The Show-Off (Kelly 1924)/Act III

Scene: Same as preceding Act—the following Monday, about four o’clock in the afternoon. Mrs. Fisher is seated at the right of the center-table, in black, watching Mr. Rogers, the insurance agent, opposite her, writing on various papers. Clara, also in mourning, is standing back of her Mother’s chair, watching Mr. Rogers.

Rogers [Handing Mrs. Fisher an insurance receipt]. Now, will you just sign that, Mrs. Fisher. Right on that line there. [He hands her his fountain-pen.]

Mrs. Fisher [After a sincere attempt to write with the fountain-pen]. It won’t write.

Clara. Press on it a bit, Mom.

Mrs. Fisher. I am pressin’ on it.

Rogers. Just let me have it a second, Mrs. Fisher. [She hands him the pen.]

Mrs. Fisher. I never saw one of them fountain-pens yet that’d write.

Rogers [Holding the pen out and shaking it, in an attempt to force the ink forward.] They cut up a little once in a while. [Mrs. Fisher looks keenly to see if her carpet is being stained.]

Mrs. Fisher. I gave one to my son the Christmas before last, and it’s been in that drawer there from that day to this.

Rogers [Handing her the pen again]. There we are. I think you’ll find that all right.

Mrs. Fisher. Right here?

Rogers. That’s right. [He commences to collect his papers.]

Mrs. Fisher [Writing]. It’s writin’ now all right.

Rogers. It’s usually pretty satisfactory. [She hands him the ​receipt, and he hands her another.] And that one also, Mrs. Fisher, if you please.

Mrs. Fisher. In the same place?

Rogers. Yes; right on the dotted line. It’s just a duplicate. [She looks at him sharply, then signs it and hands it back to him; and he puts it into his wallet. Mrs. Fisher looks distrustfully at the point of the fountain-pen.]

Mrs. Fisher. Here’s the pen.

Rogers. Thank you. [He signs a check and looks at it.]

Mrs. Fisher [Half -turning towards the cellar-door]. See if that cellar-door is closed, Clara, I feel a draught from somewhere. [Clara goes and sees that the door is closed.]

Rogers [Handing a check]. There you are, Mrs. Fisher, one thousand dollars.

Mrs. Fisher. Thank you, [Clara comes forward again.]

Rogers [Collecting his things]. That’s money we like to pay, Mrs. Fisher, and money we don’t like to pay.

Mrs. Fisher. No, things are never very pleasant when this kind of money is bein’ paid.

Rogers [Rising, and plotting his wallet into his inside-pocket.] Well, at least, it doesn’t make things any less pleasant, Mrs. Fisher.

Mrs. Fisher [Rising], No, I’m sure I don’t know what a lot of folks ’ud do without it.

Rogers. Pretty hard to make a good many of them see it that way, Mrs. Fisher.

Mrs. Fisher [Moving around to a point above the table]. Yes, I guess we don’t think much about trouble when we’re not havin’ it.

Rogers. Lot of people think they’re never going to have trouble; [Mrs. Fisher shakes her head knowingly] and never going to need a dollar.

Mrs. Fisher. They’re very foolish.

​Rogers. Very foolish indeed.

Mrs. Fisher. Everybody’ll have trouble if they live long enough.

Rogers. Yes, indeed.

Mrs. Fisher. Well now, what do I do with this check, Mr. Rogers?

Rogers. Why, you can deposit it if you like, Mrs. Fisher, or have it cashed—just whatever you like.

Clara. Frank’ll get it cashed for you, Mom, downtown.

Mrs. Fisher. I’m not used to thousand-dollar checks, you know, Mr. Rogers.

Rogers. I’m not very used to them myself, Mrs. Fisher, except to pay them out to somebody else. [He laughs a little.]

Mrs. Fisher. Well, will you take this, then, Clara, and give it to Frank Hyland?

Clara [Advancing]. Yes; I’ll give it to him tonight, Mom. [Rogers moves to the window at the left and takes a paper from his pocket.]

Mrs. Fisher. Don’t go layin’ it down somewhere, now, and forgettin’ where you left it,—the way you’re always doin’ with your gloves.

Clara [Crossing to the buffet where her purse is lying]. I’ll put it in my purse here. [Mrs. Fisher comes forward at the right of the Morris-chair].

Rogers [Turning and coming back a little from the window]. Oh, by the way, Mrs. Fisher—would you give this to your son-in-law, Mr. Piper? [He hands her the paper.]

Mrs. Fisher. What is it?

Rogers. Why, it’s a little explanation of some of the features of a very attractive accident policy that our company has brought out recently;—and I was talking to Mr. Piper about it the day I called for Mr. Fisher’s policy. He seemed to be very much interested. In fact, I find that people are usually a ​little more susceptible to the advantages of a good insurance policy, when they actually see it being paid to somebody else. Now, that particular policy there—is a kind of combination of accident and life-insurance policy,—as well as disability and dividend features. In fact, we contend that there is no investment on the market today [Clara sits down in the arm-chair at the right window] that offers the security or return that that particular policy described there does. The thing is really almost benevolent.

Mrs. Fisher. How much is it for?

Rogers. Why, we have them as low as ten thousand dollars; but the policy that Mr. Piper was most interested in, was one of our fifty-thousand dollar policies. [Clara laughs faintly, and her Mother looks over at her.]

Mrs. Fisher [Turning hack to Rogers]. It’s no wonder she’s laughin’, Mr. Rogers; for if you knew Mr. Piper as well as she knows him, you’d laugh too. He has just about as much notion of takin’ out a fifty-thousand-dollar insurance policy as I have. And just about as much chance of payin’ for it.

Rogers. Why, he seemed very much interested, Mrs. Fisher.

Mrs. Fisher. He was showin’ off, Mr. Rogers, what he’s always doin’. Why, that fellow don’t make enough salary in six months—to pay one year’s premium on a policy like this. So, if I was you, I’d just put this paper right back in my pocket, for you’re only wastin’ it to be givin’ it to him.

Rogers [Taking the paper]. Seems rather funny that he’d talk about it at all,—I mean, if he had no idea of taking it.

Mrs. Fisher. He never has any idea when he talks, Mr. Rogers—that’s the reason he talks so much; it’s no effort. That’s the reason he’s gettin’ thirty-two dollars a week, down here in the Pennsylvania Freight Office. And it’s a wonder to me they give him that much, after listenin’ to him for five minutes.

Rogers. It’s particularly funny, because I spoke to Mr. Piper ​first about one of our ten-thousand-dollar policies; but he didn’t seem to be interested in anything but the fifty-thousand-dollar life and accident policy.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, I can understand him being interested in the accident part of it, after last Monday. I suppose you heard about him runnin’ into everything here last Monday evening, didn’t you? Down here at Broad and Erie Avenue.

Rogers. Oh, was that Mr. Piper?

Mrs. Fisher. That was him. He ran into a traffic-cop, and broke his arm.

Rogers. Yes, I saw that in the paper; but the name was spelled Pepper in my paper.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, it was spelled Piper in our paper.

Rogers. Well, what did they do about that, Mrs. Fisher?

Mrs. Fisher. Why, he’s down there today, at the Magistrate’s, gettin’ his hearin’. God knows what they’ll do with him; for he didn’t own the car he was drivin’, and didn’t have a license to drive it.

Rogers. Well, that’s very unfortunate.

Mrs. Fisher. But, he’ll very likely tire the magistrate out so with his talk, that the man’ll discharge him just to get rid of him.

Rogers [Laughing]. I’m afraid Mr. Piper won’t want to see me today when he comes back.

Mrs. Fisher. He may not be back, for six months.

Rogers [Starting for the hall-door]. Oh, well, let’s hope it won’t be anything like that. Good afternoon, Mrs. Hyland.

Clara [Rising], Good afternoon, Mr. Rogers. [He goes out into hallway.]

Rogers. Good afternoon, Mrs. Fisher.

Mrs. Fisher. Good afternoon, Mr. Rogers. [Calling after him from the hall-door.] Will you close that vestibule-door tight after you, Mr. Rogers———

​Rogers. Yes, I will, Mrs. Fisher.

