CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE 
 
 ANNA S. GURLEY 
 
 MEMORIAL BOOK FUND 
 
 FOR THE PURCHASE OF BOOKS 
 IN THE FIELD OF THE DRAMA 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 William F. E. Gurley 
 
 CLASS OF 1877 
 1935 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 3539.H7566B5 1917 
 
 The big ideajan unusual play, n three a 
 
 3 1924 021 709 823 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021709823 
 
The Big Idea 
 
 :^w Unusual Piay^ in Three Acts 
 
 BY 
 
 A. E. Thomas arid Clayton Hamilton 
 
 Authors of "The Belter Understanding," 
 "^birty Days," Etc. 
 
 Oopyrlsht, 1914. by GladM CoateaHamlltoa, under the tftle, "To Bear Not ToBe.' 
 Coprrlfbt asalgned, 1914. to A. E. Thomas and Clarton Hamilton, 
 , <?oprrlcht, 1917, by Samuel Frmob 
 
 jin m^kts Heiervei 
 
 CAUTION. — All persons are hereby warned that "'THB 
 BIG IDEA," being fully protected under the copy- 
 rlerht laws of the United States, Is subject to royalty, 
 and anyone presenting the play without the consent 
 of the owjiers or their authorized agents will be 
 Ual^e to the penalties by law provided. ' Application 
 for amateur acting rights must be made to SAMUEL 
 FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York. Ap- 
 plication for the professional acting rights must be 
 made to SANGER & JORDAN, Times Building, New 
 Tork. 
 
 New York 
 
 SAMUEL FEBNCH 
 
 Publisher 
 
 28-SO, West 38th Street 
 
 London 
 
 SAMUEL FEENCH, LTD. 
 
 26 Southampton Street 
 
 STBAND 
 
Especial notice should be taken that the pos- 
 session of this book without a valid contract for 
 production first .having been obtained from the 
 publisher, confers no right or license to profes- 
 sionals or amateurs to produce the play publicly 
 -J or' in, private for gain or charity. 
 
 In its present form this play is dedicated to 
 the reading public only, and no performance of it 
 may be given, except by special arrangement with 
 Samuel French. 
 
 ' SECTION 28.— That any_ person who wil- 
 fully or for profit shall infringe any copyright 
 secured by this act, or who shall knowingly and 
 wilfully aid or abet such infringement, shall be 
 deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon con- 
 victi^i thereof shall be punished by imprisonment 
 for "not exceeding one year, or by a fine of not 
 less than one hundred dollars nor more than one 
 thousand dollars, or both, in the discretion of the 
 court. Act of March 4, 1909. 
 
The following is a copy of the playbill of the first perform- 
 ance of "The Big Idea," at the Hudson Theatre, 
 New York City, Nov. 16, 1914. 
 
 COHAN & HAKEIS PRESENT 
 
 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 1 
 
 A Play In Theee Acts 
 
 BY 
 
 A. E. Thomas & Clayton Hamilton 
 
 Staged Under the Direction of Sam ForreSt 
 
 THE CAST OF CHAEACTERS 
 
 AGE OEIGINAL CAST 
 
 EiCHAED HowAED 23 ... . Ernest Glendinning 
 
 James Howakd 55. . . .Forrest Eobinson 
 
 EoBBET Caswell 32 ... . Eichard Sterling 
 
 Me, Btenb 50. . . .Harrold Eussell 
 
 Charles Gilmoee 3%. . . .William Courtleigh 
 
 Steven Bingham ,40. . . , George Wright, Jr. 
 
 Jim Harold Grau 
 
 Elaine, Fostee .21. . . .Desmond Kelley 
 
 Mrs. Howard 50 ... . Isabel Garrison 
 
 Elsie Howaed 18 ... . Hazel Lowiy 
 
 Mart ' . . Frances Wright 
 
 TIME: THE PRESENT ' 
 
 SYNOPSIS OF SCENES 
 
 Act I. Eichard Howard's Den, in a fine house in 
 a suburb of, New York. 
 
 Act II. Same scene, 10 o'clock the next morning. 
 
 Act III. Charles Gilmore's Office in Times Square, 
 New York. 
 
TO BE SPOKEN BEFORE THE 
 CURTAIN 
 
 BY THE ACTOR PLATING CHARLES GILMORE 
 
 Ladies and gentlemen : — t beg to announce that the 
 play you jare about to witness is unusual in this re- 
 spect : it is quite true. By that I mean that its story 
 has been taken not from the fancy of its authors but 
 from life itself. A few persons, a very few, will in- 
 stantly recognizfe the characters and incidents 'of this 
 narrative, but there is no danger that they will ever 
 be publitly identified, inasmuch as all thes6 person^ 
 have the best of reasons for Holding their tongues. 
 And so, ladies and gentlemen, shouM you iii the 
 course of the play chance upon an episode that seems 
 strange or curious to you, be so kind as to place the 
 responsibility not upon the authors, but upon that 
 strange and curiotis thing called Life. 
 
THE BIG IDEA 
 
 ACT I ^ 
 
 Scene:— T/ie room is a spacious study on the top 
 floor of the suburban house of the How ATtD family. 
 The ceiling is rather low. The main entrance to 
 the room is at E. tJ. E. Up G. are sliding double 
 doors hung with heavy curtains. When these 
 doors are open, th<ey disclose an alcove room, with 
 a baby grand piano, a piano lamp, and a chande- 
 lier. At Jj. is a large bay window, with curtains 
 before it. In the first. act, the star-lit shy beyond 
 this window indicates the hour of 8:30 or 9 p. m. 
 Down L., below the bay window, is a door leading 
 into an adjacent private room. There is a big, 
 flat-topped writing-desh down c, with a comfort- 
 able chair above it. This desJc is furnished with 
 all the litter likely to be accumulated by a man 
 who works at putting words together. Over it, 
 hanging very low, is an electrolier containing, 
 five very powerful bulbs, shaded by a dark green 
 howl, so as to throw a very' high, strong light 
 upon the desk and such persons and furniture as 
 may immediately surround it. At e. is a fire- 
 place; before it a divan; and, next to the divan, 
 a small table carrying an electric lamp, with ex- 
 posed wiring; adjacent to this table is a chair. 
 Up c, to E. of the sliding doors, is another small 
 table, carrying a vase with flowers. Down l. is 
 a third small table, with two chairs. TJi^re is 
 another chair before the window. The room is 
 lined with bookcases. The furniture is such as 
 would naturally be chosen for his work-room by 
 a young man of taste, means, and culture. On 
 5 
 
6 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 the wall, in a not too conspicuous position, is a 
 Harvard banner. One sees also some good photo- 
 graphic reproductions of standard worlcs of art 
 and architecture, a hag of golf -clubs, several pipes 
 and tobacco-jars, and a bust of Dante. -. 
 
 Curtaih rises on absolutely dark stage. James 
 HowAiiD is sittirig at the desh. His son RiOH- 
 AKD is standing near him. Both are invisible in 
 the blachness attending the rise of the Curtain, 
 
 Mk. Howard. Oh, my God ! 
 
 Dick. Come, come, don't tremble so. Lean on 
 me. There, that's better. 
 
 Me. Howard. Dick, Dick, what's the use of it all ? 
 
 Dick. Come, sit down. There, there, you'll feel 
 better. You must rest. 
 
 Mr. Howard. Eest, rest, I'll never rest again. 
 
 Dick. Poor dad, you poor old dad ! 
 
 Mr. Howard. Oh, my God ! 
 
 Dick. Do you mind if we have a little light ? This 
 blackness is getting on my nerves, {turns up light: 
 the two tragic figures are shown in the bright light 
 cast downward bf the central electrolier) 
 
 Come, come. Dad, this won't do. I'm trying to 
 help you, don't you see? That's why I got you out 
 of bed and brought you here to my study where we 
 were sure to be left alone. I just felt I couldn't stand 
 it any longer. I had to know what it was. 
 
 Mr. Howard. Yes, yes, Dick, I know. 
 
 Dick. But if I'm. going to be of any help to you, 
 you must try and pull yourself together, don't you 
 see? You must, you must. "We've got to do some- 
 thing between us, and pretty quickly, too. 
 
 Me. Howard. There's nothing to do, Dick. 
 
 Dick. I don't believe it. I can't believe it. 
 
 Mr. Howard. ^I've tried everything I know, ev- - 
 erything I could possibly think of, exhausted every 
 
THE BIG IDEA 7 
 
 resource, borrowed from every friend I know. I man- ■ 
 aged to raise the greater part of it, but I'm still $20,- 
 000 short. Byrne is suspicious already, and on Fri- 
 day the Government Bank Examiner is due. It's no 
 use, Dick; it's disgrace; I'm done for and I've done 
 for your mother and your sister and you. Oh, Dick, 
 my boy ! (rises) 
 
 Dick. Dad, Dad, pull yourself together. We're 
 not done yet, we can't be. There must be a way out 
 if we can only find it. Now, tell me: this house, it 
 must be worth thirty thousand dollars. 
 
 Me. Howakd: Mortgaged up to the hilt. 
 
 Dick. Well, the Marblehead place. 
 
 Me. Howaed. Mortgaged to the roof, and every- 
 thing in it. You don't think I've come to this with- 
 out a struggle. 
 
 Dick. But your stock in the bank. 
 
 Me. Howaed. Hypothecated, every share of it. 
 I've sold every share of stock, every bond, every se- 
 curity I have in the world. My God, I've even 
 pawned your mother's jewels under pretense of hav- 
 ing them cleaned. 
 
 Dick, (walks up and down r) Oh, if I'd only 
 gone into business when I left college. If I'd only 
 done something to make money instead of trying to 
 write stories, I might be some use to you now. 
 
 Me. Howard. It's hard, Dick, it's hard. It isn't 
 as if I meant to do anything wrong; but when Ned 
 Jefferson came to me, somehow I couldn't say no to 
 him. We were old friends. I'd never have been 
 President of the McKinley National if it hadn't been 
 for him. He'd done a lot to give me a start in the 
 world, when we were both young. 
 
 Dick, (sits on sofa) Yes, Dad, I know, I know. 
 
 Me. Howard. He had this scheme for floating his 
 trolley syndicate. It sounded all right and seemed all 
 
8 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 right on investigation. There were big people in it; 
 and when Ned asked me to endorse his notes I 
 couldn't say no. How could I know that the Ned 
 Jefferson I used to know had turned into a crook ! 
 
 Dick. Of course -you couldn't. Dad, you couldn't. 
 (riseSj crosses to desk) 
 
 Mr. Howaed. And even now I'm not sure of it. 
 The Elliots withdrew their support, and then the 
 trolley scheme burst like a bubble; and no one knows 
 where Ned is. 
 
 Dick. And now the Bank Examiner comes in four 
 days ahd you're $20,000 short. 
 
 Me. Howaed. I had to make good on Ned's notes,, 
 and at once. I was only borrowing the money from- 
 the bank; it goes without saying that I meant to put 
 it back. 
 
 Dick. Of course you did, Dad, of course, (crosses 
 lacJc of desJc to l.) Well, -I've got an automobile 
 that you ga;ve me ; a few, decent suits of clothes" that 
 you've paid for; about a dozen rejected manuscripts; 
 three hundred dollars in the bank; and (prodtudnf^ 
 the money) nine dollars and seventy-six cents; ana 
 oh, yes, a life insurance policy that you bought for" 
 me. (takes policy from drawer in d^sh) There it 
 is. . It would be worth twenty-five thousand dollars 
 to me if I were forty-two years old, or to ytiu if I 
 were dead; but unfortunately I'm neither forty-two 
 nor dead. 
 
 Me. Howaed. Dick — don't! 
 
 Dick., Well, Dad, it looks as if we should all go 
 broke together. 
 
 Me. Howard. (rises) Broke! — Prison — ^that's 
 where I'm going. 
 
 Dick. Dad! 
 
 Me. Howaed. (crosses front of desk to l.) Yes, 
 I shall die in prison; and your mother will be' dis- 
 
THE BIG IDEA 9 
 
 graced, and Elsie, toa, and you. Dick, it will kill 
 your mother. It's no use — {sitsjshavr-ii.) 
 
 Dick. Oh, now Dad, you mustn't, give up, we're 
 not done yet, it's you and I together, now. All your 
 life you've been doing things for me ; it's time I did 
 something for you,-and I will. I'll find a way, you'll 
 see; just howr I don't know yet, but it must come 
 right somehow. It's got to. 
 
 (Elsie hnochs on door" and enters) 
 
 DioK. {goes o.) Sis, bless you, I'm glad to see 
 you. 
 
 Elsie. Well, I was afraid you weren't. You 
 didn't come down stairs to see me, and I've been 
 away such a long time. 
 
 Dick. I'm sorry. Sis, forgive me ; but really I was 
 terribly, busy, but I've, missed you lots, {doi/jft h of 
 desk) 
 
 Elsie. Honest? 
 
 Dick. Honest Injun! 
 
 Elsie. Are you going to Sallie Trumbull's daAce 
 with us? 
 
 Dick. I'm sorry. Sis, but I can't. Bob vi^ill take 
 you. 
 
 EiiStE!. But! want you to meet my chum, Elaine 
 Poster. 
 
 Dick. Elaine Foster! 
 
 Elsie. Why, yes, the girl I wrote you about 
 She's down stairs now with mother and Bob. Oh, 
 you'll like her; she's as clever as you are. She's the 
 editor of the college paper, "The Miscellany." 
 
 Dick. I'm sorry, but I can't see her now. 
 {goes back of desk) 
 
 Elsie. Well you ought to. {crosses to Me. How- 
 ard) Are you feeling better^ Daddy ? 
 
 Me, How^aed. Yes, dear, I'm better. 
 
10 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Elsie. I hope you're not going to be very ill. 
 
 Me. Howard. Oh, I'll be all right, dear. Try 
 not to worry. 
 
 Elsie. Dr. Stevens told mother that yonr nerves 
 are in bad shape and that, as soon as you can, you 
 ought to go away for a rest. 
 
 Mb. Howard. Yes, dear, perhaps I shall. 
 
 {Knock. Mrs. Howard enters^) 
 
 Mrs. Howard. I was so disappointed you didn't 
 come down to dinner, dear. 
 
 Dick. I'm sorry. Mothers. {Tie sits) 
 
 Elsie. He's- getting to be an awful grind. Moth- 
 er, {goes to Dick) 
 
 Mrs. Howard {to Me. Howard) I came up to 
 see how you were feeling, Jim, "and when I didn't 
 find you in your room, I was just a little worried. 
 {crosses L. to Me. Howard) 
 
 Mr. Howasd. I'm sorry, Alice. 
 
 Mrs. Howard. You ought to be in bed, you know. 
 
 Mr. Howard. Oh, I'm all right; just wanted a 
 little chat with Dick. 
 
 Mrs. Howard. Don't you think you'd better go 
 back now? 
 
 Mr. Howard. Perhaps I had. {business) Per- 
 haps I had. {rises, crosses with Mrs. Howard 
 toward door r.) 
 
 Mrs. Howard.^ Aren't you coming down, Dick? 
 
 Dick. No, Mother, I think not. ^ 
 
 (Elsie goes off g., lights lamp, plays piano) 
 
 Mrs. Howard. I wish you would ; you know Elsie 
 has brought her friend, Blaine Foster, home with her. 
 
 Dick. Yes, yes. Sis was just telling me. 
 
 Mrs. Howard, (c.) But Dick, the girls want to 
 try some new dances, and they need you. 
 
 Dick. I'm sorry, Mother, but I've got some work 
 to do. 
 
THE BIG IDEA 11 
 
 Me. Howaed. (U.E.C.) Goodnight, Dick. 
 Dick. Goodnight, Dad. Do try and' get some 
 sleep. ^(Me. Howaed exits) ^ 
 
 Mes. Howaed. Dick, what is it? 
 - Dick. It's all right. Mother. Goodnight. 
 
 Mes. Howaed. Goodnight, my son. Elsie 
 
 Elsie. Yes, Mother. 
 
 Mes. Howard. Come, dear. 
 
 (Mes. Howaed exits) 
 
 ijLSiE. If do wish you'd come down, Dick. 
 
 Dick. Please, little sister, I can't. Don't you 
 Worry your pretty little head about me. Goodnight. 
 (hisses her. Elsie eaiiis). {Grosses to chair iack of 
 desh, then to window l. — and hack to desTc. Policy 
 business J gun iusiness, light business. Long piece 
 of business with electrolier. Walks about the room in 
 meditation. Goes to deshfiakes pistol from drawer, 
 holds it in right liand, holds life insurance policy in 
 left hand. He is thinking that he might shoot him- 
 self and the policy would be paid to his father. He 
 decides thai this plan would not be practicable. 
 Throws pistol in drawer— policy on desk— and walks 
 about. Beaches table E., and absent-mindedly turns 
 on the electric table-lamp. The wires of this lamp 
 give him the idea of getting an electric shock thai 
 should seem to be an accidental death. Accordingly, 
 he takes his pocket-knife and scrapes away enough of 
 the insulation to give his fingers a contact. He goes 
 to the vase of flowers on the table up E. c, takes flow- 
 ers out, and replaces them in vase, to show the audi- 
 ence the water. Places vase on table e., beside the 
 lamp. Goes through pantomime with his fingers on 
 the exposed wires. Turns the light out; and then 
 turns it on again. This is the cue for Bob to knock 
 at K. u. door) 
 
12 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 {Enoch at door.) 
 
 (Covers exposed wires with nibq,ga^ine—:sits on ' 
 couch E.) Come in. 
 
 Bob. {enters) Hello, Dick, hope I don't in- 
 trude on your divine afflatuS;^ or anything like that. 
 
 Dick. No, Bob, I wasn't writing. 
 
 Bob. What's the matter? Has your Muse gone 
 on a strike, or are you waiting for an inspiration ? 
 
 Dick. Yes, Bob, that's 4t. I'm waiting for an 
 inmiration. 
 
 Bob.. Well, for the love of Mike, let's have a little 
 light, {goes e. — turns on'switCh ielow door — lights 
 2 wall brackets) Well, then, why don't you do your 
 waiting down stairs ? It's a dashed sight more in- 
 spiring down there. Have you seen the pippin Elsie 
 brought home with her from college? 
 
 Dick. No, Bob, I haven't. -I'^e other things to 
 think about just now. 
 
 Bob. Well, forget it, because I've got a little bet 
 on that I could bring you down stairs, (c. front of 
 desk) 
 
 Dick. I'm sorry, but I can't. 
 
 Bob. Dearie me, what's the matter? Got another 
 rejection slip from Munsey's magazine? 
 
 Dick. No, Bob. Do you remember that life in- 
 surance policy that you sold 'me over a year ago ? 
 
 Bob. (l. of desk) Do I? I should guess yes. 
 $25,000; the first big one I ever wrote. Want some 
 more ? 
 
 Dick. No. 
 
 Bob. a little accident insurance, perhaps ? Eh ? 
 Now, niy company sells a policy that vill give you 
 two thousand dollars for a leg. 
 
 Dick, {crossing to Bob) Want a light? 
 
 BpB. Thanks, {crosses to end of divan e. — lights 
 cigarette) 
 
THE BIG li)EA 13 
 
 Dick. I've just been glancing through this policy. 
 By the way, Bob, you once confided to me thiat you 
 hoped some day to be able to ask my sister to marry 
 you. 
 
 Bob. Hope you don't thijik I've forgbtten it.^ 
 
 Dick. Don't think me impertinent. Bob j I've an 
 excellent reason for wanting to know if you are still 
 of the same mind." 
 
