Dot. Yes, if he washed his face. Polly would be nice for a sister, too.
Dick. We could all write letters to Santa Claus together. [Drums with heels and whistles.]
Dot [after a pause, rubbing her nose]. Well, if Santa Claus's nose ever feels like mine, it's no wonder it's red.
Dick [squirming]. Somehow, it's colder than I thought it was. The thermometer must be down to zero.
Dot. I'm sure it's nineteen below. I—I think a fire would feel real nice.
Dick. I'll take you home when they come up again. I'm not very cold. I wonder if Jim ever flops his arms like a street car driver. Maybe that would make him warm. Try it, Dot. [Both beat themselves with their arms.]
Dot. I don't believe anything would make me warm.
Dick [turning anxiously]. Dot, do you want my handkerchief?
Dot. Oh, no, I'm not going to cry.
Dick. Well, I'm glad, for it's in my pocket that Jim's got on.