other hand, port is steady; made
in a little country, all but the cobwebs and the old boot flavour;
guaranteed by the British Nary; we may 'ope for the best with port.
Do you drink it?

PRESS. When I get the chance.

POULDER. Ah! [Clears his throat] I've often wanted to ask: What do
they pay you--if it's not indelicate?

[THE PRESS shrugs his shoulders.]

Can you do it at the money?

[THE PRESS shakes his head.] Still--it's an easy life! I've
regretted sometimes that I didn't have a shot at it myself;
influencin' other people without disclosin' your identity--something
very attractive about that. [Lowering his voice] Between man and
man, now-what do you think of the situation of the country--these
processions of the unemployed--the Red Flag an' the Marsillaisy in
the streets--all this talk about an upheaval?

PRESS. Well, speaking as a Socialist----

POULDER. [Astounded] Why; I thought your paper was Tory!

PRESS. So it is. That's nothing!

POULDER. [Open-mouthed] Dear me! [Pointing to the bomb] Do you
really think there's something in this?

JAMES. [Sepulchrally] 'Igh explosive.

PRESS. [Taking out his note-book] Too much, anyway, to let it drop.

[A pleasant voice calls "Poulder! Hallo!".]

POULDER. [Forming a trumpet with his hand] Me Lord!

[As LORD WILLIAM appears, JAMES, overcome by reminiscences;
salutes, and is mechanically answered. LORD WILLIAM has
"charm." His hair and moustache are crisp and just beginning to
grizzle. His bearing is free, easy, and only faintly armoured.
He will go far to meet you any day. He is in full evening
dress.]

LORD W. [Cheerfully] I say, Poulder, what have you and James been
doing to the Press? Liberty of the Press--it isn't what it was, but
there is a limit. Where is he?

[He turns to Jams between whom and himself there is still the
freemasonry of the trenches.]

JAMES. [Pointing to POULDER] Be'ind the parapet, me Lord.

[THE PRESS mopes out from where he has involuntarily been.
screened by POULDER, who looks at JAMES severely. LORD WILLIAM
hides a smile.]

PRESS. Very glad to meet you, Lord William. My presence down here
is quite involuntary.

LORD W. [With a charming smile] I know. The Press has to put its--
er--to go to the bottom of everything. Where's this bomb, Poulder?
Ah!

[He looks into the wine cooler.]

PRESS. [Taking out his note-book] C