The sign on the door; a play in a prologue and three acts

Front matter

By CHANNING POLLOCK

SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th St,, New York

Polly anna

Prologue

Scene.— A 'private supper-room at the Cafe Mazarin, New York.

Below window l., against flat, is a marble-topped table, upon which is a palm. On wall above is a picture. Above window l. is a small console table, upon which is a serviette laid flat, a glass jug containing ice and water, and two tumblers. On wall above is a picture. On flat each side of door is a three-candle electric bracket. On jog L. of door is an electric switch. On wall r.c. is a picture. R. is a divan, head down stage, behind which is a palm in a stand. L.c. a round dining-table , set for two people, as follows : Two large plates ; two large knives and forks ; two fish knives and forks ; two dessert spoons and forks ; two champagne glasses ; two ser¬ viettes ; two small plates, with a roll on each; two small knives; pepper ; salt; an ash-tray ; match-stand with matches ; a bowl of flowers ; rack of toast; two chairs, one each r. and l. of dining-table.

Time.— It is just after eleven o'clock at night.

{At rise the stage is dark, except for the night light which shines across the room through the French windows l. Hugh, the waiter , opens the door up R.c. As he does so, a burst of ribald laughter, in which the top note is that of a woman the worse for liquor, is heard in the hall. Hugh touches a button (brass-plate light switch set in the thickness l. of the door) and the stage is illuminated, the light coming from two two-light brackets with gold shades on the wall r. and l. of arch up R.c.)

Hugh (l. of the door). Here you are, sir.

(Enter Ann Hunniwell, c. of table, and Frank Devereaux, r. of table. Hugh steps back to up r.c.)

(Ann is of an excellent middle-class family, that has fallen upon evil days, with the result that she is a stenographer. She is pretty, of course, and something over twenty. Her dress is her best, not expen¬ sive and not conspicuously shabby or inappropriate. She is quieted by the room, and hesitates up l. of the arch. As they stand looking about the room Hugh moves above them to r. of Frank.)

THE SIGN ON THE DOOR.

Frank (to Ann). Well, Ann. How do you like it ?

Ann (doubtfully). It seems rather—private.

(Hugh flashes at her a quick glance of surprise and suspicion.)

Frank. It is private. (Pleasantly.) It’s a private supper-room. (Indicates roses on table c.) Look, your favourite roses. Ordered

’em yesterday. Of course, if you’d rather go somewhere else-?

Ann. Oh, no ! It just seemed strange.

(Frank helping her take off her wrap , which he hands to Hugh.)

Frank. I hate eating to music, and it gets a bit noisy down¬ stairs around twelve o’clock. (Drops down to above table c.)

(Hugh puts wrap on settle, and drops down r., menu card , order pad and pencil in hand.)

Ann. Oh! I must be home by twelve o’clock.

Frank (above chair r. of table c.). Before the pretty frock turns to rags.

Ann. I’ve got to go to work in the morning. (Looking round l., she moves to l. of table c.)

(Hugh looks at her again.)

Frank. Which means a quick supper and a taxi for Cinderella. (Turns to Hugh.) All right! Serve the supper now, will you, waiter ?

Hugh (surprised). Supper, sir ? (Down a little.)

Frank. Yes, of cousse. I telephoned my order this morning. Didn’t you get it ?

Hugh. No, sir.

Frank (softly). Well, I’ll be damn- (Looks at Ann, checks

himself, then goes to Hugh, r.) Never mind! What’s ready ? (Reaches for menu card.)

Hugh (handing menu card to Frank — at a loss). Ready ? Why— oysters !

Frank. Oysters ! (Sarcastically to Ann.) If you blow out your brains, and live, you become a waiter! (Ordering.) Two clover club cocktails. Some Russian caviar.

Ann (l. of table, below chair). Russian - ?

