The Title | Page 9

on your uncle?

TRANTO. Don't trouble. Who's the next?
CULVER. The next is--Ullivant, munitions manufacturer. Let me see.
(Reads.) By the simple means of saying that the cost price of shells was
eighteen shillings and ninepence each, whereas it was in fact only ten
shillings and ninepence, Mr. Joshua Ullivant has made a fortune of two
million pounds during the war. He has given a hundred thousand to the
Prince of Wales's Fund, a hundred thousand to the Red Cross, and a
hundred thousand to the party funds. Total net profit on the war, one
million seven hundred thousand pounds, not counting the peerage
which is now bestowed upon him, and which it must be admitted is a
just reward for his remarkable business acumen.'
TRANTO. Very agreeable fellow Ullivant is, nevertheless.
CULVER. Oh, he is. They're most of them too damned agreeable for
anything. Another prominent name is Orlando Bush.
TRANTO. Ah!
MRS. CULVER. I've met his wife. She dances beautifully at charity
matinees.
CULVER. No doubt. But apparently that's not the reason.
TRANTO. I know Orlando. I've just bought the serial rights of his
book.
CULVER. Have you paid him?
TRANTO. No.
CULVER. How wise of you! (_Reads_). 'Mr. Orlando Bush has written
a historical sketch, with many circumstantial details, of the political
origins of the present Government. For his forbearance in kindly
consenting to withold publication until the end of the war Mr. Bush
receives a well-earned'--
TRANTO. What?

CULVER. Knighthood.
TRANTO. Cheap! But what a sell for me!
CULVER. Now, ladies and gentlemen, the last name with which I will
trouble you is that of Mr. James Brill.
TRANTO. Not Jimmy Brill!
CULVER. Jimmy Brill.
TRANTO. But he's a--
CULVER. Stop, my dear Tranto. No crude phrases, please. (Reads.)
'Mr. James Brill, to use the language of metaphor, possessed a pistol,
which pistol he held point blank at the head of the Government. The
Government has thought it wise to purchase Mr. James Brill's pistol--'
TRANTO. But he's a--
CULVER (_raising a hand_). He is merely the man with the pistol, and
in exchange for the pistol he gets a baronetcy.
TRANTO. A baronetcy!
CULVER. His title and pistol will go rattling down the ages, my dear
Tranto, from generation to generation. For the moment the fellow's
name stinks, but only for the moment. In the nostrils of his grandson
(third baronet), it will have a most sweet odour.
MRS. CULVER. But all this is perfectly shocking.
CULVER. Now I hope you comprehend my emotion, darling.
MRS. CULVER But surely there are some nice names on the List.
CULVER. Of course. There have to be some nice names, for the sake
of the psychological effect on the public mind on New Year's Day. The
public looks for a good name, or for a name it can understand. It skims

down the List till it sees one. Then it says: 'Ah! That's not so bad!' Then
it skims down further till it sees another one, and it says again: 'Ah!
That's not so bad!' And so on. So that with about five or six decent
names you can produce the illusion that after all the List is really rather
good.
HILDEGARDE. The strange thing to me is that decent people
condescend to receive titles at all.
MRS. CULVER. Bravo, Hildegarde! Yes, if it's so bad as you make out,
Arthur, why do decent people take Honours?
CULVER. I'll tell you. Decent people have wives, and their wives lead
them by the nose. That's why decent people take Honours.
MRS. CULVER. Well, I think it's monstrous!
CULVER. So it is. I've been a Conservative all my life; I am a
Conservative. I swear I am. And yet, now when I look back, I'm
amazed at the things I used to do. Why, once I actually voted against a
candidate who stood for the reform of the House of Lords. Seems
incredible. This war is changing my ideas. (_Suddenly, after a slight
pause_.) I'm dashed if I don't join the Labour party and ask Ramsay
Macdonald to lunch.
Enter Parlourmaid, back.
PARLOURMAID. You are wanted on the telephone, madam.
MRS. CULVER. Oh, Arthur! (Pats him on the shoulder as she goes
out.)
(Exit Mrs. Culver and Parlourmaid, back.)
CULVER. Hildegarde, go and see if you can hurry up dinner.
HILDEGARDE. No one could.
CULVER. Never mind, go and see. (Exit Hildegarde, back.) John, just

take these keys, and get some cigars out of the cabinet, you know,
Partagas.
JOHN. Oh! Is it a Partaga night? (_Exit, back_.)
CULVER (_watching the door close_). Tranto, we are conspirators.
TRANTO. You and I?
CULVER. Yes. But we must have no secrets. Who wrote that article in
_The Echo_? Who is Sampson Straight?
TRANTO (_temporising, lightly_). You remind me of the man with the
pistol.
CULVER. Is