The Foundations | Page 6

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 Anne, get be'ind the Press.
JAMES. [Grimly--holding the bomb above the cooler] It won't be the
Press that'll stop Miss Anne's goin' to 'Eaven if one o' this sort goes off.
Look out! I'm goin' to drop it.
[ALL recoil. HENRY puts the cooler down and backs away.]
L. ANNE. [Dancing forward] Oh! Let me see! I missed all the war, you
know!
[JAMES lowers the bomb into the cooler.]
POULDER. [Regaining courage--to THE PRESS, who is scribbling in
his note-book] If you mention this before the police lay their hands on
it, it'll be contempt o' Court.
PRESS. [Struck] I say, major domo, don't call in the police! That's the
last resort. Let me do the Sherlocking for you. Who's been down here?
L. ANNE. The plumber's man about the gas---a little blighter we'd
never seen before.
JAMES. Lives close by, in Royal Court Mews--No. 3. I had a word
with him before he came down. Lemmy his name is.
PRESS. "Lemmy!" [Noting the address] Right-o!
L. ANNE. Oh! Do let me come with you!
POULDER. [Barring the way] I've got to lay it all before Lord William.
PRESS. Ah! What's he like?
POULDER. [With dignity] A gentleman, sir.
PRESS. Then he won't want the police in.
POULDER. Nor the Press, if I may go so far, as to say so.
PRESS. One to you! But I defy you to keep this from the Press, major
domo: This is the most significant thing that has happened in our time.
Guy Fawkes is nothing to it. The foundations of Society reeling! By
George, it's a second Bethlehem!
[He writes.]
POULDER. [To JAMES] Take up your wine and follow me. 'Enry,
bring the cooler. Miss Anne, precede us. [To THE PRESS] You defy
me? Very well; I'm goin' to lock you up here.
PRESS. [Uneasy] I say this is medieval.
[He attempts to pass.]
POULDER. [Barring the way] Not so! James, put him up in that empty
'ock bin. We can't have dinner disturbed in any way.
JAMES. [Putting his hands on THE PRESS'S shoulders] Look here--go

quiet! I've had a grudge against you yellow newspaper boys ever since
the war--frothin' up your daily hate, an' makin' the Huns desperate. You
nearly took my life five hundred times out there. If you squeal, I'm
gain' to take yours once--and that'll be enough.
PRESS. That's awfully unjust. Im not yellow!
JAMES. Well, you look it. Hup.
PRESS. Little Lady-Anne, haven't you any authority with these
fellows?
L. ANNE. [Resisting Poulard's pressure] I won't go! I simply must see
James put him up!
PRESS. Now, I warn you all plainly--there'll be a leader on this.
[He tries to bolt but is seized by JAMES.]
JAMES. [Ironically] Ho!
PRESS. My paper has the biggest influence
JAMES. That's the one! Git up in that 'ock bin, and mind your feet
among the claret.
PRESS. This is an outrage on the Press.
JAMES. Then it'll wipe out one by