JIM.  Bad business.  It took a year for some of them folks to get back to Broadway.  Some of the girls never did, and I guess never will.

LAURA.  Maybe they’re better off, Jim. [Sits right of table.

JIM.  Couldn’t be worse.  They’re still in Texas. [To himself.] Wish I knew how to do something else, being a plumber or a walking delegate; they always have jobs.

LAURA.  Well, I wish I could do something else too, but I can’t, and we’ve got to make the best of it.

JIM.  I guess so.  I’ll see you this evening.  I hope you’ll have good news by that time. [Starts to exit, about to open door; then retreats a step, with hand on door-knob, crosses and in a voice meant to be kindly] If you’d like to go to the theatre to-night, and take some other woman in the house, maybe I can get a couple of tickets for some of the shows.  I know a lot of fellows who are working.

LAURA.  No, thanks.  I haven’t anything to wear to the theatre, and I don’t—­

JIM. [With a smile crosses to LAURA, puts arm around her.] Now you just cheer up!  Something’s sure to turn up.  It always has for me, and I’m a lot older than you, both in years and in this business.  There’s always a break in hard luck sometime—­that’s sure.

LAURA. [Smiling through her tears.] I hope so.  But things are looking pretty hopeless now, aren’t they?

JIM.  I’ll go down and give Mrs. F. a line o’ talk and try to square you for a couple of days more anyway.  But I guess she’s laying pretty close to the cushion herself, poor woman.

LAURA.  Annie says a lot of people owe her.

JIM.  Well, you can’t pay what you haven’t got.  And even if money was growing on trees, it’s winter now. [JIM goes towards door.] I’m off.  Maybe to-day is lucky day.  So long!

LAURA.  Good-bye.

JIM.  Keep your nerve. [Exit

LAURA.  I will. [She sits for a moment in deep thought, picks up the letter received, as if to read it, and then throws it down in anger.  She buries her head in hands.] I can’t stand it—­I just simply can’t stand it.

MRS. FARLEY’S VOICE. [Off stage.] Miss Murdock—­Miss Murdock.

LAURA. [Brushing away tears, rises, goes to door, and opens it.]
What is it?

SAME VOICE.  There’s a lady down here to see you.

ELFIE’S VOICE. [Off stage.] Hello, dearie, can I come up?

LAURA.  Is that you, Elfie?

ELFIE.  Yes; shall I come up?

LAURA.  Why, certainly.

She waits at the door for a moment, and ELFIE ST. CLAIR appears.  She is gorgeously gowned in the rather extreme style affected by the usual New York woman who is cared for by a gentleman of wealth and who has not gone through the formality of matrimonial alliance.  Her conduct is always exaggerated and her attitude vigorous.  Her gown is of the latest design, and in every detail of dress she shows evidence of most extravagant expenditure.  She carries a hand-bag of gold, upon which are attached such trifles as a gold cigarette-case, a gold powder-box, pencils, and the like.  ELFIE throws her arms around LAURA, and both exchange kisses.