Play it interior, same as act second. Look, Packer, look!
Miss Ellsling down left, in chair by escritoire. In heaven's
name, can you read, Packer?"
"Yessir, yessir. I see, sir, I see!" said Packer with piteous
eagerness, taking the manuscript the star handed him. "Now,
then, Miss Ellsling, if you please--"
"I will have my tea indoors," Miss Ellsling began promptly,
striking an imaginary bell. "I will have my tea indoors,
to-day, I think, Pritchard. It is cooler indoors, to-day,
I think, on the whole, and so it will be pleasanter to have
my tea indoors to-day. Strike bell again. Do you hear, Pritchard?"
Out in the dimness beyond the stage the thin figure of the new
playwright rose dazedly from an orchestra chair.
"What--what's this?" he stammered, the choked sounds he made
not reaching the stage.
"What's the matter?" The question came from Carson Tinker, but
his tone was incurious, manifesting no interest whatever.
Tinker's voice, like his pale, spectacled glance, was not
tired; it was dead.
"Tea!" gasped Canby. "People are sick of tea! I didn't write
any tea!"
"There isn't any," said Tinker.
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