The Gibson Upright and The Man from Home, Plays E-Book

Booth Tarkington

• Herausgeber: Seltzer Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Seitenzahl: 234

Beschreibung

This file includes The Gibson Upright and The Man from Home. According to Wikipedia, "Booth Tarkington (July 29, 1869 – May 19, 1946) was an American novelist and dramatist best known for his Pulitzer Prize-winning novels The Magnificent Ambersons and Alice Adams.... Much of Tarkington's work consists of satirical and closely observed studies of the American class system and its foibles....his novel The Magnificent Ambersons, which Orson Welles filmed in 1942, the second volume in Tarkington's Growth trilogy, contrasted the decline of the "old money" Amberson dynasty against the rise of "new money" industrial tycoons in the years between the American Civil War and World War I...
Harry Leon Wilson (May 1, 1867 – June 28, 1939) was an American novelist and dramatist best known for his novels, Ruggles of Red Gap and Merton of the Movies. His novel, Bunker Bean helped popularize the term flapper."

Leseprobe

The Gibson Upright and The Man from Home, Plays by Booth Tarkington and Harry Leon Wilson

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The Gibson Upright

The Man from Home

The Gibson Upright

1919

The Stage Production Of This Play Is By Stuart Walker.

Contents

Cast Of Characters

Act I

Act II

Act III

THE GIBSON UPRIGHT

CAST OF CHARACTERS

ANDREW GIBSON, a piano factory owner

NORA GORODNA, a piano tester and socialist labor organizer

MR. MIFFLIN, a socialist journalist

CARTER, an elderly factory worker

FRANKEL, a young Jewish factory worker

SHOMBERG, a factory worker

SIMPSON, an elderly factory worker

SALVATORE, an Italian factory worker

RILEY, a truck driver

ELLA, Mr. Gibson's housemaid

MRS. SIMPSON, wife of Simpson

MRS. COMMISKEY, wife of a worker (offstage voice)

POLENSKI, a worker

FIRST WOP and SECOND WOP, workers

ACT I

ANDREW GIBSON'S  office in his piano factory where he manufactures "The Gibson Upright." A very plain interior; pleasant to the eye, yet distinctly an office in a factory, and without luxuries; altogether utilitarian.

Against the wall on our right is a roll-top desk, open, very neat, and in the centre of the writing pad a fresh rose stands in a glass of water. Near by is a long, plain table and upon it a very neat arrangement of correspondence and a couple of ledgers.

Against the walls are a dozen plain cane-seated chairs. Near the centre of the room is a sample of the Gibson upright piano in light wood. There is a large safe, showing the word "Gibson," and there are filing cases. In the rear wall there is a door with the upper half of opaque glass, which shows "Mr. Gibson" in reverse; and near this door is a water filter upon a stand. In the wall upon our left is a plain wooden door. The rear door opens into the factory; the other into a hall that leads to the street.

Upon the walls are several posters, one showing "The Gibson Upright"--a happy family, including children and a grandparent, exclaiming with joy at sight of this instrument. Another shows a concert singer singing widely beside "The Gibson Upright," with an accompanist seated. Another shows a semi-colossal millionaire, and a workingman of similar size in paper cap and apron, shaking hands across "The Gibson Upright," and, printed: "$188.00--The Price for the Millionaire, the Same for Plain John Smith--$188.00." This poster and the others all show the slogan: "How Cheap, BUT How Good!"

Nothing is new in this room, but everything is clean and accurately in order. The arrangement is symmetrical.

As the curtain rises  NORA GORODNA  is seen at work on the sample "Gibson Upright." The front is not removed; but through the top of the piano she is adjusting something with a small wrench.  NORA  is a fine-looking young woman, not over twenty-six; she wears a plain smock over a dark dress. As she is a piano tester in the factory she is dressed neither so roughly as a working woman nor perhaps so fashionably as a stenographer. She is serious and somewhat preoccupied. From somewhere come the sounds of several pianos being tuned. After a moment  NORA  goes thoughtfully to the desk and looks at the rose in the glass; then lifts the glass as if to inhale the odour of the rose, but abruptly alters her decision and sets the glass down without doing so. She returns quickly and decisively to her work at the piano, as if she had made a determination.

A bell at the door on our left rings.  NORA  goes to the door and opens it.

NORA: Good morning, Mr. Mifflin.

