_Peggy._ Well, Bill? _Bill._ Can you guess. _Peggy._ How many guesses? _Bill._ Three. _Peggy._ All right. I guess my little son doesn't want to go to bed! _Bill._ Say! You guessed it! _Peggy._ Oh, mother's great at guessing! _Bill._ But honest, it's still light. _Peggy._ I know--but that's because it's summertime. Don't you remember the little song? (sings) In winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candle-light; In summer, quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day! _Bill._ Say, Peggy--when's Will coming in? _Peggy._ I don't know, dear. Your father's working. _Bill._ Ain't he goin' to have any dinner? _Peggy._ I don't know--he didn't tell me. _Bill._ Is he writin'? _Peggy._ Yes--or else thinking about things to write. _Bill._ Say! He's great on writin', ain't he? _Peggy._ You bet! _Bill._ Do you think it's good stuff? _Peggy._ Indeed I do, Bill! _Bill._ You don't often tell him so. _Peggy._ Don't I? _Bill._ No--generally you rip him up the back. PEGGY (laughs). Well, mother has to keep him trying, you know. _Bill._ Say, Peggy, do you suppose I'll be an author when I grow up? _Peggy._ Can't tell, dear--it depends. _Bill._ Maybe I'll have to get some payin' job, hey? _Peggy._ Where did you pick up that idea? _Bill._ Ain't you talkin' about it all the time to him? _Peggy._ Am I? Well, I declare! Now, come, Mr. Bill--it's after bed-time. _Bill._ Can't I wait till Will comes? _Peggy._ No, dear. _Bill._ Well, will you tell him to wake me up? _Peggy._ No, dear. I'll tell him _not_ to. _Bill._ But Peggy, will you have him kiss me in my sleep? _Peggy._ Yes, I'll do that. Now, there you are. A big fat kiss for mother! Now, to sleep! _Bill._ Say, Peggy! _Peggy._ What? _Bill._ The people next door ain't runnin' the gramophone tonight! _Peggy._ No, dear. Now go to sleep. _Bill._ And the people in hack ain't singin' any coon-songs! _Peggy._ Now go to sleep for mother. Don't speak any more. _Bill._ Say, Peggy! _Peggy._ Well? _Bill._ I won't. Good night. _Peggy._ Good-night! (She goes Left humming to herself; sits at table, and prepares to work.) _Will (Enters Left softly; a young poet, delicate and sensitive. He watches_ PEGGY, _then closes door, tiptoes up and leans over her shoulder)._ Well? _Peggy (starts)._ Oh, Will, how you frightened me! Where in the world have you been? _Will._ Oh, it's a long tale. _Peggy._ Have you had dinner? _Will._ No, I don't want to eat. _Peggy._ What's the matter? A new idea? _Will._ I'll tell you, Peggy. Wait a bit. _Peggy (as he takes mail from pocket)._ Some mail? _Will._ Yes--all rejection slips. Nothing but rejection slips! _(throws pile of returned manuscripts on the table)._ How I wish some magazine would get a new kind of rejection slip! _(Sits dejectedly.)_ _Peggy._ Did you get any money for the rent? _Will._ Not yet, Peggy _(suddenly)._ The truth is, I didn't try. Peggy, I've got to write that play! _Peggy (Horrified)._ Will!