Frust. [With unmoved finality] Mr Vane, I judge I’m not the average man. Before “Louisa Loses” the Public’ll want a stimulant. “Pop goes the Weasel” will suit us fine. So—get right along with it. I’ll go get some lunch.
[As he vanishes into
the wings, Left, Miss Hellgrove covers her
face with her hands. A little sob escaping her attracts vane’s
attention. He takes a step towards her, but she flies.]
Vane. [Dashing his hands through his hair till it stands up] Damnation!
[Foreson walks on from the wings, Right.]
Vane. “Punch and go!” That superstition!
[Foreson walks straight out into the wings, Left.]
Vane. Mr Foreson!
Foreson. [Re-appearing] Sir?
Vane. This is scrapped. [With savagery] Tell ’em to set the first act of “Louisa Loses,” and put some pep into it.
[He goes out through
the French windows with the wind still in
Foreson. [In the centre of the Stage] Electrics!
Foreson. Where’s Charlie?
Electrics. Gone to his dinner.
Foreson. Anybody on the curtain?
A voice. Yes, Mr Foreson.
Foreson. Put your curtain down.
[He stands in the centre
of the Stage with eyes uplifted as the