PRESCOTT.  At the moment we are doing no building whatever.  One or two small projects; and a mere skeleton staff to keep my organization.

BISHOP.  I saw in the papers ...

PRESCOTT.  That I am interested in the mass production of fabricated houses.  Yes!—­And men associated with me are ready to launch large-scale production as soon as we are assured of freedom from competition with cheap government money and cheap government labor.

BISHOP.  Then, surely ...

PRESCOTT.  I have just returned empty-handed from a bunch of half-baked theorists who are heading us into socialism and calling it democracy!

BISHOP.  With a view to your project going through, could you not take Kenneth on?

PRESCOTT.  Impossible.  My small staff has already done all the preparation that needs to be done.  My hands are tied till these socialists in Washington are out.

BISHOP.  But has not business been given a breathing spell?

PRESCOTT.  I don’t sell hot dogs.  I build houses.  People don’t consume houses during a breathing spell.—­I tell you I could put a capital of twenty millions at work tomorrow if we were guaranteed that in ten years, or even twenty years, we could get our money back.

BISHOP.  But what do you fear?  You just said you did not fear a revolution.

PRESCOTT.  I don’t.  I fear the continuance of what we already have.  Stagnation and semi-socialism.

BISHOP.  When could you give my boy a job?

PRESCOTT.  When a sound administration goes into power at
Washington.

BISHOP.  I don’t dare to make him wait.

PRESCOTT.  Then you must continue to take care of him.

BISHOP.  It is not the cost of his living.  He needs work.  I can’t provide that.  You could, if you would.

PRESCOTT.  Believe me, I would if I could.

BISHOP.  You understand that the salary ...

PRESCOTT.  James, I know that your son is a capable young man and I would like to have him here with me.  But I can’t make a job for a man when I have nothing for him to do.

BISHOP.  You, must, Stanley.  I can afford to support him, but he refuses to accept support from me any longer.

PRESCOTT.  Well?

BISHOP.  If you will give him a job, I will recompense you for his salary.

PRESCOTT. [Shocked.] You can’t mean that.

BISHOP.  I do mean it.

PRESCOTT.  I am surprised, James—­that a man of your principles and profession ...

BISHOP.  I am in a very grievous dilemma.

PRESCOTT.  I am sorry, but I can’t do it.  It is neither ethical nor wise.

BISHOP.  I don’t know whether it is wise or not.  But I know my son is desperate.  I know I have got to do something.  I can’t see that fine boy going about lost and unwanted, with no place in the world.  I can’t see my son turning to Communism—­and helping to pull down not only your temples of money, but my House of God.