n the floor, somewhat sobered. The soldiers
stand irresolute.

EDSTASTON. Stand off. [To Patiomkin.] Order them off, if you don't want
a bullet through your silly head.

THE SERGEANT. Little Father, tell us what to do. Our lives are yours;
but God knows you are not fit to die.

PATIOMKIN [absurdly self-possessed]. Get out.

THE SERGEANT. Little Father--

PATIOMKIN [roaring]. Get out. Get out, all of you. [They withdraw, much
relieved at their escape from the pistol. Patiomkin attempts to rise,
and rolls over.] Here! help me up, will you? Don't you see that I'm
drunk and can't get up?

EDSTASTON [suspiciously]. You want to get hold of me.

PATIOMKIN [squatting resignedly against the chair on which his clothes
hang]. Very well, then: I shall stay where I am, because I'm drunk and
you're afraid of me.

EDSTASTON. I'm not afraid of you, damn you!

PATIOMKIN [ecstatically]. Darling, your lips are the gates of truth. Now
listen to me. [He marks off the items of his statement with ridiculous
stiff gestures of his head and arms, imitating a puppet.] You are
Captain Whatshisname; and your uncle is the Earl of Whatdyecallum; and
your father is Bishop of Thingummybob; and you are a young man of the
highest spr--promise (I told you I was drunk), educated at Cambridge,
and got your step as captain in the field at the GLORIOUS battle of
Bunker's Hill. Invalided home from America at the request of Aunt Fanny,
Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen. All right, eh?

EDSTASTON. How do you know all this?

PATIOMKIN [crowing fantastically]. In er lerrer, darling, darling,
darling, darling. Lerrer you showed me.

EDSTASTON. But you didn't read it.

PATIOMKIN [flapping his fingers at him grotesquely]. Only
one eye, darling. Cross eye. Sees everything. Read lerrer
inceince--istastaneously. Kindly give me vinegar borle. Green borle.
On'y to sober me. Too drunk to speak porply. If you would be so kind,
darling. Green borle. [Edstaston, still suspicious, shakes his head and
keeps his pistols ready.] Reach it myself. [He reaches behind him up
to the table, and snatches at the green bottle, from which he takes a
copious draught. Its effect is appalling. His wry faces and agonized
belchings are so heartrending that they almost upset Edstaston. When the
victim at last staggers to his feet, he is a pale fragile nobleman,
aged and quite sober, extremely dignified in manner and address, though
shaken by his recent convulsions.] Young man, it is