Index     I     II-1     II-2     III

ACT THREE

SCENE: The same.

TIME: The next morning.

AT RISE: STOREY is discovered, immured within his writing board, trying to work. Puts down a sentence. Regards it. Isn't pleased. Gets up. Lights a cigarette. Takes a turn about the room, returns, picks up his Ms. and, with an impulse of disgust crumples it in his hand and throws it into the empty fireplace. Picks up the magazine KENDALL had been reading in the first act, looks at that and flings the magazine, too, into the fireplace.

STOREY—[Savagely] Trash . . . trash . . . trash . . . ! [Catches sight of himself in the mirror above fireplace, regards himself in it.] Trash . . . ! [Nevertheless he straightens his tie, and settles his dressing gown, an instinct of foppishness not to be denied. The doorbell rings.] Damn . . . ! [It rings again . . . Shouting:] I'm not at home . . .

[He starts across the room to see who it is. AUSTIN appears in the doorway.]

AUSTIN—Hall door was open.

STOREY—[Really glad to see him] Hello! I say—you look done in. What's the matter? [AUSTIN does, in fact, look terrible. He has evidently been walking in the rain, his clothes are bedraggled. He hasn't slept. The champagne has made him ill all night. He is unshaved. His hands tremble. He is feverish and on the verge of being really ill.] What's the matter? Here—sit down, [AUSTIN shakes his head as STOREY proffers a chair.] You've been out in the rain.

AUSTIN—Yes.

STOREY—What doing?

AUSTIN—Walking.

STOREY—But, my dear fellow. You shouldn't be doing that. You're obviously ill.

AUSTIN—[Deadly serious] This isn't a friendly visit.

STOREY—No?

AUSTIN—I've come to kill you.

STOREY—My dear Austin. You are ill!

AUSTIN—That's why I've come.

STOREY—I tell you there isn't a reason on earth why you should hate me.

AUSTIN—No reason!

STOREY—Last night was as illusory as a nightmare.

AUSTIN—Don't deny anything. It only makes you more—hateful.

STOREY—Today Monica will probably tell you herself— it was a lie.

AUSTIN—Nothing can save you, Storey.

STOREY—My dear chap, let me get you a cup of tea. . . .

AUSTIN—[Flaring] Don't you laugh at me!

[He whips out a gun and points it at him.]

STOREY—Is it loaded? Am I facing death? The situation is novel but not as thrilling as I might have expected. Do you really mean to kill me, Austin?

AUSTIN—Why do you think I bought it?

STOREY—Did you buy that thing? You needn't have. I have one upstairs. I'd have lent it to you.

AUSTIN—You don't believe I'll do it. That's why you're so gay. . . .

STOREY—Ah, I suppose you will. I suppose — at the Threshold of the Great Unknown as they call it — I should be solemn. . . .

AUSTIN—Epigrams!

STOREY—Force of habit, sorry. You press that thing—and no more epigrams. Death is probably very commonplace. Disintegration. Resolution into original elements. Your province, Austin.

AUSTIN—Talker!

STOREY—Can't help it, old dear. It will wag.

AUSTIN—Not a real emotion, not a real feeling — even in the face of death.

STOREY—Real emotions and real feelings are destructive. I've learned to do without them. That's civilization.

AUSTIN—The old boast . . . !

STOREY—It's true. You're in the grip of a real emotion, a real feeling. What's it doin' to you? Never mind what it wants to do to me. Listen a second. If you could empty your heart of its burden as easily as you can empty that cylinder there'd be some sense in curving your little finger. But after I am lying there, silent for once, will you be happier? The world will be emptier for I shall no longer be there—for you to hate.

AUSTIN—The world will be better off without you.

STOREY—Please be honest. Don't pretend this is a crusade. You want to shoot me because you think Monica's belonged to me. You want to shoot me because you're eaten by jealousy. You're not doing it to raise the general level of morality. Don't be a hypocrite, Austin.

[He lights a cigarette.]

AUSTIN—No matter what the reason — I can't endure your living. . . .

STOREY—That I can understand. [There is a pause. Austin backs off from him as if to take better aim.] Er—have you made any plans for the future?

AUSTIN—What is it to you?

STOREY—[Shrugging his shoulders] Curious. . . .

AUSTIN—First you—then myself.

STOREY—Oh, both of us? Teutonic efficiency. You are German, aren't you, Austin? Lowe. Löwe. [He pronounces it with the umlaut.]

