e as she crosses to
the windows-- to the women._] Come in, dears; [_drawing up the blind
of the nearer window_] come in, boys. Take off your things for a
minute.

FULKERSON.

[_Whose inebriety has reached the argumentative stage._] Working
classhes! Don' talk t' me 'bout th' working classhes!

JIMMIE.

H'sh! Shut up, Bertie.

FULKERSON.

I'm s'h'ick o' th' ve'y mention o' th' name-- working classhes!

JIMMIE.

Sit on his head, somebody. We shall wake Ma and the servants.

LILY.

[_Taking off her wrap and hanging it up in the wardrobe._] Don't
worry; you won't wake _my_ servants. And mother's bound to hear us;
she sleeps so lightly when I'm out.

DAPHNE.

[_Gaping violently._] Oh-h-h-h!

JIMMIE.

[_Clapping her hand over DAPHNE'S mouth._] Manners!

FULKERSON.

[_Depositing his overcoat and hat upon the fauteuil-stool._] One 'ud
'magine th' working-man'sh th' on'y pershon who ever does day'sh work!
Ridiculush!

VON RETTENMAYER AND BLAND.

Ha, ha, ha, ha!

DE CASTRO.

Thome truth in what Bertie'th thayin', though. For inthtanthe----

FULKERSON.

[_With great disgust._] Br'ish working-man!

ROPER.

By Jove, yes! When I think o' the work Mr. Lionel Hesketh Roper
manages to dispose of in the course of a day----!

[_VON RETTENMAYER and DE CASTRO have placed their overcoats and hats
upon the chair at the back of the piano and FARNCOMBE, BLAND, and
ROPER have piled theirs on the arm-chair on the left. ENID and
GABRIELLE throw their wraps upon the settee, DAPHNE drops hers upon
the box-ottoman, and JIMMIE puts hers over the arm of the chair by the
centre table._

LILY.

[_To everybody._] I'll just run upstairs and tell mother that all's
serene. [_She goes to the door on the left; FARNCOMBE, BLAND, and
ROPER get in each other's way in their desire to open it for her._] If
any of you want a drink, you must hunt for it yourselves in the
dining-room. [_To ROPER._] You play host, Uncle Lal.

[_She disappears, turning to the left and ascending the stairs._

ROPER.

[_Briskly._] Now, then, give your orders, gents! [_Coming forward._]
Ladies, don't all speak at once.

FULKERSON.

[_Making for the door._] I'll have sma' whiskeyan' soda.

[_He goes along the landing and down the stairs._

BLAND.

[_Following him._] No, no! Bertie! Bertie----!

JIMMIE.

[_Seated in the arm-chair by the centre table-- to ROPER._] Stop it.
We'll have trouble enough to get that boy home a