Chapter II: The Technic of the One-Act Play (5)

OHANO. But you have known the glory of life. Shall I never know the way to it? [_Appealingly, to the globe._] The way--the way is what I seek!

ZAMA. Look not so upon the evil ball, child. It do be enchanted for one thousand years! [OHANO _moves nearer the globe_.] Go not so near, child! Evil will fall--and you will be enslaved!

OHANO. What care I, if it shows me the way? [_Hands outstretched to the globe._

ZAMA. [_Appealingly to_ NIJO.] Sir, I pray you do be stopping her. She do be always gazing at that golden ball; and slowly it do be drawing her within its enchanted grasp. And it do be an enchanted ball!

NIJO. Perhaps there's more to its enchantment than I thought. It claimed me for a victim--and now it's freezing her life's warmth to the falseness of Orient pearl.

OHANO. [_Murmuring to the globe._] The way--the way! I must have the way!

NIJO. [_Swiftly drawing his sword._] I will not show you--but I'll save you! [_Starts toward the gazing globe._

ZAMA. [_Barring his path._] Nijo, sir, what do you be doing?

NIJO. [_With a flourish of his sword._] I kill the thing that freezes another heart!

ZAMA. That do mean ruin! It be an enchanted ball!

NIJO. [_Brushing past_ ZAMA.] It will enchant no longer!!

OHANO. No! No, Nijo!

NIJO. [_Running up pedestal steps._] Yes!!

[_With a mighty blow he strikes the gazing globe with his sword.
Frightened_, OHANO _shrinks to one side, facing right, as a
thunder-like crash follows the blow, and pieces of the globe tumble
to the ground--all but one piece that remains upon the pedestal.
Then from a moon off stage right shines a straight golden path
across the sea to the bit of gazing globe on the pedestal._

OHANO. [_Triumphantly._] The moon--The way! At last the way! From the gazing globe--the golden path to the moon of glory. Now I am free!

[_Rushes wildly down the moonlight path to the sea._

ZAMA. Stop her!

NIJO. No, it is better to let her go.

ZAMA. But the path do lead into the sea. It is death! Stop her!! [_Starts forward._

NIJO. [_Restraining_ ZAMA.] No! In death her soul has found the only way!

CURTAIN

THE BOOR

BY

ANTON TCHEKOV

_The Boor_ is reprinted by special permission of Barrett H. Clark and of Samuel French, publisher, New York City. All rights reserved. For permission to perform, address Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York City.

ANTON TCHEKOV

Anton Tchekov, considered the foremost of contemporary Russian dramatists, was born in 1860 at Taganrog, Russia. In 1880 he was graduated from the Medical School of the University of Moscow. Ill health soon compelled him to abandon his practice of medicine, and in 1887 he sought the south. In 1904, the year of the successful appearance of his _Cherry Orchard_, he died in a village of the Black Forest in Germany.

As a dramatist, Tchekov has with deliberate intent cast off much of the conventionalities of dramatic technic. In his longer plays especially, like _The Sea Gull_, _Uncle Vanya_, and _Cherry Orchard_, he somewhat avoids obvious struggles, time-worn commonplaces, well-prepared climaxes, and seeks rather to spread out a panoramic canvas for our contemplation. His chief aim is to show us humanity as he sees it. It is his interest in humanity that gives him so high rank as a dramatist.

His one-act plays, a form of drama unusually apt for certain intimate aspects of Russian peasant life, are more regular in their technic than his longer plays. Among the five or six shorter plays that Tchekov wrote, _The Boor_ and _A Marriage Proposal_ are his best. In these plays he shows the lighter side of Russian country life, infusing some of the spirit of the great Gogol into his broad and somewhat farcical character portrayals. With rare good grace, in these plays he appears to be asking us to throw aside our restraint and laugh with him at the stupidity and naïveté, as well as good-heartedness, of the Russian people he knew so well.

_The Boor_ is a remarkably well-constructed one-act play, and is probably the finest one-act play of the Russian school of drama.

PERSONS IN THE PLAY

HELENA IVANOVNA POPOV, _a young widow, mistress of a country estate_
GRIGORI STEPANOVITCH SMIRNOV, _proprietor of a country estate_
LUKA, _servant of_ MRS. POPOV

_A gardener._ _A coachman._ _Several workmen._

THE BOOR

TIME: _The present._

SCENE: _A well-furnished reception-room in_ MRS. POPOV'S _home_.
MRS. POPOV _is discovered in deep mourning, sitting upon a sofa,
gazing steadfastly at a photograph_. LUKA _is also present_.

LUKA. It isn't right, ma'am. You're wearing yourself out! The maid and the cook have gone looking for berries; everything that breathes is enjoying life; even the cat knows how to be happy--slips about the courtyard and catches birds--but you hide yourself here in the house as though you were in a cloister. Yes, truly, by actual reckoning you haven't left this house for a whole year.

MRS. POPOV. And I shall never leave it--why should I? My life is over. He lies in his grave, and I have buried myself within these four walls. We are both dead.

LUKA. There you are again! It's too awful to listen to, so it is! Nikolai Michailovitch is dead; it was the will of the Lord, and the Lord has given him eternal peace. You have grieved over it and that ought to be enough. Now it's time to stop. One can't weep and wear mourning forever! My wife died a few years ago. I grieved for her. I wept a whole month--and then it was over. Must one be forever singing lamentations? That would be more than your husband was worth! [_He sighs._] You have forgotten all your neighbors. You don't go out and you receive no one. We live--you'll pardon me--like the spiders, and the good light of day we never see. All the livery is eaten by the mice--as though there weren't any more nice people in the world! But the whole neighborhood is full of gentlefolk. The regiment is stationed in Riblov--officers--simply beautiful! One can't see enough of them! Every Friday a ball, and military music every day. Oh, my dear, dear ma'am, young and pretty as you are, if you'd only let your spirits live--! Beauty can't last forever. When ten short years are over, you'll be glad enough to go out a bit and meet the officers--and then it'll be too late.

MRS. POPOV. [_Resolutely._] Please don't speak of these things again. You know very well that since the death of Nikolai Michailovitch my life is absolutely nothing to me. You think I live, but it only seems so. Do you understand? Oh, that his departed soul may see how I love him! I know, it's no secret to you; he was often unjust toward me, cruel, and--he wasn't faithful, but I shall be faithful to the grave and prove to him how _I_ can love. There, in the Beyond, he'll find me the same as I was until his death.

