[JULIA PATTERSON'S apartment in a model tenement on the lower East Side. The scene shows the living- room, furnished very plainly, but in the newest taste; "arts and crafts" furniture, portraits of Morris and Ruskin on the walls; a centre table, a couple of easy-chairs, a divan and many book-shelves. The entrance from the outer hall is at centre; en- trance to the other rooms right and left.]
[At rise: JULIA has pushed back the lamp from the table and is having a light supper, with a cup of tea; and at the same time trying to read a magazine, which obstinately refuses to remain open at the right place. She is an attractive and intelligent woman of thirty. The doorbell rings.]
JULIA. Ah, Jack! [Presses button, then goes to the door.]
JACK. [Enters, having come upstairs at a run. He is a college graduate and volunteer revolutionist, one of the organizers of the "Society of the Friends of Russian Freedom"; handsome and ardent, eager in manner, and a great talker.] Hello, Julia. All alone?
JULIA. Yes. I expected a friend, but she can't come until later.
JACK. Just eating?
JULIA. I've been on the go all day. Have something.
JACK. No; I had dinner. [As she starts to clear things away.] Don't stop on my account.
JULIA. I was just finishing up. [As he begins to help.] No; sit down.
JACK. Nonsense. Let the men be of some use in the world.
JULIA. What have you been up to to-day?
JACK. We're organizing a demonstration for the Swedish strikers.
JULIA. It's marvelous how those Swedes hold on, isn't it?
JACK. The people are getting their eyes open. And when they're once open, they stay open.
JULIA. Yes. Did you see my article?
JACK. I should think I did! Julia, that was a dandy!
JULIA. Do you think so?
JACK. I do, indeed. You've made a hit. I heard a dozen people talking about it.
JACK. You've come to be the champion female muck- raker of the country, I think.
JACK. Why did you want to see me so specially tonight?
JULIA. I've a friend I want you to meet. Somebody I'm engaged in educating.
JACK. You seem to have chosen me for your favorite proselytizer.
JULIA. You've seen things with your own eyes, Jack.
JACK. Yes; I suppose so.
JULIA. And you know how to tell about them. And you've such an engaging way about you...nobody could help but take to you.
JACK. Cut out the taffy. Who's your friend?
JULIA. Her name's Hegan.
JACK. A woman?
JULIA. A girl, yes. And she's coming right along, Jack. You must take a little trouble with her, for if we can only bring her through, she can do a lot for us. She's got no end of money.
JACK. No relative of Jim Hegan, I hope?
JULIA. She's his daughter.
JACK. [With a bound.] What!
JULIA. His only daughter.
JACK. Good God, Julia!
JULIA. What's the matter?
JACK. You know I don't want to meet people like that.
JULIA. Why not?
JACK. I don't care to mix with them. I've nothing to say to them.
JULIA. My dear Jack, the girl can't help her father.
JACK. I know that, and I'm sorry for her. But, meantime, I've got my work to do . . .
JULIA. You couldn't be doing any better work than this. If we can make a Socialist of Laura Hegan . . .
JACK. Oh, stuff, Julia! I've given up chasing after will-o'-the-wisps like that.
JULIA. -But think what she could do!
JACK. Yes. I used to think what a whole lot of people could do. You might as well ask me to think what her father could do . . . if he only wanted to do it, instead of poisoning the life-blood of the city, and piling up his dirty millions. Go about this town and see the misery and horror . . . and think that it's Jim Hegan who sits at the top and reaps the profit of it all! It's Jim Hegan who is back of the organization . . . he's the real power behind Boss Grimes. It's he who puts up the money and makes possible this whole regime of vice and graft . . .
JULIA. My dear boy, don't be silly.
JACK. How do you mean? Isn't it true?
JULIA. Of course it's true . . . but why declaim to me about it? You forget you are talking to the champion female muckraker of the country.
JACK. Yes, that's right. But I don't want to meet these people socially. They mean well, a lot of them, I suppose; but they've been accustomed all their lives to being people of importance . . . to have everybody stand in awe of them, because of their stolen money, and all the wonderful things they might do with it if they only would.
JULIA. My dear Jack, did you ever observe anything of the tuft-hunter in me?
JACK. No, I don't know that I have. But it's never too late.
JULIA. [Laughing.] Well, until you do, have a little faith in me! Meet Laura Hegan, and judge for yourself.