 Bob. - {sits. on arm of divan) I certainly am. 
 My company's promised me the first district mana- 
 gership that's open. When I get that I'm going to 
 put my fortune to the touch ; but just at present, well, 
 my father's a parson, and none of the rest of the 
 family ever had any money either. 
 
 Dick. Have you said anything to Elsie ? 
 
 Bob. Don't be an ass, of course I haven't, (crosses 
 to Dick) Of course, I've dropped a few hints. I've 
 said that I thought no chap had any right to ask a 
 gixl to marry him unless he was sure he could take 
 care of herj ^nd I said that I had about as much 
 money as you could get for a mortgage on a one cent 
 stamp, but I really haven't said anything. 
 
 Dick. What did she say? 
 
 Bob. She Said she hoped I'd be very successful in 
 business. 
 
 Dick. I see. 
 
 Bob. What did you want to know about that 
 policy? 
 
 Dick. I've just been glancing through it. What 
 I want to know is this. Suppose I were to die .sud- 
 denly, by accident, say tomorrow or tonight. 
 
 Bob. I say, Dick, I wish you wouldn't talk like 
 that ; it makes a chap feel uncomfortable. 
 
 Dick. I might, you know. 
 
 Bob. Well 
 
 Dick. When wotild the moUey be paid ? 
 
14 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Bob. In the ordinary course of business, the 
 money would be paid to your father in about thirty 
 days. 
 
 Dick. That's not very soon, is it? 
 
 Bob. Wellj people aren't generally in any great 
 hurry. In the first place; there's the funeral ; that's 
 a three days' affair and it takes a few days to get 
 over that; and then it's' generally ten, days to a fort- 
 night before people are sufficiently over their grief to 
 look on the bright side, of things. 
 
 Dick. But supposing this were an unusual case'. 
 Supposing there were some Special, urgent need for 
 the money? Couldn't it be done sooner? 
 
 Bob. Mm— it might. 
 
 Dick. Say within two days? 
 
 Bob. Kot unless somebody had a pull with the 
 company. 
 
 Dick. Well, you have a pull with the company, 
 haven't you? 
 
 Bob. Fair. 
 
 Dick. I don't know much about these things, but 
 I was wondering whether, supposing I should die 
 tonight, the money could be paid to my father not 
 later than Thursday noon. 
 
 Bob. Not'unless somebody on the inside boosted 
 it along. 
 
 Dick. You could do that, couldn't you ? 
 
 Bob. Oh, yes, I suppose 1 could. Look here, 
 Dick, you talk as if you were going to kill yourself. 
 
 Dick. I am — toniglfit. 
 
 Bob. Say, if this is a joke — ^ 
 
 Dick. I wish it were a joke. Listen, Bob. My 
 dad's in terrible trouble. 
 
 Bob. Trouble ? 
 
 Dick. He endorsed an old friend's notes for a 
 big sum, the old friend turned out a crook, da^ had 
 to make good in a hurry. He borrowed the bank's 
 
„ THE BIG IDEA 15 
 
 money to do it. At the same time, certain enter- 
 prises in which he was heavily interested went to 
 the bad. The long and short of it is that dad can't 
 make good. 
 
 Bob. Can't make good ? 
 
 DiOK. He borrowed the bank's money and he 
 can't repay it, and the deficit is certain to be discov- 
 ered when the Bank Examiner comes next Friday. 
 
 Bob. Are you sure he can't raise it somehow ? 
 
 Dick. He has realized on everything' he has in 
 the world. Borrowed from every human being who 
 would lend him a nickel. Oh, he's raised the greater 
 part of it, but he's still $20,000 short. 
 
 Bob. Twenty thousand dollars, that's not so ter- 
 ribly much, {crosses E.) 
 
 Dick. Isn't it? Then perhaps you could let me 
 have it. 
 
 Bob.' Twenty thousand dollars ! My whole fam- 
 ily couldn't raise $2,000 to save all our lives. 
 
 Dick. You see. 
 
 Bob. (crosses to Dick) But your father's a man 
 of consequence in business. Are you sure he's done 
 everything possible? 
 
 Dick. Does a man like my father leave any stone 
 unturned when he's facing a prison term for embezzle- 
 ment ? 
 
 Bob. Embezzlement ? 
 
 ' (e. of desh.) 
 
 Dick, (goes v. l.) Oh, Bob, he never meant it, 
 never in the world; but that won't save him, so you 
 see it's up to me. 
 
 Bob. You don't mean — ^you can't mean — no, 
 Dick, I won't stand for it. 
 
 I^CK. There's nothing else. 
 
 Bob. There must be. 
 
 Dick. What? 
 
16 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Bob. You have relatives ; surely they would hock 
 ithe very clothes on their backs in a time like this. • 
 
 ,DiCK. (crosses E.) Yes, we've got relatives, but 
 ■for the most part the only clothes they've got are the 
 clothes on their backs. They haven't a hundred dol- 
 lars between them. Dad's supported most of them 
 for years. 
 
 Bob. But this house. 
 
 Dick. Mortgaged. Same with the Marfjlehead 
 pkee. Every rag in it, every stick of furniture, 
 every share of stock — ^there's not a thing left, not a 
 thing, and it's not enough. 
 
 Bob. {at c.) You mean you're going to die for 
 a matter of $20,000 ? 
 
 Dick. 'So, for my father — ^my mother and sister. 
 Listen, Bob, (crosses io Bob) I can't take any chances, 
 there must' be no ifs or buts about this thing. My 
 father's got to have $20,000 no later than Thursday 
 noon, just so sure as the sun rises on that day. I 
 know of only one way to get it with absolute cer- 
 tainty, and even that way is only certain with your 
 help. Listen,-Bob, if, my father goes to prison his 
 life will be ruined, 'my mother's life will be ruined. 
 God! I think it would kill her; and my sister, her 
 whole future would be darkened; but me, I'm only 
 one, J'm not married nor engaged nor even in love. 
 Oh, yes, they'd grieve for me, bless 'em, but there 
 would be no dark disgrace to shadow alj their lives. 
 
 Bob. IN'ot when they knew you'd killed yourself? 
 
 Dick. They'll never know that. 
 
 Bob. What do you mean? 
 
 Dick. There's, an anti-suicide clause in that pol- 
 icy, isn't there? 
 
 Bob. Yes. 
 
 Dick. And if there were the least suspicion, ther^ 
 would be some delay about the payment, wouldn't 
 there ? 
 
THE BIG IDEA 17 
 
 Bob. I suppose so. 
 
 Dick. Then there must be no suspicion. I shall 
 die in such a. way that nobo3y would know it was 
 anything but an accident, {crosses to electrolier' n.) 
 You see this electric light, see these wires, they are 
 quite bare. I can touch them and only get a trifling 
 shock, see? They are harmless enough now; but I 
 happen to know a little about electricity, and I know 
 that out here, living at the distance we do from 
 town, a high potential current of some twenty-five 
 hundred volts is required to carry electricity this far. 
 Seventeen hundred volts is all they give murderers 
 at Sing Sing. Why didn't I drop dead when I 
 touched those wires? Because down stairs in the 
 cellar is a thing called a transformer which reduces 
 the high potential into a low potential current ; but 
 if you were to. go to that transformer, say, late at 
 night, and short-circuit the primary and secondary 
 coils, and then touch those wires — ^instant death. 
 Listen, Bob: this is the obvious picture of my death 
 which will be easily constructed. After going to bed, 
 something occurred to' me, as it often does, that I 
 wanted to put on paper before I forgot it. In the 
 dark I came back into this room. In groping about, 
 I upset this vase of flowers ; the water in the vase 
 spilled on the floor about here. Standing barefooted 
 in the water I groped for the light and by accident 
 T touched the naked wires whose insulation vas worn 
 Cff; the whole force of the current shot through my 
 body, and I died without a sound, (crosses 'to 
 Bob 0.) 
 
 Bob. Dick ! 
 
 Dick. Now, do be quiet, Bob, because here's 
 where you come in. You'll come to this house at 
 10 o'clock tomorrow morning. You and I had ar- 
 ranged to gofoT a drive in the country. Of course, 
 you'll find the whole place upset ; then you'll get your 
 
18 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 company's medical inspector on the job,, do anything 
 you can — ^nse your pull— piilit through and see that 
 my father gets the money no later than Thursday 
 noon. Why, no on& can suspect. ISTo one will ever 
 dream that I had the slightest reason for committing 
 
 suicide; and, oh, yes, that's a good idea I'll 
 
 ■write Arthur Williams and ask him to coipe and play 
 golf with me tomorMW. I'll do that now. (goes 
 back of desk) 
 
 Bob. (r. of desk) ■ Dick, it's damnable. 
 . Dick. Bob, ^ you^were in my place tonight, what 
 would you do? (poMse — knock on door) Come in, 
 who is it? 
 
 (Elaine enters. Bob goes to her.) 
 
 Elaine. Well, Mr. Caswell. 
 
 Bob. Well! 
 
 Blaine. I thought y6ji said that you could bring 
 him down stairs. 
 
 Bob. I tried. 
 
 Elaine. You tried and failed, i IsTow suppose 
 you go down and lea;ve me with the enemy. 
 
 Bob. I can't. 
 
 Blaine.' You can't, but you will. Eemember, I 
 am she who must be obeyed; run along. 
 
 (Bob turns doubtfully to Richaed.) 
 
 DiOK. That's all right, you'll see me later. 
 
 (Bob exits k. u.) 
 
 Blaine.' (e. of desk) Well, he's a cheerful little 
 chap, isn't he ? Now I suppose you're wondering 
 who I am. I'm Blaine Poster, rand you might as 
 well make up your mind to be nice to me, because 
 your sister brought me home with her for the Easter ' 
 holidays. How do you do? 
 
 Dick. How do you do. Miss Eoster. Won't you 
 sit down? 
 
THE BIG IDEA 13 
 
 Elaine. Well, that's decent. of you, anyway. I 
 rather expected you to bite me. {goes front of desk 
 to L. Then up l.) 
 
 Dick. Bite you! 
 
 Elaine. I was assured that your study was a 
 sort of sacred spot that must not be invaded on pain 
 of death ; so you see what brave things .a woman can 
 do when she's angry, (l. 0/ desh) 
 
 Dick. Angry. Are you angry? 
 
 Elaine. lam. 
 
 Dick. With whom? 
 
 Elaine. With you. 
 
 Dick. With me? What for? 
 
 Blaine. ' (l. of desk) I'm not used to being 
 treated in this manner. 
 
 Dick. What do you mean ? 
 
 Blaine. Well, here I come from Vassar with 
 your sister on a visit. I've been hearing about you 
 for years, sister being for some queer reason rather 
 proiid of you. I've even read your name in the 
 magazines two or three times. 
 
 Dick. I thank you. 
 
 Elaine. I rather liked that story of yours about 
 the man with the pink hair. 
 
 Dick. (e. of desk) I thank you. 
 
 Elaine. Well, naturally, under the circum- 
 stances, I expected a little attention. I'm not ex- 
 actly negligible. 
 
 Dick. So it seems. 
 
 Elaine. But you don't appear at dinner, and me 
 wearing' my newest gown; and after dinner you send 
 word you're not coming down at all; well, naturally 
 I'm peevish. I'm not used to that sort of thing, 
 and I don't like it. 
 
 Dick. Eeally, I'm very sorry, but the fact is — 
 
 Elaine. When I don't like anything, I say so. 
 I'm saying so now, {siis L.) 
 
20 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 DioK. (goes to her) Eeally, Miss Foster, Fm; 
 terribly sorry to have been so rude. The fact is, I 
 didn't realize. Is there anything I can do to make 
 up for it? "^ 
 
 Blaine, (rises). Yes, come down stairs and play 
 with us. You do know how to play, don't you ? 
 
 Dick.: I've seldom done anything else. 
 
 Elaine. Then come along, (goes bach of desk 
 towards door e.) 
 
 Dick. I'm afraid I can't. 
 
 Elaine. Why not? (comes down e. to c.) 
 
 Dick, I've something to do. 
 
 Elaine. Put it off. Come. Really, I think you 
 might like me when you know me. You mustn't 
 mind my coarse, rough ways. Despite an unpromis- 
 ing exterior, I'm really rather nice. 
 
 Dick. That seems most likely. ~ ■ 
 
 Elaine. Then you'll come ? . . . . Not when I've 
 come a'tapping, tapping, tapping at your study door ? 
 
 Dick. Well, perhaps — 
 
 Elaine. I could carry the parody even further. 
 You remember there's something in it about "Never 
 More?" 
 
 Dick, (significantly) Yes, so there is, "Never 
 More." 
 
 Elaine. And it isn't every night that strange 
 young ladies come a'tapping at your study door, is it ? 
 
 Dick. Hardly. 
 
 Elaine. Well, then, come along, (starts toward 
 door E.) 
 
 Dick. I'm afraid I can't, (l. of desh) 
 
 Blaine. Why can't you? 
 
 Dick. I've something important to do. 
 
 Elaine, (either side of armchair g.) Oh, work- 
 ing out a story, I suppose? 
 
 Dic^. Yes, that's it, I was working out a story. 
 
 Elaine. What's the matter? Won't it come 
 right? -^ 
 
THE BIG IDEA 31 
 
 ^ DiOK. No, there seems to be nothing but tragedy 
 at the end of it. 
 
 Elaine. Oh, I see. Of course, you're looking 
 for the happy ending so popular with the public. , 
 
 Dick. I'm afraid there's no happy ending to this. 
 
 Elaine. Are you sure? 
 
 Dick. Certain. 
 
 Elaine, (sits on arm of chair) Well, of course, 
 you should have been sure of your ending before you 
 began your story. 
 
 Dick. I was. 
 
 Elaine. Then why do it at all? 
 
 Dick. I've got to. I — I can't Aelp it. 
 
 Elaine. Oh, the ci;eative instinct driving you on. 
 I can understand that. You see, I try to write 
 "myself. 
 
 Dick. Oh, do you? 
 
 Elaine. Yes. It interests me — ^plots and con- 
 struction and all that sort of thing. I like to see 
 the wheels go 'round, (rises) 
 
 Dick. Oh, yes. Sister's told me how clever you 
 are. 
 
 Elaine. Oh, I wouldn't call it cleverness. Ifs 
 just a feeling about things. All my life I've been 
 doing things that people said were perfectly crazy, 
 but I've always felt that they would come out all 
 right and they always did, and just now I've got a 
 feeling about you. 
 
 Dick. About me? / 
 
 - Elaine. Yes. I've got a feeling that I can help 
 you find your happy ending. 
 
 Dick. I'm afraid you don't" realize the difficulty 
 of this problem. 
 
 Elaine. The more difficult, the better. Anyone 
 can solve an easy problem. 
 
 Dick. There are some that can't be solved. 
 
22 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Elaine. -Don't you believe it. There's always a 
 way out. The trick is to find it. 
 
 {Enter Bob and Elsie.) 
 
 Elsie. Well, Elaine, have you persuaded Dick to . 
 go to the dance with us? 
 
 Elaine. No, Elsie, I'm afraid I haven't, {goes 
 lack of Elsie, 'AVaw and down r.) 
 
 Dick. But isn't Bob going to take you ? 
 
 Elsie. Tes, but I want you all to go. 
 
 Bob. I say, Elsie, do we have to go to this con- 
 founded dance? 
 
 Elsie. I do, anyhow. I promised Sallie. 
 
 Elaine, {crosses to Elsie) Elsie, you won't 
 mind if I don't go, will you ? 
 
 Elsie. What's the matter with you folks? You 
 know this dance is a perfectly respectable affair. 
 
 Elaine. I thought I'd like to stay home and talk 
 to your big brother; It's probably the only cliance 
 I'll have, and I'd better make the most of it. 
 
 Elsie. Well, he isn't much to talk to tonight. 
 {'Elait'TE sits on divan.) {Crossing to Hick) Dick, 
 what is the matter with you ? 
 
 Dick. Kow, don't you bother about me. 
 
 ELSifi. And what did you do to Bob? 
 
 Dick. I? , 
 
 Elsie. He was perfectly all right when he went 
 
 up stairs to see you, but when lie came down 
 
 look at him now. 
 
 Bob. What's the matter with me? 
 
 Dick. I don't think he looks any worse thaii 
 usual. 
 
 Bob. Humph ! 
 
 Elaine. He's going to a dance, that's why he 
 looks so bright and gay. 
 
 Bob. {crossing to Dick) Dick, about that damn 
 thing you were talking to me about — :^ 
 
THE BIG IDEA 23 
 
 Dick, (goes u. l. Bob sits -chair-, l.) Bob, 
 please — 
 
 Elsie. Oh-, Elaine, why won't you go with us? 
 
 Elaine. The fact is, ;^sie, your brother and I 
 are talking shop. 
 
 Elsie. Shop ! 
 
 Elaine. -^Yes, we are discussing the plot of a 
 story he is writing, and if it's all the same to you 
 we'd rather go on doing it. ^t least, I would; but, 
 of course — {rises— goes tack of divan) 
 
 Dick. Oh, no, please don't go— please. Do stay. 
 
 Elsie. Oh, I see. Well, we're not going for fif- 
 teen minutes. If you've got Dick's little masterpiecei 
 all straightened out by then, -come on down stairs; 
 if not, we'll go without you. Besides, I'll only stay 
 an hour or s6. 
 
 Elaine. / Will you tell your mother where we 
 are? 
 
 Elsie. I'll tell her when she comes down. She's 
 upstairs with father. Eeady, Bob? {No answer. 
 Crosses to Bob l.) Mr. Caswell, are you ready? 
 Come on, .we're going to a dance, not a funeral. 
 {drags Bob to door) 
 
 Dick. Make my excuses to Sallie, won't you ? 
 {going to door, calling after her) 
 
 Elsie. I will not ; make them yourself. 
 
 (Bob and Elsie exit.) 
 
 Elaine, {sits dn divan) Now, then, let's put 
 our heads together and see if we can't find that-happy 
 ending. 
 
 Dick. Ifs awfully good of you, but I'm afraid 
 it isn't really worth your while, (going l.) 
 
 Elaine. A happy ending is always worth while. 
 Come on, read me your story. 
 
 Dick. Well, you see, I haven't written it; I've 
 only planned it. 
 
24 , THE BIG IDBA- 
 
 Elaine. So much the better ; then you can tell it 
 to me. 
 
 Dick. Yesr— but — 
 
 Elaine. You'd better try me. I might be able, 
 to help you. I'm rather good at that sort of thing, 
 
 Dick. I beliere I will. Do you mind if I smoke ? 
 (l. of desk) 
 
 Elaine. TSo — 'I tried to learn, but I'm afraid I'm 
 not up-to-date. 
 
 Dick. Well — ^this story is about a person who — 
 ' Elaine. Man or woman? 
 
 Dick. Oh, a girl, a youifg girl. (e. corner of 
 
 Elaine. About my age? 
 
 Dick. Yes — ^this girl owes everything to her 
 
 uncle. He's a banker — ^brought her up — educated 
 her — he's given her everything in the world. She 
 loves him deeply. 
 
 Elaine. Yes. 
 
 Dick. Well, he's in trouble — ^financially — ^lost all 
 his money — ^borrowed trust funds he can't pay back — 
 took them from the bank. 
 
 Elaine. , Stole them? 
 
 Dick. That's what the' law would say; but he 
 didn't mean any harm. "^ 
 
 Elaine. I see. Danger of discovery. 
 
 Dick. (e. of desk) Yes, in four days : unless he 
 can raise $30,000 in four days, certain discovery- 
 ruin — prison. And, for his wife and daughter, dis- 
 grace. . 
 
