Waver. (stands facing audience, back to writing table—to her) Miss Plant. there's something I want to say to you—something—I—I—I don't know how to say it.
Pearl. (coquettishly) Then don't say it. Write me a little note, (taps his arm, goes to table, holds up note-paper and pen)
Waver. Thanks awfully! (sits and writes)
(Pearl walks away.)
(Pauses, aside, alarmed) Does she mean business? She's not a lawyer's child for nothing. She might make a Breach of Promise out of this, (tears up letter and pockets the pieces) I'd better blurt it out. (goes to her) I say, it's not—er—it's not that.
Pearl. Not what?
Waver. I mean—er—(absently takes from his pocket a kodak made like a large turnip watch, and fumbling nervously with it) I mean I've been and got—er—I've been and got——
Pearl. A watch?
Waver. No. (aside) But it'll gain time, thank goodness.
Pearl. What is it? Do tell me.