COOLING. [_Approaching SMYTHE._] How are you to-night, Chief? SMYTHE. [_A silk hat on the back of his head, an overcoat on his arm-- regarding the preparations with disgust._] Puh! Here's a muck and a muddle! COOLING. Don't worry; we'll clear it away in no time. Shall I tell you who are coming? SMYTHE. No; I shall know soon enough. What was the house to-night? COOLING. [_Producing a long slip of paper and handing it to SMYTHE._] Big. [_SMYTHE scans the paper through half-closed lids and gives a growl of contentment._] Haw! And the weather dead against us. SMYTHE. [_Screwing up the paper, and cramming it into his waistcoat-pocket._] There's no bad weather for a good play. [_Looking at his hands._] I'll go and have a wash and brush up. [_LUIGI returns, entering at the door on the left, and goes behind the counter. The waiters follow him, carrying some melons lying upon ice in plated dishes. They deposit the dishes upon the counter and LUIGI proceeds to cut the melon into slices. COOLING resumes, at a table on the left, the placing of the cards. As SMYTHE is moving towards the right-hand door at the back, STEWART HENEAGE and GERALD GRIMWOOD-- two exquisitely dressed youths with blank faces-- enter from the landing. SMYTHE shakes hands with them._] Ha, Mr. Heneage! Ha, Mr. Grimwood! [_HENEAGE and GRIMWOOD murmur some polite expressions._] Excuse me; I'm just going to wash my hands. [_DE CASTRO enters, also at the double-door, and SMYTHE shakes hands with him. HENEAGE and GRIMWOOD drift over to COOLING, who hails them warmly._] How do, Sam! Back in a moment; just going to wash my hands. DE CASTRO. [_Detaining him._] I thay, Carlton. SMYTHE. Eh? DE CASTRO. [_Lowering his voice._] I've been in front again to-night. Magnifithent! Marvellouth! SMYTHE. [_Resignedly._] It'll do; I shall get a couple o' years out of it. DE CASTRO. There'th jutht _one_ little improvement I'd like to thee, if I may thuggetht it. SMYTHE. What's that? DE CASTRO. [_Linking his arm in SMYTHE'S._] You're thure you won't conthider me prethumptuouth? SMYTHE. Of course not; very kind of yer. DE CASTRO. [_In SMYTHE'S ear._] If you _could_ give Gabth-- Mith Kato-- a tiny bit more to do in the thecond act----! SMYTHE. [_Nodding._] Ah, yes, yes. DE CASTRO. She'th a little lump o' talent, that gal, if you only realithed it; a perfect little lump o' talent. SMYTHE. [_Trying to escape._] Er-- I'll think it over. DE CASTRO. Will yer! An extra thong! That'th all it need be-- an extra thong! Oh, it would be _thuch_ an improvement! [_VON RETTENMAYER enters at the double-door. The waiters now go to the tables and lay a plate with a slice of melon upon it at each cover._] Here'th the Baron. We've been thitting together to-night, I and the Baron. [_Wringing SMYTHE'S hand._] Thankth. [_Joining COOLING and the others on the left as SMYTHE greets VON RETTENMAYER._] Hullo, Morrith! [_Shaking hands with HENEAGE and GRIMWOOD._] Well, boyth! SMYTHE.