Part 3
PEALE. I say, there’s a bit of luck for us right at the start—a pin with the head toward you. (_RODNEY stoops to pick it up_) See, you were going to pick it up! Everybody is superstitious. Oh, they say they’re not, just as you did, but did you ever meet a guy who, if he didn’t mind walking under a ladder, didn’t hate to spill salt, or else he wanted to see the moon over his right shoulder—or he picked up pins, or carried a lucky coin, wouldn’t do things on Friday? Why, the whole world’s superstitious. Get something on that and you hit everybody. I’ve got eighty-six horseshoes home myself. I never saw a gink that would sit thirteen at table. We’re all crazy. (_They pause and think. They both sit on end of table_)
RODNEY. Could we—?
PEALE. What?
RODNEY. No. (_They pause_)
PEALE. Suppose we—?
RODNEY. What?
PEALE. No—(_Pause_)
RODNEY. Wait! Wait—listen! The Thirteen Soap—Unlucky for Dirt.
PEALE. (_Coming over and kissing RODNEY on the brow_) Son, it’s all over: the old man’ll be on his knees in a month.
RODNEY. We open the office Monday.
PEALE. Where’s the office?
RODNEY. Let’s get one.
PEALE. With furniture and everything. Say—(_MARY enters from door lower R. Seeing her_) There’s the dame; ask her to go to the theater, just to prove what I say. See for yourself. (_He goes up-stage_)
RODNEY. (_Turning to her_) Oh, Mary, to celebrate, let’s go to the theater to-morrow night?
MARY. I’d love to.
RODNEY. What do you want to see?
MARY. I hear “The Belle of Broadway” is very good.
(_PEALE yawns and stretches out his arms complacently._)
PEALE. (_To RODNEY_) I guess I don’t know about advertising, eh? (_To MARY_) My last official act is giving you a box for to-morrow night. (_He writes_)
MARY. Oh, yes, you’re with that play, aren’t you?
PEALE. I am. (_Handing her pass_) Er—I was.
MARY. But isn’t it an imposition?
PEALE. Not on us, it isn’t.
MARY. Thank you. (_Crosses to RODNEY. To RODNEY_) I didn’t mean to bother you, but I’m so interested: I thought, regarding Mr. Peale’s business, I’d like to hear——
RODNEY. It’s all settled, Mary. Mr. Peale, my general manager. Mr. Peale, my secretary. Mary, here it is: The Thirteen Soap—Unlucky for Dirt: The Most Expensive Soap in the World.
MARY. (_Genuinely_) Why, that’s perfectly wonderful—who thought of it? (_Looking at PEALE_)
RODNEY. I did.
MARY. (_Turning to him_) You did, really? Why, you’re splendid.
PEALE. Youth, brains, efficiency—that’s our motto.
RODNEY. We’ll make a hundred thousand dollars the first year—sure.
MARY. (_Reflectively_) And ten per cent of that is——
RODNEY. What?
MARY. (_Quickly_) Oh nothing, nothing—I was just figuring.
RODNEY. We’re going to make our soap famous by advertising, and then force father to back us.
MARY. That sounds bully, and at the start you won’t need much capital.
RODNEY. Capital?
PEALE. With fifty thousand dollars I can make the Great American People have hysterics for the Thirteen Soap.
RODNEY. Fifty thousand dollars, and I’ve got only a thousand. Oh! (_Sits on chair R. of desk_)
MARY. Oh! (_Sitting on sofa_)
PEALE. (_Sitting in arm-chair L. of table_) But can’t you raise it?
RODNEY. (_To PEALE_) How?
PEALE. Don’t ask me. Raising money is the only thing I never got on to——
RODNEY. Peale, you’re fired.
PEALE. Well, it was a good job while it lasted.
RODNEY. (_Rises_) Gimme back that $25.
PEALE. (_Rises, take out money and returns it to RODNEY_) Good-bye, old pal.
MARY. (_Rises, and comes down-stage between RODNEY and PEALE_) But couldn’t you start with less?
RODNEY. Of course we could. Couldn’t we, Peale?
PEALE. Not and do it right. No use wasting money piking when you advertise. Splurge, my lad, splurge or let it remain dormant.
RODNEY. I’ve got a thousand in the bank; the aeroplane’s worth four—it cost eight.
