Mrs. G. That's a good job done.
Peter. Don't talk about it, mother, please.
Mrs. G. You can look higher than a school marm now you're going into Parliament.
Peter (distressed). Please, please!
Mrs. G. (cheerfully). Oh, well, we'll have supper and chance it.
Peter. Have yours. I only want this end of the table. (Collecting paper, ink, and pen and sitting at right end of table.) I must do something to forget.
Mrs. G. What are you doing?
Peter. Drafting my address. Hand me down that dictionary, will you? (Indicating hanging shelf.)
Mrs. G. (getting large dictionary from shelf and putting on table near him.) You don't want a dictionary. It's all there in that brain of yours.
Peter. A dictionary's useful. People like to read long words. It looks erudite, and costs nothing.