Frust. [With unmoved finality] Mr Vane, I judge I’m not the average man.  Before “Louisa Loses” the Public’ll want a stimulant.  “Pop goes the Weasel” will suit us fine.  So—­get right along with it.  I’ll go get some lunch.

     [As he vanishes into the wings, Left, Miss Hellgrove covers her
     face with her hands.  A little sob escaping her attracts vane’s
     attention.  He takes a step towards her, but she flies.]

Vane. [Dashing his hands through his hair till it stands up] Damnation!

     [Foreson walks on from the wings, Right.]

Foreson.  Sir?

Vane.  “Punch and go!” That superstition!

     [Foreson walks straight out into the wings, Left.]

Vane.  Mr Foreson!

Foreson. [Re-appearing] Sir?

Vane.  This is scrapped. [With savagery] Tell ’em to set the first act of “Louisa Loses,” and put some pep into it.

     [He goes out through the French windows with the wind still in
     his hair.]

Foreson. [In the centre of the Stage] Electrics!

Electrics.  Hallo!

Foreson.  Where’s Charlie?

Electrics.  Gone to his dinner.

Foreson.  Anybody on the curtain?

A voice.  Yes, Mr Foreson.

Foreson.  Put your curtain down.

     [He stands in the centre of the Stage with eyes uplifted as the
     curtain descends.]

THE END