Mr. Edwards. “That’s what I said—out. O-u-t.”
Billis. “Not bad idea. Go with you. Where to?”
Mr. Edwards. “Anywhere—to find a tragedy and take part in it. I’m done farcing, my boy.”
Billis (slapping Edwards on back). “Rah! my position exactly. I’m sick of it too. Come ahead. I know that fellow Whoyt—he’ll take us in and give us a chance.”
Mrs. Billis. “I’ve been afraid of this.”
Mrs. Edwards. “Robert, consider your family.”
Mr. Edwards. “I have; and if I’m to die respected and honored, if my family is to have any regard for my memory, I’ve got to get out of farcing. That’s all. Did you sew the button on my overcoat?”
Mrs. Edwards. “I did. I’ll go get it.”
She goes out. Mrs. Billis throws herself sobbing on sofa. Billis dances a jig. Forty minutes elapse, during which Billis’s dance may be encored. Enter Mrs. Edwards, triumphantly, with overcoat.