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THE MIDDLE CLASS C3b^ 
 BY J: ROSETT ^^^ 
 
 A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS / 
 
 PHOENIX PUBLISHERS 
 BALTIMORE 
 
 'W 
 

 COPYRIGHT, 1912 
 BY J. ROSETT 
 
 ©CLD 31775 ^ 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 We are the contemporaries of a great tragedy: an 
 entire social class — the middle class — is becoming sub- 
 merged. The tragic phase of this phenomenon is all 
 the more intense because the class which is thus 
 doomed to annihilation occupies the highest intellec- 
 tual plane in our society. 
 
 A drowning man is the most immoral person. He 
 will scramble over the heads of his fellows without a 
 thought; and he will drag down to death the hand 
 which is extended to save him. It is in this circum- 
 stance that the gross immoralties of Adams, Jones and 
 Anderson, as well as the gentler transgressions of Mrs. 
 Bensal and Mrs, Jones, find their extenuation. But the 
 same shipwreck which brings into play the primeval 
 instincts of man, also offers the opportunity for the 
 manifestation of his social spirit — hence Beacon, Ben- 
 sal and others. 
 
 The discerning reader will find that the keynote to 
 the plot of the play is borrowed from the biblical Job. 
 See with what facility Dr. Beacon picks up his friend 
 from the quiet and isolation of the laboratory and 
 hurls him into the social whirlpool, there to struggle 
 with the wreckage of the middle class, from which he 
 finally consents to release him — all this not in the 
 spirit of mere wantonness characteristic of a second- 
 rate devil, but with a high purpose in view — and you 
 will discover in Beacon the sublime Satan. Of course. 
 
IV 
 
 Satan has here been thoroughly modernized and made 
 to fit Twentieth Century conditions; compared, how- 
 ever, to what Satan has already suffered at the hands 
 of man, his treatment in this play will be found rather 
 mild. 
 
 In the same manner I have taken advantage of the 
 plasticity of old Job to make of him Dr. Bensal. Like 
 Job, Bensal receives the harbingers of evil one after 
 another in rapid succession, and with each message 
 finds himself bereft of part of his possessions. Unlike 
 Job, however, the possessions of Dr. Bensal are not 
 material possessions, for he is a poor man, in the 
 worldly sense. Like Job, after having lost all, he finds 
 himself richer and happier than he had been. 
 
 The few friends, who have seen the play in manu- 
 script, have uniformly protested against Dr. Bensal 
 when he adjures Miss Clemens : "Stand on your head 
 if you can do no better!" But for the life of me I 
 cannot imagine Dr. Bensal in any other mood at the 
 time. 
 
 "What is Mr. White, with his kaleidoscopic psy- 
 chology?" I was asked. My answer is: He is the 
 Mayor, at the head of a reform administration ; and it 
 is due to this very capacity of rapidly changing his 
 moods that he is at all enabled to maintain himself 
 amid the surrounding wreckage. 
 
 To the question: "What are Beacon and Bensal 
 really going to do at last?" I can only answer: We 
 shall see. 
 
 J. ROSETT. 
 
 Baltimore, 1912. 
 
THE MIDDLE CLASS 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 A modern physician's office with only a slight streak 
 of the quack about it. The latter feature finds ex- 
 pression in the somewhat overdone display of the 
 appurtenances and paraphernalia of the specialist: a 
 large electro-static machine in the background; a glass 
 instrument case containing a number of instruments; 
 several glass tables on which are a variety of instru- 
 ments, lamps, tubes and beaker glasses, filled with 
 liquids of various colors, neatly covered over with 
 white saucers. On one of the glass tables, near a win- 
 dow, is a microscope. In one corner is an examining 
 table, in the other a wash-stand with a number of 
 towels. Near the wash-stand is a sterilizer and a ther- 
 mostat. In front is a desk, on one side of which is a 
 revolving chair and on the other a large arm-chair. 
 There is a telephone on the desk. In convenient places 
 about the room are several revolving bookcases, full 
 of books; the latter show unmistakable signs of hand- 
 ling. There are pictures on the walls, whose subjects 
 appertain to the profession — expensive black prints, 
 which testify to the good taste and capacious pockets 
 of the doctor. 
 
 The room has two doors, on opposite sides. One 
 
2 THE MIDDLE CLASS ACT I. 
 
 opens into the doctor's private apartments, the other 
 into the patients' reception room. 
 
 The opening scene finds Dr. George Beacon at the 
 wash-stand, polishing vigorously an instrument with 
 a towel. A patient is leaving by the reception-room 
 door. 
 
 Dr. Beacon is a young fellow near forty. He is 
 dressed in surgeon's white. He neither appears nor 
 behaves in the least in a manner becoming a physician 
 who has been practicing successfully a specialty for 
 ten years. 
 
 THE PATIENT. Good-night, Doctor. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Good-night, sir ; good-night. 
 
 Dr. Beacon accompanies the patient as far as the 
 door, closes it behind him, then walks to the opposite 
 door, opens it, and, holding the instrument between 
 the tips of his forefinger and thumb, claps his palms 
 and whistles. 
 
 MRS. BEACON'S VOICE. May I come in now? 
 
 DR. BEACON. You may. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Beacon. She is a little over thirty — a 
 girl with a rosy, strong and joznal face, and a rather 
 slender but lithe body. For a mother of three children 
 the amount of dignity in her bearing is far below the 
 standard degree. 
 
 Dr. Beacon walks to the desk and sits dozun upon it. 
 Mrs. Beacon gets into the revolving chair, which she 
 tortures with a zmntonness that zvould justify the 
 establishment of a Society for the Prevention of 
 Cruelty to Things. 
 
 DR. BEACON. You say, then, you liked it? Well, 
 it was a merry sight. But it wasn't what I expected. 
 They missed the point ; missed it deplorably. 
 
ACT I THE MIDDLE CLASS 3 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Come now, George. Of course 
 it was a merry sight. A glorious thing ! What do you 
 know about dancing anyway? Do you remember the 
 first time you danced with me? Ha! ha! ha! It was 
 the funniest thing in the world. Haven't I taught you 
 whatever little you know about dancing? I — I, cap- 
 ital I! How dare you contradict your professor? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Seriously, it was a terrible failure. 
 Just to think of it! What a nice, perfectly proper 
 and respectable thing they've made of it! During 
 those passages of deep, black despair; those passages 
 which sound an abyss of bitterness, of hopelessness — 
 during those passages they rested and posed before a 
 stupid, a shallow 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Hush now, hush! 
 
 DR. BEACON. And to the wild merriment, that 
 hysterical, maddening storm of merriment which sud- 
 denly bursts from the abyss of bitterness — why, they 
 danced to those notes in a nice, slow, deliberate and 
 perfectly respectable manner. And the masses of 
 protoplasm which filled the auditorium applauded 
 wildly. Oh, venerable shade of Liszt! 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Don't worry about the shades, 
 boy. 
 
 She approaches her husband, reaches out for his 
 face with her hands and kisses him on the forehead. 
 She then notices a little pile of paper money on the 
 desk, which she grabs with mock eagerness. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Oh, you pirate ! I've caught you 
 red-handed this time. {She scrutinises the bills.) 
 What a lot of money ! I fear you've robbed some one. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Do not fear. My profession pro- 
 tects me. Had it not been for that, you might have 
 
4 THE MIDDLE CLASS ACT I. 
 
 had good reason to fear^ — in this particular instance, 
 at least; because it was a pirate I robbed. 
 
 MRS. BEACON (zvith a sigh of relief). A pirate ! 
 Well, that's not so bad then — in the eyes of the law, 
 at least. 
 
 DR. BEACON. What? My dear, I'll not stand 
 for that! I say I'll not stand for that! (Walks to 
 the instrument case and puts away the instrument.) 
 Such a flagrant insult against the law of our land ! As 
 a patriotic citizen I protest against it! Our law is 
 bigger than you think, my dear. It protects the in- 
 nocent man in his innocence, and the robber in his rob- 
 bery. Don't speak lightly of our law! 
 
 MRS. BEACON. You have a grand conception 
 of our law, no doubt. But tell me, dear, had you been 
 what they call an — an ethical practitioner, would this 
 fee be larger or smaller ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. In my case it would be the same. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Then why should you rob at 
 all? Rather charge an ethical fee. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Because my patients would con- 
 sider it robbery all the same. And this is sufficient 
 reason for me to keep away from the ethical fraternity. 
 If I can do no better, I shall, at least, make an honor- 
 able business of it. I say to my patients : "Here I am ; 
 you see me swaggering in my top boots, with my 
 pistols dangling by my side. Take warning; be on 
 your guard. Know with whom you are dealing." 
 The result is, of course, the same — they cannot escape; 
 only it looks a bit more honorable. But you haven't 
 told me about the Bensals. How are they? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Dr. Bensal wasn't in. He is 
 seldom at home now during the day. He spends all 
 
ACT I. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 5 
 
 of his time in the University. Mrs. Bensal complained 
 bitterly. 
 
 DR. BEACON. About his being away from 
 home? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. No ; she takes that good-natur- 
 edly enough, but 
 
 DR. BEACON. What, then? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. They are in debt. You know, 
 his salary is only $1,500 a year. 
 
 DR. BEACON. The proper compensation for a 
 university professor, a mad enthusiast of science, an 
 original investigator, a man highly esteemed by the 
 ethical fraternity. Still, Mrs. Bensal is very econom- 
 ical, and they have no children. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Yes ; but his researches—.— 
 
 DR. BEACON. Is he still searching for the bac- 
 terium of infantile diarrhoea? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Whatever it may be; he spends 
 a large part of his salary in those researches. The 
 University is poor — » — 
 
 DR. BEACON. Oh, I see. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. They promised to be here this 
 evening. I expect them every minute. 
 
 DR. BEACON. I thought you said he wasn't in? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Yes ; but Mrs. Bensal called him 
 up by the telephone, and he promised to come. 
 
 DR. BEACON. You know, he is rather shy of 
 coming here. The ethical fraternity, you see. Poor 
 fellow ! The search for bacteria and the ethical fra- 
 ternity are taking all of his time and thought and 
 keeping him in a rut. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Science is a rut? Do you deny 
 the utility of searching after the truth? 
 
6 THE MIDDLE GLASS. ACT I. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Searching after the truth ? There 
 arc so many truths. A pin hidden in a haystack is 
 also a truth. To search for the pin may be fine sport 
 but bad economy. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. For shame, George. Do you 
 mean to deny the value of searching for the truth in 
 the abstract? Don't you know that (she quotes, em- 
 phasising the words with her forefinger) "the modern 
 art of navigation is an unforeseen emanation from the 
 purely speculative, and apparently merely curious 
 inquiry, by the mathematicians of Alexandria, into the 
 properties of three curves formed by the intersection 
 of a plane surface with a cone?" 
 
 DR. BEACON. Yes; it cannot he denied that in 
 certain instances people, in searching for a pin in a 
 haystack, have found diamonds. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. But Dr .Bensal's researches are 
 not of an abstract nature. He is doing very practical 
 work. He is searching for the germ of a disease 
 which decimates the children of the poor. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Poverty is a haystack that has 
 very many pins in it, my dear; and to search for one 
 particular pin appears to me like a "merely curious 
 inquiry" and an injustice to the cattle {the tele- 
 phone hell rings) . Hello! Oh, yes, of course. There 
 will be some people here, but I do not expect any 
 patients. You may come. I shall attend to that. Per- 
 fectly safe. In a taxi? I shall have my porter wait 
 for you. Very well. Good by ! 
 
 MRS. BEACON {significantly). Another sinner. 
 
 Dr. Beacon does not reply. He paces across the 
 room tzvice or thrice. Mrs. Beacon follows him with 
 
ACT I. THE MIDDLE CLASS. / 
 
 her eyes. He opens the reception-room door and calls 
 for the porter, who enters. 
 
 PORTER. Yes, sir. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Wait outside for a gentleman in 
 a taxi. He'd been here before. You know whom I 
 mean. Take care that no one sees him. 
 
 PORTER. Very well, sir. (Exit.) 
 
 Voices from the private apartments. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Here they are. (She runs to 
 the door and opens it.) Here, here. Come straight 
 in here. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Here, Charlie; come right in. 
 
 Enter Dr. and Mrs. Bensal. Dr. Bensal is under 
 forty, and rather looks like a professor. Notwith- 
 standing that he is handsome. His face and body 
 show unmistakably that he has been guilty of the sin 
 of neglect of his flesh. His large, dark beard and dark 
 hair strongly accentuate the paleness of his face. And 
 that, together zuith a moderate degree of emaciation, 
 lends him a pensive shade, which disappears when he 
 speaks. But he has the frame for a powerful body; 
 his bones are large, and the lower part of his face 
 speaks of a great pozver of zvill. His movements are 
 not quick and abrupt, like those of Dr. Beacon, but are 
 expressive of far greater certainty and determination. 
 
 Mrs. Bensal is about the same age as her husband. 
 Her culinary art has had the effect of making her 
 entirely too pulmp, in the estimation of people with 
 ordinary ideas of comfort. 
 
 EVERYBODY. Good evening, good evening. 
 (They all shake hands.) 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. I must tell on him (To Dr. 
 Bensal.) I told you I would, and I shall. 
 
8 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT I. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Tell, oh, do tell, Mrs BensaL 
 
 MRS. BENSAL, My dear, you were present. 
 Hasn't he promised faithfully this aftemoc«i that he 
 would come here? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Of course he has. 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. I was all dressed to go, except 
 my hat. And do you know what he said ? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. What? 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. I won't repeat it; but I can tdl 
 you he was going to dodge his promise. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. He was! Dr. Bensal! Well, it's 
 no use. This is the way with the men. You had bet- 
 ter come with me, Mrs Bensal. I'll show you the 
 baby, and we'll have some real nice tea. Oh, I have 
 cakes, you ought to see {Takes Mrs. Bensal around 
 the waist). Gentlemen {homing with mock politeness) ^ 
 Dr. Bensal, Dr. Beacon, you are cordially invited to 
 join us — on the fourth or fifth cup; rather the fifth 
 than the fourth. We shall then be happy to entertain 
 you at tea. {She marches off with Mrs. Bensal into 
 the private apartments.) 
 
 DR. BEACON. Well, Charlie, how are you get- 
 ting on with the bacteria of infantile gastro-enteritis ? 
 Have you cornered any? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Pretty nigh. It takes time, you 
 know. But I am in a fair way to isolate the bacterium. 
 
 DR. BEACON. And when you have isolated it, 
 what then? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Then, as soon as a pure culture 
 can be obtained, the medical laboratories of the world 
 will be set in motion in search of an antitoxin or, 
 perhaps, a vaccine. 
 
ACT I. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 9 
 
 DR. BEACON. And when that is discovered, what 
 then? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Then! Then, of course, the medi- 
 cal practitioner will have an easy way of curing or 
 preventing the awful malady. It will be a revolution. 
 Just think! The artificially fed children of the poor 
 almost all suffer, at one time or another, from the 
 disease. The mother is kept back from work. Both, 
 mother and child, become to a greater or less extent 
 public charges. Think what a revolution an antitoxin 
 will bring about ! 
 
 DR. BEACON. A profound revolution indeed. 
 The children of the poor can then be fed with im- 
 punity on any old thing, and their mothers be ground 
 in the mills and canning houses without the tremen- 
 dous trouble to which society is put today of dealing 
 with the problem of their hand- fed children. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. You are a cynic. 
 
 DR. BEACON. How you have changed, Charles! 
 And to think that you had had a scientific mind only 
 a few years ago. I remember in Berlin — let me see, 
 was it in Berlin or in Paris? In Berlin, to be sure — 
 you remember? You dared question the Nebular 
 Hypothesis. You asked questions then. Your view 
 of things was broad. How one will change! There 
 was a man for whom at twenty-five the world wasn't 
 large enough; see him at not quite forty — he lives 
 within the tube of a microscope, and his field of vision 
 is one-sixteenth of an inch! 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Indeed ! How a man will change ! 
 There was a man who, at thirty, had scruples about 
 handing a visiting card with M. D. appended to his 
 
10 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT I. 
 
 name. See him at not quite forty — he advertises a 
 specialty in widely circulated newspapers ! 
 
 DR. BEACON. Charlie, everybody advertises — I 
 mean every physician who makes a living by his prac- 
 tice. I advertise in the most direct and open manner; 
 your ethicals do so under cover, cunningly, cringingly. 
 How many of the articles in our medical periodicals 
 are pure advertisement! The young practitioner 
 who unsophistically reads that stuff for only the hun- 
 dredth time, and consequently has not yet been nause- 
 ated by it, is left with the impression that Dr. So-and- 
 So, member of So-and-So Association, visiting physi- 
 cian to Such-and-Such hospital, etc., etc., must be a 
 great man. Upon this great man the young chap will 
 shift the responsibility for his patients. To him will 
 he send the pitiable creatures who demand of the 
 physician that he either take their money or their 
 lives. To be sure, the great man is not above their 
 money, and is far above their lives. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Nonsense. Of course, the older 
 man has had the greater experience. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Greater experience in dealing 
 with the psychology of his patients, and, what is more 
 to the point, that of the patients' relatives and friends. 
 Charlie, how can I believe that you do not know these 
 things? I believe you are simply in a rut from which 
 you are unwilling to prod yourself out. Your busi- 
 ness is to teach young men medicine, and to keep them 
 meanwhile under the impression that all they have to 
 do in order to practice it successfully' — to relieve suf- 
 fering and to ward off death — is to become well 
 versed in its art and science. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. What else can we do? We try 
 
ACT I. THE MIDDLE CLASS. II 
 
 our best to teach them medicine. As to the practi- 
 tioner's success in his business, that he must achieve 
 for himself. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Beautiful! But have you ever 
 viewed the wonderful results of your efforts? After 
 having labored over a young man for some years, 
 you at last come to the conclusion that he is sufficiently 
 trained in the art and science of medicine to repay 
 society for the immense amount of trouble it had 
 taken with his education. Consequently, you kick him 
 out of a fine morning into the world, with instructions 
 to wait till he is wanted. He must not advertise his 
 business. He must be good. He is good, anyway. 
 To his immense surprise he finds that the world into 
 which he had been kicked is not at all peopled with 
 men and women, as he had expected and been taught. 
 He finds it peopled with a problematic race, which 
 might be martians, for all he knows of them. He 
 finds that he is not wanted. The older practitioners 
 confront him with a polite hostility, which freezes the 
 poor chap's heart. They know well that the young 
 fellow knows medicine, while they have forgotten 
 every vestige of it; and they feel it in their bones that 
 he will not be long in catching on to their own ways. 
 Poor youngsters; they have stomachs, and frequently 
 girls. Under the steady pressure of these factors the 
 young man's ideals begin to fade. He learns that suc- 
 cess in the practice of medicine depends not at all 
 upon the effective treatment of the sick, but upon the 
 skillful maneuvering of their relatives and friends. 
 After a long and bitter experience, he at last learns 
 the subtle art of ethical advertisement; he becomes 
 calloused in its humiliating practice; he abandons your 
 
12 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT 1. 
 
 medicine and multiplies his patients. Those are the 
 fruits of your labors. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. This is not our fault. It is true, 
 the ultimate results are not as satisfactory, perhaps, 
 as they might have been. But this is due to the 
 peculiar structure of our society. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Aha! You acknowledge that the 
 bucket has no bottom. And yet, for all that, you in- 
 sist upon pouring water into it. And this is what you 
 call doing your best. (Enter the porter.) What is it? 
 
 PORTER. The gentleman 
 
 DR. BEACON. I have a patient here, CharUe. 
 Won't you go to the women for a few minutes? I'll 
 join you directly. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Certainly. 
 
 Dr. Bensal leaves for the private apartments. Dr, 
 Beacon accompanies him to the door, bolts it, and then 
 turns to the porter. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Let him in. (Exit porter.) 
 
 Enter the Mayor. He is a solid looking man, a 
 little above middle age, with a full, florid face and a 
 hearty disposition. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Gk)od evening, Mayor. Let me 
 congratulate you. (They shake hands.) 
 
 THE MAYOR. For God's sake, don't mention 
 that word here. (Looks about him cautiously.) Thank 
 you, good evening. 
 
 DR. BEACON. That's all right. There isn't any- 
 one here. Won't you take your coat off and sit down ? 
 
 The Mayor takes off his coat and swings it across 
 the back of the arm-chair, in which he composes him- 
 self. Dr, Beacon takes his seat in the revolving chair. 
 
ACT I. THE MIDDLE CLASS. IJ, 
 
 • DR. BEACON. What is the good news? How 
 have you been ? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Fine; only a little here; can you 
 see it? (Points with his finger to his forehead, close 
 under the hair.) 
 
 DR. BEACON (examining the spot carefully).. 
 This little splotch of dull copper. It does not trouble 
 you in any way? 
 
 THE MAYOR. No ; except, of course, that it docs 
 not look well. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Any trouble about the mouth? 
 
 THE MAYOR. No ; everything is all right except 
 this. 
 
 DR. BEACON. A small matter ; it can hardly be 
 seen. I don't expect it to spread. Well, there isn't 
 much else to do but to continue along the same line- 
 I am going to give you a slightly higher dose. (Takes 
 a little bottle from the drawer in the desk.) Little 
 pills, about the same as the others. One, three times 
 a day, after meals. How is Mrs. White? 
 
 Mayor White waves the question away with an im- 
 patient movement of his hand, heaves a sigh, and heats 
 a tattoo on the desk. A few seconds of uncomfortable 
 silence. Suddenly he assumes a different attitude.) 
 
 THE MAYOR. She's all right, thank you. Don't 
 you know, I have been wondering- — does she sus- 
 pect 
 
 DR. BEACON. You are trying to pump me. 
 However, there is no reason at all why I shan't tell 
 you. She knows everything, and I can assure yon 
 she takes the matter with a great deal of resignation. 
 
 THE MAYOR. She does? Ha! ha! ha! But 
 you are an unsophisticated fellow, Dr. Beacon. To 
 
14 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT I. 
 
 ithink that my wife — ha ! ha ! ha ! takes her fate with 
 resignation ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 DR. BEACON. What are you laughing about? 
 
 THE MAYOR. She takes it with resignation ! Ha ! 
 Tia! ha! Dr. Beacon, wives do not take such things 
 with resignation. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Your wife does. 
 
 THE MAYOR. She lies. 
 
 DR. BEACON. You mean to imply that she pre- 
 tends so only before me, while at home she nags half 
 the life out of you? Well, in that case, it is your part 
 to take it with resignation. Remember, she is the in- 
 nocent sufferer of your indiscretions ; it is 
 
 THE MAYOR. Hold on. Not so fast, Dr. Bea- 
 con. Here, don't you see, the fun of this business is 
 that she does not nag the life out of me. On the con- 
 trary, she accepts her misfortune with an immense 
 amount of resignation, as you call it, as behooves a de- 
 voted wife and a patient martyr. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Where, then, is the fun? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Huge fun. To see her labor un- 
 der the impression that I am deceived by her sham 
 attitude; to see her cast at me those long, innocent 
 glances, which speak : "I do not reproach you ; I leave 
 you to your conscience." Oh, the hypocrite! 
 
 DR. BEACON. What do you mean ? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Ah, you know very well what I 
 mean. Of course, it is your business to keep your 
 patients' secrets sacred. Still, you ought not to pre- 
 tend ignorance before a friend. You know very well 
 that she takes the matter with resignation not in spite 
 of what she pretends to be the truth, but because of 
 what she knows is the truth. 
 