Mrs. Fisher. This hallway gets awful cold when that vestibule-door isn’t shut tight. [A door closes in the hallway, then another door. And then Mrs. Fisher turns, removing her glasses, and moves towards the mantelpiece.] I’m glad you were here; I don’t understand them insurance papers. [She puts her glasses on the mantelpiece.]

Clara [Moving to the chair at the right of the center-table]. What do you think you’ll do with that money, Mom?

Mrs. Fisher. Why, I think I’ll just put it into a bank somewhere; everything is paid. And then I’ll have something in my old days. [She comes forward to the chair at the left of the center-table.]

Clara. Do you want me to put the check right into the bank?

Mrs. Fisher. No,—I want to see the money first. [She sits down.] But, can you imagine that clown, Clara, takin’ up that man’s time talkin’ about a fifty-thousand dollar policy; and him in debt to his eyes.

Clara [Sitting down]. What does it matter, Mom; you can never change a man like Piper.

Mrs. Fisher. No, but I hate to see him makin’ such a fool of Amy; and of all of us,—with his name in all the papers, and the whole city laughin’ at him.

Clara. He doesn’t mind that, he likes it.

Mrs. Fisher. But, Amy’s married to him, Clara,—that’s the trouble.

Clara. Amy doesn’t mind it either, Mom, as long as its Aubrey.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, she ought to mind it, if she’s got any pride.

Clara [Looking straight ahead, wistfully]. She’s in love with him, Mom—she doesn’t see him through the same eyes that other people do.

​Mrs. Fisher. You’re always talkin’ about love; you give me a pain.

Clara. Well, don’t you think she is?

Mrs. Fisher. How do I know whether she is or not? I don’t know anything about when people are in love; except that they act silly—most everybody that I ever knew that was. I’m sure she acted silly enough when she took him.

Clara. She might have taken worse, Mom. [Mrs. Fisher looks at her; and Clara meets the look.] He does his best. He works every day, and he gives her his money; and nobody ever heard of him looking at another woman.

Mrs. Fisher. But, he’s such a rattle-brain, Clara.

Clara. Oh, there are lots of things that are harder to put up with in a man than that, Mom. I know he’s terribly silly, and has too much to say, and all that, but,—I don’t know, I feel kind of sorry for him sometimes. He’d so love to be important; and, of course, he never will be.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, I swear I don’t know how Amy stands the everlastin’ talk of him. He’s been here now only a week, and I’m tellin’ you, Clara, I’m nearly light-headed. I’ll be glad when they go.

Clara. I’d rather have a man that talked too much than one of those silent ones. Honestly, Mom, I think sometimes if Frank Hyland doesn’t say something I’ll go out of my mind.

Mrs. Fisher. What do you want him to say?

Clara. Anything; just so I’d know he had a voice.

Mrs. Fisher. He’s too sensible a man, Clara, to be talkin’ when he has nothin’ to say.

Clara. I don’t think it’s so sensible, Mom, never to have anything to say.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, lot’s of men are that way in the house.

Clara. But there are usually children there,—it isn’t so bad.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, if Amy ever has any children, and they ​have as much to say as their Father, I don’t know what’ll become of her.

Clara. She’ll get along some way; people always do.

Mrs. Fisher. Leanin’ on somebody else,—that’s how they get along.

Clara. There are always the Leaners and the Bearers, Mom. But, if she’s in love with the man she’s married to,—and he’s in love with her,—and there are children———

Mrs. Fisher. I never saw a married woman so full of love.

Clara. I suppose that’s because I never had any of it, Mom. [Her Mother looks over at her.]

Mrs. Fisher. Don’t your man love you? [Clara looks straight out, shaking her head slowly.]

Clara. He loved someone else before he met me.

Mrs. Fisher. How do you know?

Clara. The way he talks sometimes.

Mrs. Fisher. Why didn’t he marry her?

Clara. I think he lost her. I remember he said to me one time—“Always be kind, Clara, to anybody that loves you; for,” he said, “a person always loses what he doesn’t appreciate. And,” he said, “it’s a terrible thing to lose love.” He said, “You never realize what it was worth until you’ve lost it.” I think that’s the reason he gives Piper a hand once in a while,—because he sees Amy’s in love with him, and he wants to make it easy for her; because I have an idea he made it pretty hard for the woman that loved him. [Mrs. Fisher leans back and rocks slowly.]

Mrs. Fisher. Well, a body can’t have everything in this world, Clara. [There is a pause: and Clara touches her handkerchief to her eyes. Then the front-door closes softly, and Mrs. Fisher gets up.] Maybe this is them now. [She moves up to the hall-door. Amy comes in, looking wearied. She is in mourning.] What happened, Amy? [Amy wanders down to the ​chair at left of table and sits down, and her Mother follows her down at the left.] Where’s Aubrey Piper?

Amy. He’s coming.

Clara. Is Frank with him?

Amy. Yes.

Mrs. Fisher. Where are they?

Amy. Aubrey stopped at the corner to get some cigars.

Clara. What happened down there?

Amy. Oh, a lot of talk.

Mrs. Fisher [Leaning towards her, solicitously]. Are you sick?

Amy. No.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, you look sick.

Amy. I have a headache; we had to wait there so long.

Clara. Why don’t you take off your hat? [Amy starts to remove her hat.]

Mrs. Fisher. Will I make you a cup of tea?

Amy. No, don’t bother, Mom; I can get it myself.

Mrs. Fisher [Going towards the right door]. It won’t take a minute. [Amy takes her handkerchief from her bag. Clara glances toward the right door.]

Clara [In a subdued tone]. What did they do to Aubrey?

Amy [Confidentially]. Fined him—a thousand dollars. Don’t let Mom know. Recklessness, and driving without a license.

Clara. Did Frank pay it?

Amy. Yes; I told him I’d be responsible for it.

Clara. How can you ever pay him a thousand dollars, Amy?

Amy. I can go back to work for a while. I can always go back to the office. [Clara moves.] Well, it was either that or six months in jail. And Frank said we couldn’t have that.

Clara. Was there anybody there that we know?

Amy. I didn’t see anybody.

Clara. Was the traffic-cop there?

​Amy. Yes, there were fourteen witnesses. The traffic-cop’s arm was broken. The fellow that owned the car was there, too.

Clara. When do you think you’ll go back to work?

Amy [After a troubled pause]. As soon as I get settled. There’s no use in my going back now; I’d only have to be leaving again pretty soon. [Clara looks at her.]

Clara. Does Mom know?

Amy. No, I haven’t told her. [There is a pause. Clara gets up; and, with a glance toward the kitchen-door, moves around and crosses towards the left, above the center-table. She stops back of Amy’s chair and looks at her for a second compassionately; then she steps forward and lays her hand on her shoulder.]

Clara. Don’t worry about it, Amy. [She moves towards the window at the left.] I wish to God it was me. [There is a murmur of voices at the front-door; then Aubrey’s laugh rings through the house. Amy rises quickly, picks up her hat from the table, and signifies to Clara, with a gesture, that she will go into the parlor. Clara moves across in front of the center-table.]

Aubrey [Entering, all dressed up, and with a little flourish of his cane to Clara]. Hello, Clara!

Clara. Hello.

Aubrey [Hanging up his hat and cane on the hooks at the head of the cellar-stairs]. Where’s Amy?

Clara. She’s just gone in the parlor there. [Frank Hyland appears in the hall-door and comes forward to the chair at the left of the table.]

Hyland. Hello! [Aubrey crosses to the parlor, removing his gloves.]

Aubrey. You in there, Amy?

Amy. Yes. [He goes into the parlor; and Clara moves across above the center-table to Hyland’s left.]

Clara. How is it you didn’t go back to the office, Frank? ​[Aubrey hurries out of the parlor again and across to the hooks, removing his overcoat. Mrs. Fisher appears in the kitchen-door, and stands, looking at him.]

Hyland. It was so late when we got through down there I didn’t think it was worth while.

Aubrey. Hello, Mother.

Mrs. Fisher. I see you’re back again. [He hangs up his overcoat.]

