Yardsley (joining them). Yes, maybe it is. That's a good idea. If it isn't in one portfolio maybe it's in another. Clever thought! I may be bright, Miss Andrews, but you must have observed that Barlow is thoughtful.
Dorothy (with a glance at Barlow). Yes, Mr. Yardsley, I have noticed the latter.
Barlow. Tee-hee! that's one on you, Bob.
Yardsley (obtuse). Ha, ha! Yes. Why, of course! Ha, ha, ha! For repartee I have always said—polite repartee, of course—Miss Andrews is—(Aside.) Now what the dickens did she mean by that?
Dorothy. I can't find it here. Let—me think. Where—can—it—be?
Barlow (striking thoughtful attitude). Yes, where can it be? Let me do your thinking for you, Miss Dorothy. (Then softly to her.) Always!
Yardsley (mocking Barlow). Yes! Let me think! (Points his finger at his forehead and assumes tragic attitude. Then stalks to the front of stage in manner of burlesque Hamlet.) Come, thought, come. Shed the glory of thy greatness full on me, and thus confound mine enemies. Where the deuce is that Gibson?
Dorothy. Oh, I remember. It's upstairs. I took it up with me last night. I'll ring for Jennie, and have her get it.
Yardsley (aside, and in consternation). Jennie! Oh, thunder! I'd forgotten her. I do hope she remembers not to forget herself.
Barlow. What say?