ACT I. THE MIDDLE CLASS. I5 
 
 DR. BEACON. What do you mean? Come, now^ 
 don't beat about the bush! What do you mean? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Dr. Beacon, you are a friend of 
 mine. You have done me favors which I can never 
 fully repay. I only hope that the opportunity will one 
 day present itself when I am in a position to repay 
 you at least in part. I feel that it would be unfair tO' 
 deceive you any longer about the truth of this unfor- 
 tunate business. Three years ago we had been almost 
 strangers, and the truth of this matter could not pos- 
 sibly affect the treatment. And to a stranger the truth 
 was too ugly to be told. Consequently, I chose to 
 take the blame and to parade my wife as the victim. 
 Ah, now you are beginning to understand her attitude 
 of resignation! 
 
 DR. BEACON. I see. You are the innocent man, 
 the victim of your wife's — i — 
 
 THE MAYOR. Now you have it. Now you under- 
 stand who takes it with resignation. 
 
 DR. BEACON. But why do you? Out of a sheer 
 spirit of Christian forbearance and forgiveness? 
 
 THE MAYOR. That mainly. Of course, my posi- 
 tion in society. By the way, Beacon, your wife knows 
 nothing ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. You may be at ease on that score. 
 
 THE MAYOR (looks intently at the doctor). 
 W^hat's the matter? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Oh, nothing. Ho! ho! ho! Ha! 
 ha! ha! But it's so funny, so very funny ! Don't 
 worry, Mr. V/hite. The Mayor's reputation is per- 
 fectly safe. Even if by any possible chance the secret 
 of this affair should leak out 
 
l6 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT I. 
 
 THE MAYOR (much agitated). What? Is it 
 possible for such a thing to happen? 
 
 DR. BEACON. No! no! no! Compose yourself. 
 Not unless I become a raving maniac, and that I don't 
 anticipate in your lifetime. But even if I should be- 
 come raving mad, and take it into my head to ruin 
 myself by disclosing my patients' secrets, it could not 
 possibly hurt you. The people will not blame their 
 ^ood Mayor for the sins of his wife. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Now you are talking sense. Ah, 
 my frienJd, we all must exercise forbearance toward 
 the weaknesses, the errors, and frequently even the 
 vices, of our neighbors. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Come away, Mr. White! Stop 
 that ! Stop that, I tell you ! What sort of a game are 
 you trying to work off on me ? Ha ! ha ! How funny 
 jou are I Oh, you old hypocrite ! 
 
 THE MAYOR. Dr. Beacon 
 
 DR. BEACON. Stop! stop! stop! I say stop 
 tliat ! Enough ! You better tell me about the election. 
 Wasn't it interesting, though? According to the 
 newspapers, you had the easiest time of it. It was 
 
 THE MAYOR. A walk. The merest walk. Any- 
 hody tells you I ran for the office, don't believe him. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Remarkable! 
 
 THE MAYOR. There is nothing at all remarkable 
 about it, if you take into consideration that I have 
 spent half a lifetime in the effort to advance the va- 
 fious philanthropic, moral and religious movements in 
 this city. The spirit which actuates the various socie- 
 ties engaged in these noble pursuits has asserted, I am 
 happy to say, its ascendancy over the powers of cor- 
 ruption. 
 
ACT I. THE MIDDLE CLASS. IJ. 
 
 DR. BEACON. By electing you as chief executive 
 of the city ? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Precisely. It was, in fact, the 
 conviction that as chief executive I should be in a 
 position to accomplish much more in that direction 
 than I have been able to as mere alderman, that at 
 all induced me to undertake the onerous duties of 
 the mayoralty. Of course, there was the general con- 
 sideration of the people's welfare. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Still, how does that explain your 
 election ? 
 
 THE MAYOR. The simplest thing in the world. 
 You take, for instance, the Society for the Improve- 
 ment of the Condition of the Poor; or the Society for 
 the Suppression of Immorality Among the Lower 
 Classes, of which I have been president for years; or 
 you take the Association for the Prevention of Infant 
 Mortality, of which Dr. Anderson is the leading 
 spirit ; or the Amalgamated Charities ; or the Associa- 
 tion for the Cultivation of the Religious Sense; or the 
 others, too numerous to recount; they comprise thou- 
 sands upon thousands of the most intelligent, the most 
 active and sincere men and women of our large city. 
 Doesn't that explain it easily? I am proud to say 
 that it was thanks to the influence of the best ele- 
 ments, the intellectual, benevolent, moral and re- 
 ligious circles, that your friend stands before you as 
 the chief executive of our large city. (Shakes Dr. 
 Beacon's hand.) 
 
 DR. BEACON. Have you made all your appoint- 
 ments ? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Not quite. 
 
1 8 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT I. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Has the Health Commissioner 
 been appointed? 
 
 THE MAYOR. No ; not yet. 
 
 DR. BEACON. I wish to speak to you about this 
 appointment, Mr. White. 
 
 THE MAYOR (a good deal troubled). Some 
 other time. I'll see you shortly. I am a little in a 
 hurry just now. Let me get away. (Rises and gets 
 hold of his coat.) 
 
 DR. BEACON. It will take but a few minutes. 
 Mr. White, we have been friends, and you have re- 
 peatedly expressed a desire to be in a position to render 
 me some service. You are in such a position at present. 
 Mr. White. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Pardon me for interrupting you. 
 Dr. Beacon. You seem to knovv^ very little about these 
 city positions. The general impression is that they are 
 sinecures. They are not; not in this city anyway. 
 And particularly is this true with regard to the posi- 
 tion of Health Commissioner. He is taken up from 
 twelve to fifteen hours every day, week days as well 
 as Sundays. His responsibilities are tremendous. And 
 his compensation for all that labor and responsibility 
 is a paltry $5,000 — and not a penny of perquisites. 
 If I were a physician, and had any practice at all, I 
 should consider any proposition to accept such a posi- 
 tion as preposterous. 
 
 DR. BEACON. But you do not know my mo- 
 tives. Of course, I shouldn't expect you to measure 
 everybody by quite your own standard of civic virtue. 
 Still, you must not be conceited to the extent of imag- 
 ining that no civic virtue, no true honesty and public 
 
ACT I. THE MIDDLE CLASS. I9 
 
 Spirit remain in the city ever since you have taken to 
 the City Hall. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Oh, you speak, then, from a sens« 
 of public spirit. I should have known that, of course. 
 Pardon me for having- entertained any thoughts out- 
 side of that. But, as your friend, I consider myself 
 in duty bound to tell you this : The City Council will 
 never approve such an appointment. There is not 
 the slightest chance. It will only cause you a great 
 deal of unpleasantness. I want you to distinctly un- 
 derstand that, as far as I am concerned, I should only 
 be too happy. But the City Council — it is entirely un- 
 der the influence of the benevolent and moral circles 
 of this city ; and those will not leave a stone unturned 
 to oppose you. 
 
 DR. BEACON (zuho has been viewing him with a 
 sly curiosity all this while). What are you talktBg* 
 about? Are you out of your senses? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Why? 
 
 DR. BEACON Let me not harrow your soul any 
 longer. I am not asking that appointment for myself. 
 
 THE MAYOR {with a sigh of relief) . Oh, par- 
 don me. 
 
 DR. BEACON. I understand that the office of 
 Health Commissioner is a very important office. I 
 have a man for you 
 
 THE Mx\YOR {with impatience). Ah! 
 
 DR. BEACON. A man of the highest ability. You 
 certainly must have heard about Professor Bensal. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Bensal— Bensai— let me see; I 
 think 
 
 DR. BEACON. Charles Bensal. Of course, if I 
 
20 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT I. 
 
 recollect distinctly I met you some years ago in his 
 house. 
 
 THE MAYOR (a little confused). Perfectly pos- 
 sible ; perfectly possible. 
 
 DR. BEACON. I thought so. You have met him, 
 then? 
 
 THE MAYOR. No, I haven't. I do not quite re- 
 member what business it was which took me to his 
 house. Let me see, what was it about ? I think it was 
 simply for political purposes — just a visit, you know. 
 Oh, I recollect — of course — it was to engage Mrs. 
 Bensal's services for a fair held for the benefit of the 
 Orphans' Institute — or, let me see, was it not for the 
 Home for Aged? Well, some such thing anyway. I 
 remember I was very anxious to meet the professor, 
 but I could never find him home. 
 
 DR. BEACON. But you know whom I mean, and 
 that 's quite enough He is an old chum of mine. His 
 fame is abroad in the land. 
 
 THE MAYOR (in good humor). You are not go- 
 ing to give me a Bible talk ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Mr. White, I am very serious. 
 Dr. Bensal is not only a profound student, but a man 
 of the highest executive ability. He has been pursu- 
 ing microbes for some years, and I can tell you he 
 has given them a chase. Let him have the city, and 
 he will work wonders. He is a worker, sincere, clear- 
 headed, persistent, and he has ideas 
 
 THE MAYOR (aghast). What? Ideas? Did 
 you say ideas? 
 
 DR.^BEACON. Ideas. 
 
 THE MAYOR. And you want me to appoint that 
 man? You, vvath your practical sense? To appoint 
 
ACT I. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 21 
 
 a man with — with — i-de-as ! Why, do you know who 
 elected me to ofBce? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Who? 
 
 THE MAYOR. I'll tell you who ; the middle class 
 business men; and if they so much as suspected that 
 the mere mention of the word ideas has not given me 
 a fit, they would lynch me. Let me give you a piece of 
 advice. If Dr. Bensal is your friend, never say of him 
 again what youVe just said. It would ruin the poor 
 man. As for me, I can promise you not to repeat it to 
 anyone. But don't ask me to appoint him to any 
 office. 
 
 DR. BEACON. He is the most able man that you 
 can find for that office. 
 
 THE MAYOR. There you are. An able man, too. 
 My dear Doctor, the present incumbent has filled the 
 office to the perfect satisfaction of all concerned. The 
 taxpayers cannot sing him praises enough. He has no 
 more ability than a snail. He has been doing abso- 
 lutely nothing. There might as well have been no such 
 office at all. If it had not been for the fact that he is 
 of the other party, I shouldn't make any change for 
 the world. 
 
 DR. BEACON. But what is the secret of his fit- 
 ness for the office ? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Ah ! There you are touching upon 
 the very pivotal point of our government. The Health 
 Department, you see, is one of those departments 
 which come to a certain extent in conflict with the in- 
 terests of the taxpayers. If the head of such a depart- 
 ment has the interests of the taxpayers at heart, he 
 must, in a sense, obliterate himself^ — sacrifice himself, 
 sacrifice is the word. 
 
22 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT I. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Sacrifice himself ? In what sense? 
 
 THE MAYOR. In the sense of refraining from 
 the exercise of the privileges and prerogatives of his 
 office. 
 
 DR. BEACON. But what about his duties? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Those are his duties : they consist 
 in refraining from the exercise of the privileges and 
 prerogatives of his office. In thus doing his duty 
 toward the taxpayers, he sacrifices whatever personal 
 ambitions he may have in his capacity as chief of a 
 department. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Dr. Bensal is the man. He is self- 
 sacrificing — ask anyone who knows him. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Perhaps, in the field of science. 
 But he has accomplished nothing in a field which is 
 equally important, perhaps more important, than 
 science. I mean public life — politics. 
 
 DR. BEACON. I agree with you there, for once. 
 But give him a chance and you shall see. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Impossible. He has done noth- 
 ing ; and there are many reputable physicians who have 
 very high political connections. If we do not stand 
 by our friends, what will the world come to? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Connections? Why, Dr. Bensal 
 has the highest repute among what you call the intel- 
 lectual, benevolent and moral circles of the city. The 
 Society for the Prevention of Infant Mortality have 
 just accorded him a vote of thanks for his excellent 
 work in that field. The Association for 
 
 THE MAYOR. Pshaw ! Those associations ! What 
 do they amount to? All of them together taken do 
 not control a thousand votes. 
 
 DR. BEACON. And yet it is thanks to them that 
 
ACT I. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 23 
 
 my friend stands before me tonight as chief executive 
 of our city? You have a great turn for the humorous, 
 Mr. White. You will appoint, then, Dr. Bensal to the 
 office? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Impossible. Doctor, you are a 
 man with a sense of honor; let me tell you, then, that I 
 have made promises. Docs that satisfy you? 
 
 DR. BEACON. No; because you have already 
 made more promises than you can possibly fulfill. 
 
 THE MAYOR. How do you know, then, that I 
 shall keep my promise to you? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Leave that to me. 
 
 THE MAYOR. But I cannot ; I tell you I cannot. 
 You must understand that I have really very little to 
 say about these appointments ; that I am 
 
 DR. BEACON. Yes, yes, I know. You are thor- 
 oughly dependent upon the ''boss." He dictates the 
 appointm.ents, of course. And yet it is a well known 
 fact that people in high positions, like yourself, are 
 privileged to make one or two what is known as "per- 
 sonal" appointments. And such a "personal" appoint- 
 ment is bound to redound to your credit. It will from 
 the very start tell the people 
 
 THE MAYOR. The what? 
 
 DR. BEACON. The people. 
 
 THE MAYOR. The people! Ha! ha! ha You are 
 a funny fellow, Dr. Beacon. Just hear him — the 
 people! I remember in our school geography there 
 was an expression to the effect that such and such a 
 country was inhabited by such and such a people. For- 
 get your school geography. Dr. Beacon, if you wish 
 to learn the first rudiments of our politics. In our 
 political geography there is no such beast I can assure 
 
i24 THE MirOLE CLASS. ACT I. 
 
 you. When we speak of the people we mean the tax- 
 payers. 
 
 DR. BEACON. The taxpayers, then. It will 
 show them that their new Mayor is a man with 
 a backbone and not a door-mat for the "boss." The 
 political heelers themselves will have more respect for 
 you if you can show a certain degree of independence. 
 Have you no further ambitions than to be at the head 
 of a city administration? Why, this appointment 
 would be a godsend in your political career. Dr. Ben- 
 sal is gaining national reputation, and his name will be 
 bound to become associated with that of your own. 
 
 THE MAYOR (much mollified, but dejected.) Yes, 
 I know. (After a few seconds of silence, with bitter^ 
 ness) . People are imagining that there is such an office 
 as that of Mayor, that there is a city administration, 
 or political parties. Fools ! There are taxpayers, tax- 
 payers, taxpayers! And their god is the mumbo- 
 jumbo, whom they admirably surnamed in their beau- 
 tiful slang the "boss." They detest him, but they fear 
 him and sacrifice to him. He is the Moloch of our 
 heathens, dumb and bloody. But the elements are at 
 his command. And yet this monster is the work of 
 their own hands. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Of course. Gods have always 
 been the work of their worshippers' hands, and tyrants 
 the creation of those over whom they tyrannized. Out 
 of the God or the devil that there is in man he made 
 his gods and his devils. 
 
 THE MAYOR. And out of the need, the greedy 
 the grasp, the cringe and the sneak that there is in 
 the taxpayer he made the "boss." An almighty mon- 
 ster! He wreaks bloody vengeance upon the heads 
 
ACT I. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 25, 
 
 of those who dare to displease him; and he favors his 
 true worshippers— with endless promises. 
 
 DR. BEACON. With nothing more substantial 
 than promises? Is it possible? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Mainly with promises. 
 
 DR. BEACON. And his worshippers are satisfied 
 with mere promises ? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Oh, he fulfills his promises in a 
 way. But in the end nothing- more remains than the 
 promise. The idiots ! They are under the impression 
 that he does them favors. This is the way he goes about 
 it : He renders a favor to taxpayer A at B's expense ; 
 B finds himself robbed by A and turns to the "boss''"' 
 for redress ; the boss affords this redress at C's ex- 
 pense, and then compensates C at the expense of D. 
 When he arrives at X he unites the ends of the alpha- 
 bet, does a good turn to X at A's expense, and starts 
 the round over again. And for every favor he does he 
 gets a rake-off for himself. And so all parties are 
 satisfied. The "boss" is the dynamic factor of the 
 charmed circle of favors which keeps our politics alive 
 and in motion. Public officials, the administration^ 
 political parties — these are only mere dots in the out- 
 line of the circle — a sort of resting stations for the 
 "boss." And to this Moloch you now propose that I 
 should run the risk of being sacrificed? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Look here, Mr. White. You stand 
 in with the taxpayers, and "bosses" do not live for- 
 ever. If the "boss" is killed you are sure to take his 
 place; and the way to kill a "boss" is to defy him. 
 You might as well begin now — ^you have an excellent 
 opportunity. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Impossible. 
 
26 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT I. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Ah, v/ell, keep your appointment, 
 together with your pretended friendship. I have no 
 political influence, consequently what good is there in 
 rendering me a service? There is Dr. Anderson, the 
 shining light of the medical profession, with his beau- 
 tiful gray beard and numerous clientele, and his presi- 
 dency over the Association for the Prevention of In- 
 fant Mortality — if he were to ask you this favor, why, 
 
 the Mayor would be only too happy 
 
 THE MAYOR. Dr. Beacon! 
 
 DR. BEACON. Oh, you are a fine lot; tigers in 
 chameleon skins ! Your god is expediency. One should 
 beware of 3^ou as he would of fire, and trust you as 
 much as he would the wind. Keep your favors for the 
 Andersons ! 
 
 THE MAYOR (taking Dr. Beacon by the arm, in 
 good humor) Ha! ha! I didn't know you were ca- 
 pable of that. Come, boy, cool down ! 
 
 DR. BEACON (disengaging his arm). Let go! 
 (Walks away a few steps.) 
 
 The Mayor znezi^s the doctor as a cat would a hostile 
 dog. He kneads his chin a few moments, then walks 
 to the doctor, takes hold of his shoulders^ and turns 
 him abruptly about. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Here, little boy, don't sulk. You 
 shall have your little horse and never call it a favor. 
 Dr. Bensal is Commissioner of Health; on one condi- 
 tion, however. 
 
 DR. BEACON. What is it? 
 
 THE MAYOR. I want your word of honor that 
 you will never, under any circumstances, communicate 
 to anyone the fact that Dr. Bensal was appointed to 
 the office through your influence. You rnust pardon 
 
ACT I. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 2/ 
 
 me for this request. As far as I am concerned, I can 
 assure you that I have no prejudices whatever against 
 you ; but the foolish world has ; and that foolish world, 
 which will forgive any crime committed against it, will 
 not forgive a breach of its prejudices. 
 
 DR. BEACON. You have my word. But is it 
 quite certain that Dr. Bensal is Commissioner of 
 Health? The fact is, he is in my house now, and I 
 would like 
 
 THE MAYOR. I fear it is quite certain. Haven't 
 you told me yourself to leave the certainty of this mat- 
 ter to you ? Confound it, Beacon, you know what you 
 are talking about. (Putting on his coat.) Professor 
 Bensal will receive by tomorrow morning's mail an 
 official request to favor the city with his services as 
 Health Commissioner. You may tell him, if you like, 
 that the town is full of the news. It will be in half an 
 hour. I shall call up the papers by 'phone on my way 
 home. The morning editions will contain my letter 
 to Dr. Bensal in full. ( Extending his hand to Dr^ 
 Beacon.) Good night. Doctor. 
 
 DR. BEACON {shaking the Mayor's hand) . Good 
 night, Mr. White, and thank you. 
 
 THE MAYOR. No thanks, my little boy. None 
 whatever. {With a heroic flourish) Dr. Bensal is Com- 
 missioner of Health, if I have to fight the whole world. 
 {Exit.) 
 
 Dr. Beacon runs to the private door, opens it, and 
 whistles and hoivls. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Hey, there! Phew-ew-ew-ew, 
 ho-o-o-o ! hoo-oo-oo ! 
 
 MRS. BEACON'S VOICE. Hoo-oo-oo-oo ! 
 
28 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT I. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Hey, there, folks, won't you come 
 down ? 
 
 MRS. BEACON'S VOICE. Tca-ea-ea? 
 
 DR. BEACON. I don't want any ; my appetite for 
 it is all gone. 
 
 (Enter Dr. Bensal. He looks refreshed and stimu- 
 iated by the tea.) 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Well, George, how's business? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Pretty lively. How are things 
 with you ? 
 
 {Enter the women.) 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Nothing to brag about. Do you 
 faiow what I came here for? 
 
 DR. BEACON. I suppose to see me ? You haven't 
 been here an age. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Nothing of the sort. I need three 
 hundred dollars. 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. I declare! 
 
 DR. BENSAL. So do I. I need three hundred 
 dollars. Can you spare it for six months or so? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Of course. Anything to stand in 
 with the Commissioner of Health. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Commissioner of Health? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Look here, Bensal, you'll not turn 
 Mary out of the office, will you? She's been working 
 there quite a while now. How long has she been work- 
 ing there, Bess ? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. What are you talking about, 
 George? 
 
 DR. BEACON. I say, Mary has been employed 
 quite a while now in the Health Department? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Oh, yes; about three years. 
 What of her? 
 
ACT I. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 2^ 
 
 DR. BEN SAL. Who is Mary? 
 
 DR. BEACON. She is a cousin of Besses. A g^rt 
 with the most ridiculous ideas, but a first-class office 
 hand. You'll not turn her out, will you ? 
 
 DR. BENSAL AND MRS. BEACON. What in 
 the world are you talking about? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Oh, Bensal knows very well what 
 I am talking about, 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I don't even begin to know. 
 
 DR. BEACON. To come to the point, then. When 
 you take your office you will probably have to make 
 some changes in the department force. If I were you 
 I should retain Mary, my wife's cousin. She is a fiirst- 
 class stenographer and typist, and an excellent all- 
 around office hand. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. What are you talking about, 
 George ? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Take office ? What office ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Come on, Bensal; don't pretend 
 ignorance. The office of Health Commissioner, of 
 course. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. He is out of his senses; I cannot 
 understand a word of what he is saying. Out with it! 
 What in the world are you trying to do ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. This is extremely singular, to be 
 sure. But the whole town is talking about it. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Talking about what? 
 
 DR. BEACON. About your appointment to the 
 office of Health Commissioner, of course. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. He is out of his senses, sure 
 enough. {To Mrs. Beacon) Is this one of his old 
 pranks ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. You are a better politician, Charlie, 
 
30 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT I. 
 
 than I took you to be. Still, I am willing- to admit that 
 it is perfectly possible that you really don't know. I 
 suppose those matters are kept a kind of state secrets 
 until they are ready for the explosion. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Come, George, what is it? Have 
 you been experimenting on yourself with some subtle 
 intoxicant ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Nothing of the kind, my dear. But 
 really, Charlie, haven't you heard the latest news from 
 the City Hall? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. The City Hall? What have I to 
 do with it? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Really, Charlie, is it possible that 
 you don't know that Mayor White has appointed you 
 to the office of Health Commissioner? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. You are mad. 
 
 DR. BEACON. V\^ell, I am willing- to believe that 
 you still don't know it. If this is the case, I am happy 
 to be the first harbinger of the glad tidings. It is 
 said that the Mayor has made the appointment of his 
 own initiative. I suppose the vote of thanks accorded 
 you by the Association for the Prevention of Infant 
 Mortality has had something to do with it. An official 
 request to accept the position will be extended you 
 through the newspapers as well as by mail. The posi- 
 tion, I understand, pays $5,000 a year. Permit me to 
 congratulate the future Health Commissioner. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. You are out of your senses, George. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Really, George, dear, are you 
 quite sure you are not mistaken ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. I am not mistaken. It is abso- 
 lutely certain. I have a number of friends among the 
 
ACT I. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 3 1 
 
 newspaper reporters, and you may be quite sure I took 
 pains to ascertain the truth. 
 
