[Raises it again.
Yardsley. We won’t dispute the matter, Bradley. You are wrong, and that’s all there is about it. Now do get off the stage and let us go ahead. Perkins, for Heaven’s sake, give that curtain a rest, will you?
Perkins. I was only having a dress-rehearsal on my own account, Bob. Bike bell, curtain. Push bell, front door. Trolley gong, nothing—
Bradley. Well, if you fellows won’t—
Yardsley (taking him by the arm and walking him to side of stage). Never mind, Brad; you’ve made a mistake, that’s all. We all make mistakes at times. Get off, like a good fellow. You don’t come on for ten minutes yet. (Exit Bradley, scratching his head in puzzled meditation.) Go ahead now, Barlow.
Mrs. Bradley. But, Mr. Yardsley, Edward has—
Yardsley. We’ll begin with your cue.
Mrs. Bradley. Fenderson Featherhead—
Barlow. Is here, Lady Amaranth.
Mrs. Bradley. But—