CHAR. [putting down his hat carefully on sideboard, and stretching himself slowly, with evident enjoyment.] Saturday, thank the Lord!
LILY. [laughing prettily.] Poor thing!
CHAR. [looking at his silk hat.] I should like to pitch the beastly thing into the river. [He shakes his fist at it. Then he stretches his neck as if to lift it out of the collar and shaking down his cuffs till he can get a fine view of them, regards them meditatively.] Pah!
LILY. [anxiously.] What’s the matter with them? Are they scorched?
CHAR. Scorched! No, they’re white enough. Beastly uniform!
LILY. But you must wear cuffs, dear.
CHAR. A chap came to the office to-day in a red tie. Old Raffles had him up, and pitched into him. Asked him if he was a Socialist. Chap said he wasn’t, but liked red. “So do I,” says the Boss, “but I don’t wear a golf coat in the city!” Thought he was awfully smart, and it did make Poppy swear.
LILY. Who’s Poppy, dear?
CHAR. Popperwell. He almost left there and then. Said he should wear whatever tie he liked.