Dolly (hurries about, gathering Belle’s wraps and her own). Where’s your coat, boy?

Bill. Ain’t got none.  Say!  What’s this about Florida?

Dolly. I don’t know.

Bill. Youse tryin’ to cheer up Belle?

Dolly (gathering up her belongings in great haste). Maybe so.

Bill. Youse runnin’ from that landlady?

Dolly. Don’t ask me now.

Bill. Well, there’s somethin’ wrong, I know!  Youse can’t fool me! (Looks about.) Gee!  I thought I had a home!  And now I’m movin’ out of it! (The lights fade slowly on the Play-play and rise on the Real-play.)

Will (in a whisper). Well?

Peggy (low). Oh, Will!  That’s the real stuff!

Will. You like it?

Peggy (with intensity). Yes, I do!  It’s real, it’s true.  Will, I think it’ll go!

Will. You do?

Peggy. Yes, even with Broadway!  It made me cry—­and I’m a hardened old sinner.

Will. Oh, dearest, I’m so glad!

Peggy. I’m proud of you, Will! (Rises and puts her arms about him.) We’ve got a real Pot-boiler! (Sound of bell in Real-play Left.  Play-play vanishes.  Full light on the Real-play.  A post-man’s whistle off Left.)

Will. What’s that?

Peggy. The post-man!

Will (leaping up). Maybe it’s a check for the poem!

Peggy. Oh, yes!

Will. Where’s the key to the letter-box?

Peggy (runs Right). Here, I think. (Searches about.) Here! (Brings him key.) Be quick!

Will (exit Left). I’ll be quick!

Peggy (As Bill tosses and calls aloud in his sleep, goes to his bed, kneels and soothes him). Oh, my baby!  My baby!  You’re not going to be sick!  No, no, I can’t stand that!  Anything but that!  I’ll have to give it up!  Will must give up trying to be a writer, and get some sort of paying job.  Or I’ll have to go on the stage again, and earn some real money——­(Hearing Will returning, she leaps up and runs Left.) Was it the check?

Will (enters). Yes.

Peggy. For how much?

Will (in a voice of agony). Guess how much?

Peggy. Tell me!

Will. Two-fifty.

Peggy. Two-fifty!

Will. Two dollars and a half!

Peggy. Great God!

Will (furiously). How do they expect a poet to live on two dollars and a half for a poem?

Peggy (hysterically). They don’t expect poets to live!  They don’t care anything about poets!  Poets are cheap!

Will (catches her by the arm, stares at her). Peggy!  Peggy!  This play has got to succeed!  It’s got to succeed!  People have got to like it!