Mrs. R. And you dress as if you were eighteen. You refuse me a silk dress, and then go and squander your money on this foolish rig. I should think you had gone stark, staring mad.
Dea. R. (anxiously). Stop, Reeny, I’ll explain it all. My friends in Rossville came and brought me this suit in the night.
Mrs. R. (contemptuously). Fiddlestick! Do you expect me to believe that ridiculous story? I’m really afraid you’ve been drinking. Nothing else could ha’ brought you to make such a fool of yourself.
Dea. R. (excitedly). Mrs. Robinson, I command you to be silent. It’s you that are makin’ a fool o’ yourself, I’d have you to know. It’s enough for you to think of your own dress, and not interfere with mine.
Mrs. R. (wringing her hands). O Jonathan, is this the way you speak to me, who’ve been a faithful wife to you for more than thirty years?
(Fitz Howard, clad in the Deacon’s old-fashioned garments, bursts into the room, L., and rushes up to Dea. R., assuming a belligerent attitude.)
F. H. So you’re the thief—aw—you rascal—
Dr. C. (rising and coming forward). What does this mean?
F. H. (gesticulating violently). It means—aw—that this fellah has run off with my clothes—a hundred-dollar suit, and left—aw—this worthless rubbish (extending his arms as if to show the clothes) in its place. (In a loud tone.) Help! Police—aw—where’s the police?
Mrs. R. (indignantly). O Jonathan, have you brought disgrace upon your innocent wife and family by this strange conduct?