Aubrey. Right on the job, Mother,—doing business at the old stand. [He takes the carnation from the overcoat and fastens it in the sack-coat. Mrs. Fisher comes forward at the right.]

Hyland. Hello, Mother!

Mrs. Fisher. Hello, Frank.

Hyland. You’re lookin’ good, Mother.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, I’m not feelin’ good, Frank, I can tell you that.

Hyland. What’s the trouble?

Mrs. Fisher. Why, I’m troubled to think of all the bother you’ve been put to in this business.

Hyland. Don’t worry about that, Mother—we’ve got to have a little bother once in a while.

Mrs. Fisher. What did they do down there today, Frank?

Hyland. Why,—they———

Aubrey [Coming forward, adjusting the carnation]. I’ll tell you what they tried to do.

Mrs. Fisher. Oh, shut up, you! Nobody wants to hear what you’ve got to say about it at all. [Clara crosses above the Morris-chair and looks out the window at the left.]

Aubrey. Well, I told them down there what I had to say about it, whether they wanted to hear it or not. [He goes up to the mirror at the back.]

Mrs. Fisher. I guess they let you go just to get rid of you. [He turns to his left and looks at her; then starts for the parlor-doors.]

​Clara. Why don’t you take your coat off, Frank? [Aubrey goes into the parlor, looking back over his shoulder at his Mother-in-law, who has not taken her eyes off him.]

Hyland [Looking at his watch]. I’ve got to meet that fellow at North Philadelphia Station at four o’clock.

Mrs. Fisher [Coming a step or two nearer to the table]. What did they say to that fellow down there today, Frank?

Hyland. Why, nothing very much, Mother—just a little reprimand, for driving without a license.

Mrs. Fisher. Didn’t they fine him at all, for breakin’ that man’s arm?

Hyland. A little bit, not very much.—You see, that was more or less in the nature of an accident.

Mrs. Fisher. How much was it?

Hyland. Now, Mrs. Fisher, as Aubrey says, “It’s all washed up, and signed on the dotted line.” [He laughs.]

Mrs. Fisher. How much was it, Clara, do you know?

Clara. He hasn’t told me, Mom.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, I’ll bet you paid it, Frank, whatever it was; for I know he didn’t have it. [She sits at the right of the table.]

Hyland [Rising]. Well, you know, it’s getting near Christmas, Mother—got to give some kind of a little present here and there.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, I don’t think it’s right that you should have to be goin’ around payin’ for that fellow’s mistakes.

Hyland [Standing up a bit toward the hall-door, putting on his gloves]. That’s about all any of us is doin’ in this world, Mother—payin’ for somebody’s mistakes—and somebody payin’ for ours, I suppose.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, it don’t seem right to me.

Hyland. Well, I’ll tell you, Mother—when you’ve made a couple of mistakes that can’t be paid for, why, then you try to ​forget about them by payin’ for the kind that can. [He makes a little pallid sound of amusement. And there is a pause. Mrs. Fisher rocks back and forth.]

Clara. Will you be home for dinner tonight, Frank?

Hyland [coming suddenly out of an abstraction]. What’d you say?

Clara. I say, will you be home for dinner tonight?

Hyland [Picking up his hat from the table], I don’t think so; I’ll very likely have to go to dinner with him. [He goes towards the hall-door.] Good-bye, Mother.

Mrs. Fisher. Good-bye, Frank.

Hyland [Going out into the hallway]. Good-bye, dear. [Clara wanders up to the hall-door and looks out after him.]

Clara. Good-bye. [The vestibule-door is heard to close. And there is a significant pause; during which Clara stands looking wistfully out into the hallway].

Mrs. Fisher [Rising, and moving to a point above the table]. Listen, Clara. [Clara comes towards her.]

Clara. What?

Mrs. Fisher. Didn’t he tell you how much they fined Aubrey?

Clara. No, he didn’t, Mom, really.

Mrs. Fisher. Didn’t she tell you, while I was out puttin’ the tea on?

Clara [Moving forward to the chair at the left of the table]. Well now, what does it matter, Mom ? You won’t have to pay it. [She sits down.]

Mrs. Fisher. Well, I’ll find out; it’ll very likely be in the evening paper.

Clara. Well, I wouldn’t say anything to Amy about it, even if it is; she has enough to bother her now.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, she brought it on herself if she has:—nobody could tell her anything.

Clara. Well, there’s nothing can be done by fighting with her, Mom.

​Mrs. Fisher [With conviction]. There’s nothing can be done by anything, Clara,—when once the main thing is done. And that’s the marriage. That’s where all the trouble starts—gettin’ married.

Clara. If there were no marriages, Mom, there’d be no world.

Mrs. Fisher [Moving around to the chair at the right of the table again]. Oh, everybody sez that!—if there were no marriages there’d be no world.

Clara. Well, would there?

Mrs. Fisher. Well, what if there wouldn’t? [She sits down.] Do you think it’d be any worse than it is now? I think there’ll be no world pretty soon, anyway, the way things are goin’. A lot of whiffets gettin’ married, and not two cents to their names, and then throwin’ themselves on their people to keep them. They’re so full of love before they’re married. You’re about the only one I’ve heard talkin’ about love after they were married. It’s a wonder to me you have a roof over you; for they never have, with that kind of talk. Like the two in the parlor there—that has to kiss each other, every time they meet on the floor. [She bristles for a second or two; and then there is a silence.]

Clara [Quietly]. Amy’s going to have a child, Mom. [Her Mother looks at her.]

Mrs. Fisher. How do you know?

Clara. She told me so.

Mrs. Fisher [Softening a bit]. Why didn’t she tell me?

Clara. I suppose she thought it’d start a fight.

Mrs. Fisher [Indignant again]. I don’t know why it’d start a fight; I never fight with anybody; except him: and I wouldn’t fight with him only for his impudence.

Clara. Has Amy said anything to you about coming in here to live?

Mrs. Fisher. She said something to me the night your Father was laid out, but I wasn’t payin’ much attention to her.

​Clara. I think you ought to let her come in here, Mom. [Her Mother looks at her.] She’d be company for you, now that Pop is gone. And you don’t know what day Joe might take a notion to get married.

Mrs. Fisher. What’s changed your ideas so much about lettin’ her come in here? You were very much against it when she was married.

Clara. I’d be against it now, if things around here were the way they were then. You didn’t even own this house, Mom, when Amy was married: it was Pop’s; and I knew if anything ever happened to him, and there was no will,—you might not find it so easy to order anybody out of it.

Mrs. Fisher. It isn’t that I’d mind lettin’ Amy come in here, Clara,—but I wouldn’t like to please him; for I know the first thing I’d know, he’d very likely be tellin’ somebody that he’d let me come in. [Clara smiles faintly.] Oh, I wouldn’t put it past him; he’s told bigger lies than that. And if I ever found out that he said that,—he’d go out of here inside of five minutes, bag and baggage. [The front door-bell rings.] See who that is, Clara. [They rise; and Clara goes out—into the hallway, and Mrs. Fisher crosses below the table to the parlor-doors.] Are you in there, Amy? [She opens the door.]

Amy. Yes; what is it, Mom?

Mrs. Fisher. This kettle’s boilin’ out here, if you want a cup of tea.

Amy. All right, Mom, I’ll be right out.

Mrs. Fisher [Crossing to the kitchen-door]. I’m goin’ to make it right away, so you’d better come out if you want it hot. [She goes out at the right.]

Amy [Coming out of parlor]. Do you want a cup of tea, Aubrey? [She crosses to the mirror over the mantelpiece and touches her hair.]

Aubrey [Coming out of the parlor]. No, thanks, Honey, I ​don’t care for any just now. [He strolls to the hall-door, glances out, then moves to Amy’s side and puts his hands on her shoulders and kisses her affectionately. Then he pats her on the shoulder. She moves towards the kitchen-door.]

Aubrey [Patting her hand]. Everything’ll be all right, Kid. You know me. [She goes out into the kitchen, and he settles himself at the mirror over the buffet at the right.]

Clara [In the hallway]. Yes, I think it is myself. [Appearing in the hall-door.] Just come right in, I’ll call my Mother. Is she out in the kitchen, Aubrey?

