BUILDER. Save your powder, Mayor. I've slept on it since I wrote you that note. Take my resignations.
MAYOR. [In relieved embarrassment] That's right. We must face your position.
BUILDER. [With a touch of grim humour] I never yet met a man who couldn't face another man's position.
MAYOR. After all, what is it?
BUILDER. Splendid isolation. No wife, no daughters, no Councillorship, no Magistracy, no future—[With a laugh] not even a French maid. And why? Because I tried to exercise a little wholesome family authority. That's the position you're facing, Mayor.
MAYOR. Dear, dear! You're devilish bitter, Builder. It's unfortunate, this publicity. But it'll all blow over; and you'll be back where you were. You've a good sound practical sense underneath your temper. [A pause] Come, now! [A pause] Well, I'll say good-night, then.
BUILDER. You shall have them in writing tomorrow.
MAYOR. [With sincerity] Come! Shake 'ands.
BUILDER, after a long look, holds out his hand. The two men exchange a grip.
The MAYOR, turning abruptly, goes out.