Mrs. Perkins. The fountain?
Perkins. You don’t mean to say you’re going to have a fountain playing here?
Bradley. Certainly. A conservatory without a fountain would be like “Hamlet” with Yorick’s skull left out. There’s to be a fountain playing here, and a band playing in the next room—all in a green light, too. It’ll be highly effective.
Perkins. But how—how are you going to make the fountain go? Is it to spurt real water?
Yardsley. Of course. Did you ever see a fountain spurt sawdust or lemonade? It’s not a soda-water fountain either, but a straight temperance affair, such as you’ll find in the homes of all truly good people. Now don’t get excited and raise obstacles. The thing is simple enough if you know how to do it. Got one of those English bath-tubs in the house?
Perkins. No. But, of course, if you want a bath-tub, I’ll have a regular porcelain one with running water, hot and cold, put in—two of ’em, if you wish. Anything to oblige.
Yardsley. No; stationary bath-tubs are useful, but not exactly adapted to a conservatory.
Barlow. I brought my tub with me. I knew Perkins hadn’t one, and so I thought I’d better come provided. It’s out in the hall. I’ll get it. [Exit.
Mrs. Bradley (to Mrs. Perkins). He’s just splendid! never forgets anything.
Mrs. Perkins. I should say not. But, Mr. Yardsley, a bath-tub, even an English one, will not look very well, will it?