"I'm tired of moving from one hovel to another, living in filth, sinking lower and lower"--hey, that sounds like my past apartments. Now, I live among the surface dwellers, but I still have some of the mess and the dashed hopes.
Anyway: a pawnbroker tries to talk a non-stop chain-smoking, constantly drinking, depressed doctor (who had made a fatal medical error) out of quitting his practice and leaving all his instruments at the shop. That's the wildest science fiction I ever heard! Pawnbrokers want anything good ya got! But the doc finds his cheap new bag is very special.
The problem with the premise of the main story line is that the spiteful, avaricious and useless wife Angie would make a much better murder target than a motivator for positive action.
Hey--the doc read the patent date on the scalpel wrong. And later, he cited the wrong century. Maybe he WAS drunk.
Advertiser Masland, a large rug manufacturer, was promoting planned employee time off from work, and the use of plastic items over and over instead of just once; this IS science fiction.
'50s sci-fi by C.M. Kornbluth, with Vicki Cummigs and Joseph Anthony...hey, they didn't finish spelling out his character's name in the credits. I think it was Dr. Fullbright...and the last credit only showed for a split-second. Still fun. I might watch the Rod Serling version of this little play, too.