DICK: But are you sure that's what he would tell her? Isn't he in the same business himself?
HARRY: Why, he doesn't raise anything.
(TOM is again at the door.)
DICK: Anyway, I think he might have some idea that we can't very well reach each other.
HARRY: Damn nonsense. What have we got intelligence for?
DICK: To let each other alone, I suppose. Only we haven't enough to do it.
(TOM is now knocking on the door with a revolver. HARRY half turns, decides to be too intelligent to turn.)
HARRY: Don't tell me I'm getting nerves. But the way some of you people talk is enough to make even an aviator jumpy. Can't reach each other! Then we're fools. If I'm here and you're there, why can't we reach each other?
DICK: Because I am I and you are you.
HARRY: No wonder your drawing's queer. A man who can't reach another man—(TOM here reaches them by pointing the revolver in the air and firing it. DICK digs his hand into the dirt. HARRY jumps to one side, fearfully looks around. TOM, with a pleased smile to see he at last has their attention, moves the handle to indicate he would be glad to come in.)