Aubrey [Turning]. Yes, she’s getting some tea. [Gill appears in the hall-door.]

Gill. Well, you needn’t bother, Ma’am, if she’s busy. I just wanted to leave this watch.

Aubrey. How do you do.

Gill. How do you do. [Clara stops and looks back at the watch.]

Aubrey. And how is the young man?

Gill. I can’t complain.

Clara. Is that my Father’s watch?

Gill. Yes, Ma’am. Are you Mr. Fisher’s daughter?

Clara. Yes. Close that door, Aubrey, will you?—I don’t want Mom to see it. [To Gill.] I’d rather my Mother wouldn’t see it. [She takes the watch, and Aubrey closes the kitchen-door.]

Gill. That’s right.

Clara. I believe she gave him this watch when they were married. [Aubrey comes forward again, at the right.]

Gill. Yes, it’d make her feel bad.

Clara. Thanks ever so much.

Gill. McMahon didn’t notice it when he was gettin’ the rest of Mr. Fisher’s things together.

Clara. I see.

​Gill. He said it was hangin’ under the time-chart, back of number five.

Aubrey. This is the gentleman that brought Pop’s lunch-box home.

Clara. Oh, is that so?

Gill. I stopped by the day Mr. Fisher died.

Clara. Did you work with my father?

Gill. No, Ma’am; I’m a twister; but I live out this way.

Aubrey. How is it you’re not working today, Governor?

Gill. Mondays and Tuesdays is my earlies as a rule.

Aubrey. I see.

Gill. But the hunkies don’t always get the stuff up to us. You got to keep right after them. Well, I guess I’ll be gettin’ along. [He starts for the parlor-doors, then remembers that that is not the way out, and turns to his left towards the hall-door.]

Clara. I’m ever so much obliged to you, for bringing this watch up.

Gill [Turning to her, at the hall-door]. Oh, that’s all right. I’m only sorry for the reason I have to do it.

Clara. Yes, it was very sad.

Gill. Mr. Fisher was a hard-workin’ man.

Clara. I suppose he worked too hard, for his age.

Gill. Yes, I guess he did.

Clara. You couldn’t stop him, though.

Gill. No, that’s what your brother-in-law here was savin’ the day I was here. He was tellin’ me about all the times he tried to get him to quit, and take a rest. [Aubrey turns to the buffet-mirror.] But, I guess when a man’s worked as hard all his life as Mr. Fisher did, it ain’t so easy for him to quit.

Clara. No, I guess not.

Gill [Stepping a little forward again]. I didn’t know that was you, Mr. Piper, that was in that automobile smash-up that I was tellin’ you about the day I was here.

​Aubrey [Turning]. That so?

Gill. I didn’t know it till I saw your picture in the paper the next day.

Aubrey. What paper did you see it in?

Gill. I saw it in the Record.

Aubrey. Wasn’t a very good picture of me, was it?

Gill. I knew it was you, though, the minute I saw it.

Aubrey. A friend of mine loaned me his car while mine was laid up, and something went wrong with the steering-gear.

Gill. How did you make out about that traffic-cop?

Aubrey. Oh, I squared that up all right.

Clara. Where do you live up here, Mr. a—

Gill. I live out Richmond way. I’d like to get a house over this way more, on account of bein’ a little nearer my work, but I don’t see much chance.

Clara. No, I don’t know of any vacant houses around here right now.

Gill. No, your brother-in-law was tellin’ me about the time he had gettin’ hold of this one. [Aubrey turns to the buffet-mirror again and smooths his toupé with considerable precision.] Well, I’ll be gettin’ along. [He starts out into the hallway.]

Clara [With a bitter look over her shoulder at Aubrey, and following Gill out into the hallway]. Well, thanks, ever so much, Mr. a— [She puts the watch back of the statuette on the little stand at the left of the mantelpiece.]

Gill. Don’t mention it.

Clara. I’m sure Mother’ll be glad to have this watch. [Aubrey turns and looks after them. Then, with a glance toward the kitchen-door, he moves carefully to the mantelpiece and tries to see what is going on at the front-door.]

Gill. Yes; she might as well have it as one of them hunkies down there.

Clara. Can you open it?

​Gill. Yes, I got it. Good-bye.

Clara. Good-bye; and thank you.

Gill. You’re welcome. [The front-door closes; and Aubrey glides hastily for the parlor-doors, in an attempt to avoid Clara;—but just as he reaches the parlor-doors, she appears in the hall-door, and, with a quick glance toward the kitchen-door, comes forward to the hack of the Morris-chair.]

Clara. Come here, Aubrey, I want to talk to you. [He turns towards her, with an attempt at nonchalance.] What do you mean by telling people that this is your house?

Aubrey. I didn’t tell anybody it was my house.

Clara. You must have told this man, or he wouldn’t have said so.

Aubrey. What do you think I am, a liar?

Clara. Yes, I do; one of the best I know.

Aubrey. Well, ask Amy what I said to him, she was here when I was talking to him.

Clara [Before he has finished speaking]. I don’t have to ask anybody anything!—you were lying to him here to-day, right in front of me.

Aubrey [With a shade of challenge in his manner]. What’d I say?

Clara. That you’d fixed the automobile thing up.

Aubrey. It’s fixed up, isn’t it?

Clara. You didn’t fix it up. [There is a slight pause, during which Aubrey, his dignity considerably outraged, moves forward and crosses in front of her to the front of the center-table, where he stops. Clara moves down at the right of the Morris-chair to a point near him.] You’d have gone to jail for six months only for Frank Hyland. And telling this man that you tried to pursuade Pop to stop working.

Aubrey [Over his left shoulder]. So I did.

Clara. When?

​Aubrey. I didn’t say it to him. But I told Amy he ought to stop. And I think he’d be right here to-day if he’d taken my advice.

Clara. He wouldn’t be right here to-day if he’d stopped expecting you to keep him. [He moves further over to the right; and she follows him.] And now, listen to me, Aubrey; I want to talk seriously to you. You’ve made a lot of trouble for us since you’ve been in this family; and I want you to stop it. There’s no reason my husband, because he happens to have a few dollars, should be going around paying your bills.

Aubrey [Half-turning to her.] What do you want me to do?

Clara. I want you to stop telling lies; for that’s about all everything you do amounts to. Trying to make people believe your something that you’re not;—when if you’d just stop your talking and your showing-off, you might be the thing that you’re trying to make them believe you are. [She glances toward the kitchen-door; and then speaks to him again, in a slightly lower tone.] Your wife’s going to have a child one of these days, Aubrey, and you want to pull yourself together and try to be sensible, like the man of a family should be. You’re smart enough;—there’s no reason why a fellow like you should be living in two rooms over a barber shop. I should think you’d have more respect for your wife. [She turns and moves a few steps up towards the kitchen-door.]

Aubrey. A man doesn’t stand much chance of getting ahead, Clara, when the boss has got a grudge against him.

Clara [Turning sharply to her right, and moving to the upper right-hand corner of the center-table]. Well, stop your silly talk, and get rid of that carnation, and the boss might get rid of his grudge. [She glances toward the kitchen-door again, leans across the table towards him, and lowers her voice.] But, what I wanted to tell you was this, Aubrey,—I’ve asked Mom to let you and Amy come in here; and she sez she wouldn’t mind it only ​that she knows that the first thing she’d hear is that you’d told someone that you’d taken her in. And, you see, that’s exactly what you’ve done already,—to this man that brought the watch. If I told Mom that there’d be war.

Aubrey. Are you going to tell her?

Clara [With authoritative levelness]. I’m going to put that up to you. And the very first time I hear that you’ve told anybody that this is your house,—I’ll see to it that you’ll get a house that will be your own. [Aubrey smiles, a bit smugly, and looks at her out of the sides of his eyes.]

Aubrey. I guess your Mother ’ud have something to say about that, Clara.

Clara [With a measured evenness]. Well, the only thing that needs to worry you, is what I’ll have to say about it. [Aubrey’s smugness begins to fade—into a questioning narrowness.] This is my house—Pop left it to me; so that Mom ’ud always have a roof over her. For he knew how long she’d have it if Amy ever got round her. And if Amy ever got hold of it, he knew what she’d do if it ever came to a choice between you and Mom.

