George.) You won't mind being left alone, George dear. Dinner's going to be ready in a few minutes. You must be starved.
George. Sure, that's all right. Can I help you with the freezer or anything?
Joe. I should say not. We don't have a hero come home every day. (Exit Joe right, Mable left.)
Joe (as he goes). But don't think you are going to get out of telling all about it. We're just postponing the session. We're going to know how you won that medal! (George sits alone. Runs his hand through his hair and sits moodily, his head on his hand. The door opens, and Bobbie appears. He is carrying his soldier gun. Bobbie hesitates a minute, then dashes into the room, aiming here and there and crying: "Bang.")
Bobbie. Bang. Bang. Bang. (George starts, sits upright. Bobbie comes to a stop in front of him, stands at attention and salutes.)
Bobbie. That's the way to shoot Germans, isn't it, Uncle George?
George (rising sternly—not returning salute). Where did you get that?
Bobbie. Uncle Bill gave it to me. He cut it out of wood. See. (Hands him the gun.) It isn't real, of course, just pretend. (George takes it and holds it thoughtfully. After a pause, he looks at Bobbie.)
