PETER. Secondly, I'm instructed to offer something considerable for your signature to an account of Ilam Carve's eccentric life on the Continent.

CARVE. Eccentric life on the Continent!

PETER. I shouldn't keep you half an hour--three quarters at most. A hundred pounds. Cash down, you know. Bank notes. All you have to do is to sign.

CARVE. (To Janet, exhausted, but disdainful.) I wouldn't mind signing an order for the fellow's execution.

PETER. A hundred and fifty!

CARVE. Or burning at the stake.

PETER. (To LOOE.) What does he say?

LOOE. Mr. Shawn is indisposed. We've just been discussing the question of the burial in the Abbey. I think I may say, if it interests you as an item of news, that Ilam Carve will not be buried in the Abbey.

PETER. (Lightly.) Oh yes he will, Father. There was a little doubt about it until we got particulars of his will this morning. But his will settled it.

LOOE. His will?

PETER. Yes. Didn't you know? No, you wouldn't. Well, his estate will come out at about a couple of hundred thousand, and he's left it practically all for an International Gallery of Modern Art in London.

Very ingenious plan. None of your Chantrey Bequest business. Three pictures and one piece of sculpture are to be bought each year in London. Fixed price 400 each, large or small. Trustees are to be business men--bank directors. But they can't choose the works. The works are to be chosen by the students at South Kensington and the Academy Schools. Works by R.A.'s and A.R.A.'s are absolutely barred. Works by students themselves absolutely barred, too. Cute that, eh? That's the arrangement for England. Similar arrangement for France, Italy, and Germany. He gives the thing a start by making it a present of his own collection--stored somewhere in Paris. I don't mean his own paintings--he bars those. Unusually modest, eh?

HONORIA. How perfectly splendid! We shall have a real live gallery at last. Surely Anselm, after that--

LOOE. Quite beside the point. I shall certainly oppose.

PETER. Oppose what?

LOOE. The burial in the Abbey. I shall advise Lady Leonard Alcar--

PETER. No use, Father. Take my word. The governor's made up his mind.

He's been fearfully keen on art lately. I don't know why. We were in front of everybody else with the news of Ilam Carve's death, and the governor's making a regular pet of him. He says it's quite time we buried an artist in Westminster Abbey, and he's given instructions to the whole team. Didn't you see the Mercury this morning? Anybody who opposes a national funeral for Ilam Carve will be up against the governor. Of course, I tell you that as a friend--confidentially.

LOOE. (Shaken.) Well, I shall see what Lady Leonard says.

CARVE. (Rising in an angry, scornful outburst.) You'd bury him in Westminster Abbey because he's a philanthropist, not because he's an artist. That's England all over.... Well, I'm hanged if I'll have it.

LOOE. But, my dear sir----

CARVE. And I tell you another thing--he's not dead.

PETER. Not dead--what next?

CARVE. I am Ilam Carve.

HONORIA. (Soothingly.) Poor dear! He's not himself.

CARVE. That's just what I am. (Sinks back exhausted.)

PETER. (Aside to LOOE.) Is he mad, Father? Nothing but a clerk after all. And yet he takes a private room at the Grand Babylon, and then he refuses a hundred and fifty of the best and goes on like this. And now, blessed if he isn't Ilam Carve! (Laughs.)

LOOE. I really think we ought to leave.

HONORIA. (To JANET.) He's a little unhinged! But how charming he is.

JANET. (Prudently resenting HONORIA'S interest in CARVE.) Yes, he's a little unhinged. And who wouldn't be?

PETER. Got 'em--if you ask me! (Moving to leave.)

LOOE. (Moving to leave.) Honoria.

JANET. (Very soothingly and humouringly to CARVE.) So this is what you call being shy!

CARVE. (To JANET, who is now bending over him.) It must be stopped.

JANET. (As the others go out; humouring him.) Yes, yes! (Absently in reply to bows and adieux of LOOE, HONORIA, and PETER HORNING.) Good morning! (When they are gone, with a sigh of relief.) Well, it is a mighty queer place! My word, how cold your hands are! (Going quickly to telephone and speaking into telephone.) Please send up two hot-water bottles at once. Yes, hot-water bottles. Never heard of a hot-water bottle before?

The Stage is darkened for a few moments to indicate the pa.s.sage of time.

SCENE 2

TIME.--Afternoon, four days later.

JANET is dozing in an easy-chair. Enter CARVE in his dressing-gown.

JANET. (Starting up.) Mr. Shawn, what are you doing out of bed? After such a dose of flu as you've had!

CARVE. I'm doing nothing out of bed. (Twiddles his thumbs.)

JANET. But you've no right to be out of bed at all.

CARVE. I was afraid I hadn't. But I called and called, and there was no answer. So then I began to argue the point. Why not get up? I'd had a tremendous long sleep. I felt singularly powerful. And I thought you'd gone home.

JANET. Nay--that you never did!

CARVE. I did, honestly.

JANET. Do you mean to say you thought for a single moment I should go home and leave you like that?

CARVE. Yes. But of course I thought you might be coming back sooner or later.

JANET. Well I never!

CARVE. You've scarcely left me for three days and three nights, Mrs.