PEALE. Then if you’re lucky it might sell for two.
RODNEY. The motors ought to bring another four. That’d be seven, isn’t that something?
PEALE. Seven thousand is not to be spoken of venomously, but in advertising—well, going easy, it might last you a week.
MARY. I have a——
PEALE. Some money?
RODNEY. We couldn’t take money from you.
MARY. No, I know a—a man that might put in five thousand.
RODNEY. That’s twelve.
PEALE. (_Suddenly_) Does your father advertise much?
RODNEY. I don’t think so; does he, Mary?
MARY. Not very much: he’s conservative. He doesn’t believe in reckless advertising.
PEALE. Nothing sensational or exciting?
MARY. No.
PEALE. Why, he’s licked now, and I’ll tell you why. We can advertise just for your father’s benefit alone.
RODNEY. I don’t quite understand your plan?
PEALE. Why, plaster this neighborhood with Thirteen Soap advertisements. Do the same around your father’s office so that every time he went out or came in he’d see Thirteen Soap. We could advertise only in the newspapers he reads. We’d send him circulars every mail. I could make a splurge just for him that would look like we were giving up $10,000 a day. Within a month he’d think that Thirteen Soap was the only soap in the world.
RODNEY. How much would it take?
PEALE. Five thousand a week.
RODNEY. And you could land him in a month.
PEALE. My boy!
RODNEY. And we’ve got one thousand—all cash, and eleven thousand in prospects. Go ahead.
PEALE. You mean I’m hired again?
RODNEY. Sure you are.
PEALE. Gimme back that $25.
RODNEY. (_Giving it back_) Certainly.
PEALE. The best thing you ever did was to engage me.
RODNEY. Peale, we’ll be rich men.
PEALE. With your money and my ideas, I’ll be a millionaire.
RODNEY. Well, I hope I will, too.
MARY. Me, too.
JOHNSON. (_Entering from door upper L._) Countess de Beou—ree—enn.
MARY. Oh, that dreadful woman again.
COUNTESS. (_Entering and coming over to RODNEY. To RODNEY_) Vous êtes M. Martin?
RODNEY. (_Nods_) Yes.
COUNTESS. Ah, cher M. Martin—je suis enchantée de vous voir.
PEALE. The dame’s looney.
MARY. No, she’s French.
PEALE. Same thing.
RODNEY. What’s all this, anyhow?
MARY. She wanted to see your father, and she doesn’t speak English.
RODNEY. Well, let her speak to me. Fire ahead.
PEALE. Say, can you speak French?
MARY. (_Surprised_) Can you?
RODNEY. No, but I can understand it. (_Going to COUNTESS_) Fire ahead.
COUNTESS. Eh?
RODNEY. Let me see—oh, yes. Parlez.
COUNTESS. Ah, mon Dieu—enfin, quelqu’un qui comprend Français.
RODNEY. Oui.
COUNTESS. Puis-je vous parler pour cinq minutes?
RODNEY. Oui.
COUNTESS. Merci bien.
RODNEY. Oui——
PEALE. You’re immense, kid.
COUNTESS. (_Quickly_) Je suis madame la comtesse de Beaurien. Je désire parler à M. Martin àpropos des affaires du savon. Je voudrais obtenir l’agence du Savon Martin pour la France.
RODNEY. Wait a minute—wait a minute.
MARY. What did she say?
PEALE. She’s a speedy spieler all right.
RODNEY. (_To COUNTESS_) Would you mind saying that over and say it slow?
COUNTESS. Comment?
RODNEY. Oh.... Répétez ça s’il vous plait—pas vite.
COUNTESS. Je suis madame la comtesse de Beaurien. Je désire obtenir l’agence du Savon Martin pour la France. Je peux donner cinquante mille francs pour cette agence. Et enfin, voulez-vous arranger cette affaire pour moi? Je suis riche, j’ai beaucoup de recommendations—je suis bien connue à Paris.
RODNEY. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. (_To PEALE_) She wants the agency for father’s soap for France and is willing to pay 50,000 francs for the concession.
PEALE. How much is that in money?
RODNEY. Ten thousand dollars.
MARY. Had I better tell your father? (_Goes to door lower L._)
RODNEY. (_Inspired. Crosses to MARY_) No, no, why not keep father out of this? We’ll sell her the agency for the Thirteen Soap—that’d be another $10,000 for us. Peale, she’s a gift from the gods! (_Goes to COUNTESS_)
PEALE. She is. Go to it.
