ENTER Miss Chickenfencer, c.d.
Miss Chickenfencer. I believe I'm in the right place. I came in answer to your advertisement.
Alice. Yes? Now, before we begin, are you addicted to crying?
Miss Chicken (takes small powder puff from handbag; powders nose). What a funny question. Well, you see, if the story is really sad, I shed a few tears. You know, the kind (Dramatically) where they are just about to be married, when he receives a letter from his father commanding him to come home—he goes but she remains; day by day she longs for him, and gradually fades away—and—just as she—is dying—her—long-lost—lost——
Alice. I'm sorry, but really——
Miss Chicken. Oh, that's all right; I was almost finished anyway. (Looks around office) Say, I kind-a like this place. What are the wages?
Alice. I start at $20.
Miss Chicken. $20? Well—I might consider it. What am I required to do?
Alice. I suppose you can take dictation, also answer the telephone when I'm not here.
Miss Chicken. You bet I can. You should have——