Mr. C. (very mournfully). You did, Martha—you did. I heard you. You said, “It ain’t no milk!”
Mrs. C. (wildly seizing the cream-pitcher and suddenly dashing it and its contents to the floor, in view of the audience). There—darn it!
Mr. C. (rising quickly). Hold on! That is Grandmother Smith’s old cream-pitcher!
Mrs. C. (in despair). Oh, what have I done! (She stands for a moment, looking silently at the ruins of the prized cream-pitcher, and then sinks into her chair, pulling out her handkerchief and weeping hysterically.)
Mr. C. (standing as though dazed, gazing upon the shattered pitcher.) Gee whiz! (Taking a step forward towards Mrs. C., speaking kindly, placing his right hand gently upon her shaking shoulders.) Well, Martha, don’t feel so badly about it—it ain’t any use to “cry over spilt milk!”
Mrs. C. (suddenly rising from her chair, glaring at Mr. C.). It isn’t spilt milk—it’s spilt cream!
Curtain.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.