The Gibson Upright written by Booth Tarkington
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Booth Tarkington >> The Gibson Upright
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?
NORA: That's the capitalist! They think it's capital that runs the
factories!
GIBSON: And I'm the capital, am I?
NORA: What in the world else? [_Touches the piano._] You think you
produce this wealth because you've got your money in it? You pass out a
pittance to those who do produce it, and when they ask for more than a
pittance you take their tools away from them! If they rebel you set the
police on them. That's capital--and that's you, Mr. Gibson!
GIBSON: Nora, you told me not to speak to you as a woman.
NORA: I mean it!
GIBSON: I'm going to disregard it. Couldn't you get your theories out of
your mind for a while and make a little room there for me?
NORA: My theories! I haven't any theories! I'm talking about the truth,
and the truth is my whole life. I can't find room for anything but the
truth.
GIBSON: Couldn't you?
NORA: Ah, that's a man's egoism! With the whole world seething so that
its wrongs should fill every mind--yes, and every heart--until they're
righted, you ask me--
GIBSON: I think you needn't make it any clearer, Nora; I understand.
NORA [_turning away, agitated_]: I am glad you do.
[_The factory door opens to the impetuous arrival of a
workingman of extraordinary size and vehemence_, RILEY, _a
truck driver._]
RILEY [_as he opens the door_]: See here, Mr. Gibson, fer the love o'
heaven, don't the truck drivers fer this factory git no consideration?
GIBSON: I don't know! What do they want?
RILEY: Look here, Mr. Gibson, man to man, every department in this
factory is makin' demands and goin' to walk out if they don't git 'em.
Ain't we got no chance fer no demands?
GIBSON: I said: What do you want?
RILEY: Why, we got grievances been hangin' over I don't know how long!
GIBSON: What are they?
RILEY: Why, all them other departments is going to git raises. You don't
think fer a minute the truck drivers ain't going to--
GIBSON: How much raise do you want?
RILEY: Sir?
GIBSON: How much raise do you want?
RILEY: I can't jest say right this minute. We jest heard what was goin'
on in the other departments, and we ain't had no meetin' to settle just
what raise we _are_ goin' to git. Now, Mr. Gibson, if I was runnin' this
factory--
GIBSON: Well, what would you do?
RILEY: The first thing I'd do, I'd see that the truck drivers didn't
have no more discontent than nobody else. What becomes of your freight
if you can't run no trucks? You got to look out, Mr. Gibson! It's us got
the upper hand.
GIBSON: Go call your meeting and find out what raise you're going to
strike for.
RILEY: Yes, sir; I'll do it. [_He goes out quickly._]
NORA: [_amazed and rather gentle_]: Are you going to give them what they
want?
GIBSON: No; I only wanted to get rid of him a minute to think--or try
to.
NORA [_in a low voice, offended_]: Oh, excuse me! [_She is going out._]
GIBSON: Stay here! [_He seems to approach a decision--one of desperation
and anger. Then he speaks crisply, but more to himself than to_ NORA.]
All right--they get it! [_Looks up at_ NORA, _gives her a frowning stare
of some duration._] Tell Riley to call off his meeting, please. I want
all those spokesmen for the departments here. I'll give them their
answer now.
[NORA _looks at him, puzzled, bites her lip, and goes out
quickly into the factory._ GIBSON'S _expression is determined;
so is his action. He goes to the wall, brings two chairs, one
in each hand, places them at the large table. Repeats this
until he has chairs placed at the table on both sides and at
the head as if for a directors' meeting. The door opens and_
SALVATORE, MIFFLIN, CARTER, RILEY, SHOMBERG, FRANKEL, _and_
SIMPSON _enter. They come in, speaking together; most of them
talking somewhat ominously._]
CROWD: Well, he better!... We ain't workin' for our health.... My whole
department'll walk out!... You bet your life we're goin' to!... He
needn't kid himself about our not meaning business!
FRANKEL: Well, Mr. Gibson, we'd like to know what conclusion you come
to.
GIBSON: I'm going to tell you. Simpson, please ask Miss Gorodna to step
in.
[SIMPSON _merely looks out of the door, and_ NORA _comes in
quickly._]
Carter, take that chair at the head of the table. Frankel, Salvatore,
Shomberg, sit there, and there, and there! Riley, sit there. Simpson,
there! Miss Gorodna, will you please sit here? [_They take the seats he
indicates, but they look puzzled, somewhat perturbed; whisper and murmur
to one another._] Thank you! There! That looks like a directors' tables
doesn't it?
SALVATORE: What's this all about?
