Home > Authors Index > Israel Zangwill > Melting Pot > This page
The Melting Pot, a play by Israel Zangwill |
||
Act 1 |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ ACT I The scene is laid in the living-room of the small home of the QUIXANOS in the Richmond or non-Jewish borough of New York, about five o'clock of a February afternoon. At centre back is a double street-door giving on a columned veranda in the Colonial style. Nailed on the right-hand door-post gleams a_ Mezuzah, _a tiny metal case, containing a Biblical passage. On the right of the door is a small hat-stand holding MENDEL'S overcoat, umbrella, etc. There are two windows, one on either side of the door, and three exits, one down-stage on the left leading to the stairs and family bedrooms, and two on the right, the upper leading to KATHLEEN'S bedroom and the lower to the kitchen. Over the street door is pinned the Stars-and-Stripes. On the left wall, in the upper corner of which is a music-stand, are bookshelves of large mouldering Hebrew books, and over them is hung a_ Mizrach, _or Hebrew picture, to show it is the East Wall. Other pictures round the room include Wagner, Columbus, Lincoln, and "Jews at the Wailing place." Down-stage, about a yard from the left wall, stands DAVID'S roll-desk, open and displaying a medley of music, a quill pen, etc. On the wall behind the desk hangs a book-rack with brightly bound English books. A grand piano stands at left centre back, holding a pile of music and one huge Hebrew tome. There is a table in the middle of the room covered with a red cloth and a litter of objects, music, and newspapers. The fireplace, in which a fire is burning, occupies the centre of the right wall, and by it stands an armchair on which lies another heavy mouldy Hebrew tome. The mantel holds a clock, two silver candlesticks, etc. A chiffonier stands against the back wall on the right. There are a few cheap chairs. The whole effect is a curious blend of shabbiness, Americanism, Jewishness, and music, all four being combined in the figure of MENDEL QUIXANO, who, in a black skull-cap, a seedy velvet jacket, and red carpet-slippers, is discovered standing at the open street-door. He is an elderly music master with a fine Jewish face, pathetically furrowed by misfortunes, and a short grizzled beard.
[Shutting door, shivers.] Ugh! It'll snow again, I guess. [He yawns, heaves a great sigh of relief, walks toward the table, and perceives a music-roll.] The chump! He's forgotten his music! [He picks it up and runs toward the window on the left, muttering furiously] Brainless, earless, thumb-fingered Gentile! [Throwing open the window] Here, Johnny! You can't practise your scales if you leave 'em here! [He throws out the music-roll and shivers again at the cold as he shuts the window.] Ugh! And I must go out to that miserable dancing class to scrape the rent together. [He goes to the fire and warms his hands.] _Ach Gott!_ What a life! What a life! [He drops dejectedly into the armchair. Finding himself sitting uncomfortably on the big book, he half rises and pushes it to the side of the seat. After an instant an irate Irish voice is heard from behind the kitchen door.] KATHLEEN Divil take the butther! I wouldn't put up with ye, not for a hundred dollars a week. MENDEL _Ach!_ Mother and Kathleen again! KATHLEEN Pots and pans and plates and knives! Sure 'tis enough to make a saint chrazy. FRAU QUIXANO _Wos schreist du? Gott in Himmel, dieses Amerika!_ KATHLEEN What's that ye're afther jabberin' about America? If ye don't like God's own counthry, sure ye can go back to your own Jerusalem, so ye can. MENDEL KATHLEEN Bad luck to me, if iver I take sarvice again with haythen Jews. [She perceives MENDEL huddled up in the armchair, gives a little scream, and drops the cloth.] Och, I thought ye was out! MENDEL And so you dared to be rude to my mother. KATHLEEN She said I put mate on a butther-plate. MENDEL KATHLEEN MENDEL KATHLEEN Sure, the Pope himself couldn't remimber it all. Why don't ye have a sinsible religion? MENDEL [He seats himself at the piano.] KATHLEEN [She bangs down articles from the table into their right places.] MENDEL [He begins to play softly.] KATHLEEN MENDEL [Playing on softly.] KATHLEEN [She removes the red table-cloth.] Mate-plates, butther-plates, _kosher_, _trepha_, sure I've smashed