LUKA. What is the use of all these words, when you'd so much rather go walking in the garden or order Tobby or Welikan harnessed to the trap, and visit the neighbors?

MRS. POPOV. [_Weeping._] Oh!

LUKA. Madam, dear madam, what is it? In Heaven's name!

MRS. POPOV. He loved Tobby so! He always drove him to the Kortschagins or the Vlassovs. What a wonderful horse-man he was! How fine he looked when he pulled at the reins with all his might! Tobby, Tobby--give him an extra measure of oats to-day!

LUKA. Yes, ma'am.

[_A bell rings loudly._

MRS. POPOV. [_Shudders._] What's that? I am at home to no one.

LUKA. Yes, ma'am. [_He goes out, centre._

MRS. POPOV. [_Gazing at the photograph._] You shall see, Nikolai, how I can love and forgive! My love will die only with me--when my poor heart stops beating. [_She smiles through her tears._] And aren't you ashamed? I have been a good, true wife; I have imprisoned myself and I shall remain true until death, and you--you--you're not ashamed of yourself, my dear monster! You quarrelled with me, left me alone for weeks----

[LUKA _enters in great excitement_.

LUKA. Oh, ma'am, some one is asking for you, insists on seeing you----

MRS. POPOV. You told him that since my husband's death I receive no one?

LUKA. I said so, but he won't listen; he says it is a pressing matter.

MRS. POPOV. I receive no one!

LUKA. I told him that, but he's a wild man; he swore and pushed himself into the room; he's in the dining-room now.

MRS. POPOV. [_Excitedly._] Good. Show him in. The impudent----!

[LUKA _goes out, centre_.

MRS. POPOV. What a bore people are! What can they want with me? Why do they disturb my peace? [_She sighs._] Yes, it is clear I must enter a convent. [_Meditatively._] Yes, a convent.

[SMIRNOV _enters, followed by_ LUKA.

SMIRNOV. [To LUKA.] Fool, you make too much noise! You're an ass! [_Discovering_ MRS. POPOV--_politely_.] Madam, I have the honor to introduce myself: Lieutenant in the Artillery, retired, country gentleman, Grigori Stepanovitch Smirnov! I'm compelled to bother you about an exceedingly important matter.

MRS. POPOV. [_Without offering her hand._] What is it you wish?

SMIRNOV. Your deceased husband, with whom I had the honor to be acquainted, left me two notes amounting to about twelve hundred roubles. Inasmuch as I have to pay the interest to-morrow on a loan from the Agrarian Bank, I should like to request, madam, that you pay me the money to-day.

MRS. POPOV. Twelve hundred--and for what was my husband indebted to you?

SMIRNOV. He bought oats from me.

MRS. POPOV. [_With a sigh, to_ LUKA.] Don't forget to give Tobby an extra measure of oats.

[LUKA _goes out_.

MRS. POPOV. [_To_ SMIRNOV.] If Nikolai Michailovitch is indebted to you, I shall, of course, pay you, but I am sorry, I haven't the money to-day. To-morrow my manager will return from the city and I shall notify him to pay you what is due you, but until then I cannot satisfy your request. Furthermore, to-day it is just seven months since the death of my husband, and I am not in a mood to discuss money matters.

SMIRNOV. And I am in the mood to fly up the chimney with my feet in the air if I can't lay hands on that interest to-morrow. They'll seize my estate!

MRS. POPOV. Day after to-morrow you will receive the money.

SMIRNOV. I don't need the money day after to-morrow; I need it to-day.

MRS. POPOV. I'm sorry I can't pay you to-day.

SMIRNOV. And I can't wait until day after to-morrow.

MRS. POPOV. But what can I do if I haven't it?

SMIRNOV. So you can't pay?

MRS. POPOV. I cannot.

SMIRNOV. Hm! Is that your last word?

MRS. POPOV. My last.

SMIRNOV. Absolutely?

MRS. POPOV. Absolutely.

SMIRNOV. Thank you. [_He shrugs his shoulders._] And they expect me to stand for all that. The toll-gatherer just now met me in the road and asked me why I was always worrying. Why, in Heaven's name, shouldn't I worry? I need money, I feel the knife at my throat. Yesterday morning I left my house in the early dawn and called on all my debtors. If even one of them had paid his debt! I worked the skin off my fingers! The devil knows in what sort of Jew-inn I slept; in a room with a barrel of brandy! And now at last I come here, seventy versts from home, hope for a little money, and all you give me is moods! Why shouldn't I worry?

MRS. POPOV. I thought I made it plain to you that my manager will return from town, and then you will get your money.

SMIRNOV. I did not come to see the manager; I came to see you. What the devil--pardon the language--do I care for your manager?

MRS. POPOV. Really, sir, I am not used to such language or such manners. I shan't listen to you any further. [_She goes out, left._

SMIRNOV. What can one say to that? Moods! Seven months since her husband died! Do I have to pay the interest or not? I repeat the question, have I to pay the interest or not? The husband is dead and all that; the manager is--the devil with him!--travelling somewhere. Now, tell me, what am I to do? Shall I run away from my creditors in a balloon? Or knock my head against a stone wall? If I call on Grusdev he chooses to be "not at home," Iroschevitch has simply hidden himself, I have quarrelled with Kurzin and came near throwing him out of the window, Masutov is ill and this woman has--moods! Not one of them will pay up! And all because I've spoiled them, because I'm an old whiner, dish-rag! I'm too tender-hearted with them. But wait! I allow nobody to play tricks with me, the devil with 'em all! I'll stay here and not budge until she pays! Brr! How angry I am, how terribly angry I am! Every tendon is trembling with anger, and I can hardly breathe! I'm even growing ill! [_He calls out._] Servant!

[LUKA _enters_.

LUKA. What is it you wish?

SMIRNOV. Bring me Kvas or water! [LUKA _goes out_.] Well, what can we do? She hasn't it on hand? What sort of logic is that? A fellow stands with the knife at his throat, he needs money, he is on the point of hanging himself, and she won't pay because she isn't in the mood to discuss money matters. Woman's logic! That's why I never liked to talk to women, and why I dislike doing it now. I would rather sit on a powder barrel than talk with a woman. Brr!--I'm getting cold as ice; this affair has made me so angry. I need only to see such a romantic creature from a distance to get so angry that I have cramps in the calves! It's enough to make one yell for help!

[_Enter_ LUKA.

LUKA. [_Hands him water._] Madam is ill and is not receiving.

