DR. JONATHAN (smiling). It seems a safe conjecture.
(Dr. JONATHAN is looking at the heap of articles on the floor.)
GEORGE (grinning, and not quite at ease). You might imagine I was embarking in the gent's furnishing business, instead of going to war. (He picks up the life-preserving suit.) Some friend of mother's told her about this, and she insisted upon sending for it. I don't want to hurt her feelings, but I can't take it, of course.
(He rolls it up and thrusts it under the sofa, upper left.)
You won't give me away?
DR. JONATHAN. Never!
GEORGE. Dad ought to be here in a minute, he's in there with old Timothy Farrell, the moulder foreman. It seems that things are in a mess at the shops. Rotten of the men to make trouble now—don't you think?—when the country's at war! Darned unpatriotic, I say.
DR. JONATHAN. I saw a good many stars in your service flag as I passed the office door this morning.
GEORGE. Yes. Over four hundred of our men have enlisted. I don't understand it.
DR. JONATHAN. Perhaps you will, George, when you come home.