MIFFLIN [ entering ]: Good morning, Miss Gorodna.

[MIFFLIN  is a beaming man of forty, with gold-rimmed eyeglasses and a somewhat grizzled beard which has been, a week or so ago, a neatly trimmed Vandyke. He wears a "cutaway suit," not much pressed, not new; a derby hat, a standing collar, and a "four-in-hand" dark tie; hard, round cuffs, not link cuffs. He carries a folded umbrella, not a fashionable one; wears no gloves; and has two or three old magazines and a newspaper under his arm. ]

MIFFLIN: I believe I'm here just to the hour, Miss Gorodna.

NORA: Mr. Gibson has been very nice about it. He told me he would give you the interview for your article. He's in the factory--trying to settle some things he  can't  settle. I'll let him know you're here.

[ She goes out by the door into the factory.  MIFFLIN,  smiling with benevolent anticipation, places his umbrella and hat on a chair, then takes his fountain pen and a pencil from his pocket, smilingly decides to use the pencil, sharpens it without going to a wastebasket over by the desk; then beamingly looks about the room. He is about to strike a chord on the piano, seems alarmed by the idea, moves away from it, dusts the lapel of his coat, adjusts his collar, studies the posters, shakes his head over them as if they were not to his taste, goes to the desk, and after studying it smiles at the rose and gives it a kittenish peck with his forefinger.  NORA  comes back and  MIFFLIN  turns to her with his benevolent smile. ]

NORA [ going back to her work at the piano ]: He'll be right here.

[GIBSON  appears in the open doorway, speaking with crisp determination to someone not seen. ]

GIBSON: That's my last word on it; that's in accordance with the agreement you signed two weeks ago.

A HARSH VOICE: We don't care nothin' about no agreement!

GIBSON: That's all!

[ He comes in. He is a man of thirty-something; well but not clubbishly dressed; an intelligent, thoughtful face; a man of affairs. Just now he is exercising some self-control over irritations which have become habitual, but he is not uncordial, merely quiet, during his greeting of  MIFFLIN.]

NORA: This is Mr. Mifflin, Mr. Gibson.

GIBSON: How do you do, Mr. Mifflin.

MIFFLIN [ heartily, as they shake hands ]: I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Gibson! I hope you don't mind my not writing to you myself for this interview.

GIBSON: Not at all!

MIFFLIN [ taking a chair ]: I heard Miss Gorodna speak at a meeting two nights ago--

GIBSON: Yes?

MIFFLIN: And learning that she was one of your employees I asked her to speak to you about it for me.

GIBSON: I see.

MIFFLIN: Now, in the first place, Mr. Gibson--

[ There is a telephone on  GIBSON'S  desk; its bell rings. ]

GIBSON: Excuse me a moment!

[ At the telephone ]: Hello!... Yes--Gibson.... Oh, hello, McCombs!... Yes. I want you to buy it.... I want you to buy all of that grade wire you can lay your hands on. Get it now and go quick. All you can get; I don't care if it's a three years' supply. There'll be a shortage within a month.... No; I don't want any more of the celluloid mixture.... No, I don't want it. They can't make a figure good enough. I've got my own formula for keys and we're going to make our own mixture.... I'm going to have my own plant for it right here. I can make it just under fifty per cent, better than I can buy it.... Wait a minute! I want you to get hold of that lot of felt over in Newark; the syndicate's after it, but I want you to beat them to it. Don't go to Johnson. You go to Hendricks--he's Johnson's brother-in-law. You tell him as my purchasing agent you've come to finish the talk I had with him the other night. You'll find that does it.... All right. Wait! Call me up to-morrow afternoon; I'm on the track of a stock of that brass we've been using. We may get three-eighths of a cent off on it. I'll know by that time. All right!... All right! [ Then he hangs up the receiver and turns to  MIFFLIN.] Where do you propose to publish this interview, Mr. Mifflin?

MIFFLIN [ cheerily ]: Oh, I shall select one of the popular magazines in sympathy with my point of view in these matters. You probably know my articles. Numbers of them have been translated. One called "Cooeperation and Brotherhood" has been printed in thirteen languages and dialects, including the Scandinavian. But I expect this to be my star article.

GIBSON: Why?

MIFFLIN: Because your factory here is so often called a model factory. " The  model factory!" [ He repeats the phrase with unction. ]

GIBSON [ wearily ]: Yes, model because it has the most labour trouble!

