_] How strong are you for
that tea, Mr. Brockton?
WILL. I'll pass; it's your deal, Mr. Madison.
JOHN. Mine! No, deal me out this hand.
LAURA. I don't think you're at all pleasant, but I'll tell you one
thing--it's tea this deal or no game.
[_Crosses up stage to seat, picks up magazine, turns pages._
WILL. No game then [_Crosses to door._], and I'm going to help Mrs.
Williams; maybe she's lost nearly seven dollars by this time, and I'm
an awful dub when it comes to bridge. [_Exit._
LAURA. [_Tossing magazine on to seat, crosses quickly to_ JOHN,
_throws her arms around his neck in the most loving manner._] John!
_As the Act progresses the shadows cross the Pass, and golden light
streams across the lower hills and tops the snow-clad peaks. It
becomes darker and darker, the lights fade to beautiful opalescent
hues, until, when the curtain falls on the act, with_ JOHN _and_ WILL
_on the scene, it is pitch dark, a faint glow coming out of the door.
Nothing else can be seen but the glow of the ash on the end of
each man's cigar as he puffs it in silent meditation on their
conversation._
JOHN. Well, dear?
LAURA. Are you going to be cross with me?
JOHN. Why?
LAURA. Because he came?
JOHN. Brockton?
LAURA. Yes.
JOHN. You didn't know, did you?
LAURA. Yes, I did.
JOHN. That he was coming?
LAURA. He wired me when he reached Kansas City.
JOHN. Does he know?
LAURA. About us?
JOHN.
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