AUSTIN—[In a knot of anger] Be quiet. . . .

STOREY—It's rather a pity. Loss to the community. You, I mean. First-rate men are too rare to be permitted the luxury of suicide. I shan't matter. But you. It's a shame, really.

AUSTIN—Don't worry about me.

STOREY—But I do. Think of it. You've—let's say thirty years left to make your discoveries in. Science is an endless chain, isn't it? I suppose, really, there is only one science as there is only one art. You might discover a little trifling thing that'll help some other fellow discover another trifling thing and that might lead to—well, anything, mightn't it? [AUSTIN backs off a little farther. Pursuing his vein.] Something perfectly tremendous—a cure for cancer or an escalator to Mars or anything, mightn't it? [AUSTIN backs off more.] Austin, do you
mind not moving away from me? I admit—it makes me nervous.

AUSTIN—Have you nothing else to say?

STOREY—Do you want a last speech? Dear me! I can't think of a thing. Isn't it funny? Now that I'd like to say something brilliant I can't. I've often wondered how all those great men in history pulled their death-bed speeches. Made 'em up in advance, I bet.

AUSTIN—All right then. . . .

[He levels his gun.]

STOREY—Wait! I've thought of something. . . .

AUSTIN—Say it quick. . . .

STOREY—His last words were: "Give my love to Monica. . . ."

AUSTIN—[Wildly] Damn you. . . . !

[He fires, storey has dropped to the ground, the bullet goes three feet over his head. AUSTIN thinks he has killed him; he staggers, almost fainting, into a chair.]

STOREY—God! Austin. You nearly frightened the life out of me. God! [He pours a drink of Scotch and gulps it. Pours another for AUSTIN.] Here. [AUSTIN shakes his head.] Do you good.

AUSTIN—Let me alone.

STOREY—[Drinking it himself] I saved your life, Austin, as well as my own. I give you back to Science. If you'd hit me they'd have sent you to jail for life. A valuable man like you. The jury system is one of the prime stupidities of democracy, don't you think? [AUSTIN rises to his feet. He is pitiful.] Where you going?

AUSTIN—Home.

STOREY—You're in no condition to go home. . . . You're ill, trembling.

AUSTIN—Sorry. Made a fool of myself.

STOREY—[Supporting him] What did you do when you left here last night?

AUSTIN—Last night?

STOREY—Yes.

AUSTIN—Went home. Ill. Not used to drinking. That champagne.

STOREY—Eaten anything today? [AUSTIN shakes his head.] And you've been walking in all that rain? Look here—you've got to drink this.

[He forces some whiskey between his lips.]

AUSTIN—Guess I'll go on.

STOREY—Wait till it stops raining.

AUSTIN—Sorry to have . . .

[He sways.]

STOREY—Shan't let you go out in this condition.

AUSTIN—Feel wobbly.

STOREY—Tell you what—you'll go in my room and lie down.

AUSTIN—Too much trouble.

STOREY—You've got to. A little nap'll make you as right as—unfortunate simile for a day like this. This way. . . . [He partly supports him and leads him up the stairs. The doorbell rings.] Must be Kendall. [Shouts through door.] Come in. . . .

AUSTIN—I'll just lie down a minute. . . .

STOREY—A good sleep and a hot bath. . . . [They exit upstairs, KENDALL comes in. She looks around the room, STOREY sticks his head in at bedroom door.] Be with you in a minute, Kendall. Austin. . . . [His sign mystifies KENDALL, except that she gathers that AUSTIN is inside, STOREY disappears into the bedroom. KENDALL catches sight of the pistol which STOREY has picked up and put on the table. She sniffs the powder. Goes to fireplace, picks up STOREY'S crumpled manuscript. Lets it fall again. She is full of thoughts, STOREY returns, and, after a moment:] He came to kill me and remained—to take a nap.

KENDALL—Poor fellow.

STOREY—Poor fellow! I like that. What about me?

KENDALL—You deserve it, Storey.

STOREY—What for?

KENDALL—We don't need to discuss it.

STOREY—You mean—last night. It's too silly. Even if it were true . . .

KENDALL—Don't deny it, Storey. Spare me that!

STOREY—Even if it were true—about Monica and me—one doesn't deserve death for that sort of thing.

KENDALL—I'm afraid I'm a very conventional person, Storey. By your standards at any rate.

