Part 6

RODNEY. (_Overjoyed_) What! That’s the first time you ever really kissed me—all by yourself—like that. By George, you must love me!

MARY. You bet I do. (_She kisses him again and they clinch as PEALE enters excitedly, coming down R._)

PEALE. (_Entering_) Say, I didn’t mean to interrupt!

RODNEY. (_Still with MARY in his arms_) Nothing in the world can interrupt me—What is it?

PEALE. A telegram. It’s the first we ever received, and—I was afraid to open it.

(_MARY, taking it, looks at it nervously._)

MARY. What awful thing can it be? (_Goes in front of desk_)

RODNEY. Gee, I wonder what it says? (_Crosses to her_)

PEALE. Read it. Read it. (_Crosses to her_)

MARY. (_Having opened it_) “Rodney Martin, President 13 Soap Company, 226 Broadway”——

PEALE. Go on, we know the address——

MARY. “Ship at once, collect, 50,000 cakes 13 Soap. Marshall Field, Chicago.”

RODNEY. Somebody really wants to buy some soap!

PEALE. I don’t believe it.

MARY. (_Handing RODNEY the telegram_) But here it is.

RODNEY. (_Reading_) Fifty thousand cakes—it’s true.

PEALE. We’ve started—we’ve begun! We’re actually going to sell some soap.

RODNEY. The tide’s turned—didn’t I tell you advertising pays? We’ll sweep the country—Europe—Asia—Africa! Go in with father? Not for a million dollars! (_Starts up-stage_)

PEALE. I’ll wire Marshall Field right away. (_Starts for door upper R._)

RODNEY. Go ahead.

MARY. (_Suddenly_) Great Heavens!

PEALE. What is it?

RODNEY. What’s happened?

MARY. That order is no good.

PEALE. What! (_Coming down R._)

RODNEY. Why? (_Coming down L._)

MARY. We can’t fill it: we’ve never made any soap. (_Start stand staring at each other aghast_)

RODNEY. What’ll we do?

PEALE. Let’s think. (_They sit staring straight ahead_)

(_RODNEY sits in chair L. MARY sits on table. PEALE sits in chair R._)

RODNEY. (_Slowly_) We must get some soap.

PEALE. (_Slowly_) Yes, I thought of that.

MARY. (_Slowly_) Where can we get it?

PEALE. From a soap factory!

MARY. (_Slowly_) But they all belong to father.

RODNEY. (_With dawning hope. Rises_) But he can’t know about this Marshall Field order—maybe we could buy some soap before he’d have a chance to stop them selling to us?

(_PEALE and MARY rise._)

PEALE. Great idea—let’s get busy.

MARY. How?

RODNEY. Where’s the ’phone book? (_She grabs red classified directory from desk_) We’ll call up two or three of his branch offices. (_He has hurriedly begun turning over pages, as PEALE on one side and MARY on the other, help him_) Skins, skates, shirts—where’s soap?

MARY. (_Over his shoulder_) Skylights, skates, slides——

PEALE. (_The same_) Smelters, smoke-stacks, snuff.

RODNEY. Ah, here it is! Soap manufacturers—(_Skimming down page_) 276 Broad—here’s one of father’s factories.

PEALE. I’ve got one, too—374 Schuyler.

MARY. So have I: 480 Audubon. (_They drop book and each dashes to a ’phone. As they give the number of ’phone, curtain. During two curtains, till they finish lines_)

(_Together_)

RODNEY. 276 Broad.

MARY. 480 Audubon.

PEALE. 374 Schuyler—and hurry, sweetie——

RODNEY. (_Holding wire_) It’ll have to be Old Rose.

PEALE. Castile is the cheapest.

MARY. Order small cakes.

(_Together_)

RODNEY. Hello, this is the Martin Soap Company—we want to get some soap—pink castile—small cakes—40 or 50,000 cakes immediate delivery—what’s the price?

MARY. Hello, 480 Audbon. I want to find out if I can buy a lot of soap right away—Old Rose—castile—50,000 cakes; we want it this afternoon.

