men haven't got glands--they have souls.

(_There is a low, sonorous honking off stage to indicate that a
large motor-car has stopped in the immediate vicinity. Then a young
man handsomely attired in a dress-suit and a patent-leather silk hat
comes onto the stage. He is very mundane. His contrast to the
spirituality of the other two is observable as far back as the first
row of the balcony. This is_ RODNEY DIVINE.)

DIVINE: I am looking for Ulsa Icky.

(MR. ICKY _rises and stands tremulously between two dods._)

MR. ICKY: My daughter is in Lunnon.

DIVINE: She has left London. She is coming here. I have followed her.

(_He reaches into the little mother-of-pearl satchel that hangs at
his side for cigarettes. He selects one and scratching a match touches
it to the cigarette. The cigarette instantly lights._)

DIVINE: I shall wait.

(_He waits. Several hours pass. There is no sound except an
occasional cackle or hiss from the dods as they quarrel among
themselves. Several songs can be introduced here or some card tricks
by_ DIVINE _or a tumbling act, as desired._)

DIVINE: It's very quiet here.

MR. ICKY: Yes, very quiet....

(_Suddenly a loudly dressed girl appears; she is very worldly. It
is _ULSA ICKY._ On her is one of those shapeless faces peculiar to
early Italian painting._)

ULSA: (_In a coarse, worldly voice_) Feyther! Here I am! Ulsa did
what?

MR. ICKY: (_Tremulously_) Ulsa, little Ulsa. (_They embrace
each other's torsos._)

MR. ICKY: (_Hopefully_) You've come back to help with the
ploughing.

ULSA: (_Sullenly_) No, feyther; ploughing's such a beyther. I'd
reyther not.

(_Though her accent is broad, the content of her speech is sweet and
clean._)

DIVINE: (_Conciliatingly_) See here, Ulsa. Let's come to an
understanding.

(_He advances toward her with the graceful, even stride that made
him captain of the striding team at Cambridge._)

ULSA: You still say it would be Jack?

MR. ICKY: What does she mean?

DIVINE: (_Kindly_) My dear, of course, it would be Jack. It
couldn't be Frank.

MR. ICKY: Frank who?

ULSA: It _would_ be Frank!

(_Some risque joke can be introduced here._)

MR. ICKY: (_Whimsically_) No good fighting...no good fighting...

DIVINE: (_Reaching out to stroke her arm with the powerful movement
that made him stroke of the crew at Oxford_) You'd better marry me.

ULSA: (_Scornfully_) Why, they wouldn't let me in through the
servants' entrance of your house.