_Will (sits staring before him, with repressed intensity)._ Listen!
I've tried--honest, I've tried, but I can't get away from that play.
You know how often I've said that I wanted to find a story like our
own--so that I could use our local color, pour our emotions into it,
our laughter and our tears. And, Peggy, this is the story! Our _own_
story! It has pathos and charm--it will hold the crowd--

_Peggy_. Dear Will, _what_ do you know about the crowd? Pathos and
charm! Do you suppose the mob that comes swarming into Broadway at
eight o'clock every evening is on the hunt for pathos and charm?
They want to see women with the latest Paris fashions on them--or
with nothing on them at all! They want to see men in evening dress,
drinking high-balls, lighting expensive cigars, departing from
palatial homes to the chugging sound of automobiles.

_Will_. But Peggy, this play will have two dress-suit acts. I can
show the world I used to live in--I can use Dad's own house for a
scene. And I can finish it in four days!

_Peggy_. Yes--if you sit up all night and work! Don't you know that
when you work all night your stomach stops working all day? Haven't
you sworn to me on the Bible you'd never work at night again?

_Will (seizes her in his arms)_. Peggy! I've got to do this play!
I've started it.

_Peggy_. What?

_Will_. What do you think I've been doing all afternoon? _(Pulls out
a huge wad of loose papers from rear pocket.)_ Look at that! _(Drags