GIBSON: I want to ask you people if any of you ever knew me to break my
word to you?
FRANKEL: Oh, no, Mr. Gibson, we know you never break your agreements!
GIBSON: I want to ask you people: Haven't you found my word as good as
my bond?
CARTER: Why, yes, Mr. Gibson.
SIMPSON: Sure! We know you'll do what you say.
GIBSON: Do you all agree to that?
SALVATORE: Soit'nly! You're a gentleman.
RILEY: Sure, we agree to it!
SHOMBERG: Oh, well, prob'ly so.
GIBSON: All right! I'm going to do something you don't expect, and I
want you to know I mean it. But before I do it I want to tell you
something. Probably you won't understand it, but for a long time I had a
pride in this factory. Building up The Gibson Upright was really the
pride of my life. To do that I knew I had to have a loyal staff of
workmen, and for that reason if no other I have given you shorter hours
and more pay than the men get in any other factory of this kind that I
know of. I've done everything that can be done to make the shops healthy
and light and clean. I certainly haven't been unfriendly to you
personally. Any man in the factory was free to come in that door to talk
to me any time he wanted to. I've done my best and we've been called
the model factory. I've done my best but--it isn't enough. It never has
been enough. And I've been told it never will be enough [_with a glance
at_ NORA] until the wage system has been abolished--until capital has
been abolished and the parasite destroyed! I say I took a pride in the
factory for years! Now I am no longer able to. I can't take a pride in a
squabble, and that's all this factory has come to be. And I'll tell you
frankly--you men feel you'd like to get rid of me; well, I want to get
rid of you. And I intend to!
SHOMBERG [_fiercely_]: You goin' to close this factory down?
GIBSON: No; I'm going to give it to you!
SEVERAL WORKMEN: What!
GIBSON [_emphatically_]: I'm going to give it to you! I turn it over to
you, here and now. This property is mine, but the use of it is yours.
Don't you understand? You've said yourselves my word is as good as my
bond. Well, the factory is yours. I'm going to get away from it. You
take it and run it.
[_He gets his hat and coat._]
SIMPSON: What in thunder does he mean?
SALVATORE: Say, what's the game?
GIBSON: There it is! Take it and run it yourselves, for yourselves. It
belongs to every workman in the factory on equal shares. [_Throws keys
on table._] There are the keys of the safe, and the combination's in the
top drawer of that desk. It's all yours as it stands, down to the very
correspondence on that table, without any let, hindrance, or
interference from me.
FRANKEL [_hoarsely_]: Say! He means it!
SALVATORE: All the money ours?
GIBSON: The money for every piano you make and sell is yours--every cent
of it.
MIFFLIN [_rising transfigured_]: Gentlemen, a glorious time has come!
This is an example to every employer of labour in our land. I thank that
power which destined all men to be equal both in service and reward that
I should have chanced to be present to see such a splendid band of
forward-looking fellows--of brothers, of comrades--come into their own!
Let us hope that this great moment but marks the beginning of an epoch
when every capitalist and manufacturer shall see the light as Mr. Gibson
has just done.
As spokesman for these--these men, Mr. Gibson, I would congratulate you
for anticipating the inevitable and certain world future! You have done
well for yourself to perceive it. I am sure on that account you leave
here with their respect. And to you I should think it might be some
relief--
GIBSON: Relief? I should think it might! And you can translate that into
your nineteen languages and dialects--including the Scandinavian! As for
you men--you wouldn't work for me--now see if you can work for
yourselves! Good-bye, Miss Gorodna!
[NORA, _who has been looking at him tensely, inclines her head
slightly. He opens the door that leads to the street and goes
out decisively. There are exclamations from everyone, loud but
awed. "Say, look here, look here, look here!"
"Give it to us!" "Equal shares! Did you hear what he said?"
"Gosh! Is this the end of the world?" "My wife won't believe
it!"_]
MIFFLIN: Gentlemen, this factory comes into the possession of every
workman in it on equal terms; each has a like share in the profits. At
last the workman owns his tools.
FRANKEL [_suddenly, as if light had just come_]: Gibson's crazy!
MIFFLIN: No, no! He saw the writing on the wall!
NORA [_as if entranced, her eyes to heaven_]: Isn't it
wonderful--wonderful!
MIFFLIN [_beaming_]: But we mustn't forget that it entails
responsibilities.
NORA: We mustn't forget that.
[_The telephone bell rings. They all turn their heads in
silence and look at it_, MIFFLIN _watching them, benevolently
chuckling. The bell rings again._]
CARTER [_blankly_]: The telephone is ringin'.
