DOLLY (emphatically). Bald headed.

McCOMAS (nettled). I hope you intend to take what I have to say
seriously.

PHILIP (with profound mock gravity). I hope it will deserve it, Mr.
McComas. My knowledge of human nature teaches me not to expect too
much.

MRS. CLANDON (remonstrating). Phil---

PHILIP. Yes, mother, all right. I beg your pardon, Mr. McComas:
don't mind us.

DOLLY (in conciliation). We mean well.

PHILIP. Shut up, both.

(Dolly holds her lips. McComas takes a chair from the luncheon
table; places it between the little table and the garden seat with Dolly
on his right and Philip on his left; and settles himself in it with the
air of a man about to begin a long communication. The Clandons match
him expectantly.)

McCOMAS. Ahem! Your father---

DOLLY (interrupting). How old is he?

PHILIP. Sh!