SMIRNOV. March! [LUKA _goes out_.] Ill and isn't receiving! All right, it isn't necessary. I won't receive, either! I'll sit here and stay until you bring that money. If you're ill a week, I'll sit here a week. If you're ill a year, I'll sit here a year. As Heaven is my witness, I'll get the money. You don't disturb me with your mourning--or with your dimples. We know these dimples! [_He calls out the window._] Simon, unharness! We aren't going to leave right away. I am going to stay here. Tell them in the stable to give the horses some oats. The left horse has twisted the bridle again. [_Imitating him._] Stop! I'll show you how. Stop! [_Leaves window._] It's awful. Unbearable heat, no money, didn't sleep last night and now--mourning-dresses with moods. My head aches; perhaps I ought to have a drink. Ye-s, I must have a drink. [_Calling._] Servant!

LUKA. What do you wish?

SMIRNOV. Something to drink! [LUKA _goes out_. SMIRNOV _sits down and looks at his clothes_.] Ugh, a fine figure! No use denying that. Dust, dirty boots, unwashed, uncombed, straw on my vest--the lady probably took me for a highwayman. [_He yawns._] It was a little impolite to come into a reception-room with such clothes. Oh, well, no harm done. I'm not here as a guest. I'm a creditor. And there is no special costume for creditors.

LUKA. [_Entering with glass._] You take great liberty, sir.

SMIRNOV. [_Angrily._] What?

LUKA. I--I--I just----

SMIRNOV. Whom are you talking to? Keep quiet.

LUKA. [_Angrily._] Nice mess! This fellow won't leave! [_He goes out._

SMIRNOV. Lord, how angry I am! Angry enough to throw mud at the whole world! I even feel ill! Servant!

[MRS. POPOV _comes in with downcast eyes_.

MRS. POPOV. Sir, in my solitude I have become unaccustomed to the human voice and I cannot stand the sound of loud talking. I beg you, please to cease disturbing my rest.

SMIRNOV. Pay me my money and I'll leave.

MRS. POPOV. I told you once, plainly, in your native tongue, that I haven't the money at hand; wait until day after to-morrow.

SMIRNOV. And I also had the honor of informing you in your native tongue that I need the money, not day after to-morrow, but to-day. If you don't pay me to-day I shall have to hang myself to-morrow.

MRS. POPOV. But what can I do if I haven't the money?

SMIRNOV. So you are not going to pay immediately? You're not?

MRS. POPOV. I cannot.

SMIRNOV. Then I'll sit here until I get the money. [_He sits down._] You will pay day after to-morrow? Excellent! Here I stay until day after to-morrow. [_Jumps up._] I ask you, do I have to pay that interest to-morrow or not? Or do you think I'm joking?

MRS. POPOV. Sir, I beg of you, don't scream! This is not a stable.

SMIRNOV. I'm not talking about stables, I'm asking you whether I have to pay that interest to-morrow or not?

MRS. POPOV. You have no idea how to treat a lady.

SMIRNOV. Oh, yes, I have.

MRS. POPOV. No, you have not. You are an ill-bred, vulgar person! Respectable people don't speak so to ladies.

SMIRNOV. How remarkable! How do you want one to speak to you? In French, perhaps! Madame, je vous prie! Pardon me for having disturbed you. What beautiful weather we are having to-day! And how this mourning becomes you! [_He makes a low bow with mock ceremony._

MRS. POPOV. Not at all funny! I think it vulgar!

SMIRNOV. [_Imitating her._] Not at all funny--vulgar! I don't understand how to behave in the company of ladies. Madam, in the course of my life I have seen more women than you have sparrows. Three times have I fought duels for women, twelve I jilted and nine jilted me. There was a time when I played the fool, used honeyed language, bowed and scraped. I loved, suffered, sighed to the moon, melted in love's torments. I loved passionately, I loved to madness, loved in every key, chattered like a magpie on emancipation, sacrificed half my fortune in the tender passion, until now the devil knows I've had enough of it. Your obedient servant will let you lead him around by the nose no more. Enough! Black eyes, passionate eyes, coral lips, dimples in cheeks, moonlight whispers, soft, modest sighs--for all that, madam, I wouldn't pay a kopeck! I am not speaking of present company, but of women in general; from the tiniest to the greatest, they are conceited, hypocritical, chattering, odious, deceitful from top to toe; vain, petty, cruel with a maddening logic and [_he strikes his forehead_] in this respect, please excuse my frankness, but one sparrow is worth ten of the aforementioned petticoat-philosophers. When one sees one of the romantic creatures before him he imagines he is looking at some holy being, so wonderful that its one breath could dissolve him in a sea of a thousand charms and delights; but if one looks into the soul--it's nothing but a common crocodile. [_He seizes the arm-chair and breaks it in two._] But the worst of all is that this crocodile imagines it is a masterpiece of creation, and that it has a monopoly on all the tender passions. May the devil hang me upside down if there is anything to love about a woman! When she is in love, all she knows is how to complain and shed tears. If the man suffers and makes sacrifices she swings her train about and tries to lead him by the nose. You have the misfortune to be a woman, and naturally you know woman's nature; tell me on your honor, have you ever in your life seen a woman who was really true and faithful? Never! Only the old and the deformed are true and faithful. It's easier to find a cat with horns or a white woodcock, than a faithful woman.

MRS. POPOV. But allow me to ask, who is true and faithful in love? The man, perhaps?

SMIRNOV. Yes, indeed! The man!

MRS. POPOV. The man! [_She laughs sarcastically._] The man true and faithful in love! Well, that is something _new_! [_Bitterly._] How can you make such a statement? Men true and faithful! So long as we have gone thus far, I may as well say that of all the men I have known, my husband was the best; I loved him passionately with all my soul, as only a young, sensible woman may love; I gave him my youth, my happiness, my fortune, my life. I worshipped him like a heathen. And what happened? This best of men betrayed me in every possible way. After his death I found his desk filled with love-letters. While he was alive he left me alone for months--it is horrible even to think about it--he made love to other women in my very presence, he wasted my money and made fun of my feelings--and in spite of everything I trusted him and was true to him. And more than that: he is dead and I am still true to him. I have buried myself within these four walls and I shall wear this mourning to my grave.

SMIRNOV. [_Laughing disrespectfully._] Mourning! What on earth do you take me for? As if I didn't know why you wore this black domino and why you buried yourself within these four walls. Such a secret! So romantic! Some knight will pass the castle, gaze up at the windows, and think to himself: "Here dwells the mysterious Tamara who, for love of her husband, has buried herself within four walls." Oh, I understand the art!

