Rodney. Don’t you see?
Peale. No, I’m near-sighted.
Rodney. He’s the son of Ivory Soap. Coach him with some important message from old John Clark to us about a merger, and when father begins to wabble, have Ellery come in with the message. That’ll send father kerflop to the mat.
Peale. (Going) Master! Great, great, I get you. I’ll fix Ellery. This is your father’s Waterloo. (At door) As soon as I’ve taught Ellery his lesson I’ll be right back. I’ll tell him when we ring the bell twice, to bust in with his little recitation.
Rodney. But don’t let him get on to our game.
Peale. He couldn’t get on to anything but a weighing machine. (He goes out left)
(Rodney pushes the buzzer and then takes up the ’phone, keeping his eye on the door. In a moment Cyrus Martin enters.)
Rodney. No, much obliged, but we can’t consider it. No stock for sale—it’s quite out of the question. Good-bye. (Ringing off and then pretending to be surprised, turns and sees his father) Why, hello, father.
Martin. Hello, son.