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those articles for you about food
economy stunts in the household?
TRANTO. Well--(_hesitating_)
JOHN. Now, I look at things practically. When Hilda'd spent all her
dress allowance and got into debt besides, about a year and a half ago,
she suddenly remembered she wasn't doing much to help the war, and
so she went into the Food Ministry as a typist at thirty-five shillings a
week. Next she learnt typing. Then she became an authority on
everything. And now she's concocting these food articles for you.
Believe me, the girl knows nothing whatever about cookery. She
couldn't fry a sausage for nuts. Once the mater insisted on her doing the
housekeeping--in the holidays, too! Stay me with flagons!
HILDEGARDE (_without looking round_). Stay you with chocolates,
you mean, Johnnie, dear.
JOHN. There you are! Her thoughts fly instantly to chocolates--and in
the fourth year of the greatest war that the world--
HILDEGARDE. Etcetera, etcetera.
TRANTO. Then do I gather that you don't entirely approve of your
sister's articles?
JOHN. Tripe, I think. My fag could write better. I'll tell you what I do
approve of. I approve of that article to-day by that chap Sampson
Straight about titles and the shameful traffic in honours, and the rot of
the hereditary principle, and all that sort of thing.
TRANTO. I'm glad. Delivers the goods, doesn't he, Mr. Sampson
Straight?

JOHN. Well, I think so. Who is he?
TRANTO. One of my discoveries, John. He sent me in an article
about--let me see, when was it?--about eight months ago. I at once
perceived that in Mr. Sampson Straight I had got on to a bit of all right.
And I was not mistaken. He has given London beans pretty regularly
once a week ever since.
JOHN. He must have given the War Cabinet neuralgia this afternoon,
anyhow. I should like to meet him.
TRANTO. I'm afraid that's impossible.
JOHN. Is it? Why?
TRANTO. Well, I haven't met him myself yet. He lives at a quiet
country place in Cornwall. Hermit, I believe. Hates any kind of
publicity. Absolutely refuses to be photographed.
JOHN. Photographed! I should think not! But couldn't you get him to
come and lecture at school? We have frightful swells, you know.
TRANTO. I expect you do. But he wouldn't come.
JOHN. I wish he would. We had a debate the other Saturday night on,
Should the hereditary principle be abolished?
TRANTO. And did you abolish it?
JOHN. Did we abolish it? I should say we did. Eighty-five to
twenty-one. Some debate, believe me!
HILDEGARDE (_looking round_). Yes, but didn't you tell us once that
in your Debating Society the speakers always tossed for sides
beforehand?
JOHN (_shrugging his shoulders. More confidentially to_ Tranto). As I
was saying, I'm going to read the papers in future, as part of my scheme.
And d'you know what the scheme is? (Impressively.) I've decided to

take up a political career.
TRANTO. Good!
JOHN. Yes, it was during that hereditary principle debate that I decided.
It came over me all of a sudden while I was on the last lap of my
speech and the fellows were cheering. And so I want to understand first
of all the newspaper situation in London. There are one or two things
about it I _don't_ understand.
TRANTO. Not more? I can explain the newspaper situation to you in
ten words. You know I've got a lot of uncles. I daresay I've got more
uncles than anybody else in 'Who's Who.' Well, I own The
Echo,--inherited it from my father. My uncles own all the rest of the
press--(_airily_) with a few trifling exceptions. That's the London
newspaper situation. Quite simple, isn't it?
JOHN. But of course The Echo is up against all your uncles' papers--at
least it seems so.
TRANTO. Absolutely up against them. Tooth and nail. Daggers drawn.
No quarter. Death or victory.
JOHN. But do you and your uncles speak to each other?
TRANTO. Best of friends.
JOHN. But aren't two of your uncles lords?
TRANTO. Yes. Uncle Joe was made an earl not long since--you may
have heard of the fuss about it. Uncle Sam's only a miserable baron yet.
And Uncle Cuthbert is that paltry insect--a baronet.
JOHN. What did they get their titles for?
TRANTO. Ask me another.
JOHN. Of course I don't want to be personal, but how did they get them?
Did they--er--buy them?

TRANTO. Don't know.
JOHN. Haven't you ever asked them?
TRANTO. Well, John, you've got relatives yourself, and you probably
know there are some things that even the most affectionate relatives
_don't_ ask each other.
HILDEGARDE (_rising from the desk and looking at John's feet_).
Yes, indeed! This very morning I unwisely asked Johnnie whether his
socks ever talked. Altercation followed. 'Some debate, believe me!'
JOHN (_rising; with scornful