r, rather old.

SIR WEBLEY: Oh, I don't know, he was seventy only the other day. I don't
call that too old--nowadays. He can't be now, he can't be more than, let
me see, seventy-eight. Where does this Mr. Shaker live?

NEEKS: Shakespeare. Somewhere down in Warwickshire. A village called
Bradford, I think, is the address he gives in the Candidates' Book.

SIR WEBLEY: Warwickshire! I do seem to remember something about him now.
If he's the same man I certainly do. William Shakespeare, you said.

NEEKS: Yes, that's the name.

SIR WEBLEY: Well, I certainly have heard about him now you mention it.

NEEKS: Really! And what does he do?

SIR WEBLEY: Do? Well, from what I heard he poaches.

NEEKS: Poaches!

SIR WEBLEY: Yes, a poacher. Trundleben deserves to get the sack for
this. A poacher from the wilds of Warwickshire. I heard all about him.
He got after the deer at Charlecote.

NEEKS: A poacher!

SIR WEBLEY: That's all he is, a poacher. A member of the Olympus! He'll
be dropping in here one fine day with other people's rabbits in his
pockets.

[_Enter_ JERGINS.

JERGINS: Your coffee, Sir Webley.

SIR WEBLEY: My coffee. I should think so. (_He sips it._) One needs it.

JERGINS: Mr. Trundleben will be down at once, Sir Webley. I telephoned
up to him.

SIR WEBLEY: Telephoned! Telephoned! The Club's getting more full of
new-fangled devices every day. I remember the time when---- Thank you,
Jergins.

[JERGINS _retires._

This is a pretty state of things, Neeks.

NEEKS: A pretty state of things indeed, Sir Webley.

SIR WEBLEY: Ah, here's Trundleben.

NEEKS: He'll tell us all about it, Sir Webley. I'm sure he'll----

SIR WEBLEY: Ah, Trundleben. Come and sit down here. Come and----

TRUNDLEBEN: Thank you, Sir Webley. I think I will. I don't walk quite as
well as I used, and what with----

SIR WEBLEY: What's all this we hear about this Mr. Shakespeare,
Trundleben?

TRUNDLEBEN: Oh, ah, well yes, yes indeed. Well, you see, Sir Webley, he
was put up for the Club. Mr. Henry put him up.

SIR WEBLEY (_disapprovingly_): Oh, Mr. Henry.

NEEKS: Yes, yes, yes. Long hair and all that.

SIR WEBLEY: I'm afraid so.

NEEKS: Writes poetry, I believe.

SIR WEBLEY: I'm afraid so.

TRUNDLEBEN: Well then, what does Mr. Newton do but go and second him,
and there you are, Sir Webley.

SIR WEBLEY: Yes, a pretty state of things. Has he ... Does he ... What
is he?

TRUNDLEBEN: He seems to write, Sir Webley.

SIR