Index     1     2     3

ACT TWO

The same as Act One. A few days later. Afternoon.

MARY—Doctor . . .

AXTON—Hello, Mary.

MARY—Are you ill?

AXTON—Why should I be ill?

MARY—Home at this time of day! What's wrong, Doctor?

AXTON—Nothing's wrong, Mary. Nothing at all. Had a little break between appointments. Thought I'd come home, that's all. What's wrong with that?

MARY—[Wondering] First break you've had in twenty years. Well, well!

AXTON—[Self-consciously] Children home?

MARY—I don't know. I think Mr. Phil's home.

AXTON—Where is he?

MARY—In his room I think.

AXTON—Ask him if he can come down to see me, will you, Mary?

MARY—Has he done something wrong, Doctor?

AXTON—No, he hasn't. What makes you ask an idiotic question like that?

MARY—[Worried] Go easy on him, Doctor.

AXTON—For God's sake, Mary, go and get him down here, will you?

MARY—Phil means well. That boy's got a sweet nature. He's my pet.

AXTON—That does not ingratiate him to me! Go up and get him.

MARY—He was his mother's pet, too.

AXTON—Mary! [She turns and goes out. AXTON'S mission of good will has not had a happy start. He has to fight to regain control of himself. MARY'S surprise at seeing him at this untoward hour has dramatized for him rather the justice of ENID'S charge that he has neglected his home and his children. But he masters his irritation. His eye catches the New Masses on the floor. As a symbol of his contrition, he picks it up, smoothes it out and lays it gently on the desk. But as he does so, something else strikes his eye—some violently anti-capitalist slogan. He picks up the magazine, examines it more closely and gets mad all over again. He slams the magazine down on the desk, just as PHILIP comes into the room] Who reads that filth around here?

PHILIP—It's Avis's, I think.

AXTON—Might have guessed it! [PHILIP is nervous and apprehensive, holds himself tense for the next blow] I'm sorry, Phil. Lost my temper. Fact is . . . [A silence. AXTON is very self-conscious, very ill-at-ease. He has to recall to himself why he came] Fact is, Philip . . .

PHILIP—Yes, Father?

AXTON—I came here for a friendly talk with you.

PHILIP—A talk?

AXTON—Yes. A friendly talk.

PHILIP—What about?

AXTON—Just—in general. How are you?

PHILIP—[Mystified] I'm well, Dad. How are you?

AXTON—I'm well.

PHILIP—Aren't you working?

AXTON—Certainly I'm working! What would I be doing not working? [This is unfortunate. It bears an implication of reflection on PHILIP. PHILIP so takes it. He withdraws into a shell of silence, turns away from AXTON. AXTON tries again] How is everything with you?

PHILIP—About as usual. And you?

AXTON—Busy. Same old round. Always busy. Like it, though. Awful news from Europe.

PHILIP—Appalling.

AXTON—Think we'll get into it?

PHILIP—I hope not. Avis says . . .

AXTON—Don't quote Avis!

PHILIP—Sorry.

AXTON—Why does everybody quote Avis? Is Avis an oracle? Does she get her wisdom from that bolshevik rag? [He indicates the New Masses on the desk.]

PHILIP—The editor is a friend of Avis's. . . .

AXTON—Oh! Well, I hope she doesn't give them any money—her allowance money.

PHILIP—I don't know, Father.

AXTON—Well, let's not get off on Avis. Things are all right with you, aren't they?

PHILIP—Fine.

AXTON—Fine?

PHILIP—Yes, Father.

AXTON—Nothing troubling you? Nothing worrying you?

PHILIP—No. What?

AXTON—Just inquired. I'm glad. I'm glad you're happy. Life is uncertain these days. One might as well be happy. [A silence] I was talking about you the other day to Enid. She likes you very much.

PHILIP—[Brightening] Oh, really. I'm crazy about her.

AXTON—Don't object then to my—er—you don't object?

PHILIP—I'm happy about it. I love Enid.

AXTON—I have your consent then?

PHILIP—[Venturing a smile] Unconditionally.

AXTON—[With well-meaning but in the circumstances not entirely felicitous humor] Give me an allowance? [He laughs rather artificially.]

PHILIP—Shall I give you back the one you give me, Father?

AXTON—Perhaps we'd better let things stay as they are. [Another pause] Well, Philip . . .

PHILIP—Yes, Father.

AXTON—I'm glad to find you well and happy. I'm glad to find you untroubled. [He takes the plunge violently] Because I am troubled!

PHILIP—[There it is, the blow has struck—meekly] Yes—Father.

AXTON—In fact very troubled!

PHILIP—What about?

AXTON—About you.

PHILIP—[He turns to AXTON] What have I done now, Dad?

AXTON—You've done nothing. It's I! It's I that am troubled.

PHILIP—What have you done?

AXTON—[A grand slam of confession] I've neglected you—that's what I've done! [PHILIP blinks. This is unbelievable.]

PHILIP—[For want of anything better to say] That's all right, Father.

AXTON—It's not all right!

PHILIP—Perfectly all right.

AXTON—It isn't! Don't contradict me!

PHILIP—[He turns away] Sorry.

AXTON—What I mean is—I've been in the wrong. For God's sake, Philip, stop quibbling and let's have a heart-to-heart talk!

PHILIP—All right, Dad. [AXTON has to regain possession of himself again.]

AXTON—I've got to make it up to you. That's why I knocked off and came round here this afternoon. You know I don't often do that.

PHILIP—I know you don't, Dad.

AXTON—Let's start from scratch. I was, as you know, disappointed when you quit medical school.

PHILIP—I know. I couldn't help it, Father.

AXTON—I know you couldn't. Of course you'll be the first one in four generations not to follow our profession.

PHILIP—I know. I couldn't help it.

AXTON—[Unable to keep from harping on it] Four generations!

PHILIP—I'm sorry.

AXTON—Once I die—for the first time in one hundred and fifty years—there'll be no Dr. Talley.

PHILIP—Maybe you can remedy that, Father . . .

AXTON—[Puzzled] What?

PHILIP—Maybe you can remedy it.

AXTON—Remedy it—how remedy it . . .?

PHILIP—Well, if you and Enid . . .

AXTON—What?

