Only doing my duty.
[John stops and reflects at this, deciding it isn’t good enough. He shrugs his shoulders, turns round and goes away.]
I shouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t get even with you one of these days, you . . . . . and some way you won’t expect.
[Curtain rises on John and Mary in their suburban home.]
I say, dear. Don’t you think we ought to plant an acacia?
An acacia, what’s that, John?
O, it’s one of those trees that they have.
But why, John?
Well, you see the house is called The Acacias, and it seems rather silly not to have at least one.
O, I don’t think that matters. Lots of places are called lots of things. Everyone does.
Yes, but it might help the postman.
O, no, it wouldn’t, dear. He wouldn’t know an acacia if he saw it any more than I should.
Quite right, Mary, you’re always right. What a clever head you’ve got!
Have I, John? We’ll plant an acacia if you like. I’ll ask about it at the grocer’s.
You can’t get one there.
No, but he’s sure to know where it can be got.
Where do they grow, Mary?
I don’t know, John; but I am sure they do, somewhere.
Somehow I wish sometimes, I almost wish I could have gone abroad for a week or so to places like where acacias grow naturally.
O, would you really, John?
No, not really. But I just think of it sometimes.
Where would you have gone?