Act II
Any one who felt that the first Act was perhaps a little vulgar, will be glad to learn that we’re now on the lawn of the White House. Indeed, a corner of the Executive Mansion projects magnificently into sight, and steps lead up to the imposing swinging doors of a “Family Entrance.” From the window of the President’s office a flag flutters, and the awning displays this legend:
And if you look hard enough at the office window you can see the President himself sitting at his desk inside.
The lawn, bounded by a white brick wall, is no less attractive. Not only are there white vines and flowers, a beautiful white tree, and a white table and chairs, but, also, a large sign over the gate, which bears the President’s name pricked out in electric bulbs.
Two white kittens are strolling along the wall, enjoying the ten-o’clock sunshine. A blond parrot swings in a cage over the table, and one of the chairs is at present occupied by a white fox-terrier puppy about the size of your hand.
That’s right. “Isn’t it darling!” We’ll let you watch it for a moment before we move into the Whirl of Public Affairs.
Look! Here comes somebody out. It’s Mr. Jones, the well-known politician, now secretary to President Frost. He has a white broom in his hands, and, after delighting the puppy with an absolutely white bone, he begins to sweep off the White House steps. At this point the gate swings open and Charlotte Frost comes in. As befits the first Lady of the Land, she is elaborately dressed—in the height of many fashions. She’s evidently been shopping—her arms are full of packages—but she has nevertheless seen fit to array herself in a gorgeous evening dress, with an interminable train. From her wide picture hat a plume dangles almost to the ground.
Mr. Jones politely relieves her of her bundles.
CHARLOTTE [abruptly]. Good morning, Mr. Jones. Has everything gone to pieces?
Mr. Jones looks her over in some surprise.
JONES [apologetically]. Well, perhaps the petticoat——
CHARLOTTE [a little stiffly]. I didn’t mention myself, I don’t think, Mr. Jones. I meant all my husband’s public affairs.
JONES. He’s been in his office all morning, Mrs. Frost. There are a lot of people waiting to see him.
CHARLOTTE. [She’s relieved.] I heard them calling an extra, and I thought maybe everything had gone to pieces.
JONES. No, Mrs. Frost, the President hasn’t made any bad mistake for some time now. Of course, a lot of people objected when he appointed his father Secretary of the Treasury; his father’s being so old——
CHARLOTTE. Well, I’ve had to stand for his family all my life—so I guess the country can. [Confidentially.]
JONES [a little embarrassed]. I see you’ve been shopping.
CHARLOTTE. I’ve been buying some things for my sister’s wedding reception this afternoon.
The window of President Frost’s office opens abruptly. A white cigar emerges—followed by Jerry’s hairless eyebrows—passionately knit.
JERRY. All right. Go on and yell—and then when I make some awful mistake and the country goes to pieces, blame it on me!
CHARLOTTE [very patiently]. Nagging me again. Picking on me. Pick—pick—pick! All day!
JERRY. Gosh, you can be disagreeable, Charlit!
CHARLOTTE. Pick—pick—pick!
JERRY [confused]. Pick?
CHARLOTTE [sharply]. Pick!
Jerry jams down his window.
Meanwhile from the window above has emerged a hand holding a mirror. The hand is presently followed by a head with the hair slicked back damply. Doris, sister-in-law to the President, is seeking more light for her afternoon toilet.
DORIS [disapprovingly]. I can hear you two washing your clothes in public all over the lawn.
CHARLOTTE. He keeps nagging at me.
Doris begins to apply a white lotion to her face. She daubs it at a freckle on her nose, and gazes passionately at the resultant white splotch.
DORIS [abstractedly]. I should think you’d get so you could stand him in public, anyways.
CHARLOTTE. He makes me madder in public than anywhere else.
She gathers her bundles and goes angrily into the White House. Doris glances down at Mr. Jones, and, deciding hastily that she is too publicly placid, withdraws her person from sight.
Jones picks up his broom and is about to go inside when a uniformed chauffeur opens the gate and announces:
“The Honorable Joseph Fish, Senator from Idaho.”
And now here’s Joseph Fish, in an enormous frock-coat and a tall silk hat, radiating an air of appalling prosperity.
FISH. Good morning, Mr. Jones. Is my fiancée around?
JONES. I believe she’s in her boudoir, Senator Fish. How is everything down at the capital?