The Withers have just motored over, mother.
Mrs. Parker-Jennings.
They would be first, wouldn’t they? I expect Florrie Withers was waiting on the doorstep till the clock struck four. Where’s his Royal Highness?
Ethel.
Serlo.
He’s asleep in the garden; he’s sittin’ in the most comfortable arm-chair in the place, with another for each of his legs, and he’s clasping in his hands what looks suspiciously like a very long gin and soda to me.
Mrs. Parker-Jennings.
Well, somebody must go and wake him up. I’ve asked ’alf the county to meet him, and he can’t go on sleeping.
Jack Straw comes in.