MRS. POPOV. [_Springing up._] What? What do you mean by saying such things to me?

SMIRNOV. You have buried yourself alive, but meanwhile you have not forgotten to powder your nose!

MRS. POPOV. How dare you speak so?

SMIRNOV. Don't scream at me, please; I'm not the manager. Allow me to call things by their right names. I am not a woman, and I am accustomed to speak out what I think. So please don't scream.

MRS. POPOV. I'm not screaming. It is you who are screaming. Please leave me, I beg of you.

SMIRNOV. Pay me my money and I'll leave.

MRS. POPOV. I won't give you the money.

SMIRNOV. You won't? You won't give me my money?

MRS. POPOV. I don't care what you do. You won't get a kopeck! Leave me!

SMIRNOV. As I haven't the pleasure of being either your husband or your fiancé, please don't make a scene. [_He sits down._] I can't stand it.

MRS. POPOV. [_Breathing hard._] You are going to sit down?

SMIRNOV. I already have.

MRS. POPOV. Kindly leave the house!

SMIRNOV. Give me the money.

MRS. POPOV. I don't care to speak with impudent men. Leave! [_Pause._] You aren't going?

SMIRNOV. No.

MRS. POPOV. No?

SMIRNOV. No.

MRS. POPOV. Very well. [_She rings the bell._

[_Enter_ LUKA.

MRS. POPOV. Luka, show the gentleman out.

LUKA. [_Going to_ SMIRNOV.] Sir, why don't you leave when you are ordered? What do you want?

SMIRNOV. [_Jumping up._] Whom do you think you are talking to? I'll grind you to powder.

LUKA. [_Puts his hand to his heart._] Good Lord! [_He drops into a chair._] Oh, I'm ill; I can't breathe!

MRS. POPOV. Where is Dascha? [_Calling._] Dascha! Pelageja! Dascha! [_She rings._

LUKA. They're all gone! I'm ill! Water!

MRS. POPOV. [_To_ SMIRNOV.] Leave! Get out!

SMIRNOV. Kindly be a little more polite!

MRS. POPOV. [_Striking her fists and stamping her feet._] You are vulgar! You're a boor! A monster!

SMIRNOV. What did you say?

MRS. POPOV. I said you were a boor, a monster!

SMIRNOV. [_Steps toward her quickly._] Permit me to ask what right you have to insult me?

MRS. POPOV. What of it? Do you think I am afraid of you?

SMIRNOV. And you think that because you are a romantic creature you can insult me without being punished? I challenge you!

LUKA. Merciful Heaven! Water!

SMIRNOV. We'll have a duel.

MRS. POPOV. Do you think because you have big fists and a steer's neck I am afraid of you?

SMIRNOV. I allow no one to insult me, and I make no exception because you are a woman, one of the "weaker sex"!

MRS. POPOV. [_Trying to cry him down._] Boor, boor, boor!

SMIRNOV. It is high time to do away with the old superstition that it is only the man who is forced to give satisfaction. If there is equity at all let there be equity in all things. There's a limit!

MRS. POPOV. You wish to fight a duel? Very well.

SMIRNOV. Immediately.

MRS. POPOV. Immediately. My husband had pistols. I'll bring them. [_She hurries away, then turns._] Oh, what a pleasure it will be to put a bullet in your impudent head. The devil take you! [_She goes out._

SMIRNOV. I'll shoot her down! I'm no fledgling, no sentimental young puppy. For me there is no weaker sex!

LUKA. Oh, sir. [_Falls to his knees._] Have mercy on me, an old man, and go away. You have frightened me to death already, and now you want to fight a duel.

SMIRNOV. [_Paying no attention._] A duel. That's equity, emancipation. That way the sexes are made equal. I'll shoot her down as a matter of principle. What can a person say to such a woman? [_Imitating her._] "The devil take you. I'll put a bullet in your impudent head." What can one say to that? She was angry, her eyes blazed, she accepted the challenge. On my honor, it's the first time in my life that I ever saw such a woman.

LUKA. Oh, sir. Go away. Go away!

SMIRNOV. That _is_ a woman. I can understand her. A real woman. No shilly-shallying, but fire, powder, and noise! It would be a pity to shoot a woman like that.

LUKA. [_Weeping._] Oh, sir, go away.

[_Enter_ MRS. POPOV.

MRS. POPOV. Here are the pistols. But before we have our duel, please show me how to shoot. I have never had a pistol in my hand before!

LUKA. God be merciful and have pity upon us! I'll go and get the gardener and the coachman. Why has this horror come to us? [_He goes out._

SMIRNOV. [_Looking at the pistols._] You see, there are different kinds. There are special duelling pistols, with cap and ball. But these are revolvers, Smith & Wesson, with ejectors; fine pistols! A pair like that cost at least ninety roubles. This is the way to hold a revolver. [_Aside._] Those eyes, those eyes! A real woman!

MRS. POPOV. Like this?

SMIRNOV. Yes, that way. Then you pull the hammer back--so--then you aim--put your head back a little. Just stretch your arm out, please. So--then press your finger on the thing like that, and that is all. The chief thing is this: don't get excited, don't hurry your aim, and take care that your hand doesn't tremble.

MRS. POPOV. It isn't well to shoot inside; let's go into the garden.

SMIRNOV. Yes. I'll tell you now, I am going to shoot into the air.

MRS. POPOV. That is too much! Why?

SMIRNOV. Because--because. That's my business.

MRS. POPOV. You are afraid. Yes. A-h-h-h, No, no, my dear sir, no flinching! Please follow me. I won't rest until I've made a hole in that head I hate so much. Are you afraid?

SMIRNOV. Yes, I'm afraid.

MRS. POPOV. You are lying. Why won't you fight?

SMIRNOV. Because--because--I--like you.

MRS. POPOV. [_With an angry laugh._] You like me! He dares to say he likes me! [_She points to the door._] Go.

SMIRNOV. [_Laying the revolver silently on the table, takes his hat and starts. At the door he stops a moment, gazing at her silently, then he approaches her, hesitating._] Listen! Are you still angry? I was mad as the devil, but please understand me--how can I express myself? The thing is like this--such things are--[_He raises his voice._] Now, is it my fault that you owe me money? [_Grasps the back of the chair, which breaks._] The devil knows what breakable furniture you have! I like you! Do you understand? I--I'm almost in love!

