LORD LOAM. I have given up bothering about it.
TWEENY. You bothered that day long ago when we saw a ship passing the island. How we all ran like crazy folk into the water, Daddy, and screamed and held out our arms. (They are both a little agitated.) But it sailed away, and we’ve never seen another.
LORD LOAM. If we had had the electrical contrivance we have now we could have attracted that ship’s notice. (Their eyes rest on a mysterious apparatus that fills a corner of the hall.) A touch on that lever, Tweeny, and in a few moments bonfires would be blazing all round the shore.
TWEENY (backing from the lever as if it might spring at her). It’s the most wonderful thing he has done.
LORD LOAM (in a reverie). And then—England—home!
TWEENY (also seeing visions). London of a Saturday night!
LORD LOAM. My lords, in rising once more to address this historic chamber—
TWEENY. There was a little ham and beef shop off the Edgware Road—(The visions fade; they return to the practical.)
LORD LOAM. Tweeny, do you think I could have an egg to my tea? (At this moment a wiry, athletic figure in skins darkens the window. He is carrying two pails, which are suspended from a pole on his shoulder, and he is ERNEST. We should say that he is ERNEST completely changed if we were of those who hold that people change. As he enters by the window he has heard LORD LOAM’s appeal, and is perhaps justifiably indignant.)
ERNEST. What is that about an egg? Why should you have an egg?