Charlotte [raising her head]. Are you all right, Dada?
No answer. Dada is heard to resume his climb.
Oh, if I could only sleep till six o’clock!
The storm has blown away, and the sun is out and streaming in the window, washing the ragged carpet with light. From the street there comes once again, faint now and far away, the mellow note of the postman’s whistle.
Charlotte [lifting her arms rapturously]. The best postman in the world!
CURTAIN
By F. Scott Fitzgerald