SCENE 1 : The same. Two weeks later.
AT RISE: BLOSSOM sits on cabinet at window D. R., playing his home-made guitar-like instrument, and singing an African chant.
KIWI, with cast removed from his arm and dressed in up-patient blues, is sitting U. L. on YANK's bed, fanning himself with a fly-swatter.
DIGGER, now an up-patient, lies on his back, head downstage on pillow, idly swatting flies.
TOMMY, writing-pad against his knees, is finishing a letter. His back rest is up. Also KIWI'S on his bed.
YANK is stretched out on his stomach, face downstage. LACHIE sits on his bed facing R., and is industriously polishing his shoes. His bagpipe is hanging on a peg over his bed.
As curtain goes up, BLOSSOM'S chant rises in volume.
DIGGER. Quiet! (BLOSSOM stops his chant. Silence descends, LACHIE puts one shoe down, and picks up other. Spits on it and starts polishing. BLOSSOM puts instrument away under bed---looks out window.)
TOMMY. Wot's the date? (No one answers.) 'Ey! Yank---wot's the date ?
YANK. (Raising his head.) Th-th-thirty days has September, April, June and November. All the rest have thirty-one, except February and something and something which gives it twenty-eight. It's the f-f-first. (Puts his head down and goes back to his bored rest. TOMMY finishes the letter, puts it in an envelope, and places it on his bed table. He takes up his fly-swatter and looks around. He hits over at DIGGER.)
DIGGER. Aw---- (He turns over on his stomach. TOMMY swats flies indifferently. KIWI rises and crosses L.)
TOMMY. Wot time is it?
KIWI. (Looking at wrist-watch.) It's half-eleven. (Crosses to R. of own bed---sits facing R.)
TOMMY. Blimey---I thought it was tiffin time.
DIGGER. (Testily.) Don't you ever forget that gut of yours?
TOMMY. You don't love me any more. There was a time you thought I was cute. (The giggle doesn't quite come off.)
YANK. I'll sure be glad to get out of here. (After a moment, MARGARET enters D. L., briskly, cheerfully.)
MARGARET. Isn't it a lovely day! (Waves some letters.) The post just came in. (All Sit Up. KIWI rises. Ad libs., crosses foot of his bed.)
YANK. Mail!
TOMMY. Blimey, I just wrote one! (Together.)
DIGGER. Ah, wizard.
KIWI. Is there anything for me?
KIWI. Rubles to rupees says I get a letter.
YANK. Look carefully, Sister.
MARGARET. Just a minute. (Putting two letters down on DIGGER'S pillow.) Digger-one-two.
DIGGER. (Picking them up.) Ah, you're an angel, Sister.
MARGARET. (Crossing to TOMMY.) Tommy, here's an "obese" one for you. (Hands it to him.)
YANK. Find me one, Sister, even if it's an unpaid bill---p-p-please.
MARGARET. (Crossing and giving it to him.) One.
YANK. (Looks at it.) That's the one. W-w-wow! (Settles back to read it.)
MARGARET. (Crossing to KIWI.) Somebody loves you, KIWI. (Hands him three letters.)
KIWI. What did I tell you?
MARGARET. And that's all. (TO KIWI.) Can't you keep your blankets tidy?
(KIWI and MARGARET fix blanket. KIWI crosses R. of bed, and gets on it, pulling extra blanket over his knees. All read their letters. LACHIE is still polishing shoes.)
TOMMY. (Reading-to himself.) Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear. (He giggles.)
MARGARET. (Starts out---turns back---crosses U. L. of LACHIE'S bed.) I don't know what can be happening to your mail, Lachie, unless they're holding it at your regiment. Why don't you drop a line to the A.B.P.O.?
LACHIE. I expect nae mail.
MARGARET. Haven't you told your friends where you are?
LACHIE. I've many friends.---Many carefully chosen individuals in Doon Foot, Ayrshire, Glasgow, Rosemarkey, Edinborough and oother places and they all know ma' views. I dinna hae tae write aboot them.
MARGARET. But don't you miss not hearing from home?
LACHIE. (Turns to her.) Aye---there's mooch I miss. But ye may hae heard---there's a war going on.
