Barlow. Guess Perkins skinnyks this is like going to sleep.

Perkins. I don't know anything about it. What I'm after isinformation; only, I give you warning, I will not ride so as to getround shoulders.

Yardsley. Then where's your wrench? Screw up your bar, hoist yourarmles, elevate your morosedle, and you're 0.K. What morosedle have you?

Perkins (tapping it). This.

Barlow. Humph! Not quite good--but we'll try it. Come on. It'sgetting late.

[They go out. Perkins reluctantly. In a moment he returns alone,and, rushing to Mrs. Perkins, kisses her affectionately.