KEN.  See?  My dad doesn’t like Russians.  Russians shot all the churches and made the priests go to work.  He doesn’t like you.—­You read the wrong books.  My dad reads Mark and Luke and John—­makes him a Christian.  You read Marx and Lenin and Stalin—­makes you a revolutionist.  Why don’t you read Hearst and Hoover and make yourself an American?

TIPPY.  Never mind, Ken.  The revolution’s all over.

KEN.  That was no revolution.  That was only a depression.  But it’s all over now.  My father bought me a job because my wife told him to.  I’ve got a smart wife.  She understands business methods.  We are individualists, and must have initiative.  So my wife, she has initiative.  She says—­Ken’s got to have a job so we can get married.  So she explains to my father how capitalism works.  Lots of competition; too many lousy architects.  So got to fabricate houses and put ’em all out of a job.

MARTIN.  You talk more sense drunk than sober.

KEN.  Too many architects—­so what?  Give ’em relief work, that’s what.  Make lots of little houses, with lots of little yards, with lots of little trees, so there’ll be lots of little leaves to rake. [Faces LAURA.] That’s why a man needs a smart wife with lots of initiative—­to get him a job.

TIPPY.  O. K., Ken.

LAURA. [Fiercely.] Do something with him, Martin.

MARTIN. [Going to KEN.] All right, old man.  Let’s go in there and see whether we can figure this thing out.

KEN.  I got it all figured out.  Lots of little houses, ‘n’ lots of ...

TIPPY.  But we’ve got to figure out what to do about Ted.

KEN.  Ted.  That’s right ...  Ted. [The three go out to kitchen.]

BISHOP. [Wringing his hands.] Radicalism and liquor.  Liquor and radicalism, [LAURA is unresponsive; sits stony-eyed and heart-sick.] My poor child.  My poor child.

LAURA.  Poor Ken!

BISHOP.  We must be strong.  And patient. [Silence.] How did he learn of this?

LAURA.  He quarrelled with Ted and Ted lost his temper and told.

BISHOP.  Ted?  But how came he to know of it?

LAURA.  Oh, I don’t know.

BISHOP.  Such a nice young man, I always thought.  He seemed so ...

LAURA. [In despair.] What are we to do about Ken?

BISHOP.  He blamed me.  He said I had betrayed him.

LAURA. [Impatiently.] How are we to give him back his self-confidence?

BISHOP.  He said I was dishonest.

LAURA.  If in some way I could return to him his lovely vanity.  When he had no job, he had no thought of me—­none—­none....

BISHOP.  What is there left for him to believe in, when even I, his father ...

LAURA.  Oh don’t!  It was my fault.  Don’t blame yourself.  And anyway, the only thing that matters is Ken.  Don’t you see?

BISHOP.  You’re right, my child.