 MRS. BEACON {to Mrs. Bensal, taking her by the 
 hand) My dear Mrs. Bensal, it is a fact. (To Dr. 
 Bensal). Allow me to congratulate you, Dr. Bensal. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. As far as I am concerned, it reallj' 
 makes not a particle of difference whether all this is 
 true or not. I couldn't consider such a proposition 
 anyway. 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. Dr. Bensal, what are you talking 
 about ? Five thousand ! 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Yes, I know; but I couldn't give 
 up my work 
 
 DR. BEACON. You won't have to. The present 
 encumbrance devotes to the duties of his office just one 
 hour a week. If you devote two hours a day to the 
 duty of refraining from the exercise of the privileges 
 and prerogatives of the office, the middle class taxpay- 
 ers will erect you a monument forty cubits high. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Two hours a day? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Or less; it will all depend upon 
 your pleasure; and with $5,000 a year you can do a 
 heap of bacteria-hunting. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. But you are mistaken! It is an 
 idle, a preposterously absurd rumor. 
 
 DR. BEACON. That, of course, we shall know to- 
 morrow morning. What I am anxious about just now 
 is whether you have made up your mind to accept the 
 office in the event I do not turn out to be quite the ass 
 you take me to be. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. My dear, that part of the busi- 
 ness you may safely leave to Mrs. Bensal. 
 
 DR. BEACON. You have a brilliant mind, Bess. I 
 
32 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT I. 
 
 can see him Health Commissioner. Don't you know, I 
 think we ought to celebrate the event with another 
 round of tea. Have you any of those fine cakes left 
 over, Bess ? 
 
 MRS. BEACON (with affected contempt). Did 
 you say tea? Preposterous! Beer! Imported beer, 
 with oysters, and juicy steak, and onions and potatoes 
 to boot. You puritan! I'll show^ you tea! The idea! 
 We shall go out and have a great time, to the sounds 
 of Apollo's lyre! Come, folks; let's dress and be 
 gone. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Please, my dear, do not mention 
 the lyre ; it reminds me of a milk-and-honey diet. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. That man's nature is utterly de- 
 void of poetry. To the sounds of the string orchestra, 
 then! 
 
 DR. BEACON. This is better. Altogether, I think 
 this is a happy idea, my child. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Child, eh? 
 
 Dr. Beacon gets behind the table and makes sure 
 that he is safely intrenched. He then straightens him^ 
 self to his fidl length. 
 
 DR. BEACON {with affected firmness). That was 
 the word — Child ! 
 
 MRS. BEACON. I'll child you in a minute. 
 
 She makes after him with the swiftness of a cat. 
 Dr. Beacon runs from behind the table, and around 
 Dr. and Mrs. Bensal. He dodges her attempts to drive 
 him into a corner by leading her around the table once 
 or twice. Finally she grabs him by his coat from be~ 
 hind and throzus her arms around him. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. I've got you ! 
 
 DR. BEACON. Mercy! Mercy! 
 
ACT II. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 33 
 
 Dr. and Mrs. Bensal look on wistfully. Curtain, 
 ACT II. 
 
 A public reception room in the Health Commissioner^ t 
 €ffice. The room has two doors; one, on the right, is 
 from the passageway, which leads from the main en- 
 trance, and separates the Health Commissioner's from 
 the other offices of the Department; the other, on the 
 left, opens into the Commissioner's private office and 
 bears a plate with an inscription to that effect. 
 
 The room is well furnished. There are two or three 
 settees, several cushioned chairs, a large desk — all of 
 solid, heavy, and at the same time elegant build. On 
 the desk is a typewriter, two telephones, writing mor- 
 terials and a number of books: city and business direc- 
 tories and other reference books. On the rear wall, be- 
 tween and under the windows, are a number of shelves, 
 burdened with Health Reports and other books. The 
 walls on the right and left are hung with maps, charts 
 and diagrams. Some of the maps bear a number of 
 pins with variously colored heads, arranged in groups 
 or patches. 
 
 The opening scene finds Miss Mary Clemens at the 
 desk, making notes with pencil and pad from some 
 reference books, while entertaining Mrs. Jones. 
 
 Miss Clemens is about twenty-nine. She is simply 
 and very neatly dressed. She has an intelligent, youth- 
 ful face, and a slender, youthfid figure. She is rather 
 pretty, but by no means beautiful. Altogether, she re- 
 minds one of her cousin, Mrs. Beacon. 
 
 During the entire act Miss Clemens either plies the 
 typewriter, makes notes, studies the maps and charts 
 on the walls, or similarly occupies herself, even while 
 
34 THE MIDDLE Cl.ASS. ACT I. 
 
 entertaining visitors. She displays a high degree of 
 culture in her hearing. 
 
 Mrs. Jones is dangerously near forty. Her entire 
 appearance bespeaks a tremendous effort, a hitter strug- 
 gle of the fading young woman against the steadily 
 advancing matron. Even the inexperienced eye can 
 divine at a glance the story of the conflict: hozv youth 
 zmth its zuonted rashness, having fought against im- 
 possible odds, has to a great extent succeeded, by cut- 
 ting short is ozvn term of life, to inflict a good deal of 
 damage upon victorious age. The matron is seen 
 to have emerged from the fight victorious, it is true, 
 hut with the colors a good deal bespattered and be- 
 smeared. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. If you complain, then what 
 should the unfortunate women say, whose husbands do 
 not so much as m.ake a decent living for them ? Surely, 
 Mr. Jones is a model man; he doesn't drink, doesn't 
 gamble, behaves with propriety, as becomes a business 
 man and a gentleman. 
 
 MRS. JONES {with disgust). Too much of a 
 business man, my dear. It's always business, business 
 and business; and nothing but business. Today it's 
 rent for the warehouse; tomorrow it's a competitor 
 who is selling kippered herrings at cost for a leader, 
 and the day after it's a retail grocer or two gone bank- 
 rupt. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. V/ould it have been better if 
 today it had been gambling, tomorrow drinking, and 
 the day after something still v;orse? 
 
 MRS. JONES. What difference does it make as 
 far as the wife is concerned? Only the other day I 
 asked Mr. Jones to take me to see Hamlet. He prom- 
 
ACl I THE MIDDLE CLASS. 35 
 
 ised. But when he came home from the office that 
 evening- he began talking wholesale groceries; the 
 prices had been raised by the packers ; the people had 
 been out of work and eating nothing but cabbage and 
 lard — ^and lard has always been a dead loss; and the 
 wagon drivers had threatened to strike unless their 
 wages were raised ; and a collector's accounts were all 
 wrong; and the retail men were thieves. After half 
 an hour's talk of this sort I wished I had never asked 
 him to take me to the theater. The man spoke as if 
 he were on the verge of ruin. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. I shouldn't consider it out of 
 the way for a husband to communicate his troubles to 
 his wife. 
 
 MRS. JONES. Yes ; but when he communicates to 
 her nothing but troubles, it becomes a bit boring. And 
 then business is not a hundredth part as bad as he 
 would have it appear. He simply wanted to dodge the 
 trouble of going with me to the theater. But I am an 
 old hand at the game. I simply let him talk on. Well, 
 he kept up his lamentations clear up to the entrance 
 of the theater. And do you know what he did while 
 the play was going on ? 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Vv^hat? 
 
 MRS. JONES. He slept. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. When a man is fatigued phys- 
 ically and mentally^ 
 
 MRS. JONES. My dear, we had the best seats in 
 the house, and the people who are fatigued physically 
 and mentally were all on the top gallery, and there was 
 no one asleep there, I can tell you. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. I can easily imagine a man 
 who has no interest for the theater. 
 
36 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT II. 
 
 MRS. JONES. So can I. But Mr. Jones has no 
 interest in anything, except credit, and collections, and 
 smoked beef, and canned salmon and things. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. This is business. 
 
 MRS. JONES. Just what I say: this is business. 
 But when I married I was under the impression that I 
 was getting a husband, and not a wholesale grocery- 
 business ! 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. You are a sinner. You arc 
 well dressed ; your children are well dressed 
 
 MRS. JONES. Well dressed! Do you see this 
 hat? 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. A very pretty hat. 
 
 MRS. JONES. It cost eighteen dollars. Now, my 
 dear, Mr. Jones makes one-eighth of a cent on each 
 five-cent can of sardines. Give me your pencil a minute, 
 please (Miss Clemens gives her the pencil and a sheet 
 of paper from the pad) . Eight to the cent ; eight hun- 
 dred to the dollar, by eighteen — fourteen thousand 
 four hundred! With all the ordinary expenses run- 
 ning as usual, and many extraordinary expenses be- 
 sides, and at a time when people are eating nothing 
 but cabbage and lard, Mr. Jones had to sell fourteen 
 thousand, four hundred cans of sardines in order to 
 furnish me with one hat. You can imagine the task I 
 had to fish the eighteen dollars out of him ! Sjpeak of 
 being well dressed ! My dear, it is extremely fortunate 
 for us that there is so much suffering and destitution 
 among the poor to be relieved. If it hadn't been for 
 that we, the women of the middle class, would be go- 
 ing mad for want of — of — I don't exactly know what 
 to call it, but you know what I mean. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Diversion? 
 
ACT II. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 37 
 
 MRS. JONES. Not exactly. I should rather call 
 it satisfaction — moral satisfaction. You see, my dear, 
 the women of the rich have entertainments, and auto- 
 mobiles, and trips abroad, and dresses, and what not; 
 the women of the poor have men. — I mean their hus- 
 bands or sweethearts ; we, the wives of the middle class 
 business men, we have 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. What? 
 
 MRS. JONES. Oh, we have smoked beef, and 
 beans, and flour, and bills, and credit, and cash, and 
 sight-drafts — what satisfaction is there in these? Of 
 <X)urse, we also have husbands — to communicate their 
 troubles to us, to use your own expression. I wonder 
 what has become of the committee? (Takes out her 
 watch. The telephone bell rings.) 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Hello! Yes, sir. Pardon me, 
 Mrs. Jones. Dr. Bensal is calling me. 
 
 Miss Clemens rises, pencil and pad in hand, and 
 leaves for the Commissioner's room, from which, a 
 few moments later, appears Dr. Scringer. He is a 
 handsome man of about thirty-five. 
 
 DR. SCRINGER. Mrs. Jones! 
 
 MRS. JONES {with affected politeness). Dr. 
 Scringer, how do you do, sir? 
 
 DR. SCRINGER (looks about him cautiously). 
 You are ironical, Dolly. 
 
 MRS. JONES. Ironical? Why, Doctor, no ! 
 
 DR. SCRINGER. Don't be foolish, Dolly. You 
 are angry, I know. But you must be reasonable. Cir- 
 cumstances just now are such that we must exercise 
 the greatest caution. Have a little patience, dear. (He 
 touches her hand.) 
 
38 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT II. 
 
 MRS. JONES {very much mollified). But you 
 haven't told me what was wrong. 
 
 DR. SCRINGER. Wrong? (With a gesture in- 
 dicative of everything about) . Everything ! 
 
 MRS. JONES. How is the new Commissioner? 
 
 DR. SCRINGER. Sh-sh-sh! The Commissioner? 
 (He snickers, and waves away the question with ct ges- 
 ture of his hand.) 
 
 MRS. JONES. But you are his assistant, and an 
 old hand in the business ; why don't you guide him and 
 instruct him? 
 
 DR. SCRINGER. My love, what nonsense you are 
 talking! Guide him! He has gathered about him a 
 horde of youngsters, fresh graduates in medicine, you 
 know, and they are just tearing up things. The Po- 
 lice and the City Courts, and the State's Attorney's 
 staff are kept busy with our cases. I am seriously 
 thinking of resigning. I am ruining my political ca- 
 reer, and I've lost my practice. He keeps me drudg- 
 ing here from morning till dark. For a paltry three 
 thousand ! 
 
 MRS. JONES. I shouldn't have thought Dr. Ben- 
 sal could be so exacting. He is such a nice man ! 
 
 DR. SCRINGER. Yes; particularly when that 
 young lady is about. (Indicates in the direction of the 
 desk.) 
 
 MRS. JONES (with sincere indignation). Dr. 
 Bensal? Don't say! A married man, too! (After a 
 fe7v moments of speechless awe.) The hypocrite! 
 
 Enter two ladies. 
 
 MRS. JONES. I was just saying to Dr. Scringer, 
 what could have kept you so late! I have been here 
 nearly an hour. 
 
ACT II. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 39 
 
 THE FIRST LADY. An hour? Why, it's not 
 quite two now, and we agreed to meet at two sharp. 
 
 MRS. JONES (confused, looks at her zvatch). It 
 was my own fault, then. I was under the impression 
 that we were to be here at one. {Enter Miss Clemens.) 
 Will you announce us, dear? 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Certainly. Won't you be 
 seated, please ? 
 
 Miss Clemens turns to go toivard the Commissioner's 
 room, when Dr. Bcnsal himself suddenly enters. There 
 is a great change for the better in his appearance. The 
 $400 a month, drawn regidarly for the space of six 
 months, have rounded up his body considerably. He 
 now has a fresh, clear complexion, and altogether looks 
 healthy, and even robust — zvell nourished, as the doc- 
 tors call it. He is zvell dressed, too. His voice has that 
 tang of self-confidence in it, zvhich emanates from' a 
 sense of well being. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Good afternoon, ladies. Keep your 
 seats, please. {He grasps a chair, and zvith a sudden 
 and suift motion of his arm, brings it in front of the 
 visitors.) I am at your service now. {Sits down.) 
 
 MRS. JONES. Dr. Bensal, you have read in the 
 papers about the proceedings of the annual meeting of 
 the Association for the Improvement of the Conditions 
 of the Poor? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Yes; and I feel very much flat- 
 tered. 
 
 Enter Dr. Beacon. On seeing the group engaged in 
 conz'ersation, he takes a step backzvard, as if to retreat. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Pardon me 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Come in, come in, Dr. Beacon; 
 have a seat there. You'll not disturb us in the least. 
 
40 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT II. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Thank you. {He takes a seat near 
 Miss Clemens, who greets him cordially, like an old 
 acquaintance. ) 
 
 DR. BEN SAL. Ladies, please, take this to your 
 Association : I am deeply sensible of, and very grate- 
 ful for, the support your Association has given this 
 Department, in our efforts to combat long-neglected 
 and crying evils. I am particularly grateful to those 
 of your members who have kindly volunteered to 
 serve as witnesses in the courts of certain intolerable 
 unsanitary conditions. 
 
 MRS. JONES. Our purpose in coming here is 
 double. In the first place, we wish to reiterate the 
 Association's endorsement of the course you are pursu- 
 ing in trying to free our city from the disgrace of 
 tolerating the sale of what is practically vile refuse as 
 food for the poor. In the second place, we wish to 
 ask of you a favor in the way of — diplomacy, if I may 
 so state it. 
 
 DR. BEN SAL. I am not much of a diplomat. Let 
 me hear what it is. 
 
 MRS. JONES. You must have heard about the 
 existence of the Society for the Advocacy of Better 
 Housing for the Poor. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Yes, yes; of course. Only this 
 morning several of their members have testified in 
 some of our court cases. 
 
 MRS. JONES. Well, then, the fact is that the ac- 
 tivities of that Society are encroaching more and more 
 upon the field of action of the Association for the Im- 
 provement of the Condition of the Poor. 
 
 FIRST LADY. This expresses it to perfection. 
 
ACT II. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 4I 
 
 DR. BEN SAL. I do not quite understand what you 
 mean. 
 
 SECOND LADY. We mean that as long as the 
 Society for the Advocacy of Better Housing- is in the 
 field, there remains practically nothing for us to do» 
 And our Association is by far the older and the larger. 
 
 MRS. JONES. You will readily see, Dr. Bensal, 
 that better housing of the poor is really the first step- 
 in the improvement of their condition generally. While 
 the poor are badly housed, it is practically impossible 
 to improve their condition in other ways. Bad housing 
 is in the way. What use is there for us to teach the 
 poor the rudiments of hygiene, dietetics, art and mo- 
 rality when the extreme congestion in unsanitary quar^ 
 ters upsets our efforts ? 
 
 THE FIRST LADY. Precludes our efforts. 
 
 SECOND LADY. Absolutely. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Well, I shouldn't think that the 
 existence of the Society for the Advocacy of Better 
 Housing would in any way make the housing condi- 
 tions worse. 
 
 MRS. JONES. No, no; of course not. But the 
 point is this : since improvement in the housing condi- 
 tions must of necessity come first, our own Associa- 
 tion is practically put out of business. 
 
 THE FIRST LADY. For a while at least. 
 
 SECOND LADY. For a while? God only knows 
 how long it will be before they bring about better hous- 
 ing for the poor. 
 
 MRS. JONES. With their meagre means 
 
 THE FIRST LADY. And doubtful sincerity ^ 
 
 THE SECOND LADY. And absolute incapacity 
 to handle matters — . — 
 
42 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT II. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Well— what is it you would like 
 me to do? 
 
 MRS. JONES. The most sensible thing under 
 these conditions would seem to be an amalgamation of 
 the two societies; and since our Association is by far 
 the larger and the older of the two, and the wider in 
 its scope, it would only seem right that the General 
 Association for the Improvement of the Condition of 
 the Poor shall include within its scope the improve- 
 ment of housing conditions. 
 
 DR. BEACON (to Miss Clemens). A conspiracy, 
 by Jove! They are conniving at the formation of a 
 monopoly for the giving away of things to the poor. 
 
 THE FIRST LADY. Precisely. 
 
 MRS. JONES. Then we shall be in a position to 
 concentrate our efforts in providing the poor with de- 
 cent quarters ; and that done, which ought not to take 
 us very long, we can go ahead with the improvement 
 of their condition generally. Would you use your in- 
 fluence to effect the amalgamation? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. The idea, in the main, is a plausible 
 one. I think I can promise you — as soon as a favorable 
 opportunity presents itself. 
 
 THE SECOND LADY. This is all we want. 
 Thank you, Dr. Bensal. Good afternoon. (Rises, 
 The other ladies rise also. Dr. Bensal does likewise.) 
 
 THE FIRST LADY AND MRS. JONES. Good 
 by. Dr. Bensal. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I was very glad, indeed, to have 
 met you. Good by! 
 
 Exeunt the committee. 
 
 DR. BEACON. By the gods, Charlie, you arc get* 
 ting fat. What are you feeding on ? 
 
ACT II. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 45 
 
 DR. BENSAL. It Is the joy of the work, George. 
 I wish you could feel as I do. I tell you it is a won- 
 derful thing to command old Death: "Thus far shalt 
 thou go, and no further," and see it obey meekly. 
 Haven't we, in the late typhoid epidemic, given the 
 old hag a jolly chase, Miss Clemens? (Touches Miss 
 Clemens' s hand,) 
 
 MISS CLEMENS (electrified). We have, George, 
 indeed. Come here ; look at this diagram. (She rises 
 swiftly and approaches a diagram on the wall.) See 
 this line 
 
 DR. BEACON. Please, don't. Stop her Bensal. 
 Mary, as you are a Christian, have mercy. Don't swoop 
 down upon a visitor in that manner. Remember, I am 
 largely responsible to the Commissioner of Health for 
 your good conduct. How has she turned out, Bensal? 
 
 DR. BENSAL (confused). Oh, splendidly. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Gentlemen, I object to being 
 made the subject of your conversation in my presence. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Among the numerous things I 
 have failed to accomplish, the one in which I have 
 failed most has been to teach that young woman man- 
 ners. Why, Mary, you have no deference to authority ! 
 You forget that you are an inferior employe and in 
 the presence of your chief. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. An inferior employe? Between 
 ourselves, George, she has been the real Commissioner 
 of Health here. She understands more about this 
 business than anyone I know. And she does more 
 work than anyone else in the Department. 
 
 DR. BEACON. And you are not ashamed to take 
 four hundred dollars a month for yourself and give her 
 only thirty-two ? 
 
44 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IX. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I am. 
 
 DR. BEACON (to Miss Clemens). And you, with 
 your wonderful talent for detecting and protesting 
 against the most ultramicroscopic flaws in the chivalry 
 of man, rest in mute acquiescence when you are so 
 flagrantly robbed? 
 
 MISS CLEMENS (in good humor). Oh, but this 
 is the custom. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Ye mocking demons ! Hear what 
 she says : This is the custom. That answers every- 
 thing. What about the bacteria now, Bensal ; have you 
 forsaken them altogether ? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. No, no ; we are after them in hot 
 pursuit. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Still searching for them? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. No ; I have said we were pursuing 
 them. 
 
 DR. BEACON. What are you doing? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Draining lots, pulling down unin- 
 habitable disease-holes, teaching people how to keep 
 clean, compelling greedy landlords to furnish their ten- 
 ants not only with rent collectors, but also with good 
 water, light and air. Then, too, we administer the 
 vaccines and antitoxins. We keep a strict supervision 
 over all the food stuffs sold. We quarantine and fumi- 
 gate. And we have a project under way which, if suc- 
 •cessfully completed, will save the children of the poor 
 from the ravages of summer diarrhoea. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Then you have discovered the 
 microbe of infantile gastro-enteritis at last? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. No; but I have discovered the 
 cause of the microbe. 
 
 DR. BEACON. And what's that? 
 
ACT II. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 45 
 
 DR. BEN SAL. Well, I really haven't discovered it. 
 I should rather have said I have learned to forget the 
 microbe for its cause; but the cause itself is well 
 known. 
 
 DR. BEACON. I suppose improper feeding. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Of course. Isn't it strange that so 
 little should have been done to remedy this factor ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. How are you going to remedy it? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. The simplest thing in the world. 
 By instituting municipal milk dispensaries. 
 
 DR. BEACON. But there are such institutions — 
 maintained by the charities, I think. Almost every 
 newspaper has a milk fund. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Yes; but private charity is neces- 
 sarily limited in its scope not by the need of the needy 
 but by the munificence of the munificent. It is differ- 
 ent with a municipal institution. And then such an 
 institution would only be a beginning of a much wider 
 project. 
 
 DR. BEACON. What else? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. This Department has the question 
 of disease to solve — not of any particular disease, but 
 of all disease. Now, of course, nearly all diseases are 
 caused by micro-organisms ; but the existence of micro- 
 organisms is due to a lowered resistance — we know 
 that — and the lowered resistance is due to poverty and 
 its concomitants, ignorance and indifference. 
 
 DR. BEACON. How will you remedy poverty? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. That I do not know as yet. But I do 
 know, I think, how to prevent the diseases caused by 
 the lowered vital resistance brought about by poverty, 
 that is, by the lack of proper food, clothing, shelter 
 and knowledsre. 
 
46 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT II. 
 
 DR. BEACON. How? 
 
 DR. BEN SAL. Very simply. We vaccinate for 
 the prevention of smallpox; we can feed and clothe 
 for the prevention of the other diseases. 
 
 DR. BEACON. We? Who? 
 
 DR. BEN SAL. Now, of course, all this is a distant 
 project. You ask me who? The municipality. 
 