Frank (to Ann). From Wilmington! (Continuing his order.) Cold partridge. Coeur de Palmier. (Hugh looks puzzled.) (Ex¬ plaining.) Hearts of Palm. (To Ann, referring to Hugh, in same tone as when ordering.) Mutton-head! (To Hugh.) Don’t write that! (Returns to menu.) And a quart of Clicquot, 1911. (Hands menu card to Hugh.)

Ann (at l. of table — timidly). I don’t drink anything.

Frank. No, but I do ! (To Hugh.) Mineral water for the lady. W^’ll order an ice afterwards. Please get a move on.

THE SIGH ON THE DOOR.

(Hugh goes to console table above window l., where he 'pours out two glasses of water. Ann at the table. Frank looks her over. She glances up, and he feels obliged to speak.)

That is a pretty frock.

Ann (smiles, sitting on chair l. of dining-table). It was made by the very best dressmaker in Dayton.

Frank (smiles). Dayton—Ohio ? (Crosses leisurely above table c. to l. of Ann.)

(Hugh brings glasses of water to table and exits after Frank has

crossed.)

Ann (nods). Father was in business there. (Turns to Frank, who is now l. of and below her.) That is, he thought it was a business. When he died we came to New York.

Frank (l. of Ann). Where did you learn stenography ?

Ann. In Dayton. At a business college. Mother said, “ You never can tell,” and you couldn’t—with father.

Frank. My father says you’re the best stenographer he ever had.

Ann. He never said so to me.

Frank. It’s against the old man’s principles to say anything that might cost him two dollars.

Ann. You’re so different.

Frank. Yes, that’s what worries father.

Ann (with sudden sincerity). You’ve given me the nicest evening of my whole life. My first opera !

Frank. That’s why I asked you.

Ann. I’d heard so much about “ Carmen.”

Frank. She’s a wild woman !

Ann. I’m terribly grateful.

Frank. That shows you’re not a New York girl. Have a cigarette ?

(They laugh. He offers cigarette case.)

Ann (she refuses, but nods permission for him to smoke). No, thank you.

(He crosses above table to r. of it, and strikes match on stand and lights his cigarette.)

Ann (after a pause). I’m afraid I show it in a good many ways. I haven’t been anywhere. Do you know, I’ve never even been to the Museum.

Frank. Dear, dear. I can’t promise to take you there.

Ann. Mother was ill for a good while before she died, and, any¬ way, she never liked my going out alone.

Frank. Alone ?

THE SIGN ON THE DOOR.

Ann. Alone— with any one. Mother was funny about men. She couldn’t ’ve understood any man being nice to me as you’ve been without expecting—well, you know what I mean.

(Hugh opens door up r.c. and enters.)

I’m afraid she’d be shocked if she could see me now.

Hugh. The cocktails, sir.

(Frank sitting. Hugh comes to above the table c. and on a motion from Frank he offers the tray to Ann.)

Ann. Oh, I—I don’t think I will.

Frank. Nonsense ! There’s nothing in them but a little grena¬ dine. (Tates cocktails from tray. To Hugh.) Hurry up that caviar!

(Hugh exits up r.c. with tray—closes the door.)

I wouldn’t have ordered ’em if there’d been any harm. It’s first cousin to a raspberry soda.

(Ann takes cocktail from Frank.)

Now taste that.

(Ann hesitates, then sips drink.)

Isn’t that nice ?

(She smiles and nods.)

Now go on, drink it up. It’ll do you good.

(Ann drinks. Frank joins her — Ann chokes, and Frank indicates having some water, which she drinks.)

Frank. Oh, dear, dear, have some water.

(Ann drinks.)

Better now ? (Puts cigarette in ash-tray.) So this is the first time you’ve been out to supper alone with any one ? What do you do with your evenings ?

Ann. Read—mostly.

Frank. Read ? What do you read ?

Ann. Just now—Stevenson. For style.

Frank. Stevenson for style ! I should’ve thought you’d have done better with Vogue.

