The Show-Off

Front matter

THE SHOW-OFF

Stage scene of “The Show-Off”

A TRANSCRIPT OF LIFE IN THREE ACTS

Preface

PREFACE

I might as well begin boldly and say that “The Show-Off” is the best comedy which has yet been written by an American. To be sure, it departs quite radically in many respects from the form which has been associated traditionally with comedy. Critics who hold by old standards may point out that it is less lavish with incident than many another native play in the same mood, but they can hardly argue that human personality has ever been made more vivid, more truthful and more complete in the American theatre.

No one can question the authenticity of Aubrey Piper. He moves under his own steam from the moment the curtain rises. At no time does one feel that the hand of the playwright is still on the wheel directing the character to move in this direction or that in order to suit the exigencies of the story. And it seems to me that there is soundness in the scheme whereby the author makes some one character a concern above that of the tale itself. I am no longer drawn to the play “with a big idea” or the comedy constructed for the sake of a single telling scene. When an author works from such a blueprint he must almost inevitably find it necessary to scrunch and whittle his characters now and then to make them fit into his plot scheme. He must bulldoze a little. He must regiment his folk and Prussianize them.

No such interference is visited upon Aubrey Piper of “The Show-Off.” He sets the pace and the story follows. This man is no creature born within the wings of the theatre. We have sat desk to desk with him in offices. He has bumped against us in the subway and as like as not he lives in the flat just across the hall. He has been wrenched out of life.

But there is one more test which must be met by a play if it is to live among drama of the first order. The playwright has done a great deal if he has been able to create a living, breathing, individual human being. He must do more. At some point in the story this fictional man or woman must stand as a symbol of all mankind. There should be in him some recognizable common factor of humanity. And Aubrey meets the test. He brings to us the realization of the toughness of human fibre. In him there glints the glorious truth that personality endures against the blows of circumstance.

When I was in college much was said to us about the playwright’s obligation to show the development of character. I hold that this obligation is imaginary and should be generally discarded for the sake of truth. As a matter of fact, it seems to me that human beings are moulded early and that their later history is largely an account of the manner in which fate breaks its fingernails in vain efforts to claw them into new habits of thought. The Aubrey Piper whom we see at the close of “The Show-Off” is precisely the same person who stalked into the first act. He has not changed. We know him better and more intimately because we have seen his reaction to various emotional stimuli, but the development has been in the minds of the audience and not in the soul of Aubrey.

Personally I came to like Aubrey exceedingly before the evening was done. I think that George Kelly has succeeded magnificently in this respect. It is essential that the audience should come in time to have a friendliness for the central figure of the comedy. But this is no easy task. Special pleading will not avail and Kelly does not employ it. An author, like a judge or a baseball umpire, is under obligation to preserve at least the appearance of neutrality. He may not lean down from Olympus too palpably to pat some favorite character on the head. Tenderness he may have—indeed we think it becomes the dramatist —but it must be shown subtly. The sleight-of-hand ought to be fast and skilful enough to deceive the human eye.

And so we have it here. George Kelly builds up the case for Aubrey Piper by countless small strokes. By degrees he opens up the heart of the man. There he stands—liar, braggart, egotist, but the very consistency of his faults colors them with magnificence. From Prometheus down, mankind has chosen for its heroes men who stood pat. “Be yourself, Mother Fisher,” cries Aubrey to his mother-in-law in times of stress, and it is a slogan which he has taken to heart. There is no need for anyone to say “Be yourself, Aubrey.” He never is tempted for a moment to be anything else.

Of course, it may truthfully be said that Aubrey lives in a fantastic dream world of his own creation, but once he has built his world he stands by it. God himself has done no more.

Heywood Broun.

Act I

FIRST ACT

THE SHOW-OFF

THE FIRST ACT

After a slight pause a door out at the left is heard to close, and then Clara comes in carrying a fancy box of candy. She glances about the room and crosses to the kitchen-door at the right.

Clara. Anybody out there? [She crosses back again towards the left, laying the box of candy on the center-table as she passes. Upon reaching the parlor-doors, at the left, she opens them and calls into the parlor.] You in there, Mom? [Mrs. Fisher can be heard coming down the stairs. Clara turns, with a glance toward the hall-door, and moves over to the mirror above the mantelpiece. Mrs. Fisher appears in the hall-door and glances in at Clara.]

