MOLLIE. He usually calls up on Wednesdays and comes to see her on Saturdays.
BOB. And takes her to the theatre on Thursdays and to dances on Sundays. He's merely extending his line of attack.
[Another long pause—then Bob begins to experiment to learn whether the plates are still hot. He gingerly touches the edges of the upper plate in two or three places. It seems safe to handle. He takes hold of upper and lower plates boldly, muttering, as he does so, "Cold as—" Drops the plates with a clatter and a smothered oath. Shakes his fingers and blows on them. Meanwhile Mollie is sitting very rigid, regarding Bob with a fixed stare and beating a vigorous tattoo on the tablecloth with her fingers. Bob catches her eye and cringes under her gaze. He drains and refills his glass. He studies the walls and the ceiling of the room, meanwhile still nursing his fingers. Bob steals a sidelong glance at Mollie. She is still staring at him. He turns to his water goblet. Picks it up and holds it to the light. He rolls the stem between his fingers, squinting at the light through the water. Reciting slowly as he continues to gaze at the light.
BOB. Starlight! Starbright! Will Hilda talk to him all night!
MOLLIE. [In utter disgust.] Oh, stop that singing.
[Bob puts down his glass, then drinks the water and refills the glass. He then turns his attention to the silverware and cutlery before him. He examines it critically, then lays a teaspoon carefully on the cloth before him, and attempts the trick of picking it up with the first finger in the bowl and the thumb at the point of the handle. After one or two attempts the spoon shoots on the floor, far behind him. Mollie jumps at the noise. Bob turns slowly and looks at the spoon with an injured air, then turns back to Mollie with a silly, vacuous smile. He now lays all the remaining cutlery in a straight row before him.
BOB. [Slowly counting the cutlery and silver, back and forth.] Eeny, meeny, miney, mo. Catch a—[Stops suddenly as an idea comes to him. Gazes thoughtfully at Mollie for a moment, then begins to count over again.] Eeny, meeny, miney, mo; Hilda's talking to her beau. If we holler, she may go. Eeny, mee——
MOLLIE. [Interrupting and exasperated to the verge of tears.] Bob, if you don't stop all that nonsense, I shall scream! [In a very tense tone.] I believe I'm going to have one of my sick headaches! [Puts her hand to her forehead.] I know it; I can feel it coming on!
BOB. [In a soothing tone.] Hunger, my dear, hunger! When you have a good warm meal you'll feel better.
MOLLIE. [In despair.] What do you suppose I ought to do?