_Tom._
More chairs, Ablett! In my apartment, the chamber nearest heaven, you
will find one with a loose leg. We will seat Mrs. Telfer upon that. She
dislikes me, and she is, in every sense, a heavy woman.
_Ablett._
[_Moving toward the door--dropping his glove._] My opinion, you are
meanin' to 'arrass me, Mr. Wrench-----
_Tom._
[_Picking up the glove and throwing it to Ablett--singing._] "Take back
thy glove, thou faithless fair!" Your glove, Ablett.
_Ablett._
Thank you, sir; it _is_ my glove, and you are no gentleman. [_He
withdraws._]
_Tom._
True, Ablett--not even a Walking Gentleman.
_Imogen._
Don't go on so, Wrench. What about your plays? Aren't you trying to
write any plays just now?
_Tom._
Trying! I am doing more than trying to write plays. I am writing plays.
I have written plays.
_Imogen._
Well?
_Tom._
My cupboard upstairs is choked with 'em.
_Imogen._
Won't anyone take a fancy----?
_Tom._
Not a sufficiently violent fancy.
_Imogen._
You know, the speeches were so short and had such ordinary words in
them, in the plays you used to read to me--no big opportunity for the
leading lady, Wrench.
_Tom._
M' yes. I strive to make my people talk and behave like live people,
don't I-?
_Imogen._