]
[The Stage, in the crude light, as empty now save for FRUST,
who, in the French windows, Centre, is mumbling his cigar; and
VANE, Stage Right, who is looking up into the wings, Stage
Left.]
VANE. [Calling up] That lighting's just right now, Miller. Got it
marked carefully?
ELECTRICS. Yes, Mr Vane.
VANE. Good. [To FRUST who as coming down] Well, sir? So glad----
FRUST. Mr Vane, we got little Miggs on contract?
VANE. Yes.
FRUST. Well, I liked that little pocket piece fine. But I'm blamed
if I know what it's all about.
VANE. [A little staggered] Why! Of course it's a little allegory.
The tragedy of civilization--all real feeling for Beauty and Nature
kept out, or pent up even in the cultured.
FRUST. Ye-ep. [Meditatively] Little Miggs'd be fine in "Pop goes
the Weasel."
VANE. Yes, he'd be all right, but----
FRUST. Get him on the 'phone, and put it into rehearsal right now.
VANE. What! But this piece--I--I----!
FRUST. Guess we can't take liberties with our public, Mr Vane. They
want pep.
VANE. [Distressed] But it'll break that girl's heart.
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