STOREY—I leave standards to the moralists. I do the best I can. That's what everybody does—in the long run.

KENDALL—I didn't come here to reproach you, Storey.

STOREY—It's a mess, I know. It all comes—from trying to be intelligent.

KENDALL—[After a moment] I came to say good-bye. . . .

STOREY—Good-bye?

KENDALL—I'm going abroad.

STOREY—When?

KENDALL—Probably on the Olympic. Sailing on the tenth. That will give me time to get my passports.

STOREY—You hate me, don't you?

KENDALL—I don't think so. I feel—dead about you. Just now. . . .

STOREY—I tell you solemnly—that what Monica said last night—isn't true.

KENDALL—Don't stoop to that, Storey. [She crosses him to fireplace. There is a pause, STOREY gives it up.] I see you've been throwing away your manuscripts.

STOREY—Yes.

KENDALL—A good sign. I believe you might do good work—if you'd settle down.

STOREY—[Ironically] Monica's idea.

KENDALL—She must love you very much—to confess before everybody—the way she did last night.

STOREY—[Wearily] You don't know the half of it.

KENDALL—It's Monica—Miss Grey—I came to speak to you about—really.

STOREY—Yes?

KENDALL—At first I suppose it'll be a little hard for you—economically. Especially if you mean to do serious work. . . . I thought perhaps . . .

STOREY—You want to give us money—to start the new life on?

KENDALL—I have so much—and I'm alone.

STOREY—It's an excellent idea. But I'm afraid Monica—wouldn't see it.

KENDALL—She needn't know.

STOREY—[Ironically] Would you have us start the new life—with a lie?

KENDALL—Always laughing. . . .

STOREY—Why not? Life is amusing.

KENDALL—You ought to turn over a new leaf, really, Storey.

STOREY—[Pointing to fireplace] Look at that manuscript.

KENDALL—That is a good sign.

STOREY—Nonsense. An impulse of irritation. The day after I marry I shall be regretting I tore it up. I shall be writing it again—from memory. I shall have to redouble my output because I shall have Monica to support and—you will be in Europe. In time Monica will come to see that I haven't in me the great works which she suspects are secreted in my brain like bonds in a vault. She'll begin to despise me a little bit. And I'll begin—to deceive her a little bit. And there we'll be—a typical married couple.

KENDALL—Poor Monica!

STOREY—It's too bad for both of us, really. You and I might have lived a civilized life. You have the two great requirements for the wife of a poor but intelligent man: money and tolerance.

KENDALL—Unfortunately my tolerance doesn't extend—to this.

STOREY—This—as you call it—is a lie. It doesn't exist.

KENDALL—Good-bye, Storey.

STOREY—I tell you it simply isn't true.

KENDALL—Cheat!

STOREY—I should think Monica's—device—would be transparent to you.

KENDALL—Cad! Good-bye forever.

STOREY—In the end everything is reduced to cliché.

KENDALL—I never want to see you again. . . .

[She sweeps to the door.]

AUSTIN—[Off] Storey. Storey. . . .

STOREY—Coming. . . . Wait a second, will you, Kendall?

KENDALL—I'm going.

[The doorbell rings.]

STOREY—[On the stairs] See who that is. And don't go. Have a heart.

[He disappears, KENDALL is at the door when it opens. It is MONICA.]

MONICA—Oh! I'm sorry. I rang.

KENDALL—I'm just leaving.

MONICA—Is Storey home?

KENDALL—[Uncertain how much to tell her] He's—inside.

MONICA—I wanted to see him just for a minute. Please don't go.

KENDALL—I must. I only dropped in—to say good-bye to Storey.

MONICA—Good-bye?

KENDALL—I'm going abroad. I shall be gone a long time.

MONICA—Oh! But you needn't go. . . .

KENDALL—My dear child. . . .

MONICA—And you needn't call me a child. I'm old—now.

KENDALL—All of a sudden?

MONICA—Yes.

KENDALL—What's—aged you?

MONICA—Never mind. But I tell you—sincerely—you needn't go—on my account.

KENDALL—What inspires this mood—of renunciation?

MONICA—It's not renunciation. It's indifference.

KENDALL—I'm afraid—you're deceiving yourself.

MONICA—I'm not. Honestly. You'll see. I came—to tell that—to Storey.

KENDALL—I came once—to tell him that. I stayed, though.

MONICA—This is different.

