A sunny day in early winter: late morning. The sun is almost blinding on the white room and the highly polished brasses.
A bright wood-fire burns.
As the curtain rises: a knocking on the garden door, which continues. The knob rattles. The door gives way, almost precipitating Thomas Vanillity on his face.
Vanillity is a college professor, lean, spare, ascetic-looking; wears a dark gray English walking suit; tailed coat; derby hat. Has typical sad Englishman’s moustache, a “drooper”; closely shaven lantern jaws. Carries neatly folded umbrella.
VANILLITY (evidently astounded at unlocked door)
Well: upon my word—upon my word! (Picks up hat, umbrella, etc., which have fallen, and straightens himself) I wonder if he’s in? (A slight explosion from laboratory; he drops articles again) Yes, he’s in! (Picks up articles a second time; straightens tie, etc., in glass; twirls moustache; then goes to fire; stretches out hands) A-a-ah!
[A second knocking on garden door.
VANILLITY (going to folding-doors and calling into laboratory) Oh, Addington, Addington, my boy! (A second explosion from laboratory. Vanillity goes to door, admitting Judge Hippolyte Critty: grossly but respectably fat, with an unctuous smile and a walrus-tusk moustache)
JUDGE CRITTY (smiling genially)
Ah! Professor! Professor! Come to claim all the credit of your pupil’s great discovery? (Waves hand toward laboratory)