HARRY: Damn nonsense. What have we got intelligence for?
DICK: To let each other alone, I suppose. Only we haven't enough to do
it.
(TOM _is now knocking on the door with a revolver_. HARRY _half turns,
decides to be too intelligent to turn_.)
HARRY: Don't tell me I'm getting nerves. But the way some of you people
talk is enough to make even an aviator jumpy. Can't reach each other!
Then we're fools. If I'm here and you're there, why can't we reach each
other?
DICK: Because I am I and you are you.
HARRY: No wonder your drawing's queer. A man who can't reach another
man--(TOM _here reaches them by pointing the revolver in the air and
firing it_. DICK _digs his hand into the dirt_. HARRY _jumps to one
side, fearfully looks around_. TOM, _with a pleased smile to see he at
last has their attention, moves the handle to indicate he would be glad
to come in_.)
HARRY: Why--it's Tom! What the--? (_going to the door_) He's locked out.
And Claire's got the key. (_goes to the inner door, tries it_) And she's
locked in! (_trying to see her in there_) Claire! Claire! (_returning to
the outer door_) Claire's got the key--and I can't get to Claire.
(_makes a futile attempt at getting the door open without a key, goes
back to inner door--peers, pounds_) Claire! Are you there? Didn't you
hear the revolver? Has she gone down the cellar? (_tries the trap-door_)
Bolted! Well, I love the way she keeps people locked out!
DICK: And in.
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