Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays
Chapter 161 : HAMMER. Theres something the matter with all of us. How is your throat, Helms? HELMS.

HAMMER. There's something the matter with all of us. How is your throat, Helms?

HELMS. Pretty good. [_There is silence again._]

HANSEN. Fine weather to-day.

JOHNSTON. Regular birthday weather.

HAMMER. On my birthday it always rains.

HANSEN [_points to the window_]. You can see the sun from here.

BUFFE. I read in the papers about your son-in-law's appointment.

HELMS [_shortly_]. Yes?

JOHNSTON. Yes, we must congratulate you over again.

HANSEN. Helms is the luckiest man in the place.

HAMMER. Has your grandson been here yet?

HELMS. No.

BUFFE. Of course he's coming.

HELMS. I don't know.

JOHNSTON. Of course he'll come on your birthday. He's a fine young fellow.

HANSEN. Yes, indeed, Helms, you should be proud of him.

HAMMER [_sees Knut's portrait_]. There he is. [_All except Helms and Bolling look at the picture._]

HANSEN. Looks something like his grandfather.

JOHNSTON. Yes, it's a striking resemblance.

HAMMER. The nose.

JOHNSTON. And the eyes--look at the eyes.

HANSEN. Yes.

BUFFE. We are looking at his grandson's picture, Bolling.

[_Bolling stares indifferently. Helms casts apprehensive glances at Krakau._]

HAMMER. Look at the gifts.

HANSEN. He's a lucky man.

JOHNSTON [_with a sigh_]. Ah yes, when you have your family--

BUFFE [_showing the stockings_]. Helms got some wonderful birthday presents, Bolling.

BOLLING [_feeling them_]. Good wool.

HANSEN [_suddenly_]. What is Krakau doing over there?

HELMS [_angrily_]. Yes, why don't you stop skulking over there like a homeless dog.

BUFFE [_to Hammer_]. They have quarreled.

HAMMER. I guess so. [_To Hansen._] Have they had a fight?

HANSEN. I don't know.

JOHNSTON. That's right, be sociable, Krakau.

HELMS [_irritably_]. Why don't you get the wine, Krakau?

KRAKAU. How should I know--

HELMS [_interrupts_]. You know it is in the closet. [_Krakau takes bottle and gla.s.ses from the cupboard._]

HAMMER [_delighted_]. Did you say wine?

BUFFE. Wine! Did you hear?

HANSEN. You might think Helms was a postal inspector himself.

JOHNSTON. More than that! He's a millionaire in disguise. Krakau can tell you--he has stockings full of good red gold.

[_Krakau pours the wine. All watch with eager eyes. The sun now s.h.i.+nes full in the room._]

KRAKAU. Hadn't we better push the tables together.

HELMS [_petulantly_]. No. It's my birthday. And we can do very well without your table.

HAMMER. There'd be more room with both tables.

BUFFE. We can't all sit around one table.

HELMS. All right--push them together. [_They do so._]

JOHNSTON. We must fix our tables this way, too, Peter.

HANSEN. All right.