PHILIP—[Feels it's an unlucky venture, but as he's begun it, he has to go on] Well, if you and Enid—I mean to say—you might—it's not inconceivable—well, I mean to say you might have a son—and he might be . . .

AXTON—[Blushing scarlet] Stop it, Philip! Stop your indecorous maundering!

PHILIP—[Almost inaudibly] Sorry, Father.

AXTON—[Really angry] For God's sake, I give up an important patient to have a heart-to-heart talk with you and what do I get—a lot of indecorous maundering!

PHILIP—I meant—I meant . . .

AXTON—What did you mean?

PHILIP—I meant after you got married, of course.

AXTON—Stop it! Where are you going?

PHILIP—[Turns to AXTON] Please, Father—please, Father, let's not have a heart-to-heart talk today.

AXTON—We will!

PHILIP—[Yielding to the inevitable, he sits in easy chair] All right, Father.

AXTON—Now then—where were we?

PHILIP—I'd just interrupted the procession of Talleys.

AXTON—Don't be facetious!

PHILIP—[Dimly] I'll try.

AXTON—I came here to say something to you and in spite of your very obvious opposition, I am going to say it. It is this: I was, it is true, bitterly disappointed over your failure to follow in my footsteps as a doctor. But I think that in nurturing this disappointment I have perhaps been arbitrary and narrow. I suppose there is a world outside surgery—there are other careers. I exorcise this disappointment. Let's start from scratch, Philip. Let's be friends.

PHILIP—[Moved] That's most awfully decent of you, Father. Really . . .

AXTON—I want you to forgive me.

PHILIP—Oh, Dad, you make me . . .

AXTON—I mean it.

PHILIP—You make me ashamed. I couldn't have been . . .

AXTON—Nonsense!

PHILIP—Really, you do.

AXTON—Nonsense. Never mind the past. It's the future. It's the present. Let's improve those.

PHILIP—It's most awfully decent of you. Thank you, Father. Thank you very much. Don't think I didn't suffer over this. I felt all sorts of a fool and a weakling. It made me feel . . . [He is on the verge of tears. AXTON is moved also.]

AXTON—Ridiculous! My fault. Forget it.

PHILIP—Yes, Father.

AXTON—Turn your back on it. Face the future.

PHILIP—[Looking up at him squarely and smiling] Yes, Father.

AXTON—[Turns to PHILIP] Forgotten?

PHILIP—Yes, Father.

AXTON—Let's shake hands on it. [PHILIP rises and they shake hands] I feel wonderful. Don't you?

PHILIP—Marvelous.

AXTON—Marvelous sensation—to be friends with your son.

PHILIP—Ditto—with your father.

AXTON—[He claps PHILIP soundly on the shoulder] My God, Philip—Enid's a wonderful woman!

PHILIP—Did she put you up to this?

AXTON—Not exactly. It's just her—well, you know—her influence. She's opened my eyes rather—to my own limitations.

PHILIP—[A bit too heartily] That's wonderful! [They drop the handshake. AXTON lets it pass.]

AXTON—Yes . . . Well . . . Now, my boy, the point is—to be constructive. Isn't it?

PHILIP—Yes, sir.

AXTON—Time you settled down. Why not?

PHILIP—I'd like to.

AXTON—That's what I thought. I believe in early marriages.

PHILIP—But I'm not ready to marry yet—economically.

AXTON—Well, I think we can manage that. I'm perfectly willing to help you—start you off. And when it comes to that one of these days—unless we break down altogether—Pat will be quite well off. Very well off, indeed, I should say.

PHILIP—Pat!

AXTON—Pat Ackerman. She likes you very much, I hear. [Jocular] Don't know exactly what she sees in you—but she sees it. I want you to know, my boy, that you have my full consent. My co-operation in every way, morally and financially.

PHILIP—But it isn't Pat I want to marry. It's Sybil.

AXTON—Sybil!

PHILIP—Yes, sir.

AXTON—Who on earth is Sybil? What kind of a name is Sybil?

PHILIP—It's not her real name. Her real name is Hannah.

AXTON—Then why on earth does she call herself Sybil?

PHILIP—For professional reasons. She's an artist.

AXTON—[He takes a step toward PHILIP] An artist? What sort of artist? A painter?

PHILIP—Not exactly.

AXTON—What do you mean—not exactly? For God's sake, Philip, can't you be precise even about your sweetheart's occupation? Who is she and what is she?

PHILIP—[In agony] She's a . . . She's a . . .

AXTON—My God, it must be something highly dubious.

PHILIP—[Turns to AXTON] She's a dancer.

AXTON—A dancer? What sort? Ballet?

PHILIP—Not exactly. [With dogged desperation] In a night club.

AXTON—A night club!

PHILIP—In the Village. You can see her there.

AXTON—I'll dispense with that, thank you!

PHILIP—[He can bear no more] Well, I love her and I'm going to marry her and I don't want Miss Ackerman or her money and I don't want a penny of yours, either. And some day I hope to pay you back every damned cent you've ever given me—with interest! [He dashes out. AXTON finds himself alone, his appeasement policy in ruins about his feet. His anger mounts then dwindles. He considers. He came home with the best of intentions. What has happened? He feels helpless, decides to get hold of the author of his appeasement policy. He takes out a cigar and crosses to the telephone.]

AXTON—[Dials a number and listens a moment] Miss Fuller, please. . . . Thank you. . . . Hello. . . . Enid? Axton. . . . Well, I have been better. . . . I need your help. I wish you'd come over. . . . I'd rather tell you later. . . . . [AVIS enters, puts her hat and purse on table] How are you? You're entertaining whom? Who's Mr. Geist? [AVIS looks up suddenly at this] A friend of Avis's . . . Well, here's Avis now. . . . Want to talk to her? [To AVIS] Here's Enid . . . Wants to talk to you. . . .

AVIS—[In a hard voice] Does she? What about?

AXTON—[Annoyed] Well, let her tell you. Don't keep her waiting. [His hand is over the transmitter as he says this. He gives the receiver to AVIS.]

AVIS—Yes . . . I'm well, thanks. . . . Is he? I didn't know you two were such buddies. . . . A publishing idea . . . well, of course, I'll be glad to talk to you about it . . . If he likes. . . . Yes, Manfred . . . I'm well, if you're interested . . . You were evidently too busy to call me today. Well, one does what one wants to do, I find. . . . Good-bye. [She hangs up. She looks ahead of her, blind with misery.]

