CASE WORKER. [As she storms out.] I ought to report the whole lot of you to the police.

KATE. [As she further reduces the crumpled report to fragments and tosses them into wastebasket.].  I don’t know how I managed to keep still as long as I did.  I wanted to choke her.

TED. I’m sorry I ever made the application.

KATE.  Why did you do it?

TED. It was so long ago, I thought they’d forgotten it.

MARTIN.  Hang it, I shouldn’t have lost my temper.  I approve of relief.  You should be on relief, Ted—­of course you should.

TED. It was these clothes.

MARTIN.  That’s tough luck.  That angel of mercy should have seen you yesterday.  She would have adored that hole in your elbow.

KATE.  Did you really want to be on relief?

TED. I need a job.  The government will give one a job, but only if he goes on relief first.

MARTIN.  That’s it.  First you go broke, then you go hungry.  Then you beg, then you take charity.  Then you rake leaves—­then the taxpayers raise hell, and throw the rascals out to save the Constitution.

KATE. [To MARTIN.] Does a man get work as soon as he gets on relief?

MARTIN.  If he’s a skilled worker, perhaps.  But they can’t invent work fast enough.  Many are still on straight relief.

KATE.  That woman was vile.  How do people stand it?

MARTIN.  They stand it because an empty stomach growls louder than insulted pride.

KATE.  We could report her.  We could go over her head to some responsible official.

MARTIN.  They have a rigid system to prevent that.

KATE.  No harm in trying.

TED. No!  I won’t go near that place again.

MARTIN.  You’re entitled to relief as much as anyone is.

KATE.  Yes, Ted.  If you really want it....

TED. I don’t want it.  I don’t even want to think about it.

MARTIN.  There are plenty of fine people on relief.  After all, what is relief?  Relief is ...

TED. Relief!  Relief!  Relief!—­I don’t want to hear that word again! [He starts to door.]

KATE.  Ted!  Where are you going?

TED. I am going to change my hat. [He goes out.]

KATE.  I wish I knew what Ted really wants.

MARTIN.  Money.

KATE.  I’ve given him money.  He hates me and he hates himself because of it.

MARTIN.  Naturally.  The transaction hasn’t been according to Hoyle.  Now if Ted were a Georgian Prince, and your grandpa had started the ten-cent stores, it would be a different matter.  There’d be grandeur in it; intrigue, romance, finance—­something to write up for the Sunday papers.  But room rent and a suit of clothes ... that’s shoddy.  It’s got to be Rolls Royces and polo ponies or nothing.

KATE.  Oh shut up.  Do you think I like the situation?  But I can’t see him starve.