The Foundations | Page 8

[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] Could I have a word with you on
the crisis, before dinner, Lord William?
LORD W. It's time you and James were up, Poulder. [Indicating the
cooler] Look after this; tell Lady William I'll be there in a minute.
POULDER. Very good, me Lord.

[He goes, followed by JAMES carrying the cooler.]
[As THE PRESS turns to look after them, LORD WILLIAM catches
sight of his back.]
LORD W. I must apologise, sir. Can I brush you?
PRESS. [Dusting himself] Thanks; it's only behind. [He opens his
note-book] Now, Lord William, if you'd kindly outline your views on
the national situation; after such a narrow escape from death, I feel they
might have a moral effect. My paper, as you know, is concerned
with--the deeper aspect of things. By the way, what do you value your
house and collection at?
LORD W. [Twisting his little mustache] Really: I can't! Really!
PRESS. Might I say a quarter of a million-lifted in two seconds and a
half-hundred thousand to the second. It brings it home, you know.
LORD W. No, no; dash it! No!
PRESS. [Disappointed] I see--not draw attention to your property in the
present excited state of public feeling? Well, suppose we approach it
from the viewpoint of the Anti-Sweating dinner. I have the list of
guests--very weighty!
LORD W. Taken some lifting-wouldn't they?
PRESS. [Seriously] May I say that you designed the dinner to soften
the tension, at this crisis? You saw that case, I suppose, this morning,
of the woman dying of starvation in Bethnal Green?
LORD W. [Desperately] Yes-yes! I've been horribly affected. I always
knew this slump would come after the war, sooner or later.
PRESS. [Writing] ". . . had predicted slump."
LORD W. You see, I've been an Anti-Sweating man for years, and I
thought if only we could come together now . . . .
PRESS. [Nodding] I see--I see! Get Society interested in the Sweated,
through the dinner. I have the menu here. [He produces it.]
LORD W. Good God, man--more than that! I want to show the people
that we stand side by side with them, as we did in the trenches. The
whole thing's too jolly awful. I lie awake over it.
[He walks up and down.]
PRESS. [Scribbling] One moment, please. I'll just get that down-- "Too
jolly awful--lies awake over it. Was wearing a white waistcoat with
pearl buttons." [At a sign of resentment from his victim.] I want the
human touch, Lord William--it's everything in my paper. What do you

say about this attempt to bomb you?
LORD W. Well, in a way I think it's d---d natural
PRESS. [Scribbling] "Lord William thought it d---d natural."
LORD W. [Overhearing] No, no; don't put that