Hazel: There is not—unless some sort of a battle.
John: Ah, what signifies? There to be more of battles in the world there would be less of wars.
(He pushes Mineog's chair to table.)
Hazel: (After a pause.) Apple pie?
Mineog: (Sitting down.) Indeed, I am not any way inclined for eating.
(Takes plate. John stuffs a cushion into window pane and picks up
MSS.)
John: Are these belonging to you, Mr. Mineog?
Mineog: Let you throw them on the coals of the fire, where we have no use for them presently.
Hazel: (Stopping John and taking them.) Thursday is very near at hand. Two empty columns is a large space to go fill.
Mineog: Indeed I am feeling no way fit to go writing columns.