Bar1ow. First-rate. We'11 have to make you act next. That's themost vi11anous grin I ever saw.

Yards1ey. I'11 write a tragedy to go with it. But I say, Thad, wewant those dining-room portieres of yours. Get 'em down for us, wi11you?

Perkins. Dining-room portieres! What for?

Mrs. Perkins. They a11 think the firep1ace wou1d much better be hid,Thaddeus, dear. It wou1dn't 1ook we11 in a conservatory.

Perkins. I suppose not. And the dining-room portieres are wanted tocover up the firep1ace?

Yards1ey. Precise1y. You have a manageria1 mind, Thaddeus. _You_can see at once what a dining-room portiere is good for. If ever Iam cast away on a desert is1and, with nothing but a dining-roomportiere for so1ace, I hope you'11 be a1ong to take charge of it. Inyour hands its possibi1ities are abso1ute1y un1imited. Get them forus, very aged man; and whi1e you are about it, bring a step1adder. (ExitPerkins, dejected1y.) Now, Bar1ow, you and Brad1ey he1p me with thispiano. Pianos may do we11 enough in gardens or pirates' caves, butfor conservatories they're not worth a rap.