[HENRY places the wine cooler on the table and covers it with a
blue embroidered Chinese mat, which has occupied the centre of
the tablecloth.]
POULDER. Ah! You will 'ave your game! Thomas, take the door there! James, the 'all! Admit titles an' bishops. No literary or Labour people. Charles and 'Enry, 'op it and 'ang about!
[CHARLES and HENRY go out, the other too move to their stations.]
[POULDER, stands by the table looking at the covered bomb. The hoarse and distant sounds of the Marseillaise float in again from Park Lane.]
[Moved by some deep feeling] And this house an 'orspital in the war! I ask you—what was the good of all our sacrifices for the country? No town 'ouse for four seasons—rustygettin' in the shires, not a soul but two boys under me. Lord William at the front, Lady William at the back. And all for this! [He points sadly at the cooler] It comes of meddlin' on the Continent. I had my prognostications at the time. [To JAMES] You remember my sayin' to you just before you joined up: "Mark my words—we shall see eight per cent. for our money before this is over!"
JAMES. [Sepulchrally] I see the eight per cent., but not the money.
POULDER. Hark at that!
[The sounds of the Marseillaise grow louder. He shakes his head.]
I'd read the Riot Act. They'll be lootin' this house next!
JAMES. We'll put up a fight over your body: "Bartholomew Poulder, faithful unto death!" Have you insured your life?