VANE. Yes.

FRUST. Well, I liked that little pocket piece fine. But I'm blamed
if I know what it's all about.

VANE. [A little staggered] Why! Of course it's a little allegory.
The tragedy of civilization--all real feeling for Beauty and Nature
kept out, or pent up even in the cultured.

FRUST. Ye-ep. [Meditatively] Little Miggs'd be fine in "Pop goes
the Weasel."

VANE. Yes, he'd be all right, but----

FRUST. Get him on the 'phone, and put it into rehearsal right now.

VANE. What! But this piece--I--I----!

FRUST. Guess we can't take liberties with our public, Mr Vane. They
want pep.

VANE. [Distressed] But it'll break that girl's heart. I--really--I
can't----

FRUST. Give her the part of the 'tweeny in "Pop goes".

VANE. Mr Frust, I--I beg. I've taken a lot of trouble with this
little play. It's good. It's that girl's chance--and I----

FRUST. We-ell! I certainly thought she was fine. Now, you 'phone
up Miggs, and get right along with it. I've only one rule, sir!
Give the Public what it wants; and what the Public wants is punch and
go. They've got no use for Beauty, Allegory, all that high-brow
racket. I know 'em as I know my hand.

[During this speech MISS HELLGROVE is seen listening by the
French window, in distress, unnoticed by either of them.]

VANE. Mr Frost, the Public would take this, I'm sure they would; I'm
convinced of it. You underrate them.

FRUST. Now, see here, Mr Blewitt Vane, is this my theatre? I tell
you, I can't afford luxuries.

VANE. But it--it moved you, sir; I saw it. I was watching.

FRUST. [With unmoved finality] Mr Vane, I judge I'm not the average
man. Before "Louisa Loses" the Public'll want a stimulant. "Pop
goes the Weasel" will suit us fine. So--get right along with it.
I'll go get some lunch.

[As he vanishes into the wings, Left, MISS HELLGROVE covers her
face with her hands. A little sob escaping her attracts VANE'S
attention. He takes a step towards her, but she flies.]

VANE. [Dashing his hands through his hair till it stands up]
Damnation!

[FORESON walks on from the wings, Right.]

FORESON. Sir?

VANE. "Punch and go!" That superstition!

[FORESON walks straight out into the wings, Left.]

VANE. Mr Foreson!

FORESON. [Re-appearing] Sir?

VANE. This is scrapped. [With savagery] Tell 'em to set the first
act of "Louisa Loses," and put some pep into it.