JACK. [Grumbling.] All right, I'll meet her. But let me tell you, I don't propose to spare her feelings. She'll get things straight from me.
JULIA. That's all right, my boy. Give her the class war and the Revolution with a capital R ! Tell her you're the only original representative of the disinherited proletariat, and that some day, before long, you intend to plant the red flag over her daddy's palace. [Seriously.] Of course, what you'll actually do is meet her like a gentleman, and tell her of some of your adventures in Russia, and give her some idea of what's going on outside of her little Fifth avenue set. J ACK. Where did you run on to her?
JULIA. I met her at the settlement.
JACK. Good Lord! Jim Hegan's daughter! [Laughs.] They were toadying to her there, I'll wager.
JULIA. Well, you know what settlement people are. She's been coming there for quite a while, and seems to be interested. She's given them quite a lot of money.
JACK. No doubt.
JULIA. I had a little talk with her one afternoon. She's a quiet, self-contained girl, but she gave me a peculiar impression. She seemed to be unhappy; there was a kind of troubled note in what she said. I had felt uncomfortable about meeting her . . . you can imagine, after my study of "Tammany and the Traction Trust."
JACK. Did she mention that?
JULIA. No, she never has. But I've several times had the feeling that she was trying to get up the courage to do it. I've thought, somehow, that she must be suffering about her father.
JACK. My God! Wouldn't it be a joke if Nemesis were to get at Jim Hegan through his daughter?
JULIA. Yes; wouldn't it!
JACK. How do you suppose he takes her reform activities?
JULIA. I don't know, but I fancy they must have had it out. She's not the sort of person to let herself be turned back when her mind's made up.
JACK. A sort of chip of the old block. [After a pause.] If I'd known what was up, I wouldn't have suggested asking anybody else to come . . .
JULIA. Oh, that's all right; it won't make any difference.
JACK. This chap, Montague, that I 'phoned to you about . . . he's a sort of a convert of my own.
JULIA. I see. We'll reciprocate.
JACK. I think I've got Montague pretty well landed. You'll be interested in him . . . it's quite a story. It was last election day. . .
[The bell rings.]
JULIA. Ah, there's somebody. [She goes to the door; calls.] Is that you, Miss Hegan?
LAURA. [Off.] Yes, it's I.
JULIA. You found your way, did you?
LAURA. Oh, no trouble at all. [Enters, a tall, stately girl, about twenty-three; simply but elegantly clad.] How do you do?
JULIA. I am so glad to see you. Jack, this is Miss Hegan. Mr. Bullen.
LAURA. How do you do, Mr. Bullen?
JACK. I am very glad to meet you, Miss Hegan.
JULIA. Let me take your things.
LAURA. [Looking about.] Oh, what a cozy place! I think these model tenements are delightful.
JULIA. They're indispensable to us agitators . . . an oasis in a desert.
JACK. Built for the proletariat, and inhabited by cranks.
LAURA. Is that the truth?
JULIA. It's certainly the truth about this one. Below me are two painters and a settlement worker, and next door is a blind Anarchist and a Yiddish poet.
LAURA. What's the reason for it?
JULIA. [Going to room off left with LAURA's things.] The places are clean and cheap; and whenever the poor can't pay their rent, we take their homes.
JACK. The elimination of the unfit.
LAURA. It sounds like a tragic explanation; but I guess it's true. [Looking at Jack.] And so this is Mr. Bullen. For such a famous revolutionist, I expected to find some one more dangerous-looking.
JULIA. [Returning.] Don't make up your mind too soon about Jack. He's liable to startle you.
LAURA. I'm not easily startled any more. I'm getting quite used to meeting revolutionists.
JACK. You don't call them revolutionists that you meet at the settlement, I hope?
LAURA. No; but all sorts of people come there.
JULIA. By the way, Jack 'phoned me this afternoon, and said he'd invited a friend here. I hope you don't mind.
LAURA. Why, no; not at all. Is it one of your Russian friends?
JACK. Oh, no; he's an American. His name is Montague. I was just starting to tell Julia about him when you came in.
LAURA. Go ahead.
JACK. It was quite an adventure. I don't know that I've ever had one that was more exciting. And I've had quite some, you know.
LAURA. Yes; I've been told so.
JACK. It was last election day, in a polling place on the Bowery. I was a watcher for the Socialists, and this Montague was one of the watchers for the reform crowd. The other one was drunk, and so he had the work all to himself. It was in the heart of Leary's district, and the crowd there was a tough one, I can tell you. It was a close election.
