DUDLEY:  Say, Paul—­I—­(Sees MRS. SCHUYLER—­with surprise.) Lena—­

MRS. SCHUYLER:  Du, “Allmaechtiger Strohsach”—­where was I Lena?

DUDLEY:  Have you forgotten, in Germany, Unter den Linden?

MRS. SCHUYLER:  Germany?  Oh, the man who made love to me over a plate of frankfurters?  Well—­well—­wie geht’s!  Tell me, do you think I’ve grown stouter since the days when I was Lena? (PAUL laughs.)

DUDLEY:  Not a bit. (PAUL and ROSE laugh.)

MRS. SCHUYLER:  (Seeing ROSE and PAUL in earnest conversation.) Excuse me. (She crosses and grabs ROSE.) Rose, there’s some grape juice waiting for us in the grape arbor. (She sends ROSE off.) (Boys step toward MRS. SCHUYLER.) Boys—­later—­when Rose has gone, you may come and crush a grape with me in the arbor. (She exits.)

PAUL:  Aber nit!  Dud, she’s determined to keep us apart—­you must help me—­go and grab her, and run her off into the house.

DUDLEY:  Lena—­not much—­she once flung a glass at my head.

PAUL:  Well, then, where’s Phil? (Calls.) Phil—­Phil! (DUDLEY calls also.  PHIL rushes on.)

PHIL:  Am I going to eat?

PAUL:  Quick, go and grab Mrs. Schuyler in the grape arbor.

PHIL:  Grab her in the grape arbor?

PAUL:  (Pushing them off.) And run her into the house.  Quick. (He pushes PHIL off one way.) And you run into the house and hold her there. (Rushes DUDLEY into house.) I’ll run to the grape arbor to join Rose when she’s alone. (He exits.) (PHIL enters, pushing MRS. SCHUYLER toward the house.  They enter from grape arbor.)

MRS. SCHUYLER:  (Beating him with parasol.) The idea!  What’s the meaning of this?  You little runt! (Pushing him off.) (Ad lib talk.) Who are you, anyhow?

PHIL:  (Turning and seeing her.) Maggie!

MRS. SCHUYLER:  (As before.) For the love of the Chambermaids’
Union, where was I Maggie?

PHIL:  Don’t you remember when I was a “merry merry” with you in the “Blonde Broilers’ Burlesque” troupe?

MRS. SCHUYLER:  Were you one of the Blonde Broilers?

PHIL:  Sure, I was the fellow that came out in the last act disguised as a bench.

MRS. SCHUYLER:  (Finally remembering him.) Oh, you dear old Benchie! 
(They embrace.) And I used to come in and sit all over you.

PHIL:  That’s how I came to fall in love with you.

MRS. SCHUYLER:  A man always thinks more of a woman when she sits on him.

PHIL:  Do she?

MRS. SCHUYLER:  She do.

PHIL:  Come and sit on me now.

MRS. SCHUYLER:  (Coyly.) Oh, you fascinating devil.

PHIL:  Ah, go on—­ah, sit on me. (Business of sitting—­nearly flopping—­finally getting on his knee.)

MRS. SCHUYLER:  You’re not the bench you used to be!

PHIL:  You’re not the sitter you used to be.