MARGARET. Yes---I heard. The man I'd hoped to marry was killed in Crete. I've heard about the war.
LACHIE. (A little subdued-turns back to shoes.) Aye---then ye know.
MARGARET. And I know it's good to know what's happening back in Blighty.
LACHIE. Ma' knowing will nae change things.
MARGARET. It might. (LACHIE puts shoe brush in bed table.) Well---is there anything special you'd like for tiffin?
LACHIE. (Neatening shoe laces.) Naught.
MARGARET. Oh, there must be some particular dish that you'd like ---something I can fix for you myself?
LACHIE. (Turns to her.) Why?
MARGARET. Why do you ask---why?
LACHIE. I've noticed, Sister, that ye seek tae do me favors. I dinna ken yur motive boot I think it only fair tae warn ye---I've nae place fur marriage in ma plans.
MARGARET. How very kind of you to tell me!
LACHIE. Aye.
MARGARET. But I assure you that I have no plans to snare you.
LACHIE. It wuid nae be the furst time in ma' life. (He puts one shoe down and picks up other and works on shoe lace.)
MARGARET. Oh, I'm sure you're a much pursued young man. I asked you about the food only because I thought something a little different might please you.
LACHIE. And may I be sae bould as tae remind ye that I dinna like tae have things done fur me! And I dinna seek privilege.
MARGARET. Oh, Lachie, we're all entitled to privilege once in a while---in sheer defiance, if nothing else.
LACHIE. Whin I've a right tae privilege, I'll nae ask fur it. I'll demand.
MARGARET. Lachie, you are aggravating at times.
TOMMY. 'Ear! 'Ear!
LACHIE. (Turning to MARGARET.) And if it's pity fur ma' wounds prompts ye, ye dinna know me or ye'd never offer me that.
MARGARET. Oh, Lachie, please be human!
LACHIE. I'm sorry I can nae be a weak character tae yur liking.
MARGARET. So am I, because I've a weakness for---weakness. It's something I can understand. (Angry, she exits into her office. She gets control of herself quickly and returns. Meanwhile LACHIE has finished with his boots, and has placed them at foot of his bed, He is now standing by his bed table.) I'm sorry I was cross with you.
LACHIE. I dinna notice the tantrums of women. (He adjusts his pillow.)
MARGARET. That would be such an advantage if you ever married.
LACHIE. It's odd ye harp on marriage.
MARGARET. Lachie---will you please believe me I am not setting a trap for you. I've no designs on you. I'm going to be strong and resist your charm, so you don't have to be on your guard.
LACHIE. Still ye do persist---and ye do deny it hotly.
MARGARET. I do not deny it hotly. I do not persist.---Oh, really--- (She takes a deep breath.) ---Lachie, I only want to know if I can arrange some special dish for you. No compromise or obligation involved.
LACHIE. I'm content wi' ma' lot. (LACHIE lies down on his bed.)
MARGARET. Well---I look forward to the day when you'll ask for something. And when you do---make it monumental. (As she starts off.) Good letter, Yank? (She crosses D. L.)
YANK. P-p-perfect. (She exits. DIGGER opens his second letter and starts reading.
DIGGER. Hip! Hip! I've had a baby!
YANK. G-g-good going.
TOMMY. Did you suffer?
KIWI. Boy or girl?
DIGGER. Boy. She's named him after me. Ah---the darling. (He picks up his pillow and puts it upstage on his bed and leans back.)
YANK. M-m-mother and child doing all right?
DIGGER. Wizard.
KIWI. Congratulations, Digger.
TOMMY. I wish I could 'ave a baby. If I did they'd send me 'ome on compassionate ground. I've been away four years.
YANK. (Leaning back.) N-n-now to read it over again. My gal still loves me. (As they continue to read, TOMMY starts to giggle at what he finds in his letter.)
TOMMY. Oh dear, oh dear. You should 'ear this.
YANK. Well, l-l-let's hear it. (Sits up on one elbow.)
KIWI. We're listening.
TOMMY. (Convulses himself first.) Me wife 'as told the whole village about me wounds and I'm a bloody 'ero. And---(Again he gets out of control.)---do you know what they've done?
YANK. Cast a statue of you-out of p-pig iron?