MARY. But how can you sell her your agency?
RODNEY. I don’t know—how can I?
PEALE. A pipe. Ask her if she’s superstitious?
RODNEY. Oh, if I only knew how to talk French!—Madame—êtes-vous superstitious?
COUNTESS. Eh?
RODNEY. I mean—superstitieuse? (_COUNTESS looks blank_)
PEALE. She doesn’t get you.
RODNEY. No.
PEALE. (_He goes and takes the COUNTESS’ parasol_) Pardon me.... (_Starts to raise it. With a cry of protest: “Faites pas ça”, she stops him_) She’s superstitious, all right—(_To her_) It ought to be a pipe to land you.
RODNEY. Listen: je suis le fils de Museer Martin—vous savez?
COUNTESS. (_Delightedly_) Oui, oui.
RODNEY. (_Slowly_) Nous manfacturons, I mean manufacturong—un nouveau savon—see? Savon Treize—(_He holds up his fingers to indicate thirteen_)
COUNTESS. Oui, oui.
PEALE. (_Impressed_) It must be great to have a college education.
RODNEY. Savon Treize—pas—bon—pour—what the deuce is dirt?
MARY. I don’t know.
RODNEY. Oh, yes—sal—pas bon pour sal——
COUNTESS. (_Laughing_) Savon Treize—pas bon pour sal—c’est bien—c’est bien.
PEALE. (_Gleefully_) She likes it—she likes it.
RODNEY. Je start—je begin—je commence—un nouveau compagnie—le très grande compagnie de la universe—je suis le president.
PEALE. Je suis le advertising agent. (_After laugh, JOHNSON enters from door upper L. with a letter, and exits door lower L._)
RODNEY. I’m the whole thing, see—and if we can do business with you for the French agency——
(_MARIE enters._)
COUNTESS. Mais non, mais non, mais non, monsieur, je ne comprends pas.
MARIE. I beg pardon.
MARY. What is it, Marie?
MARIE. (_In French dialect_) Where is M. Martin?
RODNEY. Marie! Another gift from Heaven.
MARIE. Mr. Smith to see your father.
RODNEY. That’s a man I might get money from. (_JOHNSON enters from door lower L._) He’s a great friend of the family. Used to dangle me on his knee, and all that sort of thing. (_He sees JOHNSON_) Oh, Johnson.
JOHNSON. Yes, sir?
RODNEY. Mr. Smith is downstairs—in one minute bring him up here.
JOHNSON. Yes, sir. (_He exits door upper L._)
RODNEY. Now, Marie, tell the countess you speak French.
MARIE. Je parle Français, Madame.
COUNTESS. Mon Dieu—enfin quelqu’un qui parle Français! Je suis Madame la Comtesse de Beaurien—et je désire parler avec monsieur àpropos des affaires du Savon Treize.
MARIE. (_Back at her quickly_) Ah mais oui—je comprends parfaitement. Je dirai à monsieur ce que vous avez dit. Ah je suis ravie d’avoir trouvé aux Etats Unis une compatriote avec laquelle je pourrai parler ma belle langue de France. (_They talk together violently in French, and at the end of the speech, the COUNTESS kisses MARIE_)
RODNEY. Mary, take them away—take them into the library. Explain to Marie about the agency—Mary can translate your slang to Marie and she can turn it into French.
MARY. I’ll do my best. Come, Marie. (_Crosses to door lower R., and opens it_) Bring the Countess.
MARIE. Madame la comtesse, je vous montrerai le chemin——
COUNTESS. Bien.
(_MARIE and COUNTESS, chattering volubly in French, followed by MARY, exit door lower R._)
PEALE. (_Looking after them_) Paris must be a hell of a place.
RODNEY. I’ll tackle Smith for a loan of $10,000.
PEALE. Will he fall?
RODNEY. (_Grandly_) My father’s oldest friend. Why, the way I’ll handle him, ten thousand ought to be easy.
PEALE. Good luck.
(_Enter MR. SMITH from door upper L._)
RODNEY. Hello, Mr. Smith. That’s all now, Mr. Peale.
PEALE. Yes, sir, I understand. (_Winking_) He takes 50,000 shares at par.
