Mrs. B. Oh Mrs. Townsley, how can you talk so?
Mrs. T. Keep still, then. (Aside.) That poor dude’s nearly scared to death already.
Jim F. (At door.) There she goes.
Mrs. T. The hotel?
Jim F. No, the stable. (Enthusiastically.) Look at that!
Chorus. What is it?
Jack. (Runs.) Lemme see.
Town. Sit down, will you, boy.
Jim F. Aint that great! Aint it?
Mrs. B. Do tell us, Jim. (Pause.)