[She flies.]

JAMES. [Extending his hand with the pipe in it] See!

POULDER. [Severely] You've been at it again! Look here, you're not
in the trenches now. Get up! What are your breeches goin' to be
like? You might break a bottle any moment!

JAMES. [Rising with a jerk to a sort of "Attention!"] Look here,
you starched antiquity, you and I and that bomb are here in the sight
of the stars. If you don't look out I'll stamp on it and blow us all
to glory! Drop your civilian swank!

POULDER. [Seeing red] Ho! Because you had the privilege of
fightin' for your country you still think you can put it on, do you?
Take up your wine! 'Pon my word, you fellers have got no nerve left!

[JAMES makes a sudden swoop, lifts the bomb and poises it in
both hands. POULDER recoils against a bin and gazes, at the
object.]

JAMES. Put up your hands!

POULDER. I defy you to make me ridiculous.

JAMES. [Fiercely] Up with 'em!

[POULDER'S hands go up in an uncontrollable spasm, which he
subdues almost instantly, pulling them down again.]

JAMES. Very good. [He lowers the bomb.]

POULDER. [Surprised] I never lifted 'em.

JAMES. You'd have made a first-class Boche, Poulder. Take the bomb
yourself; you're in charge of this section.

POULDER. [Pouting] It's no part of my duty to carry menial objects;
if you're afraid of it I'll send 'Enry.

JAMES. Afraid! You 'Op o' me thumb!

[From the "communication trench" appears LITTLE ANNE, followed
by a thin, sharp, sallow-faced man of thirty-five or so, and
another FOOTMAN, carrying a wine-cooler.]

L. ANNE. I've brought the bucket, and the Press.

PRESS. [In front of POULDER'S round eyes and mouth] Ah, major domo,
I was just taking the names of the Anti-Sweating dinner. [He catches
sight of the bomb in JAMES'S hand] By George! What A.1. irony! [He
brings out a note-book and writes] "Highest class dining to relieve
distress of lowest class-bombed by same!" Tipping! [He rubs his
hands].

POULDER. [Drawing himself up] Sir? This is present! [He indicates
ANNE with the flat of his hand.]

L. ANNE. I found the bomb.

PRESS. [Absorbed] By Jove! This is a piece of luck! [He writes.]

POULDER. [Observing him] This won't do--it won't do at all!

PRESS. [Writing-absorbed] "Beginning of the British Revolution!"

POULDER. [To JAMES] Put it in the cooler. 'Enry, 'old up the
cooler. Gently! Miss An