Volume I Part 24 (1/2)

JOY. [On the rustic seat, and in a violent whisper.] I hope the worms will crawl up your legs!

[d.i.c.k, in flannels and a hard straw hat comes in. He is a quiet and cheerful boy of twenty. His eyes are always fixed on joy.]

d.i.c.k. [Grimacing.] The Colonel's getting licked. Hallo! Peachey, in the swing?

JOY. [Chuckling.] Swing her, d.i.c.k!

MISS BEECH. [Quivering with emotion.] Little creature!

JOY. Swing her!

[d.i.c.k takes the ropes.]

MISS BEECH. [Quietly.] It makes me sick, young man.

d.i.c.k. [Patting her gently on the back.] All right, Peachey.

MISS BEECH. [Maliciously.] Could you get me my sewing from the seat? Just behind Joy.

JOY. [Leaning her head against the tree.] If you do, I won't dance with you to-night.

[d.i.c.k stands paralysed. Miss BEECH gets off the swing, picks up the paint pot, and stands concealing it behind her.]

JOY. Look what she's got behind her, sly old thing!

MISS BEECH. Oh! dear!

JOY. Dance with her, d.i.c.k!

MISS BEECH. If he dare!

JOY. Dance with her, or I won't dance with you to-night.

[She whistles a waltz.]

d.i.c.k. [Desperately.] Come on then, Peachey. We must.

JOY. Dance, dance!

[d.i.c.k seizes Miss BEECH by the waist. She drops the paint pot.

They revolve.] [Convulsed.]

Oh, Peachey, Oh!

[Miss BEECH is dropped upon the rustic seat. d.i.c.k seizes joy's hands and drags her up.]

No, no! I won't!

MISS BEECH. [Panting.] Dance, dance with the poor young man! [She moves her hands.] La la-la-la la-la la la!

[d.i.c.k and JOY dance.]