them stay like it. (She sits again.) You, Bobbie, you are artistic, too, you might without undue strain become a world famed composer, artist, actor. (Bobbie rises, moves down L., posing as actor.) Sylvia, for you I foresee a marvellous career as a decorative designer. You already arrange flowers and jumble sales—and last, but not by any means least, little Joyce (Joyce hangs her head, polishes her nails), now on the very threshold of life. What are you going to do with yourself? Sit at home and wait for a nice husband with mediocre prospects and perhaps an over-developed Adam's apple? Never, never! You too must rise and go forth—the world is calling to you. Do what you will. I can't think of a career for you at the moment, but no matter. I only want to impress upon you all the necessity of making good at something—make good, make good, make good! And the one I consider has done best for himself and the family name, to him—or her—I will bequeath every penny I possess. (Goes up four stairs.)

(All looking towards Daniel, the positions are now as follows:—Daniel, up four stairs. Mrs. Dermott extreme R. Sylvia up R.C. Oliver down R.C. Evangeline down C. Joyce up L.C.. Bobbie down L.)

Daniel (holding up his hand.) Please—couldn't you possibly speak one at a time? Sylvia? (Motions to her.)

Sylvia (stepping forward). What we want to know, uncle, is how on earth are we to start?

(They all nod.)

Daniel (smiling benignly, arms outstretched). I'll leave it to you!

All turn to audience open-mouthed as the Curtain descends.

ACT II.

The Scene is the same as Act I. Eighteen months have elapsed. All the windows are wide open. It is a glorious summer day. Alterations in the furniture are noted at the end of the play. At the table L. Evangeline is seated when the Curtain rises, typewriting slowly but firmly. There are a lot of papers strewn about. On the piano there is a sort of a pastry board to which is affixed a working model of a motor engine in miniature. Joyce is seated at table L.C. laboriously copying out a sheet of music on to some manuscript paper.

Joyce (showing music). Is it a crotchet or a quaver that has a waggle on the end of it?

Evangeline. I haven't the remotest idea.

Joyce. I do think Bobbie might write them a little more distinctly, it's awfully difficult to copy.

(Joyce hums.)

Evangeline. I don't wish to appear surly or disagreeable to my younger sister, but if you don't stop squawking I shall hurl something at you.

Joyce. Oh, all right. (She hums louder.)

Evangeline (after a short pause). Joyce, you really are maddening; you know perfectly well that I have to revise and retype an entire short story which in itself is a nerve-racking job, and all you do is to burble and sing, and gabble. Can't you be quiet?

Joyce. Why don't you go and work in your own room?

Evangeline. Because it would be neither comfortable or proper with three inquisitive painters there, running up and down the kitchen steps.

Joyce. Oh, I'd forgotten.

(Joyce hums again.)

Evangeline. But if you desire to continue your noises, may I suggest that you do your music in the summer house. There's a nice firm table there.

Joyce. No thanks, I'm quite comfy here.

Evangeline. Well, I'm sorry to hear it.

(Enter Mrs. Dermott from hall. Goes to table and tidies papers.)

Mrs. Dermott. Vangy dear, I do think you might have made the hall look a little tidier. We shall have Mrs. Crombie and Faith here soon. It really is tiresome of Bobbie to have made me ask them, specially as Uncle Daniel's coming too. They'll be terribly in the way and we shall have to make conversation instead of listening to Uncle Daniel's thrilling stories. (Goes to Chesterfield and tidies papers.)

Evangeline. I can't think why you didn't wire and put them off yesterday.

Mrs. Dermott. Because Bobbie would have been miserable and sulky.

Evangeline. He's very inconsiderate. I don't think you ought to give in to him so much, mother; it only makes him worse. What he can see in that tiresome little cat beats me.

Joyce. She's awfully pretty.

(Mrs. Dermott merely takes papers from one place to another, frequently
dropping some, as she is "tidying up.")

Evangeline. And entirely brainless.

Joyce. Well, we can be thankful that Mrs. Crombie isn't staying over the week-end. One day of her is bad enough.

Mrs. Dermott (tidying papers on form). You mustn't talk like that, dear. After all they are our guests and Bobbie's friends, and we must be kind even if we don't like them very much. (Picking up waste paper basket from the front of table.) I'm only worrying because darling Daniel may be hurt at our having strangers in the house when he arrives.

Joyce. Oh, Uncle Dan won't mind. He's probably used to face polar bears and things in his shack.

Evangeline. But it seems hard luck to leave raging bears on one side of the Atlantic and meet Mrs. Crombie on the other.

(Joyce goes into screams of laughter and then chokes.)

Mrs. Dermott (anxiously). Darling—do be careful. (Drops papers and puts waste paper basket through window L.C. Enter Bobbie downstairs. Mrs. Dermott continues to tidy up room.)

Bobbie. What's the matter?

Evangeline. Nothing much,