(_He pauses a second, smiling cynically. Then, as he apparently hears something, he rises and goes over to the hall door which he opens quickly. He looks out and apparently sees a neighbor entering the apartment opposite. A bibulous “good night” is heard. He closes the door, turns the key, tests the door and sees it is locked. As he stands there puzzled_, JERRY _enters, with a bottle of milk, some crackers, and an apple on a small tray_.) You’ll have to get over this habit of waiting on me now. JERRY Don’t ask the impossible. GRANT But we shall have servants now; plenty of them. JERRY Plenty of them? Why how much money are you going to make out of THE SAND BAR? GRANT Nearly a thousand dollars a week. JERRY (_Almost inaudibly as she nearly drops the tray_) My God! GRANT (_As he puts tray on table_) It will run forty weeks at the National. Then three road companies next year: “stock” and the “movies” after that. I’m going to make as much money in two weeks now as I ever made before in one year--turning out hack stuff and book reviews. And all I’ve got to do is to sit back and let it work for me! JERRY It doesn’t seem honest. GRANT Maybe it isn’t, Jerry. (_As he eats._) But when the public is pleased it pays to be pleased. JERRY (_Venturing_) The first thing I want is some new clothes. GRANT (_Grandiloquently_) My first week’s royalty is yours. JERRY Really? GRANT Throw away everything that’s darned and patched. I’m sick of seeing them. JERRY I was always so ashamed, too. Just think what people would have said if I’d been run over or killed in an accident. GRANT Now you’ll do the running over--in our new car. JERRY (_Hardly believing her ears_) A car! GRANT Every successful playwright has a car. JERRY (_Joyfully_) Then we’ll have to move from here to live up to the car? GRANT We’ve got to move. It’s more important to look like a success than to be one. (_Glancing about flat._) And the Lord knows this doesn’t look like success. JERRY I’m so glad. I’ve grown to hate these five stuffy rooms without sunlight. GRANT Nothing to light them up these ten years but the glow of my genius, eh? Now I’ll have a big house to shine in. JERRY I’ve always dreamed of you having a room off by yourself. GRANT Where you could really dream without the sound of my typewriter waking you and the baby? JERRY But it will be splendid for you, too. I don’t see how you ever wrote here with me always fussing in and out. GRANT Washing the eternal dish and cooking the eternal chop. JERRY I don’t ever want to look another gas stove in the face. GRANT You’ve cooked your last chop. JERRY Oh, Grant; my dreams have come true. GRANT (_Enigmatically again_) Yes. Success or failure: it’s all a matter of how you dream. (_She looks up puzzled: he is silent a moment and then goes to machine again._) But I’ll never get this done. JERRY