FAME (_in a voice with which a woman in an upper storey would cry for help if the house was well alight_): Hi! Hi! Boys! Hi! Say, folks! Hi! [_The murmur of a gathering crowd is heard._ FAME _blows her trumpet._ FAME: Hi, he's a poet! (_Quickly, over her shoulder._) What's your name? DE REVES: De Reves. FAME: His name's de Reves. DE REVES: Harry de Reves. FAME: His pals call him Harry. THE CROWD: Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! FAME: Say, what's your favourite colour? DE REVES: I ... I ... I don't quite understand. FAME: Well, which do you like best, green or blue? DE REVES: Oh--er--blue. [_She blows her trumpet out of the window._ No--er--I think green. FAME: Green is his favourite colour. THE CROWD: Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! FAME: 'Ere, tell us something. They want to know all about yer. DE REVES: Wouldn't[9] you perhaps ... would they care to hear my sonnet, if you would--er ... FAME (_picking up quill_): Here, what's this? DE REVES: Oh, that's my pen. FAME (_after another blast on her trumpet_): He writes with a quill. [_Cheers from the_ CROWD. FAME (_going to a cupboard_): Here, what have you got in here? DE REVES: Oh ... er ... those are my breakfast things. FAME (_finding a dirty plate_): What have yer had on this one? DE REVES (_mournfully_): Oh, eggs and bacon. FAME (_at the window_): He has eggs and bacon for breakfast. THE CROWD: Hip hip hip, _hooray!_ Hip hip hip, _hooray!_ Hip hip hip, _hooray!_ FAME: Hi, and what's this? DE REVES (_miserably_): Oh, a golf stick. FAME: He's a man's man! He's a virile man! He's a manly man! [_Wild cheers from the_ CROWD, _this time only from women's voices._ DE REVES: Oh, this is terrible. This is terrible. This is terrible. [FAME _gives another peal on her horn. She is about to speak._ DE REVES (_solemnly and mournfully_): One moment, one moment ... FAME: Well, out with it. DE REVES: For ten years, divine lady, I have worshipped you, offering all my songs ... I find ... I find I am not worthy.... FAME: Oh, you're all right. DE REVES: No, no, I am not worthy. It cannot be. It cannot possibly be. Others deserve you more. I must say it! _I cannot possibly love you._ Others are worthy. You will find others. But I, no, no, no. It cannot be. It cannot be. Oh, pardon me, but it _must_ not. [_Meanwhile_ FAME _has been lighting one of his cigarettes. She sits in a comfortable chair, leans right back, and puts her feet right up on the table amongst the poet's papers._ Oh, I fear I offend you. But--it cannot be. FAME: Oh, that's all right, old bird; no offence. I ain't going to leave you. DE REVES: But--but--but--I do not understand. FAME: I've come to stay, I have. [_She blows a puff of smoke through her trumpet_. CURTAIN. [Transcriber's Note: Footnotes indicate where typographical errors in the original edition have been corrected.] [Footnote 1: Corrected from "eaxct"] [Footnote 2: Corrected from "wouln't"] [Footnote 3: Corrected from "MRS. SPLURGE"]