_Peggy (As Bill tosses and calls aloud in his sleep, goes to his bed, kneels and soothes him)._ Oh, my baby! My baby! You're not going to be sick! No, no, I can't stand that! Anything but that! I'll have to give it up! Will must give up trying to be a writer, and get some sort of paying job. Or I'll have to go on the stage again, and earn some real money----_(Hearing Will returning, she leaps up and runs Left.)_ Was it the check? _Will (enters)._ Yes. _Peggy._ For how much? _Will (in a voice of agony)._ _Guess_ how much? _Peggy._ Tell me! _Will._ Two-fifty. _Peggy._ Two-fifty! _Will._ Two dollars and a half! _Peggy._ Great God! _Will (furiously)._ How do they expect a poet to live on two dollars and a half for a poem? _Peggy (hysterically)._ They don't expect poets to live! They don't care anything about poets! Poets are cheap! _Will (catches her by the arm, stares at her)._ Peggy! Peggy! This play has got to succeed! It's got to succeed! People have got to like it! _Peggy._ Oh, Will. I hope they like it! I could get them by the throats and choke them until they promise to like it! I could fall down upon my knees and beg them to like it! _(To audience, with intensity.)_ _Don't_ you like it? Don't you like it? Tell us that you like it! Tell us! CURTAIN. ACT IV. _(SCENE--The attic, the following afternoon. Scene of the Play-play is the drawing room, as in Act I.)_ _At rise: The Real-play, showing Will busy working on his Mss., Left. Peggy Right, putting Bill to sleep._ _Peggy._ Now, Mr. Bill, you're going to have a nice nap. _Bill._ I feel better. _Peggy._ I'm so glad to hear it. And Will's most through with his play, and then he'll take you to the park. _Bill._ Say, Peggy! _Peggy._ Now, go to sleep. _Bill._ But say! _Peggy._ Well? _Bill._ I think I'm hungry. _Peggy._ There's nothing in the house, dear. _Bill._ No bread, Peggy? _Peggy._ No, but we'll get some when you wake up. _(Goes Left and sits by Will. Silence, while he works over papers. He is pale and haggard; she watches him anxiously.)_ _Will. (Leans on hands.)_ Oh, dear. _Peggy._ Tired, Will? _Will._ I'm getting a beastly headache. _Peggy._ Will, you know you oughtn't to work when your stomach has quit like this. _Will._ Hang my stomach! _Peggy._ But, dear-- _Will._ Why do authors have to have stomachs? They're never of any use. _Peggy._ Listen, Will. You can't do good work when you're so tired. _Will._ I can do good work! You'll see it's good. I've nearly finished the fourth act now. Come, read it--and forget about my stomach. _(She moves over to him. The Play-play begins to appear.)_ The scene is Dad's drawing-room again. Jessie is there; she's worrying about Jack, and Bob is trying to comfort her. _(Full light on Play-play.)_ _Bob._ He's all right, Jessie. Anybody'd think he'd gone to war! _Jessie._ He was never away for so long before. _Bob._ Don't I seem a fairly healthy specimen, Jessie? _Jessie._ I suppose so, Bob.