Snooks. Sure. Once.
Jerry [ponderously]. You did, eh?
Snooks. Once. I guess bootleggin’s just as good, though. More money in it.
Jerry [weightily]. Yes, that’s true.
Snooks. Well, I got to hustle along now. I got to take my old woman to church.
Jerry. Oh. Yes.
Snooks. Well, so long. You got my address in case you go dry.
They both smile genially at this pleasantry.
{48}
Jerry [opening the door]. All right. I’ll remember.
Snooks goes out. Jerry hesitates—then he opens the door to the up-stairs.
Jerry. Oh, Char-lit!
Charlotte [crossly]. Please keep that door shut. That smell comes right up here. It’ll start my hayfever.
Jerry [genially]. Well, I just wanted to ask you if you’ll take one little cocktail with me.
Charlotte. No! How many times do I have to tell you?
Jerry [crestfallen]. Well, you don’t need to be so disagreeable about it.
He receives no answer. He would like to talk some more, but he shuts the door and returns to the table. Picking up one of the jars, he regards its opaqueness with a quizzical eye. But it is his and quite evidently it seems to him good. He looks curiously at the three little bottles, smells one of them curiously and hastily replaces the cork. He hesitates. Then he repairs to the dining-room, singing: “Everybody is there!”—and returns immediately with an orange, a knife, and another glass. He cuts the orange, squeezes half of it into a glass, wipes his hands on the fringe of the tablecloth, and{49} adds some of his liquor. He drinks it slowly—he waits. He prepares another potation with the other half of the orange.
No! He does not choke, make horrible faces, nor feel his throat as it goes down. Nor does he stagger. His elation is evinced only by the vague confusion with which he mislays knife, oranges, and glasses.
Impelled by the gregarious instinct of mankind, he again repairs to the door that leads up-stairs, and opens it.
Jerry [calling]. Say, Char-lit! The convention must be over. I wonder who was nominated.
Charlotte. I asked you to shut that door.
But the impulse to express himself, to fuse his new elation into the common good, is irresistible. He goes to the telephone and picks up the receiver.
Jerry. Hello…. Hello, hello. Say! I wonder’f you could tell me who was nominated for President…. All right, give me Information…. Information, I wonder if you could tell me who was nominated for President…. Why not?… Well, that’s information, isn’t it?… It doesn’t matter what kind of information it is. It’s information, isn’t it? Isn’t it? It’s information, isn’t it?… Say, what’s your hurry? [He bobs the receiver up and down.] Hello, give me Long Distance again…. Hello, is this Information?…{50} This is misinformation, eh? Ha-ha! Did you hear that? Misinformation…. I asked for Information…. Well, you’ll do, Long Distance…. Long Distance—how far away are you? A long distance! Ha-ha!… Hello…. Hello!
She has evidently rung off. Jerry does likewise.
Jerry [sarcastically]. Wonderful telephone service! [He goes quickly back to the ’phone and picks up the receiver.] Rottenest telephone service I ever saw! [He slams up and returns to his drink.]
There is a call outside, “Yoo-hoo!” and immediately afterward Doris opens the front door and comes in, followed by Joseph Fish, a red-headed, insipid young man of about twenty-four. Fish is dressed in a ready-made suit with a high belt at the back, and his pockets slant at a rakish angle. He is the product of a small-town high-school and a one-year business course at a state university.
Doris has him firmly by the arm. She leads him up to Jerry, who sets down his glass and blinks at them.
Doris. Gosh! This room smells like a brewery. [She notices the jars and the other débris of Jerry’s domestic orgy.] What on earth have you been doing? Brewing whiskey?{51}
Jerry [attempting a dignified nonchalance]. Making cocktails.
Doris [with a long whistle]. What does Charlotte say?
Jerry [with dignity]. Charlit is up-stairs.
Doris. Well, I want you to meet my fiancé, Mr. Fish. Mr. Fish, this is my brother-in-law, Mr. Frost.
Jerry. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Fish.
Fish. How de do. [He laughs politely.]
Jerry [horribly]. Is this the undertaker?
Doris [tartly]. You must be tight.
Jerry [to Fish]. Have a little drink?
Doris. He doesn’t use it.
Fish. Thanks. I don’t use it. [Again he laughs politely.]
Jerry [with a very roguish expression]. Do you know Ida?
Fish. Ida who?
Jerry. Idaho. [He laughs uproariously at his own wit.] That’s a joke I heard to-day. I thought I’d tell it to you because you’re from Idaho.
Fish [resentfully]. Gosh, that’s a rotten joke.
Jerry [high-hatting him]. Well, Idaho’s a rotten state. I wouldn’t come from that State.
Doris [icily]. Maybe they’d feel the same way about{52} you. I’m going up and see Charlotte. I wish you’d entertain Mr. Fish politely for a minute.
Doris goes up-stairs. The two men sit down. Fish is somewhat embarrassed.