Ann (laughing). Literary style.

(Frank looks at her, seeing that already the cocktail has had a relaxing

effect.)

I’m trying to improve myself.

Frank. Nothing improves a woman like being happy. You’re

THE SIGN ON THE DOOR.

always easy to look at, but to-night . . . well, to-night my eyes are taking liberties.

Ann (vaguely worried by his tone and manner). Being happy doesn’t improve the mind, and that’s the important thing, isn’t it ?

Frank. Yes, that’s the reason why the manufacturers of cor¬ sets and cosmetics spend millions every year teaching women how to improve—their minds. Of course, that doesn’t get ’em pretty clothes and furs and jewels and take ’em to hear “ Carmen.” Ann. I don’t want furs and jewels !

Frank. But you do want to hear “ Carmen.” “ The nicest evening of your whole life,” you said. Lights, music, admiration. Not because you’re a good stenographer, but because you’re a nice little girl . . . and I want you to be nice to me.

(Hugh enters up r.c. with caviar on two small plates. Frank, annoyed at this interruption, leans back in his chair.)

Hugh ( coming to above the table c.). The caviar, sir.

Frank. Put it down and get out!

(Hugh places caviar on table.)

(To Ann, as Hugh goes to door and stands facing it.) Isn’t it worth while being good to me ? (Reaches across table and places his hand on her arm.)

Ann. I think I’d better go home.

Frank. Nonsense ! When everything’s on the table. (Rises and goes to her—he is above her. To Hugh, who is up by door.) Hurry on the partridge and bring that mineral water.

(Hugh exits, closing the door.)

(Frank places his hands on her shoulders. She gives a start.)

I said you were a nice little girl; now be a good little girl and eat your supper. (Moves back to r. of table and sits.)

Ann (when Frank is seated). I’m afraid you and I don’t agree about what makes “ a good girl.”

Frank (innocently — as he serves the caviar). Why ? Because I think a good girl can have a good time ? A girl who can’t be good outside of her own room is like a man who can’t be honest except in jail. (Passes plate to Ann.)

Ann (takes caviar). What did you mean by being good to you ? Frank. Taking me around—keeping me from being lonely. Why?

(Handing her the toast rack, from which she takes a piece of toast.)

Ann. Oh, nothing. (Passes her plate to him.) It doesn’t matter now.

Frank. I know ; you thought that you were being insulted. Come on; confess ; you did, didn’t you ?

THE SIGN ON THE DOOR.

Ann (smiles). Well, just for a moment.

Frank. I’m sorry to disappoint you; but my intentions are strictly honourable.

Ann (a little laugh). You make me feel like Tildy.

Frank. Who’s Tildy ?

Ann. Tildy’s a heroine in a short story by 0. Henry.

Frank. By George, I’d forgotten I was having supper with a highbrow. Come on now, tell me all about Tildy.

Ann. Well, Tildy was a plain little waitress in a cheap restaurant, and one day she took on the greatest airs because she said a gentle¬ man had insulted her. Next day some of the girls found her crying. It appears the gentleman had returned and apologized. Worse still, he said if he’d been sober he would never have done it.

(They laugh.)

Frank. I think most insults are like that. There’s been a great deal in the papers lately about the way men behave to girls in stores. All my friends behave as if they were frightened to death of ’em. I wouldn’t dare speak to a girl in the stores without a letter of introduction.

(They laugh again.)

Ann. Aren’t you timid ?

Frank. All men are timid because they know what’s expected of ’em. (A slight pause.) Men who speak good English have especially bad morals; and evening clothes, the world over, are the uniform of villainy. But I don’t blame you. I’m the son of your employer, and that stamps me, from the word “ go,” as a low scoundrel.

Ann. That isn’t fair.

Frank. As a matter of fact, I liked you because you looked so timid; I like making things a little easier for you at the office, and when you said you’d never been to the opera . . .

