) Must gain
time to think up what dusters are. (Aloud.) Why, they're as old as
the hills.
Barlow. That may be, but I can't say I think your description is at
all definite.
Dorothy. Do they look like maples?
Yardsley (with an angry wave of his arms towards Jennie). Something--
in fact, very much. They're exactly like them. You can hardly tell
them from oaks.
Barlow. Oaks?
Yardsley. I said oaks. Oaks! O-A-K-S!
Barlow. But oaks aren't like maples.
Yardsley. Well, who said they were? We were talking about oaks--
and--er--and dusters. We--er--we used to have a row of them in front
of our old house at-- (Aside.) Now where the deuce did we have the
old house? Never had one, but we must for the sake of the present
situation. (Aloud.) Up at--at--Bryn-Mawr--or at--Troy, or some such
place, and--at--they kept the--the dust of the highway from getting
into the house. (With a sigh of relief.) And so, you see, they were
called dusters. Thought every one knew that.
[As Yardsley finishes, Jennie loses her balance and falls headlong
into the room.
Dorothy (starting up hastily).
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