Fred. What are you going to do for a living?
Mar. That isn't your business, Mr. Mottram.
Fred, (seriously). Look here, I'm not a woman eater. I'm a cheerful soul, and I hate to see people in distress. The mater's got you down. Foul blow, too. Hitting below the belt, to sack you without a character. What are you going to do about it, Miss Shaweross?
Mar. I don't know yet.
Fred. Let me talk to some Johnnie at the Club, and make him take you into his office.
Mar. Why should you? And do you think anybody will have me without a character?
Fred. I'll fix that all right. Only it'll be an office.
Mar. I can typewrite.
Fred. By Jove! What a brainy chap you are.
Mar. I don't know why you're doing this, but I'll work my fingers to the bone if you can get me work where they'll not mind my principles.