FUSSIE: Now, listen, Horace, and don't you tell. You know Eben Weeks. He's the homeliest man in school. Wouldn't you say so?
HORACE: Awful jay. Like to get some of the jays out of here.
DORIS: But listen. Of course, no girl would look at him. So we've thought up the most killing joke, (stopped by giggles from herself and FUSSIE) Now, he hasn't handed in his Matthew Arnold dope. I heard old Mac hold him up for it—and what'd you think he said? That he'd been ploughing. Said he was trying to run a farm and go to college at the same time! Isn't it a scream?
HORACE: We oughta—make it more unpleasant for some of those jays. Gives the school a bad name.
FUSSIE: But, listen, Horace, honest—you'll just die. He said he was going to get the book this afternoon. Now you know what he looks like, but he turns to—(both girls are convulsed)
DORIS: It'll get him all fussed up! And for nothing at all!
HORACE: Too bad that class of people come here. I think I'll go to Harvard next year. Haven't broken it to my parents—but I've about made up my mind.
DORIS: Don't you think Morton's a good school, Horace?
HORACE: Morton's all right. Fine for the—(kindly) people who would naturally come here. But one gets an acquaintance at Harvard. Wher'd'y' want these passionate lines?
(FUSSIE and DORIS are off again convulsed.)