Mrs. Fisher. Oh, it’s you, Clara. [She peers out into the hall.]

Clara. Where is everybody?

Mrs. Fisher. I thought I heard that front-door open.

Clara. Where are they all?

Mrs. Fisher [Moving towards the parlor-door]. Your Pop’s gone over to Gillespie’s for some tobacco: I don’t know where Joe is. [She glances into the parlor, then turns and kisses Clara. Clara moves down to the chair at the left of the center-table and Mrs. Fisher moves over to the kitchen-door at the right.] I don’t know how you can stand that fur on you, Clara, a night like this.

Clara. It’s rather cool out.

Mrs. Fisher [Calling out through the kitchen-door]. You out there, Joe?

Clara [Sitting down]. He isn’t out there.

Mrs. Fisher [Turning around to the cellar-door at her left]. He must be around here somewhere; he was here not two minutes ago, when I went upstairs. [Opening the cellar-door and calling down.] You down there, Joey?

Joe [From the cellar]. Yes.

Mrs. Fisher. All right. [Closes the cellar-door.]

Joe. What do you want?

Mrs. Fisher [Turning to the cellar-door again]. What?

Joe and Clara, speaking together.

Joe. What do you want?

Clara. He sez, “What do you want?”

Mrs. Fisher [Opening the cellar-door again]. I don’t want anything; I was just wonderin’ where you were. [She closes the cellar-door and comes a step or two forward, fastening an old-fashioned brooch that she wears on the front of her dress.] He spends half his time down in that cellar foolin’ with that old radio thing. He sez he can make one himself, but I sez, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Clara. There’s some of that candy you like.

Mrs. Fisher [Crossing to the center-table]. Oh, did you bring me some more of that nice candy? [Beginning to untie the ribbon around the candy.] I never got a taste of that last you brought.

Clara. Why not?

Mrs. Fisher. Why,—Lady Jane took it away with her down to the office, and never brought it back. She sez the girls down there et it. I sez, “I guess you’re the girl that et it.” She sez she didn’t, but I know she did.

Clara. Well, I hope you’ll keep that out of sight, and don’t let her take that too.

Mrs. Fisher [Opening the candy]. Oh, she won’t get her hands on this, I can promise you that. Let her buy her own candy if she’s so fond of it.

Clara [Opening the “Delineator”]. She won’t buy much of anything, if she can get hold of it any other way.

Mrs. Fisher. Oh, isn’t that lovely! Look Clara—[Tilting the box of candy towards Clara.] Don’t that look nice?

Clara. Yes, they do their candy up nice.

Mrs. Fisher [Gingerly picking up the cover of lace paper]. That looks just like Irish point lace, don’t it? [Clara nods yes.] I think I’ll put that away somewhere,—in a book or something. My, look at all the colors—look Clara—did you ever see so many colors?

Clara. It’s pretty, isn’t it?

Mrs. Fisher. It’s beautiful—seems a pity to spoil it. Do you want a bit of it, Clara?

Clara. Not now, Mom.

Mrs. Fisher. I think I’ll take this pink one here. I like the pink ones. [She picks up the box and the lid and moves around to the chair at the right of the table.] Mind how they all have this little fancy paper around them. You’d wonder they’d bother, wouldn’t you?—just for a bit of candy. [She tastes the candy and chews, critically.] That’s nice candy, isn’t it?

Clara. Yes, I like bonbons.

Mrs. Fisher [Sitting down]. I do too—I think I like them better than most anything. [Putting the box of candy down on the table.] I’m sorry these are not all bonbons.

Clara [Looking up from the “Delineator”]. They are all bonbons—[Her Mother looks at her.] There’s nothing else in there.

Mrs. Fisher. Oh, are they!—I thought only the pink ones were the bonbons.

Clara. No, they’re all bonbons.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, that’s lovely. I can eat any one of them I like, then, can’t I? [She sits back in her chair and rocks and chews.] How is it you’re not home to-night, Clara?

Clara. Frank had to go to a dinner of some kind at the Glenwood Club; so I thought I’d stay in town and get something. He said he might call for me here around eight o’clock. I was in anyway about my lamp.

Mrs. Fisher [Rocking]. Men are always going to dinners somewhere. Seems to me they can’t talk about anything unless they’ve got a dinner in front of them. It’s no wonder so many of them are fat.