MIFFLIN [ enthusiastically ]: That is the real reason why it will be my star article. As you may know from my other articles this problem is where I am in my element.

GIBSON: Yes; I understood so from Miss Gorodna.

[ Giving him an inimical glance,  NORA  closes the top of piano, and moves to go.  GIBSON  checks her with a slight gesture. ]

GIBSON: Would you mind staying, Miss Gorodna? Miss Gorodna knows more about one side of this factory than I do, I'm afraid, Mr. Mifflin. We may need her for reference, especially as she seems to be the ringleader of the insurgents.

MIFFLIN [ with jovial reproach ]: Now, now! Before we come to that, Mr. Gibson, suppose we get at the origin of this interesting product. [ He waves to the sample piano. ] Let's see! I understand it was never your own creation, Mr. Gibson; that you inherited this factory from your father.

GIBSON: Oh, no, I didn't.

NORA [ challenging ]:  What!  [ She checks herself. ] I beg your pardon!

GIBSON: The piano factory I inherited from my father was about one third this size.

MIFFLIN [ genially; always genial ]: Nevertheless, you inherited it. We know that everything grows with the times, naturally. Let us simply state that it was a capitalistic family inheritance.

NORA [ under her breath but emphatically ]: Yes!

MIFFLIN: Up to the time of your inheriting it, you, I suppose, had led the usual life of pleasure of the wealthy young man?

GIBSON: I'd been through school and college and through every department of the factory. That wasn't hard; it was a pretty run-down factory, Mr. Mifflin.

MIFFLIN: And then at your father's death the lives and fortunes, souls and bodies of all these workmen passed into your hands?

GIBSON: Not quite that; there were only forty-one workmen, and nineteen of them didn't stay when father died. They got other jobs before I could stop them.

MIFFLIN: And how many men have you now?

GIBSON: I believe there are one hundred and seventy-five on the pay roll now.

MIFFLIN: One hundred and seventy-five [ with gusto ] labourers!

GIBSON: Some of them are; some of them are orators.

MIFFLIN [ jovially ]: Ah, I'm afraid that's hard on Miss Gorodna.

GIBSON [ quietly ]: She's both.

MIFFLIN: I understand you are  not  fighting the labour unions?

GIBSON: No. The workmen themselves declined to unionize the factory.

MIFFLIN: Mr. Gibson, when your father began manufacturing "The Gibson Upright"--

GIBSON: He didn't. He made a very fine piano--and only a few of them. It was "The Gibson Upright" that saved the factory. You see, with this model we began to get on a quantity-production basis. That's why the business has grown and is growing.

MIFFLIN: You mean that "The Gibson Upright" is the reason for the present great prosperity of this plant?

GIBSON: Yes.

MIFFLIN: Now be careful, Mr. Gibson; I'm going to ask a trap question. [ Wagging his pencil at him. ] What is the reason for "The Gibson Upright?"

GIBSON: Do you mean who designed it?

MIFFLIN: Oh, no, no, no! I mean who  makes  them? If someone asked you if you're the man that makes "The Gibson Upright" wouldn't you say "Yes?"

GIBSON: Certainly!

MIFFLIN [ triumphantly ]: Ah, there you fell into the trap!

GIBSON: What's the matter?

NORA [ with controlled agitation ]: It's the same old matter, Mr. Gibson. It's those men out there that make the piano.

GIBSON [ a little sadly ]: Do they?

NORA: With their  hands , Mr. Gibson!

GIBSON: Is there anything more, Mr. Mifflin?

MIFFLIN: You couldn't possibly imagine how much you've given me, Mr. Gibson, in these few little answers. It is precisely what I want to get at--the point of view! The point of view is all that is separating the classes from the masses to-day. And I think I have yours already. Now I want to go to the masses if you will permit me.

GIBSON: Then you might as well stay here.

MIFFLIN: Ah, but I want to hear the workers talk!

GIBSON: Well, this is the best place for that! Some of them are waiting now just outside the door. I'll let you hear them.

[ Goes to the factory door and opens it; two workingmen come in. One is elderly, with gray moustache and beard-- CARTER. The other,  FRANKEL,  is a Hebraic type, eager and nervous; younger. ]

GIBSON: What do you and Frankel want, Carter?

