BISHOP.  This is Martin’s influence. [Excited.] Ken, you must not turn Communist.  Do you hear?  I forbid it.

KEN.  The Inquisition tried forbidding convictions.

BISHOP. [Frightened.] Convictions?

KEN.  I’m fed up. [More savage and bitter as he goes on.] One can go on so long.  Things look hopeless but you still hope.  Important people make cheerful speeches.  You believe them.  You want to believe them.  You think tomorrow something’s going to happen.  Something’s got to happen!  Tomorrow comes and goes—­a lot of tomorrows.  Nothing happens, nothing.  And nothing’s going to happen.

BISHOP.  My son, you are wrong.  The situation is improving.  Business conditions are already vastly better.  It takes time.  You’ll get a job, very soon.

KEN.  I’ve heard that for six years.

[Pause.]

BISHOP. [Clearing his throat; takes check from pocket.] Now this check you returned ...

KEN. [Shortly.] I don’t want it.

BISHOP.  But how can you get along without it?

KEN.  I’ll get along.

BISHOP.  How do you propose to live?

KEN.  By sleeping on park benches, eating in our bread lines.—­Or I’ll tell the government I’m destitute—­or get a relief job.—­I won’t go on the way I’ve been doing.—­Laura comes and brings food; Tippy leaves cigarettes around; you send me checks.  I’m sick of having to take from you all!—­If I’ve got to live by charity, I want to be free to hate charity.  That’s a beggar’s right.

BISHOP.  It gives us pleasure to help you.

KEN.  But can’t you see what you’re doing to my self-respect?

BISHOP.  I don’t want to hurt your self-respect.

KEN.  Then leave me alone.

[Pause.]

BISHOP. [Clearing his throat.] Have you been to see Stanley
Prescott?

KEN.  Yes.

BISHOP.  Why hasn’t he done something for you?

KEN.  I suppose he can’t.

BISHOP.  Prescott’s my friend.  He ought to do something for you.

KEN.  Oh, the hell with Prescott! [Contrite.] Don’t misunderstand me.  I wouldn’t refuse any job he had to offer me.  I’d black his boots if that was the job.  But I’ve been to see him as much as I can.  I can’t sit on his doorstep and whine.

BISHOP.  Certainly not.  You must not do anything that would hurt your self-respect. [He has been holding the check, which he now lays down on the table.]

KEN.  Don’t leave that check, dad.

BISHOP.  But son—­

KEN.  If you do, I’ll tear it up.

[BISHOP picks up check, talks to LAURA.]

BISHOP.  I’ll leave this check with you, Laura.  Give it to him when he—­when he is himself again. [At this KEN picks up his hat and walks out without a word.  The two look unhappily after him.  BISHOP, shaken.] That boy—­that sane youth ...  What’s happened to him?