 Elaine, And you want this girl to save him. 
 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 Elaine. How ? 
 
 DrcK. She has a life insurance policy he bought 
 for her— $35,000. 
 
 Elaine. I see. You mean for her to give her 
 life to — 
 
THE^K^ IDEA . 25 
 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 Elaine. But this policy, would it be paid in 
 case of suicide ? 
 
 Dick, (at lamp e.) "No. So she plans to make 
 it look like an accident, (turns on and off current) 
 
 Elaine. How? 
 
 Dick. Haven't quite ■vv^orked it out yet. (goes to 
 desk) 
 
 Elaine. It won't be easy. 
 
 Dick. No, it won't. (sUs on a. corner of desk) 
 
 Elaine. There must be some other way. 
 
 DiCK. I wish to God there were. 
 
 Elaine. Twenty thousand dollars. It ought to 
 be possible to raise that amount if one had time. 
 
 Dick, (rises) But he hasn't the time. 
 
 Elaine. He ? Oh, the uncle. 
 
 Dick. I mean there isn't time. 
 
 Elaine. Tell me. Has this girl any other rela- 
 tives? 
 . Dick. Ko. 
 
 Elaine, (goes to Dick) Well, I think it would 
 be better if: it were Jier father who was in trouble ; 
 because then, you see, she would be giving her life 
 not only for her father but for her mother and sister 
 as well ; isn't that so ? 
 
 Dick. Perhaps it is. '' ' 
 
 Elaine. Strange you didn't think of that ! 
 •■ Dick, (goes l.) Oh, I don't know, it's just a 
 detail. 
 
 Elaine. It is better that w'ay ; make it father and 
 daughter, or even — yes, of course— make it father 
 and son. (goes to Dick) 
 
 Dick. (l. of desk) Yes, yes, but er — the situa- 
 tion is just the same. 
 
 Blaine. Of course ; the point is, is there any way 
 out? 
 
26 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Dick. Yes, that's the point — ^is there any way 
 out? {knock at the door) 
 Dick. Come in. 
 
 {The maid, MJlRY, enters e. .tj.) 
 
 Maid. There's a man at the door, Mr. Eiehard, 
 wants to see Mr. Howard. He seems rather excited, 
 so I thought I'd better let you know. 
 
 Dick. Tell him that it is impossible for him to 
 see my father, 'that he's ill in bed. 
 
 Maid. I did tell him thdt, sir, but he said he's 
 got to see him — says he won't go iaway till he does 
 see him. ' , 
 
 Dick.- What's his name? 
 
 Maid. Mr. Burns — I think, sir. 
 
 Dick. Burns ? 
 
 Maid. Yes, sir. I think he's been here once or 
 twice before. 
 
 Dick. Oh, has Miss, Elsie gone out yet ? 
 
 Maid. N"o, sir. 
 
 Dick. Then I suppose I'll have to see him, up 
 here. I'm sorry. 
 
 EiaiNB. ' Oh, that's all right. 
 
 Dick. Show him up. 
 
 (Maid exiis.) 
 
 Elaine. See here — if I go downstairs now, they'U 
 drag me off to that blessed dance. Can't you-put 
 me somewhere till your man is gone? 
 
 Dick. Certainly. You can wait in mother's sit- 
 ting room. It's right through there. ( Goes through 
 doors c. Lights) 
 
 Elaine. Oh, that will do perfectly. 
 
 Dick. I wish you'd come back in five minutes. 
 He's probably some horrible bore, and it will be a 
 good excuse to get rid- of him. - 
 
 Elaine. All right — five minutes. _ 
 
THE BIG IDEA 27 
 
 (Exits c. Door slams.) 
 
 Dick, {closes curtains. Maid shows Me. Byenk 
 in, and exits) Oh — Mr. Byrne, how do you do ! The 
 maid said Burns. I beg your pardon. I understand 
 you want to see my father. 
 
 Byene. (carrying his hat, uncomfortably) Yes. 
 
 Dick. I'm sorry, he's ill, confined to his bed. 
 
 Btene. Don't make any difference.; I've got to 
 see him. 
 
 Dick. I'm sorry, but you can't. Is there any- 
 thing I can do ? 
 
 Byrne. No, there's nothing you can do. I've 
 got tp see your father, and I tell you I will. (Byenb 
 sits on divan) 
 
 Dick. I suppdse you realize your conduct is, to 
 say the least, extraordinary. 
 
 Byene. I don't care a damn about that. I've 
 got^o see Mr. Howard and I'm going to. It's a 
 matter of the utmost importance. 
 
 Dick. To him or to you ? 
 
 Byene. To both of us. » 
 
 Dick. Mr. Byrne, my father is suffering from a 
 nervous breakdown. Eest and quiet are essential to 
 him, so of course I cannot let you see him. 
 
 Byene. I tell you I'll not leave this house with- 
 out seeing him. 
 
 Dick. I'm afraid you'll have to. 
 
 Byenb. (.gets up angrily) Will I? Will I? 
 Then I'll stand on the steps and beat on the door — 
 I'll raise a row that you'll never forget if you live 
 to be a hundred. Fow you listen to me. You'd 
 better let me see him if you know what's good for 
 yourself, and for him, too. 
 
 Dick. Mr, Byrne, you're evidently very mucli ex- 
 cited about S9mething. In your present condition 
 you are the last person, in the world who ought to 
 see my father. 
 
88 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 ' Btene. That's all riglit. But I tell yoii, see hiiiS 
 I will, ((grosses l. Aiout to sit) 
 
 DioK. Ifot unless you give me a reason, (crosses 
 to c.) 
 
 BTiRNE. {crosses to Dick) All right, then I 
 will. Now, I didn't want to tell you, remember 
 that, you're driving me to it, but I've got to see him 
 and I don't care what I say to do it. 
 
 Dick. All right, what is it? 
 
 Btene. I've been paying teller in your father's 
 bank for the last ten years ; naturally I got to know 
 him pretty well. He was always pretty decent -to me. 
 
 Dick. Yes, that's his way. 
 
 Btene. About three weeks ago he came to' me 
 and said that if I had two thou|tod dollars to spare 
 he thought he saw his way to double it for me in a 
 year. Well, the proposition looked pretty good to 
 me, so I fell for it; let him have the money on his 
 note. 
 
 Dick. Well, what of it? 
 
 Bykne. a few days after, the night~watchman 
 happened to- mention-that yourifather was working 
 late at the bank the night before. I asked him if 
 he'd been in the vaults, and he said yes. I don't 
 know why, but it set me thinking- then your father 
 fell sick and didn't come to the bank at all, so I 
 did a little night work myself, and it didn't take me 
 long to feid out that the bank was short thousands 
 of dollars. 
 
 Dick. Mr. Byrne, do you realize what you're 
 saying? _ , 
 
 Btene. I do. I'm saying the bank is short and 
 that your father knows, it^ and it won't be- long 
 before everybody else knows it. " 
 
 Dick. Why, there's not a word of truth in what 
 yoti say. 
 
THE BIG IDEA 39 
 
 Bthne. (crosses l. and sits) 1 wish to God there 
 wasn't. 
 
 ..Dick. And eren granting it were true, I can't 
 quite see — ' 
 
 Btkne. Can't you? Then I'll tell you. The 
 moment the truth comes out, the bank examiner will 
 step in. The bank's doors will be shut, there'll be 
 a receiyer, your father'Ube a bankrupt — a coniict for 
 all I know. A bankrupt anyhow: and then what^l 
 •happen to my two thousand dollars ? 
 
 Dick. Two thousand dollars— ^that isn't very 
 inuch. 
 
 I Btsne. . (rises) Isn't it? It's more than half 
 of all I've saved for my wife and kiddies, and I tell 
 you flat I'll not leave this house without it; I'm 
 damned if I do. 
 
 Dick, (goes i. u.) Ssh — Ssh, please, please. 
 
 Byene. (crosses k.) Ah, you're afraid some- 
 bodyU hear about it. Well, they'll all hear about it 
 if I don't see your father tonight. You can throvf, 
 me out if you want to ; d'you think that will stop my 
 mouth ? I'll stand in the middle of the street, and 
 shout "thief" at the top of my voice— "thief." (low- 
 ering, his voice) Do you hear that — "thief." 
 " Dick, (crosses to Byrne) Mr. Byrne, if I didn't 
 know you, I'd think you either a blackmailer or a 
 lunatic ; but I can't halve my father disturbed toijight. 
 Won't you please sit down, please, please. (Byene 
 sits on divan) I'll make you this offer. I'll draw 
 up a receipt for $2,000 ; this you will sign. 
 
 Bykste. ' Will I? 
 
 Dick. After I have given you Amy check for 
 $2,000. 
 
 Byene. How do I know the check's any good? 
 
 ' Dick. I shall date it three days ahead. On 
 Thursday afternoon there^l be funds to meet it. 
 
 Byene. How do I know there will? 
 
30 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Dick. You don't. You've got to take my word 
 for it. 
 
 Byrne. Ha ! 
 
 Dick. Well, dod't you see, if what you say is true, 
 it's your only chance to get your money ? Don't you 
 see that? 
 
 Btkne. No, I'm damned if I do. 
 
 Dick. Then I'll tell ■ you. (Elaine comes in 
 vnseen) , Fo matter what happens, you will not be 
 allowed to see my father. That is final. Then, if, 
 as you threaten, you proclaim your charges to the 
 world, and what you say is 'true, exposure will fol- 
 low, the bank will close, my father will be a bank- 
 rupt, (Blaine goes out again} and your money 
 will be irretrievably gone. Is that clear? (pause) 
 Well, what do you say? ^ 
 
 Btknb. (rises — crosses L.) Well, I guess I'll 
 have to take a chance. 
 
 Dick. All right, (goes to desk and sits to write, 
 j^noch at the door) Who is it? 
 
 Mes. Howard, (in hall) It's I, Dick. 
 
 DiQK. Oh, just a moment. Mother, pleaser 
 (rises." To Btene) It's my mother, Mr. Byrne. 
 Seeing ; you here — ^you- can understand — she might 
 be worried. Would you mind waiting in here'? 
 (crosses l., opens door, l. lights) 
 
 Btkne. How long will I have to wait ? 
 
 Dick. Oh, I can't say exactly — not long — fiftete 
 minutes at the most. I'll call you. ^ 
 
 Byrne. Well — I'll wait that long — ^just that long. 
 (exits) 
 
 Dick. ■ Come in. Mother. Anything the matter? 
 
 Mrs. Howard. Dick, I'm so worried about your 
 father. 
 
 Dick. What's the matter ? Can't he go to sleep ? 
 
 Mrs. Howard. He's just dropped ofE — it isn't 
 
THE BIG IDEA 31 
 
 that ; but — ^he acts a*s if he had something on his 
 mind. I can't quite make it out. 
 
 Dick. Oh, it's nothing. Mother, just overwork — 
 that's all. 
 
 Mhs. Howam). Hasn't he said anything to you? 
 
 Dick. Why, no, nothing special. It's just 
 nerves. I wouldn't ask him any questions. Hest is 
 all he needs. Just help him to rest. 
 
 Mrs, Howard. I've been thinking, Dick, that 
 when he's a little better, we "might take him -to Cali- 
 fornia. ^ 
 
 Dick. We'll talk it all over when the time comes 
 — ^later — ^not now. Good night. Mother, and don't 
 worry. 
 
 Mrs. HowIrd. I'll try not, to; but if anything 
 should happen to your ^father I don't know what 
 I'd do. 
 
 Dick. Yes, yes,. I know, I know. Mother. Now, 
 don't you worry. Everything is going to be all 
 right. Good night, Mother. 
 
 Mrs. Howard. Good night, my son. 
 
 {They kiss. Mrs. Howard exits r, u. Dick crosses 
 ' / L. fo get Btrne. Elaine enters o.) 
 
 Elaine. Wait! 
 
 Dick, (as he turns and sees her) Oh, Miss Fos- 
 ter, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to excuse me; 
 rather a troublesome matter of business has — 
 
 Elaine. Wait. That story of yours with the 
 tragic ending. .It's your own. (u. L. c.) 
 
 Dick. What! You heard? 
 
 Elaine. Yes, something. 
 
 Dick. How much? 
 
 Elaine. Enough. - Oh, I didn't mean to listen; 
 but after the first few words I couldn't go away. 
 Are you angry? 
 
32 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Dick, {goes n. front of desk) Angry? No. t 
 was a fool, a fool to tell you. Oh, I'm sorry. 
 
 Elaine. (/oZZomis Dick) So that's what ails Mr. 
 Caswell. He knows. 
 
 Dick. Yes. I had to tell him, so that the-policy 
 would be promptly paid. 
 
 Elaine. Listen, you must send this man away at 
 pnc6. 
 
 Dick. I tried to. He wouldn't go. The only 
 way I can get rid of him is to give him a check for 
 his money. The only way I cap make the check 
 good — ^there's no other way. {goes l.) 
 
 Elaine. We must find another way. 
 
 Dick. We ? You talk as if it were your affair. 
 
 Elaine. It is.' From now on I make it so. 
 
 Dick. Oh, don't — don't make it any harder for 
 me. You overheard, that was an accident. I'm 
 Borry. Just forget everything you know. 
 
 Blaine. I can't- forget. There must be some 
 other way. Time is all we need. ;^;Time to think ! . 
 We must put this" man off. 
 
 Dick. S'sh ! How ? If I throw him out he will 
 make a roar and then the whole thing will con^ out. 
 Don't you see? * 
 
 Elaine. Leave him to me. I'll think of some 
 way to get rid of him. 
 
 Dick. He's desperate,.! tell you. 
 
 Elaine. Give me ten minutes. If he's not gone 
 by then, come back. 
 
 Dick. What then? 
 
 Elaine. We'll tell him the truth and throw our- 
 selves on his mercy. That's all we can do. -At any 
 'rate, I'll make him promise to keep quiet. 
 
 Dick. But I tell you — 
 
 Elaine. What did you say his name is ? 
 
 Dick. Byrne. ' 
 
 Elaine. Byrne. Is he married? 
 
THE BIG IDEA 33 
 
 DioK. -Yes. 
 
 Blaine. I've got an idea. 
 
 Dick. What is it? 
 
 Elaine, {goes u. l.) I'U not tell ypu. You'd 
 be like air the rest. ' You'd think I'm crazy. Well, 
 maybe I am, but I'm going to try it. I'll get this 
 man out of this house if I have to blast him out. 
 
 Dick. But if there should be any trouble 
 
 Elaine. I'll call you. Please trust me. 
 
 Dick. I will. 
 
 Elaine. Eemfcpiber, I'm to have ten minutes ; and 
 you're not to listen. ■ ■ ' i 
 
 Dick, {goes tj. c.) AH right... It's a; quarter to 
 ten. At - five a^inutes to ten I'm coming back. 
 {exits c.) .._,.',. 
 
 Elaine. Gopd! {to doovL. and eaJh) Oh, Mr. 
 Byrne. 
 
 Byene. Yes. J r' 
 
 -Elaine. Will you come here a moment, please? 
 {crosses to door c. Closes cil^ains) 
 
 Byene. Beg. pardon, {coming down L,) , 
 
 Elaine. Mr. Howard has gone v^ith; his mother 
 for a few moments, (Bybne goes E., o.) and he 
 asked me to entertain you until, he, comes back, 
 
 Byene. I don't think I need much entertain- 
 ment. ; , ; _ , 
 
 Elaine, (l. c.) I should think from the look 
 of you that you need a great. deal. 
 Byene. Well, I'm not much .of a ladies' man. 
 Elaine. You have been, though. 
 
 B.YENE. Eh? , , .. 
 
 Elaine. You're married, aren't you ? 
 
 Byene. How did you know that? 
 
 Elaine. You have a married look. 
 
 Byene. Humph ! 
 
 Elaine. I'm Miss Foster, (offering her hcmd) 
 
 Byene. {doubtfully) How do you do. 
 
34 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Elaine. Pm a guest here. 
 
 Btene. Eelative ? 
 
 Elaine. No, not yet. (Btene stares) I said, not 
 yet. 
 
 Byhne. I heard yon, I heard yon. 
 
 Blaine. Won't yon let me take your hat? Won't 
 you sit down? Please, please, (he sits on divan e. 
 Business) , Won't yon smoke? 
 
 Byene. I don't smoke: against the rules in the 
 bank, against the rules in the subway, wife don't 
 allow it in the house. 
 
 Blaine. Mr. Byrne, (she edges coquettishly up to 
 him on the sofa) you don't wish me any harm, do you ? 
 
 Btene. You? Heavens, no. 
 
 Blaine. I thought not. 
 
 Btene. Why should I ? I never saw you before 
 in all my life. 
 
 Elaine. Yet you are domg me an irreparable 
 injury, Mr, Byrne. 
 
 Btene, You don't say so ! 
 
 Elaine. Yes. 
 
 Btene. Why, what the hell — ■ Oh, I beg pardon ! 
 
 Blaine. Oh. it's quite all right — it's quite all 
 right. Won't you please sit down again, Mr. Byrne, 
 please? (Btene sits.' She sits on the tail of hi^ coat. 
 He snatches it away) Mr. Byrne, I'm sailing for 
 Europe in the morning, on the Baltic. I must sail, 
 then, my — ^my mother is dangerously ill — ^in — ah — 
 London. Yes, I must sail then, MfT Byrne. You 
 see that, don't you ? 
 
 Btene. Go ahead, I'm not stopping you. 
 
 Elaine. I said to you just now that I was a guest 
 here. 
 
 Btene. I heard you. 
 
 Elaine. Ah, but the fact is — I am — er, I was — 
 on the verge of a much closer footing. 
 
 Btene. Bh? , ' 
 
THE BIG IDEA 35 
 
 Elaine. When the maid came in to announce 
 your most inopportune arrival I was in the act of 
 persuading Mr. Howard to propose to me. 
 
 Btrne. (nises) Well, good gracious ! 
 
 Elaine. Now yon can easily imagine how I felt, 
 can't you ? 
 
 Btene. (crosses l. c.) TSo, I can't. 
 
 ELAiira. Can't you? 
 
 Btbne. No. See here, young lady, I came in here 
 on a matter of business. 
 
 Elaine, (crosses to Mm)~^(tancing him down) As 
 I was saying — as I was sfiying — (Bthne stops talk- 
 ing) As I was saying, there was I, in my prettiest 
 gown,T— I'm wearing it now, do you like it ? Paquin 
 made it ; mother sent it to me for a birthday present. 
 Poor mother, I wonder if I shall ever, see her alive 
 again, (begins to cry on Ms shoulder) 
 
 Byrne. Oh, say now, Miss Foster, please don't cry. 
 
 Elaine. No, I mustn't, must I ? I must be brave. 
 Well, where was I? 
 
 Btene. I don't know. 
 
 Elaine. Oh, there was I, in my prettiest gown, at 
 the very moment I'd been working up to for years. 
 Mr. Howard had just opened his mouth to ask me to 
 be his wife — ^and then you came. It's— it's too much, 
 Mr. Byrne — It's too much, -(begins crying again) < 
 
 Btene. Well, never mind, I'm going away again. 
 
 Elaine. Oh, go now, won't you ? 
 
 Btene. Not much. Not till I get my $2,000 
 check. 
 
 Elaine. I'll make lllr. Howard promise to mail 
 it to you just as soon as I finish my business with him. 
 You'll get it the first thing in the morning. Oh, 
 dear, dear man, go now, and I'll love you all my life. 
 
 Btene. (crosses e. c.) Not till I finish my 
 business. 
 
 Elaine. Then it will be too late for mine. 
 
