within whispering distance of twenty years old.
One thing more—above and to the right of the bath-tub is
a window. It is narrow and has a wide sill; it lets in much
sunshine, but effectually prevents any one who looks in
from seeing the bath-tub. You begin to suspect the plot?
We open, conventionally enough, with a song, but, as the
startled gasp of the audience quite drowns out the first
half, we will give only the last of it:
Julie: (In an airy sophrano-enthusiastico)
When Cæsar did the Chicago
He was a graceful child,
Those sacred chickens
Just raised the dickens
The Vestal Virgins went wild.
Whenever the Nervii got nervy
He gave them an awful razz
They shook in their shoes
With the Consular blues
The Imperial Roman Jazz
(During the wild applause that follows Julie modestly
moves her arms and makes waves on the surface of the
water—at least we suppose she does. Then the door on
the left opens and lois Marvis enters, dressed but carrying
garments and towels. lois is a year older than Julie and is
nearly her double in face and voice, but in her clothes and
expression are the marks of the conservative. Yes, you've
guessed it. Mistaken identity is the old, rusty pivot upon
which the plot turns.)
lois: (Starting) Oh, 'scuse me. I didn't know you were here.
HYLAND
