M. John, dear, hadn’t you better put your slippers in their place?
J. Oh, we’ll consider this their place. Then I shan’t have to go searching after them to-night.
M. There won’t be any need of searching for them. If you put them where they belong, they will be sure to remain there.
J. But it’s a great bother to go out of one’s way for such trifles. They’re much handier lying there, and will be all ready for me to put on to-night.
M. But life is made up of trifles, and leaving things round clutters up the room so.
J. Why, no; a thing looks as well in one place as another. Besides, what’s the use of having a house if you can’t keep things where you want to? But there (pushing them still farther under the sofa with his foot), they’re out of sight now. They will be handy, and no one will be the wiser for their being there.
M. But I have to go around every day and pick things up after you.
J. Oh, well, don’t pick them up; just let them stay where they are, and then I can find them when I want them. (Takes up overcoat from chair, where he had left it on previous evening, puts it on, takes hat from table, and exit, L.)
M. (alone). Something must be done to cure John of this careless habit of leaving things around; but how it can be arranged, I cannot tell yet. I must think it over.
(Curtain falls.)