No Pockets in a Shroud

by Horace McCoy

  'We came back here because we had a little business to talk over,' Dolan said.

  'Well, now that you've quite, quite finished, will you get on stage?'

  'But we haven't quite-quite finished,' Dolan said.

  'We're coming,' Johnny said.

  'Thank you so very much!' David said, sweeping out.

  Dolan growled. 'He forgets this is a Little Theatre. He forgets we're not getting paid for this.'

  'Don't let him annoy you. He can't help being that way.'

  'I don't mind him being a pansy. It's his goddam arrogance that gets me.'

  'He doesn't mean anything by it. As a matter of fact, he admires you. But, look, you'd better get out there. You're the big star, and you're supposed to set a good example for the rest of these amateurs.'

  'What about the dough? Will you let me have it?'

  'I'll talk to you after rehearsal.'

  'It means a hell of a lot to me, Johnny.'

  'Dolan!' a voice shouted.

  'That's the Major,' Johnny said. 'Come on ...'

  'Could I speak to you a moment, Dolan?' the Major called from the audience.

  'Sure,' Dolan said, going down over the footlights to where the director was sitting with David and a couple of other stooges.

  'Do you realize we've only got six more days' rehearsal?' the Major asked.

  'I know that,' Dolan said.

  'There's a tremendous lot of work to be done. I wish you'd do your part.'

  'I will—'

  'I'm producing this play especially for you. For two seasons you've been begging to do Meteor, and now I think the least you can do is to be ready for the curtains and cues. That's only common politeness.'

  'I was only talking to Johnny London a minute—'

  'That's no excuse for rudeness.'

  'I'm not deliberately trying to be rude. I've got a lot of things on my mind.'

  'Well, get up there and try to keep this play on your mind. All right,' the Major called to the people on stage. 'Last act!...'

  The rehearsal was over a little before midnight.

  'Well, it wasn't good and it wasn't bad,' the Major said. 'You can do better. Please brush up on your lines. Especially you, April. Tomorrow night, seven-thirty. Good night, everybody.'

  '“Especially you, April,”' Dolan said to her, as the cast broke up and started drifting around.

  'You weren't any too hot yourself,' April said. 'Of course, you were good in one scene. You still have one big scene left. You're marvellous in that.'

  'I am pretty marvellous in that one,' Dolan admitted. 'I make a swell corpse. But I do wish you'd weep over my chest and not over my face during that heart-rending monologue of yours. I've told you before I don't like the taste of your tears.'

  'I'll try to remember that, Michael,' April said gaily.

  'You'd damn well better remember on opening night, or I'll bust your scene wide open. I mean it,' he said seriously. 'Am I taking you home tonight? I mean, am I taking you up to your drive-way and letting you out where your father can't see me?'

  'You brought me, didn't you?'

  'I met you at the drug-store. Anyway, I didn't know whether your blue-blooded fiance was coming by to get you. Or did he get through with his business conference? God,' Dolan said, laughing, 'he's starting early. Nothing like breaking 'em in properly.'

  'Where are we going tonight?' Johnny London asked, coming up.

  'Home,' Dolan said. 'April has a headache.'

  'Have I?' April asked innocently.

  'Haven't you?' Dolan asked, winking behind Johnny's back.

  'Yes—'

  'That's too bad,' Johnny said to her. 'And on your one night off, too.'

  'Do you mind waiting a minute?' Dolan asked April. 'I want to talk to Johnny.'

  'All right—'

  'Johnny,' Dolan said, walking into the wings with him, 'what about that dough?'

  'Here comes your pal,' Johnny said.

  '... Excuse me,' David said. 'Could I see you a minute, Mike?'

  'Sure, you can see him,' Johnny said, moving away.

  'Er—Mike, I understand you're looking for some money,' David said. 'I understand you need fifteen hundred dollars.'

  'Hey,' Dolan said, surprised. 'What'd Johnny do—broadcast it?'

  'He only told me,' David said. 'Do you still want it?'

  'Yes, I want it, but—'

  'Don't think about it any more then. I'll let you have it in the morning.'

  'Well, thanks, David—you sort of embarrass me ...'