RODNEY. Quite right.
(_PEALE exits door lower R._)
SMITH. Who the deuce is that, Rod?
RODNEY. One of my staff.
SMITH. (_Amazed_) One of your what?
RODNEY. Staff—I’ve gone into business.
SMITH. (_Laughing uproariously_) You’ve done what?
RODNEY. I’m a business man.
SMITH. That’s the funniest thing I ever heard of.
RODNEY. What’s funny about it?
SMITH. You in business! (_He laughs again_)
RODNEY. And as a business man I’d like to talk to you regarding a very interesting business proposition in which I am now interested.
SMITH. Nothing doing.
RODNEY. (_Gulping_) I thought I’d like to borrow ten—say a few thousand dollars.
SMITH. No.
RODNEY. Perhaps five thousand.
SMITH. If it was a new club or some tomfoolery, in a minute—but to put money into your business—it’d be just throwing it away. Why don’t you get your father to back you?
RODNEY. Father and I don’t agree on the value of advertising.
SMITH. Oh, that’s it, and you expect me to do what your father won’t?
RODNEY. Well, I thought as a friend of the family——
SMITH. You were wrong. Where is your father?
RODNEY. In there, I guess. (_Indicating door lower L._)
SMITH. I’ll bet he’ll think this as funny as I do. (_He exits L. RODNEY sinks down dejectedly into a chair. PEALE enters with contracts_)
PEALE. Well?
RODNEY. (_Rises_) He wouldn’t give me a cent.
PEALE. He wouldn’t? Well, he sounds like your father’s oldest friend.
RODNEY. What about the Countess?
PEALE. (_Proudly_) I got her.
RODNEY. You did? $10,000?
PEALE. Fifteen thousand.
RODNEY. Holy jumping Jupiter.
PEALE. Pretty good, what?
RODNEY. Good? Why—why—I’ll have to raise your salary.
PEALE. Thanks, I supposed you would.
RODNEY. Where’s the money?
PEALE. Oh, we don’t get it till next week.
RODNEY. (_Dejected_) Oh!
PEALE. But it’s all right. We’re going to sign the contract with her to-night.
RODNEY. But we must have some more cash to start with.
MARY. (_Entering_) The Countess wants to know how much longer she must wait?
PEALE. Coming now. Sign the contract.
RODNEY. Sure, I’ll sign anything—I’ll sign it twice. (_Signs_)
PEALE. You know, this has got the show business beat a mile. (_He exits door lower R._)
MARY. Oh, Rodney, did Mr. Smith lend you any money?
RODNEY. He did not.
SMITH. (_Re-entering_) Oh, Rod—(_Seeing MARY_) I beg your pardon.
RODNEY. That’s all right—you needn’t go, Mary. Mr. Smith, this is the future Mrs. Martin.
SMITH. (_Crosses to MARY_) You don’t say so? Well, well, a thousand congratulations!
RODNEY. I suppose you and father had your laugh?
SMITH. No, I didn’t tell him.
RODNEY. Thanks for that, anyhow.
SMITH. Of course, it sounded funny to me at first, but when I thought things over, after all, why shouldn’t you be a success in business?
RODNEY. (_Amazed_) What?
SMITH. You have been in everything else you’ve tried.
RODNEY. Yes, yes, certainly—sure.
SMITH. Of course, you haven’t tried much. But as you said, I am an old friend—and I figured if you gave me your word that you’d return the money within a year—perhaps after all it would only be the act of an old friend to take a chance. That’s what friends are for.
RODNEY. Why, that’s simply great of you, by George!
SMITH. How much was it you wanted?
(_MARY holds up fingers of both hands._)
RODNEY. (_Promptly_) Ten thousand dollars.
SMITH. But, didn’t you say—?
RODNEY. Oh, I’m sure I said $10,000—that’s the very least.
SMITH. Um—well I’ll mail you a check to-night.
(_MARY squeaks. SMITH looks sharply at her. She stops._)
RODNEY. (_Enthusiastically_) I’ll never forget it. I tell you, old friends do count. Thanks, thanks.
SMITH. (_Embarrassed_) That’s all right—don’t thank me. Good-night, Miss Grayson, and I hope you’ll be very happy.
MARY. Good-night.
RODNEY. Good-night. Good-night. (_SMITH exits door upper L. At door, calling after him_) Oh, Mr. Smith, have you your car with you?