Jerry [with a wink]. Now she’s gone, better have a little drink.
Fish. No, thanks. I don’t use it any more. I used to use it a good deal out in Idaho, and then I quit.
A faint, almost imperceptible noise, as of a crowd far away, begins outside. Neither of the men seems to notice it, however.
Jerry. Get good liquor up there?
Fish. Well, around the shop we used to drink embalming fluid, but it got so it didn’t agree with me.
Jerry [focussing his eyes upon Fish, with some difficulty]. I shouldn’t think it would.
Fish. It’s all right for some fellas, but it doesn’t agree with me at all.
Jerry [suddenly]. How old are you?
Fish. Me? Twenty-five.
Jerry. Did you ever—did you ever have any ambition to be President?
Fish. President?{53}
Jerry. Yes.
Fish. Of a company?
Jerry. No. Of the United States.
Fish [scornfully]. No-o-o-o!
Jerry [almost pleadingly]. Never did, eh?
Fish. Never.
Jerry. Tha’s funny. Did you ever want to be a postman?
Fish [scornfully]. No-o-o-o!… The thing to be is to be a senator.
Jerry. Is that so?
Fish. Sure. I’m goin’ to be one. Say! There’s where you get the real graft.
Jerry’s eyes close sleepily and then start open.
Jerry [attentively]. Do you hear a noise?
Fish [after listening for a moment]. I don’t hear a sound.
Jerry [puzzled]. That’s funny. I hear a noise.
Fish [scornfully]. I guess you’re seeing things.
Another pause.
Jerry. And you say you never wanted to be President?{54}
Fish. Na-ah!
The noise outside has now increased, come nearer, swollen to the dimensions of a roar. Presently it is almost under the windows. Fish apparently does not hear it, but Jerry knits his hairless brows and rises to his feet. He goes to the window and throws it open. A mighty cheer goes up and there is the beating of a bass drum.
Jerry. Good gosh!
Cli-in-ng! Cli-in-ng! Cli-in-ng! The door-bell! Then the door swings open, and a dozen men rush into the room. In the lead is Mr. Jones, a politician.
Mr. Jones [approaching Jerry]. Is this Mr. Jeremiah Frost?
Jerry [with signs of fright]. Yes.
Mr. Jones. I’m Mr. Jones, the well-known politician. I am delegated to inform you that on the first ballot you were unanimously given the Republican nomination for President.
Wild cheers from inside and out, and renewed beating of the bass drum. Jerry shakes Mr. Jones’s hand, but Fish, sitting in silence, takes no heed of the proceeding—apparently does not see or hear what is going on.
{55}
Jerry [to Mr. Jones]. My golly! I thought you were a revenue officer.
Amid a still louder burst of cheering Jerry is elevated to the shoulders of the crowd, and borne enthusiastically out the door as
The Curtain Falls
{56}
ACT II
Any one who felt that the first Act was perhaps a little vulgar, will be glad to learn that we’re now on the lawn of the White House. Indeed, a corner of the Executive Mansion projects magnificently into sight, and steps lead up to the imposing swinging doors of a “Family Entrance.” From the window of the President’s office a flag flutters, and the awning displays this legend:
The White House
Jerry Frost, Pres.
And if you look hard enough at the office window you can see the President himself sitting at his desk inside.
The lawn, bounded by a white brick wall, is no less attractive. Not only are there white vines and flowers, a beautiful white tree, and a white table and chairs, but, also, a large sign over the gate, which bears the President’s name pricked out in electric bulbs.
Two white kittens are strolling along the wall, enjoying the ten-o’clock sunshine. A blond parrot swings in a cage over the table, and one of the chairs is at present{57} occupied by a white fox-terrier puppy about the size of your hand.
That’s right. “Isn’t it darling!” We’ll let you watch it for a moment before we move into the Whirl of Public Affairs.
Look! Here comes somebody out. It’s Mr. Jones, the well-known politician, now secretary to President Frost. He has a white broom in his hands, and, after delighting the puppy with an absolutely white bone, he begins to sweep off the White House steps. At this point the gate swings open and Charlotte Frost comes in. As befits the first Lady of the Land, she is elaborately dressed—in the height of many fashions. She’s evidently been shopping—her arms are full of packages—but she has nevertheless seen fit to array herself in a gorgeous evening dress, with an interminable train. From her wide picture hat a plume dangles almost to the ground.
Mr. Jones politely relieves her of her bundles.
Charlotte [abruptly]. Good morning, Mr. Jones. Has everything gone to pieces?
Mr. Jones looks her over in some surprise.
Jones [apologetically]. Well, perhaps the petticoat—{58}—
Charlotte [a little stiffly]. I didn’t mention myself, I don’t think, Mr. Jones. I meant all my husband’s public affairs.
Jones. He’s been in his office all morning, Mrs. Frost. There are a lot
