Bam. (_r. c._). Aye. I'm a bit uneasy about it, Verity. Ste. No need to be. Bam. Well, I am. Ste. Natural enough, I dare say. When a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love it churns up his inside a bit. Bam. 'Tisn't that. I'm not a young man. (_Crosses l._) Ste. You're young enough for all marriageable purposes. Bam. I'm doubtful if I'm the right man to make that girl happy. Ste. You're going to be Mayor, aren't you? Bam. Yes. Ste. And you promised her a carriage? Bam. Yes. Ste. And as much dressing as she's a mind to? Bam. Yes. Ste. (_sits above table_). Then what's troubling you? What else does any female woman want? Bam. (_sits l. of table_). Eh! I dunno! They're a grasping lot, women.. Ste. Damn you, Sam, do you fancy my girl's not been well brought up? You're as good as telling me she's not good enough for you. Bam. Nay, I'm not; I'm only thinking I may not be good enough for her. Ste. I'm best judge of that. The thing's settled. We said it once, you and I, and we're not weathervanes. Bam. (_resignedly_). Yes, I suppose it's settled. Ste. That's all right, then. (_Maid announces Mr. Smithson. Enter Smithson, Maid exit._) Ah, good evening, Smithson. (_Rises._) Smiths. Good evening, Verity. (_Shakes hands._) Evening, Bamford. Bam. Good evening. Ste. (_to Smithson_). Seen anything of Alcorn? Smiths. Yes. He's gone round to the Post Office on his way here to see if a letter's been forwarded from the London office. Ste. Well, sit you down. (_They sit at table. Stephen head, Smithson r. and Bamford l._) I've a bit of news for you gentlemen. Smiths. Yes? Ste. I've been paying a call--afternoon call on some friends of mine in the Polygon. Bam. What! Ste. Take it easy, Sam. (_Chuckles._) Aye, they wanted the Council to petition Sir Charles not to sell. Tried to get me to do it for 'em. Smiths. Good, that. Ste. Well, we'd a little talk, Mr. Vining and I, and we come to a sort of a compromise. Smiths. Compromise? Bam. Compromise! Verity? I don't like that word. Ste. Finish was, they've written to Sir Charles asking him to sell the town their grass plat--tennis courts and what-not--if he'll leave their houses alone. Bam. Verity, I don't like this. Ask me, it sounds like treachery to the company. Ste. Treachery be hanged. I drafted the letter myself. Bam. That makes it worse. Ste. Don't be stupid, Sam. Bam. (_indignantly_). Stupid! I say, Verity---- Ste. Put yourself in Sir Charles' place. He's got an offer, the company's offer, cash down for the whole Polygon. Smiths. Aye. Ste. Well, say he has got a soft spot for his tenants there, old tenants, doesn't want to turn them out, that sort of thing. Smiths. Quite likely.