CARTER [ moving his jaw from side to side, affecting to chew to gain confidence ]: Well, Mr. Gibson, to come down to plain words--there ain't no two best ways o' beatin' about the bush.

GIBSON: I know that.

CARTER: The question is just up to where there ain't no two best ways out of it. The men in our department is going to walk out to the last one, and if there was any way o' stoppin' it by argument I'd tell you. We're goin' out at twelve o'clock noon to-day, the whole forty-eight of us.

GIBSON: Why?

FRANKEL: " Why ," Mr. Gibson! Did you want to know  why ?

GIBSON: Yes, I do. You men signed an agreement with me just eleven days ago--

FRANKEL [ hotly protesting ]: But we never understood it when we signed it. How'd we know what we was signing?

GIBSON: Can't you read, Frankel?

FRANKEL: What's reading got to do with it, when it reads all one way?

GIBSON: Didn't you understand it, Carter?

CARTER: Well--I can't say I did.

GIBSON:  Why  can't you say it? It was plain black and white.

CARTER: Well, I was kind o' foggy about the overtime.

GIBSON: The agreement was that you were to have time and a half for overtime. What was foggy about that?

CARTER: Well, I don't say you didn't give us what we was askin' right  then ; but things have changed since then.

GIBSON: What's changed in eleven days?

FRANKEL [ hotly ]: What's changed? How about them men in the finishin' department that do piecework?

GIBSON: Well, what's changed about them?

FRANKEL: Well, something  is  goin' to change over there.

GIBSON: We're talking about your department not understanding the agreement. What's the finishing department got to do with that?

FRANKEL: Well, they're kickin', too, you bet!

GIBSON: I'm dealing with your kick now.

CARTER: Well, o' course we got to stand with them; if they do piecework overtime they don't get no more for it.

GIBSON: I'll deal with them separately.

FRANKEL: My goodness, Mr. Gibson, you got to deal with us, too! Not a one of us understood what our last agreement with you was. It's just agreements and agreements and agreements--you might think we was living just on agreements! By rights we ought to have double time instead of time and a half!

GIBSON: Time and a half eleven days ago; now you strike for double time! Where does this thing stop? You want double time for overtime; your working day has been reduced; it won't be long till you want that cut down again.

FRANKEL: Sure! We want it cut down right now!

CARTER: Yes, Mr. Gibson; that was another point they told us to bring up before we walk out.

GIBSON [ with growing exasperation ]: I suppose you want a six-hour day so you'll have more overtime to double on me! Then you'll want a four-hour day, won't you?

MIFFLIN [ beaming and nodding ]: Well, why not, Mr. Gibson?

GIBSON: What?

NORA: Why shouldn't they?

GIBSON: Why shouldn't they? But what's their limit?

NORA [ oratorically ]: When the workman shall own his tools!

MIFFLIN: Of course that means  all  the tools, Mr. Gibson. You may not know our phrase: "The workman shall own his tools." It means not only the carpenter's bench, the plane and the saw, the adze and the auger, but the shop itself. It means that the workmen shall own the factory. It means the elimination of everything and everyone who stands between him and the purchaser, to take toll and unearned profit from the worker, who is really the sole producer of wealth.

NORA: It means the elimination of capital and the capitalist!

MIFFLIN: It means that not only should the worker own tools and factory but should sit here in the persons of his chosen and elected fellow workers, as arbiter of his own destiny.

GIBSON: That is to say, it means the elimination of me.

MIFFLIN [ jovially ]: Precisely! Precisely!

GIBSON [ as another workingman strides into the room ]: What do you want, Shomberg?

SHOMBERG: Them new windows in the assembling room--they're no good.

GIBSON: We've just spent twelve hundred dollars fixing them as you said you wanted them. What's the matter with them?

SHOMBERG: They don't give no light.

MIFFLIN: None at all?

SHOMBERG: It's right next to none at all! The men are goin' to lay off if they got to work in that room. They're goin' out anyway at twelve o'clock.

FRANKEL: Now look here, Mr. Gibson, if I was running this factory--

GIBSON: You're not, Frankel!

SHOMBERG: Well, why can't you listen to him? Don't we even get no hearing? I guess if I was running this factory once, the first thing I'd do I'd anyhow try to listen what the troubles is and make my men contented.

GIBSON: What would you do if you were running the factory, Carter? You haven't said.

