LAURA. Yes, tea. You know it must be tea—nothing stronger.
[Crosses to door.
JOHN. [Looking at WILL rather comically.] How strong are you for that tea, Mr. Brockton?
WILL. I'll pass; it's your deal, Mr. Madison.
JOHN. Mine! No, deal me out this hand.
LAURA. I don't think you're at all pleasant, but I'll tell you one thing—it's tea this deal or no game.
[Crosses up stage to seat, picks up magazine, turns pages.
WILL. No game then [Crosses to door.], and I'm going to help Mrs. Williams; maybe she's lost nearly seven dollars by this time, and I'm an awful dub when it comes to bridge. [Exit.
LAURA. [Tossing magazine on to seat, crosses quickly to JOHN, throws her arms around his neck in the most loving manner.] John!
As the Act progresses the shadows cross the Pass, and golden light streams across the lower hills and tops the snow-clad peaks. It becomes darker and darker, the lights fade to beautiful opalescent hues, until, when the curtain falls on the act, with JOHN and WILL on the scene, it is pitch dark, a faint glow coming out of the door. Nothing else can be seen but the glow of the ash on the end of each man's cigar as he puffs it in silent meditation on their conversation.