Edward: I was a bit skeptical at first, but he’s made a rather compelling case. The newspaper business can only expand. Print journalism is the future. Austin: But father, I don’t understand. I mean how could you give money to the man who published Emily’s poem? I thought you were completely opposed to that. You know he plans on publishing even more of them. Edward: Well, I suppose times change, don’t they? And besides if I’d made a fuss about that, it might have made it more complicated to make the investment. Austin: Oh OK, so it’s all about the money. I get it. Some much for your principles. Edward: Don’t you speak to me like that. Austin: You should have consulted me before making this decision. Edward: Consult you? Austin: Yes, I am a partner in this business with you, yet you keep making decisions entirely without me. You treat me like a child. Edward: My dear boy, you are a child. My god, look at yourself. It’s almost noon, and you’re still in your dressing gown. Austin: I have been too busy to get changed. Edward: Too busy being frantic about a tea party with your friends. Just one of the many aspects of your life over which you seem to exhibit no control.
Austin: Mom, what am I going to do? All the guys are coming over, and I told them we’d have lunch or you know, at least snacks. Mrs. Dickinson: Oh my dear boy, do not fret. I’ll help you. Austin: Oh my god. Would you? Mrs. Dickinson: Of course. I’ve been itching to get into that new kitchen of yours. I can’t wait to get my hands on that shiny new pastry jigger. Oh yes, I’ll throw you boys the best tea party you’ve ever had. Edward: What’s this? Why is the boy over here in his slippers? Mrs. Dickinson: Our son is throwing a tea party for his friends, and I’m going to help. Edward: Can’t he take care of himself? Mrs. Dickinson: No.