COL. (pulling handkerchief off his head and sitting bolt upright on couch). Come in! (Seeing ARTHUR.) Oh, it’s you? For goodness’ sake, Arthur, don’t make such an infernal noise! Do you want to dislocate that implement of torture?
ARTH. Don’t you like it, uncle? I thought you were fond of music!
COL. You don’t call that music, do you? (getting up from couch). I accept your friend Fritterly’s invitation to his country-house for a few weeks’ quiet—
ARTH. Well, you’ve got it, haven’t you?
COL. Don’t interrupt me (snappishly).
ARTH. I was merely anticipating—
COL. Who the deuce wants you to anticipate! Take things as I do, and wait till they come round! My idea of a quiet life is to get up at eleven, when the world has been thoroughly aired by that beneficent warming-pan, the sun; next, breakfast at twelve—twelve’s a lovely hour for breakfast—have the morning papers all to yourself, and escape being dragged round the grounds like the rest of the visitors—to see the early peas, and the asparagus beds, and spring onions!
ARTH. Ha! ha! Well, what next?
COL. Breakfast over, a quiet nap; a bit of lunch at three; a heavenly slumber till dinner-time at seven; a cup of coffee, a cigar, and to bed at ten! That’s my idea of a rational, peaceful existence!