36 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Btene, I can't, I can't— 
 
 Elaine, (.goes c.) Oh, why can't you do your 
 business during business hours ? These are my busi- 
 ness hours, nt)t yours. 
 
 Btenk But— 
 
 Elaine. Hbw'd you like to have people bothering 
 around when you were putting through the biggest 
 business deal of your life ? 
 
 Btene. Business! You call that business? 
 
 Elaine. Yes, thCi biggest business of a woman's 
 life-^getting married. 
 
 Btene. (taking a step down stage) Well, what- 
 do you think of that? 
 
 Elaine, {opens door e., crosses to Btene and 
 pulls_ him toward door) Oh, you will go, you will, 
 you can't refuse. You see what it means toine, it's 
 all my life. Go — go now, and come again at five 
 o'clock tomorrow. I'll be gone by then; but happy, 
 happy, in spite of poor dear mother, and you'll have ' 
 done it, Mr. Byrne, think of that, and I'll love you 
 when I'm an old, old lady and my hair is white as 
 snow. 
 
 Btkne. Well, I'll do it; damned if I know why 
 I'll do it, but I'll do it. ^ 
 
 (He exits. .Elaine begins laughing, crosses to divan 
 and sits. Dick entms.) 
 
 Dick. {looTcing ahout room) He's gone? 
 ElAine. Yes, he's gone. 
 
 Dick, {closes door l. after looking off) He's i 
 really gone?' 
 
 Elaine. Yes, he's reall3rgone. 
 
 Dick. How on earth did you get rid of him? 
 
 Elaine. I'll never tell you that. 
 
 Dick. Why not? 
 
 Elaiiib. There are reasons. 
 
THE BIG IDEA 37 
 
 Dick, (going to Elaine) Oh, thank you, thank 
 you. . 
 
 Elaine. Now we've gat to find a way out. 
 
 Dick. There's no way out. 
 
 Elaine, (rises and goes c.) Of course there is. 
 There must be. I had a flash of something, just a 
 flashy while I was talking to that brute of a Byrne. 
 Something about a story. ■ • 
 
 Dick, (sits on divan b.) Stoiy? , 
 
 Elaine. Yes, story, story, story. There! that's 
 it. It's a good story as it stands, isn't it ? (goes to 
 Dick) 
 
 Dick. I haven't thought of it in that light. 
 
 Elaine. Why, you told it to me as a story. 
 
 Dick. Yes, but I wasn't thinking of it as a story. 
 
 Elaine. That's what it is, though ; so write it. 
 
 Dick. Write it? 
 
 Elaine. Yes, write it. Just as it's happened. 
 
 Dick. Suppose I did. 
 
 Elaine. Write it and sell it. 
 
 Dick. What! For $20,000? 
 
 Elaine. No, $25,000. 
 
 Dick, (rises) Did you ever hear of anybody 
 getting $35,000 for a short story? 
 
 Elaine. No ; but I have for a play. 
 
 Dick. You mean — 
 
 Elaine. Why not write it as a play? - 
 
 DlcK. By George! 
 
 Elaine. You'Ve written plays, haven't you? 
 
 Dick. Yes, yes ; but time ..... ! 
 
 Elaine. How soon must you have this money ? 
 
 Dick. Friday morning. 
 
 Elaine. This is Monday night, three days. You 
 could write this play in twenty-four hours^ couldn't 
 you? Of course you could. It's your own, your 
 very own, you'd be writing it in your own blood. 
 Listen, write if just as it's happened. 
 
38 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Dick. I see. Put all of us in it. 
 
 Blaine. Yes, your father, your mother, your 
 sister. 
 
 Dick. Yes, and you too, and me. 
 
 Elaine. Of course. Everybody that has had any- 
 thing' to do with it, including that brute of a Byrne. 
 
 Dick, (goes to c.) . By George, if we only could. 
 
 Elaine. Why not, Dick? 
 
 Dick. But look here, I don't know anybody who 
 will give me $25,fi00 for it. Do you? 
 
 Elaine. Successful plays make a great deal more 
 than that, don't they ? 
 
 Dick. Yes, yes, I guess they ido, but I couldn't 
 even get into a manager's office. 
 
 Elaine. But I can. 
 
 Dick. You can ? 
 
 Elaine, (goes to Dick c.) Now listen. When 
 I came back from Europe last summer there was a 
 man on the boat named Gilmore. 
 
 Dick. Not Charles Gilmore. 
 • Elaine. Exactly. I didn't know he was a theat- 
 rical manager, but there w;as a ship's concert and I 
 did something or other and he hunted me up to say 
 something nice. 
 
 Dick. But I don't quite see — 
 
 Elaine. Don't you ? I'll try to sell this play to 
 Mr. Gilmore. 
 
 Dick. But do you know anything about the usual 
 contracts for plays? 
 
 Elaine. This isn't a usual play. 
 
 Dick. Why, an unknown author like. me — 
 
 Elaine, (goes e. • c.) I know it sounds quite 
 mad. I can't argue with you about it, it's a thing 
 I feel, that's all. Now listen, Dick. Gilmore's, in 
 town — I saw an interview with him in the paper this 
 morning — and we can get to him promptly, I'm sure. 
 Oh, it's a chance, Dick,, a long chance, and yet I've 
 
THE BIG IDEA 39 
 
 got a feeling about it — 
 
 Dick. I know, but — 
 
 Elaine. Besides, if s the only chance we've got. 
 
 Dick. But Elaine — 
 
 Blaine. Look here, how long have we been call- . 
 ing each other by our Christian names ? 
 
 Dick. I haven't the least idea. 
 
 Elaine. Nor I. 
 
 Dick. Does it matter ? 
 
 Elaine, {goes to Dick) Not a bit. It's you 
 and I together now. We've got our backs against the 
 wall. We've got to fight for the happy ending. Will 
 you do it? 
 
 Dick. It's a chance. ^ 
 
 Elaine. Will you do it? 
 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 Elaine. But you must be quite mad about it, 
 just as I am. ' You've got to be. 
 
 Dick, (goes l. — to ehaJur hack qf idesTc—sits) 
 God bless you, I'll be as mad as you like. Come on, 
 let's begin. , - 
 
 Elaine, (goes e. to iacJe of desTc) Have you got 
 plenty of paper ? 
 
 •■ Dick. Yes, Lord, if I had to, I could write it on 
 my shirt. 
 
 Blaine. Now think, it's the real story, y^ou know. 
 How did it begin ? 
 
 Dick. Why, I got an idea father had something 
 on his mind from something he let drop. The more 
 I thought of it the more sure I became, so tonight I 
 went to his room and got him to come here to my 
 study. '^ 
 
 Elaine. There, that's it. 
 
 Dick. What? 
 
 Elaine. Act 1, here in your study. You and your 
 father, at this very desk, perhaps ? 
 
 Dick. -Yes. 
 
40 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Elaine. Any lights? 
 
 Dick. No, not at first. Dad said it would be 
 easier to tell me in the dark. 
 
 Elaine. Splendid 1 Now, are you ready ? 
 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 Blaine, (dictating) Act 1. — The curtain rises 
 on a dark black stage. 
 
 Dick (begins to write) The curtain rises on 
 . . . (till curtain falls) 
 
 CUBTAIN 
 
ACT II 
 
 Scene : — Same as Act I. 
 
 Time : — 10 A. M. of the morning after Act I. 
 
 EiCHAED is DiscovEEED at Ms desTc feverishly 
 writing. The floor about his' desTc is covered 
 with sheets of manuscript which he has obviously 
 tossed forth as fast as he has written them. Al- 
 f though the hour is ten o'clock in the morning, 
 the French windows are all closed and heavily 
 curtained so as to exclude all daylight. The 
 electric lights are turned on in the electrolier 
 over his desk. It will later he made clear why 
 this is done. After the curtain rises there is 
 a short pauke during which Eicijaed writes 
 ".rapidly. Dick talees cigarette from, box on desk, 
 lights it, gets up and walks up and down, think- 
 ing, then sits at desk and begins writing rapidly. 
 There comes a knock on the door, to which he 
 pays no attention. Another knock comes, the 
 door opens, admitting Maet, the Maid; she bears 
 a tray full of breakfast dishes. 
 
 Maet. Your breakfast, Mr. Eichard. {no an- 
 swer) Miss Foster said you wanted your breakfast 
 sent up to your study. (Eichaed motions her to put 
 it on table L. She arranges tray on table. Crosses 
 to mndow u. l. and opens curtains) 
 
 Dick. • Don't do that ! {she closes curtains again) 
 What, time is it ? 
 
 Maet. Ten o'clock, sir. 
 
 Dick. 'Morning of evening? 
 
 Maet. {amazed) Morning, of course, sir. 
 
 Dick, {motions Maet to get out. Maet goes 
 
 41 
 
42 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 toward door, looTcing back at Dick. Blaine enters, 
 hustles Maet owO 
 
 Elaine. Out with you, Mary. Flyl {to Dick) 
 Hello. 
 
 Dick. Hello. (Elaine crosses l. and puts hat 
 and cloak in big chair v. l. Coming briskly to his 
 
 Elaine. Well, how's it going ? 
 
 Dick. Oh, it's. going, it's going. 
 
 Elaine. Do you like it ? . 
 
 Dick. I don't know. It's true, anyhow. 
 
 Blaine. How far have you got? - 
 
 Dick. Almost as far as I can go. 
 
 Elaine. What do you mean ? 
 
 Dick. I'm nearly through the first act. Eight 
 up to the time I left you to get rid of Byrne ; but 1 
 can't seem to think of the last thing I said before 
 I left you. What was it? 
 
 Elaine. Let's see; something about your coming 
 back. ^ 
 
 Dick. I remember ; I looked at my watch. 
 
 Blaine. Yes. 
 
 Dick, (writing) And I said, "It's a quarter of 
 ten, at five minutes of ten I'm coming back." 
 
 Elaine. Yes, that was it. 
 
 Dick. Now will you tell me how you got rid of 
 Byrne? (Elaine doesn't answer him- Crosses to 
 table left) 
 
 Elaine. Why, you haven't eaten your breakfast. 
 (she glances at tray) 
 
 Dick. Eat ! Lord, I haven't time to eat. 
 
 Elaine. But you've got to. (sees him smoking, 
 crosses to him) And smoking cigarettes before 
 breakfast; you ought to be ashamed of yourself. 
 
 Dick. But I'm not hungry. 
 
 Elaine, (dragging him to table L.) Doesn't 
 
THE BIG IDEA 43 
 
 make any- difference, you've got to eat. (they both 
 sit at table) A little sugar on your grape fruit? 
 
 Dick. Please, (she puts some on) 
 
 Elaine. Little more for luck, (puts more on) 
 Coffee? 
 
 Dick. Yes, thanks. 
 
 Elaine. Creanx in your coffee? 
 
 Dick, (eating grape fruit) TJh, huh. 
 
 Elaine. Sugar ? 
 
 Dick. No, no sugar. 
 
 Elaine. No sugar? (Bigk shakes his head. She 
 pours his coffee) There you are. Oh, say, this 
 will have to go^into the play. 
 
 Dick'. This? 
 
 Blaine. Yes, this breakfast table scene. Belasco 
 always has one. You're not eating very much, but 
 that's all right. They never do in plays, and no 
 wonder. The stuff they give the poor actors. But ' 
 you can eat everything here all right. This is regu- 
 lar food. Now, tell me, did you get any sleep ? 
 
 Dick. Sleep ! I don't feel as if I ever wailted to 
 sleep again. 
 
 Elaine. I was afraid you might; so about day- 
 break; I came up and listened at your door. 
 
 Dick. No! 
 
 Elaine. Yes. Presently I heard; you walking 
 about the room. 
 
 Dick. I don't wcmder. I got so nervous I got up 
 and moved the furniture about. 
 
 Elaine... So then I knew it was all right, and 
 stole away to bed again. 
 
 Dick. Look here. If I had been asleep, what 
 would you have done? 
 
 Elaine. Come in and waked you up, of course. 
 
 Dick. .You would? 
 
 Elaine. Oh, have some toast, (shoves the toast 
 at him) 
 
U THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Dick, (talcing it) Thanks. (Elaine goes to 
 window L., draws the. curtains, letting in a flood of 
 morning light which shows strangely against the arti- 
 ficial light of the room. Sharply.) Please don't do 
 that. 
 
 Elaine. - Why not?' 
 
 Dick. I always write by artificial light. 
 
 Elaine, [draws curtains again) Sorry, {sits 
 L. of him, watching him_ eat) 
 
 Dick. Sounds foolish, I suppose, but I seem to 
 write better that way. Just a habit. It sort of 
 shuts out everything but what I'm doing. Hope you 
 don't mind. 
 
 Elaine. Not at all. I can quite understand 
 what you — (knock on door) 
 
 Dick. Come in. (enter Mks. Howard^ crossing 
 to E. c.) Good morning. Mother. 
 
 Mks. Howakd. (stares at sheets of paper on the 
 floor and from them to the pair at the breakfast 
 table) Well, I hope I'm not intruding. 
 
 Dick. Don't be silly. Mother. 
 
 Mks. Howard. Passing your room, I noticed that 
 your bed had not been slept in. You've not 'been up 
 all night ? 
 
 Dick. Yes, I have. 
 
 Mes. Howaed. Dick! 
 
 Dick. Wh;fnot? 
 
 Mes. Howaed. Well, I do think — 
 
 Elaine, (crosses to Mes. Howaed) I'm afraid 
 I'm a little to blame, Mrs. Howard. 
 
 Dick. Nonsense. 
 
 Elaine. Shut up. — The fact is, last night, Dick 
 and I got talking about a story and he became so in- 
 terested that he insisted on writing it at once. I 
 tried to get him to put it off until today, but he 
 wouldn't listen to me. (Dick is a bit amazed by 
 this whopper. Mes. Howard crosses to Dick, 
 
THE BIG IDEA 45 
 
 Elaine goes hack of desk and examines manuscript) 
 
 Mhs. Howard. Oh, I know, he's so young and 
 strong, he thinks he can stand anything, foolish boy. 
 ,(pMfo arm around his neck) 
 
 Elsie, (enters from h. u. e., crosses n. c.) Well,'' 
 I like this! I've looked all over the house for you 
 folks and here you are having a regular party. 
 
 Mrs. Howard. What do you think Dick's been 
 doing now? 
 
 Elsie, {in front of table) Heaven knows. 
 
 Mrs. Howard. Sitting up all night writing. 
 
 Elsie, {looking at sheets of paper on the floor) 
 It looks' like it. My, but it must be interesting. 
 (picks up sheet and reads aloud) "Dick: Not un- 
 less you give me a reason. Byrne: All right, then 
 I will. I didn't want to tell you, remember that, 
 you're driving me to it." 
 
 ELAiNEi Dick ! (Dick turns and sees what Elsie 
 is doing, starts after her) 
 
 Dick. Now, Sis, will you drop that? (Elsie 
 starts to run R., pursued hy Dick around right of 
 sofa, then down to front of desk) Now, Sis, don't 
 play the fool. I'm in no humor for — will you drop 
 it. I'll get angry in a minute, (he catches her, 
 takes sheet from her) Now, you give that up, you 
 little scoundrel. 
 
 , Elsie. All right, take your old story. I don't 
 believe it's any good anyhow, (crosses r.) 
 
 Dick, (back of the desk with Elaine. Mrs. How- 
 ard goes to window) Never you mind whether it 
 is or not. (Mrs. Howard draws curtains just as 
 Elaine has done. Exasperated:) And don't ^o. 
 that!! 
 
 Mrs. Howard. What is the matter, Dick? 
 
 DiCK.'^I'm trying to write, I tell you. and I never 
 write by daylighC 
 
 Mrs. Howard, (drawing the curtains back, and 
 
46 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 then in a rather hurt voice:) Oh, very well, of 
 course; but I do think it's wrong to shut out the 
 sunlight like this. It can't be healthy. 
 
 Dick, {crosses to Mes. Howaed, puts arm about 
 her, and takes her e. u. Elaine crosses to ireahfasi 
 table L. and begins eating grape fruit. Elsie crosses 
 1. to Elaine) My dear mother. I'm much obliged 
 to you for your interest, but I'm trying to tell you 
 that I'm very busy on an important piece of work 
 and I should be very much obliged if you'd go away 
 and let me aloiie. {leaves her at door and goes bach 
 to desh and arranges manuscript) 
 
 Mes. Howaed. Oh, very well, {going) 
 
 Elsie. We shall be only too pleased, Fin sure. 
 You're not very interesting.' {crosses e. tr.) Com'e 
 on, Elaine, hats; two new ones just arrived. 
 
 Elaine. Of course, if it's hats — 
 
 Dick. (c. bach of desh) Now will you please 
 let Elaine alone. 
 
 Elsie, {who now hears Dick call Elaine by 
 her Christian name for the first time) Elaine! 
 Why, Dick! 
 
 Dick. Why, yes, yes. I was just trying to make 
 her feel at home. Hope she doesn't mind. 
 
 Elaine. Not at all, Eichard. 
 
 Dick. But I won't have you dragging her away 
 like this. I want to talk to her about the story.- 
 
 Elsie. Anybody'd think she, came to visit you, 
 not me. , 
 
 ItAiNE. {to Richaed) I'll come back later, if 
 T may. (Elsie goes out) 
 
 Dick. Not much later, please. (Dick goes to 
 chair bach of desh) 
 
 Elaine, {stariding in door e. u. in a mock melo- 
 dramatic fashion) I go — but I return, {she goes 
 out) 
 
THE BIG IDEA 47 
 
 Mes. Howard, (at the door) I do wish you'd let 
 in a little daylight. 
 
 Dick, (exasperated) Oh, now, mother, please, 
 please. 
 
 Mrs. Howard. All right, Dick, all right, I'm 
 going, I'm going, (she resigns herself to the inevit- 
 able and goes out. Dick shuts door after her. Goes 
 to desJc and falls to work again. Knock on door) 
 
 Dick. Come in. (Mart enters) Well, what 
 now? 
 
 Mart. The breakfast dishes, sir. 
 
 -Dick. Well, for heaven's sake, take them and get 
 out. {pause) And hustle ! 
 
 Mart. Yes, sir. (she takes tray and hurries to 
 the door) 
 
 Dick. If you come back here again, I'll skin you 
 alive. 
 
 Mart. Yes, sir. (she goes out — Dick shuts the 
 door after her. Goes to desk. After looking through 
 the drawers of the desk for cojiy paper, he exits c. 
 Bob enters stealthily R. u. Is looking on floor near 
 lamp as if expecting to see Dick dead. Dick enters 
 c. mth paper) 
 
 Dick. Well, for heaven's^ sake, what are you doing 
 here? 
 
 Bob. (gasping) Dick, Dick, Dick. ■ (seizing his 
 hand) Thank God, I — I thought you had done it. 
 
 Dick. Done it? 
 
 -Bob. I sneaked in. N'o one saw me, and I slunk 
 up stairs — I e6uld imagine you lying dead on the floor 
 under that accursed lamp ; and I couldn't stand it any 
 longer. 
 
 Dick, (cooling) Well, you see I haven't done 
 it ; and I'd be very much obliged to you if you'd get 
 out. 
 
 Bob. Get out ! 
 
 Dick. Yes, get out and let me work. 
 
48 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Bob. What on earth are you doing? 
 
 Dick. I'm writing a play. 
 
 Bob. Writing a play? 
 
 Dick. Yes, writing a play. 
 
 Bob. Well, I'll be — {he colljipsBs into chair E.) 
 
 Dick. Well, why shouldn't I write a play ? Every- 
 body else does. 
 
