Grice. Cake, with plums in it.
Celia. (Exchanges looks with Aunt Ida, who has worked down L. after Faraday has gone up C. Aunt Ida nods her head. Indifferently) Any news in the Times?
Omnes. The Times? The Times? Why, no, I don't imagine so. Have you seen the Times? Now where has Martin put that Times? (Etc., etc. Note: This should come to a crescendo and then die down.)
Evelyn. (In a loud, hoarse whisper to Tarver) Oh, say something.
Tarver. (Very nervously) No, I don't think there was anything, was there, Admiral?
Grice. (Mournfully, staring straight ahead of him) Nothing very lively.
Omnes. (In a strained whisper) Admiral!
Faraday. (To relieve situation. Gayly) Now where has the Times got to?
(Tarver rises and looks in fireplace, muttering to himself.)
Phyllis and Madge. Where is the Times? Have you seen the Times? I wonder what could have happened to it? (Etc.)