NEEKS: Really! And what does he do? SIR WEBLEY: Do? Well, from what I heard he poaches. NEEKS: Poaches! SIR WEBLEY: Yes, a poacher. Trundleben deserves to get the sack for this. A poacher from the wilds of Warwickshire. I heard all about him. He got after the deer at Charlecote. NEEKS: A poacher! SIR WEBLEY: That's all he is, a poacher. A member of the Olympus! He'll be dropping in here one fine day with other people's rabbits in his pockets. [_Enter_ JERGINS. JERGINS: Your coffee, Sir Webley. SIR WEBLEY: My coffee. I should think so. (_He sips it._) One needs it. JERGINS: Mr. Trundleben will be down at once, Sir Webley. I telephoned up to him. SIR WEBLEY: Telephoned! Telephoned! The Club's getting more full of new-fangled devices every day. I remember the time when---- Thank you, Jergins. [JERGINS _retires._ This is a pretty state of things, Neeks. NEEKS: A pretty state of things indeed, Sir Webley. SIR WEBLEY: Ah, here's Trundleben. NEEKS: He'll tell us all about it, Sir Webley. I'm sure he'll---- SIR WEBLEY: Ah, Trundleben. Come and sit down here. Come and---- TRUNDLEBEN: Thank you, Sir Webley. I think I will. I don't walk quite as well as I used, and what with---- SIR WEBLEY: What's all this we hear about this Mr. Shakespeare, Trundleben? TRUNDLEBEN: Oh, ah, well yes, yes indeed. Well, you see, Sir Webley, he was put up for the Club. Mr. Henry put him up. SIR WEBLEY (_disapprovingly_): Oh, Mr. Henry. NEEKS: Yes, yes, yes. Long hair and all that. SIR WEBLEY: I'm afraid so. NEEKS: Writes poetry, I believe. SIR WEBLEY: I'm afraid so. TRUNDLEBEN: Well then, what does Mr. Newton do but go and second him, and there you are, Sir Webley. SIR WEBLEY: Yes, a pretty state of things. Has he ... Does he ... What is he? TRUNDLEBEN: He seems to write, Sir Webley. SIR WEBLEY: Oh, he does, does he? What does he write? TRUNDLEBEN: Well, I wrote and asked him that, Sir Webley, and _he_ said plays. SIR WEBLEY: Plays? Plays? Plays? I'm sure I never heard ... What plays? TRUNDLEBEN: I asked him that, Sir Webley, and he said ... he sent me a list (_fumbling_). Ah, here it is. [_He holds it high, far from his face, tilts his head back and looks down his nose through his glasses._ He says--let me see--"Hamelt," or "Hamlet," I don't know how he pronounces it. "Hamelt, Hamlet"; he spells it "H-a-m-l-e-t." If you pronounce it the way one pronounces handle, it would be "Hamelt," but if---- SIR WEBLEY: What's it all about? TRUNDLEBEN: Well, I gathered the scene was in Denmark. NEEKS: Denmark! H'm! another of those neutrals! SIR WEBLEY: Well, I wouldn't so much mind where the scene of the play was put, if only it was a play one ever had heard of. NEEKS: But those men who have much to do with neutrals are rather the men--don't you think, Sir Webley?--who ... SIR WEBLEY: Who want watching. I believe you're right, Neeks. And that type of unsuccessful play-wright is just the kind of man I always rather ...