 Bob. Are you crazy? 
 
 Dick. No, I'm not; and as I said before, I wish 
 you would go away and let me alone. 
 
 Bob. {gets up angrily and goes to Eichaed) 
 Look here, Dick, I'd like to know what you mean by 
 this sort of thing. 
 
 Dick. What sort of thing? 
 
 Bob. When I left you last night, I didn't know 
 
 whether I'd ever see you alive again or not. I — I 
 
 didn't sleep a wink. I didn't even go to bed.- I 
 
 , walked the streets all night. In a panic of fear, I 
 
 open that door ; and I find you — writing a play. 
 
 Dick. But my dear fellow, I — 
 
 Bob. ■ {crossing l. c.) It's too much, that's what 
 it is. A great deal too much. 
 
 Dick. If you'll give me a chance to ex — 
 
 Bob. Do you think this is a nice way to treat a 
 friend ? "^ 
 
 Dick. But I tell yOu — 
 
 Bob. I'd like to know what the devil you mean 
 by it. Writing a play. 
 
 Dick. Anybody'd think you were sorry to. find 
 me still alive. ' , 
 
 Bob. Writing a play ! Well, good God ! 
 
 Dick, (crosses io Bob) See here. Bob, the fact 
 is something, has happened. 
 
 Bob. Then you're not going to do it ? 
 
 Dick. I don't say that. 
 
 Bob. Then what do you say ? 
 
 Dick. I say thatJ'm not going to Jo it quite yet. 
 
THE BIG IDEA 49 
 
 Bob. And you expect me to go on holding my 
 tongue about it? 
 
 Dick. Certainly. 
 
 Bob. (crossing n. tearing his hair) Good God! 
 I'll be a raving maniac by tomorrow night. What 
 on -^arth has happened ? Has your father found a 
 way out? 
 
 Dick. / (at c.) No, nothing's, really happened. 
 
 Bob. (at e. c.) Nothing's really happened, and 
 you expe!ct me to go on walking the streets and tear- 
 ing my hair while you Wiite a play. 
 
 Dick. Now, will you sit down and let me explain. 
 (Dick forces Bob in chair e.) The fact is I've 
 thought of somethtng. Oh, it's so wild a thing that 
 I, can't even tell you al)out it, but I believe, I really 
 believe there's ^ chance, and even if it should fail, 
 there's still time for the other. Now do you see ? 
 
 Bob. No, I'm hanged if I do. - 
 
 Dick. Well, that's how it is. I wouldn't explain 
 it to you if I had the time and I haven't got the time. 
 Now seconds count, so if you loye me, for heaven's 
 sake, get out and let me work, (urging him toward 
 the door) 
 
 Bob. On the play? 
 
 Dick. Yes, damn it, on the play. 
 
 Bob. Do you know, I think you're crazy? 
 
 Dick. I don't care what you think, if you'll only 
 leave me alone. ' 
 
 Bob. If you think I can go on indefinitely ^wait- 
 ing for you to make up your mind whether you're 
 going to kill yourself or not you're mightily mistaken. 
 (crosses l.) 
 
 Dick. Now, my dear Bob — (TenocTe on the door. ■ 
 Dick crosses and throws it open, Maht enters) You ! 
 You, again? Now, didn't I tell you that if you came 
 back again I'd-^ 
 
50 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Mart. Yes, sir ; "yes, sir, but it's — it's that Mr. 
 Burns. 
 
 Dick. Burns? Byrne! 
 
 Maky. Yes, sir. He's down stairs again and 
 says he's got to see you. 
 
 Dick. Oh, he does, eh ? {Btkse appears at door, 
 defiantly coining in) 
 
 Btsne. "YSs, he does,' eh," and to make sure he 
 does he takes the liberty of walking up stairs. 
 
 Dick. Oh, to be sure, won't you come in? 
 
 Btene. (comvng D. K.) I am in. (Dick pushes 
 Maet out, closes door after her. Dick at c.) 
 
 Dick. Mr. Byrne,.Mr. Caswell. 
 
 Bob. How do you do? 
 
 Btene. Huh ! 
 
 Dick, {to Bthne) Well ! 
 
 Byene. I should prefer to talk to you alone. 
 
 Bob. Oh, certainly, Dick, (starts to go) 
 
 Dick. Don't go. Bob. (to Byene) There's no 
 necessity for privacy. 
 
 Byene. Just as you please. 
 
 Dick. I'm surprised to see you neglecting busi- 
 ness at this hour of the mornings 
 
 Byene. I'm "not neglecting my business. Make 
 no mistake about that. (Bob sits in chair L.) 
 
 Dick. "Well, what do you want ? 
 
 Btkne. You know, mighty well, what I want. 
 
 Dick. Oh, no, I don't. The last I saw of you, 
 you were to wait in that room for fifteen minutes. 
 I was to call you. I called you in ten and found 
 you'd gone. Ndw, what do you mean by breaking 
 your promise? 
 
 Byene. (taken-dbach by this attach) Well, now 
 the fact is, eh — 
 
 Dick. Come, come, don't dodge. 
 
 Byene. Didn't the — ah — the young lady tell you ? 
 
 Dick. Miss Foster? 
 
THE BIG IDEA 51 
 
 Byene. Yes, Miss -Tester, if that's her precious 
 name. Didn't she tell you why I didn't wait? ' 
 
 Dick. She did not. Why didn't you wait? 
 
 Byrne, (much annoyed, yet forced to be a gentle- 
 man) Well, if she didn't tell you, I Son't see how 
 in the name of heaven I can. 
 
 Dick. See here, I haven't the remotest idea what 
 3'ou're talking about. Have you, Bob? 
 
 Bob. {rises and goes c.) I haven't the remotest 
 idea what either of you are talking about. (Byrne 
 crosses angrily to Bob) 
 
 Byrne. Well, is it any of your business ? 
 
 Bob. It might be. How the devil do I know? 
 
 (Bob goes to window and draws curtains. Eiohahd 
 goes up c. Byrne crosses to e.) 
 
 Dick, Now, don't do that! (wonderingly Bob 
 closes curtams again, goes D. L. Elaine enters, flab- 
 be'tgasted, of course, by the appwrition of the unex- 
 pected ByrnEj but quick to recover herself. Byrne 
 sees her and bachs away from her) 
 
 Elaine, {going to , Byrne) Ah, Mr. Byrne, 
 how do you do ? {shakes hands with Byrne) Well, 
 this is a surprise. 
 
 Byrne. - It is to me. 
 
 Elaine. How are you ? 
 
 Byrne. You — ^you er — ^missed your boat. 
 
 Blaine. Boat? {not knowing in the least what 
 he means) 
 
 Byrne. Yes, the — er — ^the Baltic. 
 
 Elaine. Oh! Oh, yes, that boat. Yes, I missed 
 that boat. Yes. 
 
 Byrne. So I see. "* 
 
 Dick. (r. c. Bob left of Dick) You missed 
 your boat ? • "^ 
 
 Elaine. Yes, I missed my boat, {to Byrne) 
 
53 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 The fact is, Mr. Byrne, I missed it on purpose. 
 
 Byknb. Ah } 
 
 Elaine. You'll be glad to hear' that mother is- 
 better. 
 
 Byrne, (sardonically) That's nice. _ 
 
 ElAine. Yes, I got a cablegram late last night. 
 She's much better. Isn't that fine? 
 
 Byene. Great. I was a good deal worried about 
 mother. 
 
 Bob. Say, Dick, what are they talking about? 
 
 Dick. Can't you hear? They're talking about 
 mother. Shut up. 
 
 Elaine. Mr. Byrne, I know what you've come 
 for. 
 
 Byene. (abandoning the iromc tone and getting 
 savage) Yes, yfiung woman, you do. I've come foTr 
 that check, and I'm going to get it. 
 i Dick. Oh, that's it. 
 
 Byene. Yes, that's it. 
 
 Dick. He's come for that check. Bob. - 
 
 Bob. (ironically) That makes it all perfectly 
 clear, (crosses to L. EiohAed goes v. d.) 
 
 Byene. And let me tell you something else; here 
 I sit until I get it. (Byene sits E. Elaine goes to 
 Byene) 
 
 Elaine. Why, Mr. Byrne — (Dick goes back of 
 desk) 
 
 Byene. There's no talking me out of the house 
 this time. 
 
 Elaine. I hope" you don't think I deceived you. 
 
 Byene. Oh, you'd never do anything like that. 
 Oh, no. 
 
 Blaine. Certainly not. 
 
 Byene. Look here. You said you'd see that Mr. 
 Howard mailed me that check last night so that I 
 would get it the first thing this morning. Didn't 
 you? 
 
THE BIG IDEA 53 
 
 Elaine. Yes. 
 
 Bthne. Well, I didn't get it. 
 
 Elaine, {suddenly turning on Eichaed) See 
 here, Dick ! Why didn't you mail that check to Mr. 
 Byrne ? 
 
 DrcK. You didn't, tell me to mail it. 
 
 Elaine, {to Btene) There, you see. I didn't 
 tell him to mail it. . ^ 
 
 Byrne. Huh! , ' ^ 
 
 Elaine. Mr. Byrne, I don't like that huh. 
 
 Btbne. Oh, don't you. 
 
 Elaine. No, I don't. 
 
 Btene. Huh! 
 
 Elaine. Didn't I tell you that I'd see that Mr. 
 Howard mailed you that check as soon as I had 
 finished my business with him? 
 
 Dick, {crossing to Elaine. Bob l. 0/ Dick) 
 Look here, what business? 
 
 Elaine, '{to Dick) None of yours, {to 
 Btene) Didn't I say that ? 
 
 Btkne. Well, yes, I believe you did. . 
 
 Elaine. Well, you see, I didn't finish my busi- 
 ness with him. 
 
 Btkne. {rises) What ! 
 
 Elaine. No. 
 
 Btene. Do you mean to say that you weren't able 
 to make him — (Elaine leaps on him, covering his. 
 mouth with her hand. She lets out a little yell) 
 
 Dick. See here, Elaine, I'd like to know what 
 you're talking about. 
 
 Bob. Sa would I, for that matter. 
 
 Elaine, {to Btene) No, I wasn't able to make 
 him. 
 
 Btene. {oro^es li., followed hy Dick and 
 Elaine. Bob stays E.) I don't believe it. You'd 
 be able to make the devil himself — 
 
 Dick, {interposirig to protect her) See here. 
 
54 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Mr. Byrne, you're questioning this lady's word. 
 Thaf s an insult. 
 
 Blaine. Not at all, Dick, it's a compliment." 
 
 Dick. What! 
 
 Bthne. See here, Mr. Howard, how about my 
 check? .-^ 
 
 Dick, Do you mean to say that a little thing like 
 a check for $3,000 will get rid of you? 
 
 Btrne. I certainly do. 
 
 Dick. Well, great Scott! (dashes for the desk, 
 pulls a check-book out of'draiver and begins writing. 
 Btene sits L. after pulling chair in front of table. 
 Elaine picJcs up papers from floor in front' of desk, 
 goes B. and sits on sofa) 
 
 Bob. (going to Dick, aside to him) Dick, are 
 you going to give that man a check for $2,000 ? 
 
 Dick. I am. 
 
 Bob. (goes l., puts chair E. of Btkne and sits, 
 begins speaking in his most professional manner) 
 Mr. Byrne, I'd like to submit a very attractive propo- 
 sition to you. 
 
 Btene. (grumbling) Huh ! 
 
 Bob. May I ask, are you insured? 
 
 Btene. Insured ! 
 
 Bob. Are the little. ones at home provided for? 
 
 Byene. Huh ? 
 
 Bob. Now, one^ of our fifteen-year life and en- 
 dowment policies is generally conceded to be the 
 most effective jnethod — 
 
 Btene. Oh, my God! (he shakes Bob of and 
 goes to Elaine. She rises) Look here. Miss Fos- 
 ter, about that affair last night — ^you. can't make me 
 believe that you really tried to make him — er — ah — 
 
 Elaine. Er — ah — indeed. 
 
 Btene. Not after what you did to me. (getting 
 angry ut the recollection of the manner in which she 
 
THE BIG IDEA 55 
 
 had duped Mm) Why, when I got out in the street 
 and got thinking it all over — 
 
 Dick, {gets up and opens door. Gomes down to 
 Byrne, shoving check into his hand) That's right, 
 you get out in the street and think it all over. 
 There's your check. It's dated three days-ahead, as 
 I told you. 
 
 Btenb. And there'll be funds to meet it? 
 
 Dick. Now don't make me go all over that again. 
 Anyhow, it's the only chance you've got. 
 ^ Byrne, {hesitating) Well, I suppose it is; 
 still — — 
 
 Dick, {in great exasperation) Say,\ if you'll 
 only get out I'd be almost willing to kiss you.- 
 
 Byenb. {business) Good night. (Byrne exits. 
 Elaine sits in chair r. Dick crosses to Bob) , 
 
 Dick. It cost $2,000 to get rid of Kim ; how much 
 will you go for? 
 
 Bob. All I want is a kind word. 
 
 Dick. Then, angel of my idreams, get out. 
 
 Elaine, {to Bob) Apple of my eye, go away. 
 
 (Dick dumps Mm out of chair) 
 
 Bob. I'm an angel and an apple. 
 
 Dick. You are. (Bob goes toward door. Blaine 
 and EiCHARD go back of desk and begin looking over 
 manuscripts Bob comes back into room) 
 
 Bob. Well, somebody's crazy. 
 
 Dick. Will you go or shall I throw you out ? " 
 
 Bob. You :can say what you like, but if you 
 think I'm goin^ through another twelve hours such 
 as — 
 
 -Dick. Yoii're quite right. Bob, quite right. I 
 beg your pardon. I didn't think. I give you my 
 word, ygu shall have no cause for worry until I see 
 you again. 
 
 Bob. You mean it ? 
 
56 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Dick. 1 do. (offers him his handf 
 
 Bob. {taking his hand) Then tkaf s all right. 
 (goes B. v., then stops, turns and comes hack) Dick 
 — can I do anything for you? ^ 
 
 Dick. Yes. You can shut the door as you go 
 out. (Bob goes out) 
 
 Elaine. Where's that last page? 
 
 Dick. There it is. 
 
 ElaIne. (taking it from him) Oh, yes. (read- 
 ing) It's a quarter of ten. At five minutes to ten 
 I'll come back. 
 
 Dick. Now, will you tell me how you got rid of 
 Byrne? » . 
 
 Elaine. I've got an idea about that. Suppose 
 you let me write it. ■ 
 
 Dick. What for? 
 
 Elaine. Well, I don't think I could tell you. 
 
 Dick. Why not? 
 
 Elaine. Well — I'd have to think 'it all out c'aTe- 
 fully and I might just as well write my thoughts 
 down. Besides, we can save a lot of time that way, 
 because you can go on writing the second act, this 
 act, the one we're in now. 
 
 Dick. Do you mean that your getting rid of 
 Byrne is to be the end of the first act ?^ 
 
 Elaine. Yes. 
 
 Dick. Ko, 4hat won't do. We've got to get a 
 punch for the end of the act. We've got to get a 
 good curtain. 
 
 Elaine. You're right— so we have, (a pause 
 while she thinks) I've got it. 
 
 Dick. What? 
 
 Elaine, (crosses to Dick) Don't you remem- 
 ber when we were sitting here at your desk and I 
 said to you, "Act 1, the curtain rises on a dark black 
 sfege?" Well, where I said the curtain rises, that's 
 where the curtain falls. Do you get it? . 
 
THE BIG IDEA 57 
 
 Dick. That's a corker. I'll make a note of that. 
 (pause while he does so) ^.. 
 
 Elaine. There. Now that brings us right up 
 to— 
 
 Dick. Hold on. ' There's another thing. Don't 
 you think it's about time we" put some comedy into 
 this first act ? 
 
 Elaine. Comedy? (shahes her head dubiously) _ 
 
 Dick. You know it's fairly gloomy. People 
 have enough troubles in real life without going to 
 the theatre to see more trouble. 
 
 Elaine. Don't you worry about that ! Just wait 
 till I write how I got fid of Byrne. 
 
 Dick. Was that funny ? 
 
 Blaine. Funny ? Oh, I think therell be a few 
 laughs in it. The fact is, it's almost too_ funny^ to 
 be true. Now, while I'm writing that, you can go 
 on with the second act, this act. Let it begin where 
 you were sitting here at your desk writing on the 
 play and the maid brought in your breakfast. Don't 
 forget the Belasco breakfast. _ ^ ' 
 
 Dick. Yes, yes, I see; then you, mother and 
 Elsie. •: 
 
 Elaine. Yes, and' Bob. You can make some- 
 thing of Bob, can't you? 
 
 Dick. Oh, I've written Bob into the play already. 
 You see, I had to .tell him my story in the first act, 
 and then he had to take Elsie to the dance, and then 
 in this act — well, we' might make him sort of a 
 comedy relief— yes — although he was half expecting 
 to find me dead. 
 
 Elaine. Splendid I 
 
 Dick. Eh! 
 
 Elaine. I- mean for the play. 
 
 "Dick. Oh, yes. 
 
 Elaine. Then -there's my friend Byrne. You 
 could do something with Byrne, couldn't you? 
 
58 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Dick. I could do a lot with Byrne. 
 
 Elaine. Well, while I'm writing my comedy 
 scene with Byrne, you can go on with this act. 
 Bring it right down to the present moment. Do you 
 Bee? 
 
 Dick. Yes, I see perfectly; but then — where do 
 we go from th^re? 
 
 Elaine. Don't you worry about that; something 
 will turn up. {she starts for the door; as she does 
 so, it opens and Mk. Howaed comes in, pale, shaken 
 and anxious J all three stand for a moment at a 
 loss) 
 
 Dick, {the first to pull himself together) Miss 
 Foster, this is my father. 
 
 Elaine, {giving Me. Howard her hand) How 
 do you do, Mr. Howard? 
 
 Me. Howaed. {feeily) Foster, Miss Foster. 
 
 Dick. Yes, shefs on a visit to Elsie. 
 
 Me. Howaed. {gently and very courteously) Ah, 
 yes, yes, I see. You must excuse me, Miss Foster, 
 but the fact is — I've not been well ; otherwise I 
 should have known of your coming. I'm sorry. 
 
 Elaine. I quite -understand, sir; I hope you're 
 feeling better. 
 
 Me. Howaed. {hopelessly) Thank you — thank 
 you, my dear young lady; yes, yes, I'm better^ 
 {walks down stage slowly in front of desk. -Dick 
 shows Elaine out and closes door after her. Goes 
 hastily to his father) 
 
 Dick. Dad, I'm afraid you ought not to be doing 
 this. 
 
 Me. Howaed. {goes back of desk) Why not ? 
 
 Dick. Why, you ought to be in bed. You ought 
 not to be running about like this. 
 
 Me. Howaed. Dear lad, what does it matter where 
 ^ derelict like me may drift ? 
 
THE BIG IDEA 59 
 
 f 
 
 Dick. ITo-w,. Dad, I won't have you saying such 
 things. I think we've got a chance to pull out. 
 
 Me. Howahd. I just felt — like — like seeing you, 
 because you're the only one who knows. 
 
 Dick. Didn't you hear what I said? I think 
 we've got a chance to pull out. 
 
 Me. Howaed. {smiling helplessly) Ah, do you 
 indeed? 
 
 Dick. Yes, I do. {turns and looks at door where 
 Elaine has just gone out) 
 
 Me. Howaed. {his mind reverting to Blaine) 
 What a beautiful girl. 
 
 Dick. (e. of desh) Miss Foster? 
 