LAURA. Yes; I know.
JACK. There'd been all kinds of monkey-work going on, and the box was full of marked and defective ballots, and Montague set to work to make them throw them out. I didn't pay much attention at first. I was only there to see that our own ballots were counted; but pretty soon I began to take interest. He had every one in the place against him. There was a Tammany inspector of elections and four tally clerks . . . all in with Tammany, of course. There were three or four Tammany policemen, and, outside of the railing, the worst crowd of toughs that ever you laid eyes on. To make matters worse, there were several men inside who had no business to be there . . . one of them a Judge of the City Court, and another a State's attorney . . . and all of them storming at Montague.
JULIA. What did he do?
JACK. He just made them throw out the marked ballots. They were willing enough to put them to one side, but wanted to count them in on the tally sheets. And, of course, Montague knew perfectly well that if they ever counted them in they'd close up at the end, and that would be all there was to it. He had the law with him, of course. He's a lawyer himself, and he seemed to know it all by heart; and he'd quote it to them, paragraph by paragraph, and they'd look it up and find that he was right, and, of course, that only made them madder. The old Judge would start up in his seat. "Officer!" he'd shout (he was a red- faced, ignorant fellow . . . a typical barroom politician, "I demand that you put that man out of here." And the cop actually laid his hand on Montague's shoulder; if he'd ever been landed on the other side of that railing the crowd would have torn him to pieces. But the man stayed as cool as a cucumber. "Officer," he said, "you are aware that I am an election official, here under the protection of the law; and if you refuse me that protection you are liable to a sentence in State's prison." Then he'd quote another paragraph.
JULIA. It's a wonder he ever held them.
JACK. He did it; he made them throw out forty-seven ballots . . . and thirty- eight of them were Tammany ballots, too. There was one time when I thought the gang was going to break loose, and I sneaked out and telephoned for help. Then I came back and spoke up for him. I wanted them to know there'd be one witness. You should have seen the grateful look that Montague gave me.
LAURA. I can imagine it.
JULIA. And how did it end?
JACK. Why, you see, we kept them there till eleven o'clock at night, and by that time everybody knew that Tammany had won, and the ballots were not needed. So the old Judge patted us on the back and told us we were heroes, and invited us out to get drunk with him. Montague and I walked home together through the election din, and got acquainted. I don't know that I ever met a man I took to more quickly.
LAURA. You are making a Socialist out of him, of course?
JACK. Oh, he's coming on. But he is not the sort of man to take his ideas from any one else . . . he wants to see for himself. He hasn't been in New York long, you know . . . he comes from the South . . . from Mississippi.
LAURA. [Startled.] From Mississippi! What's his first name?
LAURA. [Betraying emotion.] Allan Montague!
JACK. Do you know him?
LAURA. Yes; I know him very well, indeed. Oh . . . I didn't . . . that is . . . I have not seen him for a long time. [Recovering her poise.] Is he surely coming?
JACK. He generally keeps his engagements.
JULIA. How did you come to know him?
LAURA. He's Ollie Montague's brother.
JACK. Who's Ollie Montague?
LAURA. He's one of those pretty boys that everybody knows in society; he brought his brother up from the South to introduce him. He was in some business deal or other with my father. Then he seemed to drop out of everything, and nobody sees him any more. I don't know why.
JACK. I think he was disgusted with his experiences.
JACK. [Realizing that he had said something awkward.] I think I was the first Socialist he'd ever met. He had just gotten to the stage of despair. He'd started out with a long program of reforms . . . and he was going to educate the people to them . . . one by one, until he'd made them all effective. I said to him: "By the time you've got the attention of the public on reform number thirty . . . what do you suppose the politicians will have been doing with reform number one?"
JULIA. We all have to go through that stage. I can remember just as well . . . [A ring upon the bell.] Ah, there he is.
JACK. [Rises and goes to the door.] But I think he's most through butting his head against the stone wall! [Calls.] Are you there, old man?
MONTAGUE. [Off.] I'm here!
JACK. How are you?
JACK. Come right in.
MONTAGUE. [Enters; a tall, handsome man of thirty; self-contained and slow of speech; the dark type of a Southerner.] I'm a trifle late. [Sees LAURA; starts.] Miss Hegan! You! [Recovers himself.] Why . . . an unexpected pleasure!
