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New York hourly.

      THE YOUNG MAN: Say, are you house-cleaning?

      JULIE: Why?

      THE YOUNG MAN: I see all the pictures are off the walls.

      JULIE: Why, we never have pictures in this room.

      THE YOUNG MAN: Odd, I never heard of a room without pictures or tapestry or panelling or something.

      JULIE: There’s not even any furniture in here.

      THE YOUNG MAN: What a strange house!

      JULIE: It depend on the angle you see it from.

      THE YOUNG MAN: (Sentimentally) It’s so nice talking to you like this — when you’re merely a voice. I’m rather glad I can’t see you.

      JULIE; (Gratefully) So am I.

      THE YOUNG MAN: What color are you wearing?

      JULIE: (After a critical survey of her shoulders) Why, I guess it’s a sort of pinkish white.

      THE YOUNG MAN: Is it becoming to you?

      JULIE: Very. It’s — it’s old. I’ve had it for a long while.

      THE YOUNG MAN: I thought you hated old clothes.

      JULIE: I do but this was a birthday present and I sort of have to wear it.

      THE YOUNG MAN: Pinkish-white. Well I’ll bet it’s divine. Is it in style?

      JULIE: Quite. It’s very simple, standard model.

      THE YOUNG MAN: What a voice you have! How it echoes! Sometimes I shut my eyes and seem to see you in a far desert island calling for me. And I plunge toward you through the surf, hearing you call as you stand there, water stretching on both sides of you —

      (The soap slips from the side of the tub and splashes in. The young man blinks)

      YOUNG MAN: What was that? Did I dream it?

      JULIE: Yes. You’re — you’re very poetic, aren’t you?

      THE YOUNG MAN: (Dreamily) No. I do prose. I do verse only when.

       I am stirred.

      JULIE: (Murmuring) Stirred by a spoon —

      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 lowbrow. But I can remember my first poem. It had one verse:

      Parker and Davis.

       Sittin’ on a fence

       Tryne to make a dollar

       Outa fifteen 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 bathtubs in history. I think they’ve been frightfully neglected.

      THE YOUNG MAN: Bathtubs! Let’s see. Well, Agamemnon was stabbed in his bathtub. And Charlotte Corday stabbed Marat in his bathtub.

      JULIE: (Sighing) Way back there! Nothing new besides the sun, is there? Why only yesterday I picked up a musical-comedy score that mast 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 goldfish 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!”

      THE YOUNG MAN: Lois I — Lois I —

      (He stops as Lois opens the door, comes in, and bangs it behind her. She looks peevishly at JULIE and then suddenly catches sight of the young man in the window)

      LOIS: (In horror) Mr. Calkins!

      THE YOUNG MAN: (Surprised) Why I thought you said you were wearing pinkish white!

      (After one despairing stare LOIS shrieks, throws up her hands in surrender, and sinks to the floor.)

      THE YOUNG MAN: (In great alarm) Good Lord! She’s fainted! I’ll be right in.

      (JULIE’S eyes light on the towel which has slipped from LOIS’S inert hand.)

      JULIE: In that case I’ll be right out.

      (She puts her hands on the side of the tub to lift herself out and a murmur, half gasp, half sigh, ripples from the audience.

      A Belasco midnight comes quickly down and blots out the stage.)

       CURTAIN.

      Конец ознакомительного

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