The Skin of Our Teeth Read Free

the charming and gracious president of the Excelsior Mothers’ Club.
    Mrs. Antrobus is an excellent needlewoman; it is she who invented the apron on which so many interesting changes have been rung since.
    Slide of the FAMILY and SABINA .
    Here we see the Antrobuses with their two children, Henry and Gladys, and friend. The friend in the rear is Lily Sabina, the maid.
    I know we all want to congratulate this typical American family on its enterprise. We all wish Mr. Antrobus a successful future. Now the management takes you to the interior of this home for a brief visit.
    Curtain rises. Living room of a commuter’s home. SABINA —straw-blonde, over-rouged—is standing by the window back center, a feather duster under her elbow.
    SABINA:
    Oh, oh, oh! Six o’clock and the master not home yet.
    Pray God nothing serious has happened to him crossing the Hudson River. If anything happened to him, we would certainly be inconsolable and have to move into a less desirable residence district.
    The fact is I don’t know what’ll become of us. Here it is the middle of August and the coldest day of the year. It’s simply freezing; the dogs are sticking to the sidewalks; can anybody explain that? No.
    But I’m not surprised. The whole world’s at sixes and sevens, and why the house hasn’t fallen down about our ears long ago is a miracle to me.
    A fragment of the right wall leans precariously over the stage. SABINA looks at it nervously and it slowly rights itself.
    Every night this same anxiety as to whether the master will get home safely: whether he’ll bring home anything to eat. In the midst of life we are in the midst of death, a truer word was never said.
    The fragment of scenery flies up into the lofts. SABINA is struck dumb with surprise, shrugs her shoulders and starts dusting MR. ANTROBUS ’ chair, including the under side.
    Of course, Mr. Antrobus is a very fine man, an excellent husband and father, a pillar of the church, and has all the best interests of the community at heart. Of course, every muscle goes tight every time he passes a policeman; but what I think is that there are certain charges that ought not to be made, and I think I may add, ought not to be allowed to be made; we’re all human; who isn’t?
    She dusts MRS. ANTROBUS ’ rocking chair.
    Mrs. Antrobus is as fine a woman as you could hope to see. She lives only for her children; and if it would be any benefit to her children she’d see the rest of us stretched out dead at her feet without turning a hair,—that’s the truth. If you want to know anything more about Mrs. Antrobus, just go and look at a tigress, and look hard.
    As to the children—
    Well, Henry Antrobus is a real, clean-cut American boy. He’ll graduate from High School one of these days, if they make the alphabet any easier.—Henry, when he has a stone in his hand, has a perfect aim; he can hit anything from a bird to an older brother—Oh! I didn’t mean to say that!—but it certainly was an unfortunate accident, and it was very hard getting the police out of the house.
    Mr. and Mrs. Antrobus’ daughter is named Gladys. She’ll make some good man a good wife some day, if he’ll just come down off the movie screen and ask her.
    So here we are!
    We’ve managed to survive for some time now, catch as catch can, the fat and the lean, and if the dinosaurs don’t trample us to death, and if the grasshoppers don’t eat up our garden, we’ll all live to see better days, knock on wood.
    Each new child that’s born to the Antrobuses seems to them to be sufficient reason for the whole universe’s being set in motion; and each new child that dies seems to them to have been spared a whole world of sorrow, and what the end of it will be is still very much an open question.
    We’ve rattled along, hot and cold, for some time now—
    A portion of the wall above the door,