JOHN. At the Club we kept it up a bit late, that’s all. We had breakfast at Jimmy Dawson’s flat and cooked bacon and eggs.
TULLY. Won’t you promise never to do such a thing again?
JOHN (crossing to L.). I’ll promise never to poach an egg in an opera hat again. I can’t possibly live without some relaxation now and then.
TULLY. But must you really go out and about with little bits of flu—flu—fluff?
JOHN. Most certainly if I want to. What have you got to say to that?
TULLY. Oh, dear, dear, dear!
JOHN. Everything would have been all right only you were so infernally stupid about the opera. I’m sure “Marguerite and plaits” was perfectly clear. If you had only said “Faust” without any hesitation everything would have been all right.
TULLY. But it’s so risky. They play a different opera every night at Covent Garden.
JOHN. I know they do. I wonder what they did play? Where’s the newspaper? (Looking round for paper—seeing paper on table R. below door—crosses over—gets paper.) Here it is. (Crosses to TULLY.) Now if my luck’s in they played “Faust” (both look at paper together) last night—here we are—theatres—last night—Covent Garden—Pictures!! (JOHN tears the paper in two—gives half to TULLY.) Here, tear that up (handing other half) and this bit too—get rid of it somehow.
(TULLY tears paper in pieces and puts bits in handkerchief pocket.)