Why do you let things lie about in the street like this? Look here, Wellyn!

[They all scrutinize TIMSON.]

WELLWYN. It's only the old fellow whose reform you were discussing.

HOXTON. How did he come here?

CONSTABLE. Drunk, sir. [Ascertaining TIMSON to be in the street.]

Just off the premises, by good luck. Come along, father.

TIMSON. [a.s.sisted to his feet-drowsily.] Cert'nly, by no means; take my arm.

[They move from the doorway. HOXTON and CALWAY re-enter, and go towards the fire.]

ANN. [Entering from the house.] What's happened?

CALWAY. Might we have a brush?

HOXTON. [Testily.] Let it dry!

[He moves to the fire and stands before it. PROFESSOR CALWAY following stands a little behind him. ANN returning begins to brush the PROFESSOR's sleeve.]

WELLWYN. [Turning from the door, where he has stood looking after the receding TIMSON.] Poor old Timson!

FERRAND. [Softly.] Must be philosopher, Monsieur! They will but run him in a little.

[From the model's room MRS. MEGAN has come out, shepherded by CANON BERTLEY.]

BERTLEY. Let's see, your Christian name is----.

MRS. MEGAN. Guinevere.

BERTLEY. Oh! Ah! Ah! Ann, take Gui--take our little friend into the study a minute: I am going to put her into service. We shall make a new woman of her, yet.

ANN. [Handing CANON BERTLEY the brush, and turning to MRS. MEGAN.]

Come on!

[She leads into the house, and MRS. MEGAN follows Stolidly.]

BERTLEY. [Brushing CALWAY'S back.] Have you fallen?

CALWAY. Yes.

BERTLEY. Dear me! How was that?

HOXTON. That old ruffian drunk on the doorstep. Hope they'll give him a sharp dose! These rag-tags!

[He looks round, and his angry eyes light by chance on FERRAND.]

FERRAND. [With his eyes on HOXTON--softly.] Monsieur, something tells me it is time I took the road again.

WELLWYN. [Fumbling out a sovereign.] Take this, then!

FERRAND. [Refusing the coin.] Non, Monsieur. To abuse 'ospitality is not in my character.

BERTLEY. We must not despair of anyone.

HOXTON. Who talked of despairing? Treat him, as I say, and you'll see!

CALWAY. The interest of the State----

HOXTON. The interest of the individual citizen sir----

BERTLEY. Come! A little of both, a little of both!

[They resume their brushing.]

FERRAND. You are now debarra.s.sed of us three, Monsieur. I leave you instead--these sirs. [He points.] 'Au revoir, Monsieur'!

[Motioning towards the fire.] 'Appy New Year!

[He slips quietly out. WELLWYN, turning, contemplates the three reformers. They are all now brushing away, scratching each other's backs, and gravely hissing. As he approaches them, they speak with a certain unanimity.]

HOXTON. My theory----!

CALWAY. My theory----!

BERTLEY. My theory----!

[They stop surprised. WELLWYN makes a gesture of discomfort, as they speak again with still more unanimity.]

HOXTON. My----! CALWAY. My----! BERTLEY. My----!

[They stop in greater surprise. The stage is blotted dark.]

Curtain.

ACT III

It is the first of April--a white spring day of gleams and driving showers. The street door of WELLWYN's studio stands wide open, and, past it, in the street, the wind is whirling bits of straw and paper bags. Through the door can be seen the b.u.t.t end of a stationary furniture van with its flap let down. To this van three humble-men in shirt sleeves and ap.r.o.ns, are carrying out the contents of the studio. The hissing samovar, the tea-pot, the sugar, and the nearly empty decanter of rum stand on the low round table in the fast-being-gutted room. WELLWYN in his ulster and soft hat, is squatting on the little stool in front of the blazing fire, staring into it, and smoking a hand-made cigarette. He has a moulting air.

Behind him the humble-men pa.s.s, embracing busts and other articles of vertu.

CHIEF H'MAN. [Stopping, and standing in the att.i.tude of expectation.] We've about pinched this little lot, sir. Shall we take the--reservoir?

[He indicates the samovar.]