Bravo, Johnny!
MRS MARCH. [Drily] Let me see, which of us will have to put up with her
shortcomings--Johnny or I?
MARY. She looks quick, Mother.
MRS MARCH. Girls pick up all sorts of things in prison. We can hardly
expect her to be honest. You don't mind that, I suppose?
JOHNNY. It's a chance to make something decent out of her.
MRS MARCH. I can't understand this passion for vicarious heroism,
Johnny.
JOHNNY. Vicarious!
MRS MARCH. Well, where do you come in? You'll make poems about the
injustice of the Law. Your father will use her in a novel. She'll wear
Mary's blouses, and everybody will be happy--except Cook and me.
MR MARCH. Hang it all, Joan, you might be the Great Public itself!
MRS MARCH. I am--get all the kicks and none of the ha'pence.
JOHNNY. We'll all help you.
MRS MARCH. For Heaven's sake--no, Johnny!
MR MARCH. Well, make up your mind!
MRS MARCH. It was made up long ago.
JOHNNY. [Gloomily] The more I see of things the more disgusting they
seem. I don't see what we're living for. All right. Chuck the girl
out, and let's go rooting along with our noses in the dirt.
MR MARCH. Steady, Johnny!
JOHNNY. Well, Dad, there was one thing anyway we learned out there--
When a chap was in a hole--to pull him out, even at a risk.
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