PHILIP. All right, I'll try it if you like. I don't know if I shall be any good—what do you do?
JAMES. It's your experience in managing and—er—handling men which I hope will be of value.
PHILIP. Oh, I can do that all right. (Stretching himself luxuriously) Uncle James, do you realize that I'm never going to salute again, or wear a uniform, or get wet—really wet, I mean—or examine men's feet, or stand to attention when I'm spoken to, or—oh, lots more things. And best of all, I'm never going to be frightened again. Have you ever known what it is to be afraid—really afraid?
JAMES (embarrassed). I—er—well—(He coughs.)
PHILIP. No, you couldn't—not really afraid of death, I mean. Well, that's over now. Good lord! I could spend the rest of my life in the British Museum and be happy....
JAMES (getting up). All right, we'll try you in the office. I expect you want a holiday first, though.
PHILIP (getting up). My dear uncle, this is holiday. Being in London is holiday. Buying an evening paper—wearing a waistcoat again—running after a bus—anything—it's all holiday.
JAMES. All right, then, come along with me now, and I'll introduce you to Mr. Bamford.
PHILIP. Right. Who's he?
JAMES. Our manager. A little stiff, but a very good fellow. He'll be delighted to hear that you are coming into the firm.