Clara. Well, I hope you’ll keep that out of sight, and don’t let her take that too.

​Mrs. Fisher [Opening the candy]. Oh, she won’t get her hands on this, I can promise you that. Let her buy her own candy if she’s so fond of it.

Clara [Opening the “Delineator”]. She won’t buy much of anything, if she can get hold of it any other way.

Mrs. Fisher. Oh, isn’t that lovely! Look Clara—[Tilting the box of candy towards Clara.] Don’t that look nice?

Clara. Yes, they do their candy up nice.

Mrs. Fisher [Gingerly picking up the cover of lace paper]. That looks just like Irish point lace, don’t it? [Clara nods yes.] I think I’ll put that away somewhere,—in a book or something. My, look at all the colors—look Clara—did you ever see so many colors?

Clara. It’s pretty, isn’t it?

Mrs. Fisher. It’s beautiful—seems a pity to spoil it. Do you want a bit of it, Clara?

Clara. Not now, Mom.

Mrs. Fisher. I think I’ll take this pink one here. I like the pink ones. [She picks up the box and the lid and moves around to the chair at the right of the table.] Mind how they all have this little fancy paper around them. You’d wonder they’d bother, wouldn’t you?—just for a bit of candy. [She tastes the candy and chews, critically.] That’s nice candy, isn’t it?

Clara. Yes, I like bonbons.

Mrs. Fisher [Sitting down]. I do too—I think I like them better than most anything. [Putting the box of candy down on the table.] I’m sorry these are not all bonbons.

Clara [Looking up from the “Delineator”]. They are all bonbons—[Her Mother looks at her.] There’s nothing else in there.

Mrs. Fisher. Oh, are they!—I thought only the pink ones were the bonbons.

Clara. No, they’re all bonbons.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, that’s lovely. I can eat any one of them ​I like, then, can’t I? [She sits back in her chair and rocks and chews.] How is it you’re not home to-night, Clara?

Clara. Frank had to go to a dinner of some kind at the Glenwood Club; so I thought I’d stay in town and get something. He said he might call for me here around eight o’clock. I was in anyway about my lamp.

Mrs. Fisher [Rocking]. Men are always going to dinners somewhere. Seems to me they can’t talk about anything unless they’ve got a dinner in front of them. It’s no wonder so many of them are fat.

Clara [Turning a page of the “Delineator”]. Where’s Amy,—upstairs?

Mrs. Fisher. Yes, she’s gettin’ dressed. I was just hookin’ her when you came in.

Clara. Is she going out?

Mrs. Fisher. I don’t know whether she is or not,—I didn’t hear her say. [Leaning a bit towards Clara, and lowering her voice.] But it’s Wednesday night, you know.

Clara. Is that fellow still coming here?

Mrs. Fisher. Oh, right on the dot—such as he is. Sunday nights too now, as well as Wednesdays. It looks like a steady thing. And you never in your life heard anybody talk so much, Clara—I don’t know how she stands him. Your Pop can hardly stay in the room where he is. I believe in my heart that’s the reason he went over to Gillespie’s to-night—so he wouldn’t be listenin’ to him.

Clara. Doesn’t she take him into the parlor?

Mrs. Fisher. She does, yes; but she might just as well leave him out here; for he’s not in there five minutes till he’s out here again—talkin’ about Socialism. That’s all you hear,—Socialism—and capital and labor. You’d think he knew somethin’ about it. And the Pennsylvania Railroad. He’s always talkin’ about that, too. That’s where he works, you know. I don’t know what ​he does down there. He sez himself he’s head of the freight department; but as I sez to our Joe, I sez, “I don’t know how he can be head of anything, from the talk of him. Joe sez he thinks he’s a nut. And your Pop told him right to his face here last Sunday night—that he didn’t know the meanin’ of the word Socialism. [She checks herself and gets up.] I’d better not be talkin’ so loud,—he’s apt to walk in on us. [She moves up towards the hall-door and glances out.] He’s a great joker, you know—That’s what he did last Sunday night. [Coming forward again to a point above the center-table.] I never got such a fright in my life. Your Pop and me was sittin’ here talkin’, just the way we are now, when, all of a sudden, I glanced up, and there he was,—standin’ in the doorway there, doin’ this [She points her forefinger and thumb at Clara and wiggles her thumb. Clara laughs faintly]—as though he was a bandit, you know. Well,—I thought the breath’d leave my body. Then he sez, “Haha!—that’s the time I fooled you!” I don’t know how long he’d been standin’ there. But, as luck’d have it, we wasn’t talkin’ about him at the time: altho we had been talkin’ about him not five minutes before. I don’t know whether he heard us or not, for I don’t know how long he’d been standin’ there. I hope he did: it’d just be the price of him, for bein’ so smart. [With a glance toward the hall-door, and speaking very confidentially.] But, you know, what’d kill you, Clara, you can’t say a word about him in front of her. [Clara moves.] Oh, not a word. No matter what he sez, she thinks it’s lovely. When Joe told her here the other night he thought he was a nut, she just laughed, and said that Joe was jealous of him—because he could express himself and he couldn’t. [Clara smiles.] You never heard such talk. And, you know, Clara, I think he wears a wig. [Clara laughs.] I do, honestly. And our Joe sez he thinks he does too. But when I asked her about it here one mornin’, I thought she’d take the head right off me. You never ​seen anybody get themselves into such a temper. She sez, “It’s a lie,” she sez, “he don’t wear a wig.” She sez, “People always say somethin’ like that about a fellow that makes a good appearance.” But, I think he does, just the same; and the first chance I get I’m goin’ to take a good look. [She moves around to her chair again, at the right of the table.] He often sits right here, you know, under this light, while he’s talkin’; [Selecting another piece of candy] and I’m goin’ to look close the very first chance I get. [She sits down.] I can tell a wig as good as anybody. [She rocks and looks straight out, chewing.] She won’t make a liar out of me.

Amy [From the head of the stairs]. Mom, did you see anythink of that blue bar-pin of mine!

Mrs. Fisher [Calling back to her] Which blue bar-pin?

Amy. Well now, how many blue bar-pins have I got?

Mrs. Fisher. I don’t know how many you’ve got, and I don’t care! [Turning back again and speaking rather to herself.] So don’t be botherin’ me about it. [Calling up to Amy again.] If you can’t find it, go look for it. [She resumes her rocking and her chewing.] She thinks all she’s got to do is come to the head of them stairs and holler and everybody’ll jump.—But she’ll get sadly left.—I’ve got somethin’ else to do besides waitin’ on her. [She takes another bite of candy, and turns casually to Clara.] Did you get your lamp yet?

Clara. No, that’s what I was in town to-day about. The girl sez they haven’t been able to match the silk till yesterday.

Mrs. Fisher. I wish I could get somethin’ done to that one of mine there in the parlor; the wire’s right out through the silk in two places.

Clara. Why doesn’t Amy take it in some day [Mrs. Fisher makes a sound of amusement]—when she’s going to work?

Mrs. Fisher. Why don’t she! It’s all Amy can do to take herself into work these days. I’ve almost got to push her out the door every morning.

​Clara. Couldn’t she take it over at lunch-time?

Mrs. Fisher. She sez she hasn’t time at lunch-time.

Clara. Oh, she has so time.

Mrs. Fisher. Of course she has.

Clara. It’s only at Ninth and Chestnut, and she’s at Eighth.

