Cyn. Indeed? To pay her for that I will take you. If I’m going to have the reputation of running a lunatic asylum I might as well have plenty of inmates. Who be you?
Peter. Peter Pretzel Pomeroy. (Bows low.)
Cyn. For the land——
Peter. From Brookline, Mass.
Cyn. What are you going to do here? Write poetry stuff about the sand dunes and the ocean?
Peter. Alas, no! I am no poet. I am an agent for the Holton-Holland Co. I am demonstrating a useful little household article, called the Ladies’ Little Charm. No housekeeper can possibly be happy without one.
(Takes a clothes sprinkler from his pocket and shows it to her.)
Cyn. For the land—what is it? Looks like the top of a pepper-pot.
Peter. You have never seen one?
Cyn. (hesitating). No-o, I guess not. What is it for?