MAUD. [Struggling to withdraw her hand and finally succeeding. Her voice is rather faint.] Ye-es, er . . . Bob . . . er . . . glad to see you again. [She looks ruefully at her bruised fingers and sinks into chair. Then, recollecting her part, she crosses her legs in a mannish way.] FITZSIMMONS. [Crossing to desk at right, against which he leans, facing her.] You were a wild young rascal in those San Francisco days. [Chuckling.] Lord, Lord, how it all comes back to me. MAUD. [Boastfully.] I was wild--some. FITZSIMMONS. [Grinning.] I should say! Remember that night I put you to bed? MAUD. [Forgetting herself, indignantly.] Sir! FITZSIMMONS. You were . . . er . . . drunk. MAUD. I never was! FITZSIMMONS. Surely you haven't forgotten that night! You began with dropping champagne bottles out of the club windows on the heads of the people on the sidewalk, and you wound up by assaulting a cabman. And let me tell you I saved you from a good licking right there, and squared it with the police. Don't you remember? MAUD. [Nodding hesitatingly.] Yes, it is beginning to come back to me. I was a bit tight that night. FITZSIMMONS. [Exultantly.] A bit tight! Why, before I could get you to bed you insisted on telling me the story of your life. MAUD. Did I? I don't remember that. FITZSIMMONS. I should say not. You were past remembering anything by that time. You had your arms around my neck-- MAUD. [Interrupting.] Oh! FITZSIMMONS. And you kept repeating over and over, "Bob, dear Bob." MAUD. [Springing to her feet.] Oh! I never did! [Recollecting herself.] Perhaps I must have. I was a trifle wild in those days, I admit. But I'm wise now. I've sowed my wild oats and steadied down. FITZSIMMONS. I'm glad to hear that, Harry. You were tearing off a pretty fast pace in those days. [Pause, in which MAUD nods.] Still punch the bag? MAUD. [In quick alarm, glancing at punching bag.] No, I've got out of the hang of it. FITZSIMMONS. [Reproachfully.] You haven't forgotten that right-and-left, arm, elbow and shoulder movement I taught you? MAUD. [With hesitation.] N-o-o. FITZSIMMONS. [Moving toward bag to left.] Then, come on. MAUD. [Rising reluctantly and following.] I'd rather see you punch the bag. I'd just love to. FITZSIMMONS. I will, afterward. You go to it first. MAUD. [Eyeing the bag in alarm.] No; you. I'm out of practice. FITZSIMMONS. [Looking at her sharply.] How many drinks have you had to- night? MAUD. Not a one. I don't drink--that is--er--only occasionally. FITZSIMMONS. [Indicating bag.] Then go to it. MAUD. No; I tell you I am out of practice. I've forgotten it all. You see, I made a discovery. [Pauses.] FITZSIMMONS. Yes? MAUD. I--I--you remember what a light voice I always had--almost soprano? [FITZSIMMONS nods.] MAUD. Well, I discovered it was a perfect falsetto. [FITZSIMMONS nods.]