TOMMY. (Again he can hardly go on.) No---but they've 'ad a public dinner in me honor---and they've named a pudding after me. (He shrieks with laughter.) A pudding!
DIGGER. Gawd! I'll bet it's heavy.
TOMMY. Bless their 'earts---they've made me immortal with raisins. Oh, dear, oh, dear, the silly fools. (His laugh dies down to a chuckle-and then suddenly bursts forth louder than ever.) "The Percival 'Awkins Puffed Wheat Pudding." (Everyone laughs but LACHIE.)
LACHIE. (Rising and crossing D. L.) A fine lot of women ye moost hae!
YANK. S-sure, they're fine. What's wrong now?
LACHIE. (Crossing D. R.) And nae doot ye're moost proud of thim.
KIWI. Why not?
LACHIE. Have ye any idea of the tons of paper that's wasted writing of news that cuid well wait? Hae ye considered the fortune in stamps that cuid be spent on food instead? Do ye ken how many ships and planes it takes tae deliver the letters of millions of giddy females alone?
DIGGER. Why don't you run the world for a change and give God a rest?
LACHIE. Ye're guilty of criminal waste---ye and yur women. (Looks at them all.) And ye sit there pleased as cats.
YANK. D-d-do us a favor and don't show us the error of our ways, will you?
LACHIE. Ah---it's yur consciences trooble ye---nae! (He crosses up to C. to get his bagpipe.)
YANK. All right then! It's my conscience. (LACHIE brings bagpipe down, sits on his bed and gets ready to play it.) Oh, God-give him asthma! (YANK puts his letter away. Before LACHIE can begin to play, MARGARET enters D. L. and crosses to him.)
MARGARET. Lachie, the Colonel just sent word over that he wants to see you right away.
LACHIE. (Hanging his bagpipe up while MARGARET is getting his bathrobe from his bed table.) Why does he nae come here?
MARGARET. (Crossing D. with robe and holding it for him.) I believe he wants to take an X-ray. Do you want a wheel chair?
LACHIE. (Crossing D.) I've ma' legs-and ma' health. (Getting into robe.) And I've little respect fur the Colonel.
MARGARET. You should have. He's not only a fine commanding officer but a great surgeon.
LACHIE. He's got a spite on me. (Tying the cord of robe.)
MARGARET. That's absurd.
LACHIE. Still he's got a spite on me. (Crosses to door L.) I'm hale and hearty and a Scot wi' a mind of ma' own---something nae Englishman can abide. (He exits. MARGARET crosses, up. C. and, straightens pillow On LACHIE'S bed.)
YANK. Sister, is he really going to die? Because if he isn't I'm going to k-k-kill him.
MARGARET. What a dreadful thing to say! I'm ashamed of you.
KIWI. You don't have to live with him.
DIGGER. That joker's got a spite on the whole world.
YANK. He's got a p-p-porcupine disposition. You c-c-can't touch him.
MARGARET. Have you tried to know him?
YANK. To n-n-know him is to loathe him.
MARGARET. Why don't you try to like him?
TOMMY. 'E don't like us first. 'Es a terrible stern man, 'e is.
MARGARET. Then why do you antagonize him?
DIGGER. Antagonize him!
YANK. (Rising and Crossing D. L.) Th-th-that does it!
MARGARET. (Crossing D. C.) Listen to me. That boy was not sent in here to make things pleasant for you. He was sent to you for help. That was a compliment.
YANK. Or a ch-challenge.
MARGARET. All right---a challenge. It's a poor show when men run from a challenge. I admit I lose patience too, but we mustn't stop trying.
DIGGER. He'd be miserable if he was happy, Sister.
YANK. If there was only one thing about him you could like.
MARGARET. (Crossing toward him.) It isn't important whether you like him or not. And whether Lachie is a hero or not---doesn't matter. He's a human being on leave from suffering. How unworthy of you to criticize him. You're going to get well.
TOMMY. 'E resists you.
MARGARET. (Crossing U. between TOMMY's bed and DIGGER'S.) His opinions aren't the same as ours. Does that make him an enemy?
TOMMY. It makes 'im 'ard to talk to.
MARGARET. It isn't often that you have an opportunity to make a man grateful he'd spent the last weeks of his life with you. I'm ashamed of you, indeed.