LAURA. Unexpected on both sides, Mr. Montague.
MONTAGUE. I'm delighted to meet you, really!
[They shake hands.]
JACK. Julia, my friend, Mr. Montague. Miss Patterson.
MONTAGUE. I'm very glad to meet you, Miss Patterson.
JULIA. We had no idea we were bringing old friends together.
MONTAGUE. No; it was certainly a coincidence.
LAURA. It's been . . . let me see . . . a year since we've met.
MONTAGUE. It must be fully that.
LAURA. Where do you keep yourself these days?
MONTAGUE. Oh, I'm studying, in a quiet way.
LAURA. And none of your old friends ever see you?
MONTAGUE. I don't get about much.
LAURA. [Earnestly.] And friendship means so little to you as that?
MONTAGUE. I . . . it would be hard to explain. I have been busy with politics . . .
[A pause of embarrassment.]
JULIA. Mr. Bullen has just been telling us about your heroism.
MONTAGUE. My heroism? Where?
JULIA. At the polling place.
MONTAGUE. Oh, that! It was nothing.
LAURA. It seemed like a good deal to us.
MONTAGUE. Make him tell you about some of his own adventures.
JULIA. Would you ever think, to look at his innocent countenance, that he had helped to hold a building for six hours against Russian artillery?
LAURA. Good heavens! Where was this?
JULIA. During the St. Petersburg uprising.
LAURA. And weren't you frightened to death?
JACK. [Laughing.] No; we were too busy taking pot- shots at the Cossacks. It was like the hunting season in the Adirondacks.
LAURA. And how did it turn out?
JACK. Oh, they were too much for us in the end. I got away, across the ice of the Neva . . . I had the heel of one shoe shot off. And yet people tell us romance is dead! Anybody who is looking for romance, and knows what it is, can find all he wants in Russia.
LAURA. [To MONTAGUE.] Have you seen my father lately?
MONTAGUE. No; not for some time.
LAURA. You may see him this evening. He promised to call for me.
JACK. Oh, by the way, Julia, I forgot! How's Annie?
LAURA. Oh, yes; how is she?
JULIA. She's doing well, I think. Better every day.
LAURA. Is she still violent?
JULIA. Not so much. I can always handle her now.
LAURA. Is she in the next room?
[Looking to the right.]
JULIA. Yes. She's been asleep since afternoon.
LAURA. And you still won't let me send her to a hospital?
JULIA. Oh, no. Truly, it would kill the poor girl.
LAURA. But you . . . with all your work, and your engagements?
JULIA. She's very quiet. And the neighbors come in and help when I'm out. They all sympathize.
LAURA. Talking about heroism . . . it seems to me that you are entitled to mention.
JULIA. Why, nonsense! . . . the girl was simply thrown into my arms.
LAURA. Most people would have managed to step out of the way, just the same. You've heard the story, have you, Mr. Montague?
MONTAGUE. Bullen has told it to me. You haven't been able to get any justice?
JACK. From the police? Hardly! But we're keeping at it, to make the story complete. I went to see Captain Quinn to-day. "What's this?" says he. "Annie Rogers again? Didn't your lady frien' get her pitcher in the papers over that case? An' what more does she want?"
JULIA. I went this afternoon to see the Tammany leader of our district . . .
JULIA. The same. I went straight into his saloon. "Lady," says he, "the goil's nutty! You got a bughouse patient on your bands! This here talk about the white- slave traffic, ma'am . . . it's all the work o' these magazine muckrakers!" "Meaning myself, Mr. Leary?" said I, and he looked kind of puzzled. I don't think he knew who I was.
MONTAGUE. All the work of the muckrakers! I see Boss Grimes is out to that effect also.
JACK. And I see that half a dozen clergymen sat down to a public banquet with him the other day. That's what we've come to in New York! Bob Grimes, with his hands on every string of the whole infamous system . . . with his paws in every filthy graft-pot in the city! Bob Grimes, the type and symbol of it all! Every time I see a picture of that bulldog face, it seems to me as if I were confronting all the horrors that I've ever fought in my life!
JULIA. It's curious to note how much less denunciation of Tammany one hears now than in the old days.
MONTAGUE. Tammany's getting respectable.
JACK. The big interests have found out how to use it. The traction gang, especially . . .
[He stops abruptly; a tense pause.]
LAURA. [Leaning toward him, with great earnestness.] Mr. Bullen, is that really true?