Mrs. Fisher. That’s what I told her. I sez, “I bet if it was somethin’ for yourself you’d have plenty of time.” [Leaning towards Clara.] But, you know,—what I think, Clara—I think she’s meetin’ this fellow at lunch-time. Because in the mornin’s here she stands fixin’ herself there in front of that glass till it’s a wonder to me she don’t drop on the floor. And whenever you see them gettin’ very particular that way all of a sudden—there’s somethin’ in the wind. I sez to her the other mornin’, when she was settlin’ herself there till I got tired lookin’ at her, I sez, “You must be goin’ to see him to-day, ain’t you?” And she sez, “He must be on your mind, isn’t he?” “No,” I sez, “but by the looks of things, I think he’s on yours. And,” I sez, “maybe after you get him you won’t think he was worth all the bother you went to.” Because, you know, Clara, she don’t know a thing about him; except that he works in the Pennsylvania freight office—I believe he did tell her that much. But she don’t know whether he works there or not. He could tell her anything; and she’d believe it [Taking another bite of candy and settling herself in her chair]—before she’d believe me.

Clara. That’s where he works [Her Mother looks at her sharply]—at the Pennsylvania freight office.

Mrs. Fisher. How do you know?

Clara. Frank knows him.

Mrs. Fisher. Frank Hyland?

Clara. Yes,—he sez he eats his lunch at the same place, there at Fifteenth and Arch.

Mrs. Fisher. And, does he say he knows him?

Clara. Yes. He sez he’s seen him around there for a long ​time. I’ve often heard him speak of him, but I didn’t know it was the same fellow. Frank always called him Carnation Charlie. He sez he’s always got a big carnation in his buttonhole.

Mrs. Fisher [Tapping the table conclusively]. That’s the one; he’s always got it on when he comes here, too.

Clara. Frank sez he’s never seen him without it.

Mrs. Fisher. I haven’t either. And I believe in my heart, Clara, that’s what’s turned her head. [Clara smiles.] You often see things like that, you know. The worst fool of a man can put a carnation in his coat or his hat over one eye, and half a dozen sensible women’ll be dyin’ about him.

Clara. Well, Frank sez this fellow’s absolutely crazy.

Mrs. Fisher. That’s what your Father sez.

Clara. He sez they kid the life out of him down around the restaurant there.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, he don’t know who Frank Hyland is, does he?

Clara. No, Frank didn’t tell him. He sez he just happened to get talking to him the other day and he mentioned that he was calling on a girl up this way named Fisher. So then Frank found out what his right name was, and when he came home he asked me about him.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, is he sure it’s the same fellow?

Clara. He told him his name was Piper.

Mrs. Fisher [With finality]. That the name—Aubrey Piper. I don’t know where he got the Aubrey from; I never heard of such a name before, did you?

Clara. Yes, I’ve heard the name of Aubrey.

Mrs. Fisher [Rocking]. Well, I never did. Sounds to me more like a place than a name. [Amy can be heard coming down the stairs.] Here she comes. [She snatches up the box of candy and puts it under her apron.]

Clara. Don’t say anything, now.

​Mrs. Fisher. It’d be no use. [Trying to be casual.] What color are you havin’ your lamp-shade made, Clara?

Amy [Hurrying in at the hall-door]. Mom, you must have seen something of that bar-pin of mine; I can’t find it anywhere. [She tosses a beaded bag onto the center-table and turns to the mantelpiece and looks for the bar-pin.]

Mrs. Fisher [Abstractedly]. I saw a pin of yours in one of the drawers in the buffet there a few days ago, I don’t know whether it’s there yet or not.

Amy [Hurrying across to the buffet at the right]. How’s it you’re not home to-night, Clara? [She starts to rummage in the buffet-drawers.]

Clara [Casually]. I had my dinner in town.

Amy. Is that parlor all right, Mom?

Mrs. Fisher. Certainly it’s all right.

Amy. Well, did you side it?

Mrs. Fisher [Sharply]. Certainly I sided it.

Amy. All right, Mom, don’t make a speech about it.

Mrs. Fisher [Considerably ruffled]. No, but you’d think the way she sez it that I sat here all day with my two hands as long as each other. [Amy finds the pin and slams the drawer shut, leaving various ends of tape and pieces of lace hanging out. Then she starts back towards the mirror over the mantelpiece.] Did you find it?

Amy [Disrespectfully]. Yes.

Mrs. Fisher [Rising, still holding the candy under her apron, and stepping over to the buffet]. It’s a wonder you wouldn’t leave these drawers the way you found them. She does that every time she goes near this buffet. [She puts the various odds and ends back into the drawers and closes them.] She’s in such a great rush lately.

Amy [Settling herself at the mirror]. Isn’t that a new dress on you, Clara?

Clara. Yes.

​Mrs. Fisher [Coming back to her chair]. I’d like to see the kind of house you’ll keep.

Amy. Well, I hope it won’t be anything like this one, I’ll tell you that.

Mrs. Fisher [Stopping halfway to her chair]. Oh, go easy, lady! You might be very glad to have half as good, if you live long enough. [Continuing to her chair, and looking keenly at Clara’s dress.] I thought I hadn’t seen that dress on you before. [She sits down.]

Clara. No, I only got it last week.

Mrs. Fisher. Stand up there till I see it. [Clara gets up and takes a couple of steps towards the left, pulling down her skirt, then turns around to her left and faces her Mother. Amy comes down to the center-table, looking sharply at Clara’s dress.]

Clara. I got it at a sale in Strawbridge’s. [Amy opens her beaded purse on the table and looks at herself critically in the little inside mirror; then adds a touch of powder.]

Mrs. Fisher. It’s a nice length.

Clara. I didn’t have to have a thing touched on it.

Mrs. Fisher. That’s what I was tellin’ you about the other day, Amy.—Do you see the way that dress hangs?

Amy. Yeh.

Mrs. Fisher [Speaking directly to Clara]. There was a dress on Queen Mary in last Sunday’s Ledger that I was sayin’ to Amy I thought’d look good on me. And it had all buttons up and down the front, the way that has.

Clara [Coming back to her chair]. A lot of the new dresses are made that way.

Mrs. Fisher. How much was it?

Clara [Sitting down]. Forty-two seventy-five. [Amy starts to polish her nails.]

Mrs. Fisher [Turning away, with a lift of her eyes to Heaven]. You must have plenty of money.

​Amy. Mom, where’d you put those roses I brought home?

Mrs. Fisher. They’re out there in the dining-room. [Amy starts towards the right.] I put them in some water. [Amy goes out; and Mrs. Fisher rocks for a second or two; then she turns and calls after Amy.] I think it’s time you lit the light in that parlor, Amy, if that fellow of yours is comin’ here to-night. [She rocks a little bit more, then turns casually to Clara.] What time is it by your watch there, Clara? [With a glance toward the mantelpiece at the back.] That old clock of ours is stopped again.

Clara [Looking at her wrist-watch]. Quarter past eight.

Mrs. Fisher [Getting up suddenly]. I must tell her. [The box of candy lands on the floor.] My God, there goes the candy! Pick that up, Clara, I can’t stoop; and put it out of sight. [Going towards the door up at the right.] It’s a wonder I didn’t do that while she was in here. [Calling out after Amy.] Amy!

Amy. Yes?

Mrs. Fisher. Clara sez it’s a quarter past eight by her watch;—you’d better get some kind of a light in that parlor if that fellow’s comin’. [She moves back towards her chair, then speaks in a very subdued tone to Clara.] She brings flowers home with her from the city now, every night he’s coming. She must have flowers for him in the parlor. [She sits down.] I told her, I sez, “I bet it’d be a long time before you’d bring any flowers home from the city to me.”

Clara. That’s another new dress on her to-night, isn’t it?

Mrs. Fisher [Straightening the magazines on the table]. She’s had it about a week.

Clara. What’s she getting so many new dresses for lately?

Mrs. Fisher. Heaven knows, I don’t.

Clara. That’s the fourth I’ve seen on her since Easter.

Mrs. Fisher. Tryin’ to make him think she’s rich, I guess. I told her the other night she might not get so many after she gets him.