TOMMY. We're no good. Me that was wounded in me behind. (DIGGER sniggers---and even MARGARET has to smile.)
MARGARET. Well---you've a chance to redeem yourselves today. (Turns to YANK.) Yank, go into my office---there's a big parcel. Will you please bring it in here? (YANK starts to exit U. C.) Today's his birthday.
KIWI. His birthday? (YANK stops at door.)
MARGARET. I checked on his admittance card.
DIGGER. Are we going to give 'im a ruddy birthday party?
MARGARET. Don't you want to help?
YANK. All right, we'll try once more. (Exits for box.)
TOMMY. Did you get 'im a cake?
MARGARET. I thought of a haggis to be piped in---but who could make a haggis here? (YANK enters with box and lays it on foot of, LACHIE'S bed. MARGARET crosses over to it and sits above it.)
TOMMY. Oh, I do like presents, I do.
MARGARET. I've a kilt here.
KIWI. A kilt!
MARGARET. (Untying box.) And everything that goes with it. Checked with his regiment and ordered it from Calcutta. (DIGGER crosses over on to foot of YANK'S bed.) And it got here on time thanks to the R.A.F.
YANK. Well, w-wait a minute? You're not going to pay for all this yourself.
MARGARET. Yes, but I want you to give them to him.
YANK. If we're going to give them to him, we'll pay for them.
KIWI. We'll all chip in.
DIGGER. If there's a price list---we'll each pick out what we can afford. Will You let us do that?
MARGARET. I certainly will. (She hands list to DIGGER.)
TOMMY. If this don't make 'im 'appy---then nothing will, blimey,
DIGGER. Can I give the poor bloke the brogues, Sister? (Hands list to TOMMY.)
MARGARET. All right. I'll check you off later. We must make haste. (She hands shoes to DIGGER who crosses around to get them.) This is your contribution. Keep them under your pillow or someplace out of sight.
DIGGER. (Crossing back to his bed.) I could do with a pair of these myself. (He puts them under pillow at foot of his bed.)
TOMMY. (Handing list to YANK.) I'll give 'im the belt, 'ow's that?
YANK, A belt might do him a lot of good. (YANK hands belt over from MARGARET to TOMMY.)
MARGARET, What would you like to give him, KIWI?
KIWI. Whatever you say, Sister.
MARGARET. Well-how about the spats, stockings and supporters?
KIWI. Good enough. Just the job. (MARGARET takes them out of box and hands them to him.)
YANK. Does anyone object to my giving him the jacket and the kilt? After all, I dislike him more than the rest of you.
MARGARET. I think that would be splendid. I hoped you would. (She lifts out kilt-and holds it for all to see.)
KIWI. (Whistles.) Ah---lovely!
DIGGER. Wizard.
TOMMY. Oh---it's grand---it is.
YANK. N-not bad. Will it fit him?
MARGARET. It's the right size all right. I checked everything. (She hands it to YANK, who puts it under his blanket with jacket. MARGARET picks up side-cap.)
KIWI. What about Blossom? Do we include him?
YANK. (U. C.) S-sure. Let Blossom give him the side-cap. We'll chip in.
KIWI. Sure.
TOMMY. Right-o.
MARGARET. (Takes cap out of box and crosses D. R. to BLOSSOM, holding cap out.) Here, Blossom.( She turns back to box, and BLOSSOM beams--and places cap on his head backwards, with the ribbon hanging over his eyes.)
TOMMY. Oh, blimey, we'll never get it away from 'im now. 'E likes it.
DIGGER. Gawd---if Lachie came back now! (Crosses to door D. L. to keep a lookout. MARGARET crosses to BLOSSOM and tries to take the cap. They struggle a minute---then she gets it away.)
MARGARET. No-no. Him. (She crosses to R. of LACHIE'S bed and points at it.) Him. Gift. (She makes a gesture of giving. Then turns to KIWI.) I do sound like such an idiot. (She puts cap down and motions to BLOSSOM to sit down again.) I'll keep it until we give Lachie the presents. (She reaches into box and brings out sporran.) And this is my gift.
KIWI. Is that a haggis?
MARGARET. It's the sporran. (Showing it to KIWI.) Tommy. 'E keeps 'is small change in it.