Aubrey. What are you doing, kidding me? [Clara holds his eyes steadily for a fraction of a second.]

Clara. I’m giving you a tip ;—see that you keep it to yourself. [Aubrey withdraws his eyes slowly and looks straight out, weighing this new bit of intelligence carefully in his mind.] Be wise, now, Aubrey—you’ve got a chance to sit in here and live like a human being; and if you throw it way, you’ll have nobody to blame but yourself. [There is a sound at the front-door of a newspaper being thrown into the vestibule, and a man’s voice says, “Paper!” Then the front-door is heard to close.] Open that door there, Mom’ll be wondering what it’s doing shut. [She crosses up to the hall-door and goes out for the newspaper. Aubrey stands for a second thinking; and then Amy opens the kitchen-door and comes in. She glances about the room.]

​Amy. Where’s Clara, Aubrey?

Aubrey. I think she’s out on the front porch. [Amy glances toward the hall-door, then turns to her husband.] How are you feeling?

Amy. All right, I just had some tea. Listen, Aubrey,—[She takes hold of the lapels of his coat.] Mom said we could come in here to live.

Aubrey. Yes, I got Clara to fix it up.

Amy. She said we could have my room.

Aubrey. Is it a front room?

Amy. No, it’s that one at the head of the stairs.

Aubrey. Will we put that bureau of ours in there?

Amy. I think the one that’s in there is better-looking. Let’s go up and see. [She starts up towards the hall-door.]

Aubrey [Following her]. You look nice in black, Amy.

Amy [Glancing in the mantelpiece-mirror as she passes it]. This is the dress that Clara gave me. [Clara appears in the hall-door with the evening paper in her hand.]

Clara. It’s in the paper here about that trial today. [Amy takes the paper.] Keep it out of sight and don’t let Mom see it.

Amy [Going out the hall-door and to her left up the stairs]. I’ll take it upstairs. [Clara moves down towards the center-table, and Aubrey crosses above her towards the hall-door. As he passes her he excludes her with a look.]

Aubrey [Calling after Amy as he starts up the stairs]. Has it got my picture in it? [Clara looks after him, rather hopelessly. Mrs. Fisher comes in from the kitchen and moves down to the buffet at the right for her knitting-bag.]

Mrs. Fisher. You goin’ to stay here for supper to-night, Clara?

Clara. Yes, I might as well, Mom; Frank won’t be home. I think I’ll run in next door and tell Bertha I won’t be home. [She starts towards the kitchen-door.]

​Mrs. Fisher [Crossing up to the mantelpiece for her spectacles]. Yes, you’d better; she’ll be expectin’ you. Put somethin’ around you.

Clara [Stopping at the hooks at the head of the cellar- stairs]. Is there something here?

Mrs. Fisher. Put that old raincoat of Joe’s around you; it’s good enough. [She moves forward to the chair at the right of the center-table.] And go to the side-door, Clara; and don’t be bringin’ Mrs. Harbison to the front. [She sits down and puts on her spectacles; and Clara shakes the old raincoat out and puts it around her shoulders.] I told Amy she could have that side room upstairs.

Clara. She might as well be using it, Mom.

Mrs. Fisher. But I know I’m not goin’ to hit it with him.

Clara. Well, it’s better to be fighting than lonesome, Mom. [She goes out at the right, and Mrs. Fisher takes a purple sweater that she’s working on, out of the knitting-bag. A door out at the right closes after Clara. Mrs. Fisher commences to knit, when suddenly there is a shout of laughter from Aubrey upstairs. Mrs. Fisher freezes instantly into a stoney stillness, and listens narrowly. There is another gale of laughter from Aubrey, and this decides Mrs. Fisher. She puts her knitting back into the bag, very definitely, puts the bag on the table, gets up and marches resolutely across in front of the table and up to the hall-door. Just as she reaches the hall-door, with the ostensible purpose of reminding Aubrey that this is not his house, there is another roar from him. Amy can be heard laughing this time, also. Mrs. Fisher subsides, and thinks. She appears to suddenly realize the futility of all remonstrances against the irresponsibility of Aubrey; and, after a thoughtful pause, to accept the situation. And as she moves back across the room, in front of the mantelpiece, to resume her chair at the right of the table, she seems a little older. Just as she reaches a point above ​the center-table, the front-door closes, with a bang. She starts nervously, and steps back to the mantelpiece to peer out into the hallway.]

Mrs. Fisher. Is that you, Joe?

Joe [From the hallway]. Yes.

Mrs. Fisher [Continuing to her chair at the right of the table]. It’s a wonder you wouldn’t take the door off the hinges, and be done with it. [Joe hurries in from the hallway.]

Joe. How did they make out down there to-day, Mom? [He tosses the evening paper onto the center-table, and continues on over and up to the hooks at the head of the cellar-stairs, to hang up his hat and overcoat.]

Mrs. Fisher [Sitting down]. Who do you mean, Aubrey Piper?

Joe. Yes. Are they back yet?

Mrs. Fisher. They’re upstairs.

Joe. What’d they do to him?

Mrs. Fisher. They fined him.

Joe. How much?

Mrs. Fisher [Taking her knitting out of the bag]. I don’t know; they wouldn’t tell me. Frank paid it. But, I’ll find out it’ll very likely be in the evening paper. [Joe comes forward to the center-table.]

Joe [Picking up the paper from the table.] It isn’t in this paper, I looked.

Mrs. Fisher. I’ll find out.

Joe. But, there’s something else in to-night’s paper, Mom.

Mrs. Fisher [Knitting]. What?

Joe [Indicating a certain point on the paper]. Just cast your eyes on this, right here.

Mrs. Fisher [Looking casually]. What is it?

Joe [Reading]. “Philadelphia Youth Makes Important Chemical Discovery. Mr. Joseph Fisher of North Philadelphia Per​fects Rust-Preventive Solution.” [He gives his Mother a squeeze and a kiss.]

Mrs. Fisher [Startled, and giving him a little slap]. Stop it, Joe! [He laughs exultantly, strikes the palms of his hands together, and strides across above the table towards the left.] Did they buy the thing from you, Joe?

Joe [Turning to her, at the left of the center-table]. One hundred thousand dollars, Mother! They signed for it this afternoon in the lawyer’s office. [He becomes aware that the shoe-lace of his right shoe is untied, and puts his foot up on the chair to tie it.]

Mrs. Fisher [Leaning towards him]. The Meyers and Stevens people?

Joe. Yeh. They sent for me to come over there this afternoon about two o’clock, so I knocked off and got hold of Farley right away, and we went over there. And they had the contracts all drawn up and everything.

Mrs. Fisher. What did you say about a hundred thousand dollars, Joe?

Joe. That’s what they paid for it this afternoon, on account;—[He starts across above the center-table and up to the hooks again at the right, removing his coat.] then they’re to market it for me from their laboratories, and give me half the net.

Mrs. Fisher [Talking over her right shoulder]. What’s the net?

Joe [Hanging his coat up]. Whatever’s left after all expenses are paid. [Mrs. Fisher tries to encompass the situation.]

Mrs. Fisher. I guess they’ll see that there ain’t much left, won’t they?

Joe [Coming forward again to the center-table]. Why, there’ll be a fortune out of this thing, Mom. Have you any idea what a rust-preventive means as an industrial chemical problem? Why, they’ll make a million dollars out of this, within the next five years. [He moves over to the left, removing his tie.]

​Mrs. Fisher. Well, how much of that are you goin’ to get, Joe?

Joe. I’ll get the same as they get, that’s the contract.

Mrs. Fisher. A million dollars?

Joe. Easy, I got a hundred thousand today. [Mrs. Fisher shifts her eyes and tries to concentrate.]

Mrs. Fisher. How many noughts is a hundred thousand?

Joe [Coming hack to her left, taking a pencil from his vest-pocket]. It’s a one, [He leans over the table and writes it on the margin of the newspaper.] and two noughts, and three more noughts. [Mrs. Fisher looks at it closely. Joe replaces the pencil in his pocket and moves across again towards the left.] They paid that today on acoount. I knew it was coming, though; their head chemist out at Bristol told me six weeks ago it was all set. I’ve got to go over there to their offices right away; they made an appointment for the newspaper and magazine people over there at five o’clock. [He starts for the hall-door.] I’ve got to talk to them.