  'How?'

  'Well—you and I aren't—well, we're not exactly pals, you know'

  'That's your fault,' David said. 'I'm not a bad guy in spite of what some people think.'

  'No, I guess you're not,' Dolan said. 'You know what I want the money for?'

  'Johnny told me.'

  'I'll cut you in for a half-interest of my interest—'

  'No, you don't have to do that.'

  'But—well, I'd like to. I'd like for you to have some kind of contract or something. Of course, the magazine may go over—but there's always the chance that it won't.'

  'I'll take the same chance you do,' David said. 'Drop around the theatre in the morning and I'll have a check for you. Or would you rather have the cash?'

  'Either one,' Dolan said, still surprised. 'Look, I want this money more than I ever wanted anything in the world. But I think it's only fair you should know what kind of a reputation I've got—'

  'Maybe I do know,' David said, smiling. 'You owe everybody in town money. You probably couldn't raise ten dollars from all your friends put together. You couldn't get five cents' worth of credit from any store in town. And I'll tell you something else. Johnny didn't ask me to lend you the money. He only told me you'd asked him. He thought it was a good joke that you'd think he was sucker enough to let you have it.'

  'How'd you know all this about me?' Dolan asked.

  'Everybody knows it. That's why you're having so much trouble with your Weston Park romances. The rich fathers of these beautiful debutantes have absolutely forbidden them to go with you. Did you know that?'

  'I knew a couple of them had—'

  'You're famous and notorious at the same time. You're l'enfant terrible. You've got a mania for getting into jams. You're in a constant state of rebellion. That's because you're ambitious, because you're trying to outgrow your environment.'

  'Say, wait a minute,' Dolan said, dumbfounded.

  'It's true,' David went on calmly. 'But you've managed to slide by thus far on your personality. You've got colour. You're attractive. You've got the physique of a Greek god. Answer me one thing: why did you ever start coming around the Little Theatre?'

  'I don't know—'

  'I'll tell you. Because it's got things to give you. Instinctively, you knew that.'

  'Mike!' April called.

  'Coming!' Dolan said. 'Look, David, I appreciate what you've said—'

  'You appreciate it, but you won't pay any attention to it,' David said, smiling. 'Go on with April. Drop by the theatre in the morning, and I'll have that for you.'

  'Thanks,' Dolan said, reaching for David's hand. “Thanks very much ...'

  'I'm here any time after ten—'

  'Thanks,' Dolan said. 'Thanks very much ...'

  * * * * *

  'I felt like a heel taking the money,' Dolan said to April, as he drove her towards Weston Park.

  'I don't see why. It's only a loan.'

  'Well, I do anyway. I always disliked him. I hate to be obligated.'

  'Because he's queer? Poor bastard, he can't help that.'

  'That's not it either. I don't know—it was the shock of him offering it to me, I guess. He's the last person in the world I'd have thought of asking.'

  'I understand he's very rich. His people come from Rhode Island. Whyn't you ask me for the money?'

  'I owe you dough now'

  'And I'm probably the only one you owe who's collecting, too,' April said, laughi
ng.

  'I guess you are at that,' Dolan said, laughing, too. 'If you hadn't loaned me the money to make the instalment, the finance company would have this car now. How about a hamburger?' he asked, jerking his head to the Hot Spot, a drive-in shack, the midnight and early-morning rendezvous for the younger set.

  'Suits,' April said.

  '... Everything on it?' Dolan asked, cutting off the motor.

  'Everything—unless—'

  'Two hamburgers and two cokes,' Dolan said to the waitress.

  'Everything on them?' the waitress asked.

  'I should say not,' Dolan said, laughing. 'Cut the onions on both of them.'

  'You know,' April said, when the waitress had moved away, 'sometimes I wonder why I didn't marry you.'

  'God knows I tried hard enough,' Dolan said, 'but your old man had other ideas. I thought he'd have a haemorrhage the day he called me up to his office and read the riot act to me. Did he pick out Menefee for you?'

  'That's not nice, is it?' April said. 'Roy's very attractive—'

  'And he's got a good job and he comes from good stock and he's president of the exclusive Aster Club. And a Phi Beta from Yale. I know all that. But who picked him?'

