Upton Sinclair

“ Jessie. Dad!
Bob. You've brought the boy up wrong.
Dad. So you propose to blame me!
Jack (appears in doorway Left clad in ragged anil dirty overcoat) . Of course, Dad. It really isn't fair to scold other people for your own blunder.
Dad. Oh, there you are! (Notices Jack's clothes.) What the devil is this?
Jack. What, Dad?
Dad. Drunk again, sir? Rolling in the gutter? And on your birthday too!
Jack. Dad—
Dad. Look at him! A hundred and eighty dollars I pay to a Broadway tailor to make this young hopeful an overcoat, and look at what he does with it! ”

“ Belle. Won't they charge us frightfully?
Jack. No, no. You can stay there for ten dollars a day.
Belle. Ten dollars a day! Jack, you don't mean that?
Jack. We can't expect to keep our expenses under that.
Belle. But that'll be thirty dollars, Jack! You know we've got Dolly with us. We can't travel alone.
Jack. No, no—to be sure.
Belle. Do people really spend money like that, Jack?
Jack. You get a lot for it, Belle. It's the loveliest place in the world. There are palm trees and flowers all the year round. It never snows, and it's seldom cold. ”

“ Bob. I want to teach him something. Something about the reality of life.
Jack (enters Play-play left in evening dress) . Good heavens! You two still arguing?
Bob. Yes, Jack—still arguing!
Jack. Can't you cut it out for one evening? I'm not in your class in college.
Bob. If you were, Jack, you'd learn something real about the world you live in.
Jack. Oh, cut it out, Bob! You give me a pain! Just because you once put on hobo clothes and went out and knocked about with bums for a year, you think you've a call to go around making yourself a bore to every one you know! ”

“ Peggy. Oh, thank you, Mr. Schmidt!
Will (desperately) . We'll truly pay you, Mr. Schmidt!
Peggy. If my husband can't sell his work, I'm going back on the stage. I was an actress before I married.
Schmidt. All right, lady, I trust you. Good-bye, liddle boy.
Bill, Will, and Peggy. Good-bye, Mr. Schmidt! (Schmidt exit.)
Peggy (turning to Will) . There now—off in your local color!
Will. How?
Peggy. Have you forgotten what you made Jack say about Mr. Schmidt: a great hulking brute of a Dutchman, who has no thought of anything in the world but his cash-drawer! ”

“ Dad. Maybe you'll not want the quarter of a million at all!
Jack. Oh, an extra quarter of a million would always come in handy. But we'll settle that when I return, Dad. For the present, I've got the world to conquer.
Bob. Bow down, world!
Jack. What I say is: Come on, world! (with a gesture of defiance) I'm ready for you! I'll show you what I can do. Good-bye! (exit suddenly Left)
Jessie. Jack! Jack! Oh, how perfectly terrible! This cold night, and no money! What will he do?
Bob. There's many another man out there with no money. What do they do?
Jessie. Bob, I hate you! ”

“ Jack. Why—I—
Dolly. It's all right, Jack—since's we've caught on in time.
Jack. No, no, don't misunderstand me. It was just that I didn't want to tell my family just yet.
Dad (starting forward) . Why, you infernal jackass!
Jack. Dad—
Dad. You have the impudence to come here and tell me that you promised to marry a waitress in a restaurant!
Jack. Yes, Dad—-
Dad (raging) . Are you mad? When you've just proven that you can't earn enough to fill your own belly? You come here whining for forgiveness, and then tell me you'll marry a girl of the streets—
Jessie. Dad! Stop! ”

“ Such a frightfully depressing ending—everybody in the play has lost everything!
Will. But that isn't so!
Peggy. Jack has lost his wager, and his quarter of a million dollars—and his home!
Will. But see what he's gained.
Peggy. What?
Will. In the first place wisdom, and in the second a wife.
Peggy. Few people in the audience know anything about wisdom, and everyone of them knows that he could buy a wife for less than a quarter of a million dollars. ”

“ Landlady. Well, for the land's sake! (Beaming.) What sort of a character am I?
Will. Why, you're the landlady in the play; there's a poor family in distress, and you take pity on them, and help them in their trouble. It's very touching—everybody will be moved to tears by it.
Landlady (suspiciously) . Well now, that's all right, but I have to have my rent. I have to pay the agent for this house. If you can't pay me, I have to ask you to move.
Peggy. Oh, surely you wouldn't do that!
Landlady. Why wouldn't I?
Peggy. Don't you see how it would be in the play? ”