Clara [Turning a page of the “Delineator”]. Where’s Amy,—upstairs?

Mrs. Fisher. Yes, she’s gettin’ dressed. I was just hookin’ her when you came in.

Clara. Is she going out?

Mrs. Fisher. I don’t know whether she is or not,—I didn’t hear her say. [Leaning a bit towards Clara, and lowering her voice.] But it’s Wednesday night, you know.

Clara. Is that fellow still coming here?

Mrs. Fisher. Oh, right on the dot—such as he is. Sunday nights too now, as well as Wednesdays. It looks like a steady thing. And you never in your life heard anybody talk so much, Clara—I don’t know how she stands him. Your Pop can hardly stay in the room where he is. I believe in my heart that’s the reason he went over to Gillespie’s to-night—so he wouldn’t be listenin’ to him.

Clara. Doesn’t she take him into the parlor?

Mrs. Fisher. She does, yes; but she might just as well leave him out here; for he’s not in there five minutes till he’s out here again—talkin’ about Socialism. That’s all you hear,—Socialism—and capital and labor. You’d think he knew somethin’ about it. And the Pennsylvania Railroad. He’s always talkin’ about that, too. That’s where he works, you know. I don’t know what he does down there. He sez himself he’s head of the freight department; but as I sez to our Joe, I sez, “I don’t know how he can be head of anything, from the talk of him. Joe sez he thinks he’s a nut. And your Pop told him right to his face here last Sunday night—that he didn’t know the meanin’ of the word Socialism. [She checks herself and gets up.] I’d better not be talkin’ so loud,—he’s apt to walk in on us. [She moves up towards the hall-door and glances out.] He’s a great joker, you know—That’s what he did last Sunday night. [Coming forward again to a point above the center-table.] I never got such a fright in my life. Your Pop and me was sittin’ here talkin’, just the way we are now, when, all of a sudden, I glanced up, and there he was,—standin’ in the doorway there, doin’ this [She points her forefinger and thumb at Clara and wiggles her thumb. Clara laughs faintly]—as though he was a bandit, you know. Well,—I thought the breath’d leave my body. Then he sez, “Haha!—that’s the time I fooled you!” I don’t know how long he’d been standin’ there. But, as luck’d have it, we wasn’t talkin’ about him at the time: altho we had been talkin’ about him not five minutes before. I don’t know whether he heard us or not, for I don’t know how long he’d been standin’ there. I hope he did: it’d just be the price of him, for bein’ so smart. [With a glance toward the hall-door, and speaking very confidentially.] But, you know, what’d kill you, Clara, you can’t say a word about him in front of her. [Clara moves.] Oh, not a word. No matter what he sez, she thinks it’s lovely. When Joe told her here the other night he thought he was a nut, she just laughed, and said that Joe was jealous of him—because he could express himself and he couldn’t. [Clara smiles.] You never heard such talk. And, you know, Clara, I think he wears a wig. [Clara laughs.] I do, honestly. And our Joe sez he thinks he does too. But when I asked her about it here one mornin’, I thought she’d take the head right off me. You never seen anybody get themselves into such a temper. She sez, “It’s a lie,” she sez, “he don’t wear a wig.” She sez, “People always say somethin’ like that about a fellow that makes a good appearance.” But, I think he does, just the same; and the first chance I get I’m goin’ to take a good look. [She moves around to her chair again, at the right of the table.] He often sits right here, you know, under this light, while he’s talkin’; [Selecting another piece of candy] and I’m goin’ to look close the very first chance I get. [She sits down.] I can tell a wig as good as anybody. [She rocks and looks straight out, chewing.] She won’t make a liar out of me.

Amy [From the head of the stairs]. Mom, did you see anythink of that blue bar-pin of mine!

Mrs. Fisher [Calling back to her] Which blue bar-pin?

Amy. Well now, how many blue bar-pins have I got?

Mrs. Fisher. I don’t know how many you’ve got, and I don’t care! [Turning back again and speaking rather to herself.] So don’t be botherin’ me about it. [Calling up to Amy again.] If you can’t find it, go look for it. [She resumes her rocking and her chewing.] She thinks all she’s got to do is come to the head of them stairs and holler and everybody’ll jump.—But she’ll get sadly left.—I’ve got somethin’ else to do besides waitin’ on her. [She takes another bite of candy, and turns casually to Clara.] Did you get your lamp yet?

