VANE. Quite.
FRUST. Arty?
VANE. [Doubtfully] No. [With resolution] Look here, Mr FRUST, it's no use your expecting another "Pop goes the Weasel."
FRUST. We-ell, if it's got punch and go, that'll be enough for me. Let's get to it!
[He extinguishes his cigar and descends the steps and sits in the centre of the front row of the stalls.]
VANE. Mr Foreson?
FORESON. [Appearing through curtain, Right] Sir?
VANE. Beginners. Take your curtain down.
[He descends the steps and seats himself next to FRUST. The curtain goes down.] [A woman's voice is heard singing very beautifully Sullivan's song: "Orpheus with his lute, with his lute made trees and the mountain tops that freeze'." etc.]
FRUST. Some voice!