​Amy [Entering from the right, carrying a vase of roses, and crossing directly to the parlor-doors at the left]. You need another box of matches out there, Mom.

Mrs. Fisher. Is that box of matches gone already?

Amy. Pretty near. [She goes into the parlor.]

Mrs. Fisher. I swear I don’t know where all the matches go to;—seems to me all I do is buy matches. [Amy strikes a match in the parlor.] Be careful of them lace curtains there, now, Amy, if you’re goin’ to light that lamp. [The lamp is lit in the parlor; and {{sc|Amy} closes the parlor-doors.]

Clara [Rising and handing her Mother the box of candy, which she has been holding since she picked it up from the floor.] I think I’ll go, before he comes.

Mrs. Fisher [Rising]. You’d better, unless you want to be here all night. [Clara moves up to the looking-glass over the mantelpiece, and Mrs. Fisher crosses to the buffet with the candy.] For if he ever starts talkin’, you’ll never get out. [She puts the candy into one of the drawers, then starts across towards the hall-door, up at the left.] You wouldn’t mind, you know, if he’d stay in there in the parlor;—but the minute ever he hears a voice out here, he’s out like a jumpin’-jack. [Amy can be heard coughing out in the hallway, and, as Mrs. Fisher passes back of Clara, Clara half turns and suggests with a movement of her hand that Amy might overhear her.] Oh, he’s not here yet; you’d know it if he was. [She peers keenly out into the hallway, then turns and tiptoes back to Clara, and speaks in a very low tone.] She stands out there in the vestibule until she sees him get off the trolley, then she comes in and lets him ring, so he won’t think she’s been waitin’ for him. [She tiptoes back and peers out into the hallway again, and Clara moves over to the right, adjusting her neck-piece. Mrs. Fisher comes back to the center-table.] You never seen anybody so crazy about a fellow.

​Clara. Well, I think somebody ought to tell her about him, Mom.

Mrs. Fisher [Folding the ribbon and the paper from the candy-box]. What’s the good of tellin’ her;—she’d only give you a look if you said anything about him.

Clara. Well, I’d say it anyway, whether she gave me a look or not; for, remember what I’m telling you, Mom, it’s you that’ll have them on your hands if she takes him. [Her Mother looks at her sharply.]

Mrs. Fisher. I’ll have them on my hands?

Clara [Turning to her Mother]. Well now, who else will, Mom? You couldn’t leave her out on the street; and that’s exactly where she’ll land if she takes him; for you know how long Amy could get along on a hundred and fifty dollars a month.

Mrs. Fisher. Takes more than that to keep herself, never name a house and a husband.

Clara. Well, that’s exactly what he gets, for he’s only a clerk down there.

Mrs. Fisher. He told her he was the head of the department.

Clara. He’s a clerk, Mom,—like a hundred others down there: Frank knows what he does.

Mrs. Fisher [Moving a step or two nearer to Clara]. Well, why don’t you say something to her, Clara?

Clara. Now, you know how much attention she’d pay to anything I’d say.

Mrs. Fisher [With measured definiteness]. She won’t pay any attention to what anybody sez.

Clara. Especially if she knew it was Frank Hyland that said it.

Mrs. Fisher. She thinks everybody’s jealous of him; and jealous of her because she’s gettin’ him. So let her get him. If she makes her bed, let her lie in it.

​Clara [Looking straight out]. Well, that’s the trouble, Mom; it isn’t always the person that makes the bed that lies in it.—Very often somebody else has to lie in it.

Mrs. Fisher [Turning back to the table]. Well, it’ll be nobody around here, I can promise you that.

Clara [Turning to the buffet-mirror]. Maybe not.

Mrs. Fisher. No maybe about it.

Clara. But you know what you are, Mom, where Amy’s concerned.

Mrs. Fisher [Taking a step towards Clara]. Why, don’t be silly, Clara. Do you think your Father’d be listenin’ to that rattle-brain here every night?

Clara [Turning and speaking directly to her Mother]. He has to listen to him now, doesn’t he—or go out, as he did to-night. [The front-door closes. They both turn and glance in the direction of the hallway.] Maybe this is Frank now. [There is a slight pause, then Frank Hyland comes in, and comes forward to the center-table.]

Mrs. Fisher. Hello, Frank.

Hyland. Hello, Mother. Hello, Clara. [He puts his hat down on the table.]

Clara. I was just going; I thought maybe you weren’t coming.

Hyland [Looking at his watch]. I couldn’t get away from there until nearly eight o’clock.

Mrs. Fisher. Frank,—Clara sez you know this fellow that’s comin’ to see our Amy.

Hyland. Who, Piper?

Mrs. Fisher. Yes—the one that does so much talkin’.

Hyland. Yes, I know him. [He moves to the left and sits down on the arm of the Morris-chair.]

Mrs. Fisher. I think he’s crazy, Frank; [Hyland makes a sound of amusement] I do, honestly; and Pop and Joe sez they think he is, too.

​Clara. Mom sez he told Amy he was head of the freight department, Frank.

Mrs. Fisher. He did, honestly, Frank; and she believes him. But Clara sez you say he’s only a clerk down there.

Clara. That’s all he is, Mom.

Mrs. Fisher. He isn’t head of the freight department, is he, Frank? [Frank sits looking away off, dreamily.]

Clara. Frank—

Hyland [Turning]. I beg your pardon, what did you say, dear?

Mrs. Fisher. He isn’t head of the freight department down there, is he?

Hyland. No, he’s just one of the clerks.

Mrs. Fisher [Turning to Clara]. Now, you see that—and she’d only laugh at you if you told her that. [Turning back to Hyland.] How much do them freight-clerks get a month, Frank? [Hyland is gazing out of the window at the left.]

Clara. Frank, Mom is talking to you.

Hyland [Turning]. Oh, I beg your pardon, what did you say, Mother?

Mrs. Fisher. I say, how much do them freight-clerks get a month?

Hyland. Why,—about a hundred and forty or fifty dollars,—I don’t know exactly; but not any more than that. [His eyes wander to the window again.]

Mrs. Fisher. What are we goin’ to do about it, Frank?—It looks like a steady thing. He comes Wednesday and Sunday nights now—and if she ever takes him, she’ll be the poorest woman in this city. You know how our Amy spends money. [Turning to Clara.] She’s got seven pairs of shoes up in that hall-closet.

Hyland [Abstractedly]. Amy certainly does let her money fly. [Mrs. Fisher gives him a stoney look.]

​Mrs. Fisher. Well, if she does she earns it. She might as well have a good time now while she’s young;—God knows what’s ahead of her. [The front door-bell rings,—a series of funny little taps.] Here he is now, I know his ring. [She steps up to the mantelpiece and glances out into the hallway.]

Clara [Turning towards the kitchen-door]. We’ll go out the side-door. Come on, Frank. [Hyland rises and picks up his hat from the table, as he crosses below it.]

Hyland. Good-night, Mother. [Mrs. Fisher is too occupied with her interests out in the hallway.] Do you want to go to a picture, Clara?

Clara [Going out at the right]. I don’t care.

Hyland [Following her]. It’s only about twenty after eight. [He glances at his watch.]

Clara. We can get the second show at Broad and Columbia Avenue.

Mrs. Fisher [Following them out]. Frank, I wish you’d talk to Amy some time, and tell her what you told me; she won’t believe me.

Hyland. I don’t suppose she’d believe me, either, Mother.

Aubrey [Out at the front-door]. Right on the job!

Amy. Hello!

Aubrey. The pride of old West Philly! [He laughs a bit, boisterously.]

Amy. I’ll take your hat, Aubrey.

Aubrey. Anything to please the ladies. [The front-door closes.] The boy rode off with many thanks, and many a backward bow. [He laughs again, rather wildly. Mrs. Fisher tiptoes into the room from the right and stands listening, keenly.] Do you know, I think I’ll have to get hold of an airship somewhere, Amy, to come out here to see you.

