[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?  No town ‘ouse for four seasons—­rustygettin’ in the shires, not a soul but two boys under me.  Lord William at the front, Lady William at the back.  And all for this! [He points sadly at the cooler] It comes of meddlin’ on the Continent.  I had my prognostications at the time. [To James] You remember my sayin’ to you just before you joined up:  “Mark my words—­we shall see eight per cent. for our money before this is over!”

James. [Sepulchrally] I see the eight per cent., but not the money.

Poulder.  Hark at that!

     [The sounds of the Marseillaise grow louder.  He shakes his
     head.]

I’d read the Riot Act.  They’ll be lootin’ this house next!

James.  We’ll put up a fight over your body:  “Bartholomew Poulder, faithful unto death!” Have you insured your life?

Poulder.  Against a revolution?

James.  Act o’ God!  Why not?

Poulder.  It’s not an act o’ God.

James.  It is; and I sympathise with it.

Poulder.  You—­what?

James.  I do—­only—­hands off the gov’nor.

Poulder.  Oh!  Really!  Well, that’s something.  I’m glad to see you stand behind him, at all events.

James.  I stand in front of ’im when the scrap begins!

Poulder.  Do you insinuate that my heart’s not in the right place?

James.  Well, look at it!  It’s been creepin’ down ever since I knew you.  Talk of your sacrifices in the war—­they put you on your honour, and you got stout on it.  Rations—­not ’arf.

Poulder. [Staring at him] For independence, I’ve never seen your equal, James.  You might be an Australian.

James. [Suavely] Keep a civil tongue, or I’ll throw you to the crowd! [He comes forward to the table] Shall I tell you why I favour the gov’nor?  Because, with all his pomp, he’s a gentleman, as much as I am.  Never asks you to do what he wouldn’t do himself.  What’s more, he never comes it over you.  If you get drunk, or—­well, you understand me, Poulder—­he’ll just say:  “Yes, yes; I know, James!” till he makes you feel he’s done it himself. [Sinking his voice mysteriously] I’ve had experience with him, in the war and out.  Why he didn’t even hate the Huns, not as he ought.  I tell you he’s no Christian.

Poulder.  Well, for irreverence——!

James. [Obstinately] And he’ll never be.  He’s got too soft a heart.

L. Anne. [Beneath the table-shrilly] Hurrah!

Poulder. [Jumping] Come out, Miss Anne!

James.  Let ’er alone!

Poulder.  In there, under the bomb?

James. [Contemptuously] Silly ass!  You should take ’em lying down!