The Melting-Pot

nervous suspiciousness of the Russian official, it is never lost;

his nervousness, despite its comic side, being visibly the tragic

shadow of his position. His English has only a touch of the

foreign in accent and vocabulary and is much superior to his

wife's, which comes to her through her French. The BARONESS is

pretty and dressed in red in the height of Paris fashion, but

blazes with barbaric jewels at neck and throat and wrist. She

gestures freely with her hand, which, when ungloved, glitters

with heavy rings. She is much younger than the BARON and

self-consciously fascinating. Her parasol, which matches her

costume, suggests the sunshine without. QUINCY DAVENPORT is in a

smart spring suit with a motor dust-coat and cap, which last he

lays down on the mantelpiece.

SERVANT

Miss Revendal is on the roof-garden. I'll go and tell her.

[Exit, toward the hall.]

BARON

A marvellous people, you Americans. Gardens in the sky!

QUINCY

Gardens, forsooth! We plant a tub and call it Paradise. No, Baron. New York is the great stone desert.

BARONESS

But ze big beautiful Park vere ve drove tru?

QUINCY

No taste, Baroness, modern sculpture and menageries! Think of the Medici gardens at Rome.

BARONESS

Ah, Rome!

[With an ecstatic sigh, she drops into an armchair. Then she

takes out a dainty cigarette-case, pulls off her right-hand

glove, exhibiting her rings, and chooses a cigarette. The BARON,

seeing this, produces his match-box.]

QUINCY

And now, dear Baron Revendal, having brought you safely to the den of the lioness-if I may venture to call your daughter so-I must leave you to do the taming, eh?

BARON

You are always of the most amiable.

[He strikes a match.]

BARONESS

Tout à fait charmant.

[The BARON lights her cigarette.]

QUINCY [Bows gallantly]

Don't mention it. I'll just have my auto take me to the Club, and then I'll send it back for you.

BARONESS

Ah, zank you-zat street-car looks horreeble.

[She puffs out smoke.]

BARON

Quite impossible. What is to prevent an anarchist sitting next to you and shooting out your brains?

QUINCY

We haven't much of that here-I don't mean brains. Ha! Ha! Ha!

BARON

But I saw desperadoes spying as we came off your yacht.

QUINCY

Oh, that was newspaper chaps.

BARON [Shakes his head]

No-they are circulating my appearance to all the gang in the States. They took snapshots.

QUINCY

Then you're quite safe from recognition.

[He sniggers.] Didn't they ask you questions?

BARON

Yes, but I am a diplomat. I do not reply.

QUINCY

That's not very diplomatic here. Ha! Ha!

BARON

Diable!

[He claps his hand to his hip pocket, half-producing a pistol.

The BARONESS looks equally anxious.]

QUINCY

What's up?

BARON [Points to window, whispers hoarsely]

Regard! A hooligan peeped in!

QUINCY [Goes to window]

Only some poor devil come to the Settlement.

BARON [Hoarsely]

But under his arm-a bomb!

QUINCY [Shaking his head smilingly]

A soup bowl.

BARONESS

Ha! Ha! Ha!

QUINCY

What makes you so nervous, Baron?

[The BARON slips back his pistol, a little ashamed.]

BARONESS

Ze Intellectuals and ze Bund, zey all hate my husband because he is faizful to Christ

[Crossing herself] and ze Tsar.

QUINCY

But the Intellectuals are in Russia.

BARON

They have their branches here-the refugees are the leaders-it is a diabolical network.

QUINCY

Well, anyhow, we're not in Russia, eh? No, no, Baron, you're quite safe. Still, you can keep my automobile as long as you like-I've plenty.

BARON

A thousand thanks.

[Wiping his forehead.] But surely no gentleman would sit in the public car, squeezed between working-men and shop-girls, not to say Jews and Blacks.

QUINCY

It is done here. But we shall change all that. Already we have a few taxi-cabs. Give us time, my dear Baron, give us time. You mustn't judge us by your European standard.

BARON