Amy. It is quite a trip for you, isn’t it?

Aubrey. Just one shining hour and a half, if you say it ​quick; by the little old Brill special. And how is the Mother? [Mrs. Fisher’s face hardens, and a door closes. Then she tiptoes over to the double-doors at the left and listens. Aubrey’s voice can be heard fairly distinctly from beyond the doors.] Say, Amy—wasn’t that hold-up in last night’s paper somewhere out this way?

Amy. Yes, it was right over here on Erie Avenue. [Mr. Fisher appears in the hall-door and stands, looking with amusement at his wife. He takes an old pipe and tobacco-pouch from the pocket of his knit-jacket and starts to fill the pipe.]

Aubrey. A doctor’s house, wasn’t it?

Amy. Yes, Doctor Donnelly’s. They got nearly two thousand dollars.

Aubrey. I don’t believe that, Amy.

Amy. Why not?

Aubrey. I don’t believe there’s that much money in North Philadelphia. [He roars with laughter. Mr. Fisher gives his wife a little dig in the ribs and makes a sound like a startled cat. She starts violently, smothering a little shriek.]

Mrs. Fisher. Oh, you frightened me! [Mr. Fisher continues to the center-table and sets his newspaper down.]

Mr. Fisher. You ought to be pretty nearly frightened to death by this time, oughtn’t you? [He replaces the tobacco-pouch in his pocket.]

Mrs. Fisher. Well, it’s no wonder I’d be.

Mr. Fisher. You’ve been jumpin’ that way ever since I knew you.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, what do you come pussy-footin’ in that way for, when you know how nervous I am?

Mr. Fisher. I didn’t come pussy-footin’ in at all.

Mrs. Fisher. You did so, or I’d have heard you.

Mr. Fisher. You would have heard me, if you weren’t so busy listenin’ to somethin’ that’s none of your business.

​Mrs. Fisher. Well, it’ll be somethin’ of my business if you go spillin’ any of that dirty old tobacco on my nice new table-cloth, I tell you that. [She resumes her listening at the door, and Mr. Fisher brushes the tobacco from the table-cloth.]

Mr. Fisher. I’m not spillin’ any of it. [There’s a burst of laughter from Aubrey in the parlor, and Mr. Fisher looks toward the parlor-door.] Who’s in there—Windy? [Mrs. Fisher nods, yes, and the old man moves down at the right of the center-table, picking up the newspaper and reaching into his vest-pocket for his spectacles.] What’s he doin’, laughin’ at some more of them West Philadelphia jokes of his? [He sits down to read, in the chair at the right of the table, and Mrs. Fisher comes tiptoeing towards the chair at the left of the table.]

Mrs. Fisher [In a lowered tone]. He was astin’ Amy about that robbery over at Doctor Donnelly’s yesterday mornin’; and when she told him the bandits got away with nearly two thousand dollars, he said it couldn’t be true, because there wasn’t that much money in North Philadelphia.

Mr. Fisher [With mock laughter]. Ha! Ha! Ha!

Mrs. Fisher [Returning to the parlor-doors to listen]. Shush! [There’s a Ha! Ha! Ha! from the parlor from Aubrey, and the old man looks quickly and distrustfully in that direction. Aubrey continues to laugh.]

Mr. Fisher [Settling himself to read]. I’ll bet there wouldn’t have to be much money up this way to be more than he’s got. [There’s a sound of hammering in the cellar. Mrs. Fisher hurries across to the cellar-door.]

Aubrey [In the parlor]. You know, I discovered tonight, Amy, that I can save a full fifteen minutes on this trip over here, by transferring up Twenty-ninth to the Lehigh Avenue car, instead of going on in and up Nineteenth.

Mrs. Fisher [Opening the cellar-door and calling down, in a subdued voice], Joe! Stop that hammering down there, we ​can’t hear our ears up here. [The old man gives a hard chuckle. Mrs. Fisher tip-toes hack towards the parlor-doors, looking at her husband stonily.] What ails you?

Amy [In the parlor]. It is hard to get out here, unless you use the Park trolley. I hear some people say that’s a great deal quicker. [Mrs. Fisher listens keenly again with her ear against the parlor-door.]

Aubrey. I don’t know how they ever found this place.

Amy. I don’t know how you ever found West Philadelphia.

Aubrey. Lot of people think they haven’t found it yet. [He burst into violent laughter.] Lost somewhere between the Schuylkill River and Darby. [He laughs some more. The old man looks piercingly over his spectacles at his wife.]

Mr. Fisher [Almost shouting]. Come away from there, Josie! [Mrs. Fisher is startled almost to death. She places her hand on her bosom and moves away from the door towards the center of the room.] Don’t be listenin’ to that damned blatherskite.

Mrs. Fisher [Trying to be casual]. I wasn’t listenin’ to him;—I was just seein’ what he was sayin’. [She moves up to the little stand between the hall-door and the mantelpiece and picks up her knitting-bag. Amy is very much amused at something Aubrey has just said in the parlor. Mrs. Fisher glances toward the parlor-doors, then comes down to her husband’s right, and, with another glance toward the door, speaks very confidentially.] He was astin’ Amy how she ever found this part of town to live in; and she was astin’ him how he ever found West Philadelphia. He sez West Philadelphia ain’t been found yet,—that it’s lost somewhere between the Schuylkill River and Darby. [She moves over to the arm-chair at the right, in front of the window, and sits down.]

Mr. Fisher. I wish to God he’d get lost some night, somewhere between here and the Schuylkill River.

​Mrs. Fisher [Taking the needles and the pink wool out of the knitting-bag.] What’d kill you, too, you know, he always dies laughin’ whenever he gets off one of them bum jokes.

Mr. Fisher. Somebody’s got to laugh.

Aubrey [From the parlor]. Ha! Ha! That’s the time I fooled you, Amy! Leave it to me to put it right over the plate. [Amy has quite a laughing fit in the parlor. Her Mother looks narrowly toward the parlor-doors until Amy has finished laughing.]

Mrs. Fisher. He’s got Amy laughin’ now, too. [She commences to knit; and there is a slight pause. Then she glances at the clock on the mantelpiece.] That old clock has stopped again, Neil.

Mr. Fisher [Without moving]. Needs fixin’.

Mrs. Fisher. It’s been fixed twice,—don’t do no good. [There is a pause, and Mrs. Fisher sighs.] I think it’s terrible lonesome not to hear the clock—it’s too still in a room.—It always sounds to me like soap-bubbles meltin’.

Mr. Fisher. H’m—here’s a fellow here’s been left a quarter of a million dollars, and he won’t take it.

Mrs. Fisher [Sharply]. What’s the matter with him?

Mr. Fisher. Nothin’ at all’s the matter with him—he just won’t take it.

Mrs. Fisher [Resuming her knitting]. He mustn’t be in his right mind, poor boy. I wisht somebody’d leave me a quarter of a million dollars.

Mr. Fisher. You wouldn’t know what to do with it if they did.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, I know one thing I’d do with it; and that’d be to have somethin’ done to that old heater of ours downstairs, and not be freezin’ to death all next winter, the way I was last. [Aubrey laughs in the parlor. Mrs. Fisher glances toward the parlor-doors; then shifts her knitting.] Every sweater I start I swear it’ll be the last—and then I start right in on ​another. [She gives a faint little laugh and looks at her husband; but he’s reading; so she subsides and continues to knit. Suddenly she stops and rests her knitting in her lap, and thinks; then turns to Mr. Fisher.] Well now, what becomes of money like that, Neil, that people won’t take?

Mr. Fisher [Squinting at her over his glasses] What’d you say?

Mrs. Fisher. I say, what becomes of money that people won’t take that way?

