MRS. CULVER.  Please! please! (A slight pause; pulling herself together; cheerfully.) Let me see, you were going in for Siege Artillery, weren’t you?

TRANTO.  Me!  Siege Artillery.  My original ambition was trench mortars—­not so noisy.

MRS. CULVER (simply).  Oh!  Then it must have been somebody else who was talking to me about Siege Artillery.  I understand it’s very scientific—­all angles and degrees and wind-pressures and things.  John will soon be eighteen, and his father and I want him to be really useful in the Army.  We don’t want him to be thrown away.  He has brains, and so we are thinking of Siege Artillery for him.

(During this speech John has entered, in evening dress.)

JOHN.  Are you on Siege again, mater?  The mater’s keen on Siege because she’s heard somewhere it’s the safest thing there is.

MRS. CULVER.  And if it does happen to be the safest—­what then?

TRANTO.  I suppose you’re all for the Flying Corps, John?

JOHN (with condescension).  Not specially.  Since one of the old boys came and did looping the loop stunts over the school the whole Fifth has gone mad on the R.F.C.  Most fellows are just like sheep. Somebody in the Sixth has to be original.  I want to fight as much as any chap with wings across his chest, but I’ve got my private career to think of too.  If you ask me, the mater’s had a brain-wave for once.

Enter Mr. Culver, back.  He stands a moment at the door, surveying the scene.  Mrs. Culver springs up, and Tranto also rises, moving towards the door.

MRS. CULVER.  Arthur, have you come?

CULVER (advancing a little).  Apparently.  Hello, Tranto, glad to see you.  I wanted to. (Shakes hands with Tranto.)

MRS. CULVER.  What’s the matter, Arthur?

CULVER.  Everything.

MRS. CULVER (alarmed, but carefully coaxing).  Why are you wearing your velvet coat? (To Tranto.) He always puts on his velvet coat instead of dressing when something’s gone wrong. (To Mr. Culver.) Have you got neuralgia again?

CULVER.  I don’t think so.

MRS. CULVER.  But surely you must know!  You look terribly pale.

CULVER.  The effect of the velvet coat, my dear—­nicely calculated in advance.

MRS. CULVER (darting at him, holding him by the shoulders, and then kissing him violently.  With an intonation of affectionate protest).  Darling!

JOHN.  Oh!  I say, mater, look here!

MRS. CULVER (to Culver, still holding him).  I’m very annoyed with you.  It’s perfectly absurd the way you work. (To Tranto.) Do you know he was at the office all day Christmas Day and all day Boxing Day? (To Culver.) You really must take a holiday.

CULVER.  But what about the war, darling?

MRS. CULVER (loosing him).  Oh!  You’re always making the war an excuse. 
I know what I shall do.  I shall just go—­