Car. You have your drill—and parade—and fighting, too, in these days.
Dor. Fighting ain't work—it's fun.
Car. Each to his trade! I prefer cooking and washing up. (they both laugh) Oughtn't you to go?
Dor. Yes, I'll get along. I say, you haven't forgotten—nine-thirty?
Car. No, but I was hoping you had.
Dor. Upon my soul, what I want to say won't take ten minutes. Hulloa! cigar's out. I'll just light up again, you don't mind? (he goes to dresser for matches. Pillenger looks in at window)
Pil. Cook!
Car. Yes!
Pil. I just wished to say one word. (he comes in at the back door) I wish (closes door, takes off hat, and sees Dorvaston, who has turned at the moment) Tut!—dear me!
Dor. Hulloa, sir!