His cravat and his cane her pleated dirndl and the tulip in her hair. What they share is their devotion, their delicacy and their elegance. Martha is practical, orderly and a little vain: George is impulsive, flighty and muddled a romantic, a dreamer, a natural victim. James Marshall's five stories about two great friends are really five minifarces in which the dignity and the bulk of the hippos is in contrast with the ludicrousness of their situations. “How,” she says, “do you expect to walk home with your loafers full of split pea soup?” The dilemma-the balancing of her need to be creative against his to exert preference and to limit intake-is resolved in earnest and very funny discussion. George's innocent solution collides with Martha's implacable logic. The bowls are bumper to bumper: the cook in the grip of a magnificent obsession and even from a chum whose feelings he respects, a chap can take so much. Soup's not only on: It's on and on and on. But wait: In this seemingly tranquil domestic context, a conflict of interest has arisen. Martha-this is never stated-is a hippopotamus.) Onstage also, in the attractive dining room, George, the guest (also hippopotamoid). At stove, Martha, sedately gorgeous in pink and yellow apron tied behind with a big bow. Overhead, a decorative Tiffany - type lamp. Above, a shelf with shapely and appropriate condiment containers. Stage left, an old‐fashioned footed range. The scene, a kitchen, charmingly appointed.
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