Clara. No, that’s what I was in town to-day about. The girl sez they haven’t been able to match the silk till yesterday.

Mrs. Fisher. I wish I could get somethin’ done to that one of mine there in the parlor; the wire’s right out through the silk in two places.

Clara. Why doesn’t Amy take it in some day [Mrs. Fisher makes a sound of amusement]—when she’s going to work?

Mrs. Fisher. Why don’t she! It’s all Amy can do to take herself into work these days. I’ve almost got to push her out the door every morning.

Clara. Couldn’t she take it over at lunch-time?

Mrs. Fisher. She sez she hasn’t time at lunch-time.

Clara. Oh, she has so time.

Mrs. Fisher. Of course she has.

Clara. It’s only at Ninth and Chestnut, and she’s at Eighth.

Mrs. Fisher. That’s what I told her. I sez, “I bet if it was somethin’ for yourself you’d have plenty of time.” [Leaning towards Clara.] But, you know,—what I think, Clara—I think she’s meetin’ this fellow at lunch-time. Because in the mornin’s here she stands fixin’ herself there in front of that glass till it’s a wonder to me she don’t drop on the floor. And whenever you see them gettin’ very particular that way all of a sudden—there’s somethin’ in the wind. I sez to her the other mornin’, when she was settlin’ herself there till I got tired lookin’ at her, I sez, “You must be goin’ to see him to-day, ain’t you?” And she sez, “He must be on your mind, isn’t he?” “No,” I sez, “but by the looks of things, I think he’s on yours. And,” I sez, “maybe after you get him you won’t think he was worth all the bother you went to.” Because, you know, Clara, she don’t know a thing about him; except that he works in the Pennsylvania freight office—I believe he did tell her that much. But she don’t know whether he works there or not. He could tell her anything; and she’d believe it [Taking another bite of candy and settling herself in her chair]—before she’d believe me.

Clara. That’s where he works [Her Mother looks at her sharply]—at the Pennsylvania freight office.

Mrs. Fisher. How do you know?

Clara. Frank knows him.

Mrs. Fisher. Frank Hyland?

Clara. Yes,—he sez he eats his lunch at the same place, there at Fifteenth and Arch.

Mrs. Fisher. And, does he say he knows him?

Clara. Yes. He sez he’s seen him around there for a long time. I’ve often heard him speak of him, but I didn’t know it was the same fellow. Frank always called him Carnation Charlie. He sez he’s always got a big carnation in his buttonhole.

Mrs. Fisher [Tapping the table conclusively]. That’s the one; he’s always got it on when he comes here, too.

Clara. Frank sez he’s never seen him without it.

Mrs. Fisher. I haven’t either. And I believe in my heart, Clara, that’s what’s turned her head. [Clara smiles.] You often see things like that, you know. The worst fool of a man can put a carnation in his coat or his hat over one eye, and half a dozen sensible women’ll be dyin’ about him.

Clara. Well, Frank sez this fellow’s absolutely crazy.

Mrs. Fisher. That’s what your Father sez.

Clara. He sez they kid the life out of him down around the restaurant there.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, he don’t know who Frank Hyland is, does he?

Clara. No, Frank didn’t tell him. He sez he just happened to get talking to him the other day and he mentioned that he was calling on a girl up this way named Fisher. So then Frank found out what his right name was, and when he came home he asked me about him.

Mrs. Fisher. Well, is he sure it’s the same fellow?

Clara. He told him his name was Piper.

Mrs. Fisher [With finality]. That the name—Aubrey Piper. I don’t know where he got the Aubrey from; I never heard of such a name before, did you?

Clara. Yes, I’ve heard the name of Aubrey.

Mrs. Fisher [Rocking]. Well, I never did. Sounds to me more like a place than a name. [Amy can be heard coming down the stairs.] Here she comes. [She snatches up the box of candy and puts it under her apron.]

Clara. Don’t say anything, now.

Mrs. Fisher. It’d be no use. [Trying to be casual.] What color are you havin’ your lamp-shade made, Clara?

Amy [Hurrying in at the hall-door]. Mom, you must have seen something of that bar-pin of mine; I can’t find it anywhere. [She tosses a beaded bag onto the center-table and turns to the mantelpiece and looks for the bar-pin.]

