HORACE: What'd I tell, except—(seeing the paper) Um hum—what's this?
DORIS: (trying to get it from him) Horace, now don't you (a tussle) You great strong mean thing! Fussie! Make him stop.
(She gets the paper by tearing it.)
HORACE: My dad's around here—showing the college off to a politician. If you don't come across with that sheet of mystery, I'll back you both out there (starts to do it) and—
DORIS: Horace! You're just horrid.
HORACE: Sure I'm horrid. That's the way I want to be. (takes the paper, reads)
'To Eben
You are the idol of my dreams
I worship from afar.'
What is this?