MRS. POPOV. Leave! I hate you.

SMIRNOV. Lord! What a woman! I never in my life met one like her. I'm lost, ruined! I've been caught like a mouse in a trap.

MRS. POPOV. Go, or I'll shoot.

SMIRNOV. Shoot! You have no idea what happiness it would be to die in sight of those beautiful eyes, to die from the revolver in this little velvet hand! I'm mad! Consider it and decide immediately, for if I go now, we shall never see each other again. Decide--speak--- I am a noble, a respectable man, have an income of ten thousand, can shoot a coin thrown into the air. I own some fine horses. Will you be my wife?

MRS. POPOV. [_Swings the revolver angrily._] I'll shoot!

SMIRNOV. My mind is not clear--I can't understand. Servant--water! I have fallen in love like any young man. [_He takes her hand and she cries with pain._] I love you! [_He kneels._] I love you as I have never loved before. Twelve women I jilted, nine jilted me, but not one of them all have I loved as I love you. I am conquered, lost; I lie at your feet like a fool and beg for your hand. Shame and disgrace! For five years I haven't been in love; I thanked the Lord for it, and now I am caught, like a carriage tongue in another carriage. I beg for your hand! Yes or no? Will you?--Good! [_He gets up and goes quickly to the door._

MRS. POPOV. Wait a moment!

SMIRNOV. [_Stopping._] Well?

MRS. POPOV. Nothing. You may go. But--wait a moment. No, go on, go on. I hate you. Or--no; don't go. Oh, if you knew how angry I was, how angry! [_She throws the revolver on to the chair._] My finger is swollen from this thing. [_She angrily tears her handkerchief._] What are you standing there for? Get out!

SMIRNOV. Farewell!

MRS. POPOV. Yes, go. [_Cries out._] Why are you going? Wait--no, go!! Oh, how angry I am! Don't come too near, don't come too near--er--come--no nearer.

SMIRNOV. [_Approaching her._] How angry I am with myself! Fall in love like a schoolboy, throw myself on my knees. I've got a chill! [_Strongly._] I love you. This is fine--all I needed was to fall in love. To-morrow I have to pay my interest, the hay harvest has begun, and then you appear! [_He takes her in his arms._] I can never forgive myself.

MRS. POPOV. Go away! Take your hands off me! I hate you--you--this is--[_A long kiss._

[_Enter_ LUKA _with an axe, the gardener with a rake, the coachman
with a pitchfork, and workmen with poles_.

LUKA. [_Staring at the pair._] Merciful heavens!

[_A long pause._

MRS. POPOV. [_Dropping her eyes._] Tell them in the stable that Tobby isn't to have any oats.

CURTAIN

THE LAST STRAW

BY

BOSWORTH CROCKER

_The Last Straw_ is reprinted by special permission of Bosworth Crocker. All rights reserved. For permission to perform, address the author, care Society of American Dramatists and Composers, 148 West 45th Street, New York City.

BOSWORTH CROCKER

Bosworth Crocker was born March 2, 1882, in Surrey, England. While still a child he was brought to the United States. He lives in New York City and may be reached in care of the Society of American Dramatists and Composers, 148 West 45th Street.

In addition to _Pawns of War_ and _Stone Walls_, he has written a number of one-act plays, _The Dog_, _The First Time_, _The Cost of a Hat_, _The Hour Before_, _The Baby Carriage_, and _The Last Straw_.

_The Last Straw_, produced by the Washington Square Players in New York City, is an excellent one-act tragedy, based upon the psychological law of suggestion.

CAST

FRIEDRICH BAUER, _janitor of the Bryn Mawr_
MIENE, _his wife_
KARL, _elder son, aged ten_
FRITZI, _younger son, aged seven_
JIM LANE, _a grocer boy_

THE LAST STRAW[G]

TIME: _The present day._

SCENE: _The basement of a large apartment-house in New York City._

SCENE: _The kitchen of the Bauer flat in the basement of the Bryn
Mawr. A window at the side gives on an area and shows the walk
above and the houses across the street. Opposite the windows is a
door to an inner room. Through the outer door, in the centre of the
back wall, a dumb-waiter and whistles to tenants can be seen. A
broken milk-bottle lies in a puddle of milk on the cement floor in
front of the dumb-waiter. To the right of the outer door, a
telephone; gas-range on which there are flat-irons heating and
vegetables cooking. To the left of the outer door is an old
sideboard; over it hangs a picture of Schiller. Near the centre of
the room, a little to the right, stands a kitchen table with four
chairs around it. Ironing-board is placed between the kitchen table
and the sink, a basket of dampened clothes under it. A large
calendar on the wall. An alarm-clock on the window-sill. Time: a
little before noon. The telephone rings_; MRS. BAUER _leaves her
ironing and goes to answer it_.

MRS. BAUER. No, Mr. Bauer's out yet. [_She listens through the transmitter._] Thank you, Mrs. Mohler. [_Another pause._] I'll tell him just so soon he comes in--yes, ma'am.

[MRS. BAUER _goes back to her ironing. Grocer boy rushes into
basement, whistling; he puts down his basket, goes up to_ MRS.
BAUER'S _door and looks in_.

LANE. Say--where's the boss?

MRS. BAUER. He'll be home soon, I--hope--Jim. What you want?

[_He stands looking at her with growing sympathy._

LANE. Nothin'. Got a rag 'round here? Dumb-waiter's all wet.... Lot of groceries for Sawyers.

MRS. BAUER. [_Without lifting her eyes, mechanically hands him a mop which hangs beside the door._] Here.

LANE. What's the matter?

MRS. BAUER. [_Dully._] Huh?

LANE. [_Significantly._] Oh, I know.

MRS. BAUER. What you know?

LANE. About the boss. [MRS. BAUER _looks distressed_.] Heard your friends across the street talkin'.

MRS. BAUER. [_Bitterly._] Friends!

LANE. Rotten trick to play on the boss, all right, puttin' that old maid up to get him pinched.

MRS. BAUER. [_Absently._] Was she an old maid?

LANE. The cruelty-to-animals woman over there [_waves his hand_]--regular old crank. Nies[H] put her up to it all right.

MRS. BAUER. I guess it was his old woman. Nies ain't so bad. She's the one. Because my two boys dress up a little on Sunday, she don't like it.

LANE. Yes, she's sore because the boys told her the boss kicks their dog.

MRS. BAUER. He don't do nothin' of the sort--jus' drives it 'way from the garbage-pails--that's all. We coulda had that dog took up long ago--they ain't got no license. But Fritz--he's so easy--he jus' takes it out chasin' the dog and hollerin'.

