The Gibson Upright Part 6

SIMPSON: Who?

MIFFLIN: Why, you--any of you. It's yours--it's your telephone.

SIMPSON: You answer it, Carter.

[CARTER _goes to the telephone and picks it up in a somewhat gingerly way._]

CARTER: h.e.l.lo!... Yes.... Yes, it's The Gibson Upright.... No, he ain't here.... What? Wait a minute. [_Puts his hand over the mouthpiece._] He wants to know who it is talking.

FRANKEL: My goodness! Can't you tell him it's you?

CARTER: He wouldn't know who that was.

MIFFLIN: Tell him it's one of the owners of the company.

CARTER [_looks at_ MIFFLIN _solemnly; then in a hushed voice_]: It's one of the owners of the company.... Wait a minute; let me get that. "The Central a.s.sociated Lumber Companies?" I hear you. Wait a minute. [_Looks round._] This here company says they want to lower their bid for a couple hundred thousand feet o' lumber to forty-seven dollars a thousand. They say that's a dollar lower than they offered yesterday and a half a dollar lower than they offered this morning--says got to know now.

FRANKEL: Says they come _down_ to forty-seven, do they?

CARTER: Yes; says so!

SIMPSON: Well, tell 'em that's good; we'll take it.

THE OTHERS: Sure, that's right!... That's a good offer.... Sure, we'll take it!

CARTER [_at the telephone_]: We'll take it. [_Pause._] You're welcome.

[_Puts down the telephone amid general buzz from all the others. They rise somewhat dazedly, but relaxing, beginning to take in their surroundings in the new life._ s...o...b..RG _and_ SIMPSON _shake hands._ FRANKEL _goes over and examines the safe._ SALVATORE _picks up a basket of correspondence from the desk as if it were a strange bug._ s...o...b..RG _opens a drawer in the table. There is a buzz of congratulative, formless talk.

They spread over the stage, looking at everything._]

MIFFLIN [_transfigured, his right hand lifted_]: Gentlemen, this is the New Dawn!

ACT II

_The yard beside_ GIBSON'S _house. Upon our left is seen the porch or sun-room wing of a good "colonial" house of the present type. A hedge runs across at the back, about five feet high, with a gateway and rustic gate. Beyond is seen a residential suburban quarter, well wooded and with ample shrubberies. A gravelled path leads from the gate to the porch, or sun-room, where are broad steps. Upon the lawn are a white garden bench, a table, and a great green-and-white-striped sun umbrella, with several white garden chairs.

Autumn has come, and the foliage is beginning to turn; but the scene is warm and sunlit.

After a moment a young housemaid brings out a tray with a chocolate pot, wafers, and one cup and saucer and a lace-edged napkin. She places the tray on the table, moves a chair to it, looks at the tray thoughtfully, turns, starts toward the house--when_ GIBSON _comes out. He wears a travelling suit and is bareheaded._

ELLA: The cook thought you might like a cup of chocolate after a long trip like that--just getting off the train and all, Mr. Gibson.

GIBSON: Thank you, Ella, I should.

ELLA: I'll bring your mail right out.

[_She goes into the house and returns with a packet of letters._]

GIBSON: Thanks, Ella!

ELLA: Everything is there that's come since you sent the telegram not to forward any more.

GIBSON: It's pleasant to find the house and everything just as I left it.

ELLA: My, Mr. Gibson, we pretty near thought you wasn't never coming back. Those June roses in that bed round yonder lasted pretty near up into August this year, Mr. Gibson. For that matter it's such mild weather even yet some say we won't have any fall till Thanksgiving.

GIBSON: Yes, it's extraordinary.

ELLA: Shall I leave the tray?

GIBSON: No; you can take it. [_She moves to do so._] Wait a minute.

Here's a letter from John Riley, up at the factory. Don't I remember his son Tom coming here to see you quite a good deal?

ELLA: Yes, sir; Tom's one of the factory truckmen like his father. He still comes to see me quite a good deal, sir. There isn't anything about that in the letter, is there, sir? [_She knows there isn't._]

GIBSON [_absently_]: No, no! [_With faint irony._] He only wants to know about where to get a stock of truck parts that had been ordered before I broke connections with the factory. He thinks four months is a long time for them to be on the way and doesn't know where to write.

ELLA: He's a terrible active man, Mr. Riley. Always pus.h.i.+ng.

GIBSON: So Tom comes round more than ever, does he?

ELLA [_coyly_]: He does, sir!

GIBSON: I'm not going to lose you, am I, Ella?

ELLA: Well, sir, up to the time of that change in the factory we hadn't expected we could get married for maybe two years yet, but the way things are now--not that I want to leave here, sir--but it does look like going right ahead with the wedding!

GIBSON: Tom feels that prosperous, does he?

ELLA: I guess he _is_ prosperous, sir!

GIBSON [_gravely digesting this_]: Well, I suppose I'm glad to hear it.

ELLA: Yes, sir; everybody's glad these days up at the factory, sir. I don't mean about just Tom and me, they're glad.

GIBSON: You mean they're all in a glad condition?

ELLA: Oh, _are_ they, sir! Even the Commiskeys got an automobile last month!

GIBSON: Well, I suppose that's splendid.

ELLA: Didn't you know about it, sir?

GIBSON: No, not a word. I've been pretty deep up in the Maine woods this summer. Have you been over to the factory at all yourself, Ella?