BISHOP. How do you propose to live?
KEN. By sleeping on park benches, eating in our bread lines.--Or
I'll tell the government I'm destitute--or get a relief job.--I
won't go on the way I've been doing.--Laura comes and brings food;
Tippy leaves cigarettes around; you send me checks. I'm sick of
having to take from you all!--If I've got to live by charity, I
want to be free to hate charity. That's a beggar's right.
BISHOP. It gives us pleasure to help you.
KEN. But can't you see what you're doing to my self-respect?
BISHOP. I don't want to hurt your self-respect.
KEN. Then leave me alone.
[_Pause._]
BISHOP. [_Clearing his throat._] Have you been to see Stanley
Prescott?
KEN. Yes.
BISHOP. Why hasn't he done something for you?
KEN. I suppose he can't.
BISHOP. Prescott's my friend. He ought to do something for you.
KEN. Oh, the hell with Prescott! [_Contrite._] Don't misunderstand
me. I wouldn't refuse any job he had to offer me. I'd black his
boots if that was the job. But I've been to see him as much as I
can. I can't sit on his doorstep and whine.
BISHOP. Certainly not. You must not do anything that would hurt
your self-respect. [_He has been holding the check, which he now
lays down on the table._]
KEN. Don't leave that check, dad.
BISHOP. But son--
KEN. If you do, I'll tear it up.
[BISHOP _picks up check, talks to_ LAURA.
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