PHILIP. I wonder. Does it ever occur to you, Uncle James, that there are about a hundred thousand people in England who own revolvers, who are quite accustomed to them and—who have nobody to practise on now?
JAMES. No, sir, it certainly doesn't.
PHILIP (thoughtfully). I wonder if it will make any difference. You know, one gets so used to potting at people. It's rather difficult to realize suddenly that one oughtn't to.
JAMES (getting up). I don't know what the object of this tomfoolery is, if it has one. But you understand that I expect you to come to the office with me to-morrow at nine o'clock. Kindly see that you're punctual. (He turns to go away.)
PHILIP (softly). Uncle James.
JAMES (over his shoulder). I have no more—
PHILIP (in his parade voice). Damn it, sir! stand to attention when you talk to an officer! (JAMES instinctively turns round and stiffens himself.) That's better; you can sit down if you like. (He motions JAMES to his chair with the revolver.)
JAMES (going nervously to his chair). What does this bluff mean?
PHILIP. It isn't bluff, it's quite serious. (Pointing the revolver at his uncle) Do sit down.
JAMES (sitting donor). Threats, eh?