“ Jessie. But you were used to hardships, Dad!
Dad. Used to it? Of course I was—and why shouldn't he be? Why is he too good to work like other men?
Jessie (pleading) Oh, Dad— (Sudden loud sounds in Real-play, Right; piano and voices shouting chorus of the latest rag-time. Play-play fades instantly.)
Will. Hell and damnation! There go the devils with their coon-songs! (leaps up with distracted gestures) Oh! Oh! Oh!
Peggy (laughing, runs to window—and tries to close it; sounds continue) . ”

“ Peggy. Wait, dear. (Exit Left, calls down shaft.) Lower, please. No—I said lower. There—not too low! (Enters with can.) All right! Now, our troubles are over. Listen, dear. If you really want to write, you've got to think about your audience, and what they like. Just see, to begin with, you've left out the most important thing in any play—whether it's a high-brow tragedy or Third Avenue melodrama.
Will. What's that?
Peggy. The love interest.
Will. That's to come in the second act.
Peggy. Why the second act?
Will. That's where Jack meets the heroine. I can't have two love-stories! ”

“ Peggy. It's a crime that child isn't in the country!
Will (drawing her to table) . What do you think of my fourth act?
Peggy. Why dear, it's just as I said about Act One, you need more life in the scene, more variety and color.
Will. But how can it be got?
Peggy. I told you before—you must bring in Gladys.
Will. Gladys at this stage of the play?
Peggy. Of course! You're bringing home Belle, and you want a character contrast—the daughter of the tenements and the princess of the plutocracy. Gladys is still in love with Jack, and here he's coming home with another girl! ”

“ Bill. I couldn't sleep, Peggy.
Peggy. All right, never mind. We won't scold you. It doesn't matter about the old bowl—we've got nothing to put in it anyway. Now, don't cry—you'll get yourself all excited. (Sound of singing heard off Right.)
Bill. Oh! There's the Beggar-kid! (Runs to window.) Say, Peggy! Can't I go down and listen to him? I won't go off the steps, and I won't talk to anybody.
Peggy. You're sure you feel well enough?
Bill. I'll feel better, Peggy. Please! Please!
Peggy. You'll truly not go off the steps?
Bill. Word of honor, Peggy! ”

“ I can't play with things like this. I've lost, I'll take my medicine. Only a month! Gee whiz! (With sudden realization.) Good-bye to my quarter of a million!
Bill (appears in doorway, yawning) . Holy smoke! What's up?
Jack. We're going away.
Bill. Where to?
Jack. I can't tell you now.
Dolly (enters Right, supporting Belle) . Come on, dear. Jack is going to take us with him.
Belle. But I'm too sick to go out.
Dolly. You must, dear.
Belle. I'm not dressed.
Jack. Get her hat and coat. Don't stop for anything else. Come on, Belle, I'll help you. We've no time to lose. ”

“ Bob. You're wasting my time, boy.
Jack (to Jessie) . You see! He won't even answer me!
Jessie. Answer him, Bob.
Bob. Just what do you want to prove, Jack?
Jack. That a man can get a job if he really wants it.
Bob. Well, suppose you get a job!
Jessie. That's too easy! Jack has a dozen jobs waiting for him when he gets through college.
Bob. I don't mean for him to go on his father's name. Here—I'll propose a test for you. Upstairs in my trunk is an old suit that I wore when I went out and lived as a hobo. Put it on. Put on the torn overcoat and the ragged hat. ”

“ Dad. I know. That's always the way with my children. They never realize anything!
Jessie. It isn't so bad— (The front door bell rings, she starts.) Oh!
Dad. What's the matter?
Jessie. Nothing. Come on!
Dad. Wait till I see what this is.
Jessie. It's nothing, Dad.
Dad. How do you know it's nothing?
Jessie. I want to show you the bills.
Dad. Well, wait just a moment. The bills won't run away.
Jessie (aside to Bob) . Lost!
Dad. Why, what's that? Isn't that Jack's voice? Why-why-good God! (Jack appears in doorway, with Belle on His arm, Dolly and Bill behind him. All stare.) ”

“ Bob. You must listen, Dad. Jack and I are making a wager. He's to go out in my hobo clothes and he's not to use his own name—he's not to see any of his old friends, nor to communicate with them. He's to depend absolutely on his own efforts—to shift for himself for six months. ”

“ Jack. I don't know, but I'll find a way. There must be a way! It's too cruel—it can't be true that people starve to death in the midst of so much wealth.
Belle. You don't know much about being poor, I see.
Bill (Has finished sandwich, rises and comes over, pats himself) . Gee!
Jack. Good stuff, hey?
Bill. Betcher.
Jack. You'll come again then?
Bill. Sure thing.
Jack (to Schmidt, who rises and crosses Left) . You see, Mr. Schmidt! He'll come again!
Schmidt. Yes, I make my fortune by you (exit Left) .
Bill. Gee, I allus wisht I had a job in a restaurant! Or in a candy store! ”