AXTON—[Watching her curiously, he sees she is under some kind of emotional stress] Who is this friend of yours, Geist?

AVIS—He's a friend of mine—named Geist. Or was until recently.

AXTON—What's he doing with Enid?

AVIS—Ask Enid.

AXTON—[Looks at her puzzled; decides to drop it] I'm glad you came in, Avis. I wanted very much to see you. In fact, I knocked off this afternoon for that very purpose.

AVIS—Really? What for?

AXTON—Just wanted to have a cozy little—well, a nice little heart-to-heart talk, you might say.

AVIS—What about?

AXTON—Just in general.

AVIS—How?

AXTON—I beg your pardon?

AVIS—What are we going to have a heart-to-heart talk with? I mean—are we equipped for it?

AXTON—You think me heartless. Is that it?

AVIS—[In despair] I wonder sometimes if I'm not.

AXTON—Nonsense. I'm sure you're very warm-hearted if you'd only let it come out.

AVIS—When are you getting married?

AXTON—Well, to tell you the truth, Avis, we've both been almost too busy to set a date. I rather wanted Enid to get acquainted with you and Philip first.

AVIS—She's doing it with a vengeance!

AXTON—What do you mean by that?

AVIS—[Tight-lipped] Nothing.

AXTON—[Irritated] Well, I wish you wouldn't be so cryptic.

AVIS—Sorry. [A moment's pause.]

AXTON—Like Enid?

AVIS—Not much.

AXTON—[Angry] Why not?

AVIS—Well, she's not my sort.

AXTON—I might have an answer to that.

AVIS—I know the answer—so much the better for her!

AXTON—What's eating at you, Avis?

AVIS—Plenty.

AXTON—Tell me.

AVIS—It would be no use.

AXTON—Try.

AVIS—You know I get on your nerves. I always have. You resent me. Why do you tempt the Fates?

AXTON—I want to change. I want to get to the bottom of the difficulty. I want to be friends with you.

AVIS—Why should you want my friendship?

AXTON—Because I love you.

AVIS—I don't believe that.

AXTON—[Flaring] Well, I might if you'd let me.

AVIS—[Clenching her fists] All right. I'll let you! [A pause. AXTON decides to make a mental feint before he attacks his main objective.]

AXTON—Hear you've been in Washington.

AVIS—Yes.

AXTON—Visiting?

AVIS—Oh, no.

AXTON—Sight-seeing?

AVIS—I leave that to the tourists. I went to attend the meetings of the American Youth Congress.

AXTON—Oh, the American Youth Congress. Really?

AVIS—Yes.

AXTON—Seems to me I read about it.

AVIS—The press wasn't very fair to us. It never is.

AXTON— Weren't some of the members rude to the President? Didn't they practically picket the White House?

AVIS—What of it?

AXTON—Well, I think it's an outrage. God knows I'm not a New Dealer, but these young whippersnappers ought to learn some respect for authority.

AVIS—These young whippersnappers have so far found no authority they can respect. When they do, they'll respect it!

AXTON—It's a damned outrage.

AVIS—I could point to more serious outrages.

AXTON—You make it necessary for me to exercise self-control.

AVIS—I'm sorry. If you want to discuss things with me you must expect me to say what I think, not what I think you want to hear.

AXTON—All right, Avis. All right. I'm sorry we got off on this. As a matter of fact I wanted to talk to you about something personal. May I?

AVIS—Certainly.

AXTON—You and this fellow, Cy Blodgett . . .

AVIS—Yes?

AXTON—What sort of fellow is he?

AVIS—He's a very dear friend of mine. I like him very much.

AXTON—Is he ever serious?

AVIS—He's quite serious.

AXTON—Few times I've met him—seems to joke all the time.

AVIS—That doesn't mean he isn't serious.

AXTON—Kind of sweet on you, isn't he? [AVIS turns away] Like him?

AVIS—Very much.

AXTON—Well, then—why don't you get married?

AVIS—For lots of reasons.

AXTON—What's he want to be, a teacher?

AVIS—If he can get an appointment.

AXTON—Useful work. Fundamental. Now, a teacher doesn't earn much; it'll probably be difficult for you at the start. Don't let that worry you. Fortunately, I am well able to see you through your first years. I'll be glad to. If it's money holding you apart—well—forget about it.

AVIS—Thank you very much.

AXTON—Not at all. It's the least I can do.

AVIS—What makes you so generous?

AXTON—It's not generosity. You're my daughter. I feel I've been perhaps—well, unintentionally, perhaps, a bit remiss as a father and—well, I want to make up to you in any way I can.

AVIS—For what?

AXTON—[Irritated in spite of himself] I'm telling you! For my limitations as a father. I feel I haven't always been completely fair to you.

AVIS—You're sure that motive isn't mixed with another—less noble?

AXTON—What do you mean?

AVIS—You're sure you don't want to marry me off so you can get me out of your way before you settle down with Miss Fuller?

AXTON—[Aghast] Why, you ungrateful little . . .

AVIS—I feel no gratitude. I've never belonged to this house. You've always made me feel a stranger here. I'm not grateful to you. I don't know who I was or what my parents were. I wish you'd never transplanted me to this smug preserve of yours. I'm sure, whatever it was, it would have been better than this.

AXTON—[Shocked] Avis!

AVIS—I wish you'd let me be. [ENID and MANFRED come in.]

ENID—Hello, Axton. Hello, Avis.

AXTON—Hello.

ENID—You know Mr. Geist—Dr. Talley.

MANFRED—We have never met.

AXTON—[In no mood for strangers, shortly] How do you do? [ENID, sensing the strain in the room, looks inquiringly from AVIS to AXTON.]

ENID—Well! [No response from anybody.]

AVIS—[She turns to ENID] Father and I have been having a heart-to-heart talk.

ENID—[Already not expecting too much] With good results, I hope? [Her hope shattered from their expression] I'm afraid not. [General silence] Well, don't be discouraged. That sort of thing requires practice, doesn't it, Manfred?

AVIS—I dare say you keep in practice all the time. Splashing around in the milk of human kindness. Shedding sweetness and light!

