itish Empire, depend on
our keeping up the supply of shells, you are wasting money on sweeping
the streets?

THE CLERK. We have to. We dropped it for a while; but the infant death
rate went up something frightful.

AUGUSTUS. What matters the death rate of Little Pifflington in a moment
like this? Think of our gallant soldiers, not of your squalling infants.

THE CLERK. If you want soldiers you must have children. You can't buy em
in boxes, like toy soldiers.

AUGUSTUS. Beamish, the long and the short of it is, you are no patriot.
Go downstairs to your office; and have that gas stove taken away and
replaced by an ordinary grate. The Board of Trade has urged on me the
necessity for economizing gas.

THE CLERK. Our orders from the Minister of Munitions is to use gas
instead of coal, because it saves material. Which is it to be?

AUGUSTUS [bawling furiously at him]. Both! Don't criticize your orders:
obey them. Yours not to reason why: yours but to do and die. That's war.
[Cooling down.] Have you anything else to say?

THE CLERK. Yes: I want a rise.

AUGUSTUS [reeling against the table in his horror]. A rise! Horatio
Floyd Beamish, do you know that we are at war?

THE CLERK [feebly ironical]. I have noticed something about it in the
papers. Heard you mention it once or twice, now I come to think of it.

AUGUSTUS. Our gallant fellows are dying in the trenches; and you want a
rise!

THE CLERK. What are they dying for? To keep me alive, ain't it? Well,
what's the good of that if I'm dead of hunger by the time they come
back?

AUGUSTUS. Everybody else is making sacrifices without a thought of self;
and you--

THE CLERK. Not half, they ain't. Where's the baker's sacrifice? Where's
the coal merchant's? Where's the butcher's? Charging me double: that's
how they sacrifice themselves. Well, I want to sacrifice myself that
way too. Just double next Saturday: double and not a penny less; or no
secretary for you [he stiffens himself shakily, and makes resolutely for
the door.]

AUGUSTUS [looking after him contemptuously]. Go, miserable pro-German.

THE CLERK [rushing back and facing him]. Who are you calling a
pro-German?

AUGUSTUS. Another word, and I charge you under the Act with discouraging
me. Go.

The clerk blenches and goes out, cowed.

The telephone rings.

AUGUSTUS [taking up the telephone receiver.] Hallo. Yes: who are
you?... oh, Blueloo, is it?... Yes: there's nobody in the room: fire away.
What?.