Fish. Let’s wait until eleven o’clock. Give me one more hour of happiness. [He raises his eyes pathetically to the upper window.] Doris—oh Doris!
Doris, now fully dressed and under the influence of cosmetics, comes out onto the lawn. Mr. Jones, picking up the broom and the puppy, goes into the White House.
Fish [jealously]. Where were you all day yesterday?
Doris [languidly]. An old beau of mine came to see me and kept hanging around.
Fish [in wild alarm]. Good God! What’d he say?
Doris. He said I was stuck up because my brother-in-law was President, and I said: “Well, what if I am? I’d hate to say what your brother-in-law is.”
Fish [fascinated]. What is he?
Doris. He owns a garbage disposal service.
Fish [even more fascinated]. Is that right? Can you notice it on his brother-in-law?
Doris. Something awful. I wouldn’t of let him come in the house. Imagine if somebody came in to see you and said: “Sniff. Sniff. Who’s been sitting on these chairs?” And you said: “Oh, just my brother-in-law, the garbage disposal man.”