YANK. M-mixed with fish-hooks.
MARGARET. And that's the last of it.
YANK. Everything? Didn't you forget something important?
MARGARET. Oh, dear---I hope not. (She counts on her fingers.)
YANK. Underneath the k-kilts---don't they wear some sort of fancy-pants?
TOMMY. Didn't you know? (He beckons to YANK. YANK leans over his own bed, and the two whisper. TOMMY makes a small circle with his hand, then a gesture of lifting, then a gesture of negation. YANK Sits back astonished.)
YANK. Nothing?
TOMMY. (Tommy sits back-smugly.) Nothing.
DIGGER. A bit drafty, I thinks.
MARGARET. (Looking in box.) Well, there's nothing else to wear in the box.
KIWI. (Kneeling on his bed.) Maybe they left it out?
YANK. (Looking in box, too.) S-sure. It's indecent to be th-that drafty.
TOMMY. It's not indecent---it's thrifty.
DIGGER. I say they wear some kind of a diaper.
KIWI. Two pounds says you're wrong.
YANK. (TO KIWI.) I'll bet you two pounds you're wrong.
KIWI. (Sits up on his knees in the excitement.) It's a bet. Glory to God, I got a bet at last! (He sinks back.)
DIGGER. And I've got two pounds says the Yank's right.
TOMMY. I'll bet that you and the Yank are both wrong.
DIGGER. You're on.
KIWI. (To MARGARET---who is rolling up the strings from box.) Want to bet, Sister?
MARGARET. I do not. It's a silly, vulgar bet.
KIWI. In behalf of general knowledge, Sister?
MARGARET. No.
TOMMY. (To DIGGER.) You'll find 'e's naked as a grape.
(MARGARET picks up box and sporran and cap. She crosses up C., puts box On YANK'S pillow, and tucks sporran and cap under pillow.)
MARGARET. Now, let's stop this nonsense. Hide your presents out of sight. Then as soon as he comes back, we'll give them to him. (TOMMY puts belt under his pillow. KIWI puts spats, stockings and supporters behind his back rest.) In the meantime, we can have our tiffin. Yank---the tray's in the cook-shed.
YANK. (Rises and crosses out D. L.) Cold bully-beef, bread and jelly. (Exits.)
KIWI. Anyone want to bet two rupees on that?
MARGARET. It's the best we can do.
TOMMY. Do I get to get up to give 'im the belt, Sister?
MARGARET. Well, I shouldn't want you to hurl it at him.
KIWI. Do we wait 'til he finishes eating?
MARGARET. No---as soon as he comes back.
YANK. (Returning with tray with six filled dishes, which he leaves at DIGGER'S, TOMMY'S, LACHIE'S and KIWI'S beds. BLOSSOM stands up and takes his own as YANK reaches him. YANK leaves tray on top of cabinet D. R., and carries his own plate back to his own bed.) Sister, I was just th-thinking---what if he refuses to take the presents? We're sticking our necks out.
KIWI. Yes-remember he said he never accepted presents.
MARGARET. Oh, he won't refuse them. He can't. It's his birthday.
TOMMY. 'E's tricky, 'e is.
YANK. (Crosses back to his bed, gets fork from bed table and sits foot of bed facing L.) I p-p-promise you, Sister, if he tosses these presents back at us, I'm going to b-beat him to death with his bagpipe. (The others start to eat.)
MARGARET. He won't refuse them. It's absurd to think such a, thing. Still---if he does---well---certainly he has a right to.
YANK, You're n-not so s-sure yourself, are you, Sister?
DIGGER. (glances out door.) Be careful-he's coming back. (gets fork from bed table, and sits astride his bed ---eating. TOMMY starts the following story with YANK and DIGGER listening to him in -deep concentration.)
TOMMY. (Watching door until LACHIE enters.) And there I was doing a bit of plumbing at Buckingham Palace---that was when I was with the Royal Engineers--- (LACHIE enters D. L. and walks straight to his bed without speaking. He sees his plate and picks it up. gets fork and sits facing R. on bed---eating.)---and it was raining, and the King 'e comes up to me and 'e says---"Where's your 'at at, me good man?" and I says, "I've been issued no 'at, your Royal 'Ighness." And 'e says, "'Ere, take me crown, it'll keep the rain out of yer eyes." (He laughs shrilly and begins to eat. LACHIE continues to ignore their presence.)