LANE. That ain't no way. He ought to make the dog holler--good and hard--once; then it'd keep out of here.

MRS. BAUER. Don't you go to talkin' like that 'round my man. Look at all this trouble we're in on account of a stray cat.

LANE. I better get busy. They'll be callin' up the store in a minute. That woman's the limit.... Send up the groceries in that slop, she'd send them down again. High-toned people like her ought to keep maids.

[_He mops out the lower shelf of the dumb-waiter, then looks at the
broken bottle and the puddle of milk inquiringly._

MRS. BAUER. [_Taking the mop away from him._] I'll clean that up. I forgot--in all this trouble.

LANE. Whose milk?

MRS. BAUER. The Mohlers'. That's how it all happened. Somebody upset their milk on the dumb-waiter and the cat was on the shelf lickin' it up; my man, not noticin', starts the waiter up and the cat tries to jump out; the bottle rolls off and breaks. The cat was hurt awful--caught in the shaft. I don't see how it coulda run after that, but it did--right into the street, right into that woman--Fritz after it. Then it fell over. "You did that?" she says to Fritz. "Yes," he says, "I did that." He didn't say no more, jus' went off, and then after a while they came for him and---- [_She begins to cry softly._

LANE. Brace up; they ain't goin' to do anything to him.... [_Comes into kitchen. Hesitatingly._] Say!... He didn't kick the cat--did he?

MRS. BAUER. Who said so?

LANE. Mrs. Nies--says she saw him from her window.

MRS. BAUER. [_As though to herself._] I dunno. [_Excitedly._] Of course he didn't kick that cat. [_Again, as though to herself._] Fritz is so quick-tempered he mighta kicked it 'fore he knew what he was about. No one'd ever know how good Fritz is unless they lived with him. He never hurt no one and nothing except himself.

LANE. Oh, I'm on to the boss. I never mind his hollerin'.

MRS. BAUER. If you get a chance, bring me some butter for dinner--a pound.

LANE. All right. I'll run over with it in ten or fifteen minutes, soon as I get rid of these orders out here in the wagon.

MRS. BAUER. That'll do.

[_She moves about apathetically, lays the cloth on the kitchen
table and begins to set it._ LANE _goes to the dumb-waiter,
whistles up the tube, puts the basket of groceries on the shelf of
the dumb-waiter, pulls rope and sends waiter up_. MRS. BAUER
_continues to set the table. Boys from the street suddenly swoop
into the basement and yell_.

CHORUS OF BOYS' VOICES. Who killed the cat! Who killed the cat!

LANE. [_Letting the rope go and making a dive for the boys._] I'll show you, you----

[_They rush out_, MRS. BAUER _stands despairingly in the doorway
shaking her clasped hands_.

MRS. BAUER. Those are Nies's boys.

LANE. Regular toughs! Call the cop and have 'em pinched if they don't stop it.

MRS. BAUER. If my man hears them--you know--there'll be more trouble.

LANE. The boss ought to make it hot for them.

MRS. BAUER. Such trouble!

LANE. [_Starts to go._] Well--luck to the boss.

MRS. BAUER. There ain't no such thing as luck for us.

LANE. Aw, come on....

MRS. BAUER. Everything's against us. First Fritz's mother dies. We named the baby after her--Trude.... Then we lost Trude. That finished Fritz. After that he began this hollerin' business. And now this here trouble--just when things was goin' half-ways decent for the first time. [_She pushes past him and goes to her ironing._

LANE. [_Shakes his head sympathetically and takes up his basket._] A pound, you said?

MRS. BAUER. Yes.

LANE. All right. [_He starts off and then rushes back._] Here's the boss comin', Mrs. Bauer. [_Rushes off again._

LANE'S VOICE. [_Cheerfully._] Hello, there!

BAUER'S VOICE. [_Dull and strained._] Hello!

[BAUER _comes in. His-naturally bright blue eyes are tired and
lustreless; his strung frame seems to have lost all vigor and
alertness; there in a look of utter despondency on his face._

MRS. BAUER. [_Closing the door after him._] They let you off?

BAUER. [_With a hard little laugh._] Yes, they let me off--they let me off with a fine all right.

MRS. BAUER. [_Aghast._] They think you did it then.

BAUER. [_Harshly._] The judge fined me, I tell you.

MRS. BAUER. [_Unable to express her poignant sympathy._] Fined you!... Oh, Fritz! [_She lays her hand on his shoulder._

BAUER. [_Roughly, to keep himself from, going to pieces._] That slop out there ain't cleaned up yet.

MRS. BAUER. I've been so worried.

BAUER. [_With sudden desperation._] I can't stand it, I tell you.

MRS. BAUER. Well, it's all over now, Fritz.

BAUER. Yes, it's all over.... it's all up with me.

MRS. BAUER. Fritz!

BAUER. That's one sure thing.

MRS. BAUER. You oughtn't to give up like this.

BAUER. [_Pounding on the table._] I tell you I can't hold up my head again.

MRS. BAUER. Why, Fritz?

BAUER. They've made me out guilty. The judge fined me. Fined me, Miene! How is that? Can a man stand for that? The woman said I told her myself--right out--that I did it.

MRS. BAUER. The woman that had you--[_he winces as she hesitates_] took?

BAUER. Damned----

MRS. BAUER. [_Putting her hand over his mouth._] Hush, Fritz.

BAUER. Why will I hush, Miene? She said I was proud of the job. [_Passionately raising his voice._] The damned interferin'----

MRS. BAUER. Don't holler, Fritz. It's your hollerin' that's made all this trouble.

BAUER. [_Penetrated by her words more and more._] My hollerin'!....

[The telephone rings; she answers it.

MRS. BAUER. Yes, Mrs. Mohler, he's come in now.--Yes.--Won't after dinner do?--All right.--Thank you, Mrs. Mohler. [_She hangs up the receiver._] Mrs. Mohler wants you to fix her sink right after dinner.

BAUER. I'm not goin' to do any more fixin' around here.

MRS. BAUER. You hold on to yourself, Fritz; that's no way to talk; Mrs. Mohler's a nice woman.

BAUER. I don't want to see no more nice women. [_After a pause._] Hollerin'!--that's what's the matter with me--hollerin', eh? Well, I've took it all out in hollerin'.

MRS. BAUER. They hear you and they think you've got no feelings.