ENID—Well, what would be wrong with that?

AVIS—Nothing. [She picks up hat and purse] Increases your circulation by leaps and bounds. And comparatively inexpensive. [She goes out. ENID is confused and rather devastated. AXTON looks from ENID to MANFRED. He is deeply irritated. MANFRED affects him unpleasantly.]

ENID—Well, really . . .

AXTON—What on earth's she driving at?

ENID—[She turns to MANFRED] Manfred, you'd better go and talk some sense into her. Please go after her.

MANFRED—And then what?

ENID—You can explain.

MANFRED—Well, I'll do my best. [He goes out after AVIS.]

AXTON—[Very irritated] Who is that fellow?

ENID—[She puts down hat, gloves and purse] Manfred Geist. An Austrian refugee.

AXTON—Jew?

ENID—No. Supposing he were?

AXTON—I just asked. What are you doing with him?

ENID—I'm trying to help him.

AXTON—Help him to what?

ENID—To get established here.

AXTON—As what?

ENID—He's a brilliant writer in his own language. He's been through some devastating experiences.

AXTON—Communist?

ENID—I'm not sure exactly what his politics are. . . . [A moment's pause. AXTON is very irritated. He is angry against her, without knowing exactly what to put it on, which adds to his irritation.]

AXTON—Avis made some strange remarks . . .

ENID—What about?

AXTON—She's impossible. I tried to get close to her. I took your advice.

ENID—Yes? What did you say to her?

AXTON—I came to her in the friendliest spirit . . .

ENID—Oh, dear!

AXTON—[Helplessly] It seems I don't understand anybody!

ENID—It's the most elusive of the arts, Axton.

AXTON—I understand my own kind. That's all I want to understand.

ENID—Ah! That's a handicap!

AXTON—I came to her in the friendliest spirit . . . I talked to Philip, too. He wants to marry a dancer named Sybil!

ENID—I know. Phil brought her round to me. She's very nice. A little prudish.

AXTON—A dancer. What kind of dancer can it be that dances in a night club in the Village?

ENID—I gather her visibility is a bit high.

AXTON—Who is Philip to indulge himself with dancers?

ENID—Isn't it rather to his credit that he doesn't want to marry for money? I find it admirable.

AXTON—It's a self-indulgence. It's outrageous.

ENID—He's very young, Axton.

AXTON—At his age, I was in my second year in medicine!

ENID—Axton?

AXTON—Well . . .

ENID—I know you don't mean it, dear . . .

AXTON—You know I don't mean what . . .

ENID—You're so assured yourself. You're so masterful yourself. Don't you think you're—well, a little impatient with people who are less sure, who may be groping and uncertain . . .?

AXTON—You seem to be on their side.

ENID—Well, I can't control a certain sympathy—instinctively I side with the underdog. What is that? An apprehension that one day conceivably one might be the underdog oneself. Nevertheless, there it is!

AXTON—What's underdog about them? They're spoiled and irresponsible. I offered to set them up! I even gave my consent to Avis to marry that learned idiot, Blodgett!

ENID—Did you?

AXTON—Well, what's wrong with that?

ENID—Do you really think it's magnanimous to dole out to people prerogatives they don't want?

AXTON—[Increasingly annoyed and hurt] You are on their side!

ENID—No, no, no, dear, not at all. It's just . . .

AXTON—What?

ENID—It's just . . .

AXTON—Well—what is it just?

ENID—It's just that I begin to suspect that perhaps you've hidden too long in the crevices of your specialty. I am determined to lead you out!

AXTON—To what? To this rabble? Dancers and what-not! Who are all these people I suddenly find around me?

ENID—[Simply] They are people, Axton.

AXTON—[Hopelessly] It's a different world.

ENID—Of course it is.

AXTON—Don't understand it.

ENID—Neither do I. We have to study.

AXTON—Can't cope with it.

ENID—We must try.

AXTON—I thought you belonged to my world.

ENID—Not entirely. I don't belong to theirs either. I wish I did.

AXTON—Why, for God's sake?

ENID—You've been lucky, Axton. So have I. We found our niches early in life and stuck to them. These children find no niches. No wonder they resent us. In any case our world—the one you and I were brought up in—is done with. It's finished. And good riddance too.

AXTON—I like it. What was wrong with it?

ENID—Too many inequalities . . .

AXTON—[After a moment he has something on his mind and feels awkward about expressing it] Enid . . .

ENID—Yes, dear . . .

AXTON—Avis . . .

ENID—Yes.

AXTON—She made certain dark innuendoes about you.

ENID—Did she really? Come, out with it, Axton. Tell me the worst.

AXTON—About you and that refugee fellow—what's his name?

ENID—Manfred Geist.

AXTON—About him! Mind you, Enid, I'm not cross-questioning you . . .

ENID—Darling! Dearest Axton . . .

AXTON—Only . . .

ENID—Yes.

AXTON—May I—may I just . . .

ENID—What?

AXTON—I'd like to say something to you.

ENID—Please do.

AXTON—Just once, and then forget it.

ENID—You can say anything to me. Anything at all. Come, darling—what's worrying you?

AXTON—[He rises] I'll say it, just this once and then I promise you, you'll never hear a word out of me on this subject ever again.

ENID—Yes, darling?

AXTON—In your world—in your world—literary-artistic circles—Bohemian circles you might say . . .

ENID—Yes, dear?

AXTON—[Very embarrassed] That sort of thing—people condone . . . Well, I suppose they don't take sexual fidelity so seriously, do they . . .

ENID—[Soberly] I think they do.

AXTON—Well, I suppose there's a wide margin. Even if they're not as you might say—out-and-out promiscuous—there's a wide margin . . .

ENID—What happens in the margin?

AXTON—Well, flirtation—carrying on—you know what I mean?

ENID—Dimly.

AXTON—Well, you know, Enid, I'm awfully old-fashioned and—and—well, you might say bourgeois about that sort of thing—and I hope . . .

ENID—Yes. Tell me. What do you hope?

AXTON—[Turns to her] Well, damn it all, Enid. I hope you won't make a fool of me. I hope you won't make me ridiculous . . .

ENID—Oh, my dear . . .