 DR. BEACON. But even so, can you tell me who 
 is going- to shoulder the expense of such institutions? 
 Even that of your immediate project of a municipal 
 milk dispensary? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Who shoulders the expense of our 
 hospitals, our free dispensaries, our foundling asylums, 
 our homes for the aged ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Philanthropy, I suppose. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Well, then, where is the difficulty? 
 The same philanthropic persons who now contribute 
 their money in the form of charity would then con- 
 tribute it in the form of taxes. Indeed, they won't have 
 to contribute as much. It is much cheaper to prevent 
 than to cure. 
 
 DR. BEACON (mephistophelically). Ha! ha! ha! 
 The philanthropic spirit of the taxpayers! 
 
 DR. BENSAL. You may laugh — it is because you 
 don't know. You have never thought of it. Let me 
 give you a superficial idea. Do you know. — now listen 
 — do you know that the entire middle class — mind 
 you — the entire middle class is actually organized into 
 one grand philanthropic army? Ah, this is a phase 
 of our history with which you are not acquainted. Let 
 me inform you, then, that I have not met a single man 
 or woman of the middle class who is not either an 
 
ACT II. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 47 
 
 active member of, or a contributor to, some philan- 
 thropic institution. Do not laugh at the philanthropic 
 spirit of the middle class. It is the grandest phe- 
 nomenon of our civilization. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Yes; but taxes and philanthropy 
 are very different things. One gets something in re- 
 turn for philanthropy, but what does the taxpayer get 
 in return for his taxes? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. What does one get in return for 
 philanthropy ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Well, in the first place, a sense of 
 moral satisfaction. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Is not the same moral satisfaction 
 derivcable from doing one's duty toward his fellow citi- 
 zens by paying his or her share of the taxes? 
 
 DR.' BEACON. Ha! ha! ha! Have you ever 
 heard of the sense of moral satisfaction which the tax- 
 payer derives from paying his taxes ? Why, Bensal, I 
 know a number of taxpayers who would rather con- 
 tribute hundreds of dollars in the form of philan- 
 thropy, if they could only save the paying of thousands 
 of dollars in taxes. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I am not speaking of the unscrupu- 
 lous individuals. I am fully aware of the existence of 
 such; and this Department is having its own troubles 
 with them. I am speaking of the middlemen as a 
 class. 
 
 DR. BEACON. May you rest in peace with your 
 faith in the philanthropic spirit of the taxpayer un- 
 shaken. Is your faith, too, in the philanthropic toy of 
 the middle class, Mary? 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. You are becoming admirably 
 exact in your expressions, George. I am very glad to 
 
43 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT II. 
 
 learn it. Yes ; my faith is in the philanthropic toy. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Hear what you are saying, Mary. 
 Faith in a toy ? 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Yes, in a toy. The cynic looks 
 upon the girl who plays with her dolls, or upon the 
 boy who delights in the toy-engine, as upon little im- 
 providents, who waste their parents' good money in 
 mere childish play. But the thinker sees in this play 
 the incipient striving of the future woman for mother- 
 hood, and of the future man for industrial progress. 
 Do not look with contempt upon the women and men 
 who delight in the philanthropic game 
 
 DR. BEACON. A very expensive game. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. All games are expensive if 
 you see in them nothing but games, and no game is 
 too expensive when you can see in it the preparation 
 for the serious business of life. The philanthropic 
 game of the present is the beginning of a new chapter 
 in the history of mankind. Those who can see in the 
 girl's play with her dolls the flower of future mother- 
 hood, can also see in the spirit of philanthropy the 
 blossom of a future higher grade of co-operation 
 among mankind in their business of life. 
 
 DR. BENSAL (enthiued, presses Miss Clemens^ s 
 hand). Thank you. Do you understand, George? 
 
 DR. BEACON (views the ecstatic group a few mo- 
 ments; he notices the somewhat embarrassed hut happy 
 expression of the girVs face, and Dr. BensaVs enthusi' 
 asm, to which he gives spontaneous vent by pressing the 
 girl's hand). Oh, yes; I think — I understand. But to 
 return to your immediate project of municipal milk dis- 
 pensaries for the children of the poor. Do you know 
 what you propose to do ? You propose to deprive the 
 
ACT II. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 49 
 
 benevolently disposed persons of the gratification which 
 they at present derive from this form of charity. A 
 monopoly, just think ! 
 
 DR. BENSAL (in good humor). I do not propose 
 a monopoly on charity. There is no reason why the 
 city should refuse the good money or the good work 
 of anyone who may wish to offer it for the benefit of 
 the municipality. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Well, that makes it a little easier 
 for the deserving rich. But then there is the danger of 
 pauperizing the poor. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. We do not pauperize them by vac- 
 cinating them at the city's expense. The city does this 
 simply to prevent smallpox. The city will furnish suit- 
 able milk to those who may be in need of it, in order to 
 prevent the summer diarrhoea of children. 
 
 Enter a young doctor. 
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. Pardon me. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Hello! What's the good news? 
 
 The young doctor hands him a paper, which the 
 Health Commissioner reads with much attention, smil- 
 ing broadly when he has finished. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Good. The very thing. (To Dr, 
 Beacon) This is to prove to you that I am not ig- 
 norant of the existence of selfish and sordid spirits even 
 among the middle class taxpayers. Here is an entire 
 square block of houses, seventy- four in all, without any 
 provision for drainage whatever, maintained in direct 
 violation of the law. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Without any drainage? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. None whatever. I have inspected 
 the condition myself. Imagine a mud-pool, sur- 
 rounded by seventy-four wretched shacks, all crowded 
 
50 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT II. 
 
 with tenants to their utmost capacity. The centre of 
 the square is seven feet lower than the sides. The 
 agency which has the property in charge refuses to 
 either raise the ground or to construct a deep sewer. 
 
 DR. BEACON. What do you propose to do ? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. We'll teach those people that 
 neither fear nor favor can deter this Department from 
 enforcing the law. The case is now in the City Court. 
 I expect the trial to come off shortly. ( To the young 
 doctor) Have you the witnesses, Doctor? 
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. I have called at the of- 
 fice of the Society for the Advocacy of Better Housing 
 for the Poor. The lady in charge promised to send 
 down several of their members immediately to investi- 
 gate the conditions. 
 
 DR. BEACON. But why don't you get the tenants 
 to testify? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Our case would then surely be lost. 
 The tenants of that class live in fear of the landlords. 
 If they offer complaint to this Department, or testify 
 afterwards at court, the landlord compels them to va- 
 cate the premises. What good can it do them then, 
 under such circumstances, to incur the trouble and the 
 loss of time of complaining or testifying against the 
 landlord? They might as well move from the prem- 
 ises to start with. On the other hand, it is of advant- 
 age to have as witnesses altogether disinterested par- 
 ties. {To the young doctor) Very well, then, go 
 ahead . {Exit the young doctor.) 
 
 DR. BEACON. Have many of that sort of cases 
 been decided against the Health Department? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. A few. But wc haven't had the ex- 
 perience in handling them. 
 
ACT II. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 5I 
 
 Enter Mr. Adams, the secretary of the Amalgamated 
 Charities, a man of about fifty. He is carefully dressed, 
 according to the latest styles. He carries a stout cane 
 zvith a silver handle — a present which he received for 
 his excellent service at the last meeting of the directors 
 of the Amalgamated Charities. He affects good man- 
 ners. He is excellently zvell nourished and indeed, ap- 
 pears to he a very healthy man. The so-called spiritual 
 parts of his constitution are pretty much walled in by 
 firm layers of muscular and adipose tissues; and those 
 that do protrude are seen to be wrought in hickory and 
 strengthened with iron hands. 
 
 DR. BENSx\L. Mr. Adams, so glad to see you. 
 {They shake hands.) Mr. Adams, Dr. Beacon. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. Good afternoon, Dr. Bensal. Glad 
 to meet you, Dr. Beacon. Can you spare me a few min- 
 utes, Dr. Bensal? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Certainly, certainly. (He puts his 
 arm familiarly around Mr. Adams' shoulder, and in this 
 wise walks him into his private office.) 
 
 DR. BEACON. Mary, you haven't been to see us 
 for months. Bessie is coming here to upbraid you. 
 What do you do evenings ? 
 
 MISS CLEMENS {pensively). Oh, nothing, noth- 
 ing in particular ; read a little, perhaps. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Do you go much to theater? 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. No ; they haven't had anything 
 interesting this season. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Do you see people ? I mean, have 
 you any associates, friends? 
 
 AlISS CLEMENS. A few— very few— rarely; 
 only casual acquaintances. 
 
 DR. BEACON. That has been the trouble with 
 
52 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT II. 
 
 you, Mary. Why don't you learn how to make friends? 
 Haven't you any friends among the officials here ? You 
 have been in this Department for over three years 
 now. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS (zinth contempt). Officials? No. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Too bad. Have you no craving 
 for — association ? 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. George, who gave you the 
 right to take upon yourself the office of my father con- 
 fessor ? 
 
 DR. BEACON (taken aback by this sudden sally). 
 Pardon me. I didn't mean to — Three o'clock, and 
 Bessie isn't here. I've been waiting an hour now. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. You are waiting for Bessie, 
 then? Where is she? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Looking over the latest items on 
 the subject of Government by Commissions, at Brook- 
 ley's book shop. We went shopping, and I helped her 
 with her ribbons and things. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. What do you know about 
 ribbons ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. A great deal. Bessie relies en- 
 tirely on me in matching colors and in calculating 
 lengths. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. But she sends you off out of 
 her way when buying books. And you really believe 
 that she needs your help in selecting ribbons ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Of course she does. She asks 
 for it. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Why not? It costs her abso- 
 lutely nothing to afford you the opportunity of imagin- 
 ing yourself in the part of her instructor and guide— 
 
ACT II. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 53 
 
 in selecting ribbons, at least — a part which is no 
 doubt yours by Divine right. 
 
 DR. BEACON. What? You accuse me of enter- 
 taining the fossil idea that man is woman's instructor 
 and guide by Divine dispensation ? 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Don't despair. The fact that 
 you arc anxious to deny it is proof that the notion is 
 retrogressive in you. You will be rid of it entirely in 
 a generation or so. We are progressing at a tre- 
 mendous rate. 
 
 Enter Mrs, Beacon. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Bessie, is it true that you are try- 
 ing to flatter my vanity by giving me the opportunity 
 to appear in what she terms as the part of your in- 
 structor and guide? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Don't listen to her. You know 
 she has always been a jealous and mischievous girl. 
 Leave him alone, Mary. Don't worry the poor boy 
 with abstracts. {To Dr. Beacon.) I haven't been long 
 in coming, have I ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Speaking in terms of all time, no. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. What are you staring at? 
 
 DR. BEACON. My dear, this hat becomes you 
 wonderfully well. Let me see again. Don't you know, 
 I am arriving at the conclusion that after all you arc 
 quite pretty. 
 
 MRS. BEACON, You liar! Schmeichler! You 
 have been telling that to me for the last ten years! I 
 have never believed a word of it. 
 
 DR. BEACON. That's a pretty bad state of affairs, 
 isn't it, Mary? I fear, after all, you are right; she is 
 a hypocrite; she only pretends that I have an influ- 
 ence with her. The bitter fact remains that in ten long 
 
54 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT 11. 
 
 years I have not succeeded in making her believe a 
 thing so obviously unbelievable. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. How dare you imply tliat I 
 have called Bessie a hypocrite ? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. You wretch! Just wait till we 
 get home ! 
 
 Enter Mr. Jones. He is a little below the medium 
 stature and somewhat beyond middle age. His hair and 
 moustache are steel-gray. The wrinkles on his face are 
 just beginning to deepen into boundaries for future in- 
 tegumental flaps. His pointed nose and sharp eyes give 
 him the appearance of being continually on the lookout. 
 The latter trait is very much accentuated by a habit of 
 slightly but appreciably turning his head to one side or 
 the other, in the direction of the least sound, as if 
 apprehensive of lurking danger, or on guard for con- 
 cealed prey. In dress and in nmnner he is a picture of 
 respectability. His polite carriage and habitual smile 
 are the results of the long contemplation of a placard 
 over his office desk, with the follozving inscription: 
 "A smile is an asset; a frown a liability." He makes a 
 visible effort to produce the impression of massiveness, 
 of solidity, as if he were a bank building. In this he 
 fails deplorably; the fact is, he weighs only 135 pounds 
 I — 50 pounds less than his wife! 
 
 MR. JONES. Good afternoon, ladies. Dr. Beacon, 
 how do you do, sir? 
 
 THE LADIES. How do you do, Mr. Jones? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Good afternoon. How's business? 
 
 MR. JONES. So-so, sir. Pretty much as usual, 
 sir. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Groceries and provisions selling 
 pretty lively, I suppose ? 
 
ACT 11. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 55 
 
 MR. JONES. It all depends upon the time and 
 season, sir. (With an air of importance.) The retail- 
 ers are complaining. A trifling investment, you know. 
 They must not expect to make fortunes. How's the 
 chief's health, Miss Clemens ? 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. He is very well, thank you. 
 Won't you be seated ? 
 
 MR. JONES. Thank you. (He moves a chair to 
 the front, near Dr. Beacon's. Mrs. Beacon engages in 
 quiet conversation with Miss Clemens, while the latter 
 is at work, picking out information from reference 
 hooks, or sticking pins into the maps. The place be- 
 comes rather busy zvith officials going in and out, leav- 
 ing papers with or taking zvord from Miss Clemens.) 
 
 MR. JONES (to Dr. Beacon). And how is the 
 Doctor? Quite well? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Quite well, thank you. 
 
 MR. JONES (moving his chair close to Dr. 
 Beacon's). Waiting for the Commissioner? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Yes—not particularly. 
 
 MR. JONES. I understand you are quite on inti- 
 mate terms with him ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Well— in a way 
 
 MR. JONES. M-m-m. (Confidentially.) Do 
 you know anyone who has influence with the chief? 
 
 DR. BEACON. I understand his wife 
 
 MR. JONES. No, no ; I don't mean that. I mean 
 whether you know of anyone who is on terms of confi- 
 dence with him — from a business standpoint? Some 
 one who v/ould introduce me to him . 
 
 DR. BEACON. Oh, this is the simplest thing in 
 the world. Miss Clemens will introduce you. 
 
56 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT II. 
 
 MR. JONES. No ; that will never do. I need some 
 one — some one — couldn't you introduce me ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. I suppose I could. 
 
 MR. JONES. Thank you. I thought you were the 
 man. I am in need of your services, Doctor. 
 
 DR. BEACON. I should be happy to render them 
 to you, Mr. Jones. 
 
 MR. JONES. It is understood, I shan't expect 
 your services gratis. 
 
 DR. BEACON. I shouldn't think you would. 
 
 MR. JONES. I am glad to have found you here, 
 I have always maintained that of all the profession in 
 the city, you were the man with a real sense of busi- 
 ness. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Thank you; this is very compli- 
 mentary. 
 
 MR. JONES. This has been my rule in business: 
 Fay your way. Working along this rule, I don't ex- 
 pect your services for nothing. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Like a business man, you know 
 that it would be a mere waste of the energy involved in 
 the act of expectation. 
 
 MR. JONES. Precisely. Our services should 
 always be paid for. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Always ; and sometimes even oth- 
 ers* services as well. 
 
 MR. JONES. Sometimes? I can tell you, I have 
 always had to pay my way. I expect to do so to the 
 end of my days. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Ah, yes ; I fear we shall never Uve 
 to see the business man's paradise. But wouldn't you 
 rather come to my office ? 
 
 MR. JONES. " It might be too late? 
 
ACT II. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 57 
 
 DR. BEACON. Nonsense! You are nervous abou| 
 it. This is always the case. Don't fear, my good fd- 
 low ; a couple of hours won't kill you. 
 
 MR. JONES. A couple of hours ! I might be too 
 late. Irreparable damage might be done. It must be 
 attended to at once. 
 
 DR. BEACON (viezving him curiously.) But how 
 can I? This is a public office. Are you out of your 
 senses? What would you do if you hadn't found me 
 here? 
 
 MR. JONES. Ah, well. There's always some one 
 to be found about these offices who has the confidence 
 of the chief of the department. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Oh, I see! What is your trouble? 
 
 MR. JONES. You see — there have been on the 
 market several varieties of canned and preserved goods, 
 such as sardines, salmon, meats, the various vegetables 
 and fruits — ■ — 
 
 DR. BEACON. M-m-m 
 
 MR. JONES. Of the cheaper grades, you know. 
 You understand, of course, that there are on the mar- 
 ket different qualities of food stuffs the same as there 
 are different qualities of shoes, clothing, and so on. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Of course; of course. 
 
 MR. JONES. Now, I really cannot see why this 
 Department should raise such a racket about that mat- 
 ter. I suppose the chief's head has been a little turned 
 by those confounded societies. You have read in the 
 papers about the proceedings of the annual general 
 meeting of the Association for the Improvement of the 
 Condition of the Poor? 
 
 DR. BEACON. I have heard something about it 
 in a casual way. 
 
58 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT II. 
 
 MR. JONES. Well, then, you understand the situ- 
 ation. Can I rely upon you to straighten matters out 
 for me? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Straighten matters out for you ? 
 
 MR. JONES. As I have said, I shan't expect your 
 services gratis. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Mr, Jones, let me not draw you 
 into surprises. Since I am not a professional poli- 
 tician, and do not otherwise cherish any ambitions of 
 making myself snug with the public, I am not going to 
 display any indignation at your attempt to bribe me. 
 But let me give you a piece of advice — it is well meant: 
 Don't attempt that sort of thing in this office. Certain 
 people whom I know here are just waiting for such a 
 chance to make political capital of: Go straight to Dr. 
 Bensal and state your case. He is not at all an unrea- 
 sonable man. This much I can tell you : he thinks the 
 world of the middle class business men. So don't be 
 afraid to let him know who you are. 
 
 MR. JONES. Thank you. Dr. Beacon. I hope you 
 understand my situation. I am simply at bay. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Yes ; I understand your situation. 
 But you are not alone. All of you middlemen are in 
 the same boat. This ought to be some consolation to 
 you. 
 
 MR. JONES. A small consolation. 
 
 DR. BEACON. The only consolation. 
 
 MR. JONES. What is the world coming to? 
 
 DR. BEACON. There is no telling. It might come 
 to where it would have to rotate about its axis without 
 the incentive of the cheaper varieties of groceries and 
 provisions. 
 
 Enter Dr. Anderson. He is a very beautiful man of 
 
ACT III. THE MIDDLE CLASS 59 
 
 sixty-odd. His long, white hair and beard add to the 
 reverence of his aspect and accentuate the softness of 
 his expression. His calm, kindly mein bespeaks a great 
 benevolence of disposition and purity of soid. A fresh, 
 pink skin, which is almost transparent, declares of a life 
 well spent in the preservation of the flesh. And, finally, 
 an immaculate dress heralds aloud the fact that Dr. An- 
 derson is by no means the only person to take care of 
 Dr. Anderson. 
 
 His appearance brings a hush about the reception 
 room. Mr. Jones, Mrs. Beacon and Miss Clemens wt- 
 stinctively rise from their seats. Dr. Anderson casts 
 a contemptuous glance at Dr. Beacon and approaches 
 Miss Clemens. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Is Dr. Bensal in? 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Yes, Doctor. Will you kindly 
 be seated? 
 
 She moves for him a chair. Curtain. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 The Health Commissioner's private office. A well 
 furnished, large room. In the front is a large, flat-top 
 desk, on which are tzvo telephones, neatly arranged 
 piles of paper — probably official reports — and a number 
 of samples of different makes of vaccine virus and 
 diphtheria antitoxins. In the rear wall are two win- 
 dows. On a little table, against the light of one of the 
 windozvs, are a ntimber of tall glass tubes, filled with 
 liquids of different degrees of transparency — probably 
 samples of zuater from the several city reservoirs. In 
 one corner is a large bookcase; in the other a model 
 fumigating apparatus. The walls are hung with m^ps, 
 charts and diagrams, similar to those in the reception 
 
6o THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT UK 
 
 room. There are several heavy chairs. The room has 
 
 but one door, to the right. 
 
 Enter Dr. Bensal and Mr. Adams. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Dr. Beacon and I were just speak- 
 ing about the philanthropic activities of the middle 
 class. The importance of tl^ movement as a factor 
 in the making of modern history is but little appre- 
 ciated, probably because we ourselves constitute a part 
 of that movement. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. Quite correct. The edifice of 
 charity must be viewed from a distance, where it can be 
 seen in its entirety, to be fully understood and appre- 
 ciated. 
 
 DR. BENSAL {beckoning Mr. Adams to a seat and 
 taking one himself). Will you be seated? 
 
 MR. ADAMS. Thank you. {Composes himself in 
 a chair, opposite Dr. Bensal.) It takes years of assidu- 
 ous and unbiased study of the philanthropic cause to 
 gain an adequate idea of the extent of personal sacri- 
 fice that it involves. Particularly is this true with re- 
 spect to the property owner, the man who bears the 
 burden of the taxes. And when it is considered that 
 the sums sacrificed on the altar of charity are derived 
 from the residue of the property owners' earnings — 
 after the taxes, water rents, and so on have been paid — 
 then, perhaps, it will be found that we, too, the charity 
 workers, whose duty it is to gather in the charity funds^ 
 feel the weight of the taxes to no less an extent than 
 the taxpayers themselves. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. To the credit of the taxpayers I 
 must say that, within my experience at least, I have 
 never heard them complain about the burden of the 
 taxes which they bear. 
 
ACT III. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 6l 
 
 MR. ADAMS. Of course not. The taxpayer is too 
 much of a business man to complain. What good 
 would it do him ? And then, too, he always has what 
 we might call a reserve fund, upon which to draw 
 whenever taxes or similar expenditures become high. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. A reserve fund? 
 
 MR. ADAMS. Yes; a reserve fund. This reserve 
 fund consists of the sum which he devotes to philan- 
 thropy. When taxes or other expenditures increase, 
 the charity funds sink with the certainty of fate, and 
 the thousands of the destitute fall victims to want, 
 crime and disease. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Well, admitting that the charity 
 funds do sink whenever the taxes become high, it still 
 remains a question why the people should suffer in 
 consequence, since the taxes themselves are, in the 
 long run, for the benefit of the people. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. The people? True. The answer is 
 very simple. The benefits which emanate from in- 
 creased taxes are enjoyed by all the people, rich or 
 poor — and when we get down to the bottom truth of it, 
 it will, perhaps, be found that the rich benefit even to 
 a greater extent than the poor. But the benefits of 
 charity are enjoyed by the poor man only. We must 
 stand by the poor man. Dr. Bensal. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. But what would you say about a 
 tax for the exclusive benefit of the poor? 
 
 MR. ADAMS. You are referring, of course, to 
 your project for the establishment of municipal milk 
 dispensaries. You will find me in favor of that project, 
 lieart and soul. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Thank you. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. You can count on the hearty sup- 
 
62 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT III. 
 
 port and co-operation of every worker in the Amalga- 
 mated Charities. But we must proceed with great 
 •caution. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. What do you mean ? 
 