up folks' crockery and they makin' less fuss ouver it. MENDEL Breaking crockery is one thing, and breaking a religion another. Didn't you tell me when I engaged you that you had lived in other Jewish families? KATHLEEN And is it a liar ye'd make me out now? I've lived wid clothiers and pawnbrokers and Vaudeville actors, but I niver shtruck a house where mate and butther couldn't be as paceable on the same plate as eggs and bacon--the most was that some wouldn't ate the bacon onless 'twas killed _kosher_. MENDEL Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! KATHLEEN And who's ye laughin' at? I give ye a week's notice. I won't be the joke of Jews, no, begorra, that I won't. [She pulls the cloth on viciously.] MENDEL Don't talk nonsense, Kathleen. Nobody is making a joke of you. Have a little patience--you'll soon learn our ways. KATHLEEN Whose ways, yours or the ould lady's or Mr. David's? To-night being yer Sabbath, _you'll_ be blowing out yer bedroom candle, though ye won't light it; Mr. David'll light his and blow it out too; and the misthress won't even touch the candleshtick. There's three religions in this house, not wan. MENDEL Hem! Well, you learn the mistress's ways--that will be enough. KATHLEEN But what way can I understand her jabberin' and jibberin'?--I'm not a monkey! [She takes up a silver candlestick.] Why doesn't she talk English like a Christian? MENDEL If you are going on like that, perhaps you had better _not_ remain here. KATHLEEN And who's axin' ye to remain here? Faith, I'll quit off this blissid minit! MENDEL No, you can't do that. KATHLEEN [She dumps down the candlestick violently on the table, and exit hysterically into her bedroom.] MENDEL She might have put on the other candlestick. [He goes to mantel and takes it. A rat-tat-tat at street-door.] Who can that be? [Running to KATHLEEN'S door, holding candlestick forgetfully low.] Kathleen! There's a visitor! KATHLEEN I'm not here! MENDEL [KATHLEEN'S head emerges sulkily.] KATHLEEN MENDEL [He goes toward staircase, automatically carrying off the candlestick which KATHLEEN has not caught sight of. Exit on the left.] KATHLEEN The divil fly away wid me if ivir from this 'our I set foot again among haythen furriners---- [She throws open the door angrily and then the outer door. VERA REVENDAL, a beautiful girl in furs and muff, with a touch of the exotic in her appearance, steps into the little vestibule.] VERA KATHLEEN Which Mr. Quixano? VERA KATHLEEN Didn't I say there was? VERA KATHLEEN VERA KATHLEEN Ye're wrong entirely. They both plays. VERA Oh, dear! And I suppose they both play the violin. KATHLEEN VERA Ah, Mr. David--that's the one I want to see. KATHLEEN [She abruptly shuts the door.] VERA Don't shut the door! KATHLEEN More chanst of seeing him out there than in here! VERA KATHLEEN [She sneezes.] Atchoo! VERA I'm sorry. [She comes in and closes the door] Will you please say Miss Revendal called from the Settlement, and we are anxiously awaiting his answer to the letter asking him to play for us on---- KATHLEEN VERA Eh? KATHLEEN VERA KATHLEEN VERA What old woman? KATHLEEN VERA What?... But why should she mind my writing? KATHLEEN [VERA looks at the clock, more puzzled than ever.] If ye're not quick, it'll be _Shabbos_. VERA KATHLEEN Ye don't know what _Shabbos_ is! A Jewess not know her own Sunday! VERA I, a Jewess! How dare you? KATHLEEN Axin' your pardon, miss, but ye looked a bit furrin and I---- VERA I am a Russian. [Slowly and dazedly] Do I understand that Mr. Quixano is a Jew? KATHLEEN VERA [Dazedly to herself] He had such charming manners. [Aloud again] You seem to think everybody Jewish. Are you sure Mr. Quixano is not Spanish?--the name sounds Spanish. KATHLEEN [She picks up the old Hebrew book on the armchair.] Look at the ould lady's book. Is that Shpanish? [She points to the Mizrach.] And that houly picture the ould lady says her pater-noster to! Is that Shpanish? And that houly table-cloth with the houly silver candle---- [Cry of sudden astonishment] Why, I've ounly put---- [She looks toward mantel and utters a great cry of alarm as she drops the Hebrew book on the floor.] Why, where's the other candleshtick! Mother in hivin, they'll say I shtole the candleshtick! [Perceiving that VERA is dazedly moving toward door] Beggin' your pardon, miss---- [She is about to move a chair