_Gladys Mottram is sitting on the Chesterfield reading a novel. She is in evening dress, a pretty, flirtatious, empty-headed girl, bored with her daily life and seizing eagerly on any distraction. Freddie Mottram, her brother, is 30, and conceals real kindness behind his flippant manner. He doesn't go deep and he likes money, but he is on good terms with the world and doesn't mind a little trouble or even unconventionality to put the world on good terms with him. He is fair, with fair moustache, and his figure is that of the ex-athlete who could still give a good account of himself. He leans back in the arm-chair, yawning and consulting his watch, glancing at Gladys, entrenched behind her book, again yawning and making up his mind to address her._ ***** Fred, (_nursing a grievance_). I say, Gladys, how much longer do you expect me to wait? Glad. (_looking up from her book, calmly_). Till Mr. Garside goes. Fred. And he hasn't come yet. Just when I particularly want to go out, too. It's all very well for the governor to be civil to him. He's got to. But I do bar doing the honours myself to a horny-handed son of toil. Glad. (_putting her book beside her, face downwards. With an air of resignation_). You don't particularly want to go out. You're only going to the Club. Fred. (_seriously_). But I particularly want to go to the Club. Glad. You go every night. Fred. Every night isn't my lucky night. Thursday is. I always win on Thursdays. The governor ought to do his own dirty work. He's Mayor, not I. Cutting his duty, I call it, being away to-night just when I'm bound to make money. Glad. He'll be here when he's ready. He's going to be late on purpose. Fred. Very much on purpose. Yes. There you've got it. He had Rankin and Beverley here to dinner together. Quite right, too. Rankin's a Radical rotter, but he's a gentleman. When it comes to Garside the governor shirks and leaves it to us. Why on earth he wants to ask a Labour candidate here at all simply floors me. Glad. He has to treat them all alike. Fred. Then he should have had Garside to dinner, and given us some sport over the asparagus. Glad. That wasn't necessary. Fred. And this isn't necessary. Rankin and Beverley, by all means. They're probables. But why waste time on an outsider like Garside? It'll only swell his head to be our guest. Glad. He isn't an outsider. Fred. You don't say the governor's taking him seriously. Glad. He's taking him very seriously. Fred (_horrified_). Oh, I say. No. It's absurd. Glad. Garside's making headway fast. He's a fine speaker, and he's popular. Fred. A mechanic a fine speaker! Rot! Who says so? Glad. I for one. I've heard him. Fred. You have! It's a quaint taste. Glad. More than once. Fred. (_sarcastically_). Making a hobby of it? (_Seriously._) Where? Glad. In the street. Fred, (_genuinely shocked_). You've been listening to a tub-thumper at street corners? I say, hang it, Gladys, there are things people don't do.