PEALE. Hello, son, I want to buy a lot of soap: 50,000 cakes—got to have some of it to-day—smallest size castile cakes you keep. If you haven’t Old Rose—pink’ll do. Who am I? None of your business.

(_And as all three are talking together violently in their separate ’phones,_

_The curtain falls._)

ACT III

_SCENE: The scene is the same as that of ACT I, except that it is five o’clock in the afternoon of a day in late October._

_MARTIN is discovered behind the desk, right. Before him is a pile of evening papers and some unopened letters. As the curtain rises he opens one, displaying to the audience on its back page a page-advertisement of 13 Soap. In a moment he turns over to others, gives an annoyed exclamation and tosses it aside. He picks up one of the letters, opens it, gives an angry grunt, mutters disgustedly “13 Soap”, and throws it into the waste basket._

JOHNSON. (_Entering door upper L._) Miss Grayson is here to see you, sir——

MARTIN. (_A bit surprised_) Miss Grayson? Well, show her in.

JOHNSON. Very good, sir. (_He exits. MARTIN opens another paper, again sees an advertisement of 13 Soap and with considerable irritation sweeps the whole pile off the desk as JOHNSON enters, followed by MARY_) Miss Grayson. (_JOHNSON exits_)

MARY. How do you do, Mr. Martin?

MARTIN. Come to get your job back, I suppose?

MARY. No, sir.

MARTIN. Well, you can have it—at the old salary.

MARY. I don’t want it.

MARTIN. Oh, Rodney sent you to plead for him?

MARY. No, sir.

MARTIN. Then, what are you here for?

MARY. To make you a business proposition.

MARTIN. Why doesn’t Rodney make it himself?

MARY. He doesn’t know I’m here.

MARTIN. That’s something in his favor: can’t see much use in women tying up in men’s business.

JOHNSON. (_Entering_) Mr. Rodney Martin and Ambrose Peale.

MARTIN. Oh, the whole firm! Send ’em in, Johnson.

JOHNSON. Very good, sir. (_He exits_)

(_RODNEY and PEALE enter._)

RODNEY. Hello, father. (_Crosses to table_)

PEALE. How do you do, sir? (_Coming down L._)

(_MARTIN grunts to them both._)

RODNEY. (_Seeing MARY_) Mary, what on earth are you doing here?

MARY. I came to tell your father about Marshall Field’s order.

RODNEY. That’s why we’re here, too.

PEALE. Absolutely.

MARTIN. Let me tell you right now, I won’t back any fake company.

RODNEY. But we’re not a fake any longer.

PEALE. We’ve actually sold some soap.

MARY. Fifty thousand cakes.

RODNEY. To Marshall Field.

MARTIN. Then why did you send ’em only five thousand cakes?

RODNEY. Because after we’d got that much from one of your branch factories you shut off our supply.

PEALE. And we couldn’t get any more soap anywhere.

MARY. (_Accusingly_) And you knew it very well. (_Crossing to R. side of MR. MARTIN_)

RODNEY. We’ve still got 45,000 cakes to deliver, if we can get ’em from you. Why let all that money get out of the family? It’s a business proposition.

MARTIN. No, it isn’t. Don’t fool yourself: I sent that telegram.

RODNEY. What telegram?

MARTIN. The telegram from Marshall Field’s ordering the 50,000 cakes.

MARY. You sent it?

MARTIN. That day at the office you were pretty game, son, and to tell the truth, I felt so sorry for you, I kind of had to do something, so I sent that wire——

RODNEY. So that success is all a bluff, too? (_Sits on sofa_)

MARY. But what did you do it for?

MARTIN. Well, I figured an order like that would stall off your creditors, and then I had fixed it with one of our factories to let you have 5,000 cakes at three cents a cake. I knew it would mean some ready cash for you from Marshall Field——

PEALE. But how did you square Marshall Field?

MARTIN. Oh, I just wired ’em I’d be responsible, and, say—(_Turning to RODNEY, who rises_) you had a nerve to charge ’em sixty cents a cake—and I had to pay the bill! That shipment cost me $3,000 for $150 worth of soap. (_PEALE laughs_) That isn’t funny, young man.

