BROXOPP. That’s right, Sir Roger. I thought of that twenty-five years ago. Do you remember, Nancy?
NANCY (pressing his hand). I remember, Jim.
TENTERDEN. An excellent poster for its purpose, I have no doubt, Mrs. Broxopp. An excellent picture, no doubt, of Master Jack at that age. (He smiles at JACK.) But seeing that all babies are pretty much alike——
NANCY (quickly). Oh no!
TENTERDEN (with a charming bow). Who would contradict a woman on such a question? Let me say rather that since, to the undiscerning male, all babies are alike, there would be the danger, the very serious danger, that people might suppose the words beneath the picture to have been uttered by—(he pauses dramatically) my grandson!
IRIS. Roger Broxopp.
TENTERDEN. Exactly. A Broxopp baby. (To BROXOPP) Of course I am saying nothing against the food, which is, I am sure, admirably suited for its [40]purpose. I am merely looking at the matter in the interests of—my grandson.
BROXOPP. Quite so, Sir Roger, quite so. You see that, Nancy?
NANCY. Oh yes, dear.
TENTERDEN. Well, my friend Jack has been talking it over with me. I think we agree that for Mr. Broxopp to retire from the business—and I am sure he has well earned his rest after all these years of strenuous work—for him to retire and settle down in the country, would not altogether meet the case. The name of Broxopp would continue with the business—one could not get away from it. (To BROXOPP) I think I am right in saying that?