(_beginning before she enters with a Chaucer in her hand_)
"Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote"--I came much more quickly
than I'll ever get that old stuff in my head. (_she throws the book
down_)
SENIOR. Don't you like Chaucer? We just loved him.
JUNIOR. So do all the rest of our class except me. I just can't get him
into my head.
SOPHOMORE. Poor thing! I should hope not.
SENIOR. What would you like to eat at the Thanksgiving spread?
JUNIOR. Eat! Everything you're going to have. (_suspiciously_) This
isn't one of those stupid puns on _Chaucer_ is it?
SOPHOMORE. I should say not.
FRESHMAN. We are helping make out the menu. There's Welsh rarebit and
chocolate _eclaires_ already.
JUNIOR. Have you any angel food?
SOPHOMORE. Oysters!
FRESHMAN. Fudge!
SENIOR. And olives. Quick, give me a pencil so I can write it down.
(_goes to table and writes_)
JUNIOR. Hurry, before the bell rings. That's much more fun to talk about
than Chaucer. I'm glad I didn't live in his day. Imagine being praised
for not putting your fingers in the gravy and spotting up your shirt
front! I wager that old Prioress was a stick. I shouldn't want her on
our basket ball team. There isn't a sensible woman in the whole of
Chaucer so far as I can see. (_the curtain at the front of the
bookcase begins to shake slightly, becoming more violent as the_
JUNIOR _continues_) The Wife of Bath was a regular Mormon, five
husbands, that's what she had, and she wore red stockings.
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