RODNEY. No, it isn’t: I thought we’d really made good, and all the time it was you behind us——

MARTIN. You see, my boy, even if you did nearly trim me, I’ve got a sort of sneaking fondness for you. Look here, son, why not quit? There’s no market for dollar soap.

RODNEY. But how do you know?

MARTIN. I had a letter from Marshall Field a few days ago asking me what to do with the soap. They hadn’t sold a cake. I told ’em to dump it in the Chicago River; it might help to clean it up.

RODNEY. But you didn’t give our advertising a chance.

PEALE. We only finished a great big advertising campaign in Chicago two days ago.

RODNEY. I know the soap’ll make good—with that trade-mark.

MARTIN. If your trade-mark was so marvelous, somebody besides your poor old father would have bought your soap.

PEALE. Oh, what’s the use? He doesn’t believe in advertising!

MARTIN. Oh, yes, I do: sound, conservative advertising, but not the crazy, sensational stuff you go in for.

MARY. Oh, you’re just mad because the soap trust didn’t think of 13 Soap itself.

MARTIN. Why, we wouldn’t touch a fool thing like that. If you deliver the goods, your goods will advertise you—that’s always been our policy.

RODNEY. I’m sorry, father, but you are old-fashioned to knock the modern way of advertising. Why, do you know, the National Biscuit Company was on the verge of failing until they hit on the title, Uneeda Biscuit?

MARY. And since then, they have had over four hundred lawsuits to protect it.

RODNEY. Their trade-mark made ’em. They value that trade-mark now at six million dollars.

PEALE. Great stuff. (_Turning to MARTIN_)—and Spearmint Gum just as a trade-mark is worth seven millions.

RODNEY. And the Fairbanks people count their trade-mark, The Gold Dust Twins, at $10,000,000.

MARY. Ever hear of the Gillette Safety Razor?

MARTIN. I use it myself.

MARY. Tell him about it, Rodney.

RODNEY. It costs you five dollars. Don’t you know there’s a mighty good safety razor for a quarter, and dozens at a dollar, but you use the Gillette because Gillette was there first; you buy his razor at a high price simply because of its trade-mark.

MARY. (_With gesture_) Advertising.

RODNEY _and_ PEALE. (_With gesture_) Absolutely.

PEALE. Ivory Soap in the magazines alone used $450,000 worth of space in 1913—and at three cents a cake wholesale, that represents 15,000,000 cakes for magazine advertising alone.

MARTIN. I don’t believe it.

PEALE. Yes, and a lot of other guys didn’t believe that iron ships would float or that machines heavier than air would fly, or that you could talk to ’Frisco on a wire or send a message across the Atlantic without a wire. Pardon me, sir, but you want to get on to yourself.

RODNEY. Yes, father, you certainly do.

MARY. And you’d better hurry up.

MARTIN. You’ve got a fine lot of theories, but what have they done for those 5,000 cakes of 13 Soap out at Marshall Field’s?

PEALE. Why, we haven’t really spent enough money advertising.

RODNEY. That’s true. Every time the American Tobacco Company puts out a new cigarette they start off by appropriating $200,000 to boom it.

PEALE. And I suppose they are a lot of boobs?

RODNEY. And think what other firms spend! I’ve gone into this thing, father——

MARY. Yes, Rodney, let’s show him our list.

RODNEY. Sure, it’s an absolutely accurate list of what some of the big advertisers spent in the thirty-one leading magazines last year. Eastman Kodak, $400,000, Postum Coffee, $125,000, Arrow Collars, $400,000, Melachrino Cigarettes, $100,000, Welch’s Grape Juice, $100,000.

PEALE. Grape Juice, my friend!

MARY. Uneeda Biscuit, $150,000. Spearmint Gum, $140,000.

MARTIN. That’s enough.

RODNEY. I’ve only just begun. Grape Nuts, $228,000.

MARY. Colgate’s Dental Cream, $230,000.

