Lemmy.  Filled wiv?  Nuffin’.  Wot did yet expect?  Toof-pahder? 
It’s got a bit o’ my lead soldered on to it.  That’s why it’s ’eavy!

Lord W. But what is it?

Lemmy.  Wot is it? [His eyes are fearfully fixed on lady William] I fought everybody knew ’em.

Lady W. Mr. Lemmy, you must clear this up, please.

Lemmy. [To lord William, With his eyes still held On lady William—­ mysteriously] Wiv lydies present?  ’Adn’t I better tell the Press?

Lord W. All right; tell someone—­anyone!

[Lemmy goes down to the press, who is reading over his last note.  Everyone watches and listens with the utmost discretion, while he whispers into the ear of the press; who shakes his head violently.]

Press.  No, no; it’s too horrible.  It destroys my whole——­

Lemmy.  Well, I tell yer it is.

     [Whispers again violently.]

Press.  No, no; I can’t have it.  All my article!  All my article! 
It can’t be—­no——­

Lemmy.  I never see sick an obstinate thick-head!  Yer ’yn’t worvy of yet tryde.

     [He whispers still more violently and makes cabalistic signs.]

[Lady William lifts the bomb from the cooler into the sight of all.  Lord William, seeing it for the first time in full light, bends double in silent laughter, and whispers to his wife.  Lady William drops the bomb and gives way too.  Hearing the sound, Lemmy turns, and his goggling eyes pan them all in review.  Lord and lady William in fits of laughter, little Anne stamping her feet, for miss Stokes, red, but composed, has her hands placed firmly over her pupil’s eyes and ears; little Aida smiling brilliantly, Mrs. Lemmy blandly in sympathy, neither knowing why; the four footman in a row, smothering little explosions.  Poulder, extremely grave and red, the press perfectly haggard, gnawing at his nails.]

Lemmy. [Turning to the press] Blimy!  It amooses ’em, all but the genteel ones.  Cheer oh!  Press!  Yer can always myke somefin’ out o’ nufun’?  It’s not the fust thing as ’as existed in yer imaginytion only.

Press.  No, d—–­it; I’ll keep it a bomb!

Lemmy. [Soothingly] Ah!  Keep the sensytion.  Wot’s the troof compared wiv that?  Come on, Muvver!  Come on, Little Aida!  Time we was goin’ dahn to ’Earf.

     [He goes up to the table, and still skidding a little at lady
     William, takes the late bomb from the cooler, placing it under
     his arm.]

Mrs. Lemmy.  Gude naight, sir; gude naight, ma’am; thank yu for my cup o’ tea, an’ all yore kindness.