De Witt:
Every so often some elder statesman of the theatre reminds the public that actors and actresses are just plain folks, completely ignoring the fact thath their whole attraction is their complete lack of resemblance to ordinary human beings. We all have that abnormality in common. We're a breed apart from the rest of humanity, we theatre folk. We are the original displaced personalities.
Bill:
(To Eve) You won't have to read his collumn tomorrow kid, you just heard it. I don't agree, Addison.
De Witt:
That happens to be your particular abnormality.
Miss Casswell:
[interrupting] Oh, waiter!
De Witt:
That isn't a waiter, my dear. That's a butler.
Miss Casswell:
Well, I can't yell, 'Oh, butler!' can I? Maybe somebody's name is Butler.
De Witt:
You have a point. An idiotic one, but a point.
Miss Casswell:
I don't want to make trouble. All I want is a drink.
Max:
Leave it to me. I'll get you one.
Miss Caswell:
[smiling] Thank you, Mr. Fabian.
De Witt:
Well done. I can see your career rising in the east like the sun. You were saying.
Bill:
I'll admit there's a screwball element in the theatre. It's got splotlights on it and a brass band but it isn't basic. To be a good actor or actress or anything else in the theatre means wanting to be that more than anything else in the world.
Eve:
[softly] Yes, yes it does.
Bill:
It means concentration of desire or ambition, and sacrifice such as no other profession demands. And I'll agree that the man or woman who accepts those terms can't be ordinary, can't be just someone. To give so much for almost always so little.
Eve:
So little. So little, did you say? Why, if there's nothing else, there's applause. I've listened backstage to people applaud. It's like, like waves of love coming over the footlights and wrapping you up. Imagine. To know, every night, that different hundreds of people love you. They smile, and their eyes shine. You've pleased them. They want you. You belong. Just that alone is worth anything.
