MAURY: Oh!

(_An immediate glow of suspicion leaps into his eyes. It is as though_ PARAMORE _had announced himself as an amateur pickpocket._)

PARAMORE: At present I'm doing service work in Stamford. Only last week some one told me that Anthony Patch lived so near.

(_They are interrupted by a clamor outside, unmistakable as that of two s.e.xes in conversation and laughter. Then there enter the room in a body_ ANTHONY, GLORIA, RICHARD CARAMEL, MURIEL KANE, RACHAEL BARNES _and_ RODMAN BARNES, _her husband. They surge about_ MAURY, _illogically replying_ "Fine!" _to his general_ "h.e.l.lo." ... ANTHONY, _meanwhile, approaches his other guest._)

ANTHONY: Well, I'll be darned. How are you? Mighty glad to see you.

PARAMORE: It's good to see you, Anthony. I'm stationed in Stamford, so I thought I'd run over. (_Roguishly_) We have to work to beat the devil most of the time, so we're ent.i.tled to a few hours' vacation.

(_In an agony of concentration_ ANTHONY _tries to recall the name. After a struggle of parturition his memory gives up the fragment "Fred,"

around which he hastily builds the sentence "Glad you did, Fred!"

Meanwhile the slight hush prefatory to an introduction has fallen upon the company._ MAURY, _who could help, prefers to look on in malicious enjoyment._)

ANTHONY: (_In desperation_) Ladies and gentlemen, this is--this is Fred.

MURIEL: (_With obliging levity_) h.e.l.lo, Fred!

(RICHARD CARAMEL _and_ PARAMORE _greet each other intimately by their first names, the latter recollecting that_ d.i.c.k _was one of the men in his cla.s.s who had never before troubled to speak to him._ d.i.c.k _fatuously imagines that_ PARAMORE _is some one he has previously met in_ ANTHONY'S _house._

_The three young women go up-stairs._)

MAURY: (_In an undertone to_ d.i.c.k) Haven't seen Muriel since Anthony's wedding.

d.i.c.k: She's now in her prime. Her latest is "I'll say so!"

(ANTHONY _struggles for a while with_ PARAMORE _and at length attempts to make the conversation general by asking every one to have a drink._)

MAURY: I've done pretty well on this bottle. I've gone from "Proof" down to "Distillery." (_He indicates the words on the label._)

ANTHONY: (_To_ PARAMORE) Never can tell when these two will turn up.

Said good-by to them one afternoon at five and darned if they didn't appear about two in the morning. A big hired touring-car from New York drove up to the door and out they stepped, drunk as lords, of course.

(_In an ecstasy of consideration_ PARAMORE _regards the cover of a book which he holds in his hand._ MAURY _and_ d.i.c.k _exchange a glance._)

d.i.c.k: (_Innocently, to_ PARAMORE) You work here in town?

PARAMORE: No, I'm in the Laird Street Settlement in Stamford. (_To_ ANTHONY) You have no idea of the amount of poverty in these small Connecticut towns. Italians and other immigrants. Catholics mostly, you know, so it's very hard to reach them.

ANTHONY: (_Politely_) Lot of crime?

PARAMORE: Not so much crime as ignorance and dirt.

MAURY: That's my theory: immediate electrocution of all ignorant and dirty people. I'm all for the criminals--give color to life. Trouble is if you started to punish ignorance you'd have to begin in the first families, then you could take up the moving picture people, and finally Congress and the clergy.

PARAMORE: (_Smiling uneasily_) I was speaking of the more fundamental ignorance--of even our language.

MAURY: (_Thoughtfully_) I suppose it is rather hard. Can't even keep up with the new poetry.

PARAMORE: It's only when the settlement work has gone on for months that one realizes how bad things are. As our secretary said to me, your finger-nails never seem dirty until you wash your hands. Of course we're already attracting much attention.

MAURY: (_Rudely_) As your secretary might say, if you stuff paper into a grate it'll burn brightly for a moment.

(_At this point_ GLORIA, _freshly tinted and l.u.s.tful of admiration and entertainment, rejoins the party, followed by her two friends. For several moments the conversation becomes entirely fragmentary._ GLORIA _calls_ ANTHONY _aside._)

GLORIA: Please don't drink much, Anthony.

ANTHONY: Why?

GLORIA: Because you're so simple when you're drunk.

ANTHONY: Good Lord! What's the matter now?

GLORIA: (_After a pause during which her eyes gaze coolly into his_) Several things. In the first place, why do you insist on paying for everything? Both those men have more money than you!

ANTHONY: Why, Gloria! They're my guests!

GLORIA: That's no reason why you should pay for a bottle of champagne Rachael Barnes smashed. d.i.c.k tried to fix that second taxi bill, and you wouldn't let him.

ANTHONY: Why, Gloria--

GLORIA: When we have to keep selling bonds to even pay our bills, it's time to cut down on excess generosities. Moreover, I wouldn't be quite so attentive to Rachael Barnes. Her husband doesn't like it any more than I do!

ANTHONY: Why, Gloria--

GLORIA: (_Mimicking him sharply_) "Why, Gloria!" But that's happened a little too often this summer--with every pretty woman you meet. It's grown to be a sort of habit, and I'm _not_ going to stand it! If you can play around, I can, too. (_Then, as an afterthought_) By the way, this Fred person isn't a second Joe Hull, is he?

ANTHONY: Heavens, no! He probably came up to get me to wheedle some money out of grandfather for his flock.

(GLORIA _turns away from a very depressed_ ANTHONY _and returns to her guests._

_By nine o'clock these can be divided into two cla.s.ses--those who have been drinking consistently and those who have taken little or nothing.

In the second group are the_ BARNESES, MURIEL, _and_ FREDERICK E.

PARAMORE.)

MURIEL: I wish I could write. I get these ideas but I never seem to be able to put them in words.

d.i.c.k: As Goliath said, he understood how David felt, but he couldn't express himself. The remark was immediately adopted for a motto by the Philistines.

MURIEL: I don't get you. I must be getting stupid in my old age.

GLORIA: (_Weaving unsteadily among the company like an exhilarated angel_) If any one's hungry there's some French pastry on the dining room table.

MAURY: Can't tolerate those Victorian designs it comes in.

MURIEL: (_Violently amused_) _I'll_ say you're tight, Maury.

(_Her bosom is still a pavement that she offers to the hoofs of many pa.s.sing stallions, hoping that their iron shoes may strike even a spark of romance in the darkness ..._