No; I won’t have another drink! I know you can smother every good feeling in me with a little liquor— JUDGE CRITTY Believe me: not a _little_! VANILLITY But this I won’t do; I will not; I won’t! To stop a man on the trail of immortality? No! No! No! JUDGE CRITTY I said good women were the only dangerous kind, didn’t I? VANILLITY _She_ wants it? Why? JUDGE CRITTY For the reason that nine hundred and ninety-nine Americans do anything “to be as _good_ as _anybody_.” One hundred thousand dollars a year is the income on two million. It will enable her to gratify every social ambition. She’s ambitious: for _herself_—I said _that_, too. [_Vanillity falls into a stupefied rage; his hand sneaks toward decanter; a horn is heard off stage._ JUDGE CRITTY (_at window_) Here they are! (_Swiftly_) Now, mind! (_Fiercely_) D’you understand? VANILLITY I will _not_! JUDGE CRITTY You _will_! And I’ll tell you why. Magnus put me where I am, and he’ll put me on the Supreme Bench the first vacancy. Then I’ll put _you_ into the first College Presidency! _Now_, d’you understand? [_A knock at the door._ VANILLITY Man, it’s awful. It’s _sacrilege_. JUDGE CRITTY It’s _life_. Unfortunately. But life just the same. We didn’t make life. But we have to _live_ it. Here! Have another drink. (_Pours it_) [_A second knock is heard; Vanillity hesitates over the drink._ JUDGE CRITTY (_impatiently whispering_) Come on—come on! [_Vanillity gulps it and sits disconsolate. Judge Critty opens the door for Fanny Felix, her mother, Mrs. Felix, John Magnus, and William Tromper. Fanny is, par excellence, the well-bred, cold, detached, sure-of-herself American girl of the upper class, very lace-y and lingerie-y. Mrs. Felix looks almost as juvenile; she has less dignity; her coat-collar and tie might be a man’s; her smart hat is feminine enough, and so are her small, high-heeled shoes. John Magnus has an air and an eyeglass; wears a morning coat, vest, and trousers of light gray, and a gray top-hat to match; needs only a pair of binoculars slung over his shoulder to be attired for the races. William Tromper is the vulgar, pig-headed, ignorant, self-made American business man. His small pig-like eyes show sullen hatred, an animal’s cunning, and a savage’s determination. He is continually ready to assert authority over supposed inferiors and equality with superiors: the breed that has made America infamous. He is dressed in that stiff supposed-to-be-correct fashion that marks such people: a suit of expensive but ugly, hard-faced cloth, pressed into knife-like creases about the lapels and trousers; a shining white waistcoat, starched and creased; a hard-boiled shirt; a mathematically perfect rhomboid of a sausage-like necktie; shining, creaky laced shoes of patent leather, etc. When the party enters, and during the first few words of the following conversation, Magnus’s valet takes their heavy motoring coats._ MAGNUS Here before us, Judge? (_Shakes hands_)