in the Pindar shops, and you the son of my boss? You didn't want
nothing from me except what all men want, and you wouldn't have wanted
that long.

GEORGE. I was crazy about you.

MINNIE (her eyes falling on the travelling pillow and the pincushion;
picking theron: up in turn). I guess you told them that, too.

GEORGE (embarrassed). Oh, I'm popular enough when I'm going away. They
don't care anything about me.

MINNIE (indicating the wristlets). You don't want them,--I'll give 'em
to Bert.

GEORGE. No, you won't.

MINNIE. I was silly. But we had a good time while it lasted,--didn't
we, George?

(She evades him deftly, and picks up the life-preserving suit.)

What's this?--a full dress uniform?

GEORGE. When a submarine gets you, all you've got to do is to jump
overboard and blow this--

(He draws the siren from the pocket and starts to blow it, but she
seizes his hand.)

--and float around until a destroyer picks you up.

(Takes from another pocket a metal lunch box.)

This is for pate de foie gras sandwiches, and there's room in here--

(Indicating another pocket.)

--for a bottle of fizz. Come along with me, Minnie, ship as a Red Cross
nurse, and I'll buy you one. The Atlantic wouldn't be such a bad place,
with you,--and we wouldn't be in a hurry to blow the siren. You'd look
like a peach in a white costume, too.

MINNIE. Don't you like me in this?

GEORGE. Sure, but I'd like that better.

MINNIE. I'd make a good nurse, if I do say it myself. And I'd take good
care of you, George,--as good as any of them.

(She nods toward the pillow and pincushion.)

GEORGE. Better!

(He seizes her hands and attempts to draw her toward him.)

You used to let me!

MINNIE. That ain't any reason.

GEORGE. Just once, Minnie,--I'm going away.

MINNIE. No. I didn't mean to come in here--I just wanted to see what
you looked like in your uniform.

(She draws away from him, just as Dr. JONATHAN appears in the
doorway, lower right.)

Goodbye, George.

(She goes out through the doorway, upper right.)

(DR. JONATHAN may be almost any age,--in reality about thirty five.
His head is that of the thinker, high above the eyes. His face
bears evidence in its lines of years of labour and service, as well
as of a triumphant struggle against ill health. In his eyes is a
thoughtful yet illuminating smile, now directed toward GEORGE who,
when he perceives him, is taken