PEALE. Campbell’s Soups, $186,000.

MARY. Kellogg’s Toasted Cornflakes, $200,000.

RODNEY. Quaker Oats, $367,000, and these are only a few. You can’t see how it pays, but you do know that it must pay or they wouldn’t do it.

MARY. Does that mean anything to you?

PEALE. Yes. Does it when you realize that those thirty-one magazines have only about 10,000,000 readers?

RODNEY. And that there are a hundred million people in this country. Why just to appeal to one-tenth of the population, fifty million dollars was spent in magazines last year, and each year people are getting better educated—more people are wanting to read. It won’t be long before there are 25,000,000 people buying magazines, and you can reach all of them by advertising—get a new market, a new population to deal with. Think what national advertising is accomplishing! It sells automobiles, vacuum cleaners, talking machines, rubber heels, kodaks, washing machines, foods, clothes, shoes, paints, houses, plumbing, electric irons, fireless cookers—mostly to a lot of people who’d never even hear of ’em if it weren’t for advertisements.

PEALE. But nowadays it isn’t only people who have stoves to sell or tooth-brushes, that are spending money on publicity. Banks are advertising for money, nations for immigrants, colleges for students, cities for citizens, and churches for congregations, and you sit there thinking it doesn’t pay to advertise.

MARY. Six hundred and sixteen million dollars were spent last year in magazines and newspapers, billboards and electric signs.

RODNEY. Bringing education and comfort and fun and luxury to the people of the United States. It’s romance, father, the romance of printing-presses, of steel rails, of the wireless, of trains and competition, the romance of modern business, and it’s all built on advertising. Advertising is the biggest thing in this country, and it’s only just begun.

MARTIN. (_After a pause_) Why didn’t you boys go into the advertising business? You seem to know something about that?

PEALE. (_Fairly tearing his hair_) Oh, what’s the use! He’s the old school—we’re new blood. (_Coming to L. of C._)

RODNEY. (_With enthusiasm_) Youth has got it on old age.

MARY. (_Coming down between PEALE and RODNEY_) You bet it has!

MARTIN. When you boys get through talking and you’re flat broke and down and out, come around and see me: I’ll show you an old business that has a lot of money that isn’t radical and manages to keep going without wasting a fortune in fool advertising.

RODNEY. Then you won’t let us get any soap.

MARTIN. Risk my business reputation on a silly scheme like Dollar Soap? I should say not!

PEALE. Oh, come on. What’s the use of talking to a man whose brain is deaf? (_Exit door upper L., keeping in step, single-file_)

MARTIN. (_Rises and comes to center_) Say when you get a new line of patter, come around. I like to hear you. Dollar Soap!

JOHNSON. (_Enters_) I beg pardon, a gentleman to see you, sir. (_JOHNSON hands MARTIN a card on silver tray_)

MARTIN. “Mr. Charles Bronson.” What does he want?

JOHNSON. He says he’s from Marshall Field.

MARTIN. Oh, a kick, I suppose? Send him in.

JOHNSON. Yes, sir. (_He exits_)

(_Enter BRONSON._)

BRONSON. (_Inquiringly_) Mr. Martin?

MARTIN. Yes.

BRONSON. I just arrived from Chicago. I am here in reference to the 13 Soap.

MARTIN. Be seated. Well, what about it? (_Sits in chair L. of table_)

BRONSON. (_Sits in chair R. of desk_) While, of course, we understand that the 13 Soap is made by your son, Mr. Rodney Martin, at the same time as you wired us you would be responsible for that order, Marshall Field felt that I should first see you in the matter.

MARTIN. Humph!

BRONSON. We realize, of course, that you are backing your son——

MARTIN. (_Gruffly_) Well, why shouldn’t I back him?

BRONSON. Of course, of course. That is why we’d like to place our order through you.

MARTIN. (_Amazed_) Place your what?

BRONSON. Through some error we received only 5,000 cakes, instead of 50,000 but that’s all gone.

MARTIN. All gone? What happened to it?

BRONSON. We’ve sold it.

MARTIN. Sold it?

