BIRDIE: (Hand to ear.) Good gracious, don't scream so, where do you think you are?
ALGERNON: You won't sign?
GLADYS: No, do your worst, throw me into the street with my child.
He is sick, dying!!!!
ALGERNON: What's the matter with him? (Goes to bed.) (PHONSIE is heaving and whistling.) Great heavens, he has the heaves. (Goes R.)
BIRDIE: What are you doing for him?
GLADYS: Trying the hot air treatment.
BIRDIE: I should think you would be expert at that.
GLADYS: The doctor says he has grey matter in his brain.
BIRDIE: (Comes down L.) I am sorry, very sorry.
ALGERNON: Sorry! Bah, this is a cheap play for sympathy! (To
GLADYS:) Will you sign the papers?