 Me. Howaed. {sits back of desk) So gay and so 
 young; it must be wonderful to be young; and to 
 think she doesn't know how wonderful it is. You're 
 young, Dick, but I'm afraid you'll never be gay 
 again. 
 
 Dick. Ah, now Dad. 
 
 Me. Howaed. Yes, yes, I've attended to that. 
 I've done for you — ^for you and all of us. Oh, my 
 God. {his arms fall on desk — he buries his head 
 in his arms) 
 
 Dick, {coming to him ip,nd trying to soothe him) 
 "Saw, Dad, I won't have it, I tell you. I won't 
 have it. 
 
 Me. Howaed. But if s true, it's true, it's true. 
 I've brought you all tc the dust. 
 
 Dick, {turning away) I won't speak tp you, I 
 won't look at you, I won't listen to you while you 
 talk like that. I can't stand it. {turns his back on 
 his father, walks back of desk down l., puts his 
 hands oiier his ears and then goes up to window l.) 
 
 Me. Howaed. It doesn't matter whether I speak 
 or keep silence, whether you listen or not. Stopping 
 your ears won't do any good — {his eyes fall on the 
 drawer from which DiOK took the chebk book and 
 
60 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 which he has left open; as he goes on speaking, it is 
 clear that he sees the revolver and is planning to get 
 it. Takes same from drawer unseen by DiCK' and 
 covers it lOith his hands) I'-ve had enough of it. I 
 haven't slept for days, I haven't closed my eyes, and 
 it seems like years. There's something that keep^ 
 pounding, pounding — pounding in my head day and 
 night, day and night. My hrain's burning up. 
 (Dick turns to him^ warned iy the sound of his 
 voice) Burning up, I tell you, and I can't stand it 
 any longer, I can't — I can't, (he raises the revolver 
 to. his head. Dick turns and sees him just in time. 
 There is a violent brief struggle) 
 _ Dick. Dad, dad, for God's sake — 
 
 Mb. Howaed. Let me go, leave me alone, (then 
 the revolver explodes harmlessly in the air. Dick 
 wrenches it ,away from the old man. It falls to the 
 ■floor. Voices are heard of stage) 
 
 Dick. For God's sake. Dad, pull yourself to- 
 gether. 
 
 Mb. Howaed. Oh, why didn't you leave me alone ? 
 Why didn't you — 
 
 Dick. Dad, for pity's sake, brace up ; the \rfiole 
 house will be about us in a ininute. {he shakes his 
 father) Do you hear? You don't want them to 
 know, 'do you ? 
 
 Mr. Howaed. {almost weeping) ,No, no, no. 
 Don't let them know. 
 
 Dick. Here, quick, do as I tell you. Quick, here, 
 get behind these curtains, {drags the old man to 
 curtains at left and hides him behind them) Now 
 stand there. . Don't move till I get rid of them. For 
 God's sake, don't move, {he hurries back to his desk, 
 picks up the pistol just as Elaine rushes through, 
 door) 
 
 Blaine. Dick, Dick, what's the matter ? 
 
 Dick. It's all right ; a narrow thing, though. 
 
THE BIG IDEA 61 
 
 Elaine. Not you? 
 
 Dick. No. Dad; hush, (he points U curtcdrts. 
 Bob, Mhs., Howakd and Elsie come rushing in, 
 white-faced and hreathtess, closely, followed by Maet, 
 the maid. They all surround Dick) 
 
 Mbs. Howaed. Dick, Dick, my boy. 
 -Elsie. What is it, what is it ? 
 
 Bob. What on earth 
 
 Dick, {calmly) It's all right, it's all right. I 
 was just a little careless. 
 
 Mrs. Howard. Careless! 
 
 Elsie. Careless ; well, whit do you — 
 
 Dick. It has something to do with the story. 
 
 Mrs. Howard. Story! 
 
 Dick. Yes, there's something in it about shoot- 
 ing; and I took out my revolver to see how the fellow 
 would hold it, and accidentally the thing went ofEr 
 I'm sorry. 
 
 Mrs. Howard, {sits in chair r. Elsie heside 
 her. Bob hack of sofa) Well, I never. 
 
 Elsie. Tell you one thing, you scared me nearly ^ 
 to death. 
 
 Mrs. Howard, {hysterically) Dick, Dick, my 
 boy, you might have been killed. 
 ^ Bob. Look here, Dick — , 
 
 ■ Dick. Now for heaven's sake, Bob^dry up. 
 
 Mrs. Howard. Oh, my boy — 
 
 Dick. Sis, please^ here, take mother down stairs. 
 Bob, take this thing away {giving gun to Bob) and 
 keep them, down stairs, please, please. . {he hurries 
 them all out. Mrs. Howard, Elsie and Bob go out. 
 To Elaine:) Elaine, please. It'.& all right, I'll ex- 
 plain later. Come back in ten minutes. Keep, them 
 down stairs. I've got to get dad back to his room. 
 Please, please. (Elaine goes out. JiiCK closes the 
 door hastily behind her and ledns heavily against it 
 in a state bordering upon collapse. Mr. Howard 
 
62 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 throws hack the curtains and is seen for an instant. 
 All lights go out. Curtain falls) 
 
 (The cuetain remains lowered for a period of ten 
 seconds to indicate the lapse of five hours. When 
 it rises, Dick and Elaine are discovered sitting 
 behind desk c, under electrolier, each of them 
 reading a stack of manuscript. Elaine is read- 
 ing his second act as far as it has gone. Dick 
 is reading her part of the first act. Eichard, 
 tapping the manuscript:) 
 
 Dick. Look here. Do you mean to say that this 
 is just what happened after I left you with Byrne 
 last night? 
 
 Elaine. Yes, as nearly as I can remember it. 
 
 Dick. And you really told him that you — ^you 
 were trying to make me — er — ah — 
 
 Elaine. Make you propose to me? Yes, that's 
 what I told him. 
 
 Dick. And all that stuff about mother being sick 
 in London. 
 
 Elaine. Yes, all that, too. 
 
 Dick. Well, no wonder he was sore. Upon my 
 M'ord, I never heard of anything like it. 
 
 Elaine. Well, I had to get rid of the brute some- 
 how, so I said the first thing that came into my 
 mind. 
 
 Dick. I know, but — ^ 
 
 - Elaine. Well. I got rid of him, didn't I? 
 
 Dick. Bless you, yes. 
 
 Elaine. Well, what more do you want? 
 
 Dick. Nothing whatever, (he takes -up manu- 
 script to read on further) There's no need to read 
 the rest of this. It's just the scene between us two 
 • up to the point where you said, "The curtain rises 
 on a dark black stage;" then that's the end of Act 1. 
 
THE BIG IDEA 63 
 
 Blaine. Yes, and Act 2 is all right as far as 
 you've gone. 
 
 Dick. Yes. Eight up to the point where the 
 pistol went off and you all came rushing in. By 
 George, that was a narrow thing, (he rises and goes 
 E.) ' Turns me sick to think of it. .Now, what next? 
 Eight there I stop; and our play's a long way from 
 done, so far as I can see. 
 
 Elaine. I was just going to speak about that. 
 There's just one thing this play lacks and that it's 
 got to have. ^ 
 
 Dick. What's that? 
 
 Elaink It's what they call heart interest. 
 
 Dick. Oh, you mean it hasn't any love story ? 
 
 Elaine. It's got to have one, Dick. No use try- 
 ing to sell it without one. 
 
 EiCHAED. (coining toward her) That's so. Well, , 
 this hero and heroine have got to fall in love with 
 each other. 
 
 Elaine. Precisely, {they looh at each other with 
 the first sign of embarrassment they have shown. 
 Dick sits. They looh awa^ from each other) ■ Hand- 
 some hero and ^beautiful heroine, thrown together in 
 the midst of the hero's trials and tribulations, just 
 as we have been ; in the desperate process of trying to 
 find a way but, just as we are trying now, must grad- 
 ually come to a realization that — ^&at — 
 I Dick. That they love each other. 
 
 Elaine. Yes, because don't you see that makes 
 their success so much more necessary? It was hard 
 enough in the first place for you, but now — (she 
 
 Dick. Now ihat I'm in love with you — 
 Elaine. That is, supposing you were in love 
 with me. 
 
 Dick. Yes, yes,, of course, that's what I mean.* 
 
64 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Elaine. And I with you, it would be — it would 
 be— 
 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 Elaine, {echoing unmistahably his genuine feel- 
 ing) Yes, that's what it would be. {pause. Then 
 she speaks in a more business-like ton6) So now, so 
 long as this play is a record of fact, so far as we've 
 gone, suppose we pretend that the rest of it is true, 
 too. 
 
 Dick. Yes, y^s, but — 
 
 Elaine. Don't you see, you and I are actually 
 the principal figures in our story. You the hand- 
 some hero, and. I, in a manner of speaking, the beau- 
 tiful heroine. — 
 
 Dick. After all, that doesn't matter, because all 
 heroes are handsome. ,i 
 
 Elaine. Yes, and all heroines beautifuL 
 
 DicK. Yes, and intelligent. • 
 
 Elaine. Of course ; that's of no importance. 
 
 Dick. Oh, but it is; it's everything in our play. 
 To me — I mean to the hero. But for you — but for 
 her — {throws up his 'hands in a frantic gesture 
 and rises) Oh ! I'm getting all mixed up. I can't, 
 tell any more where fact leaves off and fancy begins. 
 I keep telling myself that last" night I hadn't even 
 seen you — that five hours ago my father tried to 
 kill himself in this very room — that if you hadn't 
 come they would at ihis moment be preparing for 
 my funeral; and now I'm . putting ,it all in a play 
 and yet it isn't a play. Is it true or isn't it? I 
 can't tell, ' I can't tell, {crosses H. and sinks into 
 chair with head in his hand) 
 
 Blaine, {coming to him and putting one hand 
 on his head) .Come, come, Dick, you must pull 
 yourself together. We've some work, to do and we've 
 noi much time to do it. 
 
THE BIG IDEA 65 
 
 <> 
 
 Dick, (pulling himself together) I'm sorry — 
 I'm an ass. 
 
 Blaine. Well, never mind about that; are you 
 quite all right? 
 
 Dick, (jising) Yes. 
 
 Elaine. All right then, now for the heart inter- 
 est. 
 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 Elaine. I mean the love scene. 
 
 Dick. All right. 
 
 Elaine. Suppose we act it out. It'll sound much 
 more convincing. (Dick nods) Good. Now Jet's 
 go back to where you have just finished reading my 
 part of the first act and I've finished' reading- your 
 part of the second act. Is that clear? [during this 
 speech both walk arm in arm to c, then bach to K.) 
 
 Dick. Yes, quite. 
 
 Elaine, (sits on corner of desk) All right then. 
 Begin. 
 
 Dick, (at table h.) Begin! 
 
 Elaine. Ybs. Lead up to the subject of your 
 suddenly realized regard for me. 
 
 Dick, (with conviction, seeing' her plan) By 
 Jove, you're wonderful. 
 
 Elaine. Yes, that'll do for a beginning. 
 
 ihcK. ^ But I mean it. 
 
 Elaine, And I'm talking about the^play. Now 
 say it again and Fll go on from there. 
 
 Dick. All right, (^e wind taken out of his 
 sails J he says it in a perfunctory way) By Jove, 
 you're wonderful, '' 
 
 Elaine. You must say it as if you mean it. It 
 will put me in thp mood. 
 
 Dick. By Jove, you are M^onderful. 
 
 Elaine, (goes c.) Nonsense, Dick, don't be ab- 
 surd. ' 
 
 EiCHAED". (she says it so naturally that he is 
 
66 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 again puzzled cund drops out of his loverlihe attitude) 
 Say, are you acting now or not ? 
 
 Elaine. Of course I am. 
 
 Dick. It didn't seem possible, you said it so nat- 
 urally. , . 
 
 Elaine. My dear Dick, we shall never get on at 
 this rate. Will you try and forget everything but 
 the play? We are trying to act a love scene; we 
 need one desperately. Now, you and I are Iherely 
 characters, have you got that? 
 
 Dick. Yes, I think so. 
 
 Elaine, {sits on e. corner of desh again) Well, 
 try to remember it. Now we'll begin again. Go 
 on — By Jove, you're wonderful. 
 
 Dick, (seats himself for another start) Well, by 
 Jove, you're wonderful. 
 
 Elaine. . (rises) Nonsense, Dick, don't be ab- 
 surd. 
 
 Dick, (goes to her. Now throwing himself into 
 the scene earnestly) But you are, and you know it, 
 you're too intelligent not to know it. 
 
 Elaine. At any rate, I don't mind your think- 
 ing so. 
 
 Dick. It wouldn't prevei^t it if you did. You 
 know that, too, don't you ? 
 
 Blaine, (softly) You know, Dick, we really 
 haven't time for this sort of thing. 
 
 Dick. Haven't we? 
 
 Elaine. Have weP * 
 
 Dick. It may be the only time we'll ever have. 
 Have you thought of that ? 
 
 Elaine, (goes Jj.) Yes — no — no — I haven't, and 
 I won't think of it. It's too terrible. Besides we 
 must get on with our work, (she crosses to c.) 
 
 Dick., (coming close to-her) Elaine, I've got to 
 tell you — 
 
 Elaine. No, no, I — 
 
THE BIG JDEA 
 
 67 
 
 Dick. Don't be .afraid, it can't do yon any harm ; 
 but I — I can't go on any longer — ^like this. 
 
 Elaine. Like this? 
 
 Dick. I can't seem to think any more about 
 what we're trying to do ; my heart is so full that my 
 brain won't do its work. 
 
 Elaine, {turning from him) Please. 
 
 Dick. My heart's so full of you. Three days ago 
 I hadn't even heard your name. It's not twenty-four 
 hours since I first saw you comiug through that door ; 
 and now like a flame that leaps from blackness you've 
 flashed into all that I've ever read or dreamed that's 
 beautiful, all that's ever flred my brain or warmed 
 my heart, all my life, my soul, — ^my dear. 
 
 Elaine. Oh, Dick ! 
 
 Dick. What I'm saying doesn't seem quite possi- 
 ble, does it? It's the sort of thing that simply 
 doesn't happen; and yet it's true. It's the truest 
 thing in all my life. 
 ^ Elaine.' Dick, please. 
 
 Dick. It isn't fair of me to speak like this, 
 standing as I do under a proyisional sentence of 
 death. 
 
 Elaine. Oh ! 
 
 Dick. But I can't help it. Loving^ you is the 
 finest thing I've ever done in all my life, and I just 
 can't bear the. thought that you should never know. 
 You see, it's a sort of bequest. I want to leave you 
 the finest thing I have ; do you mind ? 
 
 Elaine. Do you mean it, Dick? 
 
 Dick, (solemnly) God knows I do. 
 
 Elaine, (ivith an entire change of manner, very 
 matter of fad) Well, I think we're dping very well 
 BO far. 
 
 Dick, (staggered) Doing well? 
 
 Blaine. I mean for the play, (she makes it 
 
68 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 clear she's not quite sure whether he is in earnest or 
 not and is going to take no chances) 
 
 Dick, {turning away in despair) The play. 
 God!, {sits in chair E.) 
 
 Elaine, {crossing to him) Oh, that's good, 
 Dick, that's fine, you just keep to that pose. You 
 see, I don't quite know whether you are sincere or 
 just acting, but it's very effective. 
 
 Dick, {hopelessly) Do you think so? 
 
 Elaine. Yes; so then I go on — diet's go back a 
 moment. Dick, do /you mean it? 
 ~" Dick, {with an effort. Repeating his former an- 
 swer) God knows I do. 
 
 Elaine. Oh, Dick, I've wondered if you cared. 
 
 Dick. Didn't you know that I did ? 
 
 ELAiip. Sometimes I've hoped you didrand then 
 I've hoped you didn't ; because if you did care and 
 things should go wrong it would make it so much 
 harder for you to bear ; and now you do care and it's 
 too late to stop you. 
 
 Dick. Yes, it's too late, but you needn't be sorry. 
 
 Elaine. Sorry? Oh, my dear. Last night as I 
 lay awake and watched the first faint gray creep 
 into my room, it seemed as if I had never seen the 
 dawn before. I went to my window and looked out 
 at the brightening- sky, and presently tears came 
 into my eyes, and suddenly I knew ; and then like a 
 flood of glory the sun and my love rose together. 
 {she is now close to him. Be looTcs at her uncer- 
 tainly a moment, starts to 'embrace her, then checks 
 himself) 
 
 Dick. Excuse me, I .^think I had better write 
 some of this down, {goes to desk and is ahout to 
 write) 
 
 Elaine. Dick, {he stops) I mean it. 
 
 Dick. Elaine. 
 
 Blaine. God knows I do. 
 
THE BIG IDEA ' 69 
 
 Dick, (his face brightening, he takes a sudden 
 step tottmrd her) Elaine. 
 
 Elaine. Yes, yes. 
 
 Dick. Elaine, {he takes her in his arms, but 
 without hissing her) 
 
 ELAiifE. {presently disengaging herself ruefully) 
 Now you see we've got our 'heart interest. 
 
 Dick. Elaine. (Elaine goes up c. to phone. 
 Dick crosses in front of desk to L,) You don't 
 mean — You can't mean — 
 
 Elaine. Hello — Central, give me 3373 Bry- 
 ant, New York — no, no, 3373. 
 
 Dick. Elaine, see here — 
 
 Elaine. Hsh — ^hsh, not now, please. Are you 
 ready to start? 
 
 Dick. Start! Where for? 
 
 Elaine. For New York. 
 
 Dick, i New York! 
 
 Elaine. Certainly, to see Mr. Gilmore. I tele- 
 phoned him at noon making a provisional appoint- 
 ment for five o'clock. 
 
 Dick. What for? 
 
 Elaine. To read him the play. 
 
 Dick. - But it isn't done. 
 
 Elaine. Hello, oh, yes — I want to speak with 
 Mr. Gilmore — ^this is Miss Foster — ^yes, Miss Foster. 
 {to Eichaed) Hurry up now and get the manu- 
 script together, we haven't much time, {he stares 
 at her, speechless) Please do as I ask. {she stamps 
 her foot at him. Bewildered, he goes to the desk 
 and puts the manuscript together. In phone:)- Oh, 
 hello, Mr. Gilmore? This is Miss Foster. We'll be 
 at your ofBce at five o'clock — ^what? Oh, yes, five 
 o'clock. Good-bye. {she hangs up receiver) Come 
 on, Dick, the car is at the door. I had the chauffeur 
 bring it around. 
 
 Dick. But Elaine — 
 
70 ~ THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Elaine, We can just about make it. 
 
 Dick. But I tell you the play isn't done. 
 
 Elaine. It's near enough. We can read him 
 what's written and act the love scene. 
 
 Dick. Yes, but even then it's not done. 
 
 Elaine. Not done? 
 
 Dick. No, we haven't any last act: What hap- 
 pens next ? I don't know. 
 
 Elaine. I do. ' 
 
 Dick. You do? Well, heavens and earth! 
 
 Elaine. Now don't stand there gibbering: Don't 
 I tell you it's all right? 
 
 Dick., But I want to know what happens next. 
 
 Elaine. Then come along and I'll tell you in the 
 car. {seizes her coat and jams her hat on) 
 
 Dick. In the car ! 
 
 Elaine, {in great exasperation) For the last 
 time^ {holding the door open) Are you coming 
 or not? 
 
 Dick, {now in a siate._of wild bewilderment) 
 All right ! I'm just like Byrne, "I'll do it, damned 
 a I know why FU'do it, but I'll do it." {ta^ces up 
 his hat and coat) 
 
 Elaine. Then come on. {they start io go out. 
 'Bob enters) 
 
 Bob. Say, where are you off to now? 
 