Ann. If I hadn’t believed in you, I shouldn’t have gone. Frank. So here we are and all is forgiven. Now I’m going to make life a little brighter for you, and you’re going to make life a great deal brighter for me; and we’re friends, aren’t we ? (He holds out his l. hand across the table.)

Ann (giving him her hand). Indeed we are—good friends.

(Boor up r.c. is opened and Hugh enters. Ann pulls her hand away. Frank leans hack in chair in disgust. Hugh comes down to above table c. He carries a silver wine-cooler with a quart bottle of cham¬ pagne covered with a napkin in right hand , and a partridge on a silver dish; puts partridge on table, goes hack and shuts door and comes down r. of Frank with wine bucket.)

Frank (leaning hack in his chair as Hugh comes down). What was the name of that girl ?

THE SIGN ON THE DOOR.

Ann. Tildy l Frank. Tildy—what ?

Ann (laughing). Why, I don’t know her last name.

Frank. Maybe she hadn’t another name.

Hugh (places the wine bucket on the floor below the table beside Frank and speaks). May I speak to you a moment, sir ?

Frank (annoyed). What ?

Hugh (repeats). May I speak to you a moment, sir ? (Goes r.) Frank. Yes ! I suppose so. (To Ann — as he rises.) Excuse me. (Moves to Hugh, r.) Well ?

Hugh (over r.). Are you Mr. Devereaux, sir ?

Frank (r.c.). Why ?

Hugh. There’s a gentleman downstairs asking for Mr. Dever¬ eaux.

Frank. It must be a mistake. Nobody knows I’m here. (An impatient movement to table as though to dismiss the subject.)

Hugh (insistently — Frank stops). I think he saw you come in,

sir.

Frank. I can’t help that.

Hugh. I beg your pardon, sir

(Beckoning with his head to Frank, who goes back to him),

but the gentleman might be your father.

Frank. Yes ; it might. (Crosses to Ann.) Will you excuse me a second. (Holding her hand.)

Ann. Of course.

Frank (above her). I shan’t be a minute. (To Hugh.) Open that wine !

(Goes to door and exits up r.c., closing the door.)

(Hugh goes up to the door, opens it and looks off after Frank — then closes door and comes down to above the table c.)

Hugh (above table c., speaks in a low tone). I beg pardon, miss — do you know where you are ?

Ann. Yes. I saw the name as we came in. The Cafe Mazarin. Hugh. I mean, do you know the sort of a place ?

Ann. It seems a very nice place.

Hugh. It isn’t. (Crosses to console table above window l., and puts down caviar. Speaks as he comes down to above dining-table.) It’s very expensive and very luxurious, but it isn’t very nice. (Plates together.)

Ann. I don’t understand.

Hugh. I didn’t think you did. That’s why I spoke. I’ve got daughters of my own, and I shouldn’t like ’em to be here. (Goes up to console with dirty plates and comes back to above table.)

Ann. Mr. Devereaux said the very best people come here.

THE SIGN ON THE DOOR.

Hugh. That’s right. The best people do come here, but not for the best reasons. There’s a restaurant downstairs that isn’t so bad, but these rooms—well, the prices are double, and no questions asked.

Ann. I must tell Mr. Devereaux.

Hugh ( steps up c., boks at door up r.c. and then goes to R. of table. All one movement). I wouldn’t.

Ann. Why not ?

Hugh. He knows.

Ann (rising and stepping back l.). Impossible!

Hugh. It’s impossible that he shouldn’t. He’s been here twice this week.

Ann. With—ladies ?

Hugh. You might call ’em that.

Ann. I don’t believe you.

Hugh. Then how did I know his name was Devereaux ?

Ann. The gentleman downstairs-

Hugh. There isn’t any gentleman downstairs. Not to speak to him. I invented the gentleman so I could speak to you.

Ann. But you said it was his father. I heard you.

