d.i.c.k: Trouble is, if you're queer enough to be amusing, it might-open the door to queerness.

HARRY: Now don't say things like that to Claire.

d.i.c.k: I don't have to.

HARRY: Then you think she's queer, do you? Queer as you are, you think she's queer. I would like to have Dr Emmons come out. (after a moment of silently watching d.i.c.k, who is having a good time with his drawing) You know, frankly, I doubt if you're a good influence for Claire. (d.i.c.k lifts his head ever so slightly) Oh, I don't worry a bit about-things a husband might worry about. I suppose an intellectual woman-and for all Claire's hate of her ancestors, she's got the bug herself. Why, she has times of boring into things until she doesn't know you're there. What do you think I caught her doing the other day? Reading Latin. Well-a woman that reads Latin needn't worry a husband much.

d.i.c.k: They said a good deal in Latin.

HARRY: But I was saying, I suppose a woman who lives a good deal in her mind never does have much-well, what you might call pa.s.sion, (uses the word as if it shouldn't be used. Brows knitted, is looking ahead, does not see d.i.c.k's face. Turning to him with a laugh) I suppose you know pretty much all there is to know about women?

d.i.c.k: Perhaps one or two details have escaped me.

HARRY: Well, for that matter, you might know all there is to know about women and not know much about Claire. But now about (does not want to say pa.s.sion again)-oh, feeling-Claire has a certain-well, a certain-

d.i.c.k: Irony?

HARRY: Which is really more-more-

d.i.c.k: More fetching, perhaps.

HARRY: Yes! Than the thing itself. But of course-you wouldn't have much of a thing that you have irony about.

d.i.c.k: Oh-wouldn't you! I mean-a man might.

HARRY: I'd like to talk to Edgeworth about Claire. But it's not easy to talk to Tom about Claire-or to Claire about Tom.

d.i.c.k: (alert) They're very old friends, aren't they?

HARRY: Why-yes, they are. Though they've not been together much of late years, Edgeworthy always going to the ends of the earth to-meditate about something. I must say I don't get it. If you have a place-that's the place for you to be. And he did have a place-best kind of family connections, and it was a very good business his father left him. Publishing business-in good shape, too, when old Edgeworthy died. I wouldn't call Tom a great success in life-but Claire does listen to what he says.

d.i.c.k: Yes, I've noticed that.

HARRY: So, I'd like to get him to tell her to quit this queer business of making things grow that never grew before.

d.i.c.k: But are you sure that's what he would tell her? Isn't he in the same business himself?

HARRY: Why, he doesn't raise anything.

(TOM is again at the door.)

d.i.c.k: Anyway, I think he might have some idea that we can't very well reach each other.

HARRY: d.a.m.n nonsense. What have we got intelligence for?

d.i.c.k: To let each other alone, I suppose. Only we haven't enough to do it.

(TOM is now knocking on the door with a revolver. HARRY half turns, decides to be too intelligent to turn.)

HARRY: Don't tell me I'm getting nerves. But the way some of you people talk is enough to make even an aviator jumpy. Can't reach each other! Then we're fools. If I'm here and you're there, why can't we reach each other?

d.i.c.k: Because I am I and you are you.

HARRY: No wonder your drawing's queer. A man who can't reach another man-(TOM here reaches them by pointing the revolver in the air and firing it. d.i.c.k digs his hand into the dirt. HARRY jumps to one side, fearfully looks around. TOM, with a pleased smile to see he at last has their attention, moves the handle to indicate he would be glad to come in.)

HARRY: Why-it's Tom! What the-? (going to the door) He's locked out. And Claire's got the key. (goes to the inner door, tries it) And she's locked in! (trying to see her in there) Claire! Claire! (returning to the outer door) Claire's got the key-and I can't get to Claire. (makes a futile attempt at getting the door open without a key, goes back to inner door-peers, pounds) Claire! Are you there? Didn't you hear the revolver? Has she gone down the cellar? (tries the trap-door) Bolted! Well, I love the way she keeps people locked out!

d.i.c.k: And in.

HARRY: (getting angry, shouting at the trap-door) Didn't you hear the revolver? (going to TOM) Awfully sorry, old man, but-(in astonishment to d.i.c.k) He can't hear me. (TOM, knocking with the revolver to get their attention, makes a gesture of inquiry with it) No-no-no! Is he asking if he shall shoot himself? (shaking his head violently) Oh, no-no! Um-um!

d.i.c.k: Hardly seems a man would shoot himself because he can't get to his breakfast.

HARRY: I'm coming to believe people would do anything! (TOM is making another inquiry with the revolver) No! not here. Don't shoot yourself. (trying hard to get the word through) Shoot yourself. I mean-don't, (petulantly to d.i.c.k) It's ridiculous that you can't make a man understand you when he looks right at you like that. (turning back to TOM) Read my lips. Lips. I'm saying-Oh d.a.m.n. Where is Claire? All right-I'll explain it with motions. We wanted the salt ... (going over it to himself) and Claire wouldn't let us go out for it on account of the temperature. Salt. Temperature. (takes his egg-cup to the door, violent motion of shaking in salt) But-no (shakes his head) No salt. (he then takes the thermometer, a flower pot, holds them up to TOM) On account of the temperature. Tem-per-a-(TOM is not getting it) Oh-well, what can you do when a man don't get a thing? (TOM seems to be preparing the revolver for action. HARRY pounds on the inner door) Claire! Do you want Tom to shoot himself?

(As he looks in there, the trap-door lifts, and CLAIRE comes half-way up.)

CLAIRE: Why, what is Tom doing out there, with a revolver?

HARRY: He is about to shoot himself because you've locked him out from his breakfast.

CLAIRE: He must know more interesting ways of destroying himself. (bowing to TOM) Good morning. (from his side of the gla.s.s TOM bows and smiles back) Isn't it strange-our being in here-and he being out there?

HARRY: Claire, have you no ideas of hospitality? Let him in!

CLAIRE: In? Perhaps that isn't hospitality.

HARRY: Well, whatever hospitality is, what is out there is snow-and wind-and our guest-who was asked to come here for his breakfast. To think a man has to such things.

CLAIRE: I'm going to let him in. Though I like his looks out there. (she takes the key from her pocket)

HARRY: Thank heaven the door's coming open. Somebody can go for salt, and we can have our eggs.

CLAIRE: And open the door again-to let the salt in? No. If you insist on salt, tell Tom now to go back and get it. It's a stormy morning and there'll be just one opening of the door.

HARRY: How can we tell him what we can't make him hear? And why does he think we're holding this conversation instead of letting him in?

CLAIRE: It would be interesting to know. I wonder if he'll tell us?

HARRY: Claire! Is this any time to wonder anything?

CLAIRE: Give up the idea of salt for your egg and I'll let him in. (holds up the key to TOM to indicate that for her part she is quite ready to let him in)

HARRY: I want my egg!

CLAIRE: Then ask him to bring the salt. It's quite simple.

(HARRY goes through another pantomime with the egg-cup and the missing shaker. CLAIRE, still standing half-way down cellar, sneezes. HARRY, growing all the while less amiable, explains with thermometer and flower-pot that there can only be one opening of the door. TOM looks interested, but unenlightened. But suddenly he smiles, nods, vanishes.)