“At the risk of appearing disputatious, I contend, if it were his wish to allay a spirit of panic, that is precisely the way he would set about it.” “Why, the men would laugh at him.” “In which case he would have achieved his object.” “Well, well, well! You could talk from now to dooms-day and not convince me.” “I am very sorry,” said Eliphalet, rising. “It was good of you to hear me so patiently. Good night.” He hesitated. “I was wondering—you fought in South Africa?” “Yes, all through the campaign.” “And have heard and seen many stiff engagements?” Raeburn nodded. “You were commenting unfavourably upon the effects of the battle that I introduce in the play.” Captain Raeburn produced a cigar and lit it. “’Fraid I was,” he agreed. “Would it be asking too much from you to—to explain in what direction our effects differ from the reality?” “That’s an awkward question to answer.” “Meaning we are entirely at fault?” “Something of the kind.” Eliphalet sat down again and looked worried. “That’s a pity,” he said. “A great pity. I should like to have it right. Perhaps, if you—er——” Raeburn spread out his legs. It was evident he rather enjoyed this tribute to his professional skill. “Certainly, I will. Now, let’s see. These rebels are at the gate, aren’t they? A few shots are fired—answered by rifle-fire from the defenders. That ’ud want organising to a certain extent. There’d be time in it—they’re trained troops—see? Probably a machine-gun would open up somewhere.” Eliphalet had begun to take notes on the back of an envelope. “A machine-gun—very good,” he said. “Now, how would that sound?” Raeburn tapped his forefinger in a metrical beat upon the table. “I see, I see. Please continue.” “Isn’t there some talk about the rebels bringing up artillery?” “Yes; they open fire on the consulate.” “Ah, that was where you were all over the place. First, you want a low, distant report, then a whistle—SShhreeee—e—u—u—cr—umpp. Something like that they go.” “Very effective! This is most valuable.” Under the subtle influence of appreciation the warrior developed his theme and gave many graphic illustrations of the din of battle, each of which the stage mind of Eliphalet Cardomay rapidly translated to the possible resources of the property-room. “Finally, when the rebels blow up the gate you want a noise—a real noise. That twopenny maroon you explode wouldn’t lift a wicket off a nursery door.” “And I thought that effect was fairly good,” said Eliphalet plaintively. “I can only tell you it made me laugh.” “We must change it, then—it must be changed at once. I pride myself on presenting nothing but the best to my audience. Many thanks, Captain Raeburn; you have rendered me a great service. I shall rehearse the battle-scene very thoroughly and utilise all your valuable suggestions. If you and your friend would honour me by accepting a box for Friday night’s performance, I think I can promise you a reflection of the real thing.”