FAME. His pals call him Harry. THE CROWD. Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! FAME. Say, what's your favourite color? 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 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] THE CAPTAIN OF THE GATE[1] Beulah Marie Dix