_Bully_. And let's have some books about the place--BERNARD SHAW-- _Janet_ (_icily_). He's a back number now, feyther. _Bully_. Well, whoever's the latest. Then you must go to plays and dances, lots of dances. (_Struck with an idea_) Where's David? [_As he speaks_ David _enters, a tall ungainly youth with spectacles and a projecting brow._ _David_. Here I yam, feyther. _Bully_. It's close on ten. (_Hopefully_) Have ye been at a night-club? _David_. I were kept late at evenin' class. _Bully_. Brr! (_In an ecstasy of fury_) See ye belong to a night-club before the week's out. (_He does his glare again._) I'll establish frivolity and a spirit of modernism in this household, if I have to take the stick to every member of it. _Janet_ (_springing up suddenly_). Feyther! (_A pause; she collects herself for her big effort._) Feyther, I'm one o' they dour silent girls to whom expression comes hardly, but (_with veiled menace_) when it does come it means fifteen minutes' unrelieved monologue. So tak' heed. We're not wanting these changes, and to be up-to-date, and all that. I'm happy as I am, and so's David. He has his hope of the council, and the bribes and them things. And I've my guild and my friends, with their odd clothes and variable accents. That's the life I want, and I won't change it. I won't-- [_Quite suddenly she breaks from them and rushes out of the room, slamming the door after her. The others remain silent, apparently from emotion, but really to see if there will be any applause. When this is settled in the negative old_ Bullyum _speaks again._ _Bully_, (_slowly and as if with an immense effort_). Why couldn't she wait?... She might have known we wouldn't decide anything--that we never do decide anything--because it would be too much like a rounded climax. Well (_rousing himself_), let's put out the gas. [_He moves heavily towards the conspicuous bracket._ _David_ (_protesting)_. But, feyther, 'tisn't near time for bed yet. _Bully_, (_grimly_). Maybe; but 'tis more than time play was finished. And this is how. [_He turns the tap. A few moments later the light is switched off with a faintly audible click, and upon a stage in total darkness the curtain falls._ * * * * * [Illustration: _Officer_ (_anxious to pass his recruit who is not shooting well_). "DO YOU SMOKE MUCH?" _Recruit._ "ABOUT A PACKET OF WOODBINES A DAY, SIR." _Officer._ "DO YOU INHALE?" _Recruit._ "NOT MORE THAN A PINT A DAY, SIR."] * * * * * THE WOBBLER. My friend, whom for the purpose of concealing his identity I will call Wiggles, opened fire upon me on March 1st (coming in like a lion) with this: "DEAR WILLIAM,--I have not been well and my doctor thinks it might do me good to come to Cornwall for a few weeks. May I invite myself to stay with you?..." I accepted his invitation, if I may put it so, and on March 6th received the following:--