 MR. ADAMS. We must bear in mind the fact that, 
 after all is said and done, the taxpayers are those who 
 render the final verdict on any project concerning the 
 municipality. If their sentiment is by any means turned 
 against your project, we might as well give up all 
 hope. A great degree of diplomacy must, therefore, 
 be exercised, and every possible effort made to avoid 
 any friction with the taxpayers, at least until the 
 project is successfully launched. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. This is just what we are doing. 
 We are making every possible effort to avoid friction 
 with the taxpayers. But in certain instances it is ab- 
 solutely unavoidable. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. Perhaps — perhaps ; I am quite sure. 
 Still, this is a large city, and between ourselves, sani- 
 tary conditions have been deplorably neglected by your 
 predecessors ; and since, moreover, the activity of the 
 Health Department is limited by its force of employes, 
 it would seem that you have a very wide field of ac- 
 tion. — ^an abundant choice of material, so to say. It is 
 in the choice of material that a great amount of judg- 
 ment must, at this time, be exercised. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. In the choice of material, you say? 
 
 MR, ADAMS. Or, as you would term it in )rour 
 medical lore, in the selection of the cases. Generally 
 speaking, it is perhaps a good plan to make an example 
 of a certain number of negligent property owners, in 
 order to teach the rest a v/holesome lesson. But, and 
 I say this in all candor and with a feeling that the ulti- 
 
ACT III. THE MIDDLP: CLASS. 63 
 
 mate interests of the Health Department and of the 
 Amalgamated Charities are exactly identical, we must, 
 I say, exercise great care in the selection of our cases. 
 
 DR. BEN SAL. I thank you for your candor. You 
 must permit me, however, to correct an error in your 
 argument. You are referring, of course, to the pros- 
 ecutions which we have instituted against certain un- 
 scrupulous and refractory landlords. We have done^ 
 this not at all with the idea of making an example of 
 them, but because it is part of the routine work of this 
 Department. We do our very best to coax a negligent 
 landlord into making the necessary improvements, and 
 it is only when all other means have failed that we in- 
 voke the interference of the law. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. And even so. Since, as we have 
 agreed, the choice of cases is abundant, it would stand 
 to reason that one case is as good as another. If this 
 be true, then why shouldn't the choice be made in a 
 manner to serve the ultimate interests of the Depart- 
 ment best? I take the liberty of saying this only be- 
 cause of my firm conviction that the interests of the 
 Health Department and of the Amalgamated Charities 
 are closely bound up together. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Are you referring to any special 
 cases? 
 
 MR. ADAMS. Yes. But before proceeding I wish 
 to make quite sure whether you agree with me that 
 the ultimate aims of the Department under your charge, 
 and those of the Charities, are the same, namely, the 
 relief of human suffering, the prevention of untimely 
 death. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. This is my sincere conviction. I 
 have maintained it all along. 
 
64 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT II. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. Now, since you understand my mo- 
 tive, I am at liberty to speak. I refer to a certain prop- 
 erty in charge of the real estate agency of Lucas and 
 Lucas. 
 
 DR. BEN SAL. A square block of houses, seventy- 
 four in all. The chief complaint of this Department 
 has been defective drainage. The agents have been 
 duly notified, and, I can assure you, we have given 
 them every opportunity to abate the nuisance. They 
 simply will not abate it. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. They have done wrong, I admit. 
 And yet there are extenuating circumstances which 
 must be considered. Similar nuisances have been a 
 matter of course in our city. They are the baneful re- 
 sults of the former administrations. Under the pres- 
 ent reform administration, for the inauguration of 
 which we have all been working so hard, improvement 
 in conditions is bound to come. But as far as the 
 owner of real property is concerned, you will readily 
 see that improvements on his property are necessarily 
 and naturally limited by the prevailing rates of rent. 
 When the owner of real property is compelled to make 
 certain improvements, he must raise the rates of the 
 rent. But a single property owner cannot possibly 
 vQAse the rates without all the other property owners 
 doing it at the same time. Otherwise his tenants will 
 vacate his premises, with the consequent impossibility 
 to make the improvements. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. But then there is no way out of this 
 vicious circle. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. There is no way except to make a 
 breach in the circle — to sacrifice the interests of a cer- 
 tain number of property owners. 
 
ACT III. THE MIDDLE CLASS, 65 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Sacrifice! 
 
 MR. ADAMS. Yes; sacrifice. I, at least, am not 
 afraid to use the word. It is inevitable. A certain 
 number of property owners must be sacrificed to the 
 public weal. But the public weal must not suffer by 
 the sacrifice, or the end is defeated. And I tell you, 
 E)r. Bensal, that the end is certain to be defeated, and 
 the public weal to suffer, by the present choice, 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Why so? 
 
 MR. ADAMS. Because Lucas and Lucas have 
 been among the heaviest and readiest contributors 
 to those health funds, which we designate by the name 
 of charity. Now, you must understand that the source 
 of Lucas and Lucas's earnings is the commissions 
 which they make on the rents for taking charge of 
 people's houses. The improvements which you require 
 of them would necessitate a considerable raising of the 
 rent rates. The latter is, under the present circum* 
 stances, impossible. The tenants would simply vacate 
 the dwellings, there would be neither rents nor com- 
 missions, with a corresponding slump in the treasury of 
 the destitute, the sick, the helpless. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. The property, in its present state, 
 is a menace to the public health. I have inspected the 
 conditions myself. The entire space is nothing but a 
 polluted mud-pool of the worst kind. The plastering 
 and the mortar of the houses have become thoroughly 
 saturated with moisture, with the result that the plas- 
 tering has to a great extent dropped off. We have tell- 
 ing figures to prove the extent of the danger. (Picks 
 out a paper from a pile.) Here. Seventy- four houses 
 in all. One side of the square — twenty houses — is 
 known as the Lung Block, because there is not a house 
 
66 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT III. 
 
 in it where there has not occurred a death from con- 
 sumption in the last five years. Among the one hun- 
 dred and thirty-eight famiHes who inhabit the prop- 
 erty — a total population of six hundred and thirty- 
 seven people — there have come within the notice of 
 this Department, only within the last four months^ 
 thirty-odd cases of typhoid fever. Mr. Adams, these 
 conditions are sufficiently appalling to call for imme- 
 diate and determined action on the part of the city 
 administration. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. But will you not admit that poor 
 food, unemployment and care may have been very pow- 
 erful factors in reducing the vitality of those people 
 to the point where they fall easy victims to disease ? 
 DR. BENSAL. To be sure. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. And for the relief of starvation, un- 
 employment and sickness you propose the raising of 
 the rent-rates and the destruction of the charity funds? 
 DR. BENSAL. Ir— I— .do not propose that. 
 MR. ADAMS. But you do. Without commissions 
 on rents I canont see where Lucas and Lucas are go- 
 ing to get the money to contribute toward the Chari- 
 ties. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. But the value of the property is 
 bound to rise with the improvements, with a conse- 
 quent rise in the rate of the rents, which will in turn 
 mean more income from commissions for Lucas and 
 Lucas. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. I cannot see the consistency of that. 
 For the relief of the evils brought about by the pov- 
 erty of the poor you propose to make them still poorer 
 by charging them biggfer rents. And all that i:.i order 
 to dig a sewer or two Why, do you knov/ what you 
 
ACT III. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 6/ 
 
 are doing? You are simply taking the funds devoted 
 to the relief of human hunger, of nakedness, of dcstt- 
 tution and throwing them into ditches ! If this is your 
 idea of things, then what remains for me to say? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. But, Mr. Adams, how else could 
 this Department proceed with the work of public sani- 
 tation ? 
 
 MR. ADAMS. To be sure, there is no other way. 
 As I have candidly admitted, I am fully aware of the 
 necessity of sacrificing the interests of a certain num- 
 ber of property owners. But if the poor are to be 
 deprived of a portion of their due, it would only seem 
 an act of mercy to deprive them of a lesser rather 
 than of a greater portion. Why then select Lucas and 
 Lucas? I am sure there is no dearth of badly neg- 
 lected premises in our city. 
 
 DR. BENSAL (reflectively). Are you quite sure 
 that the charity funds would suffer to any great extent 
 if Lucas and Lucas were compelled to abate the 
 nuisance on their premises ? 
 
 MR. x\DAMS. Of course. It is the simplest thing 
 in the world to understand. I tell you the firm has no 
 other source of income than the commissions on the 
 rent of the tenants. And from your own investigations 
 you can see plainly that the ten8,nts are poverty-stricken 
 and that it would be a matter of impossibility to charge 
 them higher rents. 
 
 DR. BENSAL (mechanically) . It is a very singu- 
 lar road by which your charity funds travel. From 
 the destitute tenants to the lanlords, from the landlords 
 to the Amalgamated Charities, and thence to the ten- 
 ants again, perhaps to help them pay the arrears on 
 their rent. (Suddenly, nnth force.) Mr. Adams, by 
 
68 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT III. 
 
 what sort of wonderful magic are the charity funds 
 kept circling everlastingly in that manner ? Is there no 
 wear and tear involved in the process? If there is^ 
 then how can the motion proceed with undiminished 
 velocity? Surely, there must be some wear and tear. 
 There is stationery, offices, officers, expert charity 
 workers, and they must all live 
 
 MR. ADAMS. Oh, now, now, now! What good 
 is there in that sort of talk? Of course they must all 
 live. Everybody must live. And you, too, must live. 
 You order drainage to be instituted. What is the 
 result ? The tenants must pay bigger rents. And what 
 is the result of that? The taxable basis is increased,, 
 and the property owner carries part of his increased 
 income to the City Hall in the form of taxes, from 
 which you finally draw your salary. And this is how 
 you live. Doesn't then your living, too, according to 
 your own logic, come from the rent paid by the ten- 
 ants? Well, then, the charity worker makes his or 
 her living in exactly the same manner that you do. 
 Where is the difference? That isn't anything that we 
 can help. It is in the nature of things. Everybody 
 must live. (He watches Dr, Bensal in a manner that 
 an expert lion-tamer would a dangerous specimen of 
 the beast.) 
 
 DR. BENSAL (mechanically). Yes; everybody 
 must live. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. And the poor, too, have a right to 
 live, Dr. Bensal. I am sure you understand the situation. 
 It is extremely serious. The demands upon our treas- 
 ury have been greater than ever. The hard times have 
 sent additional thousands down hill. You wouldn't 
 have the heart to deprive the destitute, the sick, the dy- 
 
ACT III. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 69 
 
 ing of the succor of charity by diverting the charity 
 funds into other channels? 
 
 DR. BENSAL (with a sudden burst if impatience) . 
 Are you insane, Mr. Adams ? What sort of a fool are 
 you trying to make of me? Where, in the name of 
 <x>mmon sense, is the succor of your charity for the in- 
 habitants of the Lung Block? This is a brilliant idea, 
 indeed! To leave the poor in wretched pest-holes in 
 order that you may be enabled to dole them out char- 
 ity! Mr. Adams, how dare you, sir, to come to me 
 and ask me to sanction the maintenance of a public 
 nuisance in order that your treasur}^ may not possibly 
 •suffer to the extent of a few hundred dollars? 
 
 MR. ADAMS (crestfallen). Dr. Bensal— please— 
 compose yourself. Pardon me — ^but the matter is far 
 more momentous than you think. My anxiety is not 
 about the few hundred dollars which Lucas and Lucas 
 are going to withdraw, but about the Amalgamated 
 Charities. The entire Amalgamated Charities are at 
 stake ! 
 
 DR. BENSAL. How so? 
 
 MR. ADAMS. Ah, you don't know what power of 
 scent the property owners possess. They will smell 
 the rat immediately. Your course means the ruin of 
 the Amalgamated Charities, I can assure you. 
 
 DR. BENSAL (with suppressed indignation, ready 
 for a spring). Are you quite sure, now? 
 
 MR. ADAMS. As sure as my name is Adams. Thtf 
 property owners will have nothing to do with the 
 Charities. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Then the sooner they smell the rat 
 the better. This is the condition, then, which the phil- 
 anthropic gentlemen exact for the maintenance of the 
 
yO THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT III. 
 
 Charities ? To keep a wretched humanity in pest-hoies 
 built upon a swamp, in dirt and in ignorance, until they 
 have become infected with a hundred diseases of the 
 body and mind — until they are one loathsome, disease- 
 breathing and disease-breeding mass, beyond cure and 
 beyond redemption? Mr. Adams, you cannot exact 
 that condition from me ! 
 
 MR. ADAMS (suddenly grasps Dr. BensaVs hand 
 in supplication) . Dr. Bensal, I have a wife and five 
 children to support, and I am no longer a young man. 
 Stop the prosecution of Lucas and Lucas as a personal 
 favor to me. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Why? What has that to do with 
 you? 
 
 MR. ADAMS. I shall lose my position. If I 
 haven't enough influence with the city officials to pro- 
 tect the interests of our contributors, I shall lose my 
 position. Lucas and Lucas are on the board of direc- 
 tors, and they have very extensive connections besides. 
 They will not keep me a month. 
 
 DR. BENSAL {sincerely). Poor man! I wish I 
 could help you. I am sorry I cannot. However, don't 
 worry over it. {With sarcasm.) It is quite unlikely 
 that they will discharge you. In my estimation you are 
 too valuable a man for the patrons of the Charities. As 
 a last resort, you have my permission to put the entire 
 blame on me. Indeed, you may do that in the first 
 place. I shall bear the blame cheerfully. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. You are sarcastic, I see. I thoug^ht 
 I could speak to you, reason with you. It's no use. 
 But let me tell you this : Instituting a prosecution is 
 .one thing, but the verdict of the court is frequently 
 quite another thing. You will have to hunt up wit- 
 
ACT III. THE MUDDLE CLASS. /I 
 
 nesses from among your own employes, or from among" 
 the tenants. None from the Society for the Advocacy 
 of Better Housing, nor from the Association for the 
 Improvement of the Condition of the Poor, nor from 
 any other society in any way connected with the Amal- 
 gamated Charities. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Why not? 
 
 MR. ADAMS (rising to go). Why not? You arc 
 awfully generous, Dr. Bensal. Why not! Because 
 they are the wives and daughters of the property own- 
 ers. God bless you, Dr. Bensal ; good by ! 
 
 Exit Mr. Adams. Dr, Bensal paces the room in 
 silence. Miss Clemens looks in at the door, and a few 
 moments later Mr. Jones enters, hesitating. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Do you wish to see me? 
 
 MR. JONES (with great deference). Dr. Bensal? 
 My name is Mr. Jones. You have met Mrs. Jones. 
 
 DR. BENSAL (approaches Mr. Jones and shakes 
 hands iv-ith him.) Yes, indeed, I am glad to see you, 
 Mr. Jones. Be seated, please. (They take seats.) 
 What can I do for you, Mr. Jones ? 
 
 MR. JONES (with much hesitation). It is rather 
 a delicate matter. I am here on behalf of a number of 
 retail grocers. It was Dr. Beacon who advised me to 
 speak to you. He thinks the world of you. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Thank you. You say you are on 
 behalf of certain retail grocers? 
 
 MR. JONES (clearing his throat) . Precisely. And 
 yet I don't want to produce the impression that I am 
 here an altogether disinterested party. To a certain 
 extent my own interests are involved. But it is 
 
 mainly in behalf of the retail grocers that I come here. 
 
J2 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT III. 
 
 DR. BEN SAL. What has happened to the retail 
 grocers ? 
 
 MR. JONES. Dr. Bensal, has it ever occurred to 
 you that the retail grocer is the hardest-worked, worst 
 paid drudge in our society? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I can imagine he is having a pretty 
 hard lot. 
 
 MR. JONES. I can assure you. His work begins 
 at five in the morning, and he never rests until ten or 
 eleven at night. Fifteen and sixteen hours a day, 
 day in day out, of the worst kind of drudgery ! Him- 
 self, his wife and his children are all actually spending 
 their lives in the business — all for a bare living. The 
 prices on goods have been high and the laborers' wages 
 low. So there you are; between the Provision Trust 
 and the low wages of labor, the retail grocer is made i 
 the victim. (He stops abruptly and waits for the words 
 to sink into Dr. BensaVs mind.) 
 
 DR. BENSAL. To be sure, this is a very unfortu- 
 nate condition of affairs. 
 
 MR. JONES. People are apt to think that the re- 
 tail grocer is a man who is, so to say, in business for 
 himself. It is the greatest fallacy imaginable. His 
 possessions are, in the great majority of instances, 
 cither zero or less than zero. He is everlastingly on 
 the verge of bankruptcy. The least breath of an evil 
 wind will send him toppling down the hill. Dr. Bensal, 
 we are all prostrated at the feet of the Provisions 
 Trust. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I believe you are right. 
 
 MR. JONES. It is needless to tell you that the 
 fashionable grocer keeps the best, the most expensive 
 articles of food in his stock, while the little grocer o» 
 
ACT III. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 73 
 
 the comer of Necessity Alley, whose customers arc the 
 poor people, keeps none but the cheapest. Because no 
 matter how poor a man is, he must cat ; and he cannot 
 cat what he cannot afford to buy. 
 
 DR. BEN SAL (with apprehension creeping over 
 him). Of course ; of course. 
 
 MR. JONES. You will readily understand that in 
 the grocery line, like in every other line of business, 
 there are grades of goods of different qualities, from 
 the most expensive to the cheapest. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Certainly. 
 
 MR. JONES. If you only knew the Hfe and the 
 tribulations of the little grocer as well as I do, your 
 heart would go out to him as mine does. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I am sure I am ready to do for 
 them everything within my power. Is there anything 
 in connection with this Department that I can do for 
 them? 
 
 MR. JONES. Give them a chance. Don't force 
 them into bankruptcy. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Force them into bankruptcy ? What 
 do you mean ? 
 
 MR. JONES. If you should interdict the sale of 
 costly articles of food, you would ruin the fancy grocer 
 — isn't it so? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Undoubtedly; but I have no such 
 intention. 
 
 MR. JONES. But exactly the same must happen to 
 the poor grocer when you interdict the sale of the 
 cheaper grades of wares. He must get out of business. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I don't quite understand what yoti 
 mean. 
 
 MR. JONES. There have been on the market, for 
 
74 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT III. 
 
 I don't know how long, certain grades of canned, pre- 
 served and smoked goods — meats, the vegetables and 
 the fruits — of the cheaper varieties 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Oh, oh ; I see. 
 
 MR. JONES. I understand you are contemplating 
 the seizure of those wares. If you should do that you 
 will ruin the retail grocers. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Is there much of that stuff on the 
 market just at present? 
 
 MR. JONES. That is impossible to say. It all de- 
 pends upon how much of the last job lot has already 
 been sold by the retail grocers. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Have you no way of approximat- 
 ing the amount ? How large was the last lot, and when 
 was it placed on the retail market? 
 
 MR. JONES. It amounted, if I remember cor- 
 rectly, to something like $20,000, and I began putting 
 it out about three months ago. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Is $20,000 very much to you, ISr. 
 Jones ? 
 
 MR. JONES. A great deal, indeed. But there is 
 probably not more than $500 worth of that lot left in 
 my warehouse at present. Those job lots are dis- 
 posed of quickly. >' ^^ 
 
 DR. BENSAL. But the retail grocers owe you the 
 amount? I understand. 
 
 MR. JONES. Oh, no, no ! As I have already told 
 you, my interest in this matter is the least. These 
 grades of goods — odd lots, you know — are sold cheaply 
 in order that they may be sold quickly, and the rule is 
 cash on delivery. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. And you say the grocers have had 
 
ACT III. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 75 
 
 those goods for about three months? They cannot 
 have very much left by this time. 
 
 MR. JONES. Of course not. Perhaps not one- 
 tenth of the original quantity. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Ah, well. The loss to the share of 
 each retailer will then be very small. It will not ruin 
 them. 
 
 MR. JONES. I tell you, Dr. Bensal, it will. It will 
 put those goods under a ban in the eyes of the public! 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Of course, it might hurt your busi- 
 ness a little. And yet — an occasional job lot — what 
 does it amount to in a big wholesale business like 
 yours? You don't really depend upon that for your 
 living. I am sure the retailers do not. 
 
 MR. JONES. But they do ! What else is there in 
 the grocery line to depend upon for a living? Sugar? 
 Lard? Gasoline? The Sugar Trust, and the Beef 
 Trust, and the Oil Trust haven't enough for 
 themselves, let alone giving a chance to the poor mer- 
 chant. What articles, then, can we depend on for a 
 profit? First-class fancy goods? Who eats those? 
 The well-to-do. And how many well-to-do are there? 
 Nine-tenths of the retail grocers would starve to death 
 if they depended upon the well-to-do customers for a 
 living. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Be reasonable, Mr. Jones. You 
 wouldn't expect me, in the capacity of Health Com- 
 missioner, to permit the sale of rotten food stuffs? 
 
 MR. JONES (zuith irritation). Rotten food stuffs — 
 vile refuse — these are the names which they apply to 
 the poor man's wares. And after that they expect him 
 to make a living. Vile refuse ! Why, don't you know, 
 Dr. Bensal, that to the lady in the $50,000 opera outfit, 
 
76 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT III. 
 
 the calico dress of the poor factory girl is a vile attire? 
 What wonder, then, that the same lady, who is sur- 
 feited with dainties, should call a five-cent can of sar- 
 dines vile refuse, and rotten food stuff, and what not? 
 Digestion depends a good deal upon the appetite — ^you 
 ought to know that. The idle lady, fed on dainty food, 
 has neither appetite nor digestion. But the hard work- 
 ingman's stomach craves for food; and cheap food is 
 better than no food at all. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I am sure this Department has no 
 objection to the cheapness of food. 
 
 MR. JONES. Oh, is that it? You wouldn^t mind 
 seeing the poor man eat even the best of food? Is 
 that a joke ? Dr. Bensal, how can the poor man obtain 
 costly food when his wages do not suffice? Is it your 
 advice, in that case, that he go without any food at all ? 
 Or would you like us to give him goods of a 
 higher quality than he can pay for ? 
 
 DR. BENSAL (in a spirit of perversity). Ah, well, 
 what use is there in talking ? You cannot expect to go 
 on poisoning people with impunity. 
 
 MR. JONES (desperate). What? Poisoning peo- 
 ple? That is a very nice way of expressing it, no 
 doubt. But it is not a scholarly way of viewing the 
 situation, Dr. Bensal. Indeed, it is a very superficial 
 way. Very. Must the poor man have food or must he 
 not? . The question seems simple enough. And will 
 you tell me, in the name of common sense, what sort 
 of food you expect a family of eight, with a total in- 
 come, in the best of times, of $9.00 a week, to feed 
 upon? There is sickness, and there is unemployment. 
 We poison him? Pardon me. Doctor, but that is an 
 error. If he is poisoned, it is not by us, but by some 
 
ACT III. THE MIDDLE CLASS. JJ 
 
 one else. We always give him his money's, worth, and 
 the proof of it is that we haven't become rich by the 
 poor man. I haven't saved a penny since I have been 
 in the business, nor have any of the retailers. And I 
 can tell you we haven't been idling. Why, the poor 
 man is ground in the mill, and factory, and mine; he 
 is cheated and robbed in every turn of his life, from the 
 plug of tobacco for his pipe, to the cradle for his babe, 
 and the funeral for his worn-out wife. He is made to 
 pay the taxes in the form of high rents ; and there are 
 ten thousand other devices for getting the few pennies 
 out of his pay envelope ; and then, after he has nothing 
 left there, you come to the grocer and tell him, in a 
 spirit of humanity, that the poor man must have whole- 
 some food. That is a huge joke, Dr. Bensal ! 
 