KENDALL—Oh, you're angry with him. That will pass.

MONICA—But I'm not angry with him. This is something else I tell you—something else altogether.

KENDALL—I think you'll be as happy as most people. Good luck. . . .

[She reaches out her hand to MONICA.]

MONICA—[Taking it] You're very much in love with him, aren't you?

KENDALL—I'm used to it. It's only uncomfortable—when I see him. But I'm going away now. I enjoy traveling and altogether I have a pretty good time.

MONICA—But I tell you if it's on account of me—you needn't go.

KENDALL—You're worse off than I am, really. You're in love with a man who doesn't exist. I'm in love with one who does. That's why this sort of thing is less of a shock. . . . If it ever happens to you . . .

MONICA—Mrs. Frayne, I must tell you—what I said last night—wasn't true.

KENDALL—Thanks. But one doesn't invent that sort of lie. . . .

MONICA—But I swear to you I—

[Enter STOREY.]

STOREY—Hello, Monica.

MONICA—Hello, Storey.

KENDALL—Good-bye.

STOREY—Oh, don't go. . . .

KENDALL—I really must. . . . [To MONICA.] Good luck.

[She grips her hand, smiles at her and goes.]

MONICA—She's — awfully nice.

STOREY—Oh, Kendall's one of the best. Understands everything.

MONICA—It hasn't done her much good, has it?

STOREY—How do you mean?

MONICA—She's not very happy.

STOREY—When it comes to that—who is?

MONICA—You manage to have a pleasant time.

STOREY—I manage to behave as if I were having a pleasant time. One owes that to one's friends, I believe—just as one owes it to them to be decently shaved and to wear clean linen.

MONICA—That's bunk. You have a good time because you're built that way. You're too selfish to worry about anything.

STOREY—I've reformed. I'm a better man, now, Monica.

MONICA—Are you?

STOREY—Yes.

MONICA—How can you tell?

STOREY—Well, for one thing, I've thrown away the story I was working on. It's in the grate.

MONICA—What made you do that?

STOREY—Last night after you left I had several hours of heroic introspection. Henceforth I shall devote myself to the sincerities, the eternal verities, that sort of thing.

MONICA—I wonder. . . .

STOREY—The trouble is the masses bore me, democracy bores me. I'd like to be Henry James and live with you in England on a private income.

MONICA—Poor Storey! I've robbed you of your subsidy.

STOREY—What do you mean?

MONICA—Mrs. Frayne. I just told her the truth about—last night.

STOREY—Did you?

MONICA—She said: "One doesn't invent that sort of lie."

STOREY—Well, it doesn't matter.

MONICA—[Sarcastic] How generous you are!

STOREY—I dare say it'll be the finest possible thing for me to buckle down to hard work. I'll do hack-work to make a living and the rest of the time—

MONICA—The rest of the time?

STOREY—The rest of the time I'll write sombre masterpieces, blood and tears—I'll anatomize suffering. . . .

MONICA—But, Storey, you don't know anything about suffering.

STOREY—Most suffering is the bunk, you know, Monica. Unintelligent people who want things beyond their limitations.

MONICA—[Stamping her foot] How can you be so complacent?

STOREY—You're a victim of the popular prejudice in favour of agony. Why is a book about unhappy, dirty people better than one about gay and comfortable ones?

MONICA—But life isn't gay—or comfortable.

STOREY—[Seriously] Dear darling, life is sad. I know it's sad. But I think it's gallant—to pretend that it isn't.

MONICA—Poor Austin. . . .

STOREY—What makes you think of him?

MONICA—I've been thinking a lot of him—since last night. I'll never forget his face—the way he looked. And you think life is gay—and comfortable!

[There is a pause.]

STOREY—[Sincerely] Monica . . .

MONICA—[Out of a brown study] Yes.

STOREY—If you take me on—I'll do my best.

[She stares at him with curiosity, fixedly.]

MONICA—Will you?

STOREY—I'll try to be — what you think me.

MONICA—Thank you, Storey.

STOREY—Don't you believe me?

MONICA—[Abstractedly] What?

STOREY—Don't you believe me? That I'll try. What's the matter? Why are you staring at me?

MONICA—I'm trying to discover what it is.

STOREY—What what is? Why is everyone so cryptic today?

MONICA—I'm trying to discover what it is—that's changed everything. You look the same as you did yesterday.

STOREY—The same face. . . .