BAUER. [_In utter amazement at the irony of the situation._] And I was goin' after the damned cat to take care of it.

MRS. BAUER. Why didn't you tell the judge all about it?

BAUER. They got me rattled among them. The lady was so soft and pleasant--"He must be made to understand, your honor," she said to the judge, "that dumb animals has feelin's, too, just as well as human beings"--_Me_, Miene--made to understand that! I couldn't say nothin'. My voice just stuck in my throat.

MRS. BAUER. What's the matter with you! You oughta spoke up and told the judge just how it all happened.

BAUER. I said to myself; I'll go home and put a bullet through my head--that's the best thing for me now.

MRS. BAUER. [_With impatient unbelief._] Ach, Fritz, Fritz!

[_Clatter of feet._

CHORUS OF VOICES. [_At the outer door._] Who killed the cat! Who killed the cat!

[BAUER _jumps up, pale and shaken with strange rage; she pushes him
gently back into his chair, opens the door, steps out for a moment,
then comes in and leaves the door open behind her_.

BAUER. You see?... Even the kids ... I'm disgraced all over the place.

MRS. BAUER. So long as you didn't hurt the cat----

BAUER. What's the difference? Everybody believes it.

MRS. BAUER. No, they don't, Fritz.

BAUER. You can't fool me, Miene. I see it in their eyes. They looked away from me when I was comin' 'round the corner. Some of them kinder smiled like--[_passes his hand over his head_]. Even the cop says to me on the way over, yesterday: "Don't you put your foot in it any more'n you have to." You see? He thought I did it all right. Everybody believes it.

MRS. BAUER. [_Putting towels away._] Well, then _let_ them believe it.... The agent don't believe it.

BAUER. I dunno. He'da paid my fine anyhow.

MRS. BAUER. He gave you a good name.

BAUER. [_With indignant derision._] He gave me a good name!... Haven't I always kept this place all right since we been here? Afterward he said to me: "I'm surprised at this business, Bauer, very much surprised." That shows what he thinks. I told him it ain't true, I didn't mean to hurt it. I saw by his eyes he didn't believe me.

MRS. BAUER. Well, don't you worry any more now.

BAUER. [_To himself._] Hollerin'!

MRS. BAUER. [_Shuts the door._] Well, now, holler a little if it does you good.

BAUER. Nothin's goin' to do me good.

MRS. BAUER. You just put it out of your mind. [_The telephone rings. She answers it._] Yes, but he can't come now, Mrs. McAllister. He'll be up this afternoon.

[_She hangs up the receiver._

BAUER. And I ain't goin' this afternoon--nowhere.

MRS. BAUER. It's Mrs. McAllister. Somethin's wrong with her refrigerator--the water won't run off, she says.

BAUER. They can clean out their own drain-pipes.

MRS. BAUER. You go to work and get your mind off this here business.

BAUER. [_Staring straight ahead of him._] I ain't goin' 'round among the people in this house ... to have them lookin' at me ... disgraced like this.

MRS. BAUER. You want to hold up your head and act as if nothin's happened.

BAUER. Nobody spoke to me at the dumb-waiter when I took off the garbage and paper this morning. Mrs. Mohler always says something pleasant.

MRS. BAUER. You just think that because you're all upset. [_The telephone rings; she goes to it and listens._] Yes, ma'am, I'll see. Fritz, have you any fine wire? Mrs. McAllister thinks she might try and fix the drain with it--till you come up.

BAUER. I got no wire.

MRS. BAUER. Mr. Bauer'll fix it--right after dinner, Mrs. McAllister. [_Impatiently._] He can't find the wire this minute--soon's he eats his dinner.

BAUER. [_Doggedly._] You'll see....

MRS. BAUER. [_Soothingly._] Come now, Fritz, give me your hat. [_She takes his hat from him._

VOICES IN THE STREET. [_Receding from the front area._] Who killed the cat! Who killed the cat!

[BAUER _rushes toward the window in a fury of excitement_.

BAUER. [_Shouting at the top of his voice._] _Verdammte_ loafers! _Schweine!_

MRS. BAUER. [_Goes up to him._] Fritz! Fritz!

BAUER. [_Collapses and drops into chair._] You hear 'em.

MRS. BAUER. Don't pay no attention, then they'll get tired.

BAUER. Miene, we must go away. I can't stand it here no longer.

MRS. BAUER. But there's not such another good place, Fritz--and the movin'....

BAUER. I say I can't stand it.

MRS. BAUER. [_Desperately._] It ... it would be just the same any other place.

BAUER. Just the same?

MRS. BAUER. Yes, something'd go wrong anyhow.

BAUER. You think I'm a regular Jonah.

[_He shakes his head repeatedly in the affirmative, as though
wholly embracing her point of view._

MRS. BAUER. Folks don't get to know you. They hear you hollerin' 'round and they think you beat the children and kick the dogs and cats.

BAUER. Do I ever lick the children when they don't need it?

MRS. BAUER. Not Fritzi.

BAUER. You want to spoil Karl. I just touch him with the strap once, a little--like this [_illustrates with a gesture_] to scare him, and he howls like hell.

MRS. BAUER. Yes, and then he don't mind you no more because he knows you don't mean it.

BAUER. [_To himself._] That's the way it goes ... a man's own wife and children ...

MRS. BAUER. [_Attending to the dinner. Irritably._] Fritz, if you would clean that up out there--and Mrs. Carroll wants her waste-basket. You musta forgot to send it up again.

BAUER. All right.

[_He goes out and leaves the door open. She stands her flat-iron on
the ledge of the range to cool and puts her ironing-board away,
watching him at the dumb-waiter while he picks up the glass and
cleans up the milk on the cement floor. He disappears for a moment,
then he comes in again, goes to a drawer and takes out rags and a
bottle of polish._

MRS. BAUER. [_Pushing the clothes-basket out of the way._] This ain't cleanin' day, Fritz.

BAUER. [_Dully, putting the polish back into the drawer._] That's so.

MRS. BAUER. [_Comforting him._] You've got to eat a good dinner and then go up-stairs and fix that sink for Mrs. Mohler and the drain for Mrs. McAllister.

BAUER. [_In a tense voice._] I tell you I can't stand it.... I tell you, Miene....

MRS. BAUER. What now, Fritz?

BAUER. People laugh in my face. [_Nods in the direction of the street._] Frazer's boy standin' on the stoop calls his dog away when it runs up to me like it always does.

MRS. BAUER. Dogs know better'n men who's good to them.

