TRANTO. Yes. Uncle Joe was made an earl not long since—you may have heard of the fuss about it. Uncle Sam's only a miserable baron yet. And Uncle Cuthbert is that paltry insect—a baronet.
JOHN. What did they get their titles for?
TRANTO. Ask me another.
JOHN. Of course I don't want to be personal, but how did they get them? Did they—er—buy them?
TRANTO. Don't know.
JOHN. Haven't you ever asked them?
TRANTO. Well, John, you've got relatives yourself, and you probably know there are some things that even the most affectionate relatives don't ask each other.
HILDEGARDE ( rising from the desk and looking at John's feet ). Yes, indeed! This very morning I unwisely asked Johnnie whether his socks ever talked. Altercation followed. 'Some debate, believe me !'
JOHN ( rising; with scornful tranquillity ). I'd better get ready for dinner. Besides, you two would doubtless like to be alone together for a few precious moments.
HILDEGARDE ( sharply and self-consciously ). What do you mean?