BRONSON. Yes, and we want the balance of the original order you were kind enough to throw our way, and as much more soap as we can get.

MARTIN. But only the other day I had a letter from Marshall Field saying they hadn’t sold a cake.

BRONSON. (_Laughing_) I know, I know. We felt at first that of course there could be no popular market for a dollar soap; we weren’t as far-sighted as you were. (_MARTIN clears his throat_) But of course, when those extraordinary advertisements appeared, so different from your usual conservative publicity, the sales began immediately! We sold the 5,000 cakes in two days.

MARTIN. And the advertising did it?

BRONSON. Of course, what else? Now we want to handle your goods exclusively in the west—with extensive immediate deliveries. Can that be arranged?

MARTIN. It ought to be. What do you offer?

BRONSON. I dare say we would contract for a quarter of a million cakes of soap.

MARTIN. (_Amazed_) A quarter of a million!

BRONSON. (_Misunderstanding him_) Of course we might do a little better if we could settle the matter at once.

MARTIN. I should have to consult my son first.

BRONSON. (_Rising_) Oh, then perhaps I ought to go see him?

MARTIN. (_Rising_) Not at all—not at all. I’ll attend to it.

BRONSON. But we thought that you would have full power.

MARTIN. As a matter of courtesy I should like to talk things over with my own boy——

BRONSON. But you control the product?

MARTIN. Bronson, you can trust me to handle this thing.

BRONSON. Of course, of course. When can I see you again?

MARTIN. In half an hour.

BRONSON. Very well. I’ve some matters to attend to. I’ll be back in half an hour. (_Going to door upper L._) It’s a wonderful soap, Mr. Martin.

MARTIN. (_Dryly_) Oh, wonderful.

BRONSON. See you in half an hour. (_BRONSON exits_)

MARTIN. Wonderful soap—plain pink castile, I’ve got to get in on this. (_He goes to ’phone_) 1313 Bryant. Hello, is this the 13 Soap Company?

JOHNSON. (_Enters_) Oh, beg pardon, sir, but—

MARTIN. Just a minute. Is Mr. Rodney Martin in? No? Never mind who I am. Good-bye. Johnson, call up my son’s office every ten minutes and let me know the minute he comes in. Don’t tell ’em who’s calling. (_Crosses to R._)

JOHNSON. Yes, sir.

MARTIN. And when Mr. Bronson comes back, be sure to have him wait for me.

JOHNSON. Yes, sir. There’s a lady to see you, sir. She speaks English now.

MARTIN. She does, eh? That’s unusual, isn’t it?

JOHNSON. I mean, sir, when she was here two months ago she could only talk French.

MARTIN. Indeed! Well, I’m not interested in the languages she speaks. Who is she, and what does she want?

JOHNSON. She wishes to see you about the French rights of the 13 Soap.

MARTIN. The what?

JOHNSON. The French rights.

MARTIN. Great Scott! Send her right in.

JOHNSON. Yes, sir. The Countess de Bowreen. (_He exits_)

COUNTESS. (_Enters_) How do you do?

MARTIN. (_Comes down in front of table_) How do you do?

COUNTESS. I am the Countess de Beaurien. Your son have told you of me!

MARTIN. No.

COUNTESS. I bet he have not. He is a cheat—he trick me.

MARTIN. Now, my dear lady——

COUNTESS. Attendez, you listen to me: two months ago there in that very room, I buy the French rights for the 13 Soap. I pay him 15,000 dollar and now I cannot get any soap.

MARTIN. You will have to see my son.

COUNTESS. But I have seen him, and he give me no satisfaction. If I cannot get any soap, I must have my money, one or the other, or I put him in the jail. He is a cheat. I have here ze contract. I sue him in the court.

MARTIN. My dear lady, you mustn’t feel that way.

