Fred. Two columns in the "Telegraph"? You're getting on, Garside. Mrs. G. (_handing the paper from Peter to Fred._). And look at the headings! Fred. (_looking--awkwardly_). Er--yes--not very complimentary. Glad, (_curiously_). What are they? Fred. (_returning paper to Peter_). Tact never was my sister's strong point, Garside. Peter (_holding up the paper_). Oh, I don't mind this in the least. It means my blows are getting home. (_Reading the headings._) "The Demagogue again." "More Firebrand Oratory from the egregious Garside." (_Putting paper on table._) Spreading themselves, aren't they? Fred. Well, it's all right, so long as you don't mind. Peter. Oh, they'll need a big vocabulary to express their feelings before I'm done with them. I haven't started yet. Fred. Hope it'll keep fine for you. Afraid I must toddle, Garside. I've an appointment. Peter (_his face falling in deep disappointment_). Appointment! Oh, I did hope you'd both stay a bit. In fact, I--I put off an engagement while I was at the telephone. Fred, (_looking at Gladys_). Well--er--I might come back for my sister. Peter (_enthusiastically_). Splendid! Have something before you go? Fred (_surprised_). Eh? Peter (_taking his arm_). Just to keep the cold out. Next room. Fred, (_turning with him_). I'd an idea you were a teetotaller. Peter. I was a lot of things in Midlandton. In London I'm a man of the world. [_Exeunt Freddie and Peter, l._ Glad, (_sitting on sofa_). You must find London a great change after Midlandton, Mrs. Garside. Mrs. G. (_sitting in left arm-chair, facing her--confidentially_). I haven't had an easy hour since Peter brought me. You wouldn't believe the prices they charge me in the shops if I want a chop or a bit of steak for Peter's tea. Dinner he calls it now, though how it can be dinner at seven of an evening I don't know. Thieves, that's what they are. Not shopkeepers. You mustn't mind me running on, I haven't a soul I know to talk to here. It's a pleasure to see you, I'm sure. And the streets! I'm feared for my life if I go out. I know I'll be knocked down and brought home dead. Eh, London's an awful place, but it's Peter's home now, and his home's mine. Glad. But you'll get used to it. Mus. G. I doubt I'll never get used to this. I'm too old to change, and Peter moves so fast. What's fit for him one day isn't good enough the next. The waste's enough to frighten you. Glad. You must be very proud of your son, Mrs. Garside. Mrs. G. (_with conviction, dropping her querulous tone_). He's something to be proud of. I'm the mother of a great man. You can't open a newspaper without you see his name. Glad. I know that. Mrs. G. You've seen it? Glad. Often. Mus. G. (_rising and coming to table_). But not all. I've got them all here. I cut them out, reports of his speeches, and paste them in this book. (_Crosses to sofa with press-cutting book and sits by Gladys._) Glad. His speeches in Parliament?