Mr. Fisher [Resuming his paper]. Why, nothing at all becomes of it;—they just come and get it. [She looks at him steadily.]

Mrs. Fisher. Who does?

Mr. Fisher. The people that won’t take it. [Mrs. Fisher is puzzled for a second.]

Mrs. Fisher [Resuming her knitting]. Well, I’ll bet if they left it to me they wouldn’t have to come and take it.

Mr. Fisher [Looking at her again with a shade of irritation]. Who wouldn’t have to come and take it?

Mrs. Fisher [Losing her temper]. Why, the people that won’t take it!

Mr. Fisher. What are you talkin’ about, Josie, do you know?

Mrs. Fisher. Yes, I do know very well what I’m talkin’ about!—but I don’t think you do.

Mr. Fisher. Let me read this paper, will you?

Mrs. Fisher [Knitting rapidly]. Go ahead and read it!—I’m sure I don’t want to talk to you. It was you that started talkin’ to me—readin’ about that young man that took the money. [Joe comes up from the cellar, carrying some kind of a radio-arrangement on a flat base-board and a screw-driver.] Joe, I’m goin’ to have that light took out of that cellar, if you don’t stop spendin’ all your time down there.

Joe [Holding his work under the table-lamp to look at it closely]. You don’t want me hammerin’ up here, do you?

​Mrs. Fisher. I don’t want you hammerin’ anywhere. I want you to go out at night and get some air, and not be cooped up in that dusty old cellar. [There’s a violent burst of laughter from Aubrey in the parlor. Joe glances toward the parlor-doors, then turns, with something of distress in his expression, to his Mother.]

Joe. Who’s in there—the Pennsylvania Railroad?

Mrs. Fisher. Yes, and he’s got about as much sense as yourself.

Joe [Moving around to the chair at the left of the center-table and sitting down]. You won’t say that when you’re sittin’ here listenin’ to the Grand Opera. [He starts to tighten the small screws in the base-board.]

Mrs. Fisher. I won’t be listenin’ to it, don’t fret—I got somethin’ else to do besides listenin’ to a lot of dagoes singin’.

Mr. Fisher [Looking over at Joe’s radio-arrangement]. What is it?

Mrs. Fisher. He sez when he gets that radio-thing finished, I can sit here and listen to the Grand Opera.

Mr. Fisher [Resuming his paper]. What’s that, them singin’ people?

Mrs. Fisher. Yes—them that goes away up high, you know—that Clara has on her victrola. [The parlor-door opens, and Amy comes out, walking on air.]

Amy. Oh, it’s all right if you let it run for a minute. [She crosses to the right to the kitchen-door, glancing at herself in the mantelpiece-mirror as she pauses.]

Mrs. Fisher. What’s the matter?

Amy. Nothing; Aubrey wants a drink of water. [She goes out at the right.]

Mrs. Fisher [With a significant sound]. Oh.

Aubrey [Coming out of the parlor]. Stay right where you are, folks, right where you are. [He moves to the mirror over the mantelpiece.] Just a little social attention,—going right out ​again on the next train. [He surveys himself critically in the mirror, touching his tie and toupé gingerly. Mrs. Fisher gives him a smouldering look, and Joe looks at his Father. Aubrey turns from the mirror, and indicates his reflection with a wide gesture.] There you are, Mother! Any woman’s fancy, what do you say? Even to the little old carnation. [He gives the table a double tap with his knuckles, then laughs, and moves up towards the kitchen-door, and calls out to Amy.] Come on, Amy, step on the United Gas out there; customer in here waiting for the old aqua pura. [Moving down to Mr. Fisher’s right.] Man’s got to have something to drink—how about it, Pop? [He gives Mr. Fisher a slap on the right shoulder.] You’ll stay with me on that, won’t you? [He laughs and moves up to the mirror again. Old man Fisher is very much annoyed.] Yes, sir. [Coming forward again at the right.] I want to tell those of you who have ventured out this evening, that this is a very pretty little picture of domestic felicity. [He laughs a little and looks from one to the other, patronizingly; but nobody pays the slightest attention to him.] Father reading,—Mother knitting; [Mrs. Fisher withers him with a quick look.] But then, Mama is always knitting. [She knits rapidly and Aubrey laughs, and moves up and across back of the table.] And little old Tommy Edison over here, working eighteen hours a day to make the rich man richer and the poor man poorer. [He gives Joe a tap on the back, then moves back again towards Mr. Fisher.] What about it, Popcorn? [Slaps him on the back.] Shake it up! Right or raving?

Mr. Fisher [Starting to his feet violently]. God damn it, let me alone! And keep your hands to yourself. [He crosses below the center-table and up to the hall-door.] I never saw such a damn pest in my life! [He goes up the stairs bristling with rage, and muttering to himself. Aubrey is vastly amused. He leans on the back of Mr. Fisher’s chair and roars with laughter.]

​Aubrey. Sign on the dotted line! And little old Popsy-Wopsy getting sore and going to leave us flat. [He laughs again considerably; then turns to Mrs. Fisher.] Nevertheless, and notwithstanding, Mrs. Fisher, I’d like to mention that the kid from West Philadelphia is giving the growing boy the said and done. [He indicates Joe with a waving gesture. Amy comes in from the right with a glass of water. He turns and acknowledges her with even a wider gesture.] And there she is herself, and not a moving picture. [Amy extends the glass of water, laughing, and with a touch of self-consciousness.] Blushing as she gave it, looking down—at her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. [Amy giggles, and her Mother looks sharply at Amy’s shoes. Aubrey takes the glass of water and turns to Mrs. Fisher.] How’s that, Mother Fisher? Can’t beat that little old Willie Shakespeare, can you? No, sir,—I’d like to tell the brothers that that little old Shakespeare party shook a wicked spear. [He laughs at his own comedy, and Amy is immeasurably delighted.] Well, here’s laughter, ladies! and, [Turning to Joe] Mr. Marconi,—my best regards to you. [He drinks.]

Amy. I’m afraid it’s not very cold. [He just raises his hand, signifying that it’s perfectly satisfactory.]

Mrs. Fisher. Why didn’t you let it run?

Amy. I did, but it doesn’t seem to get any colder.

Aubrey [Handing the glass back to Amy]. Very nice indeed. And a sweeter draught, from a fairer hand was never quaffed.

Amy [Flipping her hand at him.] Oh, you! [She goes out at the right again with the empty glass.]

Aubrey [Laughing a bit]. Thank you very much. [He turns and moves across above the table towards Joe, drawing a gaily-bordered handkerchief from his breast-pocket and touching it to his lips.] Yes, sir, Mr. Joseph, I want to tell you you’re wasting time; for when you’re all through, they’ll offer you twenty cents for it, and sell it for twenty million [He punctuates this last ​remark with a series of patronizing taps on Joe’s back]—Take it or leave it—sign on the dotted line. [He taps his knuckles on the table, and moves back again to Mrs. Fisher’s left.] Yes, sir,—that’s exactly what they did to little old yours truly here. Twenty Lincoln Anacondas, for a formula that would have solved the greatest problem before the Industrial Chemical world to-day. [Amy comes in from the right, and, looking at Aubrey wonderingly, moves across towards the left. Aubrey moves forward and across in front of the table towards Joe.] A formula to prevent the rusting of iron and steel. [Joe gets up and moves tip and around above the table towards the kitchen-door at the right.] A solution of Vanadium and Manganese, to be added to the metal in its molten state; [Joe stops and looks back at him] instead of applied externally as they have been doing.

Joe. What did you say, Aubrey?

Aubrey. I said, a simple combination of chemical elements, to be added to the metal in its molten state, instead of applied externally as they have been doing.

Joe and Aubrey, speaking together.

Joe [Speaking to his Mother]. Mom, do you know anything about that little screw-driver with the black handle?

