Come on now, kiss me.
_She kisses him; tears are in her eyes. He looks into her face with a
quaint smile_.
JOHN. You're on, ain't you, dear?
LAURA. Yes, I'm on.
JOHN. Then [_Points toward door with his left arm over her shoulder_.]
call him.
LAURA. Brockton?
JOHN. Yes, and tell him you go back to New York without any travelling
companion this season.
LAURA. Now?
JOHN. Sure.
LAURA. You want to hear me tell him?
JOHN. [_With a smile_.] We're partners, aren't we? I ought to be in on
any important transaction like that, but it's just as you say.
LAURA. I think it would be right you should. I'll call him now.
JOHN. All right. [_Crossing to stairway_. LAURA _crosses to door;
twilight is becoming very much more pronounced_.
LAURA. [_At door_.] Mr. Brockton! Oh, Mr. Brockton!
WILL. [_Off stage_.] Yes.
LAURA. Can you spare a moment to come out here?
WILL. Just a moment.
LAURA. You must come now.
WILL. All right. [_She waits for him and after a reasonable interval
he appears at door_.] Laura, it's a shame to lure me away from that
mad speculation in there. I thought I might make my fare back to New
York if I played until next summer. What's up?
LAURA. Mr. Madison wants to talk to you, or rather I do, and I want
him to listen.
WILL. [_His manner changing to one of cold, stolid calculation_.] Very
well. [_Comes down off step of house_.
LAURA. Will.
WILL. Yes?
LAURA.
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