toward the desk.] VERA KATHLEEN VERA Don't say I called at all. KATHLEEN [MENDEL enters hastily from his bedroom, completely transmogrified, minus the skull-cap, with a Prince Albert coat, and boots instead of slippers, so that his appearance is gentlemanly. KATHLEEN begins to search quietly and unostentatiously in the table-drawers, the chiffonier, etc., etc., for the candlestick._ MENDEL [He rubs his hands importantly.] You see I have so many pupils already. Won't you sit down? [He indicates a chair.] VERA MENDEL VERA MENDEL Perhaps I can direct you to the house you are looking for. VERA [She turns toward the door again.] MENDEL [He opens the door for her.] VERA [Hesitating, struck by his manners, struggling with her anti-Jewish prejudice] It--it--was your son I wanted. MENDEL You mean my nephew, David. Yes, _he_ gives violin lessons. [He closes the door.] VERA MENDEL VERA [Touched and deciding to conquer her prejudice] But that's just what _I_ came about--I mean we'd like him to play again at our Settlement. Please ask him why he hasn't answered Miss Andrews's letter. MENDEL He hasn't answered your letter? VERA MENDEL [KATHLEEN, in her hunting around for the candlestick, is now stooping and lifting up the table-cloth.] KATHLEEN MENDEL The candlestick? Oh--I--I think you'll find it in my bedroom. KATHLEEN [She goes into his bedroom.] MENDEL I beg your pardon, Miss Andrews, I mean Miss--er---- VERA MENDEL Revendal? Then you must be the Miss Revendal David told me about! VERA Why, he has only seen me once--the time he played at our Roof-Garden Concert. MENDEL VERA Ah, no--Miss Andrews is that. And you will tell him to answer her letter at once, won't you, because there's only a week now to our Concert. [A gust of wind shakes the windows. She smiles.] Naturally it will _not_ be on the Roof Garden. MENDEL Fancy David not saying a word about it to me! Are you sure the letter was mailed? VERA [She smiles. Re-enter KATHLEEN with the recovered candlestick.] KATHLEEN [She places the candlestick on the table and moves toward her bedroom.] MENDEL KATHLEEN I'm not here! MENDEL [Smiling at MISS REVENDAL] He doesn't get many, you see. KATHLEEN A letter? Sure, I took in ounly a postcard from Miss Johnson, an' that ounly sayin'---- VERA KATHLEEN MENDEL KATHLEEN MENDEL KATHLEEN MENDEL [He makes a hurried exit to the kitchen.] KATHLEEN [She goes toward her bedroom, pauses at the door.] And ye'll witness I don't pack the candleshtick. [Emphatic exit.] VERA A Jew! That wonderful boy a Jew!... But then so was David the shepherd youth with his harp and his psalms, the sweet singer in Israel. [She surveys the room and its contents with interest. The windows rattle once or twice in the rising wind. The light gets gradually less. She picks up the huge Hebrew tome on the piano and puts it down with a slight smile as if overwhelmed by the weight of alien antiquity. Then she goes over to the desk and picks up the printed music.] Mendelssohn's Concerto, Tartini's Sonata in G Minor, Bach's Chaconne... [She looks up at the book-rack.] "History of the American Commonwealth," "Cyclopaedia of History," "History of the Jews"--he seems very fond of history. Ah, there's Shelley and Tennyson. [With surprise] Nietzsche next to the Bible? No Russian books apparently---- [Re-enter MENDEL triumphantly with a large sealed letter.] MENDEL VERA But what _can_ you do with a letter except open it? Any more than with an oyster? MENDEL To a pious Jew letters and oysters are alike forbidden--at least letters may not be opened on our day of rest. VERA [Enter from the kitchen FRAU QUIXANO, defending herself with excited gesticulation. She is an old lady with a black wig, but her appearance is dignified, venerable even, in no way comic. She speaks Yiddish exclusively, that being largely the language of the Russian Pale.] FRAU QUIXANO MENDEL Yes, yes, mother, that's all right now. FRAU QUIXANO _Mein Buch!_ [She picks it up and kisses it piously.] MENDEL [To VERA] She understands barely a word of English--she won't disturb us. VERA [They both turn their heads and look at the falling snow.] MENDEL [He offers a chair.] FRAU QUIXANO _Wos will die Shikseh?_ VERA MENDEL Oh, only asking what your heathen ladyship desires. VERA MENDEL FRAU QUIXANO _Gut? Un' wie soll es gut gehen--in Amerika!