MIFFLIN: Well, answer it, answer it!
SIMPSON: Who?
MIFFLIN: Why, you--any of you. It's yours--it's your telephone.
SIMPSON: You answer it, Carter.
[CARTER _goes to the telephone and picks it up in a somewhat
gingerly way._]
CARTER: Hello!... Yes.... Yes, it's The Gibson Upright.... No, he ain't
here.... What? Wait a minute. [_Puts his hand over the mouthpiece._] He
wants to know who it is talking.
FRANKEL: My goodness! Can't you tell him it's you?
CARTER: He wouldn't know who that was.
MIFFLIN: Tell him it's one of the owners of the company.
CARTER [_looks at_ MIFFLIN _solemnly; then in a hushed voice_]: It's one
of the owners of the company.... Wait a minute; let me get that. "The
Central Associated Lumber Companies?" I hear you. Wait a minute. [_Looks
round._] This here company says they want to lower their bid for a
couple hundred thousand feet o' lumber to forty-seven dollars a
thousand. They say that's a dollar lower than they offered yesterday and
a half a dollar lower than they offered this morning--says got to know
now.
FRANKEL: Says they come _down_ to forty-seven, do they?
CARTER: Yes; says so!
SIMPSON: Well, tell 'em that's good; we'll take it.
THE OTHERS: Sure, that's right!... That's a good offer.... Sure, we'll
take it!
CARTER [_at the telephone_]: We'll take it. [_Pause._] You're welcome.
[_Puts down the telephone amid general buzz from all the
others. They rise somewhat dazedly, but relaxing, beginning to
take in their surroundings in the new life._ SHOMBERG _and_
SIMPSON _shake hands._ FRANKEL _goes over and examines the
safe._ SALVATORE _picks up a basket of correspondence from the
desk as if it were a strange bug._ SHOMBERG _opens a drawer in
the table. There is a buzz of congratulative, formless talk.
They spread over the stage, looking at everything._]
MIFFLIN [_transfigured, his right hand lifted_]: Gentlemen, this is the
New Dawn!
ACT II
_The yard beside_ GIBSON'S _house. Upon our left is seen the
porch or sun-room wing of a good "colonial" house of the
present type. A hedge runs across at the back, about five feet
high, with a gateway and rustic gate. Beyond is seen a
residential suburban quarter, well wooded and with ample
shrubberies. A gravelled path leads from the gate to the porch,
or sun-room, where are broad steps. Upon the lawn are a white
garden bench, a table, and a great green-and-white-striped sun
umbrella, with several white garden chairs.
Autumn has come, and the foliage is beginning to turn; but the
scene is warm and sunlit.
After a moment a young housemaid brings out a tray with a
chocolate pot, wafers, and one cup and saucer and a lace-edged
napkin. She places the tray on the table, moves a chair to it,
looks at the tray thoughtfully, turns, starts toward the
house--when_ GIBSON _comes out. He wears a travelling suit and
is bareheaded._
ELLA: The cook thought you might like a cup of chocolate after a long
trip like that--just getting off the train and all, Mr. Gibson.
GIBSON: Thank you, Ella, I should.
ELLA: I'll bring your mail right out.
[_She goes into the house and returns with a packet of
letters._]
GIBSON: Thanks, Ella!
ELLA: Everything is there that's come since you sent the telegram not to
forward any more.
GIBSON: It's pleasant to find the house and everything just as I left
it.
ELLA: My, Mr. Gibson, we pretty near thought you wasn't never coming
back. Those June roses in that bed round yonder lasted pretty near up
into August this year, Mr. Gibson. For that matter it's such mild
weather even yet some say we won't have any fall till Thanksgiving.
GIBSON: Yes, it's extraordinary.
ELLA: Shall I leave the tray?
GIBSON: No; you can take it. [_She moves to do so._] Wait a minute.
Here's a letter from John Riley, up at the factory. Don't I remember his
son Tom coming here to see you quite a good deal?
ELLA: Yes, sir; Tom's one of the factory truckmen like his father. He
still comes to see me quite a good deal, sir. There isn't anything about
that in the letter, is there, sir? [_She knows there isn't._]
GIBSON [_absently_]: No, no! [_With faint irony._] He only wants to know
about where to get a stock of truck parts that had been ordered before I
broke connections with the factory. He thinks four months is a long time
for them to be on the way and doesn't know where to write.
ELLA: He's a terrible active man, Mr. Riley. Always pushing.
GIBSON: So Tom comes round more than ever, does he?
