Evelyn. Well, why don’t you address it, or else let me have the desk?
Helen (rising). You may have it, Evvie. I’ll wait. (Evelyn seats herself, toys with pen.) Well, why don’t you do it, if you’re in such a rush? (Evelyn laughs.)
Evelyn. For the same reason you don’t, I guess. Here! (Hands her a fountain pen.) You can do yours on the table. Then we won’t bother each other.
Helen. I’ll let you see who mine is addressed to, if you will, too.
Evelyn. No, thanks. (Both hesitate, laugh, and Helen takes hers to table. Both write hastily. A crash is heard, followed by a loud scream, and both girls rush out. Bobby comes out of his hiding-place, and changes valentines swiftly, sealing both, then darts back as he hears girls coming. They enter.) Katy will scare us to death some day. Did you ever see any one who could get so many tumbles?
Helen. Or smash so many dishes? No, I never did. (Takes up valentine.) Why, I don’t remember sealing this.
Evelyn. Nor I mine. I suppose the—the Irish earthquake in an American kitchen put it out of our heads. Want me to mail your letter? I’m going out.
Helen. No, thanks. I’m going out, too, and this envelope is private property.
Evelyn. H’m! I could make a pretty good guess as to the name on the outside. It’s “Pet,” of course.
Helen. Really, it’s mean to call Phil that. He hates it so!