Phil. (knock at door, R.) Who is it?
Enter Tom R.U.D., followed closely by Mildred, arm in arm.
Tom. (up R.C.) Only me, Mr. Selwyn.
Mil. (up R.C.) Only I, Tom.
Tom. Oh, bother grammar! (releases her arm, they come down to C.)
Phil. Well, children? How are you to-day?
Tom. (L. of Mildred) Oh, we’re all right; but, I say, Mr. Selwyn, I wish everybody wouldn’t call us “children.” I don’t like it.
Mil. And it’s not true.
Tom. I’m turned sixteen.