MRS MARCH. Well, where do you come in? You'll make poems about the injustice of the Law. Your father will use her in a novel. She'll wear Mary's blouses, and everybody will be happy—except Cook and me.
MR MARCH. Hang it all, Joan, you might be the Great Public itself!
MRS MARCH. I am—get all the kicks and none of the ha'pence.
JOHNNY. We'll all help you.
MRS MARCH. For Heaven's sake—no, Johnny!
MR MARCH. Well, make up your mind!
MRS MARCH. It was made up long ago.
JOHNNY. [Gloomily] The more I see of things the more disgusting they seem. I don't see what we're living for. All right. Chuck the girl out, and let's go rooting along with our noses in the dirt.
MR MARCH. Steady, Johnny!
JOHNNY. Well, Dad, there was one thing anyway we learned out there— When a chap was in a hole—to pull him out, even at a risk.