MONICA—But I can't remember the time when I loved you. Is it only yesterday—that I loved you?

STOREY—This morning — one a.m.

MONICA—Can't recall what it was like.

STOREY—What's this? Don't tell me you're fickle, too.

MONICA—It's not—fickle. It's that—you seem to be another person. Your voice is different.

STOREY—Slight cold.

MONICA—The things you say—sound hollow to me. I don't love you today, Storey.

STOREY—One can't have everything.

MONICA—I'll never be in love with you again, Storey. I'm sure. It's over. It's dead.

STOREY—How do you know? Tell me. I'm interested.

MONICA—I just—know it.

STOREY—The things I said to you last night?

MONICA—I suppose so. I feel—old now, Storey. I see myself—all this time I've loved you—like a person looking from outside, a very old person. I see a little girl, a rather stupid little girl, reading a fairy-tale and believing it true—long after the other children knew it to be a lie.

STOREY—I always told you your idea of me was an idealization.

MONICA—But I never believed it—till last night. Last night I saw you as you really are— mercenary and unadventurous and—practical. I saw your soul.

STOREY—Must we drag the soul into it?

MONICA—I saw it—a rather fat thing lying in an armchair—with a brain ticking, inside, like a clock. . . .

STOREY—But I'm not fat, Monica.

MONICA—Your body isn't and your brain isn't, but your soul is, Storey. You know it is.

STOREY—Why will women talk about the soul?

MONICA—All night I saw you like that. I said to myself: "When you see him, when he stands in front of you—you'll forget all that, you'll feel as you did before." But I do see you. You do stand in front of me. And it doesn't matter.

STOREY—Don't talk like that. I'll fall in love with you.

MONICA—You're too clever for me, Storey. Your emotions are too complicated.

STOREY—I wish I were like Austin. His emotions are as simple as those—

MONICA—[Tenderly] As simple as those of a child.

STOREY—[Rather bitterly] No second man peering over his shoulder.

MONICA—He's a darling.

STOREY—[Abruptly] The darling almost shot me this morning.

MONICA—Shot you!

[STOREY points to the revolver lying on the table. She looks at it, horrified.]

STOREY—He came here in a simple, uncomplicated mood. He's a rotten shot.

MONICA—Where'd he go?

STOREY—He's upstairs, taking a nap.

MONICA—How is he?

STOREY—Feverish. He'd been up all night, walking in the rain.

MONICA—We ought to have a doctor.

STOREY—I don't think so. Champagne and jealousy.

MONICA—What did he say?

STOREY—He was incoherent. Had an idea he ought to avenge your honour, I suppose. Acted like a moving-picture hero and talked like a commuter. Really, he was ridiculous.

MONICA—Didn't you tell him—that what I said last night—?

STOREY—Of course I told him. But he wouldn't believe me. Nobody'll ever believe the truth now. Really, Monica . . .

MONICA—[Thinking only of AUSTIN] Think what he must have gone through—to want to do that.

STOREY—Can you imagine the trial if he'd succeeded! [Tracing imaginary headline.] "Scientist Kills Writer Over Woman. Following an all-night champagne party in Clark Storey's luxurious West Side apartment . . ." The note of licentiousness—and you on the witness-stand—the story of your confession—everybody'd say I got my deserts and Austin would come out a vindicated Saint George. . . .

MONICA—Don't, Storey.

STOREY—But it's so pretty, Monica. It's almost a shame he didn't hit me. Can't you see the humour of it, the lovely irony of it? What would you say on the witness-stand? Would you tell them the truth? That I never ruined you at all, that you lied, to save me from myself, as you call it, to prevent me from making a mercenary marriage. But if you did that you'd deprive the defence of a case. You'd send Austin to the chair. . . .

MONICA—You're dreadful, Storey.

STOREY—And even if you said it was true—there must be difficulties. The prosecution would try to undermine you. They'd want proof beyond your statement. I believe you said you were the mother of my child. Well, they'd want the child. Monica, you'd have to produce a child. . . .

[MONICA snatches up her wrap to go. She is outraged by his facetiousness. AUSTIN appears on the landing.]

AUSTIN—[A bit wildly] Monica!

[He comes downstairs.]

STOREY—I thought you were asleep.

MONICA—He is ill!

AUSTIN—I'm going now.

MONICA—Why, he's trembling, feverish. . . .

STOREY—Wait. I'll get him something hot to drink.

[He goes out.]

