Is that boulder firm?
PROPS. [Going to where, in front of the back-cloth, and apparently
among its apple trees, lies the counterfeitment of a mossy boulder;
he puts his foot on it] If, you don't put too much weight on it,
sir.
VANE. It won't creak?
PROPS. Nao. [He mounts on it, and a dolorous creaking arises.]
VANE. Make that right. Let me see that lute.
[PROPS produces a property lute. While they scrutinize it, a
broad man with broad leathery clean-shaven face and small mouth,
occupied by the butt end of a cigar, has come on to the stage
from Stage Left, and stands waiting to be noticed.]
PROPS. [Attracted by the scent of the cigar] The Boss, Sir.
VANE. [Turning to "PROPS"] That'll do, then.
["PROPS" goes out through the French windows.]
VANE. [To FRUST] Now, sir, we're all ready for rehearsal of
"Orpheus with his Lute."
FRUST. [In a cosmopolitan voice] "Orphoos with his loot!" That his
loot, Mr Vane? Why didn't he pinch something more precious? Has
this high-brow curtain-raiser of yours got any "pep" in it?
VANE.
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