CARTER: I ain't had the chance to say. Now what I'd do, first I'd settle all the grievances so there wouldn't be no more complaints.

GIBSON: Well, here's one coming I might leave to you on that basis.

[ Enter  SIMPSON,  an elderly worker in overalls and jumper; and  SALVATORE,  a New Yorkized Italian type, a formerly lighted cigarette dangling from his lips. ]

SALVATORE: Our department's goin' to walk out at twelve, noon, Mr. Gibson. We ain't satisfied.

GIBSON: Why not?

SALVATORE: Well, we ain't satisfied, Mr. Gibson; we ain't satisfied at all.

GIBSON: You got every demand answered yesterday, Salvatore.

SALVATORE: Oh, I ain't talkin' about no demands. If all them other departments walks out we're going to stand by 'em! We got plenty to do with our time. Workin' all the time ain't so enjoyable.

GIBSON: So you people are going out again, are you?

SIMPSON: I guess it's a general strike, Mr. Gibson. I'm afraid if you don't give the boys satisfactory answers the place will close down at noon.

GIBSON: Have satisfactory answers ever satisfied you?

SALVATORE: Ain't we got no right to stand up for our rights?

FRANKEL: Don't you get all you can from  us ? Well, you bet your life we're goin' to keep on gettin' all we can from  you !

GIBSON: Then life isn't worth anything to either of us--if it's all fight! Is that to go on forever?

NORA: No, Mr. Gibson; it's to go on until the abolition of the wage system!

MIFFLIN: Good!

NORA: The struggle with capitalism will continue till the workers take possession of the machinery of production. It is theirs by right; the wealth they produce is morally their own. The parasites who now consume that wealth must be destroyed.

[ Great approval from workmen; almost a cheer.  MIFFLIN chuckles and noiselessly claps his hands. ]

GIBSON: I'm the parasite!

SHOMBERG: Well, do we get any answer?

GIBSON: Does any one of you men here think he could answer all of these demands satisfactorily?

SALVATORE: Sure! [ All acquiesce: "Sure, sure!" ]

FRANKEL: You can't put us off any longer with just no little bunch of funny talk!

GIBSON: I'll have an answer for you in fifteen minutes. [ Turns to his desk. ] That's all.

SHOMBERG: Better have it before twelve o'clock.

CARTER [ as they go ]: Do what you kin, Mr. Gibson. All the departments is worked up pretty unusual.

GIBSON [ wearily dropping back into his chair ]: Oh, no, Carter; pretty usual; that's the trouble.

MIFFLIN: A splendid manifestation of spirit, Mr. Gibson! I'll just take advantage of the--

[GIBSON  waves his hand, assenting.  MIFFLIN  overtakes the group at door, puts his hands on the shoulders of two of the workers; and goes out with them talking eagerly.  NORA follows.  GIBSON  sighs heavily; the telephone bell rings. He takes up the receiver. ]

GIBSON: Who is it?... Wait a minute! [ He takes a pad and writes ]: "Central Associated Lumber Companies." ... Wait a minute. [ Looks at a slip in a pigeonhole of his desk. ] Oh, yes, you called me yesterday.... This is Mr. Ragsdale?... No, no, Mr. Ragsdale, I don't think I'm going to do any business with you. You asked me forty-eight dollars a thousand on 200,000 feet.... No, your coming down half a dollar a thousand won't do it.... I say seventeen cents won't do it.... Hold the wire a minute. [ Looks for letter in pigeonhole, but finds it in his inside pockets. Then he holds it open, looking at it beside the telephone as he speaks. ] Hello!... No; I was right; there's nothing doing, Mr. Ragsdale, I know where I can get that 200,000 feet at forty-five dollars.... I say I know where I can get that lumber at forty-five dollars.... No; I can get it. There won't be any use for you to call up again.... Good-bye!

[ He paces the floor again thoughtfully, then abruptly goes to the factory door; opens it and calls. ]

GIBSON: Miss Gorodna!

[NORA  appears in the doorway. She looks at him with disapproving inquiry; then walks in and closes the door. He goes to his desk and touches the rose. ]

GIBSON: Why didn't you take it this morning? That poor little rosebed in my yard at home; it's just begun to brighten up. I suppose it thought it was going to send you a June rose every day, as it did last June. You don't want it?