Aubrey. But,—simply because it was discovered by a working-man—that they saw they couldn’t buy—

Mrs. Fisher. Do you mean the one you fixed the sewing machine with?

Joe and Aubrey, speaking together.

Joe. Yes, that little short one with the black handle.

Aubrey. They gave it the swinging door. [Amy moves over to the parlor-doors.]

Mrs. Fisher and Aubrey, speaking together.

Mrs. Fisher. I think I saw it on that shelf out there, over the sink. And now, don’t go upsettin’ everything out there.

Aubrey. They’d rather go on paying a million dollars a year ​[Joe goes out, and Aubrey follows him to the kitchen-door]—to paint their steel and iron structures throughout the country, than pay me.

Mrs. Fisher. Do you see it, Joe?

Aubrey [Coming down to Mrs. Fisher’s left]. And do you know why, Mrs. Fisher?

Joe [Answering his Mother from the kitchen]. No!

Aubrey. Then, I’ll tell you. Because I work for my living. That’s the said and done on the whole business. [Mrs. Fisher starts to put her things into the knitting-bag, preparatory to getting up.] Keep them poor and get them married; and then, [He looks away off.] as my darling old Mother used to say, “You’ve got them on their beams and hinges.”

Mrs. Fisher [Getting up]. I don’t see that anybody’s tryin’ to make anybody get married if they don’t want to. [She passes up to the kitchen-door, putting her knitting-bag on the buffet as she goes].

Aubrey [Following her up]. But they do want to, Mrs. Fisher,—but the capitalist wants to stop them.

Mrs. Fisher [Turning at the kitchen-door and speaking directly to him]. Well, I guess it’d be just as well to stop some of ’em. [She goes out.]

Aubrey [Calling after her through the kitchen-door]. Ah, don’t go back on little old William Jennings Bryan, Mother Fisher. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, you know. [He turns and comes forward at the right again, laughing a little.] Sign on the dotted line.

Amy [Trying to conceal her temper]. Come on in here, Aubrey.

Aubrey [Starting towards her]. Yes, sir, Amy, I want to tell you it’s the poor man that gets it every time. I put a question up to Secretary Mellon, in a letter six weeks ago—that absolutely stumped him, because I haven’t had a line from him since. ​[Amy is smiling into his eyes. He passes in front of her and goes into the parlor. The curtain commences to descend slowly. Amy looks darkly toward the kitchen-door, and stamps her foot with temper; then follows Aubrey into the parlor.] I simply asked him to what extent his proposed program of Income Tax Revision would affect the great American Railroad Employé. [The curtain is down.]

Mrs. Fisher is sitting at the right of the table asleep, her knitting lying in her lap; and Joe, sitting at the left of the table, is endeavoring to pass the tip of a wire through a small eyelet on the base-board. Amy starts to play the piano in the parlor; and, after the usual introduction, Aubrey begins to sing, “Rocked In the Cradle Of The Deep,” in a heavy bass voice.

Aubrey [Singing].
“Rocked in the cradle of the deep,
I lay me down,—in peace to sleep—
Secure I rest upon the wave,
For Thou alone—
[Mrs. Fisher starts slightly and wakens. Joe glances at her. Aubrey continues.]
has the power to save.”

Mrs. Fisher. Where’d you put it? What? Did you say something? [Aubrey continues to sing.]

Joe. Not a thing, Mom.

Mrs. Fisher [Brushing back her hair]. I must have been dozin’.

Joe. You’ve been dead.

​Mrs. Fisher. What?

Joe. Since half-past nine. [Mrs. Fisher becomes conscious of Aubrey singing.]

Mrs. Fisher. What time is it now, Joe? [The singing becomes louder, and Mrs. Fisher rises, with her eyes fastened on the parlor-door.] Is that him singin’ in there?

Joe [Reaching into his belt-pocket for an Ingersoll watch]. The old Scientific American himself. A quarter of twelve.

Mrs. Fisher. My God! what’s he startin’ to sing at this hour for! [She steps to the buffet at the right and puts her knitting-bag into one of the drawers.]

Joe. Talent should never be suppressed at any time, Mother.

Mrs. Fisher. It’s a wonder Amy wouldn’t have sense enough to stop him. [She slams the buffet-drawer shut, and starts across towards the parlor-doors.] I never saw a man yet that didn’t think he could sing. Put that thing away, now, Joe, you’ve been at it long enough. And see that that back is locked. I don’t think Amy has any idea what time it is or she’d shut him up.

Joe. Let the young man express himself. [He gets up and crosses below the table towards the right, and up to the kitchen-door.]

Mrs. Fisher. Oh, I wouldn’t care if he bawled his head off, as far as I’m concerned—I’d be glad if he did; but I don’t want him to waken your Father. [She steps up to the hall-door and listens, at the foot of the stairs.] And that’s what he’ll be doin’ the first thing you know, and then the fat’ll be in the fire for sure. [Aubrey reaches a high note, and Joe and his Mother stand looking at each other. Then Joe bursts out laughing.] Ain’t that terrible, Joe? Do you think I ought to tell Amy what time it is?

Joe. No, give the boy a chance. [Aubrey finishes on a high note and holds it.] Hurray! [Aubrey can be heard applauding himself. Joe applauds, also.]

Mrs. Fisher [Frantically, and going towards Joe]. Shush, Joe!

​Joe [Going out through the door at the right]. Sign on the dotted line!

Mrs. Fisher. Don’t encourage him, for God’s sake, Joe, he’s bad enough as it is.

Mr. Fisher [Shouting from the head of the stairs]. Josie!

Mrs. Fisher [Rushing back towards the hall-door on her tip-toes]. Yes?

Mr. Fisher. What the devil’s goin’ on down there! Do you know what time it is?

Mrs. Fisher [Trying to pacify him]. Why, Joe was just cuttin’ up here a minute ago.

Mr. Fisher. What’s Amy playin’ the piano for, at this time of the night?

Mrs. Fisher [Trying not to be heard in the parlor]. Why, her and Joe was just foolin’—

Mr. Fisher. Damn funny kind of fooling at this time of night! The neighbors’ll be wonderin’ what kind of a house we’re keepin’ here!

Mrs. Fisher. Well, they’ve stopped it now, Neil.

Mr. Fisher. Well, tell them to see that it’s kept stopped! And get them lights out down there and go to bed! It’s nearly twelve o’clock.

[Mrs. Fisher turns and looks at the parlor-doors. Then there’s a burst of wild laughter from Aubrey. This decides Mrs. Fisher. She steps resolutely towards the doors with the ostensible purpose of opening them, but, before she can reach the knob, the door is yanked open from the inside, and Amy steps out, looking resentfully at her.]

Amy. What’s the matter?

Mrs. Fisher [A trifle disconcerted]. Why,—a—I was just comin’ to tell you to be sure and put them lights out; I’m just goin’ up—it’s nearly twelve o’clock.

Aubrey [Thrusting his head and shoulders out through the ​door]. I am also just about to take my reluctant leave, Mrs. Fisher.

Mrs. Fisher [Trying to be polite]. Well, I don’t want to hurry you, but—

Aubrey. In fact, the recent outburst was in the nature of a farewell concert. [He breaks into a wild laugh and draws back into the parlor; and Mrs. Fisher, with a series of frantic gestures, intended to convey to Amy the imminence of her Father at the head of the stairs, steps back out of the range of the parlor-door. Amy makes an impatient movement of her body, and stamps her foot, then flounces into the parlor and slams the door.] The little old song at twilight, you know, Mother Fisher—to soothe the savage breast. [He gives vent to another gale of laughter; and Mrs. Fisher stands petrified, expecting to hear her husband again.]

Mrs. Fisher [As Aubrey’s laugh subsides]. The damn fool! [She crosses to the right to the kitchen-door and calls out to Joe.] Joe!