COUNTESS. Feel! Ah, mon dieu—I trick no one, I play fair, I am an honest woman. Mais je vous dis que je suis honnête, très honnête dans mes affaires. Monsieur votre fils m’a donné le contrat, et j’insiste qu’il est très malhonnête. Je n’ai pas l’habitude d’être si maltraitée, monsieur, et je répète que je ferai tout mon possible d’obtenir les quinze mille dollars que me doit Monsieur votre fils, et s’il ne me les donne pas, je le poursuivrai sans cesse. Comprenez-vous, Monsieur? (_She takes the contract from him_)

MARTIN. But I don’t understand French.

COUNTESS. Pardon, Monsieur, always I am excited I speak the French. But! If you love your son, you pay me back, or else he go to jail. What you say?

MARTIN. But $15,000 is a lot of money.

COUNTESS. Yes. But it is more to me than it is to you. You pay me, or he go to prison. Now what you say?

(_JOHNSON enters._)

MARTIN. What is it?

JOHNSON. I beg pardon, a gentleman to see you, sir.

MARTIN. (_Comes to JOHNSON_) Is it Bronson?

JOHNSON. No, sir. (_JOHNSON hands him card_)

MARTIN. By George, just the man I want to see! Show him right in. Hold on, hold on. Now, Duchess, if you don’t mind, just step in this room a minute. (_Indicating room lower R._)

COUNTESS. No, no, I do not like that room: I have been there before.

MARTIN. Here is a nice room. (_Points to room lower L._) You will find it very comfortable.

COUNTESS. Very well, I wait. (_Crosses to left_) But in fifteen minutes if I do not get the 15,000 dollar, I go to my lawyers, and your son—poof! he is done. (_Talking in French as she exits_)

MARTIN. (_To JOHNSON_) Did you get my son’s office?

JOHNSON. Yes, sir—he hasn’t come in.

MARTIN. If you reach him while Mr. Peale’s here don’t mention Rodney’s name; just call him “that party.” I’ll understand. (_Crosses R._)

JOHNSON. Yes, sir. (_He exits_)

(_PEALE enters door upper L._)

MARTIN. Now, see here, young man!

PEALE. Now, one moment, Mr. Martin. I just want to say that I am a man of few words—that this isn’t advertising, it’s personal. I know you don’t like me.

MARTIN. Why do you say that?

PEALE. Because I’m a pretty wise gink.

MARTIN. Well, you are a bit——

PEALE. Fresh? Well, I guess that’s right, too. But that’s me—I’m not your style. Here’s the idea: your son has been immense to me. Great kid, and it struck me the reason you wouldn’t back him was because I was mixed up in his business. So I just came to say if that’s the situation, why I’m out, that’s all. You go ahead with him alone.

MARTIN. You’re not a partner?

PEALE. I should say not. I’m just a hired hand. He could can me any moment, but he’s not the kind of guy who’d do that.

MARTIN. Then you haven’t power to sign, to make a deal?

PEALE. I should say not. Why, he and Miss Grayson do all the signing. If I could have signed contracts, I’d have spent a million dollars in advertising. And believe me, you ought to back him, because, honest, Mr. Martin, it’s a great scheme—the 13 Soap, on the level, if it’s handled right and the publicity end is——

MARTIN. Now don’t get started on advertising.

PEALE. That’s right, too. Well, I guess that’s all. I wanted to tell you how I stood about Rodney. That’s off my chest, so good afternoon. (_Starts to go_)

MARTIN. Wait a minute. What did you boys mean by trimming that poor Countess on the French rights?

PEALE. Jumping Jupiter; has she been here?

MARTIN. She’s here now.

PEALE. What did she come to see you for?

MARTIN. She said she’d put Rodney in jail for fraud unless I made good that $15,000. I’ve got to pay her—can’t see the boy disgraced.

PEALE. Say, if you’d like to save that $15,000, I’ll fix it for you.

MARTIN. But she’s got a contract.

PEALE. I’ll get it for you cheap. Pardon me, sir, but I know how to handle dames like her.

MARTIN. Mr. Peale, I like you. (_Slaps him on shoulder_)

PEALE. Huh!

MARTIN. Have a cigar?

(_PEALE crosses R. He takes it as JOHNSON enters._)

JOHNSON. I just telephoned _that party_, he is at his office now.