Yardsley. By Jove! that’s a good idea—we have got you. You can read Henderson’s part!
Perkins. What—I?
Barlow. Certainly.
Bradley. Just the very thing.
Miss Andrews. Splendid idea.
Perkins. Oh—but I say—I can’t, you know. Nonsense! I can’t read.
Yardsley. I’ve often suspected that you couldn’t, my dear Thaddeus; but this time you must.
Perkins. But the curtain—the babies—the audience—the ushing—the fire department—it is too much. I’m not an octopus.
Barlow (taking him by the arm and pushing him into chair). You can’t get out of it, Ted. Here—read up. There—take my book.
[Thrusts play-book into his hand.