Joe. Yeh?

Mrs. Fisher. You’d better bring Gypsy Queen in and put her in the laundry there; she was shiverin’ when I opened the door this mornin’. I think it’s too cold for her on that back porch yet a while. [She moves a little back towards the center of the room.]

Joe [Out at the right]. Come on in here, Gypsy! Come on. [He whistles.]

Mrs. Fisher [Turning around to her left and looking back toward the kitchen-door]. Ain’t she there?

Joe. I don’t see her.

Mrs. Fisher [Calling in a high voice]. Where are you, Gypsy?

Joe. Here she is. Come on in here, Gypsy! Come on! That’s the old gypsy kid. [The door out at the right closes.]

​Mrs. Fisher [Going a step nearer the kitchen-door]. Go into that laundry there, Gypsy.

Joe. Come back here, Gypsy!

Mrs. Fisher. Make her go in there, Joe.

Joe [Stamping his foot]. Gypsy!

Mrs. Fisher [Stamping her foot at the kitchen-door]. Go back there, Gypsy! You bad girl! And go into that laundry this minute—

Joe. There she goes.

Mrs. Fisher. And don’t let me hear a sound out of you when you get in there either, or I’ll come right straight out and give you what I gave you last Sunday afternoon. [A door closes.] You better put the ketch on that door, Joe, or she’ll be pushin’ it open again; she wants to lay out here on this rug. [Going nearer to the door again, and calling.] Now, you remember what I told you, Gypsy; and don’t let me have to speak to you again. [Turning and moving across the room to the left.] Your Father has her spoiled. [A door out in the hallway at the left opens, and Amy can be heard laughing. Mrs. Fisher stops dead in the middle of the room and listens.]

Aubrey [Calling from the hallway]. Good-night, Mrs. Fisher. [Mrs. Fisher urns and darts back into the cellar-alcove at the right.]

Amy [In the hallway]. I guess she’s gone up, Aubrey.

Aubrey [Coming in at the hall-door, poising on one toe, hat and cane in hand, and looking about the room]. Montreal, Mother. [Mrs. Fisher flattens herself against the wall at the head of the cellar-stairs, and listens with a stoney expression.]

Amy. I don’t think she’s in there, Aubrey.

Aubrey. And silence was her answer. [He laughs wildly, turns, and starts out into the hallway again.] Right you are, Amy—[Glancing up the stairs]. On the right side she is sleeping. [He goes laughing out into the hallway.]

​Joe [Coming in from the kitchen, mimicking Aubrey’s laugh.] Ha! Ha! Ha! [He passes his Mother without seeing her.]

Mrs. Fisher [Coming out of the alcove]. Shush! Don’t let him hear you, Joe. [Joe turns and looks at his Mother, then continues across to the left to the hall-door.]

Joe. Is he goin’?

Mrs. Fisher [Following Joe to the center of the room]. At last! [Joe glances out into the hallway.] Don’t let him see you, now, Joe, or we’ll have him here for another hour.

Joe [Starting up the stairs]. I’m goin’ to bed.

Mrs. Fisher. Joe!

Joe [Leaning back and looking]. What?

Mrs. Fisher. Come here! [Amy can be heard giggling in the hallway. Joe comes back to his Mother.]

Joe. What?

Mrs. Fisher [Very confidentially]. What was that he was savin’ here to-night, about discoverin’ something to keep rust out of iron and steel?

Joe [Very much amused]. Wasn’t that a scream.

Mrs. Fisher. That’s what you’re always talkin’ about, ain’t it?

Joe. Yes, I was talkin’ to him about it one night here, while he was waitin’ for Amy to come down; and he’s forgot where he heard it.

Mrs. Fisher. Can you imagine!

Joe. I was wonderin’ if you were gettin’ that to-night.

Mrs. Fisher. No, it never struck me till afterwards.

Joe [With a shade of seriousness]. Did you get what he said tonight, Mom?

Mrs. Fisher. Now, you know I never pay any attention to what he sez.

Joe [Turning away laughing]. He’s a bird. [He goes to the hall-door and looks out into the hall.]

​Mrs. Fisher. Don’t let him see you, now, Joe.

Joe. The vestibule-door’s shut. [He goes up the stairs. His Mother follows him to the hall-door.]

Mrs. Fisher. You’d better close that window at the head of your bed, Joe, and not have it blowin’ in on you all night. [She glances out into the hallway, then steps to the parlor-door, opens it quietly and glances in, and starts across towards the right. The front-door closes out in the hallway, then the vestibule-door. Mrs. Fisher glances over her right shoulder toward the hallway, then continues to the kitchen-door. Just as she reaches the kitchen-door and glances out, the parlor-door is flung open and Amy comes in. She takes a couple of steps towards the middle of the room, then stands still, looking bitterly at her Mother. Mrs. Fisher speaks without looking at her.] Did you put that light out in there?

Amy [In a quiet rage]. That was a nice trick you people did tonight! [Her Mother turns and looks at her.]

Mrs. Fisher. What?

Amy. Everybody walking out of the room, while Aubrey was talking.

Mrs. Fisher. What did you want us to do, sit here all night listenin’ to him?

Amy. You wouldn’t have had to sit here all night listening to him; he was only in here five minutes.

Mrs. Fisher [Moving back towards the center-table]. That’s no thanks to him; he’d have been here till mornin’ if somebody didn’t do somethin’.

Amy [Swinging to the mirror over the mantelpiece]. I was never so mortified in my life.

Mrs. Fisher [Standing above the center-table]. Oh, don’t waste your sympathy, Amy! He don’t have to have anybody listen to him; he’d talk to the wall if there wasn’t anybody else around.

​Amy [Coming forward at her Mother’s right]. What did Pop get into such a temper about?

Mrs. Fisher [Getting mad]. Because he hit him on the back!

Amy. That was a lot to get mad about.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, he’s always hittin’ somebody!—on the back—or the shoulder—or someplace else. And your Father said the next time he did it he’d walk out of the room!—He can’t say two words together without hittin’ somebody someplace.

Amy. Well, I’ll bet you won’t get a chance to insult him again, Mom, I’ll tell you that. [She flounces down to the arm-chair at the extreme right.]

Mrs. Fisher. Then, let him stop his silly talk! and he won’t get insulted. Sign on the dotted line! every two minutes. And talkin’ about Shakespeare. [She crosses to the parlor-door.] What kind of goin’ on is that for a sensible man. [She slams the parlor-door shut, and moves up to the hall-door to listen for Mr. Fisher.] It’s no wonder our Joe sez he’s a nut!

Amy. Oh, everybody’s a nut with the people around here!

Mrs. Fisher [Coming back towards the center-table]. Oh, it ain’t only the people around here that sez it; everybody that knows him sez it. [Amy makes a sound of derisive amusement.] You needn’t laugh, for it’s true.

Amy [Turning sharply to her Mother]. Who do you know that knows him?

Mrs. Fisher. I know Frank Hyland. [Amy is puzzled for the fraction of a second.]

Amy. You mean Clara’s husband?

Mrs. Fisher. Yes, I mean Clara’s husband.

Amy. Oh, don’t make up a lie, Mom! Frank Hyland never saw Aubrey Piper.

Mrs. Fisher. Oh, didn’t he!

Amy. No, he didn’t.

​Mrs. Fisher. Well now, my lady, you’re so smart, he knows him better than you do.

Amy. I don’t believe it.

Mrs. Fisher. Doesn’t matter whether you believe it or not, he knows him just the same; he’s been lookin’ at him for years, down at that restaurant at Fifteenth and Arch, where he eats his lunch. And he sez he’s as crazy as a bass-singer.

Amy [Whirling on her Mother]. I suppose that’s what Clara was here to tell you, was it?

