Susan. Improving her shape. She’s on Anti-fat.
Dickie. (Sarcastically.) You couldn’t reduce her waist with one of those what do you call ’em machines. She’s had her day. Why doesn’t she stay at home with her old man.
Susan. Neither age nor condition is beyond the aid of Madame Princeton. That woman can work miracles. (Dickie is now swathed in apron and towels till she looks like a mummy.)
Dickie. Why are you so very particular about wrapping me up, Susan?
Susan. The stuff is very powerful. I musn’t let a single drop get on your skin.
Dickie. Oh dear, I am nervous. (Tries to move.) Mercy, I can’t move hand or foot. (Screams.)
Enter, hastily, Mad. P., L.
Mad. P. What is the matter, Miss Bird?
Dickie. I am afraid!