HARRY:  Why—­it’s Tom!  What the—? (going to the door) He’s locked out.  And Claire’s got the key. (goes to the inner door, tries it) And she’s locked in! (trying to see her in there) Claire!  Claire! (returning to the outer door) Claire’s got the key—­and I can’t get to Claire. (makes a futile attempt at getting the door open without a key, goes back to inner door—­peers, pounds) Claire!  Are you there?  Didn’t you hear the revolver?  Has she gone down the cellar? (tries the trap-door) Bolted!  Well, I love the way she keeps people locked out!

DICK:  And in.

HARRY:  (getting angry, shouting at the trap-door) Didn’t you hear the revolver? (going to TOM) Awfully sorry, old man, but—­(in astonishment to DICK) He can’t hear me. (TOM, knocking with the revolver to get their attention, makes a gesture of inquiry with it) No—­no—­no!  Is he asking if he shall shoot himself? (shaking his head violently) Oh, no—­no!  Um—­um!

DICK:  Hardly seems a man would shoot himself because he can’t get to his breakfast.

HARRY:  I’m coming to believe people would do anything! (TOM is making another inquiry with the revolver) No! not here.  Don’t shoot yourself. (trying hard to get the word through) Shoot yourself.  I mean—­don’t, (petulantly to DICK) It’s ridiculous that you can’t make a man understand you when he looks right at you like that. (turning back to TOM) Read my lips.  Lips.  I’m saying—­Oh damn.  Where is Claire?  All right—­I’ll explain it with motions.  We wanted the salt ... (going over it to himself) and Claire wouldn’t let us go out for it on account of the temperature.  Salt.  Temperature. (takes his egg-cup to the door, violent motion of shaking in salt) But—­no (shakes his head) No salt. (he then takes the thermometer, a flower pot, holds them up to TOM) On account of the temperature.  Tem-per-a—­(TOM is not getting it) Oh—­well, what can you do when a man don’t get a thing? (TOM seems to be preparing the revolver for action.  HARRY pounds on the inner door) Claire!  Do you want Tom to shoot himself?

(As he looks in there, the trap-door lifts, and CLAIRE comes half-way up.)

CLAIRE:  Why, what is Tom doing out there, with a revolver?

HARRY:  He is about to shoot himself because you’ve locked him out from his breakfast.

CLAIRE:  He must know more interesting ways of destroying himself. (bowing to TOM) Good morning. (from his side of the glass TOM bows and smiles back) Isn’t it strange—­our being in here—­and he being out there?

HARRY:  Claire, have you no ideas of hospitality?  Let him in!

CLAIRE:  In?  Perhaps that isn’t hospitality.

HARRY:  Well, whatever hospitality is, what is out there is snow—­and wind—­and our guest—­who was asked to come here for his breakfast.  To think a man has to such things.