[He moves towards the doors, the three workers follow.]
MRS. ANN. [Stopping before JAMES] You 'yn't one, I suppose?
[JAMES stirs no muscle.]
POULDER. Now please. [He opens the doors. The Voice of LORD WILLIAM speaking is heard] Pass in.
[THE THREE WORKERS pass in, POULDER and JAMES follow them. The doors are not closed, and through this aperture comes the voice of LORD WILLIAM, punctuated and supported by decorous applause.
[LITTLE ANNE runs in, and listens at the window to the confused and distant murmurs of a crowd.]
VOICE OF LORD W. We propose to move for a further advance in the chain-****** and--er--er--match-box industries. [Applause.]
[LITTLE ANNE runs across to the door, to listen.]
[On rising voice] I would conclude with some general remarks.
Ladies and gentlemen, the great natural, but--er--artificial expansion which trade experienced the first years after the war has--er--collapsed. These are hard times. We who are fortunate feel more than ever--er--responsible--[He stammers, loses the thread of his thoughts. --[Applause]--er--responsible--[The thread still eludes him]--er----
L. ANNE. [Poignantly] Oh, Daddy!
LORD W. [Desperately] In fact--er--you know how--er--responsible we feel.
L. ANNE. Hooray! [Applause.]
[There float in through the windows the hoarse and distant sounds of the Marseillaise, as sung by London voices.]
LORD W. There is a feeling in the air--that I for one should say deliberately was--er--a feeling in the air--er--a feeling in the air----
L. ANNE. [Agonised] Oh, Daddy! Stop!
[Jane enters, and closes the door behind him. JAMES. Look here! 'Ave I got to report you to Miss Stokes?]
L. ANNE. No-o-o!
JAMES. Well, I'm goin' to.
L. ANNE. Oh, James, be a friend to me! I've seen nothing yet.
JAMES. No; but you've eaten a good bit, on the stairs. What price that Peach Melba?
L. ANNE. I can't go to bed till I've digested it can I? There's such a lovely crowd in the street!
JAMES. Lovely? Ho!
L. ANNE. [Wheedling] James, you couldn't tell Miss Stokes! It isn't in you, is it?
JAMES. [Grinning] That's right.
L. ANNE. So-I'll just get under here. [She gets under the table]
Do I show?
JAMES. [Stooping] Not 'arf!
[POULDER enters from the hall.]
POULDER. What are you doin' there?
JAMES. [Between him and the table--raising himself] Thinkin'.
[POULDER purses his mouth to repress his feedings.]
POULDER. My orders are to fetch the bomb up here for Lady William to inspect. Take care no more writers stray in.
JAMES. How shall I know 'em?
POULDER. Well--either very bald or very hairy.
JAMES. Right-o! [He goes.]
[POULDER, with his back to the table, busies himself with the set of his collar.]
POULDER. [Addressing an imaginary audience--in a low but important voice] The--ah--situation is seerious. It is up to us of the--ah--leisured classes----
[The face of LITTLE ANNE is poked out close to his legs, and tilts upwards in wonder towards the bow of his waistcoat.] to--ah--keep the people down. The olla polloi are clamourin'----
[Miss STOKES appears from the hall, between the pillars.]
Miss S. Poulder!
POULDER. [Making a volte face towards the table] Miss?
MISS S. Where is Anne?
POULDER. [Vexed at the disturbance of his speech] Excuse me, Miss--to keep track of Miss Anne is fortunately no part of my dooties.
[Miss S. She really is naughty.]
POULDER. She is. If she was mine, I'd spank her.
[The smiling face of LITTLE ANNE becomes visible again close to his legs.]
MISS S. Not a nice word.
POULDER. No; but a pleasant haction. Miss Anne's the limit. In fact, Lord and Lady William are much too kind 'earted all round.
Take these sweated workers; that class o' people are quite 'opeless.
Treatin' them as your equals, shakin 'ands with 'em, givin 'em tea--it only puffs 'em out. Leave it to the Church, I say.
MISS S. The Church is too busy, Poulder.
POULDER. Ah! That "Purity an' Future o' the Race Campaign." I'll tell you what I thinks the danger o' that, Miss. So much purity that there won't be a future race. [Expanding] Purity of 'eart's an excellent thing, no doubt, but there's a want of nature about it.
Same with this Anti-Sweating. Unless you're anxious to come down, you must not put the lower classes up.
MISS S. I don't agree with you at all, Poulder.
POULDER. Ah! You want it both ways, Miss. I should imagine you're a Liberal.
MISS S. [Horrified] Oh, no! I certainly am not.
POULDER. Well, I judged from your takin' cocoa. Funny thing that, about cocoa-how it still runs through the Liberal Party! It's virtuous, I suppose. Wine, beer, tea, coffee-all of 'em vices. But cocoa you might drink a gallon a day and annoy no one but yourself!
There's a lot o' deep things in life, Miss!
Miss S. Quite so. But I must find Anne.
[She recedes. ]
POULDER. [Suavely] Well, I wish you every success; and I hope you'll spank her. This modern education--there's no fruitiness in it.
L. ANNE. [From under the table] Poulder, are you virtuous?
POULDER. [Jumping] Good Ged!
L. ANNE. D'you mind my asking? I promised James I would.
POULDER. Miss Anne, come out!
[The four footmen appear in the hall, HENRY carrying the wine cooler.]
JAMES. Form fours-by your right-quick march!
[They enter, marching down right of table.]
Right incline--Mark time! Left turn!. 'Alt! 'Enry, set the bomb!
Stand easy!
[HENRY places the wine cooler on the table and covers it with a blue embroidered Chinese mat, which has occupied the centre of the tablecloth.]
POULDER. Ah! You will 'ave your game! Thomas, take the door there!
James, the 'all! Admit titles an' bishops. No literary or Labour people. Charles and 'Enry, 'op it and 'ang about!
[CHARLES and HENRY go out, the other too move to their stations.]
[POULDER, stands by the table looking at the covered bomb. The hoarse and distant sounds of the Marseillaise float in again from Park Lane.]
[Moved by some deep feeling] And this house an 'orspital in the war!
I ask you--what was the good of all our sacrifices for the country?
