_]
KEN. [_Entering from bedroom._] What in ...?
TIPPY. Tea.
KATE. Thank God it wasn't eggs.
LAURA. [_To_ KEN.] Hello, darling.
[TIPPY _retrieves groceries._]
KEN. [_Severely._] What's the idea, Laura?
LAURA. What idea, honey?
KEN. You promised to quit it. There's plenty of grub here.
LAURA. But darling, I can't eat canned baked beans. My ulcer, you
know.
KEN. You haven't any ulcer.
LAURA. Nor any baby. But doctors say nervous girls must be careful,
or they'll have both.
KEN. Don't be a fool.
[TIPPY _starts with bag to kitchen_, KATE _following. At door he
warns her back._]
TIPPY. The preparing of this tea must be a strictly masculine
affair, [KATE _gestures toward_ KEN _and_ LAURA.] I'm sorry, but I
want tea. If a woman enters that kitchen, there won't be tea.
There'll be house-cleaning. [_He goes in and bolts door behind him.
She tries it and finds it locked. She pretends to be interested in
drawings_, KEN _has turned away from_ LAURA _and there is a
pause._]
LAURA. [_Casually._] Anything new, dear?
KEN. [_Savagely._] No. You always ask me that.
LAURA. It doesn't mean anything. Just a little light conversation
to kill that first awkward moment.
KEN. It means, have I got a job.
LAURA. Have you?
KEN. No.
LAURA. Well, you will have one. And more than a job. Some day
somebody will accept your plans for fabricated houses.
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