_ [She takes out her spectacles, and begins slowly polishing and adjusting them.] VERA I understood that last word. MENDEL VERA MENDEL Her favourite exclamation is "_A Klog zu Columbessen!_" VERA MENDEL VERA Poor Columbus! I suppose she's just come over. MENDEL VERA MENDEL [VERA sits.] VERA MENDEL VERA MENDEL VERA Ah, _he_ doesn't curse Columbus. MENDEL VERA MENDEL [His head sinks on his breast, FRAU QUIXANO is heard faintly sobbing over her book. The sobbing continues throughout the scene.] VERA You have made your mother cry. MENDEL Oh, no--she understood nothing. She always cries on the eve of the Sabbath. VERA Always cries? Why? MENDEL Oh, well, a Christian wouldn't understand---- VERA MENDEL VERA MENDEL If you offer him a fee, he shall not play. Did you think I was begging of you? VERA [She smiles.] There, _I_ am begging of _you_. Sit down, please. MENDEL I ought not to have burdened you with our troubles--you are too young. VERA I young? If you only knew how old I am! MENDEL VERA MENDEL [He goes over to her and sits down.] VERA [With a faint tremulous smile] I might even have been a Siberian had I stayed. But I escaped from my gaolers. MENDEL VERA MENDEL [Rising] What terrible things life holds! VERA [FRAU QUIXANO'S sobbing grows slightly louder.] MENDEL VERA [Looking toward the window] The snow is getting thicker. How pitilessly it falls--like fate. MENDEL Yes, icy and inexorable. [The faint sobbing of FRAU QUIXANO over her book, which has been heard throughout the scene as a sort of musical accompaniment, has combined to work it up to a mood of intense sadness, intensified by the growing dusk, so that as the two now gaze at the falling snow, the atmosphere seems overbrooded with melancholy. There is a moment or two without dialogue, given over to the sobbing of FRAU QUIXANO, the roar of the wind shaking the windows, the quick falling of the snow. Suddenly a happy voice singing "My Country 'tis of Thee" is heard from without.] FRAU QUIXANO _Do ist Dovidel!_ MENDEL [He springs up.] VERA Ah! [The whole atmosphere is changed to one of joyous expectation, DAVID is seen and heard passing the left window, still singing the national hymn, but it breaks off abruptly as he throws open the door and appears on the threshold, a buoyant snow-covered figure in a cloak and a broad-brimmed hat, carrying a violin case. He is a sunny, handsome youth of the finest Russo-Jewish type. He speaks with a slight German accent.] DAVID Isn't it a beautiful world, uncle? [He closes the inner door.] Snow, the divine white snow---- [Perceiving the visitor with amaze] Miss Revendal here! [He removes his hat and looks at her with boyish reverence and wonder.] VERA Don't look so surprised--I haven't fallen from heaven like the snow. Take off your wet things. DAVID [He lays down his violin case and brushes off the snow from his cloak, which MENDEL takes from him and hangs on the rack, all without interrupting the dialogue.] If I had only known you were waiting---- VERA DAVID [He has moved toward the old woman, and while he holds one hand to the blaze now pats her cheek with the other in greeting, to which she responds with a loving smile ere she settles contentedly to slumber over her book.] _Es war grossartig_, Granny. Even the paralysed danced. MENDEL DAVID [He moves toward his desk.] VERA You'll tell us next the beds danced. DAVID VERA [His eyes meet hers at the thought of her presence.] DAVID [He lays his hand caressingly on the violin.] MENDEL But in reality you left them as crooked as ever. DAVID [He caresses the back of his uncle's head in affectionate rebuke.] I couldn't play their bones straight, but I played their brains straight. And hunch-_brains_ are worse than hunch-_backs_.... [Suddenly perceiving his letter on the desk] A letter for _me_! [He takes it with boyish eagerness, then hesitates to open it.] VERA Oh, you may open it! DAVID May I? VERA Yes, and quick--or it'll be _Shabbos_! [DAVID looks up at her in wonder.] MENDEL You read your letter! DAVID Oh, Miss Revendal! Isn't that great! To play again at your Settlement. I _am_ getting famous. VERA MENDEL Thank you! DAVID VERA What a strange taste! Who on earth wants to go to Ellis Island? DAVID VERA Were you very happy? DAVID [He ends in a half-sob.] MENDEL Now, now, David, don't get excited. [Approaches him.] DAVID To think that the same great torch of liberty which threw