LEO. You're the first Whitworth who's ever praised my work. The usual thing's to laugh at me for trying to be a poet.
EDMUND. A prophet in his own country, eh? Perhaps they don't know very much about poetry, Leo.
LEO. (excitedly, walking about, while Edmund takes his place by the fire). Is that any reason for laughing at me? I don't know anything about hockey, but I don't laugh at Flo and Elsie for playing. As I tell them, mutual tolerance is the only basis for family life. If I were a large-limbed athlete they'd bow down and worship, but as I've got a sense of beauty and no brawn they simply bully the life out of me.
EDMUND. You're sure you do tolerate them?
LEO. Of course I do. I'd rather have a sister who's a football maniac any day than a sister who's a politician. There's some beauty in catching balls, but there's no beauty in catching votes. What I complain of is that there's no seriousness in this house about the things that matter.
EDMUND. Such as—poetry?
LEO. Oh, now you're getting at me. All right. I'm used to it. Being serious about poetry's better than being serious about football, anyhow.
EDMUND. Sonnets have their place in the scheme of things.
LEO. A high place, too.
EDMUND. I agree with you in putting them above football.