Mrs. Fisher. Did they give you any of the money, Joe?

Joe [Stopping at the hall-door]. A hundred thousand dollars, sure.

Mrs. Fisher. Not in money, though?

Joe [Laughing, and coming back towards the center-table]. Not in dollar bills, no; they gave me a check for it.

Mrs. Fisher. Where is it?

Joe. Farley has it in his safe, down in the office.

Mrs. Fisher. How much do you have to give him, half of it?

Joe. No, he’s not a partner, he’s just my lawyer. I give him five per cent of all monies received. [He moves forward at the left of the center-table.]

Mrs. Fisher. How much will that be?

Joe. Well, that was five thousand dollars right off the bat, to-day. Pretty soft for that bird. When I first talked to him he ​wanted to stick me for ten per cent; but I nailed that quick; I knew what this was goin’ to be worth.

Mrs. Fisher. What are you goin’ to do now, Joe, stop workin’?

Joe. No, of course not, I’m not goin’ to stop working; I’ve got that oil-paint thing on the carpet, now.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, won’t you have to go to Washington or someplace?

Joe [Rolling his tie up on his finger, and stuffing it into his vest-pocket.] No, that’s all been attended to. But I’ll tell you, Mom—I might go to Trenton.

Mrs. Fisher. New Jersey?

Joe. Yes.

Mrs. Fisher. Not to live, surely?

Joe. I might—till I put this oil-paint thing through.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, I think you’d be very foolish, Joe, to go to Trenton at your age.

Joe [Removing his cuff-links and dropping them into his vest-pocket]. Well, the Meyers and Stevens people made me a proposition this afternoon that looks pretty good. They’ve got one of the most perfectly equipped experimenting laboratories in the world, just outside of Trenton; and it’s open day and night; and that’s what I want. I’d have had this rust-preventive through six months sooner, if I could have had the use of a laboratory somewhere at night. So they want me to go up there on a salary, with a first look at anything I strike; but I didn’t want to say anything till I talked to you.

Mrs. Fisher. What do you mean?

Joe. I mean, I wouldn’t like the idea of goin’ away, and leavin’ you alone in the house.

Mrs. Fisher [Resuming her knitting]. Oh, you go ahead, Joe,—if it’s for your good. Never mind me,—I’ll get along some way.

​Joe. I don’t like the idea of leavin’ you here alone.

Mrs. Fisher. Nearly every Mother is left alone, Joe, if she lives long enough. [Joe looks straight out and thinks.]

Joe. I was wonderin’, Mom,—why Amy couldn’t come in here: she seems to be havin’ a pretty tough time of it. [There is a slight pause, during which Mrs. Fisher knits.]

Mrs. Fisher. She’s in here already; and her man with her.

Joe. I mean, to stay.

Mrs. Fisher. They’re goin’ to stay;—she can have that room at the head of the stairs. [She stops knitting and thinks, looking steadily at the floor in front of her.] They’ll have to live somewhere; and I guess it’ll have to be here. It’s just as our Clara said here one night,—I remember it as if it was yesterday. She said, “Remember what I’m telling you, Mom,—it’s you that’ll have them on your hands if she takes him.” And I suppose that’s true. She made her bed,—and I guess it’s me that’ll have to lie in it.

Joe [Starting up and across towards the hooks at the head of the cellar-stairs, to get a paper out of his coat-pocket]. They want me to go to Trenton right away.

Mrs. Fisher. What would you do, Joe, come home over Sundays?

Joe. Sure, it’s only thirty-eight miles from here.

Mrs. Fisher [Astonished.] Is that all the further Trenton is from Philadelphia?

Joe [Starting across towards the left to the hall-door, removing his vest]. That’s all.

Mrs. Fisher. It always seemed very far away to me. I guess it’s the name.

Joe. I’m goin’ up to get fixed up a bit before I go over to that office.

Mrs. Fisher [Suddenly putting her knitting on the table, preparatory to getting up]. Well, listen, Joe!

​Joe [Stopping, with his foot on the first step of the stairs]. What?

Mrs. Fisher [Getting up and moving across in front of the center-table]. Come here. [Joe comes down to her left.] Don’t say anything about this to him, Joe, or he’ll be wantin’ to go up and talk to the newspaper men, too. [Joe laughs faintly, then looks away off and thinks.]

Joe. You know, Mom,—I kinda feel that there’s somethin’ comin’ to that nut out of this thing.

Mrs. Fisher. How do you mean?

Joe. He gave me an idea here one night.

Mrs. Fisher [Seizing him suddenly by both arms]. Well, for God’s sake, don’t tell him that, Joe!—or, as sure as you live, he’ll be tellin’ everybody that he done the whole thing.

Joe. You remember the night he was sayin’ here about bein’ at work on a solution for the prevention of rust in iron and steel?

Mrs. Fisher. Yes.

Joe. Well, you know, I’d been tellin’ him somethin’ about it a week or so before—

Mrs. Fisher. Yes, you told me.

Joe. While he was waitin’ here for Amy one night.

Mrs. Fisher. Yes.

Joe. Well, he forgot that night he was tellin’ me about it that it was me that had been tellin’ him about it; and he got it mixed.

Mrs. Fisher. That’s the way he does with everything.

Joe. And it was the way he got it mixed, Mom, that gave me the idea. He said,—that it was a combination of chemical elements to be added to the metal in it’s molten state, instead of applied externally, as they had been doin’. And I landed on it—the way Howe did when he dreamed of puttin’ the eye in the point of the needle instead of the other end. That was exactly what I’d been doin’—applying the solution externally—in a mix​ture of paint. But the next day, I tried adding parts of it to the molten state of the metal, and it did the trick. Of course, he didn’t know what he was sayin’ when he said it—

Mrs. Fisher. He never does.

Joe. And he didn’t know anything about the solution-formula—But it was the way he got what I’d been tellin’ him twisted, Mom,—that put the thing over.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, that’s no credit to him, Joe.

Joe. I know.

Mrs. Fisher. He was only blowin’, when he said it.

Joe. Sure.

Mrs. Fisher. He don’t know what a f ormala means. And I’d have told him where he heard it, too, if I’d been you.

Joe [Thoughtfully]. I’d like to give him a little present of some kind. [His Mother looks at him sharply.]

Mrs. Fisher. What would you give him a present for?

Joe [Breaking into a little laugh]. For makin’ a mistake.

Mrs. Fisher. That’s all everybody’s doin’ around here,—givin’ that fellow presents for makin’ mistakes. That’s what Frank Hyland said here to-day, when I ast him why he paid his fine. He said, “Oh, you’ve got to give a little present here and there once in a while.” There’s no use tryin’ to be sensible anymore.

Joe. I’d like to give him somethin’. [She looks at him again keenly, and thinks for a second.]

Mrs. Fisher. I’ll tell you what you can do, Joe, if you’re so anxious to give him somethin’.—Find out what fine Frank Hyland paid for him this afternoon, and tell him you’re goin’ to give him that. But don’t tell him what you’re givin’ it to him for, Joe, or we won’t be able to live in the house with him. And don’t give him money, Joe; for he’d only be goin’ from one room to another here in an automobile. And don’t give it to her neither, Joe; for she’ll only hand it right over to him.—Give it to me. [Joe looks at her.] And I’ll give it to them when I ​think they need it. [A door closes out at the right; and Joe steps up towards the mantelpiece to look off.] That’s Clara; she’s been next door telephonin’. [She turns to her left and picks up her knitting from the table and sits down again. Clara comes in, slipping off the raincoat.]

Joe. Hello!

Clara [Hanging the raincoat up on the hook]. How’s it you’re home so early, Joe? [Aubrey enters from the hall-door, smoking a cigar.]

Joe. The long threatening has come at last!

Clara [Coming forward, looking at him seriously]. What?

Joe. The big news.

Clara. The steel thing? [Joe laughs.] Did they buy it, Joe?