DIGGER (Shrugs sadly.) Oh, well---what can ya expect from a bloke with an aunt two years old! (MARGARET signals to DIGGER. Indicates for him to present his gift first, He puts his plate down and takes out brogues. He crosses to end of LACHIE'S bed and places shoes beside him.) Heard it was your birthday, Lachie. Thought ya might be able to use a pair of brogues. Congratulations. (He waits for a moment. LACHIE has stopped with spoon halfway to mouth. He then continues to eat without speaking or looking in any direction except his plate. DIGGER hesitates, and when no acknowledgment is made, returns to his bed. LACHIE inclines his head, slightly, to look at the brogues from the corner of his eyes. He continues chewing silently. MARGARET signals TOMMY. He labors out of bed and into his slippers and makes his way over to LACHIE. He puts belt beside brogues on LACHIE'S bed.)
TOMMY. Made in Scotland---it says,---'appy birthday. (LACHIE chews slowly without looking up. Tommy falters a moment, then returns to his bed. KIWI then receives his signal from MARGARET. He gets his present.)
KIWI. You can't wear brogues without stockings---you'll get corns. And you can't wear stockings without supporters, you'll break your neck. The best of luck to you. (KIWI leans over to LACHIE'S bed and drops his present without ceremony. He does not wait for an answer. MARGARET takes cap to BLOSSOM D. R. and places it in his hands. She indicates that he is to place it beside LACHIE. BLOSSOM nods and follows instructions. He crosses U. L. of LACHIE's bed and puts cap gently on pile of presents and tries to peer around into LACHIE'S face. He stands waiting and MARGARET motions frantically for him to return. When he does return, MARGARET crosses U. C. to get the sporran.)
$$$
MARGARET. Sorry we weren't able to have a haggis for you, Lachie. (She places sporran beside other presents.) You're gathering quite a collection. G'bless. (She crosses D. L.---motioning to YANK as she passes to give his present. LACHIE is still silent. YANK nods to MARGARET, rises and takes out jacket and kilt. He crosses to LACHIE, carrying them over his arm. All stop eating and lean forward eagerly.)
YANK. All the b-b-best to you, Lachie. (He Pitts jacket on top of pile, then spreads kilt over all. LACHIE is still-but he neither speaks nor looks up. YANK returns to his bed. MARGARET tiptoes up to Tommy and whispers to him. She drops down, and TOMMY clears his throat and begins to sing.)
TOMMY. 'Appy birthday to you, 'Appy birthday to you,
(MARGARET and the others join in. BLOSSOM catching the gaiety, starts clapping his hands against his sides in native rhythm and enjoyment, facing LACHIE.)
Happy birthday, dear Lachlen, Happy birthday to you.
(Silence greets the song---flat, wet silence. They look at each other, self-consciously.)
YANK. Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers . . . (MARGARET crosses quickly to him and puts a restraining hand on his shoulder. YANK stops, for LACHIE has risen. He clears his throat.)
LACHIE. I wuid hae a word wi' ye. (He swallows.) I dinna understand ye. I dinna understand ma'self. Ye've done a thing that numbs ma' brain. (His hand closes over kilt.) Nae mon in all ma' life befur gae me tu'pence fur naught. I'd nae hae remembered it was ma' birthday if ye'd nae said sae. BUT . . . (Crosses around bed to C.---faces them.) Hae I the right tae take yur kilt? The taking lays a claim on me and I've naught tae pay ye back. (He looks back at kilt, troubled.) I moost nae make a mistake. They say that sorrow is born in the hasty he'rt. Now, I've nae wish tae invite sorrow. So ma' problem . . .
MARGARET. (Crosses to him.) Oh, do be quiet, Lachie. (She is getting a thermometer out of her pocket.)
LACHIE. I moost explain ma' feeling. Now, ma' problem . . .
MARGARET. You don't have to explain anything. For once in your life be hasty and risk a mistake.
LACHIE. (Trying hard to finish.) Boot I . . . (MARGARET sticks thermometer in his mouth, and he has to shut up.)
