you, but it's not the same in your play. In the first place, Bill
isn't Jack's child; and then Belle is dying. You see, you've told
such a dreadful story--

_Will (irritably)._ Don't tell me that all over again!

_Peggy._ Forgive me! You've got a headache, and you're worn out--we
oughtn't to try to argue now. You simply can't get this play right
while you're so over-wrought. Take a little time off, and rest and
get a fresh view of it.

_Will._ But we'll starve to death in the meantime!

_Peggy._ No, dear, we needn't. Let me go and get a job to tide us
over the trouble. So you can do your work without killing yourself--
please, dear, please!

_Will (in thought)._ Listen, Peggy. If we're going to make a break,
I've thought of something better.

_Peggy._ What is it?

_Will._ I'll go and see Dad.

_Peggy._ Oh, Will, you couldn't do that!

_Will._ I've been thinking about it for the last three days. You
see, putting him in the play has brought him back to my thoughts.
I've shown him harsh and narrow--but still I realize that I love
him. Perhaps he can't help it if he has a bad temper; and if he's