AXTON—You understand, I hope, what I mean, how I mean it.

ENID—I do. I think I do.

AXTON—Let's forget it then.

ENID—I do understand and I'm very touched by this, Axton. You can't possibly know to what extent—only . . .

AXTON—Yes?

ENID—I see that Avis's innuendoes—whatever they were—made quite an impression on you! I do love you, Axton.

AXTON—Sorry I mentioned it.

ENID—[She takes his hands] I'm glad you mentioned it. I loved it. And let me add this, now and forever, whatever there was in the past, darling, I'm making a new life and you are the cornerstone of it. Object to being a cornerstone?

AXTON—On the heavy side.

ENID—Couldn't there be a light cornerstone? Light but durable. Duralumin. What's that? In airplanes. A flying cornerstone.

AXTON—All right, I'll be your flying cornerstone. [He kisses her, then looks at his watch] Oh, I must get down to the office.

ENID—Reassured?

AXTON—H'm—yes. Have to see a patient. [She stops him.]

ENID—Aren't you going to stay for the cocktail party? I'm giving it for you to get acquainted with your children under my auspices.

AXTON—Can't cope.

ENID—You don't have to. I will.

AXTON—All right, I'll come back . . . [He starts to go. She holds his arm.]

ENID—We were on the verge of a quarrel, weren't we?

AXTON—No quarrel.

ENID—[Laughing a little] All right, forgive me?

AXTON—For what?

ENID—For whatever it was. [She kisses him] Good-bye, darling.

AXTON—'Bye. [He goes to office door, opens it, turns to her] Love you.

ENID—Love you. [AXTON goes out. ENID is left alone. MANFRED comes in] Oh, Manfred, did you patch it up with Avis?

MANFRED—On the contrary!

ENID—[Starting out] Where is she? I must see her at once.

MANFRED—She's gone for a walk.

ENID—Surely, Manfred, she didn't resent my seeing you alone?

MANFRED—She did indeed.

ENID—Did you tell her I'd asked you to bring her?

MANFRED—I did.

ENID—Did you tell her it was to talk to you about some magazine commissions?

MANFRED—I did.

ENID—What a difficult child!

MANFRED—Yes, she is.

ENID—People are difficult, aren't they, Manfred? Pitiful and difficult. What was she like in Washington? You heard her speak.

MANFRED—She was very good. Passionate and convincing. You should have heard her. The whole thing was wonderful and frightening, too. I have some experience of Youth Movements. This one is coherent and articulate. But I thought of the hordes outside it, incoherent and inarticulate, the raw material of the spellbinders, exactly what Germany suffered from. I sense it on all sides—grievance without perspective.

ENID—What's going to happen, Manfred?

MANFRED—What has happened? More of the same.

ENID—Surely something will come out of all this—something better?

MANFRED—I believe so. I shan't see it. You may. Enid . . .

ENID—Yes, Manfred.

MANFRED—My daughter, Ingrid . . .

ENID—Yes, Manfred.

MANFRED—I'd like you to know her. I'd like you to be her friend.

ENID—Of course.

MANFRED—She has a rich, passionate nature. She is rather wonderful, really.

ENID—I'm sure she is.

MANFRED—Unfortunately, she is quite plain. She has never attracted men. She has turned her back then on all personal romance and has concentrated on me. Like Avis she thinks I am a great man. I would like her to meet you. I want that very much.

ENID—But certainly. [A pause.]

MANFRED—I am afraid I've upset Avis very much.

ENID—How?

MANFRED—I told her finally.

ENID—What?

MANFRED—That I did not love her.

ENID—When?

MANFRED—Just now.

ENID—Poor Avis.

MANFRED—I thought I'd better.

ENID—Poor Avis.

MANFRED—She thinks it's you.

ENID—What?

MANFRED—She thinks it's on account of you.

ENID—Manfred—no!

MANFRED—It's since you came she says—that I've changed.

ENID—Manfred! How awful! How simply—! What did you say to her?

MANFRED—It didn't matter what I said.

ENID—But how utterly, fantastically . . .

MANFRED—True!

ENID—What?

MANFRED—How utterly, fantastically true! [He laughs] How amusing of destiny, how ingeniously sadistic, to allow me, at this moment of my career, to fall in love.

ENID—This is not fair.

MANFRED—That's what I think.

ENID—What did you tell Avis?

MANFRED—The truth—I mean—the other side of it—that I had never loved her.

ENID—You did tell her that?

MANFRED—You don't trust me suddenly?

ENID—No.

MANFRED—You may in this. Please believe me.

ENID—I must find Avis.

MANFRED—You won't in your aversion from me, forget my daughter, Ingrid?

ENID—Why do you express yourself with such violence? I feel no aversion from you. It's only that—in the circumstances . . .

MANFRED—If I had kept silence? And yet why should I not let you know that never in all my days have I met anyone so worthy of love as you? Is love so common?

ENID—It does not gain by expression.

MANFRED—In any case, where victory is impossible, what is there to lose?

ENID—There is, I think, something already lost.

MANFRED—The venture was so out of reality—as to be irresistible. To be among the homeless and suddenly to find a home. In some reserve of the mind, one still believes in miracles. It is amusing—it is very amusing.

ENID—Manfred . . .

MANFRED—Yes, Enid. Say it.

ENID—I want to say it exactly.

MANFRED—To cut off all possibility of escape?

ENID—I am deeply fond of you. I am deeply touched by you . . .

MANFRED—And yet?

ENID—There is in you something I cannot accept without reservation, something I . . .

MANFRED—Distrust?

ENID—Not exactly—deprecate . . .

MANFRED—And that is . . .?

ENID—Some men reputed for greatness have gained in stature thereby. The reputation has stimulated the reality. You it has made cynical. The disparity amuses you merely . . .

MANFRED—Go on.

ENID—It strikes me with wonder always that with all you have suffered . . .

MANFRED—Did you think that suffering ennobles? That it filters you free of slag? No, it is happiness that ennobles. Suffering clots the soul with a fiercer desire. I know. I stand at the very outpost, my eyes on you, and I know.

ENID—The Fifth Column in every soul.

MANFRED—Yes, Enid.

ENID—There is a devastating truth in that. You seem to cherish yours, Manfred. You let it betray you.