Mrs. Fisher [Abstractedly]. I saw a pin of yours in one of the drawers in the buffet there a few days ago, I don’t know whether it’s there yet or not.

Amy [Hurrying across to the buffet at the right]. How’s it you’re not home to-night, Clara? [She starts to rummage in the buffet-drawers.]

Clara [Casually]. I had my dinner in town.

Amy. Is that parlor all right, Mom?

Mrs. Fisher. Certainly it’s all right.

Amy. Well, did you side it?

Mrs. Fisher [Sharply]. Certainly I sided it.

Amy. All right, Mom, don’t make a speech about it.

Mrs. Fisher [Considerably ruffled]. No, but you’d think the way she sez it that I sat here all day with my two hands as long as each other. [Amy finds the pin and slams the drawer shut, leaving various ends of tape and pieces of lace hanging out. Then she starts back towards the mirror over the mantelpiece.] Did you find it?

Amy [Disrespectfully]. Yes.

Mrs. Fisher [Rising, still holding the candy under her apron, and stepping over to the buffet]. It’s a wonder you wouldn’t leave these drawers the way you found them. She does that every time she goes near this buffet. [She puts the various odds and ends back into the drawers and closes them.] She’s in such a great rush lately.

Amy [Settling herself at the mirror]. Isn’t that a new dress on you, Clara?

Clara. Yes.

Mrs. Fisher [Coming back to her chair]. I’d like to see the kind of house you’ll keep.

Amy. Well, I hope it won’t be anything like this one, I’ll tell you that.

Mrs. Fisher [Stopping halfway to her chair]. Oh, go easy, lady! You might be very glad to have half as good, if you live long enough. [Continuing to her chair, and looking keenly at Clara’s dress.] I thought I hadn’t seen that dress on you before. [She sits down.]

Clara. No, I only got it last week.

Mrs. Fisher. Stand up there till I see it. [Clara gets up and takes a couple of steps towards the left, pulling down her skirt, then turns around to her left and faces her Mother. Amy comes down to the center-table, looking sharply at Clara’s dress.]

Clara. I got it at a sale in Strawbridge’s. [Amy opens her beaded purse on the table and looks at herself critically in the little inside mirror; then adds a touch of powder.]

Mrs. Fisher. It’s a nice length.

Clara. I didn’t have to have a thing touched on it.

Mrs. Fisher. That’s what I was tellin’ you about the other day, Amy.—Do you see the way that dress hangs?

Amy. Yeh.

Mrs. Fisher [Speaking directly to Clara]. There was a dress on Queen Mary in last Sunday’s Ledger that I was sayin’ to Amy I thought’d look good on me. And it had all buttons up and down the front, the way that has.

Clara [Coming back to her chair]. A lot of the new dresses are made that way.

Mrs. Fisher. How much was it?

Clara [Sitting down]. Forty-two seventy-five. [Amy starts to polish her nails.]

Mrs. Fisher [Turning away, with a lift of her eyes to Heaven]. You must have plenty of money.

Amy. Mom, where’d you put those roses I brought home?

Mrs. Fisher. They’re out there in the dining-room. [Amy starts towards the right.] I put them in some water. [Amy goes out; and Mrs. Fisher rocks for a second or two; then she turns and calls after Amy.] I think it’s time you lit the light in that parlor, Amy, if that fellow of yours is comin’ here to-night. [She rocks a little bit more, then turns casually to Clara.] What time is it by your watch there, Clara? [With a glance toward the mantelpiece at the back.] That old clock of ours is stopped again.

Clara [Looking at her wrist-watch]. Quarter past eight.

Mrs. Fisher [Getting up suddenly]. I must tell her. [The box of candy lands on the floor.] My God, there goes the candy! Pick that up, Clara, I can’t stoop; and put it out of sight. [Going towards the door up at the right.] It’s a wonder I didn’t do that while she was in here. [Calling out after Amy.] Amy!

Amy. Yes?

Mrs. Fisher. Clara sez it’s a quarter past eight by her watch;—you’d better get some kind of a light in that parlor if that fellow’s comin’. [She moves back towards her chair, then speaks in a very subdued tone to Clara.] She brings flowers home with her from the city now, every night he’s coming. She must have flowers for him in the parlor. [She sits down.] I told her, I sez, “I bet it’d be a long time before you’d bring any flowers home from the city to me.”

