in the foreign palace, swell-elegant, all right, with tapestries and crystal chandeliers and big gilt chairs and all like that, but old-fashioned—my God, moldy as a last year's bird's nest.
Then in the last act, you see 'em happy's a bug in a rug in a really snappy up-to-date modern American mansion.
At first I thought the scene ought to be in the parlor, but here couple of years ago I got an entirely new idea. What's more characteristic of American luxury than a real breakfast room? Put the scene in the breakfast room, with the folks at breakfast!
Make it a dandy modern sun-parlor, with nice light yellow curtains at the windows, and a red-tiled floor, and a canary in a Hendryx cage just singing his head off, and on the table you can see they've got an automatic electric toaster—this new automatic kind where you don't have to turn over the toast but it does it itself automatically—and a nice bright shiny electric percolator, and they're
