Barlow.  I don’t believe you know what you do mean.  Who ever heard of leaves on dusters?  What are dusters?  Do you know, Miss Dorothy?

[As he turns to Miss Andrews, Yardsley tries to wave Jennie away.  She beckons with her arms more wildly than ever, and Yardsley silently speaks the words, “Go away.”

Dorothy.  I’m sure I don’t know of any tree by that name, but then I’m not a—­not a what?

Yardsley (with a forced laugh).  Treeologist

Dorothy.  What are dusters, Mr. Yardsley?

Barlow.  Yes, old man, tell us.  I’m anxious to find out myself.

Yardsley (aside).  So am I. What the deuce are dusters, for this occasion only? (Aloud) What?  Never heard of dusters?  Ho!  Why, dear me, where have you been all your lives? (Aside.) Must gain time to think up what dusters are. (Aloud.) Why, they’re as old as the hills.

Barlow.  That may be, but I can’t say I think your description is at all definite.

Dorothy.  Do they look like maples?

Yardsley (with an angry wave of his arms towards Jennie).  Something—­ in fact, very much.  They’re exactly like them.  You can hardly tell them from oaks.

Barlow.  Oaks?

Yardsley.  I said oaks.  Oaks!  O-A-K-S!

Barlow.  But oaks aren’t like maples.

Yardsley.  Well, who said they were?  We were talking about oaks—­ and—­er—­and dusters.  We—­er—­we used to have a row of them in front of our old house at—­ (Aside.) Now where the deuce did we have the old house?  Never had one, but we must for the sake of the present situation. (Aloud.) Up at—­at—­Bryn-Mawr—­or at—­Troy, or some such place, and—­at—­they kept the—­the dust of the highway from getting into the house. (With a sigh of relief.) And so, you see, they were called dusters.  Thought every one knew that.

[As Yardsley finishes, Jennie loses her balance and falls headlong into the room.

Dorothy (starting up hastily).  Why, Jennie!

Yardsley (staggering into chair).  That settles it.  It’s all up with me. [Jennie sobs, and, rising, rushes to Yardsley’s side.

Jennie.  Save yourself; he’s going to kill you!

Dorothy.  Jennie!  What is the meaning of this?  Mr. Yardsley—­can—­ can you shed any light on this mystery?

Yardsley (pulling himself together with a great effort).  I?  I assure you I can’t, Miss Andrews.  How could I?  All I know is that somebody is—­is going to kill me, though for what I haven’t the slightest idea.

Jennie (indignantly).  Eh?  What!  Why, Mr. Yardsley—­Bob!

Barlow.  Bob?

Dorothy.  Jennie!  Bob?

Yardsley.  Don’t you call me Bob.

Jennie.  It’s Hicks. [Bursts out crying.

Barlow.  Hicks?

Dorothy.  Jennie, Hicks isn’t Bob.  His name—­is George.

Yardsley (in a despairing rage).  Hicks be—­