Hanno: Now, look here, may I put it to you shortly?
Bethaal [in great dread]: All right.
Hanno [leaning forward in an earnest way, and emphasising what he says]: All you men who get at the head of a Department only think of the work of that Department. That’s why you talk about Hannibal’s being bound to win. Of course he’s bound to win; but Carthage all hangs together, and if he wins at too great a price in money you’re weakened, and your son is weakened, and all of us are weakened. We shall be paying five per cent where we used to pay four. Things don’t go in big jumps; they go in gradations, and I do assure you that if you don’t send more men——
Bethaal [interrupting impatiently]: Oh, curse all that! One can easily see where you were brought up; you smell of Athens like a Don, and you make it worse by living out in the country, reading books and publishing pamphlets and putting people’s backs up for nothing. If you’d ever been in politics—I mean, if you hadn’t got pilled by three thousand at....
[At this moment an obese and exceedingly stupid Carthaginian of the name of Matho strolls into the smoking-room of the club, sees the two great men, becomes radiant with a mixture of reverence, admiration, and pride of acquaintance, and makes straight for them.]
Hanno: Who on earth’s that? Know him?
Bethaal [in a whisper astonishingly vivacious and angry for so old a man]: Shut your mouth, can’t you? He’s the head of my association! He’s the Mayor of the town!
Matho: Room for little un? [He laughs genially and sits down, obviously wanting an introduction to Hanno.]
Bethaal [nervously]: I haven’t seen you for ages, my dear fellow! I hope Lady Matho’s better? [Turning to Hanno] Do you know Lady Matho?