DORIS: What if they do? We're only looking at a book. (_running her hand along the books_) Matthew Arnold. (_Takes a paper from_ FUSSIE, _puts it in the book. They are bent with giggling as_ HORACE _returns_.) HORACE: For the love o' Pete, what's the joke? (_taking the book from the helpless girl_) Matthew Arnold. My idea of nowhere to go for a laugh. When I wrote my theme on him last week he was so dry I had to go out and get a Morton Sundee (_the girls are freshly attacked, though all of this in a subdued way, mindful of others in the library_) Say, how'd you get that way? DORIS: Now, Horace, don't you _tell_. HORACE: What'd I tell, except--(_seeing the paper_) Um hum--what's this? DORIS: (_trying to get it from him_) Horace, now _don't_ you (_a tussle_) You great strong mean thing! Fussie! Make him _stop_. (_She gets the paper by tearing it_.) HORACE: My dad's around here--showing the college off to a politician. If you don't come across with that sheet of mystery, I'll back you both out there (_starts to do it_) and-- DORIS: Horace! You're just _horrid_. HORACE: Sure I'm horrid. That's the way I want to be. (_takes the paper, reads_) 'To Eben You are the idol of my dreams I worship from afar.' What is this? FUSSIE: Now, listen, Horace, and don't you _tell_. You know Eben Weeks. He's the homeliest man in school. Wouldn't you say so? HORACE: Awful jay. Like to get some of the jays out of here. DORIS: But listen. Of course, no girl would _look_ at him. So we've thought up the most _killing_ joke, (_stopped by giggles from herself and_ FUSSIE) Now, he hasn't handed in his Matthew Arnold dope. I heard old Mac hold him up for it--and what'd you think he said? That he'd been _ploughing_. Said he was trying to run a farm and go to college at the same time! Isn't it a _scream_? HORACE: We oughta--make it more unpleasant for some of those jays. Gives the school a bad name. FUSSIE: But, listen, Horace, honest--you'll just _die_. He said he was going to get the book this afternoon. Now you know what he _looks_ like, but he turns to--(_both girls are convulsed_) DORIS: It'll get him all fussed up! And for nothing at all! HORACE: Too bad that class of people come here. I think I'll go to Harvard next year. Haven't broken it to my parents--but I've about made up my mind. DORIS: Don't you think Morton's a good school, Horace? HORACE: Morton's all right. Fine for the--(_kindly_) people who would naturally come here. But one gets an acquaintance at Harvard. Wher'd'y' want these passionate lines? (FUSSIE _and_ DORIS _are off again convulsed_.)