MANFRED—Yes. One struggles against it. You could resolve that struggle for me, Enid. What suffering has failed to do—you could do.

ENID—You will have to fight it out alone, Manfred, as in the end, we all have to do.

MANFRED—There are then no miracles?

ENID—No, Manfred. Miracles are too easy. [CY enters.]

CY—As I live—Miss Fuller.

ENID—Mr. Blodgett! How are you, Mr. Blodgett? [MANFRED rises.]

CY—I am in the pink, Miss Fuller. In the pink. [PHILIP comes in.]

PHILIP—Hello, Enid.

ENID—Hello, Phil. How are you?

CY—Hello, Manfred.

MANFRED—Hello, Cy.

CY—Oh, Phil—how's the life-class in the Village?

PHILIP—Listen here—I'm getting pretty well fed up with those bright remarks of yours!

CY—Miss Fuller—you understand child psychology. What makes Philip so truculent?

ENID—Never mind. [MARY comes in with pitcher of cocktails, and six glasses on a tray] Oh, there you are, Mary. Thank you. Ask Dr. Talley to come up, will you, Mary? He's in his office.

MARY—[Horrified] Now?

ENID—[Pouring cocktails] Well—try it. I'll take the responsibility.

CY—Yes, Mary, try it. If you don't return, we'll know you've been decapitated. Whom shall we notify?

MARY—I've got an older sister in Belfast.

ENID—Leave her name and address with the nurse . . . [MARY goes out.]

PHILIP—Can I help you, Enid?

ENID—Yes, thank you, darling. Just pass those.

CY—Why don't you bring your sweetheart around, Phil?

ENID—[Still pouring] I invited her this afternoon, but she couldn't come. [PHILIP gives a cocktail to MANFRED.]

CY—Oh, Sybil wouldn't come to a cocktail party.

ENID—Why not? [PHILIP gives a cocktail to CY.]

CY—She doesn't drink and she doesn't smoke; she just strips.

PHILIP—Shut up, Cy!

ENID—Really, Cy, you're very naughty. [She picks up a cocktail. AXTON enters from office] Here you are at last, Axton. Cocktail?

AXTON—Thank you! [ENID gives him the cocktail. AVIS enters.]

ENID—Oh, Avis, I'm glad to see you.

AVIS—Are you? Hello, Cy—I've got good news for you!

CY—At last!

AVIS—Father is willing to set us up in light-housekeeping! [ENID is a bit afraid of AVIS'S mood.]

CY—Is this true, Doctor?

AXTON—Well, it's hardly the time or place . . .

CY—Why not? I congratulate you!

AXTON—What for?

CY—On acquiring me for a son-in-law.

AXTON—[Intensely annoyed] Isn't it premature?

CY—On the contrary. Belated. We were only waiting for your consent.

ENID—[With a look at MANFRED, lightly] Not Avis's? [Gives a cocktail to AVIS, keeps one for herself.]

AVIS—Thank you.

CY—Oh, you mean Manfred? A romantic impulse which I knew would spend itself.

AVIS—[Bitterly] You're right. It has!

CY—Well! Sorry, old fellow, fortunes of war and all that sort of thing. You can't compete with youth, you know. In your heart you must have known all along that my adorable juvenility would win out.

ENID—[Smiles at AVIS] What can you do with him, Avis?

CY—[Concentrating again on AXTON] If I congratulate Dr. Talley it is not on acquiring a son-in-law who by the time he is fifty may well have more degrees than Nicholas Murray Butler. It is more modest than that. It is on the score of economy. Tell me, Dr. Talley, are collections slow?

AXTON—They are practically non-existent!

CY—Parallels my experience. But in acquiring me you scarcely add to your burden. You see, Dr. Talley, essentially I'm a simple fellow. I doubt whether I shall cost you more than four duodenum a year. Maybe five—at most five!

AXTON—[Forcing a joke] I shall let you have the five that don't pay.

CY—Avis, what do you mean by telling me your father has no humor?

AXTON—Did she tell you that?

CY—Why, he's delightful!

ENID—You see, Axton—the light touch works wonders!

CY—We're en rapport—we're beautifully en rapport.

AXTON—I wouldn't exaggerate!

CY—But don't let me force your hand. Shop around. I live at 116th Street and Amsterdam.

AXTON—Why do you tell me that?

CY—In case you want me suddenly.

AXTON—It is very unlikely.

CY—[To others] Strong man—controls his impulses!

AXTON—When I was your age, I was doing serious work!

CY—So am I. When my Doctorate is published you will know beyond peradventure that St. Thomas Aquinas was a Marxian.

PHILIP—[Rising] Well, I'm sorry, I've got to be going.

CY—Have to make the supper show?

PHILIP—None of your business.

CY—You're selfish about your girl, Philip. Awfully possessive.

ENID—Cy! Cy!

CY—He's possessive but thank Heaven Sybil isn't. She gives you her last shirt.

ENID—I don't think I love you any more, Mr. Blodgett!

CY—[Full of commiseration] Don't say that, Miss Fuller! I apologize. I promise you I'll never mention Sybil again. I'll worship from afar.

PHILIP—You make me sick! [He goes out.]

AXTON—What kind of dancer is this Sybil?

CY—She's the poor man's Pavlova.

AXTON—How can a busy man keep up with his children?

ENID—It's a technique you must acquire.

AXTON—I thought Phil was in love with Pat Ackerman. At least, Avis, I was right about you. Or wasn't I?

CY—[Confidently] You will be!

AXTON—Will be?

CY—I take the long view, Dr. Talley.

AXTON—Well, who is it now?

AVIS—Enid, you tell him! Why don't you tell him?

AXTON—[Startled—remembers now AVIS'S previous innuendoes] What does Enid know about it?

ENID—Avis, why do you dislike me so?

AVIS—For many reasons.

ENID—You can't discourage me, you know. I am determined to win you over.

AVIS—Why?

ENID—Must one have a secret motive for everything? Can't it be just simple affection?

AVIS—Your graciousness is very beguiling—especially to men. But not to me. I see through it.

AXTON— [Angrily] Look here, Avis . . .

ENID—Never mind, dear . . .

CY—[Also seeing her danger, to shunt AXTON off] You mustn't be jealous, Avis. It's really Platonic between Miss Fuller and me.

