"Is this a dagger which I see before me?" Alex asked.
"No!" Mark yelled from the side of the stage. "It is a piece of plastic! And you are holding it wrong! You look like you are trying to butter toast!"
Mr. Pringle, the drama teacher, sighed. He rubbed his forehead.
"Mark," Mr. Pringle said. "Macbeth is a tragedy. It is serious. Please stop talking about toast."
"But I am hungry!" Mark complained. "Being a tree is hard work. My branches are tired."
Mark was dressed in a brown sack with leaves glued to it. He was playing Birnam Wood.
Alex lowered the sword. "Sir, can we take a break? We have a flight to catch."
"Ah, yes," Mr. Pringle said. " The football match. The little kick about."
"It is the Champions League Final, Sir," Alex said. "Against PSG. In Istanbul."
"Right, right," Mr. Pringle waved his hand. "Well, try not to break a leg. We need you for the matinee on Monday. Macbeth cannot be played by a student with a cast."
"I will try my best, Sir," Alex smiled.