 DR. BENSAL (paces up and down the room for a 
 few seconds, evidently much disturbed). You are per- 
 haps right. (Deliberately.) There is much truth in 
 what you've just said. Very much truth. (Helpless 
 and at bay, he becomes artificial and perverse.) But 
 you will have to cut out the sale of rotten food stuffs, 
 all the same! You may as well make up your mind. 
 (He paces up and down the room, making an effort 
 to appear as if he tried to repress anger. In this he 
 finally fails. He tries to m^ke his utterances appear 
 impetuous, but they sound calm and foolish.) As a 
 business man, a man in good standing in the commu- 
 nity, you ought to be ashamed, Mr. Jones, to try to 
 justify an unjustifiable act. (He tries to appear as 
 if zvorking himself up in a rage, but his inner calmness 
 sickens him. ) You have been selling poison for food — • 
 do you understand that? (He is now absolutely sick- 
 ened by his imbecility, and his last utterances sound 
 
78 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT lU. 
 
 hollow and cold). Do you understand? And you 
 haven't grown any poorer by it ! And I am not so 
 sure about that hard work of yours (He is ex- 
 hausted) . 
 
 MR. JONES. What do you know about that? 
 Have you ever conducted a wholesale business on a 
 small scale? What do you know about the Tartarus, 
 through which the middleman must wade neck-deep to 
 keep himself from bankruptcy ? A single wrong step, 
 and he sinks never to rise again. Do you think your 
 department is the only force against which we have to 
 contend ? I can assure you the Health Department is 
 only a straw on our backs — the straw which breaks the 
 camel's back. There is the Provision Trust, which 
 presses upon us and grinds us like a millstone the size 
 of a mountain. And there is the nether millstone, too, 
 hard as steel — Can you guess what the nether millstone 
 is? 
 
 DR. BEN SAL (with artificial impatience.) No! 
 
 MR. JONES. Then I'll tell you : Low wages. 
 
 DR. BEN SAL (aghast, he suddenly becomes nat- 
 ural) . Ah ! 
 
 MR. JONES. Aha ! You are beginning to under- 
 stand? But you don't know it all — no — not a thou- 
 sandth part— not if I kept on talking to you all day. 
 You must live it in order to understand it. You must 
 be a middle class business man to know his trials and 
 tribulations. I tell you we haven't blood enough in our 
 veins to quench the thirst of the Provision Trust from 
 above, which grinds us against the rock of low wages 
 below. And when our blood is drawn we must smile. 
 Do you understand that? W^e must smile! smile — 
 though we are in agony! And there isn't a leech in 
 
ACT III. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 79 
 
 creation that does not turn into a boa-constrictor the 
 moment it tastes our blood ; from the policeman on the 
 beat, and the food inspector, and the charity worker, 
 and the fashionable dressmaker, and milliner, and the 
 ocean-resort hotel proprietor, and the political heeler to 
 the trust magnate. I tell you we arc encompassed by 
 greater dangers in this civilized community than if we 
 had lived in the depths of the African jungles! 
 
 DR. BENSAL (ivifh an effort at sarcasm). And 
 for all that you still manage to live ? 
 
 MR. JONES. Yes ; so long as we have the alterna- 
 tive of surrendering either our money or our lives ; until 
 a reform administration turns up, which will be satisfied 
 with nothing short of our lives. After all, we have no 
 one but ourselves to blame. We wanted a reform ad- 
 ministration ; v/e have got it. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Was it any better under the old ad- 
 ministration ? 
 
 MR. JONES (zvith impatience) . I don't know. It's 
 a pretty hard choice to make between a thousand rats 
 and one tiger. You are resolved, then, to drive us to 
 bankruptcy? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. God forbid! But while this De- 
 partment is in my charge I am quite resolved to put an 
 end to the sale of poisonous food-stuffs in this city. 
 (He approaches Mr. Jones and takes his hand.) Mr. 
 Jones, you have taught me something for which I am 
 grateful. I hope we shall remain friends. 
 
 MR. JONES (sees a ray of hope). I am happy to 
 hear this. What is it, if I may ask? 
 
 DR. BENSAL (still holding his hand). That you 
 are a member of a class which must become extinct in 
 the very near future. There is no place for you in our 
 
go THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT III. 
 
 society. You are lost — utterly, irretrievably; you are 
 beyond hope and beyond redemption. In the history of 
 mankind — 
 
 MR. JONES ( tearing away his hand from the grasp 
 ef Dr, Bensal). I thank you, Doctor. This is very po- 
 lite of you ! But I haven't come here to be insulted \ 
 Good by, sir. 
 
 Exit Mr, Jones. Dr. Bensal remains standing in the 
 centre of the room with drooped head. He is deeply 
 absorbed in thought. After a few seconds he covers 
 his face with his hands, as if trying to arrange and con- 
 centrate his thoughts. While he is in this attitude, he 
 does not notice the entrance of Miss Clemens. The gin 
 divines something unusual in Dr. BensaVs appearance, 
 something which she evidently admires. She is reluctant 
 to disturb him; or, perhaps, she is reluctant to interrupt 
 herself in her pleasure of admiring him. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS {in a low voice). Dr. Bensal. 
 
 Dr. Bensal removes his hands from his face, and 
 stares at her blankly. Finally, with a sense of realisa- 
 tion : 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Miss Clemens ! {His thoughts are 
 now rapidly arranging themselves in order.) Miss 
 Clemens — the man — who left here just a moment ago 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Mr. Jones? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. A hungry wolf ! A beast of the 
 forest at bay ! Understand — he must live — he must 
 live ! Yet how can he ? The forests have been cleared all 
 around — civilization everywhere! What can the wolf 
 do? It is the working of the fatal law of evolution — - 
 the blind, the inevitable, the pitiless law of evolution t 
 A terrible thing ! A species is becoming extinct under 
 
ACT 1151. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 8l 
 
 •ur very eyes — an awful sight ! What makes it still 
 more awful is the fact that the wolves are endowed 
 with an acute human intelligence — they see their inev- 
 itable doom, they feel the agony of their hopeless situa- 
 tion ! Oh, it is a pity ! No, no ! They are wolves at 
 bay! They cannot be trusted, they must not be relied 
 upon! 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. The human wolf has a great 
 saving quality. Dr. Bensal. He can accommodate him- 
 self to conditions with a wonderful facility, and become 
 a serviceable dog. He will perish as a wolf only to 
 reappear as a dog. 
 
 DR. BENSAL (pensively and sadly). It seems as 
 if human society were an open book to you. Ah, wc 
 university professors are slow thinkers! (He ap- 
 proaches her and reaches out for her hand, hut she 
 moves away with a slow side-movement. He does not 
 perceive that the movement on her part is deliberate^ 
 and follows her slowly). But our work — upon whom 
 can we now depend for support in our work? (He 
 again reaches out for her hand, and she again evades 
 it). 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Dr. Anderson is here. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Dr. Anderson? Really! He comes 
 like an angel-saviour in the right moment. (He rushes 
 toward the door and opens it.) Dr. Anderson — Dr. 
 Anderson ! Come here ! 
 
 Enter Dr. Anderson. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. How do you do, Bensal, how 
 do you do? 
 
 DR. BENSAL (freely expresses his joy by shaking 
 Dr, Anderson's hand). Dr. Anderson, how are you? 
 
S2 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT III. 
 
 Miss Clemens hesitates a few seconds and leaves the 
 room. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Now, tell me, Bensal—you 
 seem to be in excellent spirits — are you still enjoying 
 the work in this Department as well as when I saw you 
 last ? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Yes; and even more so as I go 
 along. Of course, the duties of the office are at times 
 — what shall I call it ? — onerous ? — no, I will rather say 
 perplexing. But all in all it is very wholesome work. 
 It is live work, Dr. Anderson. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. But I fear you are neglecting a 
 little your studies of the causes of infant mortality? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. On the contrary, I am pursuing that 
 study from a more relevant standpoint — rather let mc 
 say from its more immediately practical side. I shall 
 have very valuable material for your use in your presi- 
 dent's annual address to the Society for the Study and 
 Prevention of Infant Mortality. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Thank you. What is the nature 
 of the material? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. It is a study of the relation of the 
 earning capacity of parents to infant mortality and 
 morbidity. I have taken up that study in connec- 
 tion with the work of this Department. I 
 have two very able young men working on it. The 
 results of the investigations are simply astonishing. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. I see. And how is your pro- 
 ject for municipal milk dispensaries progressing? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Dr. Anderson, I fear — I cannot de- 
 pend much upon the support of the taxpayers in this 
 project. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. What? Why? 
 
ACT III. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 83 
 
 DR. BEN SAL. I fear— it is almost certain— that 
 they will not support it. The fact is they do not care — 
 they do not give a scrap Vv^hat is going to happen to the 
 child — or to anybody else, for that matter. They have 
 none but their own sordid interests at heart. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON (aghast). Oh, come, come, don't 
 speak in that manner about our taxpayers. Why, Ben- 
 sal, without the assistance of the taxpayers we might 
 as well give up the work to which you and I have de- 
 voted our lives. You forget that the taxpayers are the 
 very ones who are supporting our hospitals, our asy- 
 lums, our foundling institutions — everything, every- 
 thing. You must not give way to a pessimistic mood. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. A pessimistic mood? I am not sure 
 of that. I must have time to think 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Of course it is a pessimistic 
 mood. I am sure you are suffering from an indiges- 
 tion. Indigestible food has been the source of many a 
 great evil. It forms the basis of all pessimism. We, 
 medical practitioners, know that. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Perhaps you are right. I have par- 
 taken of an indigestible dish. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. You have sinned, Bensal. You 
 have indulged too freely of late in the trivialities of 
 everyday life. Get back into the fold of our goddess, 
 Bensal. Pay less attention to trifles, and more to the 
 enduring facts of science. Do not forget: Veritas vos 
 liberabit. 
 
 DR. BENSAL (with levity). High priest, I am 
 penitent ! 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Of course, we must all live. 
 We all have more or less of worldly business of our 
 own. But we must not take those things too seriously. 
 
^4 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT III. 
 
 It is not worth our while to make enemies and perhaps 
 injure the higher aims of our lives. 
 
 DR. BEN SAL. Make enemies? But how is it pos- 
 sible otherwise ? Copernicus and Galileo made enemies, 
 even though the subjects with which they dealt were 
 the stars, millions of miles away. How much more are 
 we apt to make enemies of people when they them- 
 selves are the subjects of our study and our business! 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. My dear Bensal, I have prac- 
 tised medicine these thirty-five years, and I am not 
 aware of a single person ill-disposed towards me. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. But what is the secret of making 
 friends, without at the same time making enemies ? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. The secret lies in the ability to 
 sacrifice immediate and little things in order to ac- 
 complish more distant and greater things. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. But Copernicus and Galileo were 
 willing to sacrifice themselves altogether. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Those were other times. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Then what about Haeckel, in our 
 times ? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Well— there is the same unfor- 
 tunate disposition of not being able to concede little 
 matters for the sake of greater advantages to the cause 
 of science. Take your own case. You cannot make up 
 your mind to make trifling concessions to the taxpayers, 
 ■even though you know that such a course is almost cer- 
 tain to ruin a project which, if successfully completed, 
 would be a godsend to the children of the poor. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Dr. Anderson, that is out of the 
 'question. The concessions which they demand are not 
 little. Under the conditions which the taxpayers would 
 Mke to maintain, municipal milk dispensaries would 
 
ACT III. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 85. 
 
 amount to absurdly grotesque institutions, absolutely 
 useless, entirely out of place. No, no; if we succeed in 
 accomplishing anything at all, it will be in spite of the 
 taxpayers. We can never depend upon their co-opera- 
 tion. But the law is on our side, and the profession 
 will give us support. You, as the head of the profes-^ 
 sion 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Who knows for how long? 
 
 DR. BEN SAL. You will accept, of course, the 
 presidency of the Society for the Study and Preven- 
 tion of Infant Mortality for the coming term? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. I do not know ; I do not know* 
 I haven't thought of it. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Of course you will. The Society will 
 not part with you as long as we can help it. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Thank you. I have been serv- 
 ing the profession now 35 years. I suppose I shall have- 
 to answer the call of duty the little time that remains 
 me. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Little time ! Oh, come, Dr. Ander- 
 son ; you are a much younger man than many a young' 
 man of thirty-five. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Perhaps in spirit; but not in 
 body, not in body, Bensal. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. You are as supple as a boy. Ar- 
 terio-sclerosis has never touched you. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Yes ; but looks are deceptive. 
 My strength is failing me, Bensal. The burden of men-^ 
 tal anguish is weighing me down. To you, as to my 
 friend, I do not hesitate to confess it. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I am very sorry to hear that. Has 
 there been anything wrong with the Society? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. No ; on the contrary, the pro- 
 
S6 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT III. 
 
 fession is more than ever alive to questions of public 
 welfare. I am happy in the thought that the work of 
 my life has not been in vain. But I am afflicted with 
 personal reverses. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Anything wrong with the children? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. No, no; it is purely a business 
 matter. Bensal, we doctors make poor business men. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Have you met with business re- 
 verses ? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Yes ; and I shall never meet with 
 them again. Because I shall not engage again in busi- 
 ness for a mere money profit. It is not becoming a 
 man of science. I have transgressed once, I shall not 
 transgress again. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I am very sorry to hear that. I 
 hope your losses have not been very serious? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Very serious indeed. I am 
 about to lose my entire worldly fortune — ^the savings 
 of a lifetime. I had hoped that by a life of abstemious- 
 ness and self-denial I might be enabled to bequeath to 
 the cause for which you and I have labored hard a little 
 money, and thus advance the cause, so to say, by the 
 very act of my death. But my hopes have been 
 wrecked. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. The work which you have contrib- 
 uted to the cause of the infant is certain to overshadow 
 any money bequests that you could possibly make. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Thank you. But money is 
 needed for the practical part of the work. Without 
 , money we are helpless. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. True, m.oney is needed. But what 
 good will it do to grieve over something that is beyond 
 
ACT III. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 87 
 
 recovery ? You will harm the cause by brooding over 
 it. We need your mind, Dr. Anderson. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. The fact is— it is not beyond re- 
 covery. 
 
 DR. BENSx-\L. Oh, really? Then things may yet 
 come to a good turn ? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Yes, if— if you will help me out 
 of the difficulty. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I ? I should consider it a privilege 
 to be in a position to relieve you of any possible anx- 
 iety. Tell me what I must do. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Bensal, I was foolish enough to 
 engage in the real estate business. I had known no 
 more about it than the man in the moon. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I should think you knew mighty 
 little about it. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. It had been presented to me as 
 a safe and profitable investment. I bought a number 
 of little tenement houses, and turned them over forth- 
 with to an agency on contract. It has turned out, how- 
 ever, that the houses are in bad shape. The fact is 
 there is no provision for drainage there. Had I had an 
 idea of the true state of affairs, be assured I would not 
 have gone near them. Bensal, here is my word of 
 honor that in five years — that is, ever since I have been 
 in possession of the property — I have not been there 
 even once. I only drew the profits. The agency at- 
 tended to the collection of the rents, the payment of the 
 taxes, and, in fact, to everything connected with the 
 maintenance of the property. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. But where is the difficutly? Make 
 the necessary improvements and be done with it. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. The necessary improvements 
 
88 THE MIDDLE CLASS. Am! IH. 
 
 are of such a nature that they involve not only the re- 
 building of the houses, but the raising of the ground as 
 well. You can see what it means. The very grouikl is 
 missing from under the houses. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Where is the property located? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. I thought you knew. The prop- 
 erty is located in the neighborhood known as the Hook. 
 
 DR. BENSAL (with apprehension). How many 
 houses are there ? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Seventy-four. 
 
 DR. BENSAL (zmth an effort to repress his anx- 
 iety). In charge of Lucas & Lucas? 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Yes. 
 
 DR. BENSAL (zvith sudden and deep emotion). 
 Those houses ! You own them ! ( With his elbows on 
 the desk, he supports his head with his hands, partially 
 covering his face.) 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. I have told you how I came by 
 them. Forty thousand dollars ! The cause of the pre- 
 vention of infant mortality loses forty thousand dollars ! 
 
 DR. BENSAL {ixjtth icy calmness) . The cause of 
 the infant will not lose — if anything it will gain by that 
 loss of forty thousand dollars. (He takes a paper from 
 the desk.) Here are the facts. Of all the children 
 imder the age of ten who have lived in those houses for 
 the past five years, not twenty-five per cent, have sur- 
 vived. The greater number have died in infancy from 
 every possible contagious disease. The place is a ver- 
 itable pest. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. You are right. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I thank you. I knew you would 
 admit it. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. I must admit what I know is 
 
ACT HI. THE MIDDLE CLASS. O^ 
 
 the truth. Still, there is a chance of saving the nroney 
 without continuing the condition for any length of time. 
 
 DR. BEN SAL. I should be happy to give you crery 
 asssitance in my power. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Will you give me a month's 
 grace ? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. With pleasure. Two months if you 
 please. Within two months you will begin the work 
 on the improvements. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Either I or someone else. That, 
 of course, would not make any difference? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Of course not. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. Bensal, I am ashamed of hav- 
 ing ever owned that nuisance, I thank you for enab- 
 ling me to get rid of it. Will you withdraw the pros- 
 ecution ? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Withdraw it? Why? I can simply 
 suspend it for the time being. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. But under these circumstances 
 I cannot sell the property. You understand that no one 
 is going to buy a property involved in a law suit of this 
 kind. (He places his hand over Dr, BensaVs, which is 
 on the desk.) 
 
 DR. BENSAL (suddenly withdrazving his hand 
 from Dr. Anderson's, as if the latter were a 
 hed'hot iron). What! Is that what you mean to do? 
 To sell the property without informing the buyer of the 
 true condition of affairs? Dr. Anderson! You! No, 
 no, no! Of course I shall not withdraw the prosecu- 
 tion ! But you can have the two months' grace. I have 
 promised you that. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON. I see you regret having 
 granted me that ? 
 
90 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT III, 
 
 DR. BENSAL (busies himself with some papers). 
 That does not matter. 
 
 DR. ANDERSON {after a minute's uncomfortable 
 silence, rises). I see you are busy. Pardon me for 
 having troubled you, Dr. Bensal. Good afternoon. 
 
 DR. BENSAL (zvithout looking up). Good aftei- 
 noon. 
 
 Exit Dr. Anderson. Dr. Bensal rises, takes a few 
 strides about the room, then approaches the desk and 
 fumbles listlessly some articles on it. Suddenly the 
 door opens, and Miss Clemens, followed by Dr. and 
 Mrs. Beacon, enter the room. 
 
 DR. BENSAL (suddenly azvakened). Mrs. Beacon! 
 George ! Oh, George ! (He gets hold of Dr. Beacon's 
 both hands.) 
 
 DR. BEACON. What has happened to you, Charles? 
 
 DR. BENSAL (relinquishing Dr. Beacon's hands). 
 Hyenas ! Hyenas all ! (He rushes to Miss Clemens 
 and grasps her hand.) How well you have known 
 them, Miss Clemens ! I wonder now how it was that I 
 have not understood you when you warned me against 
 them. What a wonderful girl you are, Miss Clemens ! 
 
 MISS CLEMENS (confused, perplexed and very 
 happy, she ivithdraivs gently from the doctor's hold). 
 Really? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. But now we shall fall to work. We 
 shall teach the hyenas some wholesome lessons in hu- 
 manity. Will you take down for me a couple of letters, 
 Miss Clemens? (To Dr. and Mrs. Beacon.) Pardon 
 me. Be seated; we shall return directly. (Exit with 
 Miss Clemens.) 
 
 MRS. BEACON (appalled). George! 
 
ACT III. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 9I 
 
 DR. BEACON (with stoic calmness). What it is, 
 dear? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. What is it? Haven't you seen? 
 
 DR. BEACON. What do you mean, sweet? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Do you pretend not to have 
 noticed ? 
 
 DR. BEACON. I have noticed quite a number of 
 tkings these thirty-five odd years, my dear. Do you re- 
 fer to any particular thing, or to all things in general ? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. I hate you! 
 
 DR. BEACON. Don't tell me that, sweetest ; better 
 let us change the subject. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Change the subject? What sub- 
 ject? 
 
 DR. BEACON. I really don't know, dear. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. George, dear, please don^t. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Of course not, my girl; I shan't 
 for the world. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Oh, please, George, don't do that. 
 Tell me, haven't you really noticed anything — in the 
 behavior of — Dr. Ben sal? 
 
 DR. BEACON. With regard to the hyenas? 
 
 MRS. BEACON (angrily). No; I mean towards 
 Mary. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Singular number then : the hyena. 
 Of course I have. But why didn't you say so outright? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Don't try to dodge the subject 
 again. What do you think of it? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Think of it? Nothing, of course. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. George, you are outrageous ! 
 
 DR. BEACON. But what would you expect me to 
 think of it? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. I don't expect you to think any- 
 
92 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT III. 
 
 thing. I only want your opinion. Come, now, don't 
 try to get away from the subject in that manner. It is 
 cowardly! Do you approve of their relations? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Let me see. I really cannot say 
 that I am aware of any relations between them that I 
 do not approve of. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. What! Of all the scandalous 
 things you have ever uttered, that is certainly the most 
 scandalous ! Now listen. It concerns Mary. She is a 
 young and inexperienced girl. 
 
 DR. BEACON. I might concede your imputation as 
 to her inexperience, but as to her youth, really, my 
 dear 
 
 MRS. BEACON. I want you to be serious now. 
 Listen. Dr. Bensal may be a very good man, to be sure, 
 but he is only a man, after all. 
 
 DR. BEACON. My dear, how lightly you speak of 
 a man. Hear her — only a man ! 
 
 MRS. BEACON. And remember, he is a married 
 man. Think of the scandal! Of course. Dr. Bensal 
 will, in the end, get out of the water dry enough, he is 
 a man. But Mary — think of it — she is a girl. 
 
 DR. BEACON. That is just what I say: think of 
 Mary ! A girl near thirty, with the soul of a woman, 
 and with as many opportunities for the expression of 
 her womanhood as if she had been locked up behind 
 iron bars. My dear, why do you begrudge the poor 
 girl a little fun? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. But her reputation ! 
 
 DR. BEACON. Her reputation, indeed. Well, then, 
 we'll save her reputation. We'll suppress forever, we'll 
 stifle the most sacred principle of a woman's existence; 
 we shall tread under foot the sole joy of her life; we 
 
ACT III. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 93 
 
 shall snuff out the spark which had been lit somewhere 
 a hundred million years ago, and kept alive through 
 untold difficulties and dangers in its wanderings 
 through ten thousand forms — but we'll save her reputa- 
 tion ! Indeed, my dear, what care we for nature's labors 
 of a hundred million years, or for the glory of her im- 
 mutable and eternal laws, when a reputation is. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. George, you are mad! {They are 
 mterriipted by the entrance of Dr. Bensal and Miss 
 Clemens. ) 
 
 DR. BENSAL. George, I shall have to modify my 
 plans somewhat. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Indeed? What has happened? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. It is almost certain that I cannot ex- 
 pect any assistance in my work from the Amalgamated 
 Charities, or from any of the societies connected with 
 them. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Indeed? Ah, well— what do those 
 societies amount to, after all? You have the large and 
 powerful class of taxpayers, those who support our 
 hospitals, our foundling asylums, our homes for the 
 aged, our 
 
 DR. BENSAL. No, no ; they will oppose me. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Well, then, you still have what you 
 call the heavy batteries of science on your side. The 
 medical profession is lined up solidly behind you. 
 With such a general as Dr. Anderson 
 
 DR. BENSAL. No, no. We can expect no co-op- 
 eration from that quarter. I am coming to the conclu- 
 sion that those elements thrive on filth, on disease, on 
 death itself ! {Suddenly, with force.) But we have the 
 law on our side, and we shall make use of it to purge 
 this unfortunate city of the pestilence — > — 
 
94 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IV. 
 