its light across all the broad seas and lands into my little garret in Russia, is shining also for all those other weeping millions of Europe, shining wherever men hunger and are oppressed---- MENDEL [Soothingly] Yes, yes, David. [Laying hand on his shoulder] Now sit down and---- DAVID Shining over the starving villages of Italy and Ireland, over the swarming stony cities of Poland and Galicia, over the ruined farms of Roumania, over the shambles of Russia---- MENDEL David! DAVID [He is now almost sobbing.] MENDEL DAVID MENDEL VERA You compose? DAVID Oh, uncle, why did you talk of--? Uncle always--my music is so thin and tinkling. When I am _writing_ my American symphony, it seems like thunder crashing through a forest full of bird songs. But next day--oh, next day! [He laughs dolefully and turns away.] VERA DAVID VERA DAVID [He rises and crosses to her and leans over the table, facing her.] Not understand that America is God's Crucible, the great Melting-Pot where all the races of Europe are melting and re-forming! Here you stand, good folk, think I, when I see them at Ellis Island, here you stand [Graphically illustrating it on the table] in your fifty groups, with your fifty languages and histories, and your fifty blood hatreds and rivalries. But you won't be long like that, brothers, for these are the fires of God you've come to--these are the fires of God. A fig for your feuds and vendettas! Germans and Frenchmen, Irishmen and Englishmen, Jews and Russians--into the Crucible with you all! God is making the American. MENDEL DAVID [He smiles toward VERA in good-humoured derision.] Eighty millions! Over a continent! Why, that cockleshell of a Britain has forty millions! No, uncle, the real American has not yet arrived. He is only in the Crucible, I tell you--he will be the fusion of all races, perhaps the coming superman. Ah, what a glorious Finale for my symphony--if I can only write it. VERA DAVID No, if you please, don't ask---- [He moves over to his desk and nervously shuts it down and turns the keys of drawers as though protecting his MS.] VERA DAVID VERA MENDEL VERA DAVID VERA I don't feel so complimented as you expect. You see I did have a professional training. MENDEL And I thought you came to _me_ for lessons! [DAVID laughs.] VERA No, I went to Petersburg---- DAVID To Petersburg----? VERA Naturally. To the Conservatoire. There wasn't much music to be had at Kishineff, a town where---- DAVID [He begins to tremble.] VERA My birthplace. MENDEL Calm yourself, David. DAVID [He shudders violently, staggers.] VERA You are ill! DAVID [He shakes his fist at the air.] You, looking on with your cold butcher's face! O God! O God! [He bursts into hysterical sobs and runs, shamefacedly, through the door to his room.] VERA What have I said? What have I done? MENDEL FRAU QUIXANO _Dovidel! Wu is' Dovidel! Mir dacht sach_---- MENDEL _Du traeumst, Mutter! Schlaf!_ [She sinks back to sleep.] VERA His father and mother were massacred? MENDEL Before his eyes--father, mother, sisters, down to the youngest babe, whose skull was battered in by a hooligan's heel. VERA MENDEL VERA [Almost in tears.] MENDEL It is only Jewish history!... David belongs to the species of _pogrom_ orphan--they arrive in the States by almost every ship. VERA [She half sobs.] MENDEL VERA MENDEL VERA MENDEL VERA MENDEL VERA [Subconsciously placing and fingering an imaginary violin.] MENDEL VERA MENDEL VERA MENDEL Ah, if you and your friends could help him! See--I'm begging after all. But it's not for myself. VERA MENDEL Thank you! Thank you! VERA MENDEL [He follows her to the street-door.] VERA Say good-bye for me to your mother--she seems asleep. MENDEL I am sorry it is snowing so. VERA [Smiling, at exit] Good-bye--let us hope your David will turn out a Rubinstein. MENDEL I never thought a Russian Christian could be so human. [He looks at the clock.] _Gott in Himmel_--my dancing class! [He hurries into the overcoat hanging on the hat-rack. Re-enter DAVID, having composed himself, but still somewhat dazed.] DAVID MENDEL DAVID And she understood! She understood my Crucible of God! Oh, uncle, you don't know what it means to me to have somebody who understands me. Even you have never understood---- MENDEL Nonsense! How can Miss Revendal understand you better than your own uncle? DAVID I can't explain--I feel it.
