QUECKETT.
[Taking a telegraph form from the stationery-cabinet, and writing.] "Come up to-night, dear old boy. Nine-thirty, sharp. Diggings of humble bachelor. 80, Duke Street, Portland Place. Bring two or three good fellows. Vere." How much does that come to? [Counting the words rapidly.] One—two—three—four—five—no. [Getting confused.] One—two—three—four—five—six—no. One—two—three—four—five—six. [Counting to the end.] I think it is one and something half-penny—but it's all luck under the new regulations. Oh, and I haven't addressed it! Where's Jack's letter? [He takes the letter from his pocket. Peggy enters quietly. Seeing Queckett, she draws back, watching him.]
PEGGY.
[To herself] What is he doing now—the Guy Fawkes?
QUECKETT.
[Referring to the letter.] Ah, "Rovers' Club"! [Addressing the telegram.] "John Mallory, Rover's Club." Let me see—that's in Green Street, Piccadilly. [Writing.] "Green Street, Piccadilly." Or am I thinking of the "Stragglers'"? I've a Club list upstairs—I'll go and look at it. [Humming an air, he shuts up the telegraph form in the blotting-book, and rises, still with his back to Peggy.] I feel so happy! [He goes out.]
PEGGY.
[Advances to the blotting-book, carrying some luggage labels.] Miss Dyott has sent me to address her luggage labels. I am compelled to open that blotting-book. [She sits on the chair lately vacated by Queckett, and opens the blotting-book mischievously with her forefinger and thumb. Seeing the telegraph form.] Ah! [Reading it greedily, with exclamations.] Oh! "Dear old boy!" Oh! "Diggings of humble bachelor!" Oh! "Bring two or three good fellows!" Oh-oh! [Sticking the telegraph form prominently against the stationery cabinet, facing her, and addressing a luggage label.] "Miss Dyott, passenger to Hereford."
QUECKETT.
[Re-entering gaily.] It is in Green Street, Piccadilly.