  'I met him when I was going to school in New York.'

  'Er—confidentially, is he as good as I am?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Nix,' Dolan said. 'You know what I mean.'

  'Mike, you're an awful son of a bitch,' April said. 'Confidentially—no.'

  'That's encouraging,' Dolan said. 'Well, this time two weeks from now you'll be married. And Menefee'll be holding that beautiful body of yours in his arms, and I'll be home calling him all the dirty bastards I can think of.'

  'Now, you're acting.'

  'The hell I am. I mean it. Somehow, I wish this thing could have worked out between us. I'm not in love with you, April—but, God, I think you're swell. It's too bad I come from south of the slot.'

  'Oh, cut it out, Mike. That had nothing to do with it.'

  'You think it didn't? I'm a bum. My old man is a clerk in a dry-goods store. Who the hell am I to want the wealthy April Coughlin? Say, when your old man pulled that crack on me I damn near busted him one.'

  'You're only being dramatic. I don't like you when you're this way. There's Jess and Lita!'

  'Where?'

  'Right beside us—hello,' April called.

  'Howdjedo, Lynn?' Lita said, kidding. 'Howdjedo, Alfred?' she said, getting out of the car, followed by Jess. 'You know Miss Fontanne and Mr. Lunt, don't you, Mr. Allen?'

  'Hello!' Jess said.

  'Hello, egg,' Dolan said.

  'How're rehearsals?' Lita asked.

  'Fine,' April said.

  'You should see April cry,' Dolan said.

  'Hey, Mike,' Jess called, motioning for him to get out of the car.

  'Excuse me,' Dolan said, sliding out from under the wheel and going to where Jess stood at the back of the car.

  'Mike,' he said soberly, in a half-whisper, 'we had that meeting tonight—'

  'Tonight?' Dolan said, surprised. 'I thought it was tomorrow night.'

  'No, it was tonight,' Jess said slowly.

  'Well, when you shake your head like that I don't need to ask how I came out. Buck up, Jess, old boy,' Dolan said, a little sarcastic. 'Don't take it too much to heart.'

  'I'm sorry, Mike—'

  'It's all right. I've been blackballed before. So,' Dolan said, almost to himself, 'the distinguished Aster Club would have none of me!'

  'I want you to know, Mike, that I was for you. But it only takes one black ball—'

  'That's all right, Jess. I was a goddam fool to make application in the first place.'

  'Jess,' Lita called, sticking her head around. 'Will you come here and order?'

  'Thanks, anyway, Jess,' Dolan said.

  'April tells me you've quit the paper,' Lita said to Dolan, as he slipped back under the wheel.

  'Yeah.'

  'Does that mean you'll give up broadcasting the wrestling matches?' Lita asked.

  'I suppose so.'

  'That's too bad, I used to stay home just to listen to you.'

  'Pardon me,' the waitress said, brushing past Lita with the sandwiches.

  'What the hell do you care whether you get into that lousy Aster Club or not?' April asked, as they rolled through the great stone archway of Weston Park, the entrance to The Promised Land. 'Most of the fellows in it are snobs—coasting on their fathers' importance.'

  'I know that,' Dolan said. 'Just the same—'

  'Forget it,' April said, taking his right hand, putting it between her knees. 'Forget it,' she said softly, squeezing his hand with her knees.

  'All right,' Dolan said happily, pressing her leg with his fingers, 'this is swell. I don't know what I'm going to do when you get married.'

  'You forget,' April said, baring her teeth a little, 'that I'm a nymphomaniac...'

  * * * * *

  They were lying together on the banks of a small brook on an old tartan Dolan always carried in his car. They had their clothes off, and they lay there quietly, listening to the faint sucking noises of the water and the dull traffic noises of the city, seven or eight miles away, saying nothing, looking straight up at the stars.

  'Mike...'

  'Yeah?'

  'What were you thinking?'

  'Nothing...'

  'You must have been thinking something—'

  'You won't laugh?'

  'No.'

  'I was thinking of Ezra Pound.'

  'Who's he?'

  'A poet. He's the poet who listens to water running and then tries to put the sounds into words.'