 DR. BEACON. What was it you've said you had 
 on your side ? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. The law 
 
 DR. BEACON {boisterously and mephistopheU- 
 cally). Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho! The law! 
 
 They all remain dumbfounded by his laughter, and 
 stare at him with a kind of awe. Curtain. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 The Mayor's private office. A spacious, well-fur- 
 nished room. In the front is a large flat-top desk, on 
 which are writing materials, two telephones, and a 
 number of books — evidently reports of the various City 
 Departments. There are wall-bookcases, with very 
 new-looking books in them. The windows in the rear 
 wall are of stained glass. The room, has two doors: 
 one, to the right, which is the Mayor's private entrance, 
 the other to the left, which communicates with the pub- 
 lic reception room. 
 
 Mayor White is seated on the edge of the desk, en- 
 gaged in a zvarm conversation with his messenger, Mr. 
 McNidty. 
 
 The Mayor's messenger is a young man of about 29, 
 lean, smooth-faced, agile and sleek. He stands before 
 the Mayor, and gesticulates freely during the conver- 
 sation. 
 
 THE MAYOR. How soon did he rally? 
 
 MESSENGER. Just like that— in a jiffy. We 
 cert'ny got fooled, every one of us in the crowd. Well, 
 sir, up he jumps and straight after Bunk. Bunk kinder 
 looked at him sidewise like. He couldn't beileve his 
 own eyes ; and before he got time to know what hap- 
 
ACT IV. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 95 
 
 pened, Grouchy landed him a whack in the gizzard, and 
 down he went, hke a log. 
 
 THE MAYOR (zvith enthusiasm). Gosh! Mc- 
 Nulty, you're certainly a lucky dog. You're crying" 
 about the hundred you've lost — I'd have given three 
 hundred if I could have been there. (With a sigh.) 
 Such is life ! 
 
 MESSENGER. I don't see why you couldn't. 
 
 THE MAYOR. You don't? 
 
 MESENGER. Indeed I don't. I'm sure every- 
 body'd be only too glad. 
 
 THE MAYOR. What? You're a fool, McNulty. 
 With all the blue faces, and long chins, and charity as- 
 sociations, and church people, and the respectable pro- 
 fessions, and prominent citizens in the city ? What are 
 you talking about? Mad? Now, go on. 
 
 MESSENGER. Well, sir, I saw myself a hundred, 
 to the good. But I suppose I guessed too soon. x\nd 
 you ought to hear the crowd howl — gee ! Well, 'twas 
 his good luck that time was called just then. They 
 rubbed him down, and I'll be switched if in a minute 
 Bunky wasn't in fine shape again, all ready for the hot- 
 test yet. This time he started Grouchy on a run after 
 him — that's his old trick, you know. And Grouchy let 
 himself be fooled, fightin' the air like an idjut. Bunk 
 just kept leading him on and on, till Grouchy probably 
 must have thought all he had to do was to foller. And 
 then, on a sudden, like a flash of lightnin', Bunk tapped 
 him right on the snoot — bang! — like a sledgehammer, 
 and the blood rushed all over him and blinded him. He 
 didn't do a thing but waved his fists in the air, and 
 then Bunky — like that — whack! whack! all over him, 
 till he turned like a shot dog and went down. That's 
 
go THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IV. 
 
 the time my hundred was gone. By the way, you know, 
 Norton is waitin'< 
 
 THE MAYOR (jumps from the table as if struck). 
 Confound you, why haven't you told me? You keep 
 me here with your stories, while Norton is out there! 
 Call him quick! 
 
 MESSENGER. Yes, sir. (Exit.) 
 
 Enter the ''boss/' Norton. He is a man of about 55, 
 fat and powerful. His face is knotted and gnarled, 
 and his complexion is florid to a purplish tinge. His 
 little eyes are deep-set, and appear like two pieces of 
 ice. His dress is of the latest cut. A large diamond 
 stud ornaments his bosom, and he wears diamond rings 
 and seals on his fingers. A tall silk hat towers over 
 his head. He smokes a cigar continually, even while 
 speaking. 
 
 THE MAYOR (with great politeness and humil- 
 ity). How do you do, Mr. Norton. Won't you take a 
 seat? (They shake hands.) 
 
 MR. NORTON (sitting down heavily). How do 
 you do, sir ; how do you do ? 
 
 Enter McNulty, as if after some papers. A single 
 glance from Norton, and the lad fades away from the 
 room as if by magic. 
 
 MR. NORTON (in a very gruff voice). One has 
 to wait a devilish long while out there nowadays. 
 (Clears his throat.) Sit down, White; lefs get dawn 
 to business at once. 
 
 THE MAYOR (taking a seat humbly). What is 
 the trouble, Mr. Norton? 
 
 MR. NORTON. Trouble? Plenty of trouble! 
 That's a devilish mess you've brewed. Personal ap- 
 pointment, too. It's enough to make one sick. And 
 
ACT IV. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 97 
 
 much as I have tried to keep you going riglit, you will 
 go wrong every time. And what the devil ever put it 
 into your head to appoint that silk-stocking idiot? 
 
 THE MAYOR. You mean Dr. Bensal? 
 
 MR. NORTON. H'm! You know who I am 
 referring to, at least. That's great. By Heaven, 
 White, get him out quick. He'll ruin us all. He'll put 
 you into a hole from which you'll never crawl out. Get 
 him out quick and be over with it. 
 
 THE MAYOR. That's a mighty hard proposition, 
 Mr. Norton. How in the world can I? The term of 
 probation is over. I'd have to prefer charges. And 
 where am I going to get them? 
 
 MR. NORTON. Don't be a fool, White. I 
 don't give a hang how you do it, but you've 
 got to do it, and that's enough said. Now, mind you, 
 Norton is a friend to you, and Norton knows what he's 
 talking about. There will probably be a committee 
 from the Merchants and Manufacturers' Association 
 to see you about that matter this morning. Tell them 
 YES. You understand? Yes, gentlemen, is the word. 
 And, moreover, mean what you say, and stand by your 
 word afterwards. 
 
 THE MAYOR. But how in the world 
 
 MR. NORTON. If you find any trouble, just come 
 to me. But I want you to begin doing things on your 
 own hook. Let me see what you can do in this in- 
 stance. Prove yourself a man for once. And now, 
 good morning! (Rises mid shakes the Mayor's hand.) 
 
 THE MAYOR. Mr. Norton 
 
 MR. NORTON. Good by. See you later. Let me 
 know how you get along. 
 
 Exit Mr. Norton. Enter the messenger. 
 
98 . THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IV. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Call up Dr. Bensal. I want him 
 here immediately. 
 
 The Mayor strolls about the room, zvhile the mes- 
 senger is calling the Health Commissioner by telephone. 
 
 MESSENGER. He'll be here in a few minutes. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Confound that silk-stocking fool. 
 Just let him come here. By Jingo, I'll make him jump 1 
 
 MESSENGER. Dr. Beacon asked to accept his re- 
 spects. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Where is he? 
 
 MESSENGER. He's been out there a minute ago. 
 
 THE MAYOR. H he is still there, call him in. 
 
 Exit messenger. A few moments later Dr. Beacon 
 appears. 
 
 THE MAYOR {all happiness and cordiality). Hello, 
 Beacon ! How is my good old friend ? {Advances to 
 shake his hand.) 
 
 DR. BEACON. Pretty well, thank you. How are 
 you? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Be seated. I am in trouble, Bea- 
 con. 
 
 DR. BEACON. In trouble again? 
 
 THE MAYOR {gravely). Beacon, I hope you are 
 convinv^ed that I have done my best to please you, and 
 that as a friend I am capable of sacrifices? 
 
 DR. BEACON. I am sure of that, Mr. White. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Don't call me Mister White. To 
 you my name is Jim. Jim — you understand. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Well, then, Jim, what is your 
 trouble ? 
 
 THE MAYOR {almost in a whisptr) Beacon, our 
 friend Bensal has turned out to be a fool. 
 
ACT IV. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 99 
 
 DR. BEACON. Don't say so (he smiles con- 
 tentedly). 
 
 THE MAYOR (encouraged by Dr. Beacon's good 
 humor) . A downright fool, upon my word ! Why, he's 
 aroused against himself the entire camorra of taxpay- 
 ers, the whole bunch of crooks ! 
 
 DR. BEACON. Really? What have they done? 
 THE MAYOR. What have they done? Nothing in 
 particular, of course. They have simply persisted in 
 their crooked ways, the same as always. Better ask 
 what he has done, 
 
 DR. BEACON. What has he done? 
 
 THE MAYOR. He has made an attempt to cure a 
 disease by boiling the patient. He has interdicted the 
 sale of rotten food stuffs ; has ordered whole blocks 
 of pestilent shanties to be pulled down ; he has started 
 a project for municipal milk dispensaries which, since it 
 is not chimerical, is all the more dangerous for that 
 very reason — it is a move in the direction of raising 
 the tax-rate, and you know what that means. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Too bad, too bad. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Now, I don't mean to say that I 
 do not approve of Dr. Bensal's ideas ; but do you know 
 what we should need for their successful realization? 
 
 DR. BEACON. What? 
 
 THE MAYOR. The absolute control over an army 
 of at least one million picked men, with a dozen or so 
 dreadnoughts, equipped with the latest twelve-inch 
 guns, and ordnance and supplies to suffice for a con- 
 tinuous bombardment during a period of one hundred 
 years ! 
 
 DR. BEACON. Is it as bad as all that? 
 
 THE MAYOR. I am not exaggerting one iota. Re- 
 
lOO THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IV. 
 
 member, we are dealing here with the taxpayers. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Oh, to be sure. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Now, George, you understand my 
 situation. Can you advise m.e w^hat I am to do? 
 
 DR. BEACON. Perhaps if you explain these things 
 to Dr. Bensal- 
 
 THE MAYOR. This is just what I intend to do. 
 But what if he persists in his course? 
 
 DR. BEACON. I really don't see what you could do 
 in that case, except to ask him to resign. 
 
 TEIE MxA.YOR {surprised and delighted). On my 
 word, George, you are a dear fellow. But what if he 
 should refuse to resign? You know the term of pro- 
 bation is over, and I really haven't anything against 
 
 Dr. Bensal from a legal point of view. If he should 
 
 refuse, it would be a matter of extreme difficulty to 
 compel him to resign. Besides, to be frank with you, 
 I rather like Dr. Bensal personally, and wouldn't care 
 to make things unpleasant for him. 
 
 DR. BEACON. I don't apprehend any necessity of 
 going to extremes. Dr. Bensal is a sensible fellow. 
 
 THE MAYOR. It is a pity. A good man ! George, 
 I tell you, that amid a cringing, a fawning and flatter- 
 ing bunch of rags — mere rags. — it is very refreshing to 
 see a man with the backbone of Dr. Bensal. 'Tis a pity 
 to sacrifice such a man. But politics is politics. The 
 welfare of the crook above ever)^hing. 
 
 Enter the messenger. 
 
 MESSENGER. The Commissioner of Health is 
 here. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Now, good by, my boy, and thank 
 you„ I shall see you by and by. (Shakes Dr. Beacon's 
 
ACT IV. THE MIDDLE CLASS. lOl 
 
 hand.) By this door, please. (Leads him tozvard the 
 private entrance.) 
 
 DR. BEACON. Good by, Mr. Mayor. {Exit.) 
 
 THE MAYOR. A first-class fellow, that Beacon, 
 upon my word. Now, you say Dr. Bensal is here? 
 
 MESSENGER. And a committee, too, of the Mer- 
 chants and Manufacturers' Association. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Confound it, I don't know what 
 to tell them. But I'll make that fool jump. He cer- 
 tainly has got us into a hole. 
 
 MESSENGER. And the chief, too, Mr. Norton, 
 looked to me out of sorts 
 
 THE MAYOR. McNulty, you keep your mouth 
 shut. 
 
 MESSENGER. Don't be mad, boss. McNulty is 
 always earnin his salt aroun' this office. If you have 
 any difference with the Health Commissioner, why 
 don't you consult McNulty? He can tell you a thing- 
 or two now and then ; you ought to have known that 
 from experience. 
 
 THE MAYOR {undecided). What have you got 
 up your sleeve ? Come now, out with it ! 
 
 MESSENGER. Oh, not much; only I seen Dr. 
 Scringer last night at the scrap, and he talked to me. 
 And I think I can show you a way of getting rid of 
 the highbrow as easy as swallerin' a straight. 
 
 They go to the rear of the stage and speak inaudihly 
 for a couple of minutes. The Mayor is evidently very 
 much amused. At the end of the conversation he 
 laughs boisterously, and slaps the messenger on the 
 hack. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Ho ! ho ! ho ! ho ! Is this what the 
 highbrow is up to ? Ho ! ho ! ho ! McNulty, don't let 
 
102 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IV. 
 
 the hundred you've lost last night worry you. I'll see 
 that you get it back one way or another. By the gods, 
 boy, you are worth your weight in plum pudding ! Ho ! 
 ho ! ho ! There won't be any difficulty with committees 
 now. Yes, that will be my answer^ — yes, gentlemen! 
 But look here, McNulty — mum! Now you under- 
 stand me— absolutely and unequivocally mum ! Should 
 I find that you have so much as uttered a word on the 
 subject to anyone — no matter who it may be — I'll put 
 you on the scrap-heap, or my name isn't White. 
 
 MESSENGER. Don't worry, boss. McNulty 
 knows his business better than you think he docs. 
 Shall I call the Commissioner now? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Just wait a minute. Here — can I 
 trust you with a delicate matter ? 
 
 MESSENGER. Go ahead, Mr. Mayor; and mind, 
 McNulty knows where his bread and butter lays, 
 
 THE MAYOR. Look here. Get here Mrs. Bensai— 
 by this door (points to the private door.) Have her 
 ready by the time I am through with the committee. 
 But mind — she must not be seen. 
 
 MESSENGER. All right, sir. All you've got to 
 do is to say so — I understand the rest. You won't be 
 very long with Dr. Bensai ? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Only a few minutes. Now send 
 him in and fade away. 
 
 Exit the messenger. The Mayor gets into his seat, 
 behind the desk. A remarkable change takes place in 
 his appearance. His countenance assumes the sober 
 and staid expression of the statesman. All of his 
 movements become slow and deliberate. His very 
 Prince Albert appears to have smoothed itself out and 
 become longer. The Mayor^s voice, in the conversa- 
 
ACT IV. THE MIDDLE CLASS. IO3 
 
 tions ivhich follozv, is sez'cral notes lozvcr, and his 
 utterances are marked zvith a conciseness and gravity 
 zvhich harmonize in a remarkable manner zvith his gen- 
 eral aspect. In the space of a fezv seconds Jimmy 
 White is transformed into the respectable, respected, 
 suave, serious, firm, sensible and politic Mayor White, 
 
 Enter Dr. Bensal. The Mayor rises, advances to 
 meet him, and shakes hands ivith him. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Good morning, Dr. Bensal; good 
 morning. Come here, take a seat. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Good morning, Mr. Mayor. {They 
 both take seats.) How are you this morning? 
 
 THE JMAYOR. Fine, thank you. Have a cigar, 
 Doctor. (Hands him a cigar, takes one for himself 
 and strikes a match.) Have a hght. (He holds the 
 lighted match to Dr. BcnsaVs cigar, then lights his 
 aim.) Now, then, Dr. Bensal, I understand you are 
 having a little trouble with some of our taxpayers? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Yes; quite a little. A number of 
 them stubbornly refuse to obey the health laws. I have 
 tried every possible means of coaxing them into doing 
 the right thing, and was compelled to institute prose- 
 cutions as a last resort. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Ah, well I don't see what else you 
 could do. When people treat the law with contempt, 
 we must show them its force. Just keep it up, and 
 have in mind that I am behind you. Your light is out. 
 (Lights another match and holds the^ flame to Dr. Ben- 
 sals cigar.) I hope that at the end of my term there 
 will not be a single individual who would be able to 
 say that either fear or favor played any part in the 
 present administration. By the way, your project for 
 municipal milk dispensaries is coming along nicely. 
 
l64 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IV. 
 
 Here, read this. {He hands him a document, officially 
 hacked zvith blue paper.) The City Solicitor's draft 
 of the Bill for the EstabHshment of Municipal Milk 
 Dispensaries. I just received it this morning, and I 
 want you to tell me what you think of it. 
 
 DR. BENSAL {after having perused the document 
 carefully). Excellently drawn. Just the thing-. {Re- 
 turns the document to the Mayor.) 
 
 THE MAYOR {folding the paper and tapping it 
 zvith his fingers.) Isn't it? {Winking significantly to 
 Dr. Bensal.) We'll push it, too. You just work 
 your end of it with the profession. I'll attend to the 
 political part of it. How is the typhoid situation? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Well in hand. This month's re- 
 port will show a remarkable falling off in the number 
 of cases. 
 
 THE MAYOR. That is all, then. I am very glad 
 you are satisfied with the draft of the bill. Good 
 morning, Doctor. Take good care of yourself. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Thank you. Good morning. 
 
 They shake hands. Exit Dr. Bensal. The Mayor 
 opens the door and calls: 
 THE MAYOR. Come in, gentlemen, if you please. 
 
 Enter the committee of the Merchants and Manu- 
 facturers' Association — Mr. Adams, Mr. Jones, First, 
 Second and Third Prominent Citizens. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Good morning, gentlemen; I am 
 very glad to see you here. Be seated, please. 
 
 THE COMMITTEE. Good morning, Mr. Mayor. 
 (They all shake hands.) 
 
 THE MAYOR. What can I do for you, gentle- 
 men? 
 
 MR. ADAMS. It is a matter of extreme impor- 
 
ACT IV. THE MIDDLE CLASS. IO5 
 
 tance. We come to ask you to intercede in behalf of 
 the business interests of the city, knowing, as we do, 
 that you have always had those interests at heart. 
 
 THE MAYOR. At all times. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. To be direct, then, we beUeve that 
 the Health Department, or, to be more precise, the 
 present Health Commissioner, is dealing unfairly with 
 the business and property interests of this city. 
 
 THE MAYOR {zvith evident surprise). Dr. 
 Bensal ? 
 
 MR. ADAMS. Dr. Bensal. We do not mean to 
 impute to him any wrong motives for his actions. On 
 the contrary, we must acknowledge that he is entirely 
 given to the interests of the department in his charge. 
 But business is the life-blood of the community. Any 
 measure that will in any way interfere with the busi- 
 ness life of the city, is an injury to the city. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Perfectly correct. 
 
 MR. ADAMS. Take, for instance, the case of Mr. 
 Jones. He conducts a large wholesale grocery estab- 
 lishment. Now, every one knows that in any business 
 there are commodities of various grades, from the most 
 expensive to the cheapest. Dr. Bensal maintains that 
 all the cheaper varieties of food-stuffs must be ban- 
 ished from the market. What happens? Mr. Jones 
 leaves this city and establishes himself elsewhere, 
 where he can conduct his business unmolested. Who 
 is the loser? Our city, of course. Who is the gainer? 
 Some other city. Or take the case of Dr. Anderson, 
 foremost in the medical profession of our city. He 
 owns a number of tenement houses. Now, dwelling is 
 a commodity, the same as any other commodity. There 
 are very costly dwellings and there are very cheap 
 
I06 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IV. 
 
 dwellings. Dr. Anderson deals in the cheaper grade of 
 the commodity. There is a demand for the cheaper 
 grade, and the market must be supplied. But Dr. 
 Bensal puts a ban on the cheaper grade of dwellings. 
 What is the result? Dr. Anderson invests his capital 
 in some other enterprise, perhaps in railway or tobacco 
 stocks. Who is the loser by exactly so much capital? 
 Our city again. Who is the gainer? Some out-of- 
 state corporation perhaps ! And so on, from A to Z. 
 The power which a Health Commissioner possesses is 
 tremendous. One man can put the city fifty years 
 back, if he has the inclination to do so. Mr. Mayor, 
 you've always stood for progress. The Merchants and 
 Manufacturers' Association wishes to know whether 
 progress can be made under these conditions? 
 
 MR. JONES. Also whether you approve of the 
 confiscatory course which the Health Commissioner is 
 pursuing ? 
 
 FIRST PROMINENT CITIZEN. We would like 
 to know what you are going to do for the protection of 
 our property. 
 
 THIRD PROMINENT CITIZEN. Mr. Mayor, it 
 depends upon you whether or not our labors of waging 
 an advertising campaign throughout the country for 
 the benefit of our city shall be frustrated by the actions 
 of one man, and business and capital not only not be 
 attracted, but actually driven from the city. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Have you anything else to say, 
 gentlemen ? 
 
 MR. ADAMS. We do not care to take up your 
 valuable time. I think we have expressed the senti- 
 ment of the merchants and manufacturers of our city 
 
ACT IV. THE MIDDLE CLASS. IO7 
 
 to the best of our ability. Our duty is done. We rest 
 the matter with you. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Very well, then, gentlemen. Take 
 my hearty thanks to the Association for calling- my 
 attention to those matters. I am fully aware of their 
 importance. I hope I shall be able to demonstrate to 
 the business elements that the present administration 
 is thoroug"hly imbued with the progressive spirit which 
 at present animates our city. I shall investigate this 
 matter rigorously, and at once, and if I find that things 
 are as you have represented them to me, the remedy 
 will follow with certainty and dispatch. I have a very 
 high opinion of Dr. Bensal. He is a man of science 
 of the first order ; he is honest and upright ; and there 
 is not a shadow of doubt in my mind that, whatever his 
 actions may be with regard to practicability, he means 
 well and his motives are pure. I sincerely trust that 
 you agree with me on this point. 
 
 TPIE COMMITTEE. Perfectly. Beyond a doubt. 
 Absolutely so. 
 
 The Mayor rises. The committee follow his example. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Gk)od morning, then, gentlemen. 
 You shall hear from me soon. {He shakes the hand 
 of each. Exeunt the committee. The Mayor strolls 
 about the room several times. Enter the messenger.) 
 
 MESSENGER. Ready, boss? 
 THE MAYOR {as if suddenly azmkened) . Ready 
 for what? 
 
 MESSENGER. For the lady. 
 
 THE MAYOR. Oh— is she there? Has anyone 
 seen her? 
 
I08 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IV. 
 
 MESSENGER. Not a soul. Don't be uneasy. 
 Shall I take her in? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Go ahead— wait a minute— all 
 right ; let her in. 
 
 Exit messenger. The Mayor stands restively. Enter 
 Mrs. Bensal by the private door. She remains mo- 
 tionless a fezv seconds. The Mayor approaches her 
 and extends his hand. Mrs. Bensal casts a glance at 
 him and turns azvay her head. 
 
 THE MAYOR (taking her hand). Peace; let us 
 bury our hatchets. 
 
 MRS. BENSAL {weakly.) Never! Never! 
 
