MRS TARLETON. | _[running to him]_ Oh, poor child, | poor child! Dont cry, duckie: | he didnt mean it: dont cry. | LORD SUMMERHAYS| Stop that infernal noise, sir: do you | hear? Stop it instantly. | JOHNNY. | Thats the game he tried on me. | There you are! Now, mother! | Now, Patsy! You see for yourselves. | HYPATIA. | _[covering her ears]_ Oh you little | wretch! Stop him, Mr Percival. Kick him. | TARLETON. | Steady on, steady on. Easy, Bunny, easy. LINA. Leave him to me, Mrs Tarleton. Stand clear, please. _She kneels opposite Bentley; quickly lifts the upper half of him from the ground; dives under him; rises with his body hanging across her shoulders; and runs out with him._ BENTLEY. _[in scared, sobered, humble tones as he is borne off]_ What are you doing? Let me down. Please, Miss Szczepanowska-- _[they pass out of hearing]._ _An awestruck silence falls on the company as they speculate on Bentley's fate._ JOHNNY. I wonder what shes going to do with him. HYPATIA. Spank him, I hope. Spank him hard. LORD SUMMERHAYS. I hope so. I hope so. Tarleton: I'm beyond measure humiliated and annoyed by my son's behavior in your house. I had better take him home. TARLETON. Not at all: not at all. Now, Chickabiddy: as Miss Lina has taken away Ben, suppose you take away Mr Brown for a while. GUNNER. _[with unexpected aggressiveness]_ My name isnt Brown. _[They stare at him: he meets their stare defiantly, pugnacious with sloe gin; drains the last drop from his glass; throws it on the sideboard; and advances to the writing table]._ My name's Baker: Julius Baker. Mister Baker. If any man doubts it, I'm ready for him. MRS TARLETON. John: you shouldnt have given him that sloe gin. It's gone to his head. GUNNER. Dont you think it. Fruit beverages dont go to the head; and what matter if they did? I say nothing to you, maam: I regard you with respect and affection. _[Lachrymosely]_ You were very good to my mother: my poor mother! _[Relapsing into his daring mood]_ But I say my name's Baker; and I'm not to be treated as a child or made a slave of by any man. Baker is my name. Did you think I was going to give you my real name? Not likely. Not me. TARLETON. So you thought of John Brown. That was clever of you. GUNNER. Clever! Yes: we're not all such fools as you think: we clerks. It was the bookkeeper put me up to that. It's the only name that nobody gives as a false name, he said. Clever, eh? I should think so. MRS TARLETON. Come now, Julius--