Hugh. I said it might be his father—and it might. He’s got a father. I heard him mention the old gentleman to you.

Ann. I don’t believe it. He’s been so kind.

Hugh. Gentlemen expecting what he does generally are.

Ann. What am I to do ?

Hugh. -Get out— now !

Ann (in surprise). Before he comes back ?

Hugh. Yes.

Ann (still unconvinced). But supposing you’re wrong—supposing he doesn’t mean any harm ? Supposing this place isn’t as bad as you think ?

Hugh. This place is being watched by the police. (Goes quickly above table to console table.) Stay if you like ! Whatever happens now, it’s up to you !

Ann (goes front of table and up to divan, where she takes her wrap —as she crosses). I’m going !

Hugh. Good! Take the turn to your right. (Goes to Ann.) Down the back stairs ! Have you got any money ?

Ann (by r. of door). A little.

Hugh. Enough for a taxi ?

Ann. No.

Hugh (taking a dollar bill from his pocket). Here—take this ! Get a taxi and go home !

Ann. I can’t!

Hugh. Don’t talk. (Forces the money into her hand.) Take it.

Ann (starts for the door). Thank you !

Hugh (opens the door, looks out into the hall). Wait! (Quickly

THE SIGN ON THE DOOR.

closes the door—then in a loud whisper.) Put up your things and sit down. He’s coming back.

(She puts wrap hack on settee and crosses below table c. and sits r. of it, puts bill in her bag, picks up the programme and peruses it.)

Make some excuse and beat it. (Goes to front of table.) It’s up to you now ! (Takes bottle from the bucket and tries to open it.)

(Frank enters up r.c. and hesitates in doorway.)

(In ordinary tone.) Wine goes flat if you let it stand ! (Steps back to r. of and below chair r. of the table.)

Frank (looks ait them suspiciously. Then to Hugh as he shuts the door). What are you waiting for ?

Hugh. To serve the supper. One glass, sir ?

Frank. Two.

Hugh. I thought the lady was taking mineral water, sir. (Frank comes down r. to l. of Hugh.)

Frank. Yes ! You thought there was a gentleman downstairs. Hugh. Well, sir ?

Frank. Well, there wasn’t!

Hugh. I’m sorry, sir. I guess he didn’t wait. (Draws cork from bottle.)

Frank. My instinct told me you were a rotten waiter! Here, give me that bottle.

(Hugh gives bottle to Frank, keeping napkin and cork.)

I’ll serve the supper. Now get out, and stay out!

(Ann puts programme on table.)

Hugh. Thank you, sir. (With significance.) I’m all through.

(He exits up r.c., closing the door.)

(Frank pours out two glasses of wine, then places bottle in cooler r.

of table.)

Frank (pauses till Hugh is off). Forgive me for calling him a rotten waiter, Ann, but he is a rotten waiter. I thought I was in for a bad five minutes with the old man. He doesn’t approve of my office friendships. Says they destroy discipline. (Moves to above her, where he stands looking down at her throat. A slight pause.) How white your neck is! (Warned by her silence.) Have some partridge ? (He gets his chair, places it above dining-table and sits.) Ann. Do you know, I don’t think I’ll wait for the partridge. Frank. Good heavens, what universal impatience! Father wouldn’t wait for me, and you won’t wait for the partridge. Ann. I’ve a miserable headache.

THE SIGN ON THE DOOR.

Frank. I’m so sorry. (Pushing wine-glass toward her.) Have some champagne.

Ann. I told you I didn’t drink anything.

Frank. I know, but—medicinally ?

Ann. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go home.

Frank. But I do mind. (Subdues rising temper.) It wouldn’t be fair to the partridge.

Ann. Really I do feel ill. The excitement’s been too much for me. (Rises, picking up her bag—with feeling.) Please— I want to go. (Crossing in front of table to up r.c. for cloak and picks it up.)

Frank (rising). But I don’t want you to go.

