Bill fastened a gimlet eye upon his brother-in-law and drew a deep breath.
“Father!” he said. “Father!”
“You’ll have to brighten up Bill’s dialogue a lot,” said Lucille, critically, “or you will never get bookings.”
“Father!”
“I mean, it’s all right as far as it goes, but it’s sort of monotonous. Besides, one of you ought to be asking questions and the other answering. Bill ought to be saying, ‘Who was that lady I saw you coming down the street with?’ so that you would be able to say, ‘That wasn’t a lady. That was my wife.’ I know! I’ve been to lots of vaudeville shows.”
Bill relaxed his attitude. He deflated his chest, spread his heels, and ceased to draw in his abdomen.
“We’d better try this another time, when we’re alone,” he said, frigidly. “I can’t do myself justice.”
“Why do you want to do yourself justice?” asked Lucille.
“Right-o!” said Archie, affably, casting off his forbidding expression like a garment. “Rehearsal postponed. I was just putting old Bill through it,” he explained, “with a view to getting him into mid-season form for the jolly old pater.”
“Oh!” Lucille’s voice was the voice of one who sees light in darkness. “When Bill walked in like a cat on hot bricks and stood there looking stuffed, that was just the Personality That Wins!”