_Jessie (catching him by the arm)._--I'll send for Dad! You shan't go! _Jack (aside to Jessie)._ Listen, Jessie. There's another reason. I've _got_ to go. I've got into another row at college. _Jessie._ Jack! What have you done? _Jack._ Oh, it's a long story--the point is, Dad has heard of it to-day, and he'll be wild. He said the last time that if I got into any more trouble, he'd turn me out. _Jessie._ But, Jack! He won't really do it! _Jack._ Yes, he meant it! And I don't want to give him a chance to order me out--I want to go before he gets here----_(He starts off Left.)_ I'll go and put on those hobo clothes. _Jessie._ Jack! I beg you----_(Jack exit.)_ _Jessie (turns upon Bob)._ Bob, I think it's wicked of you! _Bob._ Why, Jessie? _Jessie._ To nag at Jack all the time! You've driven him crazy! _Bob._ Never mind--he'll soon get sane. You never knew him to stick at anything very long. _Jessie._ Oh! Oh! I think you're horrid! And right before our party--what will we tell the guests? _Bob._ Tell them the truth; they'll think it's romantic--like a story in a play. Why, Jessie---- _(During this dialogue Jack has slipped back into the coat of Will and sits at the desk, Left_ 1. _The sound of a sharp whistle heard in the Real-play, Left_ 1. _Instantly the Play-play vanishes. Full light on the Real-play.)_ _Will (looking up in bewilderment and disgust)._ My God! What's that? _Peggy._ Something at the dumb-waiter, dear. _Will._ Oh, Lord! _Peggy (rises)._ Wait, dear. _(Hurries out of door Left, calls at shaft.)_ Well? _Voice below._ Garbage! _Will (tears hair)._ Garbage. _Peggy (cheerfully)._ All right! _(Returns and gets can, exit Left.)_ _Will._ Garbage! Garbage! Garbage! _Peggy._ A little higher, please--there, that'll do! All right! _(Enters.)_ _Will._ Can you explain to me one mystery of this universe? _Peggy._ What, dear? _Will._ Why does the garbage-man always call when I'm inspired? _Peggy._ Dear Will--probably the garbage-man is wondering why you are always inspired when he calls. _Will (moans)._ Well, shall I go on? _Peggy._ You must wait, dear. He'll be returning the can in a few minutes. _Will._ A few minutes! Oh, the agonies of being an author! _(Eagerly.)_ Well, what do you think of my play? _Peggy._ Why, Will, I'm sorry to disappoint you. It's very interesting--but it isn't a practical play. It would never go on Broadway. _Will (in dismay)._ Not go on Broadway! _Peggy._ No, dear. It's too talky--too much sociology. You can't get a Broadway audience to listen to long arguments. _Will._ Isn't it what they all need? Those wage-slaves up in the galleries---- _Peggy._ I know, dear--but they've no idea they are wage-slaves, and they won't pay their money to hear you call them names. And down in the three-dollar seats are people who've made their pile, and don't want any questions asked about the way they made it. Cut out the sociology, Will! _Will._ But can't one discuss modern problems in a modern play?