AVIS—[To ENID] I've been reading your poetry—the poetry, Manfred, that you admire so extravagantly. Romantic nostalgia!

MANFRED—Is that wrong, Avis?

AVIS—It's all right for those who have something to be nostalgic for.

CY—Avis, why don't you come out and have dinner with me? I've found a new Automat. It's Aztec and it's chic. What do you say?

AVIS—I don't mind.

CY—You see. Just quivering with passion for me! Can't wait to be alone with me!

MANFRED—Why are you so hostile to Enid? She is your eloquent defender.

AVIS—[Her head gone] Do you defend me, too, Manfred?

MANFRED—I explain you.

AVIS—You do discuss me then? You discuss me with her!

ENID—Avis, believe me, you misunderstand entirely.

AVIS—It was all right before you came. You know it was.

ENID—[Steadily] I know it wasn't.

AVIS—He told you quickly, didn't he? It didn't take him long to . . .

ENID—Avis, my dear child . . .

AVIS—[Fiercely] Don't patronize me! [She turns to MANFRED] You told her! You confide in her!

AXTON—[To ENID] What is this?

ENID—I'll tell you later . . .

AVIS—Will you?

AXTON—What are you hinting? Come—out with it—what are you hinting?

AVIS—[Ignores him, turns to MANFRED] Before she came, you understood me. You wanted to help me, to guide me. Now you're critical of everything I do and say. You make me feel like an immature child who . . . [ENID looks helplessly to CY.]

CY—We'd better be going, Avis.

AVIS—Yes. [She turns to ENID] In your quiet way you're quite a man-killer, aren't you?

ENID—You'll be ashamed, Avis.

CY—Avis . . .

AVIS—Isn't Axton enough for you?

AXTON—Look here, Avis—I won't have you involving Enid in your love affairs . . .

AVIS—You're too late for that!

AXTON—Avis! I want to know what you mean by that!

ENID—Axton . . .

AXTON—I forbid Avis ever to see him again!

MANFRED—I shall gratify that wish.

AVIS—That won't be difficult for you, will it, Manfred? Thanks to her.

AXTON—You're going to come out in the open and tell me what you mean!

AVIS—As I told you before—ask Enid. [She goes out. MANFRED puts his glass on mantelpiece.]

ENID—Cy . . .

CY—Yes, Enid.

ENID—Don't leave her . . .

CY—Right.

ENID—Call me later, will you?

CY—Yes. [He goes out.]

ENID—Why did you say that, Manfred? About never seeing Avis again.

MANFRED—Because it is very likely to be true.

ENID—You know how much you mean to her—you shouldn't have said it.

AXTON—I'm sorry, but it seems to me that the least Mr. Geist can do is to make good that promise.

MANFRED—I shall.

ENID—Axton, you don't know the facts.

AXTON—Perhaps that is my good fortune!

ENID—Manfred is blameless in this.

MANFRED—Thank you, Enid, but that is not strictly true. As I told you—I should have disappeared.

AXTON—Well, it's not too late for that, is it?

MANFRED— [With a smile] No—it is never too late for that.

ENID—Axton, when I've told you the whole truth you will regret this.

AXTON—No more than I regret it now! [A moment's pause.]

ENID—Manfred—you'll bring me the magazine article tomorrow?

MANFRED—Tomorrow . . .

ENID—Manfred headed a revolution in Bavaria. He's written a fascinating article about it.

MANFRED—A memoir of failure.

AXTON—Why did it fail?

MANFRED—We were unprepared.

AXTON—Then you've no one to blame but yourselves, have you?

ENID—Axton, the world at large isn't as well organized as an operating room.

AXTON—Evidently it was, for the disciplined people who won out.

MANFRED—It was more than that—it wasn't a matter of preparation merely . . .

AXTON—What then?

MANFRED—There comes a moment in every revolution when you must kill, impartially, and by instinct. I lacked that instinct.

AXTON—Then you had no business heading the revolution. You should have stayed out of it.

ENID—I think, Axton, that without more knowledge . . .

AXTON—When you undertake a job that requires ruthlessness—you must be ruthless.

MANFRED—I am sure, Dr. Talley, that your timing would have been impeccable.

ENID—Good night, Manfred.

MANFRED—[Turning to ENID] Good-bye, Enid. Good night, Dr. Talley.

AXTON—Good night. [MANFRED goes out.]

AXTON—[Bursts out] Why do you encourage that awful foreign fellow to keep seeing Avis and you? Who is he, anyway, and what's he doing hanging around you?

ENID—[Stunned] That question is full of epithets. Can't you modify it?

AXTON—I feel I've stepped into a swamp.

ENID—[Quietly] If you have—you have only to withdraw.

AXTON—What did Avis mean?

ENID—You are probably not aware of it but your tone—to put it mildly—is inquisitorial.

AXTON—I ask only for a simple explanation—what did Avis mean?

ENID—Are you jealous of Manfred?

AXTON—It's not my habit to be jealous.

ENID—You might be just beginning. It is only on the score of jealousy that I can even begin to explain your rudeness toward him just now.

AXTON—I wouldn't be jealous of a contemptible cad such as this fellow seems to be.

ENID—Does he?

AXTON—What else? Plays around with Avis, though he's old enough to be her father. What else is he? And where do you come in?

ENID—You shock me, Axton!

AXTON—And you do me, so we're quits rather, aren't we?

ENID—It comes back to me now . . .

AXTON—What does?

ENID—With you and Manfred before—when he came into the room with me—even before you knew any of this—your instinctive reaction was hostile. Why?

AXTON—Did you expect me to throw my arms around him?

ENID—He is a refugee. He is a sensitive man. He is an artist. He is friendless, except for us, homeless, except for us. Why was your instinctive reaction—unfriendly?

AXTON—You are demanding explanations of me when I want one of you.

ENID—It is because I am trying to discover between us a common speech to make my explanation—legible.

AXTON—A few simple facts are all I want.

ENID—Facts about people are often misleading.

AXTON—I'll take that chance. [After a moment] Is this fellow Geist in love with you?

ENID—He has said so.

AXTON—Where does Avis come in?

