THE YOUNG MAN: I have always loved poetry. I can remember to this day
the first poem I ever learned by heart. It was “Evangeline.”
JULIE: That’s a fib.
THE YOUNG MAN: Did I say “Evangeline”? I meant “The Skeleton in
Armor.”
JULIE: I’m a low-brow. But I can remember my first poem. It had one
verse:
Parker and Davis
Sittin’ on a fence
Tryne to make a dollar
Outa fif-teen cents.
THE YOUNG MAN: (_Eagerly_) Are you growing fond of literature?
JULIE: If it’s not too ancient or complicated or depressing. Same way
with people. I usually like ’em not too ancient or complicated or
depressing.
THE YOUNG MAN: Of course I’ve read enormously. You told me last night
that you were very fond of Walter Scott.
JULIE: (_Considering_) Scott? Let’s see. Yes, I’ve read “Ivanhoe”
and “The Last of the Mohicans.”
THE YOUNG MAN: That’s by Cooper.
JULIE: (_Angrily_) “Ivanhoe” is? You’re crazy! I guess I know. I
read it.
THE YOUNG MAN: “The Last of the Mohicans” is by Cooper.
JULIE: What do I care! I like O. Henry. I don’t see how he ever wrote
those stories. Most of them he wrote in prison. “The Ballad of Reading
Gaol” he made up in prison.
THE YOUNG MAN: (_Biting his lip_) Literature--literature! How
much it has meant to me!
JULIE: Well, as Gaby Deslys said to Mr. Bergson, with my looks and
your brains there’s nothing we couldn’t do.
THE YOUNG MAN: (_Laughing_) You certainly are hard to keep up
with. One day you’re awfully pleasant and the next you’re in a mood.
If I didn’t understand your temperament so well--
JULIE: (_Impatiently_) Oh, you’re one of these amateur
character-readers, are you? Size people up in five minutes and then
look wise whenever they’re mentioned. I hate that sort of thing.
THE YOUNG MAN: I don’t boast of sizing you up. You’re most mysterious,
I’ll admit.
JULIE: There’s only two mysterious people in history.
THE YOUNG MAN: Who are they?
JULIE: The Man with the Iron Mask and the fella who says “ug uh-glug
uh-glug uh-glug” when the line is busy.
THE YOUNG MAN: You _are_ mysterious. I love you. You’re
beautiful, intelligent, and virtuous, and that’s the rarest known
combination.
JULIE: You’re a historian. Tell me if there are any bath-tubs in
history. I think they’ve been frightfully neglected.
THE YOUNG MAN: Bath-tubs! Let’s see. Well, Agamemnon was stabbed in
his bath-tub. And Charlotte Corday stabbed Marat in his bath-tub.
JULIE: (_Sighing_) Way back there! Nothing new besides the sun,
is there? Why only yesterday I picked up a musical-comedy score that
must have been at least twenty years old; and there on the cover it
said “The Shimmies of Normandy,” but shimmie was spelt the old way,
with a “C.”
THE YOUNG MAN: I loathe these modern dances. Oh, Lois, I wish I could
see you. Come to the window.
(_There is a loud bang in the water-pipe and suddenly the flow
starts from the open taps. Julie turns them off quickly_)
THE YOUNG MAN: (_Puzzled_) What on earth was that?
JULIE: (_Ingeniously_) I heard something, too.
THE YOUNG MAN: Sounded like running water.
JULIE: Didn’t it? Strange like it. As a matter of fact I was filling
the gold-fish bowl.
THE YOUNG MAN: (_Still puzzled_) What was that banging noise?
JULIE: One of the fish snapping his golden jaws.
THE YOUNG MAN: (_With sudden resolution_) Lois, I love you. I am
not a mundane man but I am a forger--
JULIE: (_Interested at once_) Oh, how fascinating.
THE YOUNG MAN:--a forger ahead. Lois, I want you.
JULIE: (_Skeptically_) Huh! What you really want is for the world
to come to attention and stand there till you give “Rest!”