ELLA [_coyly_]: He does, sir!
GIBSON: I'm not going to lose you, am I, Ella?
ELLA: Well, sir, up to the time of that change in the factory we hadn't
expected we could get married for maybe two years yet, but the way
things are now--not that I want to leave here, sir--but it does look
like going right ahead with the wedding!
GIBSON: Tom feels that prosperous, does he?
ELLA: I guess he _is_ prosperous, sir!
GIBSON [_gravely digesting this_]: Well, I suppose I'm glad to hear it.
ELLA: Yes, sir; everybody's glad these days up at the factory, sir. I
don't mean about just Tom and me, they're glad.
GIBSON: You mean they're all in a glad condition?
ELLA: Oh, _are_ they, sir! Even the Commiskeys got an automobile last
month!
GIBSON: Well, I suppose that's splendid.
ELLA: Didn't you know about it, sir?
GIBSON: No, not a word. I've been pretty deep up in the Maine woods this
summer. Have you been over to the factory at all yourself, Ella?
ELLA: Yes, sir; visitors can go round just as they like to. They're glad
to have you.
GIBSON: When you've been over there, Ella--you know which one is Miss
Gorodna, don't you?
ELLA: Oh, yes, sir! She's one of the best in managing, Miss Gorodna.
GIBSON: You--did you--have you happened to see her?
ELLA: Yes, sir, once or twice.
GIBSON: Did she--ah--did she look overworked?
ELLA: Oh, I shouldn't say so, sir.
GIBSON: She looked well, then?
ELLA: Yes, indeed, sir! Everybody's so happy up there; I don't suppose
none of 'em could look happier than she is, sir!
GIBSON: They are all happy, then?
ELLA [_laughing joyfully_]: You never see such times in your life, sir!
[_A bell rings in the house._] I'll answer the bell.
GIBSON: I've finished this, Ella.
ELLA: Yes, sir. [_She takes the tray and goes into the house._ GIBSON
_opens another letter, reads it._ ELLA _returns._]
ELLA: It's Mr. Mifflin, sir.
GIBSON: All right.
[MIFFLIN, _beaming and bubbling, more radiant than in Act 1,
but dressed as then except for a change of tie, comes from the
house. He carries his umbrella and hat and the same old
magazines and a newspaper._]
MIFFLIN: Ah, Mr. Gibson, you couldn't stay away any longer!
GIBSON: How de do! Sit down!
MIFFLIN [_effervescing, as they sit_]: It's glorious! I heard from your
household you were expected back this Sunday. Now confess! You couldn't
stay away! You had to come and watch it!
GIBSON: Well, I've not had to come and watch it for four months. I don't
expect to watch it much, now.
MIFFLIN: You don't mean to sit there and tell me you don't know
anything about it!
GIBSON: No; I don't know anything about it.
MIFFLIN: Mr. Gibson, you're an extraordinary man!
GIBSON: No, I'm not. What I did was extraordinary, but I was only an
ordinary man pushed into a hole.
MIFFLIN: Oh, no; surrendering the factory was merely normal. What's
remarkable is your staying away from watching the glorious work these
former hireling workmen of your factory are doing, now they've won their
industrial freedom. Myself, I've taken rooms near by: I started to do
one article; now I have a series. And oh, the glory of watching these
comrades with their economic shackles off! Haven't you heard anything of
our success?
GIBSON: Only a word from my housemaid.
MIFFLIN [_delightedly, pinning him_]: Aha! There! What did she say?
"Only a word"; but what was IT?
GIBSON: It indicated--prosperity.
MIFFLIN: Ah! Immense prosperity, didn't it?
GIBSON: I suppose so. Success, at any rate.
MIFFLIN: Success? It's so magnificent that now it's inevitable for
every factory of every kind all over this country.
GIBSON: All over the country?
MIFFLIN: Not only all over this country! The world must do it. Ah,
they've done it in a country larger than this already! And these
comrades right here are showing our country what it means. I don't
begrudge you some credit for having begun it, Mr. Gibson. But you only
anticipated what all owners everywhere are going to have to do before
the workmen simply _take_ the factories. They're going to take them
because they have the inherent right; and they're going to take them
_now_, either by direct action or by the technical owners, like
yourself, seeing the handwriting on the wall.
GIBSON: What do you mean by direct action?
MIFFLIN: Why, just taking them!
GIBSON: By force?
MIFFLIN [_deprecatingly but affably_]: Oh, we hope the theoretical
owners won't reduce them to such extremes. There might be a few cases
that law-abiding citizens would regret; but that isn't the big thing.
