Then with the tree in one hand and his grip in the other, he is hurried, between two porters, briskly toward the gate, while the Orang-Outang Band crashes into louder and louder jazz and
The Curtain Falls
{114}
ACT III
Now we’re back at the Frosts’ house, and it’s a week after the events narrated in Act I. It is about nine o’clock in the morning, and through the open windows the sun is shining in great, brave squares upon the carpet. The jars, the glasses, the phials of a certain memorable night have been removed, but there is an air about the house quite inconsistent with the happy day outside, an air of catastrophe, a profound gloom that seems to have settled even upon the “Library of Wit and Humor” in the dingy bookcase.
There is brooding going on upon the premises.
A quick tat-tat-tat from outdoors—the clatter of someone running up the porch steps. The door opens and Doris comes in, Doris in a yellowish skirt with a knit jersey to match, Doris chewing, faintly and delicately, what can surely be no more than a sheer wisp of gum.
Doris [calling]. Char-lotte.
A Voice [broken and dismal, from up-stairs]. Is that you, Doris?
Doris. Yeah. Can I come up?{115}
The Voice. [It’s Charlotte’s. You’d scarcely have recognized it.] I’ll come down.
Doris. Heard anything from Jerry?
Charlotte. Not a word.
Doris regards herself silently, but with interest, in a small mirror on the wall. In comes Charlotte—and oh, how changed from herself of last week. Her nose and eyes are red from weeping. She’s chastened and depressed.
Doris [with cheerful pessimism]. Haven’t heard a word, eh?
Charlotte [lugubriously]. No. Not one.
Doris [impressed in spite of herself]. Son of a gun! And he sneaked away a week ago to-night.
Charlotte. It was that awful liquor, I know. He sat up all night and in the morning he was gone.
Doris. It’s the funniest thing I ever heard of, his sneaking off this way…. Say, Charlotte, I’ve been meaning to say something to you for a couple of days, but I didn’t want to get you depressed.
Charlotte. How could I possibly be any more depressed than I am?
Doris. Well, I just wanted to ask you if you’d tried the morgue yet. [Charlotte gives a little scream.] Wait a minute. Get control of yourself. I simply think you{116} ought to try it. If he’s anywhere you ought to locate him.
Charlotte [wildly]. Oh, he’s not dead! He’s not dead!
Doris. I didn’t say he was, did I? I didn’t say he was. But when a fella wanders out tight after drinking some of this stuff, you can’t tell where you’ll find him. Let me tell you, Charlotte, I’ve had more experience with this sort of thing than you have.
Charlotte. The detective is coming to report this morning.
Doris. Has he been combing the dives? You ought to have him comb the dives, Charlotte. I saw a picture last week that ought to be a lesson to any woman that loses her husband in a funny way like this. The woman in this picture lost her husband and she just combed the dives and—there he was.
Charlotte [suspiciously]. What was he doing?
Doris. Some vampire was sitting on his lap in a café. [Charlotte moans.] But it does show that if you do have the dives combed, you can find ’em. That’s what this woman did…. There’s where most men go when they wander out like that.
Charlotte. Oh, no, Jerry wouldn’t go to the dives, or the—the morgue, either. He’s never drank or done{117} anything like that till that night. He’s always been so mild and patient.
This is a new note from Charlotte.
Doris [after a thoughtful pause]. Maybe he’s gone to Hollywood to go in the movies. They say a lot of lost men turn up there.
Charlotte [brokenly]. I don’t know what to do. Maybe I’m re-responsible. He said that night he might have been P-President if it hadn’t been for me. He’d just been analyzed, and they found he was per-perfect.
Doris. Well, with no reflections on the dead or anything like that, Charlotte, he wasn’t so wonderful as you make out. You can take it from me, he never would have been anything more than a postman if you hadn’t made him be a railroad clerk…. I’d have the dives combed.
Charlotte [eulogistically]. He was a good husband.
Doris. You’ll get over it.
Charlotte. What?
Doris. Cheer up. In a year or so you’ll never know you ever had a husband.
Charlotte [bursting into tears at this]. But I want him back.
Doris [reminiscently]. Do you know the song? Do you know the song? [She sings:]
{118}
“A good man is hard to find
You always get the other kind
And when you think that he is your friend
You look around and find him scratching
’Round some other hen——”
She has forgotten her ethical connection and begins to enjoy the song for itself, when Charlotte interrupts.
Charlotte [in torture]. Oh, don’t! Don’t!
Doris. Oh, excuse me. I didn’t think you’d take it personally…. It’s just about colored people.