AUSTIN—Did Storey tell you why I—what I—

MONICA—Yes. He told me.

AUSTIN—Think if I had killed him!—the man you love—I'll never forgive myself, Monica.

MONICA—Whatever has happened is my fault.

AUSTIN—I've found out things about myself—what I really am. Look what I tried to do.

MONICA—Don't blame yourself. I can't bear it. It's I . . .

AUSTIN—No. You must know everything. I must tell you everything. You've got to know. I made up my mind to kill him. And do you know why? It wasn't alone because I hated him—but because I wanted to hurt you. I hated you, Monica.

MONICA—I know.

AUSTIN—But all the time—it's hard for me to explain it—I loved you. You were inside of me. I was desperate—to tear you out. I see now I can't do it. I'll never do it. I have no existence apart from you.

MONICA—Wait— Austin—listen to me. You're trying to explain yourself to me. You needn't. I understand you. I understand you very well. You are clear to me. My trouble is— how will I make myself clear to you? How can I make you understand what happened last night? How I could have said what I did? Because it isn't true, Austin.

AUSTIN—[Repeating mechanically] Isn't true. . . .

MONICA—It seemed to me—I thought—that by saying it—I could change everything—make everything over—all in a second. It was so childish. I thought . . .

AUSTIN—You needn't tell me, Monica.

MONICA—How can I make you understand—that all that's over now—that last night—yesterday—I loved Storey? That today I don't?

AUSTIN—[Simply] You don't owe me—explanations, Monica.

MONICA—No, but I must. I want you to know everything that's in my thoughts. I mustn't hold anything back from you. I feel pain still about Storey, even now. But it isn't for him, do you understand, Austin? It isn't for losing him! It's for the feeling I had for him—that it should have been wasted—that feeling that will never come again—that can't come again. . . .

AUSTIN—Mine—remains.

[There is a pause.]

MONICA—Are you sorry?

AUSTIN—No.

MONICA—Austin—if you want me—I'll love, honour and obey you. And I'll try to make it up to you—for the bad time I've given you.

AUSTIN—You're here. You're close to me. It's like being alive —for the first time.

[STOREY comes back; carries glass of punch.]

STOREY—I had this finished five minutes ago. I drank it and made another. Here, Austin. . ..

AUSTIN—No, thank you, Storey.

MONICA—We're just leaving.

STOREY—Oh! [A pause.] Bless you, my children!

AUSTIN—[Embarrassed] Er—thanks. Coming, Monica?

MONICA—Yes. Good-bye, Storey.

[AUSTIN goes out.]

STOREY—I'm awfully glad, Monica. It's what I always told you to do, isn't it? [She says nothing. They look at each other. She is affected and he is, too. To break the moment he reverts to flippancy.] Life does occasionally imitate fiction. A happy ending, eh, Monica?

MONICA—I think so, Storey. Good-bye.

[She goes out.]

STOREY—[After a moment] That's that. . . . [He ponders; he is serious. He takes another drink. Walks across the room, sits down, entrenches himself behind the sewing board, is about to write, looks toward the fireplace, goes to it, picks up the torn script and looks at it ruefully.] Damn fool. . . . ! [Goes back, begins writing, can't concentrate, gets up again, "snaps out of it" and goes to 'phone.] Regent 2772 please—is Mrs. Frayne there—hello—Kendall?—Storey—I'm frightfully low, Kendall—you've got to come and cheer me up—oh, now, are you going to drop me too?—she's gone—certainly, with Austin—we'll dance at their wedding, Kendall—what about dinner?—you're busy—what?—oh, packing—oh, don't go abroad—if you do let's go together—that is an idea—but why?—now please be reasonable—don't tell me you still believe that silly story of Monica's—God, Ken, I've never known you so stubborn—in common justice you ought to take me back on probation until Austin and Monica— that's the very least you can do—and, Kendall, I promise you—I absolutely promise you—that if their baby—if their baby bears the slightest resemblance to me—thank God, Kendall, you're laughing—what?—no, why should you?—keep your passport and I'll get another—of course—I can write as well in Europe as I can here—even better—no, I've got a better idea—you cancel your passage and we'll go the Southern route—oh, yes, lovely this time of the year—land at Naples and motor to Nice—certainly—along the Riviera—beautiful trip . . .

[The descending curtain cuts short his itinerary.]

CURTAIN

Index     I     II-1     II-2     III