MARGARET. Keep your mouth shut and let your heart talk. When a Scot makes a fool of himself he makes a grand one. (She gently pushes him down, so he sits on his bed.)
TOMMY. Is 'e going to take 'em, Sister?
MARGARET. Of course he is. There was no other thought in his mind. You were searching for a dignified way to thank them, weren't you? (LACHIE nods agreement.)
YANK. (Swinging his legs over bed so he sits facing LACHIE.) P-put 'em on!
KIWI. Put 'em on!
DIGGER. Let's see how you look, Lachie.
TOMMY. Let's see if 'e wears anything under them.
YANK. Lachie, we got a little bet up and you're the only one to settle it.
MARGARET. Oh, you are a mercenary lot.
YANK. Do you or don't you wear something under the kilt?
LACHIE. (Takes thermometer out of his mouth.) Ma' friends, I deeply regret ye've asked---fur I can nae tell ye. It's the one question nae Scot will answer rightly.
YANK. You won't tell us?
LACHIE. Wuid ye ask me tae break faith wi' ma' fellow Scots?
(MARGARET takes thermometer from him.)
YANK. N-never mind, then-just put 'em on. KIWI. Put 'em on!
DIGGER. Into your kilt!
TOMMY. Put 'em on, says
LACHIE. I've nae intention of wearing ma' kilt until the proper time.
YANK. (Leans forward.) Wh-what did you say?
LACHIE. I'll wear ma' kilt when the occasion is fitting. I'll put on ma' kilt the day I return tae ma' regiment---nae befur. (He rises ---crosses R. of bed and starts to fold things.)
YANK. (Helpless.) Sister---you can't let him do this. He's---he's putting them away.
LACHIE. Did ye gae me the kilt fur ma' own pleasure---or do ye hold a claim?
MARGARET. Lachie---this is your birthday---do whatever pleases you.
LACHIE. I'm pleased tae wait. (MARGARET hands him box. He packs things in it.) Thank ye fur ma' gifts. I'll nae soon forgit this day.
(BLOSSOM turns to window and stands looking out.)
YANK. Is the p-p-party . . . over ?
LACHIE. Is there moor tae dew?
YANK. No--no--th-that's all---I guess. A perfect Scottish Birthday party. (LACHIE puts lid on box and box under his bed. YANK sits on bed with his head in his hands. LACHIE sits on his bed and takes up his food.)
MARGARET. Now, is there anything I can do for you before I go?
LACHIE. Naught. I'm most content.
MARGARET. That's good. (Exits into office. KIWI rises from his bed, crosses up between YANK's and Tommy's bed, takes magazine from YANK'S bed table. He sits in YANK's bed and reads it. LACHIE puts down his plate and puts his fork away. He looks at the boys, then he wanders over to BLOSSOM---then slowly crosses to door L., and looks out. He closes door, looks toward the men. He moves up between DIGGER's and TOMMY's beds . . . looks out window. Then speaks to DIGGER.)
LACHIE. There's a weird tropical bird in the banyan tree. (He points---ill at ease. DIGGER raises himself on elbow and looks out.) DIGGER. Yes---a crow. (LACHIE glances again-then turns to DIGGER. After a moment's hesitation, takes cigarettes out of bathrobe pocket.)
LACHIE. Cigarette?
DIGGER. Thanks. (He takes one. LACHIE offers one to TOMMY.)
TOMMY. Thanks. (LACHIE crosses U. next runway and offers one to KIWI.)
KIWI. Thanks.
LACHIE. (Crosses down to YANK, whose back is toward him.) Would ye care fur a cigarette? (YANK takes one without answering, but looking amazed. He starts to reach for match in his jacket pocket, but LACHIE quickly strikes a match and holds light for YANK. Again YANK looks surprised. LACHIE lights cigarette for himself. LACHIE indicates end of YANK's bed.) May I sit doon? (YANK nods. LACHIE Sits. Looks R. at YANK who is leaning forward, then slowly turns his head to other boys. YANK starts to took at him and smiles to himself. YANK straightens up and as his back touches LACHIE'S their two arms rise with the cigarettes and they both take a puff, YANK Smiling, LACHIE contented, as the...)