SMITH. (_Off-stage_) Yes.
RODNEY. Well, tell the chauffeur to drive slow and careful. (_RODNEY grabs MARY by her two hands and dances around excitedly_) Ten thousand—and he lent it to me. Oh, isn’t it great? (_He kisses her_) Wait till I tell Peale. (_Exit door R._)
COUNTESS. (_Off-stage, to RODNEY_) Oh, Monsieur, c’est une affaire magnifique. (_She enters, followed by MARIE—to MARIE_) Je vous remercie, Marie, de ce que vous avez fait. Ah, les Américains ce sont des gens d’affaires superbes mais les dames—oh, là, là, qu’elles se fichent au diable! (_Exits door upper L._)
MARY. (_To MARIE_) What did she say?
MARIE. She said the American men are splendid but the women were crazy and they could all go to hell. (_Exits door upper L._)
MARY. Oh! (_She goes over and knocks three times at door L._)
MARTIN. (_Entering_) Well, how goes it?
MARY. Oh, Mr. Martin, he’s perfectly splendid. So full of energy, hustle and ideas. He’s a different man already. You were right: he only needed development.
MARTIN. Good! Good! You’re not saying this to flatter an old man’s vanity?
MARY. Indeed, I’m not. We won’t have to blast.
MARTIN. (_Shrewdly_) Would you rather take a guarantee of $2,500 additional and give up that 10 per cent of his profits?
MARY. I should say not.
MARTIN. You know, Miss Grayson, you’re making me believe we’ll win that $30,000 from old John Clark. (_Crosses down R._)
MARY. Oh, indeed we will: you should have just seen Rodney borrow $10,000 from Mr. Smith, without the least trouble.
MARTIN. (_Smiling_) Oh, that was my money.
MARY. What?
MARTIN. When Smith told me Rodney tried to touch him—well, I thought the least I could do was to back my son, so I sent Smith to make good with him.
MARY. That was nice of you.
(_RODNEY enters from door R., with dress-suit case._)
MARTIN. Well, I owed the boy a chance, anyhow. (_Seeing RODNEY, turns to him, crossly_) So you’re still here, are you?
RODNEY. Yes, sir, but I’m going. Come, Mary. (_Crosses to MARY_)
MARTIN. Really going into business, eh? Well, when you fail, don’t come sniveling back here! You can’t count on a dollar from me.
RODNEY. I won’t snivel—and I don’t want your money. I don’t need it. Why, I’d have gone to work long ago if I’d known how easy it is to raise $10,000.
MARTIN. (_Grinning at MARY_) You would, eh? Well, what soft easy-going business have you picked out?
RODNEY. The soap business.
MARTIN. (_Genuinely annoyed_) What? Why, he can’t make any money out of soap. (_Crosses to MARY_) That takes brains.
RODNEY. Oh, yes, I can.
MARTIN. I control all the important soap business in the country.
RODNEY. I know you do, but I am going to take it away from you.
MARTIN. What?
RODNEY. Yes, sir, I’m going to manufacture the Thirteen Soap: Unlucky for Dirt: The Most Expensive Soap in the World! I’m going to break the trust; I’m going to attack monopoly. I’m going to appeal to the American people for fair play against the soap trust. You’ve always wanted me to go into business. Well, I’m in, and forgive me, father, but I’m going to put you out of business. I’m going to advertise all over the world.
MARTIN. You can’t fight the soap trust with advertising: we’re established.
RODNEY. Yes, yes, we can: think what advertising means: the power of suggestion—the psychology of print. Why, 97 per cent of the public believe what they’re told, and what they’re told is what the other chaps have been told, and the fellow who told him read it somewhere. Advertising is responsible for everything. People are sheep, and advertising is the way to make ’em follow your lead. (_He is beginning to forget the speech_) Say, what makes you go to the theater? (_PEALE enters from door R. MARTIN starts to speak_) Don’t tell me: I’ll tell you. It’s what you’ve read of the play or what some fellows told you, and the fellow that told him, read it—in a newspaper. (_Remembering—rapidly_) And that, my boy, is the whole secret of it. You’ve got to be talked about—get ’em praisin’ or cussin’, but don’t let ’em be quiet. I want to tell you; what kind of duck eggs do you eat?
