Sud. Accent it—stress it—increase it! Like what?
Mrs. Pencil. Like this!
Sud. Like what?
Mrs. Pencil. Like this!
Sud [rushes around circuit of stage and ends near Wouldby]. The best scene in the play—ruined—ruined! I'm noted for my strong, laconic scenes and you make me suffer like this. Perfectly hopeless—I say increase—you decrease; nothing but animal sounds! Nothing but a machine! Oh! What's the use! Go on, go on—now you see, Mr. Wouldby, how actors can make plays fail—
Mrs. Pencil. If you'd write us a decent play once we might—
Sud. No back-talk, madam! I haven't engaged you yet. If you can't play it any better, I'll let you out! Show us what you can do with the rest of the scene! By Heaven—if you can't pound his chest right the box office will lose money on you!
Wouldby [his eyes popping]. Oh! Must she pound him?
Sud. Seeing a woman pounding a man's chest and hearing her scream is worth two dollars to anybody. Go on, Mrs. Pencil.
Mrs. Pencil. You are keeping something from me? You have deceived me! You dog! Tell me! Tell me! Who is she? Where is she? You are keeping something from me!