Clara. That’s another new dress on her to-night, isn’t it?

Mrs. Fisher [Straightening the magazines on the table]. She’s had it about a week.

Clara. What’s she getting so many new dresses for lately?

Mrs. Fisher. Heaven knows, I don’t.

Clara. That’s the fourth I’ve seen on her since Easter.

Mrs. Fisher. Tryin’ to make him think she’s rich, I guess. I told her the other night she might not get so many after she gets him.

Amy [Entering from the right, carrying a vase of roses, and crossing directly to the parlor-doors at the left]. You need another box of matches out there, Mom.

Mrs. Fisher. Is that box of matches gone already?

Amy. Pretty near. [She goes into the parlor.]

Mrs. Fisher. I swear I don’t know where all the matches go to;—seems to me all I do is buy matches. [Amy strikes a match in the parlor.] Be careful of them lace curtains there, now, Amy, if you’re goin’ to light that lamp. [The lamp is lit in the parlor; and sc|Amy} closes the parlor-doors.]

Clara [Rising and handing her Mother the box of candy, which she has been holding since she picked it up from the floor.] I think I’ll go, before he comes.

Mrs. Fisher [Rising]. You’d better, unless you want to be here all night. [Clara moves up to the looking-glass over the mantelpiece, and Mrs. Fisher crosses to the buffet with the candy.] For if he ever starts talkin’, you’ll never get out. [She puts the candy into one of the drawers, then starts across towards the hall-door, up at the left.] You wouldn’t mind, you know, if he’d stay in there in the parlor;—but the minute ever he hears a voice out here, he’s out like a jumpin’-jack. [Amy can be heard coughing out in the hallway, and, as Mrs. Fisher passes back of Clara, Clara half turns and suggests with a movement of her hand that Amy might overhear her.] Oh, he’s not here yet; you’d know it if he was. [She peers keenly out into the hallway, then turns and tiptoes back to Clara, and speaks in a very low tone.] She stands out there in the vestibule until she sees him get off the trolley, then she comes in and lets him ring, so he won’t think she’s been waitin’ for him. [She tiptoes back and peers out into the hallway again, and Clara moves over to the right, adjusting her neck-piece. Mrs. Fisher comes back to the center-table.] You never seen anybody so crazy about a fellow.

Clara. Well, I think somebody ought to tell her about him, Mom.

Mrs. Fisher [Folding the ribbon and the paper from the candy-box]. What’s the good of tellin’ her;—she’d only give you a look if you said anything about him.

Clara. Well, I’d say it anyway, whether she gave me a look or not; for, remember what I’m telling you, Mom, it’s you that’ll have them on your hands if she takes him. [Her Mother looks at her sharply.]

Mrs. Fisher. I’ll have them on my hands?

Clara [Turning to her Mother]. Well now, who else will, Mom? You couldn’t leave her out on the street; and that’s exactly where she’ll land if she takes him; for you know how long Amy could get along on a hundred and fifty dollars a month.

Mrs. Fisher. Takes more than that to keep herself, never name a house and a husband.

Clara. Well, that’s exactly what he gets, for he’s only a clerk down there.

Mrs. Fisher. He told her he was the head of the department.

Clara. He’s a clerk, Mom,—like a hundred others down there: Frank knows what he does.

Mrs. Fisher [Moving a step or two nearer to Clara]. Well, why don’t you say something to her, Clara?

Clara. Now, you know how much attention she’d pay to anything I’d say.

Mrs. Fisher [With measured definiteness]. She won’t pay any attention to what anybody sez.

Clara. Especially if she knew it was Frank Hyland that said it.

Mrs. Fisher. She thinks everybody’s jealous of him; and jealous of her because she’s gettin’ him. So let her get him. If she makes her bed, let her lie in it.

Clara [Looking straight out]. Well, that’s the trouble, Mom; it isn’t always the person that makes the bed that lies in it.—Very often somebody else has to lie in it.

Mrs. Fisher [Turning back to the table]. Well, it’ll be nobody around here, I can promise you that.

Clara [Turning to the buffet-mirror]. Maybe not.

Mrs. Fisher. No maybe about it.

Clara. But you know what you are, Mom, where Amy’s concerned.