Perkins. Then you needn’t be afraid, my dear. I’m too fond of you to sacrifice you to my love for whistling. (The front-door bell rings.) Ah, there is the carriage at last. I’ll go and get my coat.
[Mrs. Perkins rises, and is about to don her wrap as Mr. Perkins goes towards the door.
Enter Mr. and Mrs. Bradley. Perkins staggers backward in surprise. Mrs. Perkins lets her wrap fall to the floor, an expression of dismay on her face.
Mrs. Perkins (aside). Dear me! I’d forgotten all about it. This is the night the club is to meet here!
Bradley. Ah, Perkins, how d’ y’ do? Glad to see me? Gad! you don’t look it.
Perkins. Glad is a word which scarcely expresses my feelings, Bradley. I—I’m simply de-lighted. (Aside to Mrs. Perkins, who has been greeting Mrs. Bradley.) Here’s a kettle of fish. We must get rid of them, or we’ll miss The Lyons Mail.
Mrs. Bradley. You two are always so formal. The idea of your putting on your dress suit, Thaddeus! It’ll be ruined before we are half through this evening.
Bradley. Certainly, Perkins. Why, man, when you’ve been moving furniture and taking up carpets and ripping out fireplaces for an hour or two that coat of yours will be a rag—a veritable rag that the ragman himself would be dubious about buying.
Perkins (aside). Are these folk crazy? Or am I? (Aloud.) Pulling up fireplaces? Moving out furniture? Am I to be dispossessed?
Mrs. Bradley. Not by your landlord, but you know what amateur dramatics are.