Mrs. G. (going round to him). Peter! My son a Member of Parliament!
Peter (repulsing her). No, no, I'm not worthy.
Ned. We're the best judges of that.
Peter (firmly). I'm too young. I'd be the youngest man in the Labour Party.
Jones. Someone's got to be that. They need young blood. There's too much antideluvian trades unionism about the old gang.
O'Cal. It's a queer thing you do be saying, and you without a grey hair to your head. It's a queer thing to hear a young man making moan beeause he's young.
Mrs. G. (appealingly). Peter!
Peter. But I'm—— (Hesitating and looking from one to the other.)
Ned. What?
Peter. I don't know. I never thought of this.