Mrs. Fisher. What does it matter who was here to tell it, Amy, if it’s true.

Amy [Stepping up close to her Mother]. Well now, listen, Mom, I want to tell you something right now! You tell our Clara for me the next time you see her, to mind her own damn business—[She taps the back of the chair twice with her knuckles, emphasizing the words “damn” and “business”] as far as Aubrey Piper is concerned.

Mrs. Fisher [Before Amy has finished speaking]. Oh, don’t fly into a temper, if anybody speaks to you! [She turns and crosses hurriedly to the hall-door to listen.]

Amy [Stamping her foot]. Well then, don’t speak to me about things that put me in a temper!

Mrs. Fisher. You’re not frightenin’ anybody around here. [She looks up the stairs and listens.]

Amy. No, and nobody around here is frightening me, either—Our Clara took who she wanted. And I guess you took who you wanted. [Mrs. Fisher moves steadily forward at the left to a point in front of the lower left-hand corner of the center-table.] And if I want Aubrey Piper I’ll take him!

Mrs. Fisher [Taking Amy’s tone]. Well, take him then!—and the sooner the better; for it’s a pity to spoil two houses with you. [She leans forward a little on the table and speaks with a steady precision.] Only remember this, Amy,—if you do take ​him,—be sure that you keep him—and that—he—keeps—you. [Amy looks at her keenly.] And don’t be comin’ around here cryin’ for your Pop to keep you.

Amy [With a sound of amused derision, and flouncing down to the arm-chair at the right]. Don’t make me laugh.

Mrs. Fisher. You can laugh all you like; there’s a lot of that kind of laughin’ goin’ on these days. But they change their tune as soon as the rent begins to come due; and it’s the Mothers and Fathers that has to listen to the changed tune. But nothin’ll do but they’ll get married.

Amy [Pinning her Mother with a quick look]. You got married, didn’t you?

Mrs. Fisher. Yes I did.

Amy [Turning away again]. Well—

Mrs. Fisher. To a man that was able to keep me.

Amy [Back to her Mother again]. And how do you know that Aubrey Piper wouldn’t be able to keep his wife?

Mrs. Fisher. Because I know what he earns;—[She strikes the table with her fist] and it isn’t enough.

Amy [Stamping her foot]. Oh, don’t go making up things, Mom!—You don’t know anything about what he earns.

Mrs. Fisher [With measured emphasis]. He earns a hundred and fifty dollars a month and not a penny more, for Frank Hyland sez so.

Amy. What does Frank Hyland know about it?

Mrs. Fisher. He knows what he does!—His business takes him in there all the time.

Amy. And what does he say he does?

Mrs. Fisher. Why, he sez he’s a clerk, of course,—[Amy makes a sound of amusement] like a hundred others down there.

Amy. That shows how much he knows about it.

Mrs. Fisher. But I suppose he told you he owns the Pennsylvania Railroad.

​Amy. Well, I’d take his word before I’d take Frank Hyland’s. [Her Mother looks at her narrowly, and there is a pause.]

Mrs. Fisher [Significantly]. Why would you take his word before you would take Frank Hyland’s?

Amy. Well, why shouldn’t I?

Mrs. Fisher [Losing her temper]. Because he’s a fool!—of a blatherskite.

Amy. That’s only your opinion, Mom.

Mrs. Fisher. It’s the opinion of everybody that ever listened to him. But you’d believe him before you’d believe the word of a steady sensible man.

Amy. I don’t know anything about Frank Hyland.

Mrs. Fisher. You know he’s been your brother-in-law for five years; and what do you know about this other clown?

Amy. Well, what do you want to know about him?

Mrs. Fisher. I don’t want to know anything about him; I know all I want to know about him. But before I’d get the name of havin’ a fellow comin’ to see me steady, there’s a few things I’d want to know about him, I’ll tell you that. [She turns away and takes a step towards the back of the room.]

Amy. I’ve told you where he lives and where he works,—what else do you want to know about him?

Mrs. Fisher. There’s no use talkin’ to you, Amy.

Amy. No, and there’s no use talking to you, either.

Mrs. Fisher [Turning to her sharply]. This fellow’s got you so crazy mad about him, that I believe you’d take him if you knew he had a wife and family somewhere, and not two cents in his pocket. [She moves towards the mantelpiece at the back, removing her spectacles.]

Amy. Well, I guess we’d get along some way even if I did.

Mrs. Fisher. All right.

Amy. Everybody else does.

Mrs. Fisher [Turning upon Amy in a rage, and wiping the ​glasses in her apron]. That’s the kind of talk that leaves them livin’ in garrets! And back at their jobs ten days after the weddin’.

Amy. Oh, you talk as though everybody that was married was starving to death.

Mrs. Fisher [Lifting the glasses towards Amy with a quiet, knowing gesture]. There are ways of starvin’ to death, Amy, besides not gettin’ enough to eat. [With a change to great shrewdness of tone and manner.] And the funny part of it is, Amy,—like a lot of others, you’re very shrewd about money while you’re at home, as far as what you give your Mother and Father is concerned; but the minute some clown, with a flower in his coat and patent-leather shoes, winks at you, you seem to forget there’s such a thing in the world as a ton of coal. [Crossing suddenly above the table towards Amy in quite a surge of temper.] And then it’s just as Clara sez, it’s your people that has to come to the rescue.

Amy [Furiously]. I wish I’d been here while she was talking! I bet I’d a told her a thing or two!

Mrs. Fisher. Oh, you needn’t try to turn it onto Clara;—she wasn’t talkin’ at all.

Amy [Stamping her foot]. She must have been talking!

Mrs. Fisher. She simply asked me where you were!—and I told her you were gettin’ dressed—that this fellow was comin’ here to-night: so then she told me that Frank Hyland knew him, and where he worked, and what he got and all about him. [She turns away and moves to the left. There is a slight pause.]

Amy [Half crying]. I’d just take him for spite now. [Mrs. Fisher comes to a stop, and turns slowly—and looks at her.]

Mrs. Fisher. Well, let me tell you, Amy—the day a girl that’s used to spendin’ money the way you do, takes a thirty-five-dollar-a-week man,—the only one she’s spitin’ is herself. [She moves slowly to the mantelpiece at the back and puts her glasses down ​definitely, then turns and starts to remove her apron.] There’ll be no more permanent waves after that—[She rolls her apron up.] you can make up your mind to that. [She flings the rolled apron onto the sofa at the right of the mantelpiece, and commences to unfasten the old-fashioned brooch in the front of her house-dress.] Nor fifty-five dollar beaded dresses, neither.

Amy [In a crying temper]. Well, I’d never bother anybody around here if I needed anything, I’ll tell you that.

Mrs. Fisher. Maybe you won’t.

Amy. I won’t,—you needn’t worry.

Mrs. Fisher [With a bitter levelness]. Time’ll tell that, Lady Jane; I’ve heard the likes of you before. [She detaches the brooch and goes to the hall-door, glances out into the hallway, then turns and looks back at Amy.] Put out that light and go to bed, it’s twelve o’clock. [She goes up the stairs. Amy stands for a second, fuming, over at the right; then she swings suddenly to the middle of the room and stops, with her hands on her hips, irresolute. Then she comes forward and stands above the table, thinking. As she clasps her hands together she becomes conscious of the ring in her hand. She tiptoes to the hall-door, stands listening for a second, then looks up. Then she hurries back to the center-table, looks at the ring, slides it onto the third finger of her left hand and holds it so that the diamond will catch the light from the chandelier. But, the reflection is evidently unsatisfactory; so, with a furtive glance toward the hall-door, she shifts her position to a point nearer the table-lamp and holds her hand so that the ring will reflect that light. The curtain commences to descend slowly; and she stands, holding her hand at arm’s length, lost in the melting wonder of her engagement ring.]