Tom (In affectedly meek tones): Thank you, ma’am. (Opens the paper, but does not read. Jimmy presently enters riding around the table on a cane. Rachel peeps in from the kitchenette and smiles. Tom puts down his paper). ’Lo! Big Fellow, what’s this?
Jimmy (Disgustedly): How can I hear? I’m miles and miles away yet. (Prances around and around the room; presently stops near Tom, attempting a gruff voice) Good-morning!
Tom (Lowering his paper again): Bless my stars! Who’s this? Well, if it isn’t Mr. Mason! How—do—you—do, Mr. Mason? That’s a beautiful horse you have there. He limps a trifle in his left, hind, front foot, though.
Jimmy: He doesn’t!
Tom: He does!
Jimmy (Fiercely): He doesn’t!
Tom (As fiercely): I say he does!
Mrs. Loving (Appearing in the doorway in the rear): For Heaven’s sake! What is this? Good-morning, Tommy.
Tom (Rising and going toward his mother, Jimmy following astride of the cane in his rear): Good-morning, Ma. (Kisses her; lays his head on her shoulder and makes believe he is crying; in a high falsetto) Ma! Jimmy says his horse doesn’t limp in his hind, front right leg, and I say he does.
Jimmy (Throws his cane aside, rolls on the floor and kicks up his heels. He roars with laughter): I think Uncle Tom is funnier than any clown in the “Kickus.”