MARTIN. (_Aghast_) What?
(_The curtain begins to fall._)
RODNEY. Do you know anything against the duck? No, you don’t, but when a duck lays an egg it’s a damn fool and keeps quiet, but when a hen does—cluck, cluck, all over the place! Advertising!
(_The curtain is down._)
(_The Second curtain:—PEALE and RODNEY on either side of MARTIN, are talking advertising, while MARY has her fingers to her ears._)
(_The Third curtain:—MARTIN is protesting angrily to MARY, while RODNEY and PEALE are talking gleefully to each other and shaking hands._)
_Curtain._
ACT II
_SCENE: The private office of the 13 Soap Company. A rather commonplace room, furnished comfortably but not elaborately. The walls have several posters extolling the virtues of 13 Soap—such as “Do you believe in signs?” “13 Soap is unlucky for dirt.” “Be Clean. Cheap Soap for Cheap People.” “13 Soap is the most expensive soap in the world, one dollar a cake.” There is a particularly large stand in the up-stage wall bearing the legend:_
_“The average cake of soap gives you 56 washes. A cake of 13 soap gives you only 24,_
_But What Washes!”_
_There is a door on the left and two more at right. At back are windows through which the audience sees the building across the street literally covered with 13 Soap posters. There is a desk, down C., with chairs, cabinets, a hatrack, a water-cooler, a safe, etc., which complete the equipment of the room. Light oak office furniture. Three telephones, one on stand right, one on desk left, and one on desk center. Shades on windows. All over carpet. Four brackets._
_The time is one month after the first act, about ten o’clock in the morning._
_The curtain rises on an empty stage. RODNEY’S voice heard off-stage:_
RODNEY. (_Enters from door upper R._) Forward march! (_Six sandwich-men enter door upper R., bearing boards: “13 Soap—unlucky for dirt”_) Halt! (_They stop_) Now, you understand you’re all to go down to Mr. Cyrus Martin’s office, 226 Broadway, and parade there all day—and to-morrow the same thing. Be in front of his house to-night at six sharp, you understand?
SANDWICH MEN. Yes, sir.
RODNEY. Then forward march! (_They exit through door L. RODNEY goes to his desk. Business with papers, etc. PEALE enters from door upper R._)
PEALE. Hello, little boss. Holy Peter Piper, you’ve shaved off your mustache!
RODNEY. (_Grinning_) Yes, I’m just beginning to get on to myself. By George, I certainly used to look like the devil. Do you observe the clothes?
PEALE. (_R. C. Crosses up; removes coat, and places it L. of C. corner L. of desk_) Why, you are getting to be a regular business man.
RODNEY. Business is great stuff. I thought it’d bore me, but it’s immense; it’s the best game I ever played. What’s the news with you?
PEALE. We only just got back from Buffalo this morning.
RODNEY. We?
PEALE. (_Sits in chair L. of desk_) Yes, your father and I. He went to the Iroquois in Buffalo. I had all the billboards in the neighborhood plastered thick—and 48-sheet stands along the streets to the Union Station. From the time the old man got in until he got out, he couldn’t look anywhere without seeing 13 Soap. I even found out the number of his room and had a small balloon floating 13 Soap streamers right outside his window. I took a page in all the Buffalo papers—bribed the hat boy to keep putting circulars in his hat every time he checked it, and sent him one of our new folders every mail. They have eight mails a day in Buffalo. I came back with him on the train and when he went into the washroom last night I had the porter say “Sorry, sir, we ain’t got no Thirteen Soap, but you can’t hardly keep any on hand—it’s such grand, grand soap.” (_Rises and crosses to R._)
RODNEY. Gee, that’s great. (_Crosses to L._)
PEALE. Well, what’s on for to-day?
RODNEY. I’ve got a bully new advertising scheme. When you go into a barber shop where do you look?
PEALE. At the manicure.
RODNEY. No, no, at the ceiling—we’ll put ads on all the barber’s ceilings.
PEALE. (_Scornfully_) Old stuff! It’s been done—is that what you call a new scheme?
RODNEY. Well, that wasn’t my big idea. (_Goes up-stage, sits in chair behind desk_)
PEALE. (_Mockingly_) No? Well, what is your big idea?
RODNEY. Plans for our new factory.
PEALE. Plans for what? Have you gone dippy?