Our work here is so far perhaps on the small scale, but it shows--it
shows--that everything must be on a cooeperative basis!
GIBSON: Everything? My house, too?
MIFFLIN [_beaming_]: Your house, too.
GIBSON [_amiably_]: How about your gold eyeglasses?
MIFFLIN [_laughing_]: Those will be given me by the state. But
seriously, aren't you coming to pay us a visit at the factory?
GIBSON: Since you ask me--what's the best time? I suppose the whistle
doesn't blow as early as it used to.
MIFFLIN [_laughing pityingly_]: Whistle! Oh, my dear sir! This only
confirms me in my old idea that the technical owners didn't have
practical minds. You don't suppose we abolished you, and then didn't
abolish the whistle? That whistle hurt self-respect. Really I'm sorry
it's Sunday and I can't take you over there this minute to see the great
changes. Talk about collectivism! That factory is the most interesting
place in the world to-day. When the men were working eight long hours a
day under a master it was all repression, reserve; their individualities
were stifled. Now they expand!
GIBSON: You mean they talk a good deal?
MIFFLIN: I never have been in a place where there was so much talk in my
life. They talk all the time; it shows they are thinking.
GIBSON: Isn't it noisy?
MIFFLIN [_delighted_]: It is! Every man has his own ideas and he
expresses them. It means a freshness and originality in the work that
never got into it before.
GIBSON [_worried_]: Originality? You don't mean to say they've changed
any of the features of The Gibson Upright.
MIFFLIN: Oh, no; it's the same piano--and yet different! I almost feel I
could tell the difference by looking at one. There's no change; yet now
it has character. And those men--those men, Mr. Gibson--it's brought out
_their_ character so! They're thinking all the time.
GIBSON: They're working, too, of course?
MIFFLIN: Working! You never saw men work under the old capitalistic
regime, Mr. Gibson! Don't think that this work is the driven, dogged
thing it was when they had to. This is work with dignity, with
enthusiasm, with spontaneity!
GIBSON [_rising, very thoughtful_]: Well, I ought to hope that it is, of
course!
[_He walks to and fro a moment, then comes and rests his hands
on the back of a chair, looking at_ MIFFLIN.]
Mr. Mifflin, I went into this with open eyes. I was angry at the time,
but I had thought of it often. And when I went out I went out! Now I've
kept away and I don't intend to do any prying--as a matter of fact, I'm
only back here for two or three days--but I have some natural curiosity,
especially about certain particulars.
MIFFLIN: Everything is as open as the sunlight--no capitalistic secret
machinations. Ask anything you like!
GIBSON: Well, then, do you happen to know what are the profits for these
four months?
MIFFLIN: Frankly, that's a detail I don't know. But I do know that
everyone is delighted and that the profits have been large.
GIBSON: And no friction among the men?
MIFFLIN: No--I--no, none at all; no friction; nothing that could be
called friction at all.
GIBSON: Then it's a complete success?
MIFFLIN: Absolutely! Why, just let me picture it to you, Mr. Gibson.
Don't you understand, these men are not hirelings now; they're comrades,
a brotherhood! You should see them as they come from the factory in the
warm afternoon sunshine. They stop in groups and continue discussions of
matters of interest that have come up during the day. You hear the most
eager discussion, such spirited repartee; and in the factory itself
these groups gather at any time. When there may be some tiny bit of
friction it is disposed of amicably, comrade to comrade. And some of the
wives of the workmen have taken the greatest interest! Imagine under the
capitalistic regime a wife coming and sitting at her husband's side and
taking up little matters of importance with him, as a wife should, while
he worked! Oh, the wives have caught the idea, too! They're
proprietresses just as much as their husbands are proprietors. And you
can see how keenly they feel the responsibility and want to share in
settling all questions that come up. Then they walk home with their
husbands, talking it all over. Mr. Gibson, I tell you, sometimes it has
moved me. More than once I have found my eyes moistening as I watched
it.
GIBSON: And do you happen to know--well, haven't the men felt the need
for a certain kind of general management of the institution's affairs?
MIFFLIN: Oh, that's all met--all met by meetings of the governing board,
the committee.
GIBSON: No; I meant, hasn't any need been felt for a man with a certain
specialized knowledge? Say, for instance, to deal with the purchasing
of raw materials?
MIFFLIN [_somewhat vague and puzzled_]: I think they did do this through
an individual for a time. I think the head bookkeeper was given charge
of such matters; at least I think so. But probably they found that the
creation of such an office was unnecessary. Purely clerical work. At
least I haven't seen him about for several weeks.