used to get sore as a pup when people said a man was radical
only because he was unemployed. But it's true. I know because I've
lived through it. A man's political views are colored by his
situation.

MARTIN. [_Shouting with laughter._] Hey! Don't plagiarize Marx.

KEN, Marx?

MARTIN. Karl Marx; you're stealing his thunder. That's what the man
wrote his big book about. Only--you see it for one man and a few
months. Marx saw it for all humanity for all time.

LAURA. They're at it again. The dear little schoolboys.--Tippy, how
does one make them grow up?

TIPPY. Opinions differ. Bobby Benson says Mother's Oats and Buck
Rogers says Cocomalt. What do you give Ken for breakfast?

KEN. I say, what's Ted doing?

TIPPY. About the same.

KEN. Still looking for book bargains?

TIPPY. They get harder and harder to sell.

KEN. The trouble with you fellows is you encourage Ted in his
weakness. Someone ought to put it to him straight. The man doesn't
realize where he's drifting.

MARTIN. Yes--well--that's his business.

KEN. You fellows are afraid to talk to him.

LAURA. What is there to say to him?

KEN. Say to him? Say to him that the least he could do is to apply
for relief work.

MARTIN. [_Pointedly._] Ken, you're welcome to your opinion. But I'd
advise you not to say anything to Ted about relief.

KEN. Why not? There's no disgrace in relief work. You'd be
surprised how many ...

MARTIN. [_Shortly._] We know as many nice people on relief as you
do.

KEN. I said relief work, not relief.

MARTIN. What's the difference?

LAURA. Why, Martin, there's a big difference!

MARTIN. Sure there is. Plain reliefers can sit on the benches.
Relief workers have shovels to lean on. It's a true class
distinction.

KEN. There are lots of loafers and piddling projects,--but the
government's also doing some big jobs, some real construction work.

TIPPY. Martin wrote a song about that.

LAURA. Really? Have you turned composer, Martin?

MARTIN. Just some new words on an old tune.

LAURA. Oh, let's hear it.

MARTIN. After dinner.

LAURA. No, I can't wait. You sing it for us now, then after dinner
we can all sing it. [_She picks up guitar and thrusts it at him_.]
Come on, Lyric Writer, tune up.

KEN. [_Tolerantly._] Sure let's hear it.

MARTIN. [_Singing._]
Then little Andy Lang of the Lake Shore gang
Said, "Boys, you know I'm countin'
Each day and week until I see

ALL. The Big Roc