Class of 29 | Page 5

a capitalist and an
aristocrat. Now he is a cast-off wreck of the system that made him. I
hate the system, not the men it makes--and least of all the weak ones it
throws into the scrap heap. [Sees that all are hurt and offended.] Damn
it, I'm sorry. My infernal sense of justice got the better of me. [He goes
out.]
TED. [With stolid anguish. To KATE.] I'm guilty. I took my rent
money and bought this topcoat at a second-hand store.
KATE. You said a friend gave it to you.
TED. I haven't a friend left who'll even give me cast-off clothing.

KATE. But why did you have to lie about it?
TIPPY. That coat's an investment. You can't peddle books on Park
Avenue without a topcoat.--Go along and cash in on your investment.
Sell that book.
KATE. I hope you can.
TED. I probably can--by going through another half hour as pleasant as
this one. [He goes, shutting door sharply. There is a brief silence.]
KEN. Well, I might as well tell you I haven't got my share of the rent,
either.
TIPPY. What's the matter? Check late?
KEN. No.--I sent it back.
TIPPY. You what?
KEN. I sent it back.
KATE. Did your father lose his job?
KEN. Bishops don't lose their jobs.
TIPPY. So what are you talking about?
KEN. I've been living off dad for five years.
TIPPY. Starving off him.
KEN. Don't blame dad. I set the amount under Hoover. Bishops aren't
economists.
TIPPY. You sent the check back and asked for a new deal?
KEN. No.

TIPPY. [Patiently.] Why did you send the check back?
KEN. I'm through letting dad pay me for piddling around here.
TIPPY. But Ken, be reasonable. The landlord must eat.
KEN. Then give him back this place. He can eat the cockroaches.
TIPPY. No tickee, no shirtee; no money, no housee. [Pause.] And
there's the little matter of our own nutrition.
KEN. I don't expect you and Martin to feed me.
TIPPY. I doubt if we could.
KEN. Martin's right, Tippy. You ought to clear out of here and take that
place you wanted.
TIPPY. Hell, that place has been taken. Bargains like that don't wait.
KEN. There are other places. But you won't get one as long as you stay
here and we graft off of you. You've been buying half the grub for the
four of us. You fudge the bills against yourself. You're a goddam fool.
TIPPY. Must you bring that up?
KEN. Listen, Tippy. Martin can take care of himself, anywhere. He
loves flop houses and flop people.
TIPPY. And what about Ted?
KEN. Ted is Kate's problem.
KATE. Why do you feel so bitter toward him?
KEN. [Savagely.] If you'll recall, we only took him in temporarily
because your mother was coming.
[Angrily, to TIPPY.] Why the hell do you have to plan for Ted? Or

Martin? Or me? I'm not planning for anyone.--I'm clearing out.
TIPPY. Where are you going?
KEN. That's my affair. I'm packing tonight and leaving tomorrow. [He
goes into bedroom.]
KATE. Lord, what a mess!
TIPPY. Katie, I'm afraid our children are showing too much spirit.
KATE. What's Ken planning? Going on Laura?
TIPPY. Lord, no.
KATE. I'd hardly think so with all that bluff at independence! [Pause.]
TIPPY. How much did you girls, as seniors, put down as your
expectation of earning power in five years?
KATE. We didn't do such sordid things at Vassar. And besides, it's
been six years, not five.
TIPPY. Class of '29. Six years, and six of us. Well, we've stuck
together. In solidarity there is strength.
KATE. This looks like a bust up.
TIPPY. Look here, Kate, you'll take care of Ted, won't you?
KATE. Why should I?
TIPPY. [Snappily.] As an investment. Business is picking up. Stocks
are going up. Culture is coming back. More dogs are being washed.
Rare books will come next.
KATE. So what?
TIPPY. Ted was born a gentleman. The rest of us merely went to

Harvard.
KATE. Believe it or not.
TIPPY. Katie, the coming revolution is poppycock. What's coming is
the same damn thing we used to have. And when it gets back it'll take
its old darlings back into its lap. Ted is one of them. So hold his hand a
little longer.
[There is a hanging against the door with a foot. TIPPY opens door,
and LAURA enters with a tall sack of groceries, which she shoves into
TIPPY'S arms.]
LAURA. Hello. Where's the gang?
TIPPY. Some are in and some are out.
KATE. We speak of Fortune and Dame Fortune walks in.
LAURA. Bringing her own tea.
TIPPY. Fortune. Tea. Ceres. Cornucopia. [Drops bag on arm, posing
as Goddess with the horn of plenty, and spewing groceries over the
table, fruit rolling to floor.]