(Lights out in interior.)
Horace. You’d do credit to the Spanish Inquisition! Haven’t you done with me?
Messenger. It is only your pride that is hurt. Your heart is still as hard as ever.
Horace. Well, I am not beaten yet, if that is what you mean. I may be ruined financially, but I’ve got pages and pages of notes at home which I have taken during the last twelve months.
Messenger. About what?
Horace. About the planets. And Mars in particular. And with the information you have been kind enough to give me to-night, I’ll write a book that will fairly make them sit up. Of course, nobody will believe it. But they will buy the book. I’ll sell my house and publish it myself. You can’t down an Englishman in one round, Marsy, my lad!
(Fire engine heard passing along off L.)
Messenger. What’s that?
Horace. Fire somewhere.
Messenger. Fire? Perhaps you could be of help there.