DAVID MENDEL [He winds his muffler round his throat.] DAVID MENDEL Where _should_ I be going--in the snow--on the eve of the Sabbath? Suppose we say to synagogue! DAVID MENDEL Nonsense! [He takes his umbrella from the stand.] I don't like to see our people going to pieces, that's all. DAVID MENDEL DAVID MENDEL I can see you are yourself again. [He opens the street-door--turns back.] What about your own lesson? Can't we go together? DAVID I must first write down what is singing in my soul--oh, uncle, it seems as if I knew suddenly what was wanting in my music! MENDEL Well, don't forget what is wanting in the house! The rent isn't paid yet. [Exit through street-door. As he goes out, he touches and kisses the_ Mezuzah _on the door-post, with a subconsciously antagonistic revival of religious impulse. DAVID opens his desk, takes out a pile of musical manuscript, sprawls over his chair and, humming to himself, scribbles feverishly with the quill. After a few moments FRAU QUIXANO yawns, wakes, and stretches herself. Then she looks at the clock.] FRAU QUIXANO _Shabbos!_ [She rises and goes to the table and sees there are no candles, walks to the chiffonier and gets them and places them in the candlesticks, then lights the candles, muttering a ceremonial Hebrew benediction.] _Boruch atto haddoshem elloheinu melech hoolam assher kiddishonu bemitzvosov vettzivonu lehadlik neir shel shabbos._ [She pulls down the blinds of the two windows, then she goes to the rapt composer and touches him, remindingly, on the shoulder. He does not move, but continues writing.] _Dovidel!_ [He looks up dazedly. She points to the candles.] _Shabbos!_ [A sweet smile comes over his face, he throws the quill resignedly away and submits his head to her hands and her muttered Hebrew blessing.] Yesimcho elohim ke-efrayim vechimnasseh--yevorechecho haddoshem veyishmerecho, yoer hadoshem ponov eilecho vechunecho, yisso hadoshem ponov eilecho veyosem lecho sholom. [Then she goes toward the kitchen. As she turns at the door, he is again writing. She shakes her finger at him, repeating] _Gut Shabbos!_ DAVID [Puts down the pen and smiles after her till the door closes, then with a deep sigh takes his cape from the peg and his violin-case, pauses, still humming, to take up his pen and write down a fresh phrase, finally puts on his hat and is just about to open the street-door when KATHLEEN enters from her bedroom fully dressed to go, and laden with a large brown paper parcel and an umbrella. He turns at the sound of her footsteps and remains at the door, holding his violin-case during the ensuing dialogue.] DAVID KATHLEEN And who's to shtay me? DAVID Oh, but you mustn't--_I'll_ do your errand--what is it? KATHLEEN Errand, is it, indeed! I'm not here! DAVID KATHLEEN DAVID KATHLEEN DAVID KATHLEEN DAVID I know, I know--but, Kathleen, remember she was brought up to these things from childhood. And her father was a Rabbi. KATHLEEN DAVID A sort of priest. In Russia he was a great man. Her husband, too, was a mighty scholar, and to give him time to study the holy books she had to do chores all day for him and the children. KATHLEEN DAVID [Smiling] No, _he_ wasn't a priest. But he took sick and died and the children left her--went to America or heaven or other far-off places--and she was left all penniless and alone. KATHLEEN DAVID KATHLEEN DAVID KATHLEEN DAVID KATHLEEN Oh, I know _Motso_. DAVID Heavenly! KATHLEEN DAVID Only little boys get that tashte. KATHLEEN DAVID Very quare. And then one day my uncle sent the old lady a ticket to come to America. But it is not so happy for her here because you see my uncle has to be near his theatre and can't live in the Jewish quarter, and so nobody understands her, and she sits all the livelong day alone--alone with her book and her religion and her memories---- KATHLEEN Oh, Mr. David! DAVID KATHLEEN Oh, Mr. David, I won't mix the crockery, I won't---- DAVID Of course you won't. Good night. [He slips out hurriedly through the street-door as KATHLEEN throws off her bonnet, and the curtain falls quickly. As it rises again, she is seen strenuously poking the fire, illumined by its red glow.] _ |
||