JERGINS: I'm afraid so, Sir Webley.

SIR WEBLEY: Changing fast, and new members putting up for the Club.

JERGINS: Yes, I'm afraid so, Sir Webley.

SIR WEBLEY: You notice it too, Jergins.

JERGINS: Yes, Sir Webley, it's come all of a sudden. Only last week I saw ...

SIR WEBLEY: Well, Jergins.

JERGINS: I saw Lord Pondleburrow wearing a ...

SIR WEBLEY: Wearing what, Jergins?

JERGINS: Wearing one of those billyc.o.c.k hats, Sir Webley.

SIR WEBLEY: Well, well. I suppose they've got to change, but not at that rate.

JERGINS: No, Sir Webley.

[EXIT, _shaking his head as he goes._

SIR WEBLEY: Well, we must find out about this fellow.

NEEKS: Yes. I'll call Mr. Gleek's attention. He knows all about that sort of thing.

SIR WEBLEY: Yes, yes. Just ...

[NEEKS _rises and goes some of the way towards_ GLEEK'S _chair._

NEEKS: Er--er----

GLEEK (_looking round_): Yes?

SIR WEBLEY: Do you know anything of a man called Mr. William Shakespeare?

GLEEK (_looking over his pince-nez_): No!

[_He shakes his head several times and returns to his paper._

CURTAIN.

FAME AND THE POET

_DRAMATIS PERSONae_

HARRY DE REVES, _a Poet_.

(_This name, though of course of French origin, has become anglicised and is p.r.o.nounced_ DE REEVS.)

d.i.c.k PRATTLE, _a Lieutenant-Major of the Royal Horse Marines_.

FAME.

SCENE

_The Poet's rooms in London. Windows in back. A high screen in a corner._

_Time: February 30th._

_The_ POET _is sitting at a table writing._

[_Enter_ d.i.c.k PRATTLE.

PRATTLE: Hullo, Harry.

DE REVES: Hullo, d.i.c.k. Good Lord, where are you from?

PRATTLE (_casually_): The ends of the earth.

DE REVES: Well, I'm d.a.m.ned!

PRATTLE: Thought I'd drop in and see how you were getting on.

DE REVES: Well, that's splendid. What are you doing in London?

PRATTLE: Well, I wanted to see if I could get one or two decent ties to wear--you can get nothing out there--then I thought I'd have a look and see how London was getting on.

DE REVES: Splendid! How's everybody?

PRATTLE: All going strong.

DE REVES: That's good.

PRATTLE (_seeing paper and ink_): But what are you doing?

DE REVES: Writing.

PRATTLE: Writing? I didn't know you wrote.

DE REVES: Yes, I've taken to it rather.