JACK. That is true, Miss Hegan.
LAURA. Mr. Bullen, you will understand what it means to me to hear that statement made. I hear it made continually, and I ask if it is true, and I am told that it is a slander. How am I to know? [A pause.] Would you be able to tell me that you know it of your own personal knowledge?
JACK. [Weighing the words.] No; I could not say that.
LAURA. Would you say that you could prove it to a jury?
JACK. I would say, that if I had to prove it, I could get the evidence.
LAURA. What would you say, Mr. Montague?
MONTAGUE. I would rather not say, Miss Hegan.
LAURA. Please! Please! I want you to answer me.
MONTAGUE. [After a pause.] I would say that I shall be able to prove it very shortly.
LAURA. How do you mean?
MONTAGUE. I have been giving most of my time to a study of just that question, and I think that I shall have the evidence.
LAURA. I see.
[She sinks back, very white; a pause; the bell rings.]
JULIA. Who can that be?
JACK. [Springing up.] Let me answer it. [Presses button; then, to MONTAGUE.] I had no idea you were going in for that, old man.
MONTAGUE. This is the first time I have ever mentioned it to any one.
JULIA. [Rising, hoping to relieve an embarrassing situation.] I hope this isn't any more company.
JACK. [To MONTAGUE, aside.] You must let me tell you a few things that I know. I've been running down a little story about Grimes and the traction crowd.
MONTAGUE. Indeed! What is it?
JACK. I can't tell it to you now . . . it would take too long. But, gee! If I can get the evidence, it'll make your hair stand on end! It has to do with the Grand Avenue Railroad suit.
MONTAGUE. The one that's pending in the Court of Appeals?
JACK. Yes. You see, Jim Hegan stands to lose a fortune by it, and I've reason to believe that there's some monkey-work being done with the Court. It happens that one of the judges has a nephew . . . a dissipated chap, who hates him. He's an old college friend of mine, and he's trying to get some evidence for me.
MONTAGUE. Good Lord!
JACK. And think, it concerns Jim Hegan personally.
[A knock at the door.]
JULIA. I'll go.
[Opens the door.]
HEGAN. [Without.] Good evening. Is Miss Hegan here?
LAURA. [Standing up.] Father!
JULIA. Won't you come in?
HEGAN. Thank you. [Enters; a tall, powerfully built man, with a square jaw, wide, over-arching eyebrows, and keen eyes that peer at one; a prominent nose, the aspect of the predatory eagle; a man accustomed to let other people talk and to read their thoughts.] Why, Mr. Montague, you here?
MONTAGUE. Mr. Hegan! Why, how do you do?
LAURA. We stumbled on each other by chance. Father, this is Miss Patterson.
HEGAN. I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Patterson.
JULIA. How do you do, Mr. Hegan?
[They shake hands.]
LAURA. And Mr. Bullen.
BULLEN. [Remaining where he is; stiffly.] Good evening, Mr. Hegan.
HEGAN. Good evening, sir. [Turns to LAURA.] My dear, I finished up downtown sooner than I expected, and I have another conference at the house. I stopped off to see if you cared to come now, or if I should send back the car for you.
LAURA. I think you'd best send it back.
JULIA. Why, yes . . . she only just got here.
HEGAN. Very well.
JULIA. Won't you stop a minute?
HEGAN. No. I really can't. Mr. Grimes is waiting for me downstairs.
LAURA. [Involuntarily.] Mr. Grimes!
LAURA. Robert Grimes?
HEGAN. [Surprised.] Yes. Why?
LAURA. Nothing; only we happened to be just talking about him.
HEGAN. I see.
JACK. [Aggressively.] We happen to have one of his victims in the next room.
HEGAN. [Perplexed.] One of his victims?
JULIA. [Protesting.] Jack!
JACK. A daughter of the slums. One of the helpless girls who have to pay the tribute that he . . .
[A piercing and terrifying scream is heard off right.]
HEGAN. What's that?
[The screams continue.]
JULIA. [Off.] Help! Help!
[Jack, who is nearest, leaps toward the door; but, before he can reach it, it is flung violently open.]
ANNIE. [Enters, delirious, her bare arms and throat covered with bruises, her hair loose, and her aspect wild; an Irish peasant girl, aged twenty.] No! No! Let me go!
[Rushes into the opposite corner, and cowers in terror.]
