Dr. Jonathan | Page 3

but your attitude of religious skepticism
has troubled me, as well as your habit of intimacy with the shop hands.
I confess to you that I've been a little afraid at times that you'd take
after Jonathan's father. He never went to church, he forgot that he owed

something to his position as a Pindar. He used to have that house of his
overrun with all sorts of people, and the yard full of dirty children
eating his fruit and picking his flowers. There's such a thing as being
too democratic. I hope I'm as good an American as anybody, I believe
that any man with brains, who has thrift, ought to rise--but wait until
they do rise. You're going to command men, and when you come back
here into the business again you'll be in a position of authority.
Remember what I say, if you give these working people an inch, they'll
take all you have.
GEORGE (laying his hand on ASHER's shoulder). Something is
worrying you, dad. We've always been pretty good pals, haven't we?
ASHER. Yes, ever since you were a little shaver. Well, George, I didn't
want to bother you with it--today. It seems there's trouble in the
shops,--in our shops, of all places,--it's been going on for some time,
grumbling, dissatisfaction, and they're getting higher wages than ever
before--ruinous wages. They want me to recognize the union.
GEORGE. Well, that beats me. I thought we were above the
labour-trouble line, away up here in New England.
ASHER (grimly). Oh, I can handle them.
GEORGE. I'll bet you can. You're a regular old war horse when you get
started. It's your capital, it's your business, you've put it all at the
disposal of the government. What right have they to kick up a row now,
with this war on? I must say I haven't any sympathy with that.
ASHER (proudly). I guess you're a real Pindar after all, George.
(Enter an elderly maid, lower right.)
MAID. Timothy Farrell, the foreman's here,
(Enter, lower right, TIMOTHY, a big Irishman of about sixty, in
working clothes.)
TIMOTHY. Here I am, sir. They're after sending word you wanted me.
GEORGE (going up to TIMOTHY and shaking his hand warmly). Old
Timothy! I'm glad to get sight of you before I go.
TIMOTHY. And it's glad I am to see you, Mr. George, before you
leave. And he an officer now! Sure, I mind him as a baby being
wheeled up and down under the trees out there. My boy Bert was
saying only this morning how we'd missed the sight of him in the shops
this summer. You have a way with the men, Mr. George, of getting into
their hearts, like. I was thinking just now, if Mr. George had only been

home, in the shops, maybe we wouldn't be having all this complaint
and trouble.
GEORGE. Who's at the bottom of this, Timothy? Rench? Hillman? I
thought so. Well, they're not bad chaps when you get under their skins.
(He glances at his wrist watch)
Let me go down and talk with them, dad,--I've got time, my train
doesn't leave until one thirty.
ASHER (impatiently, almost savagely). No, I'll settle this, George, this
is my job. I won't have any humoring. Come into my study, Timothy.
TIMOTHY, shaking his head, follows ASHER out of the door, left.
After a moment GEORGE goes over to the extreme left hand corner of
the room, where several articles are piled. He drags out a kit bag, then
some necessary wearing apparel, underclothes, socks, a sweater, etc.,
then a large and rather luxurious lunch kit, a pin cushion. with his
monogram, a small travelling pillow with his monogram, a linen toilet
case embroidered in blue, to hang on the wall--these last evidently
presents from admiring lady friends. Finally he brings forth a large
rubber life preserving suit. He makes a show of putting all these things
in the bag, including the life- preserving suit; and reveals a certain
sentiment, not too deep, for the pillow, the pincushion and the toilet
case. At length he strews everything over the floor, and is surveying the
litter with mock despair when a girl appears on the lawn outside,
through one of the windows. She throws into the room a small parcel
wrapped in tissue paper, and disappears. GEORGE picks up the parcel
and looks surprised, and suddenly runs out of the door, upper right. He
presently returns, dragging the girl by the wrists, she resisting.
MINNIE FARRELL is about twenty one, with black hair and an
abundant vitality. Her costume is a not wholly ineffective imitation of
those bought at a great price at certain metropolitan establishments. A
string of imitation pearls gleams against her ruddy skin.
MINNIE. Cut it out, George! (Glancing around apprehensively.) Say,