POULDER. [Astounded] Why; I thought your paper was Tory!
PRESS. So it is. That's nothing!
POULDER. [Open-mouthed] Dear me! [Pointing to the bomb] Do you really think there's something in this?
JAMES. [Sepulchrally] 'Igh explosive.
PRESS. [Taking out his note-book] Too much, anyway, to let it drop.
[A pleasant voice calls "Poulder! Hallo!".]
POULDER. [Forming a trumpet with his hand] Me Lord!
[As LORD WILLIAM appears, JAMES, overcome by reminiscences; salutes, and is mechanically answered. LORD WILLIAM has "charm." His hair and moustache are crisp and just beginning to grizzle. His bearing is free, easy, and only faintly armoured. He will go far to meet you any day. He is in full evening dress.]
LORD W. [Cheerfully] I say, Poulder, what have you and James been doing to the Press? Liberty of the Press—it isn't what it was, but there is a limit. Where is he?
[He turns to Jams between whom and himself there is still the freemasonry of the trenches.]