ENID—She's in love with Manfred, madly. Therefore—and for other instinctive reasons also—Avis hates me. She is bitterly jealous of me. Now those are the facts. How do they sound? Pretty bad, I can see that.

AXTON—You admit it!

ENID—Yes. Pretty bad—unless, as well as knowing the facts, you also know the truth.

AXTON—It all sounds very messy.

ENID—And it's very odd to me, Axton.

AXTON—Is it?

ENID—[After a moment] You command an exquisite skill. You are poised and self-centered and masterful. For the practice of your profession you must have endured long years of preparation . . .

AXTON—What's all that got to do with this mess?

ENID—Simply that it's odd to me that without preparation, without study, without approach, you apply summary judgments to human beings. They are in agony—you call it a mess and let it go at that. They are homeless and friendless and in exile—they are simply awful foreigners to you and you let it go at that. You do not observe—you do not sympathize. You apply epithets.

AXTON—Well, frankly, Enid, you seem to me sloppy in your sympathies. Your sympathies are dispersed. I want them concentrated.

ENID—You want a monopoly. I can't give you that, Axton.

AXTON—[Bursting out] Then I wonder why you want to marry me altogether!

ENID—[After a moment] I do want to marry you. I admire and love you. But I hope, my dear, that it isn't hero-worship that you want. If you inspired that, I might burn incense at your effigy, but I shouldn't want to marry you. You are wonderfully skillful in your work. That I admire and as it saved my life, I am grateful. Really, I inhabit a world of which you know very little and that will give me privacy. Also you are strong where I am weak and that makes me want to lean on you. For all these reasons, Axton darling, I do very much want to marry you and to live with you. But don't expect me to hero-worship you. Don't expect me to yes you. That I won't do. I can't. I never will. You're too good for it, darling, and so, I hope, am I. [A silence.]

AXTON—You haven't told me yet—what Avis meant?

ENID—[It has slipped her mind] About what?

AXTON—About you—and this fellow Geist.

ENID—He's a distinguished man, Axton. I wish you wouldn't keep referring to him as if . . .

AXTON—And I wish, for pity's sake, you'd stop being sentimental about him because he's refugee. If those people couldn’t control a system they despise, they must take the consequences. There is a tact in conformity. As they took no interest until it was too late about what concerned them most vitally—namely, who should govern them and how—why should we now pull their chestnuts out of the fire for them?

ENID—You're a hard man, aren't you, Axton? You're a different person suddenly. Can it be that there is an obverse side to your wonderful efficiency?

AXTON—Damn it all, Enid, it's no use your treating me like a defendant in a trial, when the truth is . . .

ENID—The truth is that I am the defendant. Curious paradox in you, Axton . . .

AXTON—No paradox at all.

ENID—And yet there is Mrs. Pink . . .

AXTON—What on earth's Mrs. Pink got to do with this!

ENID—You sound like a hard man. And yet there is Mrs. Pink. Mrs. Pink who worships the ground you walk on. I don't understand. I'm bewildered. How can you be so wonderful to Mrs. Pink and to Heaven knows how many others and yet so unfeeling about this poor fellow, Manfred—your own children?

AXTON—One thing has nothing to do with the other!

ENID—Evidently not. Can it be that your kindness is exclusively professional? [She rises] That's an awful thought! That's a frightening thought, Axton!

AXTON—I make myself live up to certain standards—I don't coddle myself. [They stand looking at each other. She is seeing him as if for the first time. She is frightened and bewildered.]

ENID—From some nameless source I feel a resentment against you. [The telephone rings] Resolve it, Axton, resolve it!

AXTON—[He goes to the telephone] Yes . . . who . . . Just a moment, I'll see . . . Yes . . . Who wants her, please . . . ? Just a minute, please . . . [Still holding the receiver, very irritated] It's a Miss Geist for you!

ENID—Ingrid!

AXTON—You don't have to talk to her. I said I'd see . . .

ENID—I think I'd better . . . [Goes to phone, takes instrument from him] Thank you. Yes . . . this is Miss Fuller . . . Yes, Miss Geist . . . Yes, he left about a half hour ago. . . . What sort of message? Well, is that unusual? What exactly was the message . . . ? What? Hello . . . [She clicks the receiver] Hello . . . hello . . . [Astonished] She hung up on me.

AXTON—Who is she?

ENID—Manfred's daughter.

AXTON—Well, what did she want?

ENID—[She hangs up the receiver] Asked me to come over right away.

AXTON—What for?

ENID—She'd just got home. She found a curious message, she says, from Manfred . . .

AXTON—What did it say?

ENID—She couldn't tell me, she said, over the telephone. I don't think she even said that. I wonder . . .

AXTON—Ignore it.

ENID—I'm afraid I've got to go. I've got a funny feeling . . .

AXTON—Call her back and ask her what she wants.

ENID—They have no telephone. She called from a pay station.

AXTON—Well, if you must go, go after dinner.

ENID—I'm going now, Axton. I've got to go now.

AXTON—What on earth for? [Looks at watch] It's dinner time!

ENID—Please, Axton. She wouldn't have asked me to come unless . . .

AXTON—Do you know her?

ENID—No.

AXTON—You're just crazy!

ENID—Good night, Axton.

AXTON—[Furious] Well, if a call from this refugee means more to you than I do, it's well I found it out in time.

ENID—I'm sorry. I'll telephone.

AXTON—[Shouts after her] You needn't. [She is gone. He is in an uncontrollable rage. To steady himself he takes out a cigar and makes several attempts to light it] Damn! Damn! Damn it all! Damn! [MARY comes in]

MARY—Dinner is served, Doctor. Where's Miss Fuller?

AXTON—Miss Fuller has gone. And I don't want any dinner.

MARY—You look sick. Shall I send for a doctor?

AXTON—Are you being funny?

MARY—Doctors always send for other doctors.

AXTON—Well, I won't.

MARY—You look feverish. Have you got a fever?

AXTON—Mary—I have no fever. For pity's sake, leave me alone.

MARY—[Grimly] You look feverish. I'll bring a thermometer. I'm going to take your temperature if it's the last thing I do. [She turns and goes out.]

AXTON—[Shouting after her as she goes] It will be, I promise you that! [And with all his might he flings the cigar in his hand at the door just too late to hit the vanished MARY.]

Quick Curtain

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