Now shut it, Miss Anne!
L. ANNE. Who gave you those names? Not your godfathers and
godmothers?
JAMES. Poulder. Butlers think they're the Almighty. [Gloomily]
But his name's Bartholomew.
L. ANNE. Bartholomew Poulder? It's rather jolly.
JAMES. It's hidjeous.
L. ANNE. Which do you like to be called--John or James?
JAMES. I don't give a darn.
L. ANNE. What is a darn?
JAMES. 'Tain't in the dictionary.
L. ANNE. Do you like my name? Anne Dromondy? It's old, you know.
But it's funny, isn't it?
JAMES. [Indifferently] It'll pass.
L. ANNE. How many bottles have you got to pick out?
JAMES. Thirty-four.
L. ANNE. Are they all for the dinner, or for the people who come in
to the Anti-Sweating Meeting afterwards?
JAMES. All for the dinner. They give the Sweated--tea.
L. ANNE. All for the dinner? They'll drink too much, won't they?
JAMES. We've got to be on the safe side.
L. ANNE. Will it be safer if they drink too much?
[JAMES pauses in the act of dusting a bottle to look at her, as
if suspecting irony.]
[Sniffing] Isn't the smell delicious here-like the taste of cherries
when they've gone bad--[She sniffs again] and mushrooms; and boot
blacking.
JAMES. That's the escape of gas.
L. ANNE. Has the plumber's man been?
JAMES. Yes.
L. ANNE. Which one?
JAMES. Little blighter I've never seen before.
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