Barthwick.  What!

Mrs. Barthwick.  I read a letter in the paper yesterday.  I forget the man’s name, but it made the whole thing perfectly clear.  You don’t look things in the face.

Barthwick.  Indeed! [Heavily.] I am a Liberal!  Drop the subject, please!

Mrs. Barthwick.  Toast?  I quite agree with what this man says:  Education is simply ruining the lower classes.  It unsettles them, and that’s the worst thing for us all.  I see an enormous difference in the manner of servants.

Barthwick, [With suspicious emphasis.] I welcome any change that will lead to something better. [He opens a letter.] H’m!  This is that affair of Master Jack’s again.  “High Street, Oxford.  Sir, We have received Mr. John Barthwick, Senior’s, draft for forty pounds!” Oh! the letter’s to him!  “We now enclose the cheque you cashed with us, which, as we stated in our previous letter, was not met on presentation at your bank.  We are, Sir, yours obediently, Moss and Sons, Tailors.”  H ’m! [Staring at the cheque.] A pretty business altogether!  The boy might have been prosecuted.

Mrs. Barthwick.  Come, John, you know Jack did n’t mean anything; he only thought he was overdrawing.  I still think his bank ought to have cashed that cheque.  They must know your position.

Barthwick. [Replacing in the envelope the letter and the cheque.] Much good that would have done him in a court of law.

     [He stops as Jack comes in, fastening his waistcoat and
     staunching a razor cut upon his chin.]

Jack. [Sitting down between them, and speaking with an artificial joviality.] Sorry I ’m late. [He looks lugubriously at the dishes.] Tea, please, mother.  Any letters for me? [Barthwick hands the letter to him.] But look here, I say, this has been opened!  I do wish you would n’t——­

Barthwick. [Touching the envelope.] I suppose I ’m entitled to this name.

Jack. [Sulkily.] Well, I can’t help having your name, father! [He reads the letter, and mutters.] Brutes!

Barthwick. [Eyeing him.] You don’t deserve to be so well out of that.

Jack.  Haven’t you ragged me enough, dad?

Mrs. Barthwick.  Yes, John, let Jack have his breakfast.

Barthwick.  If you hadn’t had me to come to, where would you have been?  It’s the merest accident—­suppose you had been the son of a poor man or a clerk.  Obtaining money with a cheque you knew your bank could not meet.  It might have ruined you for life.  I can’t see what’s to become of you if these are your principles.  I never did anything of the sort myself.

Jack.  I expect you always had lots of money.  If you’ve got plenty of money, of course——­

Barthwick.  On the contrary, I had not your advantages.  My father kept me very short of money.