[Voices in chorus:  “Bread!  Bread!”]

Lord W. Poulder, go and tell the chef to send out anything there is in the house—­nicely, as if it came from nowhere in particular.

Poulder.  Very good, me Lord. [Sotto voce] Any wine?  If I might suggest—­German—­’ock?

Lord W. What you like.

Poulder.  Very good, me Lord. [He goes.]

Lord W. I say, dash it, Nell, my teeth are stuck! [He works his finger in his mouth.]

Lady W. Take it out, darling.

Lord W. [Taking out the gum drop and looking at it] What the deuce did I put it in for?

Press. [’Writing] “With inimitable coolness Lord William prepared to address the crowd.”

     [Voices in chorea:  “Bread!  Bread!”]

Lord W. Stand by to prompt, old girl.  Now for it.  This ghastly gum drop!

     [Lord William takes it from his agitated hand, and flips it
     through the window.]

Voice.  Dahn with the aristo——­[Chokes.]

Lady W. Oh!  Bill——­oh!  It’s gone into a mouth!

Lord W. Good God!

Voice.  Wet’s this?  Throwin’ things?  Mind aht, or we’ll smash yer winders!

     [As the voices in chorus chant:  “Bread!  Bread!” Little Anne,
     night-gowned, darts in from the hall.  She is followed by miss
     Stokes.  They stand listening.]

Lord W. [To the Crowd] My friends, you’ve come to the wrong shop.  There’s nobody in London more sympathetic with you. [The crowd laughs hoarsely.] [Whispering] Look out, old girl; they can see your shoulders. [Lord William moves back a step.] If I were a speaker, I could make you feel——­

Voice.  Look at his white weskit!  Blood-suckers—­fattened on the people!

     [James dives his hand at the wine cooler.]

Lord W. I’ve always said the Government ought to take immediate steps——­

Voice.  To shoot us dahn.

Lord W. Not a bit.  To relieve the—­er——­

Lady W. [Prompting] Distress.

Lady W. Distress, and ensure—­er—­ensure

Lady W. [Prompting] Quiet.

Lord W. [To her] No, no.  To ensure—­ensure——­

L. Anne. [Agonized] Oh, Daddy!

Voice.  ’E wants to syve ’is dirty great ’ouse.

Lord W. [Roused] D——­if I do!

     [Rude and hoarse laughter from the crowd.]

James. [With fury] Me Lord, let me blow ’em to glory!

     [He raises the cooler and advances towards the window.]

Lord W. [Turning sharply on him] Drop it, James; drop it!

Press. [Jumping] No, no; don’t drop it!