BERTLEY. Come! A little of both, a little of both!
[They resume their brushing.]
FERRAND. You are now debarrassed of us three, Monsieur. I leave you instead—these sirs. [He points.] 'Au revoir, Monsieur'! [Motioning towards the fire.] 'Appy New Year!
[He slips quietly out. WELLWYN, turning, contemplates the three reformers. They are all now brushing away, scratching each other's backs, and gravely hissing. As he approaches them, they speak with a certain unanimity.]
HOXTON. My theory——!
CALWAY. My theory——!
BERTLEY. My theory——!
[They stop surprised. WELLWYN makes a gesture of discomfort, as they speak again with still more unanimity.]
HOXTON. My——! CALWAY. My——! BERTLEY. My——!
[They stop in greater surprise. The stage is blotted dark.] Curtain.