WELLWYN. Oh! ANN. Well! Now there aren't any. WELLWYN. [Abstracted.] That'll be Timson. ANN. [With real horror.] But it's awful! WELLWYN. It is, my dear. ANN. In seven days. To say nothing of the stealing. WELLWYN. [Vexed.] I blame myself-very much. Ought to have kept it locked up. ANN. You ought to keep him locked up! [There is heard a mild but authoritative knock.] WELLWYN. Here's the Vicar! ANN. What are you going to do about the rum? WELLWYN. [Opening the door to CANON BERTLEY.] Come in, Vicar! Happy New Year! BERTLEY. Same to you! Ah! Ann! I've got into touch with her young husband--he's coming round. ANN. [Still a little out of her plate.] Thank Go---Moses! BERTLEY. [Faintly surprised.] From what I hear he's not really a bad youth. Afraid he bets on horses. The great thing, WELLWYN, with those poor fellows is to put your finger on the weak spot. ANN. [To herself-gloomily.] That's not difficult. What would you do, Canon Bertley, with a man who's been drinking father's rum? BERTLEY. Remove the temptation, of course. WELLWYN. He's done that. BERTLEY. Ah! Then--[WELLWYN and ANN hang on his words] then I should--er-- ANN. [Abruptly.] Remove him. BERTLEY. Before I say that, Ann, I must certainly see the individual. WELLWYN. [Pointing to the window.] There he is! [In the failing light TIMSON'S face is indeed to be seen pressed against the window pane.] ANN. Daddy, I do wish you'd have thick glass put in. It's so disgusting to be spied at! [WELLWYN going quickly to the door, has opened it.] What do you want? [TIMSON enters with dignity. He is fuddled.] TIMSON. [Slowly.] Arskin' yer pardon-thought it me duty to come back-found thish yer little brishel on me. [He produces the little paint brush.] ANN. [In a deadly voice.] Nothing else? [TIMSON accords her a glassy stare.] WELLWYN. [Taking the brush hastily.] That'll do, Timson, thanks! TIMSON. As I am 'ere, can I do anything for yer? ANN. Yes, you can sweep out that little room. [She points to the model's room.] There's a broom in there. TIMSON. [Disagreeably surprised.] Certainly; never make bones about a little extra--never 'ave in all me life. Do it at onsh, I will. [He moves across to the model's room at that peculiar broad gait so perfectly adjusted to his habits.] You quite understand me --couldn't bear to 'ave anything on me that wasn't mine. [He passes out.] ANN. Old fraud! WELLWYN. "In" and "on." Mark my words, he'll restore the--bottles. BERTLEY. But, my dear WELLWYN, that is stealing. WELLWYN. We all have our discrepancies, Vicar. ANN. Daddy! Discrepancies! WELLWYN. Well, Ann, my theory is that as regards solids Timson's an Individualist, but as regards liquids he's a Socialist... or 'vice versa', according to taste. BERTLEY. No, no, we mustn't joke about it. [Gravely.] I do think he should be spoken to. WELLWYN. Yes, but not by me.