Mrs. S. (close behind Selwyn). Sam, do you know a Mr. Tompkins?
Sel. (paralyzed by the suddenness of the question). Tom—Tom Tompkins! (Aside.) Has she found me out?
Mrs. S. (quietly). No, dear, not Tom Tompkins—Horace Tompkins.
Sel. I never saw, heard of, or spoke to a person of that name in all my life!
Mrs. S. He’s the new society poet and author of Midnight Moans. I hear they’ve made quite a noise!
Sel. No doubt, but I’m not partial to moans.
Mrs. S. The book was only lent me for an hour, and I am so interested that I want Frederick to go out and buy a copy.
Grace (aside, C., rather vexed). I think ma might speak to pa about Captain Katskill instead of her stupid poetry!
Sel. Fred! Oh! He’ll soon get it for you! Stop, though, I forgot, he’s gone out!
Mrs. S. So early?