BERT. All right, thank you, lieutenant.
GEORGE. Oh, cut out the title.
(BERT FARRELL is about twenty three. He wears a brown flannel shirt
and a blue four-in-hand tie, and a good ready-made suit. He holds
his hat in front of him. He is a self-respecting, able young Irish
American of the blue-eyed type that have died by thousands on the
battle fields of France, and whose pictures may be seen in our
newspapers.)
ASHER. You're not working today, Bert?
BERT. I've left the shops, Mr. Pindar,—I got through last night.
ASHER. Left the shops! You didn't say anything about this, Timothy!
TIMOTHY. No, sir,—you have trouble enough today.
ASHER (to BERT). Why did you leave?
BERT. I'm going to enlist, Mr. Pindar,—with the Marines. From what I've heard of that corps, I think I'd like to join it.
ASHER (exasperated). But why do you do a thing like this when you must know I need every man here to help turn out these machines? And especially young men like you, good mechanics! If you wanted to serve your country, you were better off where you were. I got you exempted—(catching himself) I mean, you were exempted from the draft.