Ann. I’ve said I’m sorry.

Frank. Sorry won’t do. And that headache won’t wash! What’s that waiter been saying to you ?

Ann. Nothing.

Frank. Oh, yes, he has. You hadn’t a headache when I went downstairs. I’ll see he loses his job ! I’m doing my best to give you a pleasant evening, and you’ve no right to behave like this !

Ann. You’ve no right to keep me here against my will.

Frank. We’ll talk about what’s right after supper ! (Locks the door and takes the key.)

Ann. Please don’t lock that door!

Frank (puts door-key in r .-hand trousers pocket). The door is locked.

Ann. I’ll call for help !

Frank. A lot of good that’ll do you. They’re used to women who come here, get what they want and leave without making any return. (Crosses to window L., lowers French blind, crosses to above table and drinks.)

(Ann looks at him with horror and then violently shakes the door.)

(Sits.) When you’ve had your exercise, we’ll have our supper.

Ann. What did you mean by making return ?

Frank. What do you think I meant ? (Turns to her.) Why did you come here ?

Ann. I didn’t know.

Frank. I’m afraid you’ll find it difficult making your friends believe that. (Rising to l. of her.)

(She backs to divan.)

Come, we’ve had our little quarrel. I’m not a bad sort, and I’ll keep my promises. After all, what are you giving up—besides stenography and Stevenson ? Do you like living in a boarding¬ house and evenings alone, and mornings spent slaving for the old man ?

Ann. If you don’t unlock that door, I’ll tell your father.

Frank. What ? That you didn’t know what you were doing when you came to the Cafe Mazarin ? You tell the old man that and he’ll fire you. He can’t fire me.

Ann. Do you suppose I’d work another day in that office with you ?

Frank. If you’re reasonable, you won’t have to.

Ann. Open that door !

Frank. After supper !

Ann. What do you gain by keeping me here against my will ? Frank (with smouldering passion). I want to hold you in my arms, knowing you don’t want to be held.

(He advances, she retreating r. front of the couch. He grabs her wrap at the collar with his r. hand and her l. wrist with his l. hand — cloak off.)

I’ve been waiting for this !

Ann. No! No! No! No! No!

Frank. Don’t be a damn fool! I’ve had enough of this ! You’ve had your evening, and I’m going to have mine ! (He has her in his arms.)

Ann (fighting him off). No ! No ! No ! !

Frank. Kiss me!

(Forces her down on the couch.)

Ann (her hands against his chest—fighting for her virtue). You coward !

Frank (bending over her—his l. foot on floor—his r. knee on couch, he throws his whole weight against her). Kiss me ! (He kisses her.) Ann (screams as she tries to fight him off). Oh !

(A violent hammering on door up r.c. answers her scream. Frank puts his hand over her mouth and smothers further screams.)

Frank (a moment of silence—then to Ann). Shush! Keep quiet! (Calling—as he gets to his feet.) Who’s there ?

Burke (outside door r.c.). Captain Burke—Police Headquarters ! Frank. Good God!

(There is an exclamation from Ann.)

Don’t say a word and I’ll get you out of this !

Burke (outside up r.c.). Come on! Open the door!

(A violent hammering on the door. TJse a hammer handle.)

Frank (calling). All right! Just a minute !

Burke (outside up r.c.). Well, make it short!

Frank (to Ann, who is dazed and silent). Listen! This place has been raided. We’re only witnesses! We can jump our bail, and nobody’ll be any the wiser. Don’t say a word.

(Ann rises, faces r. and straightens herself. A violent hammering on

THE SIGN ON THE DOOR.

door up r.c. He goes to door, takes key from K.-hand trousers pocket, unlocks door and throws it open. He steps away from door to front of couch. Enter Captain Burke, a Newspaper Photographer, Hugh and an Officer. The newspaper photographer carries a camera and a loaded flashlight torch. He comes on to up c., looks around, comes down L., pushing chairs to dining-table and turns his back to audience to conceal as far as possible the camera and flashlight. Hugh stands l. of the arch. The Officer remains in the doorway.)

