CHARLOTTE. If it’s any satisfaction to you, I’m going to be a different wife to him from now on. From now on I’m going to make his life perfectly miserable. _Charlotte goes out to a great burst of jazz. Dada, with some difficulty, locates his battered carpet-bag._ DADA. I find I missed the date by two thousand years. Eventually I will destroy myself. _Dada is gone now, hurried out between two porters, and Doris is next. With dignity she selects her small but arrogant hand-bag._ DORIS. All I want to say is if Cecil B. Demille ever saw the White House he’d say: “All right, that may do for the gardener’s cottage. Now I’ll start building a _real_ house.” _As she leaves she tries desperately to walk out of step with the music and avoid the suggestion of marching. The attempt is not altogether successful._ _President Jerry Frost now picks up his bag._ JERRY [_defiantly_]. Well, anyways I showed you you couldn’t put anything over on me. [_Glancing around, his eye falls on the “Special Tree.” He goes over and pulls it up by the roots._] This was given to me by some natives. That sign’s mine, too. I had it invented. [_He pauses._] I guess you think I wasn’t much good as a President, don’t you? Well, just try electing me again. GENERAL PUSHING [_sternly_]. We won’t! As a President you’d make a good postman. _At this sally there is a chorus of laughter._ _Then Charlotte’s voice again. Does it come from outside the gate, or, mysteriously enough, from somewhere above?_ CHARLOTTE [_very distinctly_]. Shut the door! I can smell that stuff up here! _A bewildered look comes into Jerry’s eyes. He says “What?” in a loud voice._ _Then with the tree in one hand and his grip in the other, he is hurried, between two porters, briskly toward the gate, while the Orang-Outang Band crashes into louder and louder jazz and_ THE CURTAIN FALLS ACT III _Now we’re back at the Frosts’ house, and it’s a week after the events narrated in Act I. It is about nine o’clock in the morning, and through the open windows the sun is shining in great, brave squares upon the carpet. The jars, the glasses, the phials of a certain memorable night have been removed, but there is an air about the house quite inconsistent with the happy day outside, an air of catastrophe, a profound gloom that seems to have settled even upon the “Library of Wit and Humor” in the dingy bookcase._ _There is brooding going on upon the premises._ _A quick tat-tat-tat from outdoors--the clatter of someone running up the porch steps. The door opens and Doris comes in, Doris in a yellowish skirt with a knit jersey to match, Doris chewing, faintly and delicately, what can surely be no more than a sheer wisp of gum._ DORIS [_calling_]. Char-lotte. A VOICE [_broken and dismal, from up-stairs_]. Is that you, Doris? DORIS. Yeah. Can I come up?