LADY BRITOMART. It would be most unnatural and improper of you to leave it to anyone else, Andrew. Do you suppose this wicked and immoral tradition can be kept up for ever? Do you pretend that Stephen could not carry on the foundry just as well as all the other sons of the big business houses? UNDERSHAFT. Yes: he could learn the office routine without understanding the business, like all the other sons; and the firm would go on by its own momentum until the real Undershaft--probably an Italian or a German--would invent a new method and cut him out. LADY BRITOMART. There is nothing that any Italian or German could do that Stephen could not do. And Stephen at least has breeding. UNDERSHAFT. The son of a foundling! nonsense! LADY BRITOMART. My son, Andrew! And even you may have good blood in your veins for all you know. UNDERSHAFT. True. Probably I have. That is another argument in favor of a foundling. LADY BRITOMART. Andrew: don't be aggravating. And don't be wicked. At present you are both. UNDERSHAFT. This conversation is part of the Undershaft tradition, Biddy. Every Undershaft's wife has treated him to it ever since the house was founded. It is mere waste of breath. If the tradition be ever broken it will be for an abler man than Stephen. LADY BRITOMART [pouting] Then go away. UNDERSHAFT [deprecatory] Go away! LADY BRITOMART. Yes: go away. If you will do nothing for Stephen, you are not wanted here. Go to your foundling, whoever he is; and look after him. UNDERSHAFT. The fact is, Biddy-- LADY BRITOMART. Don't call me Biddy. I don't call you Andy. UNDERSHAFT. I will not call my wife Britomart: it is not good sense. Seriously, my love, the Undershaft tradition has landed me in a difficulty. I am getting on in years; and my partner Lazarus has at last made a stand and insisted that the succession must be settled one way or the other; and of course he is quite right. You see, I haven't found a fit successor yet. LADY BRITOMART [obstinately] There is Stephen. UNDERSHAFT. That's just it: all the foundlings I can find are exactly like Stephen. LADY BRITOMART. Andrew!! UNDERSHAFT. I want a man with no relations and no schooling: that is, a man who would be out of the running altogether if he were not a strong man. And I can't find him. Every blessed foundling nowadays is snapped up in his infancy by Barnardo homes, or School Board officers, or Boards of Guardians; and if he shows the least ability, he is fastened on by schoolmasters; trained to win scholarships like a racehorse; crammed with secondhand ideas; drilled and disciplined in docility and what they call good taste; and lamed for life so that he is fit for nothing but teaching. If you want to keep the foundry in the family, you had better find an eligible foundling and marry him to Barbara. LADY BRITOMART. Ah! Barbara! Your pet! You would sacrifice Stephen to Barbara. UNDERSHAFT. Cheerfully. And you, my dear, would boil Barbara to make soup for Stephen.