 THE MAYOR. It is enough. Have I not suffi- 
 ciently demonstrated my devotion to you? 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. You? When? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Even when I appointed your hus- 
 band to the office of Health Commissioner against 
 almost impossible odds. 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. Oh! I did not know. Many 
 thanks, of course. I suppose your political dictionary 
 has taught you this manner of interpreting devotion to 
 a woman — by giving her husband a political job I 
 
 THE MAYOR. However you take it, it is never- 
 theless true that at a time when, perhaps, the thought 
 of me never entered your mind, I have been watching" 
 over your welfare. Under the circumstances I could 
 find no other way of proving to you that you occupied 
 a prominent place in my thoughts, and I grasped the 
 first opportunity which presented itself. 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. You could find no other way— 
 in above three years. 
 
ACT IV. THE MIDDLE CLASS. IO9 
 
 THE MAYOR. Let me confess. I simply dared 
 not see you. Your furious outburst at our last meet- 
 ing 
 
 Mrs. Bensal applies her handkerchief to her eyes. 
 
 THE MAYOR. But enough, enough {takes her by 
 the hand.) Here, let us sit down and talk over mat- 
 ters. (Leads her to a seat and moves a chair for him- 
 £clf Opposite her.) Tell me, are you happier now than 
 you had been? Kow ttiat you can afford to live a little 
 btuer i 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. Ah ! What is there in that ? No, 
 no, no ! There is no happiness. Day follows day with 
 a sameness which is at times exasperating. There is 
 nothing interesting in my life. The monotony is un- 
 bearable ! 
 
 THE MAYOR. And your husband? 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. He — he is Commissioner of 
 Health now. 
 
 THE MAYOR. What is there in that? 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. To him— everything. Every- 
 thing — you understand? It had been the University 
 and bacteria before; now it is the Health Department 
 and — sewers. 
 
 THE MAYOR {in a lozv voice). And I thought that 
 an improvement in circumstances — material circum- 
 stances — would make you happier. Still, he loves you, 
 does he not? 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. What are you talking about? Dr. 
 Bensal — love! Give him bacteria and sewers; that is 
 all he needs. 
 
 THE MAYOR. How strange — it was my impres- 
 sion that he was rather susceptible to—: — 
 
no THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IV. 
 
 MRS. BENSAL (zvith sudden eagerness). You 
 have something in mind — tell me what it is ! 
 
 THE MAYOR. Calm yourself; nothing in 
 particular, I assure you. 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. You have called me on some pur- 
 pose; what is it? 
 
 THE MAYOR. If you want my confidence you 
 must promise me to be deliberate and calm. You are 
 too impetuous. If I cannot spare you any unpleasant- 
 ness, surely, I don't want to be the cause of any. 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. What is it? Tell me. I promise 
 to be calm. 
 
 THE MAYOR (taking her hand). I want a favor 
 from you. Will you render it to me ? 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. What is it? 
 
 THE MAYOR. I fear Dr. Bensal is behaving a 
 little unwisely. There is some nasty talk in the Health 
 Department. Do you possess sufficient diplomacy and 
 tact to hush thing's up in a manner that will avert — 
 remember, by no means precipitate — a scandal? 
 
 MRS. BENSAL {touched to the quick). Now, 
 look here. White; you cannot tell me that Dr. Bensal 
 is dishonest ! 
 
 THE MAYOR. No, no; of course not. Had it 
 been merely a question of dishonesty, I could arrange 
 matters myself well enough. But it is a matter too 
 delicate for me to touch. But you, as his wife, are in a 
 position 
 
 MRS. BENSAL {impatiently). I am sure it isn't 
 anything — I mean — is isn't anything in connection with 
 a — woman ? 
 
 THE MAYOR. Well— yes, it is. 
 
ACT IV. THE MIDDLE CLASS. Ill 
 
 MRS. BENSAL ipalc). Impossible! 
 
 THE MAYOR. Now, look— if it is at all possible 
 at this late stage of the game to avert a scandal, do so. 
 You will understand that from an official standpoint 
 the Mayor will not be held answerable for the private 
 behavior of the city employes. I have confided this to 
 you in order that you may save yourself very much 
 iinplcasantres? ; as for the rest 
 
 MRS. RENS.\L. Tell me more about this matter. 
 \"\nio is the woman? 
 
 THE MAYOR. A nobody. A girl in the Health 
 Department, his private secretary. Dr. Bensal has 
 been very indiscreet. Very. 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. The hypocrite! 
 
 THE }iIAYOR. Now, remember, you prom.ised to 
 be calm. What are you going to do ? You are not 
 going to make any scenes, I hope ? Perhaps you could 
 make him discharge the girl — though that would hardly 
 stop the scandal. It is quite a dilemma. You know 
 what rumor means, especially among inferior em- 
 ployes, who are only too eager to discover something" 
 about their chief that they could talk about. 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. The low scoundrel ! And a chief 
 of a department, too ! 
 
 THE MAYOR. That is just where the trouble 
 comes in. Had an inferior employe acted in the same 
 manner, no one would see anything very wrong about 
 it. What are you going to do now? 
 
 MRS. BENSxAL. He must leave the department. 
 There is no other way. 
 
 THE MAYOR. That would make it pretty hard 
 for me. I'd have to look for another man, and this is 
 
112 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IV. 
 
 quite a task. But don't consider me at all. {Takes 
 her hand again,) It is a question of your reputation — 
 and under the circumstances a nasty scandal is certain 
 to be precipitated. But promise me to be diplomatic — 
 to be calm. I shall see you soon. 
 
 MRS. BENSAL. Thank you, White. You wiU 
 find that you can repose your confidence in me. (Rises 
 and extends her hand.) Good by. 
 
 THE MAYOR (very sad). Good by, until we 
 meet again. 
 
 Exit Mrs. Bensal by the private door, 
 
 THE MAYOR (straightening himself). Ugh I 
 (with disgust) . This is a damn dirty business ! 
 
 Enter the messenger. 
 
 THE MAYOR (in high spirits). McNulty, boy, 
 you're a peach ! 
 
 Curtain, 
 
 SCENE 2. 
 
 The Health Commissioner's private office. It is late 
 in the afternoon. The scant daylight and the prevail- 
 ing quiet make the room appear gloomy and deserted. 
 Dr. Bensal is seated behind his desk, writing and read- 
 ing what he had written alternately. He then rests his 
 forehead upon his hands, his elbows on the desk, evi- 
 dently in deep thought. A number of seconds elapse 
 in silence. A knock on the door suddenly startles him, 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Come in. 
 
 Enter the young doctor. 
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. Good afternoon. 
 
 DR. BENSAL (eagerly). Good afternoon. Well, ; 
 what news ? 1 
 
ACT IV. THE MIDDLE CLASS. II3 
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. Bad. The court has 
 decided against us — in both cases. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. What? How is it possible? Tell 
 me all about it. 
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. It seems incredible— 
 doesn't it? I can hardly believe it myself. But really, 
 it seems to me that the State's Attorney, instead of 
 attacking the defendants, rather defended them and 
 attacked me. He began by plying me with irrelevant 
 questions. During my testimony regarding the de- 
 fective drainage on the property of Lucas and Lucas, 
 he asked me, for instance, whether my three years* 
 hospital service aflforded me sufficient training in civil 
 engineering to enable me to judge regarding matters 
 of drainage. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. What was your answer? 
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. I told him that my 
 training as a physician enabled me to judge what con- 
 stituted a menace to public health, and that it was the 
 business of Lucas and Lucas to engage engineers to 
 devise means for draining their property. But it was 
 no use. The State's Attorney asked my pardon and 
 said he was under the impression that the whole matter 
 would more properly fall into the domain of civil 
 engineering. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Has he cross-examined .the wit- 
 nesses for defense — I mean Lucas and Lucas? 
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. Yes; he asked them 
 what was their standing in the community ; how much 
 they've paid in taxes to the city the last twenty-five 
 years ; how much they contributed toward the charities ; 
 what the profits were on the houses, and all that sort 
 of rot. 
 
114 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IV. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. And what about the Jones case? 
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. Pretty much the same. 
 The State's Attorney asked me whether a chemical 
 analysis was made by the Health Department of certain 
 kippered herrings, to ascertain whether they contained 
 poison. I tried to explain that the poisons contained 
 in the herrings were not analysable with our present 
 means, that they were ptomains, products of decompo- 
 sition. He then asked me whether I had brought wit- 
 nesses to testify that some people had been poisoned 
 by eating that stuff. Both cases were dismissed. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Dismissed! 
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. That isn't the worst of 
 it. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. What else? 
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. Before rendering his 
 verdict the judge held quite a little speech. He said 
 that in the future the Health Department must be more 
 careful in handling similar cases. That such a course 
 was bound to cause injury to reputable business people 
 and redound detrimentally to the community. 
 
 DR. BENSAL (rises and strolls across the room), 
 I wonder what we could do now ? 
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. I really don't see what 
 we could do. The State's Attorney is against us, the 
 court is against us. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. But the law! The law! 
 
 THE YOUNG DOCTOR. VsHiat good will the law 
 do us when the lawyers are all against us? 
 
 DR. BENSAL (approaches the desk and finishes 
 resolutely the paper he had written). Call Dr. 
 Scringer. 
 
ACT IV. THE MIDDLE CLASS. II5 
 
 Exit the young doctor. Dr. Bensal stands, support- 
 ing himself zvith his right hand against the desk. Enter 
 Dr. Scringer. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Dr. Scringer, will you please take 
 charge of the office tomorrow morning? You will re- 
 ceive your orders from the Mayor. 
 
 DR. SCRINGER. All right. Is that all? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. This is all. Good evening, Doctor. 
 
 Exit Dr. Scringer. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. So. The law, too, is gone. Let me 
 see what else is there. {He opens the door and calls.) 
 Miss Clemens! (No reply.) Miss Clemens! (He 
 waits a few seconds and then put his head through 
 the door). Miss Clemens, will you come in, please? 
 
 Enter Miss Clemens, all dressed for going out. Dr. 
 Bensal shuts the door behind her. He does not speak 
 for some seconds, and paces up and down the room, as 
 if trying to collect his thoughts. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. What do you wish, Doctor? 
 
 DR. BENSAL (stops, confused and distressed). I 
 really don't know. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. May I go, then? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Just one minute. (Takes the paper 
 he had written.) Read this. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS (scans the paper and puts it 
 away with the utmost indifference). Well 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Have you nothing to say? 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Really, Doctor, that is your 
 business 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Is that all you have to say to me? 
 Miss Clemens, you are a different person. I cannot rec- 
 ogTsize you. What has happened to you? 
 
Il6 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IV. 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Please, Doctor, let me go. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. But you will be here tomorrow? 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. No, no ! This is final ! Good 
 evening, now. Dr. Bensal. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Miss Clemens, one minute — I beg 
 of you ! 
 
 MISS CLEMENS (zvith impatience). Dr. Bensal, 
 you are a fool ! 
 
 DR. BENSAL (deeply wounded, almost stagger- 
 ing). Miss Clemens — this is — this is — extremely cruel 
 of you. {He supports himself against the desk with 
 his hand.) Extremely cruel ! (Suddenly he recovers.) 
 No, no. — I beg your pardon — that is not what I wanted 
 to say. Miss Clemens, you are a — coward ! A cow- 
 ard ! A coward ! Ah, this shocks you ! You thought 
 you could take advantage of the fact that you are an 
 employe and I your employer; that I am a man and 
 you a frail girl? Oh, you hypocrites and weaklings! 
 Your beautiful ideals are like soap bubbles — there is 
 no substance to them; they go to pieces the moment 
 they are threatened to be made use of ! 
 
 MISS CLEMENS (touched to the quick). Dr. 
 Bensal, what would you have me do? I am only a poor 
 girl ; I have to make my own way. My reputation is at 
 stake. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Your reputation! My God, how 
 terrible it is ! Nothing but cowardice and sham all 
 around! And everything is at stake. Here it is 
 business which is at stake, there the Charities, and 
 here a reputation again ! And so everything remains 
 fixed. Not a particle must be dislodged from the fixed 
 mass, or else the whole mass is in danger of being 
 
ACT IV. THE MIDDLE CLASS. II7 
 
 jarred. But a jarring is just what it needs, in order to 
 impart to it motion! Don't you see that society has 
 become a fixed mass of roclc owing to the loss 
 of mobiUty of its parts? It must be disturbed, dis- 
 turbed at any cost, else growth and progress are im- 
 possible. Impossible! It is a fixed mass! Do you 
 see what you are doing? You are helping society 
 maintain itself in its fixed state. And your beautiful 
 ideals! Like the ideals of our philanthropists — mere 
 coloring! {He stops, almost panting from the rapid- 
 ity of utterance.) 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. But what can I do ? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Anything that will disengage you 
 from the hold of the dead mass — anything at all to dis- 
 turb it, to give it a shock. Stand on your head if you 
 can do no better! It will jar the mass and impart some 
 motion to it. You have nothing to lose ! Nothing ! 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. What do you want with me? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I don't know. Let me see. Work 
 with me. We shall devise some plan for a campaign 
 against the prevailing state of fixity; some method of 
 disturbing the lithificated state of our society, so that 
 life and motion shall become possible. Do not run oft 
 in this manner ! It is cowardly ! 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. That is impossible. After Mrs. 
 Bensal's outburst this afternoon you must not think of 
 it. Why, you weren't even clever or considerate 
 enough to spare me that terrible scene ! Do you want 
 me now to become the talk of the town? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. To be frank with you—yes I I 
 would like to see you have the courage to smile with 
 
Il8 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IV. 
 
 contempt upon the talk of the town. This would mean 
 that you are disengaged from its hold upon you. You 
 would become a free being, and would impart a little 
 jar to the town and instil some life into it. As it is, 
 what are you? A particle of dead dust, inseparably 
 adherent to the dead mass of rock! 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. I see. Thank you for your 
 generosity. You would like to see me exposed to the 
 jeers of the crowd. And then how generous it would 
 be of you to stoop to a despised and persecuted girl at 
 the risk of being struck by some of the stones intended 
 for her. You are a very brave man; but don't you 
 think you are a little too old for a Don Quixote ? 
 
 DR. BENSAL (shocked). Miss Clemens! Is it 
 you who are speaking? Miss Clemens — you! 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Oh, stop playing the boy; for 
 shame! Do you knov/ what the trouble is with you? 
 You are simply infatuated with me. Any woman not 
 absolutely ugly, or stupid, or idealess would have the 
 same effect on you. For shame. Dr. Bensal; you ought 
 to remember that you are a married man. 
 
 DR BENSAL (retreating a few steps, in absolute 
 horror). My God! 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Good by! 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Miss Clemens ! One more word ! 
 
 MISS CLEMENS (stops and turns abruptly to Dr. 
 Bensal). What again? 
 
 DR. BENSAL (making an effort to gather his 
 thoughts) . Oh — nothing, nothing 1 
 
 MISS CLEMENS. Good by, then. 
 
 Dr. Bensal does not reply. Exit Miss Clemens. Dr. 
 
ACT IV. THE MIDDLE CLASS. II9 
 
 Bensal remains standmg in the center of the room, as 
 if petrified. It is grozving darker. The prevailing 
 quiet is nozv more evident. There is an indefinite air 
 of desolation about the place. Suddenly approaching 
 steps arc heard outside, and the lively voices of Dr. 
 and Mrs. Beacon. A second later there is a knock on 
 the door.) 
 
 MRS. BEACON (after reading the paper). Oh, 
 
 DR. BENSAL (zvithout moving). Come in. 
 
 Enter Dr. and Mrs. Beacon. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. Good evening, Dr. Bensal. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Hello, Charlie! How's tricks? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Good evening-. (They shake 
 hands.) 
 
 DR. BEACON. Where is Mary? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. She left a few minutes ago — for 
 
 DR. BEACON. What? She has left for good, 
 you say? Why? 
 
 DR. BENSAL (zmth utter disgust). Nothing but 
 cowardice. Mrs. Bensal must have said something un- 
 pleasant to her. 
 
 Mrs. Beacon darts a look at her husband, which 
 speaks: What did I tell youf Dr. Bensal takes the 
 paper he had written from the desk and hands it to 
 Dr. Beacon. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Read this. 
 
 DR. BEACON (scans the paper and throws up his 
 hands). What? What has happened? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Mrs. Bensal insisted upon it. 
 
 DR. BEACON (to Mrs. Beacon). Look at this, 
 dear. (He hands her the paper.) 
 
120 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACf IV. 
 
 nonsense ! I shall see Mrs. Bensal and straighten mat- 
 ters out. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. No, thank you. (Presses a belt 
 button. He then takes the paper, puts it in an envelope 
 and addresses it. Enter the watchman.) Here, mail 
 this at once. 
 
 THE WATCHMAN {taking the letter). Yes, sir. 
 {Exit.) 
 
 DR. BEACON. But why have you resigned? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Because Mrs. Bensal has given her 
 consent to it. 
 
 DR. BEACON. What do you mean? 
 
 DR. BEN.SAL. She came like an angel-deliverer, 
 just in the right moment. She insisted that I resign. 
 Of course, she had her own reasons. These are not 
 important. She merely hastened my resignation by a 
 day or two. 
 
 DR. BEACON. You would have resigned anyhow, 
 then ? I suppose the Mayor 
 
 DR. BENSAL. No ; it was not the Mayor. On the 
 contrary, he backed me in everything I did. The fact 
 is, a city department cannot exist in the absence of all 
 law. 
 
 DR. BEACON. In the absence of all law? 
 Haven't we law enough ? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. It is a fib, George. We have no 
 law at all ; we have lawyers. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Well— what are you going to do 
 now? Hunt bacteria again ? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. No. There is something more im- 
 portant that I must do. 
 
ACT IV. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 121 
 
 DR. BEACON. What is it? 
 
 DR. BENSAL (with determination). The disinte- 
 gration of the rocky rind in which our society is bound 
 up. The Hving tissue of our society, while growing 
 and developing, has, at the same time, been depositing 
 a rind of protection upon its surface. That rind has 
 become hard and dry as stone. Further growth and 
 expansion of the living tissues are impossible before 
 the rind is broken away. 
 
 DR. BEACON. What is that rind? 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I will tell you. The species of man 
 has been favored in its development by the manifesta- 
 tion of the ethical instinct. That instinct is like a pro- 
 tecting membrance to the cell, or like the rind on the 
 orange. As long as it is alive and grows and expands 
 with the growth of the fruit, it is a protection. But 
 the moment it dies, and becomes hard and fixed, it be- 
 comes a hindrance to the further growth of the fruit 
 within. We have grown in the spirit of humanity, and 
 that spirit served as a protection to the development of 
 human society. But the spirit of humanity has at last 
 become fixed and dry — it has become our charity in- 
 stitutiouf— a hard, unyielding rind, which hinders the 
 growth of the living tissue of human society. We 
 have grown in the spirit of politeness, but that spirit 
 has at last become converted into the unyielding rind 
 of conventionality. We have grown to respect the 
 property of our fellows, but that respect for the prop- 
 erty of others has at last contracted into a hard crust — 
 the adoration of property in the abstract. The rind 
 has become rock. It presses upon the living tissue 
 within, it strangles the vessels, cuts off the circulation 
 of the living fluids, and cause death and decomposition. 
 
122 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IV. 
 
 That which had at one time been a protection has, by a 
 process of condensation, become a hindrance to the 
 further growth and progress of human society. One 
 of the two must happen, as surely as the day follows 
 night: either the rind of our institutionalism must be 
 burst and thrown off or human society will die. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Bensal, that rind, I understand, is 
 pretty thick and strong ; it will take you a long while to 
 break it away. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. It will take some generations. But 
 the work must be begun, and I shall begin it. If in 
 my lifetime I shall succeed in so much as inflicting 
 upon it ever so tiny a dent, I shall not have lived in 
 vain. ^ 
 
 DR. BEACON. But that will not furnish you with 
 the means of making your livelihood. A man must 
 live. 
 
 DR. BENSAL. I have heard that before! I shall 
 find the means. If need be I shall dig ditches. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Dig ditches? You, a gentleman! 
 
 DR. BENSAL. Dr. Anderson is a gentleman; so is 
 Mr. Adams, and Mr. Jones — and they all must live! 
 And they live by hardening and condensing the rocky 
 crust which blocks all progress, which causes death 
 and decomposition! To the devil, then, with Bensal 
 the gentleman ! I am not one any longer, if I have to 
 dig ditches to prove it ! ( He presses a button on the 
 zuall and the room is suddenly brightly lighted with 
 electric lights.) ! 
 
 Dr. Beacon throws himself on his wife and begins to \ 
 hug her in a most shocking manner. • 
 
ACT IV. THE MIDDLE CLASS. 1 23 
 
 MRS. BEACON (making an effort to disengage 
 herself). George, are you crazy? (Frees herself.) 
 AVhat has happened tx) you ? 
 
 DR. BEACON (laughs and claps his hands like a 
 little boy ) . My dear — hear him — only hear him ! He's 
 come of age — he is swearing! Ho! ho! ho! ho! (He 
 approaches Dr. Bensal, gazes at him intently, walks a 
 few steps backward and gazes at him again. He then 
 walks in a semi-circle about the room and scrutinizes 
 Dr. Bensal on the right and left, finally remaining 
 opposite him, half a dozen steps away.) 
 
 DR. BENSAL. What is the trouble with you? 
 
 Dr. Beacon runs forward, gets hold of Dr. Bensal's 
 both shoulders, shakes him vigorously a few times, 
 and thefi gazes straight into his face, with eyes almost 
 filled with tears — due, perhaps, to his inordinate laugh^ 
 mg. 
 
 DR. BEACON. Are you CharHe Bensal? 
 
 DR. BENSAL (smiling involuntarily). Of course 
 I am. 
 
 Dr. Beacon puts his arms around Dr. Bensal and 
 pats him lovingly. 
 
 DR. BEACON. My dear, dear boy! (Approaches 
 his wife.) Bessie, sweet girl, will you please remind 
 me on our way home to stop in at the newspaper 
 offices ? 
 
 MRS. BEACON. What for? 
 
 DR. BEACON. To insert an ad. Here (he sits 
 dotvn at the desk, tears off a sheet of paper from a 
 blank pad, and writes and then reads aloud.) Dr. 
 Beacon's practice for sale; office, furniture, fixtures. 
 
124 THE MIDDLE CLASS. ACT IV. 
 
 instruments and good-will. The practice is worth 
 $20,000 a year to the right man. 
 
 MRS. BEACON (delighted). George, dear! 
 
 DR. BEACON. And now we'll fall to work—all 
 three of us, and more by and by. We'll have all the 
 fun in the world, Charles. Phew ! It's going to be a 
 hot fight ! We shall hew away at the rock, and scoop 
 the rotten stuff as never curette scooped into dead 
 bone! 
 
 DR. BENSAL. By Jove, George, you haven't 
 grown a minute older the last twenty years. 
 
 DR. BEACON (to Mrs. Beacon). Do you hear 
 that, Bessie ? Better keep this in mind and take care. 
 
 MRS. BEACON. And Mary, too, will come to 
 work with us. 
 
 DR. BEACON (pensively). In time, perhaps; not 
 just yet. Now, go we. 
 
 They make ready to go. Curtain. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 C 32 89 
 

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 ^^. DEC 88 
 
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 ^^ — INDIANA 46962 
 
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