JULIA. [Following her.] Annie! Annie!
ANNIE. [Flings her off, and stretches out her arms.] What do you want with me? Help! Help! I won't do it! I won't stay! Let me alone!
[Wild and frantic sobbing.]
JULIA. Annie, dear! Annie! Look at me! Don't you know me? I'm Julia! Your own Julia! No one shall hurt you . . . no one!
ANNIE. [Stares at her wildly.] He's after me still! He'll follow me here! He won't let me get away from him! Oh, save me!
JULIA. [Embracing her.] Listen to me, dear. Don't think of things like that. You are in my home . . . nothing can hurt you. Don't let these evil dreams take hold of you.
ANNIE. [Stares, as if coming out of a trance.] Why didn't you help me before?
JULIA. Come, dear . . . come.
ANNIE. It's too late . . . too late! Oh . . . I can't forget about it!
JULIA. Yes, dear. I know . . .
ANNIE. [Seeing the others.] Who? . . .
JULIA. They are all friends; they will help you. Come, dear . . . lie down again.
ANNIE. Oh, what shall I do?
[Is led off, sobbing.]
JULIA. It will be all right, dear.
[Exit; a pause.]
HEGAN. What does this mean?
JACK. [Promptly and ruthlessly.] It means that you have been seeing the white- slave traffic in action.
HEGAN. I don't understand.
JACK. [Quietly, but with suppressed passion.] Tens of thousands of girl slaves are needed for the markets of our great cities . . . for the lumber camps of the North, the mining camps of the West, the ditches of Panama. And every four or five years the supply must be renewed, and so the business of gathering these girl- slaves from our slums is one of the great industries of the city. This girl, Annie Rogers, a decent girl from the North of Ireland, was lured into a dance hall and drugged, and then taken to a brothel and locked in a third-story room. They took her clothing away from her, but she broke down her door at night and fled to the street in her wrapper and flung herself into Miss Patterson's arms. Two men were pursuing her . . . they tried to carry her off. Miss Patterson called a policeman . . . but he said the girl was insane. Only by making a disturbance and drawing a crowd was my friend able to save her. And now, we have been the rounds . . . from the sergeant at the station, and the police captain, to the Chief of Police and the Mayor himself; we have been to the Tammany leader of the district . . . the real boss of the neighborhood . . . and there is no justice to be had anywhere for Annie Rogers!
JACK. You have my word for it, sir. And the reason for it is that this hideous traffic is one of the main cogs in our political machine. The pimps and the panders, the cadets and maquereaux . . . they vote the ticket of the organization; they contribute to the campaign funds; they serve as colonizers and repeaters at the polls. The tribute that they pay amounts to millions; and it is shared from the lowest to the highest in the organization . . . from the ward man on the street and the police captain, up to the inner circle of the chiefs of Tammany Hall . . . yes, even to your friend, Mr. Robert Grimes, himself! A thousand times, sir, has the truth about this monstrous infamy been put before the people of your city; and that they have not long ago risen in their wrath and driven its agents from their midst is due to but one single fact . . . that this infamous organization of crime and graft is backed at each election time by the millions of the great public service corporations. It is they . . .
MONTAGUE. [Interfering.] Bullen!
JACK. Let me go on! It is they, sir, who finance the thugs and repeaters who desecrate our polls. It is they who suborn our press and blind the eyes of our people. It is they who are responsible for this traffic in the flesh of our women. It is they who have to answer for the tottering reason of that poor peasant girl in the next room!
LAURA. [Has been listening to this speech, white with horror; as the indictment proceeds, she covers her face with her hands; at this point she breaks into uncontrollable weeping.] Oh! I can't stand it!
HEGAN. [Springing to her side.] My dear!
LAURA. [Clasping him.] Father! Father!
HEGAN. My child! I have begged you not to come to these places! Why should you see such things?
LAURA. [Wildly.] Why should I not see them, so long as they exist?
HEGAN. [Angrily.] I won't have it. This is the end of it! I mean what I say! Come home with me! . . . Come home at once!
LAURA. With Grimes? I won't meet that man!
HEGAN. Very well, then. You need not meet him. I'll call a cab, and take you myself. Where are your things?
LAURA. [Looking to the left.] In that room.
HEGAN. Come, then.
[Takes her off.]
JACK. [Turns to MONTAGUE, and to JULIA, who appears in doorway at right.] We gave it to them straight that time, all right!