Joe. One hundred thousand dollars!—first payment—they gave me the check this afternoon.

Clara. Joe, you’re not telling me the truth!

Aubrey [Coming forward]. Something about the invention, Joe?

Joe. Hello, Aubrey!

Clara [Coming down to her Mother’s right]. Did they, Mom?

Joe and Mrs. Fisher, speaking together.

Mrs. Fisher. ———So he sez.

Joe. —They bought it this afternoon.

Clara. Isn’t that wonderful!

Aubrey [Extending his hand to Joe]. Congratulations!

Joe [Laughing]. Thanks.

Aubrey. So we put it over! [Mrs. Fisher poisons him with a look.]

Joe. To the tune of one hundred thousand clackers. [He swings above Aubrey towards the hall-door.]

Aubrey [Turning and following him]. No kidding?

Joe [Running up the stairs]. The check’s in the safe, down in the lawyer’s office.

​Aubrey [Calling up the stairs after him]. Well, Kid, you know what I always told you!

Joe and Clara, speaking together.

Joe. —Leave it to you to call the turn, Aubrey.

Clara [Running up to the hall-door]. Joe! Come here and tell us something about it.

Joe [Calling back]. I’ve got to get dressed, Clara, I’ll tell you about it later. [Aubrey comes forward at the left, laughing; but suddenly he becomes conscious of Mrs. Fisher’s left eye, and his laugh freezes into a detached gaze out the window at the left.]

Mrs. Fisher [Speaking to Clara]. He’s got to go down to see them people that bought the thing from him.

Clara [Coming forward to the center-table]. Why, what will Joe do with all that money, Mom?

Mrs. Fisher [Knitting]. Heaven knows, I don’t.

Clara. Have you any idea how much a hundred thousand dollars is?

Mrs. Fisher. Joe sez it’s a one and two noughts, and then three more noughts.

Clara. Why, it’s a fortune!

Mrs. Fisher. Well, he brought it on himself; he’ll have to tend to it; I’m sure I won’t.

Aubrey [Coming towards the center-table from the left]. If he’s a wise bird, he’ll let me handle that money for him. [Mrs. Fisher pins him with a look, and her knitting slides to her lap.] I could give him a couple of very fly tips on that.

Mrs. Fisher [With dangerous steadiness]. He don’t want your tips; nor your taps neither. We know about one tip you gave a man, and his arm has been in a sling ever since. [Clara picks up the “Delineator” from the table and moves over to the right to the buffet, to look at the styles.]

Aubrey. That’s all right, Mrs. Fisher; but if he’s a wise ​Bimbo,—he’ll take the drooping left, [He lowers the lid of his left eye, very mysteriously.] and I’ll double that money for him, within the next two weeks; [Mrs. Fisher resumes her knitting.] and give him an extra pair of trousers.

Mrs. Fisher. I guess he’d need an extra pair of trousers, if he was sittin’ around waitin’ for you to double his money for him.

Aubrey. Well, I’m telling you, Mother,—he’s an awful straw-ride if he doesn’t get in on some of that copper-clipping that those people are writing me about. [She looks at him, hard.]

Mrs. Fisher. What is it, a copper mine this time?

Aubrey. ’Tain’t a mine at all,—it’s a mint.

Mrs. Fisher. What are they writin’ to you about it for?

Aubrey. They’re writing to everybody.

Mrs. Fisher. They must be. [She resumes her knitting.]

Aubrey. Prospective Investors—They hear a man’s got a few dollars laying around idle, and they get in touch with him.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, nobody’s heard that you have any dollars layin’ around idle, have they?

Aubrey [With a touch of consequence]. Oh,—I don’t know,—they may have. [Mrs. Fisher stops knitting and leans towards him, stonily,—her left elbow resting on the table.]

Mrs. Fisher. Listen, Boy,—if you’ve got any dollars layin’ around idle, it’d be fitter for you to pay Frank Hyland the money he paid to keep you out of jail, than to be lookin’ around for an investment for it—in some old copper mine, out in God-Knows-Where—that you don’t know no more about than them that’s writin’ to you about it. [She knits again, indignantly.]

Aubrey. I know a whole lot about this proposition, Mrs. Fisher; and so do a lot of other people. Why,—they say they can see enough copper in those rocks, right now, to keep this thing going for the next ten years.

Mrs. Fisher [Almost violently]. They shoot that in there.

Aubrey. Shoot copper into solid rocks, eh?

​Mrs. Fisher [Putting her knitting down on the table and picking up the newspaper that Joe has left there]. That’s what I said. [Aubrey turns away, with a gesture of helplessness, and moves across in front of the Morris-chair to the window at the left.] I read all about just how they do it, in a magazine not two weeks ago. [Looking at the paper.] Then they shoot a lot of letters to the likes of you, and you shoot off about it.

Amy [Entering hurriedly from the hall-door and coming forward to the center-table]. Mom, is it true what Joe sez about the invention?

Mrs. Fisher [Looking sharply at something in the paper]. Here it is in the paper. [Aubrey moves across above the Morris-chair towards the center-table.]

Amy. Isn’t that wonderful, Aubrey? [Aubrey nods and smiles.]

Mrs. Fisher [To Clara]. I thought our Joe said it wasn’t in here.

Clara [Moving a step or two from the buffet]. What is it?

Amy [Leaning over her Mother’s left shoulder, looking at the paper]. What does it say, Mom?

Mrs. Fisher [Reading]. Mad Motorist Fined One Thousand Dollars for Reckless Driving. [Aubrey glides forward and crosses in front of the Morris-chair to the window at the left again. Amy straightens up and gives a distressed look at Clara, who suggests, with a nod, that she go into the kitchen.] Mr. Aubrey Piper, of 903 Lehigh Avenue, was arranged today before Magistrate Lister of the 22nd and Huntington Park Avenue Police Station, to answer to the charge of having disregarded traffic-signals at Broad Street and Erie Avenue last Monday evening; resulting in rather serious injuries to Mr. Joseph Hart, a traffic-officer. The defendant was fined one thousand dollars for recklessness, disregard of traffic-signals, and operating an automobile without a license. [She lowers the paper to her lap and looks at Aubrey.]

Aubrey [Turning from the window, and with a magnificent gesture]. That’s the law for you. [He folds his arms and leans on the back of the Morris-chair, looking straight out.]

Mrs. Fisher. What do you think of that, Clara?

Clara [Moving to the arm-chair below the buffet at the right]. Well, it’s all over now, Mom—Frank paid it.

Mrs. Fisher. What did he pay it for?

Clara [Sitting down]. Well, it was either that or go to jail, Mom; and you wouldn’t want that, on account of Amy. [She opens the “Delineator”.]

Mrs. Fisher. Well, Frank Hyland didn’t have to pay it—[She sits looking straight out, fuming.] Amy’s got a Mother. [Turning sharply to Clara.] And you take that thousand-dollar insurance check that I gave you and give it to him as soon as over you see him. I don’t want Frank Hyland goin’ around payin’ out thousand-dollar bills on account of this clown. [She looks bitterly at Aubrey, who looks at her with an expression as though he were trying to come to some conclusion as to the most effectual means of putting her in her place.] It’s bad enough for me to have to do it.

Clara [Calling to Amy]. Amy.

Amy [From the kitchen]. What?

Clara. Come here a minute. [Mrs. Fisher puts the newspaper back onto the table and resumes her knitting. Aubrey strolls over and sits down at the left of the center-table, reaching for the newspaper which Mrs. Fisher has just put down. Amy comes in from the kitchen.]

Amy. What?

Clara. Here’s that skirt I was telling you about. [Amy comes forward to Clara’s left and they look at a certain skirt in the “Delineator.” Aubrey deposits some ashes from his cigar on the little tray on the table, then sits back, takes a pair of tortoise-shell rimmed glasses, with a black-tape attachment for over the ​ear, from his vest-pocket, and settles them on his nose. His Mother-in-law gives him a look.]

Aubrey. Was that Insurance man here to-day? [Amy opens the left-hand drawer of the buffet and takes out a package of Life-Savers. She takes one herself, then offers Clara one; Clara takes it; and the two continue their discussion of the styles in the “Delineator.”]