Charlotte. Oh, do you suppose he’s with some colored women?
Doris [scornfully]. No-o-o! What you need is to get your mind off it for a while. Just say to yourself if he’s in a dive, he’s in a dive, and if he’s in Hollywood, he’s in Hollywood, and if he’s in the morgue——
Charlotte [frantically]. If you say that word again, I’ll go crazy!
Doris.—well, in that place, then, just say: “I can’t do anything about it, so I’m going to forget it.” That’s what you want to say to yourself.
Charlotte. It’s easy enough to say, but I can’t get my mind——
Doris. Yes, you can. [Magnanimously.] I’ll tell{119} you about what I’ve been doing. I’ve had sort of a scrap with Joseph.
Charlotte. Joseph who?
Doris. Joseph Fish. He’s that fella I brought around here, only you didn’t meet him. I told you about him. The one I got engaged to about ten days ago. His patents were in the mortuary business.
Charlotte. Oh.
Doris. Well, I been trying to make him stop chewing gum. I offered to give it up if he would. I think it’s sort of common when two people that go together are always whacking away at a piece of gum, don’t you?
There’s a ring at the door-bell.
Charlotte. That’s the detective.
Doris [prudently]. Have you got that liquor hidden?
Charlotte. I threw that horrible stuff away. Go let him in.
Charlotte goes to the door and ushers in the detective. The detective wears an expression of profound sagacity upon his countenance.
Have you found him?
The Detective [impressively]. Mrs. Frost, I think so.
Charlotte. Alive?{120}
The Detective. Alive.
Charlotte. Where is he?
The Detective. Wait. Be calm. I’ve had several clews, and I’ve been following them up one at a time. And I’ve located a man, who answers to the first name of Jerry, that I think is your husband.
Charlotte. Where did you find him?
The Detective. He was picked up trying to jimmy his way into a house on Crest Avenue.
Charlotte. Good heavens!
The Detective. Yep—and his name is Jerry. He had it tattooed on his arm.
Charlotte. Good God!
The Detective. But there’s one thing that’s different from your description. What color is your husband’s hair?
Charlotte. Brown.
The Detective. Brown? Are you sure?
Charlotte. Am I sure? Of course I’m sure.
The Detective [to Doris]. Do you collaborate that?
Doris. When he left here it was brown.
The Detective. Well, this fella’s hair was red.
Charlotte. Oh, it’s not Jerry then—it’s not Jerry.
Doris [to Charlotte]. Well, now, how do you know?{121} Maybe— [She turns to the detective.] You see, this fella had been drinking some of this funny liquor you get around here sometimes and it may just have turned his hair red.
Charlotte [to the detective]. Oh, do you think so?
The Detective. I never heard of a case like that. I knew a fella whose hair was turned white by it.
Doris. I knew one, too. What was the name of the fella you knew?
Charlotte. Did this man claim to be my husband?
The Detective. No, madam, he didn’t. He said he had two wives out in Montana, but none that he knew of in these parts. But of course he may have been bluffing.
Doris. It doesn’t sound like Jerry to me.
The Detective. But you can identify him by that tattoo mark.
Charlotte [hastily]. Oh, he never had one.
The Detective. Are you sure?
Charlotte. Oh, yes.
The Detective [his face falling]. Well, then, he’s not our man, because this fella’s tattoo marks are three years old. Well, that’s a disappointment. That’s a great disappointment for me. I’ve wasted some time over this man. I’d been hoping he’d—ah—do.{122}
Charlotte [hastily]. Oh, no, he wouldn’t do at all. I’ll have to have the right man or I won’t pay you.
The Detective. Well, now then, I’ve been following up another clew. Did your husband ever have aphasia?
Charlotte. Oh, no, he’s always been very healthy. He had some skin trouble about——
Doris. He doesn’t mean that, Charlotte. Aphasia’s where a man runs off and commits murder and falls in love with a young girl under another name.
Charlotte. Oh, no, he’s never done anything like this ever before.
The Detective. Suppose you tell me exactly what did happen.
Charlotte. Well, I told you he’d been drinking something that had spirits of nitrogen in it.
The Detective. Spirits of nitrogen!
Charlotte. That’s what the man said. It was sympathetic gin that this man had persuaded Jerry into buying.
The Detective. Yes.
Charlotte. And he’d been talking all evening about all the things he could have done if I hadn’t stood in his way. He had some examination he’d just taken.
Doris [explaining]. A psychical examination.{123}
The Detective [wisely]. I see.
Charlotte. And my sister came over with the man she’s going to marry, and she came up to see me, and when
