TRANTO ( glancing at the card ). And it's really you who write those brilliant articles in The Echo ?
STRAIGHT. 'Brilliant'—I won't say. But I do write them.
TRANTO. Well, this is the most remarkable instance of survival after death that I ever came across.
STRAIGHT. I beg your pardon.
TRANTO. You're dead, my fine fellow. Your place isn't here. You ought to be in the next world. You're a humbug.
STRAIGHT ( to Mrs. Culver). I'm not quite sure that I understand. Will you kindly introduce me?
MRS. CULVER. I'm so sorry. This is Mr. Tranto, proprietor and editor of The Echo —( apologetically, with an uneasy smile ) a great humourist.
STRAIGHT ( thunderstruck; aside ). Well, I'm damned! ( His whole demeanour changes. Nevertheless, while tacitly admitting that he is found out, he at once resumes his mild calmness. To Culver.) I've just remembered an appointment of vital importance. I'm afraid our little talk about the syndicate must be adjourned.
CULVER. I feared you might have to hurry away.
(Straight bows as a preliminary to departure .)