BROXOPP. Sit down, Miss Johns, won’t you? If you’ll excuse me just a moment—(_Down the telephone_) Yes ... yes, C.O.D. of course.... Good-bye. (_He replaces the receiver and turns to her._) Well, Miss Johns, and what can I do for you? MISS JOHNS (_nervously_). You saw my card, Mr. Broxopp? BROXOPP. Did I? Then where did I put it? You’re from——? MISS JOHNS. Contributor to _The Queen_ and other leading journals. BROXOPP. Yes, yes, of course. (_Encouragingly_) And you—er—— (_He comes away from the desk, so that she can see him better. A little dazzled, she turns away, looks round the room for inspiration, and catches sight of the picture._) MISS JOHNS (_impulsively_). Oh, Mr. Broxopp, is that IT? BROXOPP (_proudly_). My boy Jack—Eton and Oxford—when he was a baby. You’ve seen the posters, of course. MISS JOHNS. Who hasn’t, Mr. Broxopp? BROXOPP. I always say I owe half my success to Jack. He was the first Broxopp baby—and now there are a million of them. I don’t know whether—er—you——? MISS JOHNS (_coyly_). Oh, you flatter me, Mr. Broxopp. I’m afraid I was born a little too soon. BROXOPP. A pity, a pity. But no doubt your relations—— MISS JOHNS. Oh yes, my nephews and nieces—they are all Broxopp babies. And then I have always felt specially interested in Broxopp’s Beans, Mr. Broxopp, because I live in (_archly_) Bloomsbury, Mr. Broxopp. BROXOPP. Really? When my wife (_he looks towards the door in case she should be choosing that very opportune moment to come in_), to whom I owe all my success—when my wife and I were first married—— MISS JOHNS (_eagerly_). I know, Mr. Broxopp. You see, that’s what makes me so interested. I live at Number 26, too, in the floor below. BROXOPP. Now, now, do you really? Well, I declare. That’s very curious. MISS JOHNS. I’ve only been there the last few months. But the very first thing they told me when I took the room was that _the_ Mr. Broxopp had begun his career in that house. BROXOPP (_pleased_). Ah, they remember!... Yes, that was where I began. There was a man called Thomson ... but you wouldn’t be interested in _him_. He dropped out very soon. He had no faith. I paid him well—I was too generous, my wife said. But it was worth it to be alone. Ah, Miss Johns, you see me now in my beautiful home, surrounded by pictures, books—(_He picks up the Shakespeare and reads the title_) “The Works of Shakespeare” (_and puts it down again_)—costly furniture—all that money can buy. And perhaps you envy me. Yet I think I was happier in those old days at Bloomsbury when I was fighting for my life.... Did you ever read a little book called _Broxoppiana_? MISS JOHNS. Now, isn’t that funny, Mr. Broxopp? I bought it only last Saturday when I was going down to my brother’s in the country. BROXOPP. Well, you may remember how I say, “Going there is better fun than getting there.” It’s true, Miss Johns. MISS JOHNS (_proud of knowing it_). Didn’t Stevenson say something like that?