MARGARET (gleefully). Yes, let's.
DEARTH. Margaret, always feel sorry for the failures, the ones who are always failures—especially in my sort of calling. Wouldn't it be lovely, to turn them on the thirty-ninth year of failure into glittering successes?
MARGARET. Topping.
DEARTH. Topping.
MARGARET. Oh, topping. How could we do it, Dad?
DEARTH. By letter. 'To poor old Tom Broken Heart, Top Attic, Garret Chambers, S.E.—'DEAR SIR,—His Majesty has been graciously pleased to purchase your superb picture of Marlow Ferry.'
MARGARET. 'P.S.—I am sending the money in a sack so as you can hear it chink.'
DEARTH. What could we do for our friend who passed just now? I can't get her out of my head.
MARGARET. You have made me forget her. (Plaintively) Dad, I didn't like it.
DEARTH. Didn't like what, dear?