JAMES. [Between him and the table—raising himself] Thinkin'.
[POULDER purses his mouth to repress his feedings.]
POULDER. My orders are to fetch the bomb up here for Lady William to inspect. Take care no more writers stray in.
JAMES. How shall I know 'em?
POULDER. Well—either very bald or very hairy.
JAMES. Right-o! [He goes.]
[POULDER, with his back to the table, busies himself with the set of his collar.]
POULDER. [Addressing an imaginary audience—in a low but important voice] The—ah—situation is seerious. It is up to us of the—ah— leisured classes——
[The face of LITTLE ANNE is poked out close to his legs, and tilts upwards in wonder towards the bow of his waistcoat.]
to—ah—keep the people down. The olla polloi are clamourin'——