The Title | Page 6

me higher than C 3.
MRS. CULVER. How annoying for you! You might have risen to be a captain by this time.
HILDEGARDE (_reflectively_). No doubt, in a home unit. But if he'd gone to the Front he would still have been a second lieutenant.
MRS. CULVER. My dear!
TRANTO. Whereas in fact I'm still one of those able-bodied young shirkers in mufti that patriotic old gentlemen in clubs are always writing to my uncles' papers about.
MRS. CULVER. Please! please! (_A slight pause; pulling herself together; cheerfully_.) Let me see, you were going in for Siege Artillery, weren't you?
TRANTO. Me! Siege Artillery. My original ambition was trench mortars--not so noisy.
MRS. CULVER (_simply_). Oh! Then it must have been somebody else who was talking to me about Siege Artillery. I understand it's very scientific--all angles and degrees and wind-pressures and things. John will soon be eighteen, and his father and I want him to be really useful in the Army. We don't want him to be thrown away. He has brains, and so we are thinking of Siege Artillery for him.
(During this speech John _has entered, in evening dress_.)
JOHN. Are you on Siege again, mater? The mater's keen on Siege because she's heard somewhere it's the safest thing there is.
MRS. CULVER. And if it does happen to be the safest--what then?
TRANTO. I suppose you're all for the Flying Corps, John?
JOHN (_with condescension_). Not specially. Since one of the old boys came and did looping the loop stunts over the school the whole Fifth has gone mad on the R.F.C. Most fellows are just like sheep. Somebody in the Sixth has to be original. I want to fight as much as any chap with wings across his chest, but I've got my private career to think of too. If you ask me, the mater's had a brain-wave for once.
Enter Mr. Culver, _back. He stands a moment at the door, surveying the scene_. Mrs. Culver _springs up, and_ Tranto _also rises, moving towards the door_.
MRS. CULVER. Arthur, have you come?
CULVER (_advancing a little_). Apparently. Hello, Tranto, glad to see you. I wanted to. (Shakes hands with Tranto.)
MRS. CULVER. What's the matter, Arthur?
CULVER. Everything.
MRS. CULVER (_alarmed, but carefully coaxing_). Why are you wearing your velvet coat? (To Tranto.) He always puts on his velvet coat instead of dressing when something's gone wrong. (To Mr. Culver.) Have you got neuralgia again?
CULVER. I don't think so.
MRS. CULVER. But surely you must know! You look terribly pale.
CULVER. The effect of the velvet coat, my dear--nicely calculated in advance.
MRS. CULVER (_darting at him, holding him by the shoulders, and then kissing him violently. With an intonation of affectionate protest_). Darling!
JOHN. Oh! I say, mater, look here!
MRS. CULVER (to Culver, _still holding him_). I'm very annoyed with you. It's perfectly absurd the way you work. (To Tranto.) Do you know he was at the office all day Christmas Day and all day Boxing Day? (To Culver.) You really must take a holiday.
CULVER. But what about the war, darling?
MRS. CULVER (_loosing him_). Oh! You're always making the war an excuse. I know what I shall do. I shall just go--
CULVER. Yes, darling, just go and suggest a short armistice to the Germans while you take me to Brighton for a week's fondling.
MRS. CULVER. I shall just speak to Miss Starkey. Strange that the wife, in order to influence the husband, should have to appeal to (_disdainfully_) the lady secretary! But so it is.
CULVER. Hermione, I must beg you not to interfere between Miss Starkey and me. Interference will upset Miss Starkey, and I cannot stand her being upset. I depend upon her absolutely. First, Miss Starkey is the rock upon which my official existence is built. She is a serious and conscientious rock. She is hard and expects me to be hard. Secondly, Miss Starkey is the cushion between me and the world. She knows my tender spots, and protects them. Thirdly, Miss Starkey is my rod--and I kiss it.
MRS. CULVER. Arthur!... (_tries to be agreeable_). But I really am vexed.
CULVER. Well, I'm only hungry.
Enter Parlourmaid.
PARLOURMAID. Cook's compliments, madam, and dinner will be twenty minutes late. (Exit.)
(A shocked silence.)
CULVER (_with an exhausted sigh_). And yet I gave that cook one of my most captivating smiles this morning.
MRS. CULVER (settling Mr. Culver _into a chair_). She's done it simply because I told her to-night that rationing is definitely coming in. Her reply was that the kitchen would never stand it, whatever the Government said. She was quite upset--and so she's gone and done something to the dinner.
CULVER. Surely rather illogical of her, isn't it? Or have I missed a link in the chain of reasoning?
MRS. CULVER. I shall give her notice--after dinner.
JOHN. Couldn't you leave it till after the holidays, mother?
HILDEGARDE. And where shall you find another cook, mamma?
MRS. CULVER. The first thing is to