  'Oh...'

  They were silent again. April moved her head over and kissed his breast, making a little noise of relaxed contentment in her throat.

  'Mike...'

  'Yeah?'

  'Do you love me?'

  'I don't know. I like you, I know that.'

  'Well do you love to love me?'

  'Yes...'

  'There won't be many more times like this.'

  'I know it—'

  'What's going to happen to us?'

  'Nothing's going to happen to us—'

  'I mean in the future. I mean in years to come.'

  'Well, you're going to marry that nice guy from Yale, and settle down and have a family. And then about the time you have a couple of swell kids we'll be in a war and your couple of swell kids'll be wiped out with enemy gas or bombs or something. And I'll be lying like this on some foreign battlefield, only I'll have shrapnel in my belly, and the vultures will be eating me.'

  'You don't really think that?'

  'Yes, I do. We're getting ready for it. A lot of stupid sonsa-bitches are rushing us into it head first. Mussolini started it and then came Hitler. Mussolini told Great Britain to kiss his arse and made them like it. The League of Nations is yellow. And Japan is around the corner, waiting with a blackjack—'

  'I don't think this country will go to war. People are against it.”

  'They are until we get in it. When they start playing the national anthem and waving a flag, everybody gets hysterical.'

  She reached over and took his hand, moving her head a little closer, so close he could smell the oil in her hair. He raised himself up on his elbow, looking down at her. She was a length of curving white against the dark blue and red tartan. She moaned, wanting him again. He leaned down and took her in his arms.

  'Mike,' she said, between her teeth, 'if you do have to go to war there's one thing that must not happen to you. Oh, God, anything but that...'

  * * * * *

  At ten o'clock the following morning Dolan was at the theatre waiting for David, sitting in the reception-room upstairs, looking at a magazine, fingering the pages, none of it registering on his mind, because he was thinking about the fifteen hundred dollars.

  'Hello, hello,' the Major said, coming out of his office. 'Well. This is a surprise. Don't you feel well, Dolan?'


  'I feel swell,' Dolan said. 'Why?'

  'Nothing. Only it's been a long time since you've been around here this early in the morning.'

  'None of the old gang comes around any more,' Dolan said, laying down the magazine. 'You know why'

  'So that's what's the matter with you. That's what's sticking in your craw.'

  'It's what's sticking in everybody else's, too. There's too much efficiency around here. Look at this room. Look at the rug. God, this joint's a palace now. It's not like the old barn we had.'

  'This is the finest Little Theatre in the country,' the Major said, a little proudly.

  'That's exactly what I'm talking about,' Dolan said. 'It is the finest—that's the trouble with it. Only it's not a Little Theatre—not strictly. It's professional now.'

  'Not professional—semi-professional.'

  'It's the same damned thing. You know, Major, winning those tournaments in New York was the worst thing that ever happened to us.'

  'Why? Why do you say a thing like that? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You were one of the organizers of the Little Theatre in this town.'

  'That's why I'm not ashamed to say it. We used to play in a barn, didn't we? A little lousy barn with benches for seats and no dressing-rooms. We did Dostoevsky and Ibsen and some plays by farmer boys who live around here—'

  'Those local plays were very bad—'

  'What if they were? By God, we gave 'em some sort of production! We encouraged the writers. How do you know we mightn't have unearthed another O'Neill or Shaw? We had no overhead, and we could use local people in the cast, green people. There might have been another Bernhardt or Duse or Irving in them.'

  'We use local people now, don't we?'

  'A few—but it's more of a stock company. We've got to use experienced casts, and we've got to do hit plays, because we've got a mortgage to meet. What the hell are we doing for local talent? Nothing.'

  'I'm surprised to hear you talk like that, Dolan. I thought you, of all people, were grateful for what the Chamber of Commerce has done.'

  'Grateful!' Dolan exclaimed, getting up, walking around. 'I'm not in the least grateful. I loathe and despise 'em, the bastards. When we were in the old barn, I went to 'em time after time to try to get some money. They wouldn't give us a nickel. They thought I was crazy. You know how I raised the money to get into that first tournament in New York don't you?'