Dick. For Carlton? No—for me.
Ned. What’s she like?
Dick. Very pretty girl—rather washed out, but she’ll be all right at night. Fancy I’ve seen her face before somewhere; but then, I see so many faces—soon forget ’em. Good thing, too; great blessing to forget some faces. (rises; takes hat) Well, I can’t wait all day. Tell Blake I couldn’t stop. You bring the part on to the theatre. (going off, L.C.; stops; puts on hat)
Ned. All right.
Dick. On second thoughts—(coming down; chuckles)—tell her to send it to the girl upstairs. That’ll take it out of her. Ha, ha, ha, ha! She thought she’d get a rise out of me; but I’ve taken a rise out of her. (Exit, L.C.)
Ned. (sits R. of table) Another disappointment. I write a part for Alma to create, and it’s to be murdered by an amateur! What does it matter? Pshaw! I hate the play! But for it Lucy wouldn’t have left me. If it should be a big success, she isn’t here to share it.
Re-enter Alma, R., with part.
Alma. (crosses to sofa) Here’s the part. (looks round) What’s become of Dick?
Ned. Mr. Dick said he couldn’t wait all day. You are to send the part to your successor, Miss Ruth Carlton.