“ Bob. What's happened?
Dad (waves letter in his hand) . Here's a letter from the dean. He's got himself suspended from college.
Jessie (horrified) . Oh, Dad!
Bob. What's he done?
Dad. Turning loose a live goat in a college lecture hall!
Bob. You can't mean it!
Dad. Here's the letter! They were having a fraternity initiation, it seems, and Jack was bringing the goat, his horns painted with phosphorus, a bunch of fire-crackers tied to his tail. Fire-crackers to the tail of a goat!
Jessie. But Dad! How do you know that Jack—
Dad. He admitted everything in his letter to the dean! ”

“ When the Real-play is in full light, the Play-play is dark and invisible. When the front scene is entirely dark, we see the Play-play, slightly veiled at the sides. In case of some rude interruption, the dream is gone in a flash, and the reality of the garret surrounds us. The text calls for numerous quick changes of three of the characters from the Real-play to the Play-play and back. Dialogue and business have been provided at these places to permit the changes.
AT RISE.—The Real-play, showing PEGGY putting BILL to bed; she is young and pretty, he is a bright but frail child. ”

“ Peggy (looks at him, then rises and steps to him, with Mss. in her hand) . You dear, sweet boy?
Will (steps back out of sight) . Look out for my dishes! (as Peggy follows off, sounds of kisses heard) My heart-interest! My dear, blessed heart-interest! My only heart-interest in the world! (Full light rises slowly on the Play-play. The door of restaurant opens, and Peggy appears in the entrance, as Belle, with a waitress's costume. She stands gazing out, as if getting breath of fresh air, being ill. Then she draws back and closes the door.)
Jack (enters Left) . ”

“ Peggy (reads) . Scene shows a cheap restaurant on Third Avenue. Piles of shredded wheat and charlotte russe in the windows. Night scene, snow on ground. (Full light on the Play-play.)
Bill (wanders on Right, stops and gazes into window) . Gee, but that's great lookin' shredded wheat!
Jack (enters Left, dejected-looking, and joins Bill) . You hungry, too, kid?
Bill. I could eat the whole hay-stack at one meal. (Moves along to another part of the window.) Holy smoke, if they'd turn me loose in them charlotte-russes!
Jack. I wonder how many charlotte russes a man could eat at one meal. ”

“ Let Bob follow Jack, or let them hire a detective.
Will. Melodrama! Ten-twenty-thirty! I don't like Gladys as a character any more than I did as a person. She's shallow and cheap—a regular worldling! I won't have any such creature in my play!
Peggy. There's no use talking that way, Will, you simply can't write a money-making play without love-interest. And also you've got to have comedy characters—real characters—
Will (eagerly) . I'll have one character, at least! In the next scene, when the father comes in! It'll be a jolly lark, Peggy—I'm going to use Dad! ”

“ Peggy. All right then! We go back to your scene in Dad's drawing-room—just after Jack has carried Belle out. (Play-play begins to appear.) Dad stands there, with Jessie clinging to him, weeping, imploring. And Bob is trying to argue with him. Dad doesn't answer at first—wait, I'll write the scene! (Full light on Play-play. Will makes secret exit.)
Bob. Dad, listen to reason now! Don't make this dreadful mistake. Jack has had his lesson. Can't you see he's had it—the very thing we all wanted for him? He's learned something about the reality of life! ”

“ Will. He despises the theatre. Half his anger at me was because I married an actress. And it seems to me, if we can't get any money out of him, we might at least get a character-study.
Peggy. All right, Dad let it be!
Will. I'll show you how it is. Here! (Pushes the manuscripts towards her; the Play-play begins to appear.) Jack has gone upstairs to change his clothes, and here comes Dad. He's an old man—rich, irascible, given to scolding. I remember how he used to snort when anything didn't please him.
Dad. Huh! huh-huh!
Will. He's heard the story about Jack. Here's the Mss. Read. ”

“ There are many examples of the "play within a play," but up to that time there had never been a play which showed the WRITING of a play: the processes which go on in the mind of a playwright, and how he uses his personal experiences in his work.
"The Pot-boiler" was accepted for production by William Harris, Jr., at the Hudson Theatre, New York. After many delays, Mr. Harris came to the conclusion that the play needed some rewriting to give it that "punch" which is essential to production in the neighborhood of Broadway. ”