SECRETARY--Throw him out, boys. [_In spite of his struggles, this is done with gusto and eclat. Propelled by several parting kicks, YANK lands sprawling in the middle of the narrow cobbled street. With a growl he starts to get up and storm the closed door, but stops bewildered by the confusion in his brain, pathetically impotent. He sits there, brooding, in as near to the attitude of Rodin's "Thinker" as he can get in his position._] YANK--[_Bitterly._] So dem boids don't tink I belong, neider. Aw, to hell wit 'em! Dey're in de wrong pew--de same old bull--soapboxes and Salvation Army--no guts! Cut out an hour offen de job a day and make me happy! Gimme a dollar more a day and make me happy! Tree square a day, and cauliflowers in de front yard--ekal rights--a woman and kids--a lousey vote--and I'm all fixed for Jesus, huh? Aw, hell! What does dat get yuh? Dis ting's in your inside, but it ain't your belly. Feedin' your face--sinkers and coffee--dat don't touch it. It's way down--at de bottom. Yuh can't grab it, and yuh can't stop it. It moves, and everyting moves. It stops and de whole woild stops. Dat's me now--I don't tick, see?--I'm a busted Ingersoll, dat's what. Steel was me, and I owned de woild. Now I ain't steel, and de woild owns me. Aw, hell! I can't see--it's all dark, get me? It's all wrong! [_He turns a bitter mocking face up like an ape gibbering at the moon._] Say, youse up dere, Man in de Moon, yuh look so wise, gimme de answer, huh? Slip me de inside dope, de information right from de stable--where do I get off at, huh? A POLICEMAN--[_Who has come up the street in time to hear this last--with grim humor._] You'll get off at the station, you boob, if you don't get up out of that and keep movin'. YANK--[_Looking up at him--with a hard, bitter laugh._] Sure! Lock me up! Put me in a cage! Dat's de on'y answer yuh know. G'wan, lock me up! POLICEMAN--What you been doin'? YANK--Enuf to gimme life for! I was born, see? Sure, dat's de charge. Write it in de blotter. I was born, get me! POLICEMAN--[_Jocosely._] God pity your old woman! [_Then matter-of-fact._] But I've no time for kidding. You're soused. I'd run you in but it's too long a walk to the station. Come on now, get up, or I'll fan your ears with this club. Beat it now! [_He hauls YANK to his feet._] YANK--[_In a vague mocking tone._] Say, where do I go from here? POLICEMAN--[_Giving him a push--with a grin, indifferently._] Go to hell. [_Curtain_] SCENE VIII