Time: February 30th.
The Poet is sitting at a table writing.
[Enter Dick Prattle.
Prattle: Hullo, Harry.
de Reves: Hullo, Dick. Good Lord, where are you from?
Prattle (casually): The ends of the earth.
de Reves: Well, I'm damned!
Prattle: Thought I'd drop in and see how you were getting on.
de Reves: Well, that's splendid. What are you doing in London?
Prattle: Well, I wanted to see if I could get one or two decent ties to wear—you can get nothing out there—then I thought I'd have a look and see how London was getting on.