I'll Leave It To You Part 7

(JOYCE _hums._)

EVANGELINE. I don't wish to appear surly or disagreeable to my younger sister, but if you don't stop squawking I shall hurl something at you.

JOYCE. Oh, all right. (_She hums louder._)

EVANGELINE (_after a short pause_). Joyce, you really are maddening; you know perfectly well that I have to revise and retype an entire short story which in itself is a nerve-racking job, and all you do is to burble and sing, and gabble. Can't you be quiet?

JOYCE. Why don't you go and work in your own room?

EVANGELINE. Because it would be neither comfortable or proper with three inquisitive painters there, running up and down the kitchen steps.

JOYCE. Oh, I'd forgotten.

(JOYCE _hums again._)

EVANGELINE. But if you desire to continue your noises, may I suggest that you do your music in the summer house. There's a nice firm table there.

JOYCE. No thanks, I'm quite comfy here.

EVANGELINE. Well, I'm sorry to hear it.

(_Enter_ MRS. DERMOTT _from hall. Goes to table and tidies papers._)

MRS. DERMOTT. Vangy dear, I _do_ think you might have made the hall look a little tidier. We shall have Mrs. Crombie and Faith here soon. It really is tiresome of Bobbie to have made me ask them, specially as Uncle Daniel's coming too. They'll be terribly in the way and we shall have to make conversation instead of listening to Uncle Daniel's thrilling stories. (_Goes to Chesterfield and tidies papers._)

EVANGELINE. I can't think why you didn't wire and put them off yesterday.

MRS. DERMOTT. Because Bobbie would have been miserable and sulky.

EVANGELINE. He's very inconsiderate. I don't think you ought to give in to him so much, mother; it only makes him worse. What he can see in that tiresome little cat beats me.

JOYCE. She's awfully pretty.

(MRS. DERMOTT _merely takes papers from one place to another, frequently dropping some, as she is "tidying up."_)

EVANGELINE. And entirely brainless.

JOYCE. Well, we can be thankful that Mrs. Crombie isn't staying over the week-end. One day of her is bad enough.

MRS. DERMOTT (_tidying papers on form_). You mustn't talk like that, dear. After all they are our guests and Bobbie's friends, and we must be kind even if we don't like them very much. (_Picking up waste paper basket from the front of table._) I'm only worrying because darling Daniel may be hurt at our having strangers in the house when he arrives.

JOYCE. Oh, Uncle Dan won't mind. He's probably used to face polar bears and things in his shack.

EVANGELINE. But it seems hard luck to leave raging bears on one side of the Atlantic and meet Mrs. Crombie on the other.

(JOYCE _goes into screams of laughter and then chokes._)

MRS. DERMOTT (_anxiously_). Darling--do be careful. (_Drops papers and puts waste paper basket through window_ L.C. _Enter_ BOBBIE _downstairs._ MRS. DERMOTT _continues to tidy up room._)

BOBBIE. What's the matter?

EVANGELINE. Nothing much, only your crochets and quavers have sent our little ray of sunshine into a rapid decline.

BOBBIE. Have you done it?

JOYCE (_weakly_). The top treble thing's a little wobbly, but I'll ink it over afterwards.

(MRS. DERMOTT _is tidying window seat._)

BOBBIE (_kissing her hurriedly and loudly_). Thanks, you're a lamb. I'll try it now.

EVANGELINE. Oh! Bobbie, don't try it now!

BOBBIE. I shall. (_He goes to piano, then turns furiously._) Well, really it is the _limit_. Why can't Oliver keep his rotten engine in the shed. It will scratch all the polish. (_He takes the model off piano and bangs it on to the floor._)

MRS. DERMOTT. Oh, Bobbie, don't break that thing. Oliver's _so_ proud of it. I can't think why.

BOBBIE. Well, I wish he'd go and be proud of it somewhere else. Look here, three distinct scratches.

MRS. DERMOTT. Never mind dear. Griggs will get them out with sandpaper or something.

(BOBBIE _commences to play over the ma.n.u.script_ JOYCE _has just copied. Occasionally he stops and alters something with a pencil.

No one takes any notice. The dialogue goes on just the same._)

(_Coming down to_ EVANGELINE.) If you've nearly finished, Vangy dear, do put the typewriter away. It looks so untidy.

EVANGELINE (_rather crossly, rising_). Of course I quite see that until my room's done, I shall never be able to do any work at all. (_Puts cover on typewriter, then pushes table up to back_ L.)

MRS. DERMOTT. Don't be cross, darling. You know how worried I am over everything this morning. It's one long rush.

EVANGELINE (_kissing her_). Sorry dear. I quite understand, only I must have this story sent to the _Clarion_ by Tuesday. If not, it won't be out until the August number.

MRS. DERMOTT. You're a dear darling, and you work terribly hard. I only hope you won't overdo it.

EVANGELINE. Oh no, these stories are only pot boilers. They just fill in the time until my next novel is ready.

BOBBIE (_suddenly._). Listen, don't you think this is a ripping change?

(_He plays a few chords. He then sits back complacently._)

MRS. DERMOTT. Perfectly lovely, darling.

EVANGELINE. It sounds very much like everything else to me.

BOBBIE. Only because you haven't got any ear. As a matter of fact they're quite good chords. I shall put them into the new tomb-stone cycle.

EVANGELINE. Don't alter many of my words, will you?

BOBBIE. Not many, but the bit about "worms gnawing the grave of my beloved" is a little too gloomy. Couldn't you make it b.u.t.terflies?