S BUILDER. The Camille, and the last straw!

BUILDER. [Sharply] I won't have it. So now you know.

But MRS BUILDER has very swiftly gone.

Julia, I tell you-- [The outer door is heard being closed] Damnation!
I will not have it! They're all mad! Here--where's my hat?

He looks distractedly round him, wrenches open the door, and a
moment later the street door is heard to shut with a bang.

CURTAIN.

ACT III

SCENE I

Ten o'clock the following morning, in the study of the Mayor of
Breconridge, a panelled room with no window visible, a door Left
back and a door Right forward. The entire back wall is furnished
with books from floor to ceiling; the other walls are panelled and
bare. Before the fireplace, Left, are two armchairs, and other
chairs are against the walls. On the Right is a writing-bureau at
right angles to the footlights, with a chair behind it. At its back
corner stands HARRIS, telephoning.

HARRIS. What--[Pause] Well, it's infernally awkward, Sergeant....
The Mayor's in a regular stew.... [Listens] New constable?
I should think so! Young fool! Look here, Martin, the only thing to do
is to hear the charge here at once. I've sent for Mr Chantrey; he's on
his way. Bring Mr Builder and the witnesses round sharp. See? And, I
say, for God's sake keep it dark. Don't let the Press get on to it. Why
you didn't let him go home--! Black eye? The constable? Well, serve
him right. Blundering young ass! I mean, it's undermining all
authority.... Well, you oughtn't--at least, I... Damn it
all!--it's a nine days' wonder if it gets out--! All right! As soon as
you can. [He hangs up the receiver, puts a second chair behind the
bureau, and other chairs facing it.] [To himself] Here's a mess! Johnny
Builder, of all men! What price Mayors!

The telephone rings.

Hallo?... Poaching charge? Well, bring him too; only, I say, keep
him back till the other's over. By the way, Mr Chantrey's going
shooting. He'll want to get off by eleven. What?.. Righto!

As he hangs up the receiver the MAYOR enters. He looks worried, and
is still dressed with the indefinable wrongness of a burgher.

MAYOR. Well, 'Arris?

HARRIS. They'll be over in five minutes, Mr Mayor.

MAYOR. Mr Chantrey?

HARRIS. On his way, sir.

MAYOR. I've had some awkward things to deal with in my time, 'Ar