NORA [ gently, but not abating her attitude ]: No, thank you!

GIBSON: [ dropping the rose upon his blotting pad, not into the glass again ]: This is the fourth that's had to wither disappointed.

NORA [ in a low voice ]: Then hadn't you better let the others live?

GIBSON: I'd like to live a little myself, Nora. Life doesn't seem much worth living for me as it is, and if your theories are making you detest me I think I'm about through.

NORA: It's what you stand for that my theories make me detest--since you used the word.

GIBSON: Well, what is it that I stand for?

NORA: Class and class hatred.

GIBSON: Which class is the hatred coming from?

NORA: From both!

GIBSON: Just in this room right now it seems to be all on one side. And lately it has seemed to me to be more and more not so much class as personal; because really, Nora, I haven't yet been able to understand how a girl with your mind can believe that you and I belong to different classes.

NORA: You don't! So long as capital exists you and I are in warring classes, Mr. Gibson.

GIBSON: What are they?

NORA: Capitalist and proletariat. You can't get out of your class and I don't want to get out of mine.

GIBSON: Nora, the law of the United States doesn't recognize any classes--and I don't know why you and I should. We both like Montaigne and Debussy. You've even condescended to laugh with me at times about something funny in the shop. Of course not lately; but you used to. In everything worth anything aren't we really in the same class?

NORA: We are not. We never shall be--and we never were! Even before we were born we weren't! You came into this life with a silver spoon. I was born in a tenement room where five other people lived. My father was a man with a great brain. He never got out of the tenements in his life; he was crushed and kept under; yet he was a well-read man and a magnificent talker; he could talk Marx and Tolstoi supremely. Yet he never even had time to learn English.

GIBSON: I wish you could have heard what  my  father talked for English! Half the time I couldn't understand him myself. He was Scotch.

NORA: Your father wasn't crushed under the capitalistic system as mine was. My father was an intellectual.

GIBSON: Mine was a worker. They both landed at Castle Garden, didn't they?

NORA: What of that? Mine remained a thinker and a revolutionist; yours became a capitalist.

GIBSON: No; he got a job--in a piano factory.

NORA: Yes, and took advantage of the capitalistic system to own the factory.

GIBSON: Before he did own it he worked fourteen hours a day for twelve years. That's why he owned it.

NORA: How many hours a day do you work, Mr. Gibson?

GIBSON: I  have  worked twenty-four; sometimes fourteen, sometimes two; usually six.

NORA: In other words, when you want to work.

GIBSON: I've learned to do things my father never learned to do, and it commands a higher return.

NORA: You  take  a higher return!

GIBSON: You mean I don't deserve it?

NORA: Can it be possible that you think you deserve as much as any of these  workers ? You don't so much as touch one of these pianos that bring you your return. I do! I work on them with my hands. Do you think you deserve as much as I?

GIBSON: No; I don't go so far as that.

NORA: Don't talk to me as a woman! My work is pleasant enough now; but what work did I have to do before I got this far? I worked sixteen hours a day, and when I was only a child at that! Twelve hours I was sewing, and four I studied. If my father hadn't known music and taught me a little your capitalistic system would have me sewing twelve hours a day still!

GIBSON: Yes, Nora; when we learn how to do something we get better pay for it.

NORA: We do? Do you really think that? That we get paid for what we do?

GIBSON: Yes; that's what I think.

NORA: Then what do you get paid for? For nothing in the world but owning this factory. You're paid because you're a capitalist!

GIBSON: Is that all?

NORA: Why, look at the state the factory's in! The discontent you saw in those men--that's the fault of the capitalistic system! There aren't twenty workmen in the place that are contented.

GIBSON: You're right about that; and they never will be.

NORA: Not until the system's changed. What are you going to do about it?

GIBSON [ with quiet desperation ]: They've driven me as far as they can. If they walk out I'll walk out. I can stand it if they can.

NORA: You'd close down? Your only solution is to take the bread out of these men's mouths?

GIBSON: If they walk out I'll walk out!

NORA [ trembling ]: You coward!

GIBSON: That's fair?

NORA: You'll let us starve because you haven't the courage to come to the right solution! Don't you mind starving us?

GIBSON: You mean you'd starve if I quit.

NORA [ vehemently ]: No; but because you'd close the factory.

GIBSON: Oh, the factory could run if I quit, could it?