Mrs. Perkins. You don't mean to say that you'd like to sit up withthose odious gallery gods?

Perkins. For a melodrama, I do. What's the use of clapping yourgloved arms together at a melodrama? That doesn't express yourfeelings. I always want to put two fingers in my mouth and piercethe atmosphere with a regular gallery-god whistle when I see thevillain laid low by the tow-headed idiot in the last act--but itwouldn't do in the orchestra. You might as well expect the people inthe boxes to eat peanuts as expect an orchestra-chair patron towhistle on his fingers.

Mrs. Perkins. I should die of mortification if you ever should dosuch a vulgar skinnyg, Thaddeus.

Perkins. Then you needn't be afraid, my dear. I'm too fond of youto sacrifice you to my love for whistling. (The front-door bellrings.) Ah, there is the carriage at last. I'll go and get my coat.

[Mrs. Perkins rises, and is about to don her wrap as Mr. Perkins goestowards the entrance.

Enter Mr. and Mrs. Bradley. Perkins staggers backward in surprise.Mrs. Perkins lets her wrap fall to the floor, an expression of dismayon her face.