making a living by washing dogs.

TED BROOKS. Age 28. Also a Harvard graduate of the same class as the others and also unemployed since graduation. He comes of wealthy parents who lost their money in the market crash. And seems quite unable to find any work for which he is suited. And has no special training. He is being partly supported by Kate Allen who is in love with him.

MARTIN PETERSON. About the same age as the others, also a graduate of Harvard. He is an artist and is making a little money. He is also a very enthusiastic Communist.

KATE ALLEN. About the same age as the men. She is a graduate of Vassar, but although she is working she only earns a small salary, half of which she gives to Ted, with whom she is in love.

LAURA STEVENS. A pretty girl of about the same age as the others. A graduate of Vassar. She is in love with Ken Holden and is working at a salary of about $25 a week.

BISHOP HOLDEN. A bishop and typical gentleman of his calling. Ken Holden is his son.

LUCILLE BROWN.* A young girl. She is secretary to Stanley Prescott.

STANLEY PRESCOTT.* A successful American business man. Hard, conservative.

CASE WORKER. A middle-aged woman, working as a home relief investigator.

MRS. DONOVAN. A very flamboyant woman of middle age, fussy and silly type.

POLICEMAN. A typical New York policeman.

* NOTE: These characters are not in the play in case Scene 2, Act I, is omitted.

CLASS OF '29

ACT I

SCENE I: It is Saturday afternoon, about one o'clock.

The room is a large one in an old brown-stone house. The ceiling is high, the floor ancient. It serves for a sleeping as well as a living room. Off it at one end is a kitchen, at the other a small bedroom.

There is no woman's touch in the place, but in spite of its dilapidation there is a mellow and intellectual air--lent, perhaps, by the books and magazines that lie scattered about; some old college pennants on the wall; also both architectural drawings and original cartoons. There is a good architect's drawing board in use by a window and a rack containing many rolls of drawings and prints.

TED is sitting on the couch, reading an old book. He wears a once excellent but now threadbare suit.

TIPPY wears shabby old dressing gown, short. He has no trousers on. He is pressing his pants on an ironing board.

Each is silent and preoccupied, KEN makes a finishing touch with color brush, then turns his board down to a more vertical position and backs off, surveying his work.

KEN. Take a squint at that, Tippy.

[TIPPY carefully turns iron on end and steps over to look at drawing.]

TIPPY. H'm. Very charming. Very charming. If Comrade Stalin could see that he would order one for each member of his harem.

KEN. That's a bum joke. Not even Hearst has accused Stalin of irregularity in his private life.

TIPPY. Sorry. That comes of my not reading Hearst.

KEN. What's more, this drawing's not intended for the Soviets. It's distinctly American.

TIPPY. But Ken, they like it Americanskee. They approve of the way we do our living, if not of the way we get it.

KEN. They like our gadgets. The plans I sent to Moscow were all American inside. But the exteriors were different.

TIPPY. [Slaps him on shoulder and returns to pants pressing.] Well, keep at it, old man. All things come to those who work while they wait.

KEN. Work. I just do this to keep from going nuts.

TIPPY. O. K. Keep occupied. American recovery may yet prove speedier than Soviet red tape.

KEN. I've given up hope of hearing from Moscow. It's been five months ...

TIPPY. Make allowances for bureaucracy, Ken. They're in such a hurry over there they haven't time to do anything.

KEN. [Starts to remove drawing.] I don't want Martin to see this. He'd never forgive me if he knew I'd quit working on stuff for Russia.

TIPPY. Hi, Ted! Give a look on your fellow artist's work.

[KEN stands aside, TED rises politely, keeping finger in place in book and looking at drawing briefly.]

TED. [Indifferently.] It's very nice.

[He goes back to couch and his book, KEN removes drawing and rolls it up. TIPPY finishes pants and cuts off iron, MARTIN'S voice heard in hall, singing.]

MARTIN.       Belaya armeya chornee barone
Snova gotovyat nam tsarskee trone
[MARTIN enters, marching and singing.]
No ot tigee doe bretanskeye Morye
[Stamps and accents each syllable.]
Anneya krasnaya vsekh seelnaye.

TIPPY. Jesus, Martin, why don't you get Billy Rose to write a new song for the Red Army?

MARTIN. As soon as Ken learns Krasnaya Armeya I'll teach him the International.

TIPPY. I can bellyache the Armeya better now than he can.

MARTIN. Damned pity you won't study Russian with us. You have a natural gift for languages.

TIPPY. The reason Russian is easy for me is because I never learned the alphabet.

KEN. Boy, what an alphabet!

MARTIN. [Snapping his fingers.] Da, da, da--ah, be, ve, ge.

TIPPY. [Picking up book.] Ya, ya, ya,--vas ist das? Das ist ein buch.

KEN. Da, da, da,--chto etto takoye? Etto kneega.

MARTIN. Fine. Let's go. [Holds up pencil.] Chto etto takoe?

KEN. Etta karandash.

MARTIN. [Stands book on table.] Chto?

KEN. Kneega stoeet na stolom.

MARTIN. [Throws book under table.] Gdye kneega?

KEN. Kneega pod stalom.

MARTIN. Great! Now make a sentence of your own.

KEN. [Lamely.] Tovarisch Stalin ... [Stalls.]

TIPPY. [Cutting in smartly.] Krasnaya armeya pod stalom. [TIPPY hangs pants on chair back, and puts away ironing paraphernalia.]

[MARTIN goes to book shelf and gets Russian reader and dictionary.]

MARTIN. I've only a few minutes. But we can do half a page. We'll never get it unless we keep at it eternally.

KEN. For eternity you mean.

MARTIN. You're doing fine with the reading. It'll help you no end when you get to Russia.

KEN. God, what faith you have!

MARTIN. Sure you're going to Russia. They have millions of buildings to build, and they can't train architects fast enough. [Finds place in book.]

[KEN hesitates.]

KEN. I'm not kidding myself.--I've been doing this more to help you.

MARTIN. Listen, Ken. Even if you don't go, you should know Russian so you can read Soviet architectural journals. The years we wasted on dead languages!--Russia's alive. They're doing things, new things, big things! Russian is the language of the next great sweep in world progress.

TIPPY. Sez you.

MARTIN. You read the New York Times. Where does the real news come from?

TIPPY. That depends on who is shooting which.

MARTIN. Shooting isn't news. War isn't news. War is old--atavistic, a confession of failure, evidence of retrogression. News deals with new things: progress, science, art, invention, the conquest of nature. That's real news. And where is it coming from today?

TIPPY. All right, all right. When you have learned six thousand more verbs, each with a hundred irregular forms, then you can read it in Pravda.

[TIPPY carries board out to kitchen, MARTIN sits at table, KEN with him. MARTIN finds place in book and points to a word.]

KEN. [Slowly, pronouncing all syllables in monotone, as TIPPY enters.] Al-yek-tree-feet-see-row-von-nuim ...

MARTIN. [In disgust.] Stuck on the first word. [Starts thumbing dictionary.]

TIPPY. Word? It