[During this speech MISS HELLGROVE is seen listening by the French window, in distress, unnoticed by either of them.] VANE. Mr Frost, the Public would take this, I'm sure they would; I'm convinced of it. You underrate them. FRUST. Now, see here, Mr Blewitt Vane, is this my theatre? I tell you, I can't afford luxuries. VANE. But it--it moved you, sir; I saw it. I was watching. 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.] FORESON. Sir? 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 his hair.] FORESON. [In the centre of the Stage] Electrics! ELECTRICS. Hallo! 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 curtain descends.] THE END