Mitchener (unlocking the door and admitting the Orderly, who comes between them).  What was it?

The orderly.  Suffraget, Sir.

Balsquith.  Did the sentry shoot her?

The orderly.  No, Sir:  she shot the sentry.

Balsquith (relieved).  Oh:  is that all?

Mitchener (most indignantly).  All?  A civilian shoots down one of His Majesty’s soldiers on duty; and the Prime Minister of England asks Is that all?  Have you no regard for the sanctity of human life?

Balsquith (much relieved).  Well, getting shot is what a soldier is for.  Besides, he doesnt vote.

Mitchener.  Neither do the Suffragets.

Balsquith.  Their husbands do. (To the Orderly.) By the way, did she kill him?

The orderly.  No, Sir.  He got a stinger on his trousers, Sir; but it didnt penetrate.  He lost his temper a bit and put down his gun and clouted her head for her.  So she said he was no gentleman; and we let her go, thinking she’d had enough, Sir.

Mitchener (groaning).  Clouted her head!  These women are making the army as lawless as themselves.  Clouted her head indeed!  A purely civil procedure.

The orderly.  Any orders, Sir?

Mitchener.  No.  Yes.  No.  Yes:  send everybody who took part in this disgraceful scene to the guardroom.  No.  Ill address the men on the subject after lunch.  Parade them for that purpose—­full kit.  Don’t grin at me, Sir.  Right about face.  March. (The Orderly obeys and goes out.)

Balsquith (taking Mitchener affectionately by the arm and walking him persuasively to and fro).  And now, Mitchener, will you come to the rescue of the Government and take the command that Old Red has thrown up?

Mitchener.  How can I?  You know that the people are devoted heart and soul to Sandstone.  He is only bringing you “on the knee,” as we say in the army.  Could any other living man have persuaded the British nation to accept universal compulsory military service as he did last year?  Why, even the Church refused exemption.  He is supreme—­omnipotent.

Balsquith.  He was, a year ago.  But ever since your book of reminiscences went into two more editions than his, and the rush for it led to the wrecking of the Times Book Club, you have become to all intents and purposes his senior.  He lost ground by saying that the wrecking was got up by the booksellers.  It showed jealousy:  and the public felt it.

Mitchener.  But I cracked him up in my book—­you see I could do no less after the handsome way he cracked me up in his—­and I cant go back on it now. (Breaking loose from Balsquith.) No:  its no use, Balsquith:  he can dictate his terms to you.

Balsquith.  Not a bit of it.  That affair of the curate—­

Mitchener (impatiently).  Oh, damn that curate.  Ive heard of nothing but that wretched mutineer for a fortnight past.  He is not a curate:  whilst he is serving in the army he is a private soldier and nothing else.  I really havent time to discuss him further.  Im busy.  Good morning. (He sits down at his table and takes up his letters.)