Burke (comes on to up r.c. to Frank). What’s the big idea— keeping us out in the hall ?

Frank (over r.). What’s the idea of breaking in on us at supper ? Burke (looking at Ann). Supper !

Frank. Yes, supper! You’ll find it on the table. You’ve almost frightened the lady to death.

Burke. All right! What’s your name and address ?

Frank (impudently). John Smith. 436 Fifth Avenue.

Burke. And who is this woman ?

Frank. This lady is Mrs. John Smith. What are we charged with ?

Burke. Nothing. Not even the supper. (Moves to above the table and glances at it.) We’re just going for a ride.

(Frank takes hat. Burke turns and sees this move and calls to the

Officer.)

Stop him!

Frank. Don’t worry! I’m not leaving a Lady.

Burke (crosses quickly to between Frank and Ann). You bet you ain’t! Together you came, and together you’ll go !

(He moves forward a step, followed by Hugh, one hand grasping Ann’s arm and the other Frank’s. The Photographer holds flashlight above his head—explodes and takes photograph of Ann, Burke, Frank and Hugh.)

Frank (startled). What’s that ?

Burke (gruffly—indicating photographer, l.). The gentleman’s took your picture.

Frank. What for ?

Burke. For the newspapers. (He drops Ann’s arm, turns and motions for Hugh to exit.)

(Hugh exits up r.c.)

(Burke goes up to the Officer in the doorway, pantomimes to the Officer to go and get other people, off l.)

(Officer exits up r.c. and off to l.)

Ann (on cue —“ for the newspapers ”). Oh, no —no !

'THE SIGN ON THE DOOR.

(Frank, on cue —“ for the newspapers ,” shakes himself loose from Burke’s grasp and goes front of table to Photographer l., speaking as he crosses.)

Frank. Well, of all the nerve! (r. of the Photographer.) Look here, son, you can’t do that!

(Burke steps out of doorway up r.c. and remains just out of sight off

up R.C.)

Photographer (putting flashlight in R.-hand pocket of coat). It’s done ! (Closes his camera.)

Frank. You’ve no right to print my picture in this place ! Photographer. I have a right to print your picture in any place you happen to be in; that’s what I’m paid for !

Frank (after a quick glance up r., quietly). Supposing you were paid not to print it ?

Photographer. I don’t get you !

Frank (another glance up r.c., to assure himself that Burke is out of sight—takes a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket). You’re not paid for getting me—particularly. (Holds bill in front of him in sight of the Photographer.) I’ll give you a hundred dollars for that negative.

Photographer (smiles and instantly snaps the plate out of the camera and gives it to Frank). There’s your negative.

(Noise of people being arrested, off l.)

Frank (takes negative, and holds out bill to Photographer). There’s your hundred !

(Photographer takes bill, flicks flashlight powder off his shoulder with the bill and then puts it in his pocket. Crosses to door up r.c. and exits—crossing Burke in the doorway. Frank crosses front of table to couch down r. and takes up Ann’s wrap. Puts negative in his pocket as he crosses. A group of other witnesses in custody make considerable noise off up r., women's voices predominating. Crossing from l. to r. along passage.)

Burke (appears in doorway up r.c. as Frank crosses to couch). The parade’s started ! Fall in !

Frank. All right! (Quite gently putting her wrap around Ann.) I’m sorry for this, Ann.

Ann (all the pent-up emotion of her struggle and her silence finding vent). You’re sorry ! And oh, my God, I’m glad !

Burke (in doorway up r.c.). Come on!

(They start up to the door — Ann first, followed by Frank — as the Curtain falls.)

Curtain call: Ann—Frank—Hugh.

Average time of Prologue—seventeen minutes.

*

B