 Dick. We're going to sell the play, {he and 
 Elaine hurry out) 
 
 Bob. (in wild iewilderment) Sell the play! 
 What the devil — here, wait for me — ^hbld on — wait — 
 {rushes out, after them) 
 
 CTJETAIN 
 
ACT III 
 
 Scene : — Immediately following Act II. Gilmoee's 
 office, in Times Square. A typical offi,ce of a 
 theatrical manager, with many framed photo- 
 graphs of actors and actresses on the walls. 
 Door at e. S e. Flat top business desh at l. c. 
 with swivel chair e. of it. Pig/no upright c. 
 , stacked full of manuscripts. Two chairs L. of 
 ' desk. Leather divan at right. Windows at L. 3 
 E. and rear l. Push button desk. Clock up 0. 
 points to 5:45 o'clock. 
 
 At Eise :— Gilmoee, Dick and Elaine are discov- 
 ered. GiLMOEE is seated at his Jteslc. Dick 
 and Elaine are seated l. of desk. Dick is just 
 finishing the reading of the play. To be read 
 before curtain rises: 
 
 Dick. "Mrs. Howard, Elsie and Bob go out. Dick 
 to Elaine: It's «,11 right, I'll explain later. Come 
 back in ten minutes, {curtain rises) Keep them 
 down stairs, I've got to get Dad back' to his room. 
 Elaine goes out, Dick closes the door hastily behind 
 them and leans lieavily against it in a state bordering 
 upon collapse as the cjurtain falls." 
 
 Gilmoee. I see. The old chap is still behind the 
 curtain. 
 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 Gilmoee. Is that the end of your second act? 
 
 Dick. No, there's another scene to come. 
 
 Gilmoee. Another set, eh? 
 
 Dick. No, the same sit. You see, Mr. Gilmore, 
 my idea is that during this act the lights will be 
 lowered for a period of ten seconds to indicate the 
 lapse of five hours, (he lays down manuscript) 
 
 71 
 
n- THE BIG IDEA 
 
 GiLMOKE. Oh, that's it. {presses* button — office 
 toy enters) Mr. Bingham, {boy exits) Ntwwhat 
 is supposed to transpire during this interval of five 
 hours ? 
 
 Dick. Well, Dick is supposed to get' his father 
 back to his own room ; and then-he and Elaine go on 
 writing the play. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Oh, I see. (Bingham enters) 
 
 GiLMOEE. Pardon me/ just a moment, {crosses 
 to Bingham) Say, Steve, I have an appointment 
 for this hour, haven't I ? 
 
 Bingham. Yes. Governor, he's out th^re now. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Ask him to step around to the Lambs 
 Club and come back in half an hour. This eha:p's 
 got a play that's different from anything I ever 
 heard before. 
 
 Bingham. As good as that. Governor ? 
 
 GiLMOEE, Yes, better' than that. I haven't heard 
 all of it, but as far as it's gone it's a corker. 
 
 Bingham. All right, Governor, I'll hold him off. 
 
 {he exits) 
 
 GiLMOHE. {goes to water tanh and gets a glass 
 of water e.) ' Your throat must be dry, Mr. How- 
 ard, after all that reading. Won't you have a glass \ 
 of water? 
 
 Dick. No, thanks. 
 
 Elaine. I will, please. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Pardon me. Miss Foster. {Crosses to ~ 
 deslc with glass and sits. Elaine hands water to 
 DiCKj he drinhs it) Now, then, let me hear the rest 
 of your play. 
 
 DiCK. Well, from this point on, Mr. Gilmore, 
 we haven't altogether — well — that's all there is. 
 
 GiLMOEE.'- What! 
 
 Elaine. Yes, we haven't written the rest. 
 
 GiLMOEE. I don't get you. 
 
THE BIG IDEA 73 
 
 Elaine. We're going to tell you the rest of it. 
 
 GiLMORE. Oh, I see; well, that's all right; bijt 
 see here, there'-s one thing that's wrong — all wrong. 
 
 Dick. , What's that? 
 
 GiLMOEE. You haven't any heart interest. 
 
 Elaine, (rises. Triumphantly to Dick) I 
 told you. 
 
 Dick, (to Gilmoee) That's right, that's what 
 sh6 said. * 
 
 Gilmoee. Well, that won't do. »■ 
 
 Elaine. That's exactly what I said, Mr. Gil- 
 more, so — so we put some in. (she goes c.) 
 
 Gilmoee. Well, I haven't seen it. Is it any 
 good? ' 
 
 Elaine. Well, I, eh, er — I think you might thiijik 
 it isn't so bad. 
 
 Gilmoee. (to Dick) Well, do you like it? 
 
 Dick. Well — I — I guess it's all right. 
 
 Gilmoee. Where does this love scene come in? 
 
 Elaine. That's the rest of Act 2. 
 
 Gilmoee. But you haven't written it. 
 
 Elaine. ISTo — ^we sort of acted it out. 
 
 SiLMOEE. Acted it out? < 
 
 Elaine. Yes. 
 
 Gilmoee. Well, what happens in this love seefle ; 
 do the young people get married? 
 
 Dick. Married? Well — I don't exactly know. 
 
 Gilmoee. Don't know? 
 
 Dick. No — I — ah — 
 
 ElaiSe. What he means, Mr. - Gilmore, is this. 
 I said to him just what you said, "there isn't any 
 heart interest," and he agreed thete had to be some, 
 so we just went on^ — ^invented speeches along that 
 line. 
 
 Gilmoee. But, good Lord, I want to know 
 whether the young people are going to get married ; 
 
74 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 not that I care a hang, but the audience will want to 
 know. 
 
 Elaine, (doubtfully) Ye — es, I suppose they 
 will. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Well, then, are they going to get mar- 
 ried? 
 
 Dick. Well, I — I don't know. 
 
 GiLMOBE. Don't know, (to Elaine) Well, do 
 you know? 
 
 Blaine. I — I'm not quite sure. 
 
 GilmoeI'. Well, great Scott! 
 
 Elaine. What I mean, Mr. Gilmore, is that we 
 acted it out — so as to leave each of us — I mean each 
 of them — in doubt. 
 
 GiLiitoKE. In doubt? 
 
 Elaine, (with a brief glance at Dick) Well, 
 yes, some doubt. 
 
 GiLMOKE. Well, what's the end of your second 
 act ? Give me the curtain. 
 
 Elaine. Yes, Dick, give him the curtain, {she 
 goes to chair bach of desk and sits) 
 
 Dick. The curtain shows them rushing ofE to 
 town to sell the play to the manager. 
 
 GiLMOKE. The manager ? 
 
 Elaine. Yes, to you. 
 
 GiLMOBE. To me ! That's the- end of your sec- 
 ond act--where you rush o£E to sell the play to me ? 
 
 Elaine. Yes. 
 
 GiLMOBE. Hmm. Well, there's some suspense in 
 that curtain. 
 
 Dick. There is for me. 
 / GiLMOBE. All right then, now what happens in 
 your last act? 
 
 Dick. We — ^we don't know yet. 
 
 GiLMOBE. Why don't you know? 
 
 Dick. Because this is the last act. 
 
 GiLMOBE. ^ (bemldered) This ! 
 
THE BIG IDEA 75 
 
 - Dick. Yes, this — this office — right here, (with 
 a wave of his hand that includes the whole room) 
 
 GiLMORE. Here ? 
 
 Elaine. Yes. You're "in it, too. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Me ? 
 
 Elaine. Of course you are. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Well, I'll be dam-— 
 
 Elaine. And you want to be very careful what 
 you say ; because it's, all going to be in the play. 
 
 Gilmgee! You mean you're going to pat me ia 
 your play? 
 
 Dick. We' have to. We can't finish the play till 
 we know whether you'll buy it or not. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Well, good Lord. How can I say 
 whether I'll buy it until you finish it ? 
 
 Elaine. Don't you see ? The solution of this play 
 depends on you! We don't know yet whether it'a^ 
 going to be a comedy or a tragedy. " 
 
 GiLMOEE. Well,_if you don't know, who does? 
 
 Dick. You do. 
 
 GiLMOEE. I do! 
 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Say, look here, are you trying to make 
 me think that I'm helping to write this play? 
 
 -Dick. Yes. That's exactly what you're doing. 
 If you buy it, it will be a comedy, and if you don't, 
 it will be a tragedy; because, if you remember, the 
 hero originally planned to take his own life so that — 
 
 GiLMOEE. Yes, yes, I know all that. 
 
 Dick. Well, it follows that if he doesn't succeed 
 in selling this play at once he must carry out his 
 original intention. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Kill himself. 
 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Hmm. I don't care much for that 
 ending. 
 
 Dick. I don't care much for it mjself . 
 
76 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 GiLMOEE. Well, that's easy; you're the author; 
 give it a happy ending, 
 
 Dick. I will, if you'll buy, it. 
 
 GiLMOEE. IfiT buy this play, you'll put a happy 
 ending to it ? 
 
 Dick. If you buy this play, that will put a happy 
 ending to it. 
 
 GiLMOEE. (rises and goes c.) By George, this 
 is a big idea. "- It certainly is unusual. It's all right. 
 I've been looking for a novelty and here it comes 
 walking right into my office. Say, if you can work 
 this up into a good last act, this play'ought to be a 
 ctneh. --- 
 
 Dick. I think so. 
 
 Elaine. So do I. ,^ 
 
 GiLMOEE. All right, I/ll take the play, (he sits 
 at desk and writes a check. Elaine and Dick rise 
 and come down Jj., of desk very much elated. Kiss 
 business) 
 
 Elaine. But, Mr. Gilmore, you don't quite— 
 
 Dick. Mr. Gilmore,, we forgot to tell you— 
 (Elaine and Dick speak last two lines tdyether) 
 
 GiLMOEE. (writing) Just a minute, just a min- 
 ute. I wrote a check once for three^housand dol- 
 lars instead of three hundred just because somebody 
 was talking to me; and the son-of-a-gun cashed it,- 
 too. (rises and hands check to Dick) There you 
 a^e. Come in tomorrow morning and sign a| con- 
 tract. (GiLMOEE crosses e. to water cooler, draws 
 glass of water and is about to drink. Dick and 
 Elaine look at check) 
 
 Elaine, (reading dheck) 'Hudson- Trust Com- 
 pany, $500. (shakes her head, gives check to Dick) 
 
 Dick, (crossing to Gilmore) I'm sorry, Mr. 
 Gilmore, but it isn't enough. ' , 
 
 Gilmoke. Not enough. Eive hundred dollars not 
 enough? 
 
THE BIG IDEA 77 
 
 Dick. No, sir. 
 
 GiLMOEE. "Well, what do you want? 
 
 Dick. (looJcs at Elaine) Twenty-two thousand 
 dollars. 
 
 GiLMOHE. Twenty-two thousand dollars! 
 
 Elaine. In advance, please. (Gilmoee holes at 
 them for an instant in amazement, then he goes to 
 door TL., throws it open and calls) 
 
 Gilmoee. Steve, Steve, come here, will you? 
 (Bingham enters. Ta Djlck and Elaine) My gen- 
 eral stage manager, Mr. Bingham. (Gilmoee sits 
 E. on divan. Bingham shakes hands with Dick) 
 Steve, tell this young man what are the usual terms 
 for a play by an unknown author. 
 
 Bingham. Oh, about five hundred dollars down- — 
 and say — five per cent ef the gross receipts. 
 
 Gilmoee. This young man wants to sell me a 
 play — ^'tisn't all written either — and what do you 
 suppose he wants for it? Twenty^two thou- 
 sand, dollars. 
 
 Bingham. My God ! (turns on his heel and goes 
 out) 
 
 Gilmoee. You gee, he thinks you're crazy. I 
 guess you are. (sits) 
 
 Dick. No, Mr. Gilmore, five hundred dollars is 
 no good to me — nor a thousand; — nor five — nor ten 
 thousand. (Dick hands Gilmoee the check) 
 
 Gilmoee. Wait a minute; see here, my boy, I 
 like your play; I want to produce it. (rises and 
 goes to Dick) But your proposition ^s unreason- 
 able. It's absurd. Why, in all my experience as a 
 manager — (Gilmoee turns away from Dick) 
 
 Dick. Wait a minute, let me tell you what^ I 
 mean. -This play is absolutely true. 
 
 Gilmoee. What* <• 
 
 Dick. I'm the hero. 
 
 Elaine. And I'm the heroine. 
 
18 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 GiEMOEE. What ! You— you mean that— 
 Elaine. Just what we say, Mr. Gilmore. 
 _DiCK..„ We've used^real names in the play, my own. 
 Miss Foster's, my father's, my smother's— of course, 
 they'd have to be changed. We didn't have time to 
 do that. 
 
 GiLMOEE. (rises) Hold on — hold on, wait till I 
 get this straight. You say that you've used real 
 names in this play. 
 
 Dick. Yes. 
 
 GiLMOEE. But I never heard of a bank called the 
 Clarendon Trust. 
 
 Dick. No. That's the one name I did change. 
 If I tell you the real name, I must ask you to treat 
 it as strictly confidential. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Why^ certainly. 
 
 Dick, McKinley JSTational. 
 
 GiLMOEE. You mean to say that your father's 
 really president of the McKinley National Bank? 
 
 Dick. He is. (Gilmoee hurries to table up c. 
 and produces ianTc directory) And has been for fif- 
 teen years. 
 
 Elaine. And Byrne is paying teller there, too. 
 
 GiLMOEE. {reading from'' boolc) McBanley Na- 
 tional, President James H. Howard. When! 
 Heavens above, I've got forty thousand dollars in 
 that bank ; and the first thing tomorrow morning I'll 
 draw it out. (puts directory back on table) 
 
 Dick. Then you believe us. 
 
 GiLMOEE. (coming down to Dick G.) Look here, 
 do you really and truly mean that if I dgn't pay you 
 $22,000 for this play you— you— 
 
 Dick. - I shall fulfill my father's obligation in the 
 only way I can. ' ' 
 
 GiLMOEE. My God, it's preposterous. 
 
 Dick. Perhaps, but it's true. 
 
THE BIG IDEA 79 
 
 GiLMOEE. How do I know it's true? How do I 
 know it's not a frame-up? Give me some proof — 
 about the bank, I me^n. 
 
 Dick. If I could, I would, but how can I? I 
 can't have you stirring up the bank ; that would arouse 
 suspicion and everything would come out. No, Mr. 
 Gilmore, I'm aftaidl'll have to ask you to take my 
 word; if you can't do that, thein^ there's nothing to 
 be said but good day. 
 
 GiLMOKE. And go and finish yourself ofE; is that 
 what you mean ? 
 
 Dick. "Well, at least #that would convince you, 
 wouldn't it? 
 
 GiLMOEE. Upon my wQrd, I do believe you're 
 crazy. 
 
 Elaine. How about me? 
 
 GiLMOEE. {to -Dick) See here, how did you 
 describe that man Byrne? 
 
 Dick. Byrne ? I don't remember describing him 
 at all. 
 
 GiLMOEE. But-you know him, don't you. 
 
 Dick. Of course, I know him. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Hfe's a tall, thin, handsome chap,^ isn't 
 he? 
 
 Elaine. No, no. 
 
 Dick. No, nothing like that. He's a fat, pudgy 
 man with sort of a pumpkin face. 
 
 Elaine. Yes, and pop eyes. 
 ■ GiLMOEE. Well, thaf s on the level anyhow. He's 
 paid me thousands of dollars, (goes to phone) Get 
 me the McKinley National. 
 
 Dick, (at c.) Hold on, I won't have you stir- 
 ring up father's bank. I won't have it. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Oh, it's all right. 
 
 Dick. But. I tell you if 11 ruin everything. I 
 won't have it ; and you gave me your wOrd. 
 
80 TH^ BIG IDEA 
 
 GiLMOEE. Don't be a fool ; I'm not going to ruin 
 anything. And I'm not, going to break -my word. 
 (phone hell rings) Hello, this the MeKinley Na- 
 tional? 
 
 Dick. For God's sake, be careful. 
 
 GiLMOEE. This is Mr. Gilmore, yes, Oharles Gil- 
 more. I want to speak to Mr. Howard. . . . 
 Oh, he's home ill, eh? 
 
 Dick. You see? 
 
 Elaine. There. 
 
 Gilmore. When do you expect him back ? . . . 
 Oh, all right . . . then let me speak to Mr. 
 Byrne . . . Mr. Byrne, paying teller . . . 
 Yes, all right. 
 
 Elaijstb' Now, if you say anything to that brute 
 about me — 
 
 GiLMOEE. Sh — sh — It's all right, I tell you. 
 Hello. That you, Byrne ? Yes, this is Mr. Gilmore. 
 Say, Byrne, do you know a young woman named 
 Foster? 
 
 Blaine. Here now — 
 
 GiLMOEE. Miss Elaine Foster. . . . Oh, you 
 ,do. . . '. What's that she told you? (he 
 chuckles at Btene's reply, gives a look at Elaine 
 and Dick and laughs aloud) What's that ? . . . 
 say, Byrne, here^-here — hold on — ^there's a lady pres- 
 ent^--helIo, Byrne — ^hello. (hangs up receiver) He's 
 rung off. 
 
 Elaine, (sits l. of desk) I judge he seemed to 
 know me. 
 
 GiLMOEE. I judge he did. Want to hear what he 
 said? 
 
 Elaine. iNo, thanks. - 
 
 GiLMOKE. So all that farce comedy stuff between 
 you and Byrne- in the first act of your play really 
 happened. 
 
 Elaine. Of course, it did. 
 
THE BIG IDEA 81 
 
 G-iliMOEE. I wouldn't have believed it in a million 
 years. 
 
 Elaine. So now, Mr. Gilmore, you've got inde- 
 pendent evidence. - 
 
 Dick. And you know my father is sick at home 
 ]ust as I've told you in the play : and if you want 
 evidmce of my ability to raise $25,000 by killing 
 myself, there it is. {he takes policy from his pocket 
 and gives it to Gilmoee) 
 
 GiLMOEE. {laokirifg at it and reading) Home 
 Guarantee Insurance Company, $25,000, eh? 
 
 Dice. As stBtfed in- Act 1. 
 
 Gilmoee. But all you're asking me^is $22,000. 
 {ironically) Why do I get the $3,000 rebate? 
 
 Elaine. We^te letting you in at cost. 
 
 Gilmoee^ Oh ! 
 
 Dick. Yes, $20,000 for the bank and $2,000 for 
 Byrne. 
 
 Gilmoee. Then if you should carry out your 
 origiiial plan, after all debts have been paid, there 
 would still be $3,000 left from this policy. What 
 would be done with that? j{gives policy back to 
 Dick) 
 
 Dick. I don't know. ,1 suppose part of it would 
 be used for my funeral expenses. 
 
 Gilmoee. {rises, goes l., then crosses to Dick) 
 There you go again, always dragging up that dismal 
 finish of yours. Now, see here, this -is blackmail, 
 that's what it is. 
 
 Dick. Blackmail? (Elaine gets up and goes 
 L. 0.) 
 
 Gilmoee.- Yes, blackmail. You come to me and 
 say that i:^ I don't buy your play you'll go and Ikill 
 yourself; and what's more I'm beginning to believe it. 
 
 Dick, {at e. c.) That's not blackmail. 
 