BAUER. He acted like he thought I'd kick it.

MRS. BAUER. You've got all kinds of foolishness in your head now.... You sent up Carroll's basket?

BAUER. No.

MRS. BAUER. Well---- [_She checks herself._

BAUER. All right. [_He gets up._

MRS. BAUER. It's settin' right beside the other dumb-waiter, [_He goes out._] Oh, Gott!--Oh, Gott!--Oh, Gott!

[_Enter_ KARL, _and_ FRITZI. FRITZI _is crying_.

MRS. BAUER. [_Running to them._] What's the matter?

[_She hushes them and carefully closes the door._

KARL. The boys make fun of us; they mock us.

FRITZI. They mock us--"Miau! Miau!" they cry, and then they go like this----

[FRITZI _imitates kicking and breaks out crying afresh_.

MRS. BAUER. Hush, Fritzi, you mustn't let your father hear.

FRITZI. He'd make them shut up.

KARL. I don't want to go to school this afternoon.

[_He doubles his fists._

MRS. BAUER. [_Turning on him fiercely._] Why not? [_In an undertone._] You talk that way before your little brother.--Have you no sense?

FRITZI. [_Beginning to whimper._] I d-d-d-on't want to go to school this afternoon.

MRS. BAUER. You just go 'long to school and mind your own business.

KARL _and_ FRITZI. [_Together._] But the boys....

MRS. BAUER. They ain't a-goin' to keep it up forever. Don't you answer them. Just go 'long together and pay no attention.

KARL. Then they get fresher and fresher.

FRITZI. [_Echoing_ KARL.] Yes, then they get fresher and fresher.

[MRS. BAUER _begins to take up the dinner. The sound of footfalls
just outside the door is heard._

MRS. BAUER. Go on now, hang up your caps and get ready for your dinners.

FRITZI. I'm going to tell my papa. [_Goes to inner door._

MRS. BAUER. For God's sake, Fritzi, shut up. You mustn't tell no one. Papa'd be disgraced all over.

KARL. [_Coming up to her._] Disgraced?

MRS. BAUER. Hush!

KARL. Why disgraced?

MRS. BAUER. Because there's liars, low-down, snoopin' liars in the world.

KARL. Who's lied, mama?

MRS. BAUER. The janitress across the street.

KARL. Mrs. Nies?

FRITZI. [_Calling out._] Henny Nies is a tough.

MRS. BAUER. [_Looking toward the outer door anxiously and shaking her head threateningly at_ FRITZI.] I give you somethin' if you don't stop hollerin' out like that.

KARL. Who'd she lie to?

MRS. BAUER. Never mind. Go 'long now. It's time you begin to eat.

KARL. What'd she lie about?

MRS. BAUER. [_Warningly._] S-s-sh! Papa'll be comin' in now in a minute.

KARL. It was Henny Nies set the gang on to us. I coulda licked them all if I hadn't had to take care of Fritzi.

MRS. BAUER. You'll get a lickin' all right if you don't keep away from Henny Nies.

KARL. Well--if they call me names--and say _my_ father's been to the station-house for killing a cat...?

FRITZI. Miau! Miau! Miau!

MRS. BAUER. Hold your mouth.

FRITZI. [_Swaggering._] My father never was in jail--was he, mama?

KARL. Course not.

MRS. BAUER. [_To_ FRITZI.] Go, wash your hands, Fritzi.

[_She steers him to the door of the inner room. He exits._

MRS. BAUER. [_Distressed._] Karl ...

KARL. [_Turning to his mother._] Was he, mama?

MRS. BAUER. Papa don't act like he used to. Sometimes I wonder what's come over him. Of course it's enough to ruin any man's temper, all the trouble we've had.

CHORUS OF VOICES. [_From the area by the window._] Who killed the cat! Who killed the cat!

[_Sound of feet clattering up the area steps._ FRITZI _rushes in,
flourishing a revolver_.

FRITZI. I shoot them, mama.

MRS. BAUER. [_Grabbing the revolver._] _Mein Gott!_ Fritzi! Papa's pistol! [_She examines it carefully._] You ever touch that again and I'll ... [_She menaces him._

FRITZI. [_Sulkily._] I'll save up my money and buy me one.

MRS. BAUER. [_Smiling a little to herself._] I see you buyin' one. [_Carries revolver into inner room._

FRITZI. [_In a loud, voice and as though shooting at_ KARL.] Bang! Bang! Bang!

[KARL _strikes at_ FRITZI; FRITZI _dodges_.

KARL. [_To his mother as she re-enters._] Trouble with Fritzi is he don't mind me any more.

MRS. BAUER. You wash your dirty hands and face this minute--d'you hear me, Fritzi!

FRITZI. [_Looking at his hands._] That's ink-stains. I got the highest mark in spelling to-day. Capital H-e-n-n-y, capital N-i-e-s--Henny Nies, a bum.

[MRS. BAUER _makes a rush at him, and he runs back into the inner
room_.

KARL. [_Sitting down beside the table._] Do we have to go to school this afternoon?

MRS. BAUER. You have to do what you always do.

KARL. Can't we stay home?...

MRS. BAUER. [_Fiercely._] Why? Why?

KARL. [_Sheepishly._] I ain't feelin' well.

MRS. BAUER. Karlchen!... _schäm dich!_

KARL. Till the boys forget....

MRS. BAUER. Papa'd know somethin' was wrong right away. That'd be the end. You mustn't act as if anything was different from always.

KARL. [_Indignantly._] Sayin' _my_ father's been to jail!

MRS. BAUER. Karl....

KARL. Papa'd make them stop.

MRS. BAUER. [_Panic-stricken._] Karl, don't you tell papa nothing.

KARL. Not tell papa?

MRS. BAUER. No.

KARL. Why not tell papa?

MRS. BAUER. Because----

KARL. Yes, mama?

MRS. BAUER. Because he was arrested yesterday.

KARL. [SHOCKED.] What for, mama? Why was he----

MRS. BAUER. For nothing.... It was all a lie.

KARL. Well--what was it, mama?

MRS. BAUER. The cat got hurt in the dumb-waiter--papa didn't mean to--then they saw papa chasin' it--then it died.

KARL. Why did papa chase it?

MRS. BAUER. To see how it hurt itself.

KARL. Whose cat?

MRS. BAUER. The stray cat.

KARL. The little black cat? Is Blacky dead?

MRS. BAUER. Yes, he died on the sidewalk.

KARL. Where was we?