TED. But I tell you ...

MARTIN.  They jailed conscientious objectors in the last war.  This time they will shoot them.

TED. Why are you Communists so afraid of war?

MARTIN.  We know what starts it.—­It’s the army, Ted, that makes war.

TED. But this country hasn’t a big standing army.

MARTIN.  There are ten millions in it.

TED. You mean the unemployed?

MARTIN.  That’s the army that makes war these days.

TED. You radicals always say that.  I don’t agree with you—­except about war.  I think you are right about that.

MARTIN.  Which is why the American Legion wants to exterminate us.

TED. They want war.  But you want revolution.  You are against war and for revolution.  That’s silly.  Just a different kind of war.  You’re both wrong.  There’s no sense in any of you.

MARTIN.  That’s right.  The business men have all the sense.  They know that an army in rags is more dangerous to them than an army in uniform.  So we will wear uniforms.  I just tried yours on to see how it would fit you.

TED. [Picks up the two halves out of basket and puts them together and stares at it.] No.—­No.  I’ll never wear one.  Never! [He crumples drawing and throws it back into basket, LAURA comes in from the kitchen. TED, looking for escape, goes into bedroom.]

LAURA.  Tippy hasn’t telephoned.  That means he hasn’t found Ken.

MARTIN.  Maybe he wants to march the grand monarch in on us.

LAURA.  Oh, I hope so.—­He ought to be back....  Martin, do you think Ken will ever forgive me?

MARTIN.  Well, you know what Solomon said about the way of a man with a maid.

LAURA.  Don’t wise-crack.

MARTIN.  I’m only hiding my ignorance behind Solomon’s.

LAURA.  Do you think Ken should forgive me?

MARTIN.  I think he ought to spank you till you’d have to eat off the mantel for a week, and then take you back to his bed and board and forget it.

LAURA.  If he only would.

TIPPY. [Enters, looking gloomy.] He hasn’t been at the apartment,
Laura.—­He hasn’t been there and he hasn’t ’phoned there.

MARTIN.  So that’s that.

TIPPY.  There were some messages for him.  The girl at the switchboard said a man’s voice asked for Ken and then asked for you.  Called a couple of times.  Left no name.

LAURA.  Maybe I ought to go home?

TIPPY.  Would you be any more miserable alone?

LAURA.  I couldn’t be.

TIPPY.  You stay here a while.  I gave the girl this address and number and told her to give it to anyone who called.  I also made her promise that if Ken came in she’d call you here at once.

LAURA.  She’ll die of curiosity.

TIPPY.  Telephone operators develop immunity.

LAURA.  You’re a dear.  Thanks.—­But—­what shall we do?