THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [again drooping] I am dying.  Let me die.  I wish to die.

ZOO [going to him quickly and supporting him] Hold up.  Sit up straight.  Whats the matter?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [faintly] My spine, I think.  Shock.  Concussion.

ZOO [maternally] Pow wow wow!  What is there to shock you? [Shaking him playfully] There!  Sit up; and be good.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [still feebly] Thank you.  I am better now.

ZOO [resuming her seat on the sacks] But what was all the rest of that long name for?  There was a lot more of it.  Blops Booby or something.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [impressively] Bolge Bluebin, madam:  a historical name.  Let me inform you that I can trace my family back for more than a thousand years, from the Eastern Empire to its ancient seat in these islands, to a time when two of my ancestors, Joyce Bolge and Hengist Horsa Bluebin, wrestled with one another for the prime ministership of the British Empire, and occupied that position successively with a glory of which we can in these degenerate days form but a faint conception.  When I think of these mighty men, lions in war, sages in peace, not babblers and charlatans like the pigmies who now occupy their places in Baghdad, but strong silent men, ruling an empire on which the sun never set, my eyes fill with tears:  my heart bursts with emotion:  I feel that to have lived but to the dawn of manhood in their day, and then died for them, would have been a nobler and happier lot than the ignominious ease of my present longevity.

ZOO.  Longevity! [she laughs].

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN.  Yes, madam, relative longevity.  As it is, I have to be content and proud to know that I am descended from both those heroes.

ZOO.  You must be descended from every Briton who was alive in their time.  Dont you know that?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN.  Do not quibble, madam.  I bear their names, Bolge and Bluebin; and I hope I have inherited something of their majestic spirit.  Well, they were born in these islands.  I repeat, these islands were then, incredible as it now seems, the centre of the British Empire.  When that centre shifted to Baghdad, and the Englishman at last returned to the true cradle of his race in Mesopotamia, the western islands were cast off, as they had been before by the Roman Empire.  But it was to the British race, and in these islands, that the greatest miracle in history occurred.

ZOO.  Miracle?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN.  Yes:  the first man to live three hundred years was an Englishman.  The first, that is, since the contemporaries of Methuselah.

ZOO.  Oh, that!