Mrs. Fisher. What do you want to know for?

Aubrey [Glancing over the evening paper]. Nothing,—I was just wondering if he got around this way to-day.—Did he leave a paper here for me?

Mrs. Fisher [Knitting]. He wanted to; but I told him not to waste his time—[Aubrey looks at her narrowly.] talkin’ to you about fifty-thousand-dollar policies.

Aubrey. Well, what about it?

Mrs. Fisher [Looking at him]. Nothin’ at all about it; only the man was laughin’ up his sleeve at you.

Aubrey. Is that so?

Mrs. Fisher. What else could he do? He knows you haven’t the faintest idea of takin’ out any such policy.

Aubrey. How do you know he does?

Mrs. Fisher. Because he knows you’re only a clerk; and that you don’t get enough salary in six months—to pay one year’s premium on a policy like that.

Aubrey. What were you doing, handing out a line of gab about my business?

Mrs. Fisher [Quietly knitting again]. You haven’t got any business for anybody to hand out a line of gab about—that I ever heard of. [Amy moves slowly across above the center-table towards the left, picking up a newspaper.]

Aubrey. Well, whether I have any line of business or not, it isn’t necessary for you to be gabbing to perfect strangers about it.

​Mrs. Fisher [Getting mad]. Then, you stop gabbin’ to people about fifty -thousand-dollar policies!—On your thirty-two dollars a week. [Turning to him furiously.] I told him that, too.

Amy [Touching Aubrey on the left shoulder, as she passes hack of him.] Keep quiet, Aubrey.

Mrs. Fisher. So he’d know how much attention to pay to you the next time you start. [Amy moves forward to the Morris-chair at the left and sits down.]

Aubrey. What else did you tell him?

Mrs. Fisher. I told him the truth!—whatever I told him.—And I guess that’s more than can be said for a whole lot you told him. [She knits again]

Aubrey [Resuming his paper]. A man’ud certainly have a swell chance trying to make anything of himself around this hut. [Mrs. Fisher stops knitting, and leans her elbow on the table.]

Mrs. Fisher. Listen, Boy,—any time you don’t like this hut, you go right straight back to Lehigh Avenue to your two rooms over the dago barber shop. And I’ll be glad to see your heels.

Clara. Stop talking, Mom.

Mrs. Fisher. Nobody around here’s tryin’ to stop you from makin’ somethin’ of yourself.

Aubrey. No, and nobody’s trying to help me any, either; only trying to make me look like a pin-head—every chance they get.

Mrs. Fisher. Nobody’ll have to try very hard to make you look like a pin-head; your own silly talk’ll do that for you, any time at all.

Aubrey. I suppose it’s silly talk to try to make a good impression.

Mrs. Fisher [Turning to him and speaking definitely]. Yes; it’s silly to try to make an impression of any kind; for the only one that’ll be made’ll be the right one,—and that’ll make itself.

Aubrey. Well, if you were out in the world as much as I am, man ​you’d very soon see how much easier it is for a fellow to get along—if people think he’s got something.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, anybody that’ud listen to you very long’ud know you couldn’t have very much.

Aubrey. Is that so.

Mrs. Fisher [Tersely]. You heard me. [Clara rises and moves towards her Mother.]

Aubrey [Reaching over to dispose of some more cigar-ashes]. People that are smart enough to be able to make it easier for you———

Clara. Aubrey,—that’ll do. [He is silenced; and resumes his paper. Clara shows her Mother a particular pattern in the “Delineator.”] Mom, that’d look good for that new black crepe de chine of yours, No. 18, there in the middle.

Mrs. Fisher. But, I wouldn’t want that bunch of fullness like that right there, Clara. [Joe enters hurriedly from the hall-door, wearing a clean shirt and collar, and with his face washed and hair combed.]

Clara. Well, you’re always saying you look too thin; and I think—Joe, tell me something about the invention.

Joe [Crossing quickly to the hooks at the right for his coat]. They telephoned for me this afternoon about two o’clock, and I got hold of Farley and we went right over there. And they had the contracts all drawn up and everything.

Clara [Having moved up towards the hooks with him]. Well, did they really give you a hundred thousand dollars for it? [Aubrey gets up and moves around and up to the upper-left hand corner of the table.]

Joe [Coming forward, putting on his coat]. Check’s in the safe, down in Farley’s office.

Aubrey [Flicking some ashes from his cigar], Joe!—what do you think we ought to do with that money ? [Joe tries to hide his laughter, and steps down to his Mother’s right; and Clara comes forward and leans on the buffet.]

​Joe. You know, it was a funny thing, Mom,—when I first talked to the Meyers and Stevens people, I was only to get fifty thousand dollars advance ; and when I went up there to-day they had the contracts all made out for a hundred thousand.

Aubrey. And they’re getting away with murder at that.

Mrs. Fisher [Turning to him impatiently]. Oh, keep still, you!—You don’t know anything about this at all.

Aubrey. I made them think I knew something about it.

Mrs. Fisher. You made who think?

Aubrey. The Meyers and Stevens people.

Joe. What are you talkin’ about, Aubrey, do you know?

Aubrey. Certainly, I know what I’m talking about. I went to see those people, last Saturday afternoon, after you told me they’d talked to you.

Joe [Crossing towards him, to a point above the center-table]. And, what’d you do up there?

Aubrey. Why, I told them,—that they’d have to double the advance, if they wanted to do business with us.

Mrs. Fisher. And, what business was it of yours?

Aubrey. Well,—I’m Joe’s guardian, ain’t I?

Mrs. Fisher. Who told you you were?

Aubrey. Well,—he’s got to have somebody tend to his business, doesn’t he?—He’s only a lad.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, he doesn’t need you to tend to his business for him—He tended to his business long before he ever saw you.

Aubrey. He never landed a hundred thousand dollars, though, till he saw me, did he?

Joe. Well, what did you say to them, Aubrey?

Aubrey. Why,—I simply told them that your Father was dead,—and that I was acting in the capacity of business-adviser to you: and that, if this discovery of yours was as important as you had led me to believe it was, they were simply taking ​advantage of your youth by offering yon fifty thousand dollars for it. And that I refused to allow you to negotiate further—unless they doubled the advance, market it at their expense, and one half the net—sign on the dotted line. [He flicks more ashes from his cigar.]

Joe. Well, did they know who you were?

Aubrey. I told them—that I was head of the house here; [Mrs. Fisher grips the edge of the table, threateningly.] and that I was also connected with the Pennsylvania Railroad.

Mrs. Fisher. It’s too bad they didn’t know what you do down there ; and call your bluff.

Aubrey. I beat them to it; I called theirs first. [He strolls towards the left, with a bit of swagger.]

Joe. Well, I certainly have to give you credit, Aubrey; that’s the way the contract reads.

Aubrey [Strolling back again]. I told it to them; and I told it to your lawyer, too.

Joe. I’ll have to give you a little present of some kind out of this, Aubrey.

Aubrey [Dismissing the suggestion with a touch of ceremony]. You’ll not give me any present, Joe;—give it to your Mother. [He strolls over to the left again]. She’ll need it more than I will. [He comes forward at the left of the Morris-chair.] Amy,—have you got the financial page there?

Amy [Handing him the newspaper]. Is this it, Aubrey?

Aubrey [Taking it]. Thank you. [He crosses in front of her to the chair at the left of the center-table and sits down. Amy gets up, looking at him wonderingly.]

Amy. Aubrey, you’re wonderful!

Aubrey [Settling himself to look over the bond market]. A little bit of bluff goes a long way sometimes, Amy.

Amy. Isn’t he wonderful, Mom? [Mrs. Fisher prepares to resume her knitting.]

​Mrs. Fisher [After a long sigh]. God help me, from now on. [The curtain descends slowly, with Amy standing lost in admiration of the wonder of Aubrey. When the curtain rises again Aubrey is reading, Mrs. Fisher is knitting, Clara is sitting reading the “Delineator,” over on the arm of the arm-chair at the right, Joe is putting on his overcoat and hat at the mantelpiece-mirror, and Amy is sitting in the Morris-chair at the left, just looking at Aubrey.]