 .Gilmoee. {crosses E.) Well, it amounts to the 
 same thing. Why the deuce did you have to tell me 
 
82 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 it was your own story? It isn't fair, {goes to water 
 cooler and gets drinh) 
 
 Dick. I don't care whether it's fair or n(;)t. When 
 a man's fightirig for his life he doesn't stop to think 
 about trifles like fairness ; and if there's anything I 
 can do to sell you this play that I haven't done 
 already I'll do it, if I can think of it, if it amounts 
 to — ^to burglary. 
 
 Elaine. Me, too. 
 
 GiLMOEE. {almost weeping with vexation, coming 
 down H. c.) But great goodness, why pick me out, 
 why make me the goat? 
 
 Elaixe. That was my^idea. 
 
 GiLMOBE. Oh, many thanks. 
 
 , Elaine. Oh, Mr. Gilmore, you're the only theat- 
 rical manager I know, and from the little I saw of 
 you on the boat, I thought you were a very decent 
 sort. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Fow, now, that's worse yet. 
 
 Elaine. What is? 
 
 GiLMOBB. That's blarney; that won't work. 
 
 Elaine. Mr? Gilmore, you don't seem to under- 
 stand how desperate we are. 
 
 GiLMOEE'. Well, I can't help it, it isn't my busi- 
 ness, {sits on divan E.) 
 
 DiCK# I realize that, Mr. Gilmore, and I'm sorry 
 to put you in this position, but — 
 
 GiLMOEE. {going to Dick) See here, my boy, 
 wouldn't $5,000 help- you out? I might go as high 
 as that. 
 
 Dick. Thank you, Mr. Gilmore, but nothing less 
 than $23,000 would be of any use. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Well, it's tod bad. I like you and I 
 like your play and I wouldn't like to let it get away 
 from me, but $22,000— well, it isn't business and 
 that's all there is to it. {sits on divan ■&.) 
 
THE BIG IDEA 83 
 
 Dick. Very well then, I guess there's no more to 
 be said. Gome, Elaine. 
 
 . Elaine, (crossing to Gilmoee. Pleadingly) 
 Oh, Mr. Gibnore. 
 
 GiLMOHE. (rises) No, it is not business, (goes 
 up stage, then crosses L. Dick goes l., gets hat and 
 manuscript and goes to Elaine) 
 
 Elaine, (protesting) No. 
 
 Dick. Yes. (a pause, she gives up, they start to 
 go to door a. u.) 
 
 Gilmoee. (at l.) See here, you can't leave me 
 like this ! (they loth turn and come bach) , 
 
 Elaine. Why not? 
 
 GiLMOHE. Why hang it all, if it turns out that 
 everything is just as you said and you should really 
 do what the chap in your play plans to do, and I look 
 at the paper in the morning, and there, staring me 
 , in the face in glaring headlines, "Son of bank presi- 
 dent electrocutes himself, family prostrated, mother 
 and sister's lives' despaired of," why, can't you see, 
 that for the rest of my life, I'm going to feel like a 
 confounded murderer? 
 
 Elaine. Of course, I should be very sorry for 
 that. 
 
 Dick. So should I, if it were not for the fact that 
 at that moment I shall be incapable of any emotion 
 whatever. _ 
 
 Elaine, (breahing suddenly, Dick takes her in 
 his arms) Oh, Dick, Dick. 
 
 Dick. I'm sorry, I didn't think. 
 
 Gilmoee. (angrily to Dick) Well, it's time you 
 did think. 
 
 Elaine. I can't bear it. 
 
 GiLMOHE. I can't bear it either. It's just a little 
 too much, that's what it is. People have feelings, 
 even theatrical managers, (sits e. of desk) 
 
84 ' THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Dick. I'm very sorry indeed, but as the whole 
 business hangs -on the finish I don't quite see-r 
 
 Elaine. Oh, he's right, Mt. Gilmore, he's quite 
 right. I'm sorry to have made such a scene, but I 
 think I've stood about ill I can. 
 
 Dick. So you have ; and it's all my fault. 
 
 Gilmore. Of course, it's your fault. 
 
 Dick, (crosses angrily to Gilmoee) Well, I said 
 it first. You needn't rub it in. (to Elaine) 
 Come^ Elaine, are you ready ? 
 
 Elaine, (tewrfully) Yes, I'm all right now, 
 really I am. (crosses to Gilmoke) I hope you'll 
 forgive me for being s6 siUy, Mr. Gilmore, but the 
 fact is — (begins to cry again) 
 
 Gilmoee. (rises, talcing her hand comfortingly) 
 Oh, that's all right, my dear young lady, that's all 
 right, it's perfectly natural yotf should — (suddenly 
 drops her hand) See here, if I thqught you were 
 acting, I'd — 
 
 Blaine.- (through her tears) Well? 
 
 Gilmoee. I'd give you a five-year contract at 
 $400 a week. 
 
 Elaine. Mr. Gilmore, successful plays make more 
 than $23,000 for the author, do&'t they ? 
 
 Gilmoee. Yes, they do. — 
 
 Dick. They make a great deal more than $22,000, 
 don't they? 
 
 Gilmoee. Yes, some of them do. 
 
 Dick. All right then, suppose we were to finish 
 the second act just as we've described it. 
 
 Gilmoee. That wouldn't finish ^he play. • 
 
 Dick. No, but this act would. 
 
 Gilmoee. This act? 
 
 Elainie. Yes, this one ; the one we're in now. 
 
 Gilmoee. Well, I've got to hand it to you; it's a 
 big idea. ^ 
 
 Dick. You bet it's a big idea. Now, suppose we 
 
THE BIG IDEA 85 
 
 wrote for the last act_ejerything that's been said since 
 we came into this room. 
 
 Elaine. And' suppose you take the play and give 
 us a check for $22,000. 
 
 GiLMOEE. (with a grimace of pain) Help ! (goes 
 li. behind desk and stops c) 
 
 IplLAiNE. And suppose we were to finish the play 
 that way. "■ / 
 
 GiLMOEE. Help r Oh, have a heart ! 
 - Dick. Ddh't you think you'd like it? 
 
 GiLMOEE. Like it? With me giving you 
 $22,000 ? 
 
 Elaine. Now, Mr. Gilmore, do try to put aside 
 all personal consideration; wouldn't you like it as a 
 play? 
 
 GiLMOEE. Yes, I would, 
 
 DiCK and Elaine. There you are! < 
 
 GiLMOMi. If I could forget it was so blame true. 
 
 Dick. Wouldn't you think it had a chance ? 
 
 GiLMOEE. Yes, I should. 
 
 Elaine. A good chance? 
 
 GiLMOEE. Yes, a good chance. 
 
 Elaine. WeU, then, there you are. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Yes, I know, but $22,000; and there 
 you are. 
 
 Elaine. You know what the money's for. By 
 the way, I'm beginning to like this act. ^ 
 
 GiLMOEE. I'm so pleased. 
 
 Elaine. At College I was taught that the essence 
 of drama is struggle, and we're certainly having a 
 struggle to get $23,0fl0 out of you. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Struggle ! if s a contortion, {sits' e. of 
 desk. Elaine goes bach of'desTe to h.) 
 
 Dick. Now, Mr. Gilmore. (hnoc^ is heard off 
 stage) 
 
 GiLMOEE. Come in. {the office boy enters) 
 
 Jim. There's a man outside. 
 
86 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 GiLMOEE. Didn't I tell you not to bother me? 
 
 Jim. Yes, sir, but this man says — 
 
 GiLMOEE. I don't care what he says, get out. 
 (Jim exits. Elaine and Dick come pleadingly 
 toward Gilmoee. He ignores them) 
 
 Dick. Well, Mr. Gilmore, I'm afraid there isn't 
 anything more to — 
 
 (Outside a commotion, a noise like a young riot. 
 
 Blows, shouts, furniture turned over, etc. The 
 
 door bursts open and Jim and Bob Caswell fall 
 
 into the room fighting) 
 
 Bob. Here, somebody take this young devil off me 
 
 or I'll kill him, I will now. ^ 
 
 (Gilmoee and Dick separate the combatants, hath 
 much the worse for wear) 
 
 Gilmoee. Jim, look here — 
 
 Dick. Bob, what on earth — 
 
 Gilmoee. (fo-CASwELL) Look here, what the 
 devil do you mean ? Get a policeman, Jim. 
 
 Dick. It's all right, 
 
 Jim. ' All right ! What do you mean all right ? 
 
 Dick. This is my friend, Mr. Gaswell; he knows 
 all about it. We had to tell him on the way down. 
 He's been waiting outside to hear the result and I 
 suppose he got so anxious he couldn't stand it. 
 
 Gilmoee, Well, is that any reason why he should 
 assault my office boy ? 
 
 Jim. (at e. c, threateningly) Yes, you — 
 
 Bob. (at l. c.) Now, go away or I'll murder 
 
 you. 
 
 Jim. You will, hey? 
 
 Gilmoee. (interposing) Get-out. Jim. 
 
 Jim. (going) AH right, but wait till I get him 
 outside, I'll show him — (goes out) 
 
 Gilmoee. Caswell, was that it? 
 
 Dick, (at e. c.) Yes, 
 
( 
 THE BIG IDEA 87 
 
 GiLMOEE. (ato.) Where have I heard that name 
 before ? 
 
 Elaine, (l, of desh) In the play, Mr. Gilmore. 
 
 Bob. (at l. c.) I'm the life insurance agent. 
 
 GiLMOBE, Oh, the life insurance agent ! Well, by 
 George! This is uncanny. It's amazing. It's un- 
 believable, (to Bob) Say, did you know you're in 
 this play? 
 
 Bob. Sure, didn't I tell you I was the life insur- 
 ance agent? 
 
 GiLMOHE. Well, I'm in it, too. I'm the manager. 
 
 Bob. (shakes hands with Gilmoee) How do 
 you do? 
 
 Gilmoee. Well, as a character in the play you're 
 a good comedy part, but as a life insurance agent 
 you're a fine piece of goods, now, aren't you? 
 
 Bob. - What's the matter with me ? ' 
 
 Gilmoee. Plotting to defraud the company that 
 pays you your salary. 
 
 Bob. ' Is that so ; well, what would you do ? 
 
 Gilmoee. Me? 
 
 Bob. Yes. Suppose you were dead broke and 
 your best friend told you he was going to kill himself 
 in order to save his family from disgrace and ruin. 
 What would you do ? 
 
 Gilmoee. Do ? I'd stop him. 
 
 Bob. You would. How? 
 
 Gilmoee. I'd dig up the money. 
 
 Bob. How? 
 
 Gilmoee. Borrow it. 
 
 Bob. All rights lend it to me. (Gilmoee throws 
 up his hands, goes up l., throws open windows and 
 walks rapidly up and down. Elaijte sUs l. of. desh. 
 Dick tallies Bob by shoulders, forces him down into 
 a divan e.) 
 
 Dick. Now, Bob, don't be an ass. This isn't 
 your affair. 
 
88 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 Bob. -Isn't it? 
 
 Dick. No, it isn't.' 
 
 Bob. It is, though; d'ye think I want to cheat my 
 own company? ' 
 
 Dick. Now, for heaven's sake — (Gilmorb 
 crosses to Elaine) 
 
 GiLMOEE. Say, you want to stick that line in your 
 play. That's the biggest laugh you've got. Lend 
 it to me. (GiLMORE goes r. u. Dick comes c.) 
 
 Dick. Well, Mr. Gilmore. 
 
 GiLMOKE. {coming down to Dick) Do you fully 
 realize what you're asking me ? 
 
 Dick. Yes, I think so. 
 
 Gilmore. If I buy this play at your price, do you 
 realize that before the curtain goes up it stands me 
 in about $40,000 ? " 
 
 Bob. a mere drop in the bucket. 
 
 Gilmore. (sto ore so/a k.) Bucket! You don't 
 care how you spend my njoney. 
 
 Bob. (a pause, after sizing Gilmore up a mo- 
 ment) Mr. Gilmore, I'd like to submit a very at- 
 tractive proposition to you. 
 
 Gilmore. Yes? - ' . 
 
 Bob. (in his most professional manner) May I 
 ask, are you insured ? 
 
 Gilmore. What? 
 
 Bob. Are the little ones at home provided for? 
 
 -Gilmore. Little ones ? 
 
 Bob. " Now, one of our fifteen-year life and en- 
 dowment policies — (Gilmore leaps to his feet in 
 disgust) 
 
 Gilmore. Oh, what have I ever done !..,.. 
 (Gilmore waZfcs around lack of divan exciiedl'i^ 
 comes R. 0. Dick leckons Bob to come to him. He 
 does so) 
 
THE BIG IDEA ' 89 
 
 GiLMORE. (to Bob) Say, Mr. Life Insurance 
 Agent, you're writing yourself a good part in this 
 play, aren't you? "Are the little ones at home pro- 
 vided for?" (sits on divan) 
 
 Dick, (crossing to Gilmore) Mr. Gilmore, 
 we're pretty near the end of "our rope ; there's not 
 much more we can say, but there is just one thing 
 more. Suppose you take: this play and suppose it 
 should fail ; do you think from this* sample of my 
 work that I might some time writ^ a success ? 
 
 GiLMOEE. Why, yes, I think it quite possible. 
 
 Dick. Then I'll make you this ofEer. You take 
 this, play; if it fails, I'll go on -writing plays for you 
 until you get your money back, (he speahs with the 
 greatest possible earnestness) I'll go on writing 
 plays for you all my life if necessary. I'll do any- 
 thing you say till the money's paid. I'll bind myself 
 over to you by any sort of contract you may choose. 
 I'll run your errands, I'll write your letters, I'll be 
 your valet, I'll be your slave, I'll scrub your floors, 
 I'll black your blessed boots, yes, and call it joy to 
 do it, 80 long as there's breath in my body or^flesh on 
 my bones. So help me God. (Gilmobe gives Dick 
 a long Jeeen look. Elaine rises and goes, slowly to 
 Dick, stands behind him. Gilmore walks slowly' to 
 desk. Sits and takes check book out of drawer. 
 Picks up pen and starts to write, then turns) 
 
 GiLMOEE. What's the date ? 
 
 Elaine, (shooting the words out like a gatling 
 gun) Twenty-first. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Thanks, (he begins to write. After 
 he gets'hatf way through the task of writing ,the 
 check, he pauses and speaks) Now, there's another 
 thing. 
 
 Elaine. Oh, plekse, don't stop, (in an agonized 
 voice, clasping her hands quickly in appeal, Gil- 
 
90 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 MOBE giv6s her a looTc, and then resumes writing 
 Chech. Bob comes close to desk and looks at check 
 GiLMOBE is writing. He glances up and scowls at 
 him.^ Bob lacks away a step. Gilmoee finishes 
 writing check, tears it out and leans hack in chair) 
 
 Gilmoke. Miss Foster — what do you honestly 
 think about it yourself? 
 
 Elaine. Think about what? 
 
 GlLMOHE. About this play. Do you really think 
 the public will like it ? 
 
 Elaine. Oh, they must; the darlings, they must. 
 (she takes a step or two toward the cmdience and 
 says, with a little cry) Oh, you do, you do, don't 
 you? 
 
 Gilmoee. {smiling) Why, Mr. Howard, I be- 
 lieve she actually sees herself playing this -part, {she 
 retires in sudden confusion) And perhaps we might 
 do worse than to engage her. 
 
 Dick. Mr. Gilmore, why don't you play this part ? 
 
 Gilmoee. What part? 
 
 Dick. This part— the manager— the part you're 
 playing now? 
 
 Gilmoee. Well, I would be the type — wouldn't I ? 
 {he rises and comes to Dick and is about to hand him 
 the check, hut stops) Twenty-two thousand dollars! 
 By George, if I really do this thing I'll have Charley 
 Dillingham, Klaw & Erlanger and all those other 
 Broadway managers looking like a lot of pikers. Ajt 
 that, I think Billy Brady would give more than this 
 for this play just to get a. crack at my part. I've 
 got to start the publicity campaign of my life. I be- 
 lieve I'll have a play contest and award the prize to 
 this play. 
 
 Elaine. That's a big idea. 
 
 Gilmoee. There's my title— "The Big Idea." 
 How'd tha,t look on the three sheets? Charles Gil- 
 more presents "The Big Idea." 
 
THE BIG IDEA 91 
 
 Elaine. Mr. Gilmore, why not tell the public the 
 truth about it? 
 
 GiLMOKE. What? 
 
 Elaine. Tell them if s a true story. 
 
 Gilmore. You mean — 
 
 Elaine. If you could only make them believe it, 
 they'd never let you -lose by it ; just because you've 
 been so kind to two young people wjio needed it so 
 very, very much, (she puts her arm around Dick's) 
 
 GiLMOEE. Say — that's a big idea, too-r-and the 
 night this play is produced I'm. going out before the 
 curtain and tell the audience it's a true story, (a 
 pause) Well, I'm in for it now. (kisses the check 
 and gives it to Elaine) 
 
 Elaine, (reading it) Hudson Trust Company, 
 pay to the order of Richard Howard $3S,0THJ. Oh, 
 Dick, Dick, there's your happy ending ! 
 
 Dick, (taking Gilmoee's hand) Mr. Gilmore. 
 I don't know how to thank you. I don't know what 
 to say or what to do-r-I — 
 
 GiLMOEB. (interrupting him) Oh, never mind 
 that. Y 
 
 Dick. But I want to — ■ 
 
 GiLMOEE. See here, young man, do you really 
 want to do something for me ? 
 
 Dick. Good heavens. I'd do anything — any- 
 thing. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Then never tell a soul about that check. 
 If it ever got out there'd be a mob of grafters around 
 this office that would look like a double-header at the 
 Polo grounds. 
 
 'Dick. But it's sure to get out when this play is 
 produced. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Oh, well, perhaps they won't believe it's 
 a true story. 
 
 (Enter Steve Bingham) 
 
 Bingham. Well, Governor — 
 
92 THE BIG IDEA 
 
 GiLMOEE. What is it, Steve? 
 
 Bingham. Have you forgotten that appointment? 
 
 GiLMOEE. {recollecikig) Good heavens! 
 
 Bingham. Well, he's back; and he says if you 
 want to hear his play he's got to read it now. 
 
 GiLMOEE. (in comic despair) Hear his play — 
 Tell him I'm broke — going out of business — never 
 mean to buy another play. 
 
 Bingham, (utterly astounded) Have you' lost 
 your mind? Hive you forgotten who he is? 
 
 GiLMOEE. I wouldn't care if he were Bernard 
 Shaw. I've just been cleaned out by the hold-up 
 twins. 
 
 Bingham. Hold-up twins? 
 
 GiLMOEE. Yes. I've, just given Jesse James and 
 his pal a check for $22,000- . . . 
 
 Bingham. Yes, you have. Ha, ha! (going to 
 door) Some comedian, Governor, (exits) 
 
 GiLMOEE. What do you think he'll say when he 
 hears I've really-done it? 
 
 Dick. Mr. Gilmore, may, I use your phone for a 
 moment. I want to tell dad. 
 
 GiLMOEE. Sure. (Dick crosses to desk and picks 
 vp phone) 
 
 tfiGK. Hello. Give me 56 E Elmdale. Yes, 
 please— 56 E — Yes, thank you. You'll call me? 
 Gee!' Won't he be glad ! 
 / GiLMOEE. Now, while you're waiting for that 
 number, how about that heart interest? (Dick 
 crosses to ELAlNE'ani whispers inker ear) 
 
 Elaine. Do you mean it, Dick ? 
 
 -DicK. God knows I do. (^she goes into his arms.) 
 
 GiLMOEE. Fine ! That's the way to end it ; why, 
 the audience will love it. You'll get three curtain 
 calls on that scene as sure as you're alive ! 
 
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