MISS JOHNS (_enthusiastically_). Oh, I’m sure they will. BROXOPP (_suddenly_). How’s your brother? MISS JOHNS (_very much flattered_). Oh, do you remember him? How wonderful you are! BROXOPP (_struggling with his memories_). Yes—I remember. He had some invention—what was it?—a Chicken Food, wasn’t it? MISS JOHNS. Yes, that was it. Fancy you remembering! BROXOPP. Oh, I have a wonderful memory. My wife would tell you. (_Garrulously_) Yes, I remember your telling me about this food which he had invented. You wanted me to take it up. I said—now, what was it I said?—I said—— JACK (_looking up alertly_). What’s happened to that Chicken Food? MISS JOHNS. Er—nothing. He hadn’t the money—he didn’t know how—— BROXOPP (_still talking_). “Yes,” I said, “if you had come to me twenty years earlier——” JACK (_sharply_). Where is your brother now? In the country? MISS JOHNS (_frightened_). Yes! JACK. Can you get him up to London? MISS JOHNS. Y—yes. I think—— IRIS (_excitedly_). Jack! BROXOPP. What is it, boy? JACK. How far away is it? Can you get him up at once? This evening? MISS JOHNS. I—I think—it’s in Surrey—— JACK. Send him a telegram now—don’t be afraid of a long one—I’m paying for it. (_Taking out half-a-crown_) Here you are. (_Going with her to the door_) That’s right, now, off you go. Remember, I’ve got to see him to-night. Got that? Good! [_She goes out, overwhelmed._ NANCY (_the hostess_). Jack, dear! BROXOPP. What is it, boy? JACK. You said the moment would come. It has come. (_In the BROXOPP manner_) Chillingham’s Cheese for Chickens! IRIS (_eagerly_). Yes, yes! What fun! BROXOPP. Are you suggesting that I should take up this food—patent it—put it on the market? JACK. I—you—we—all of us. You’re in it, Iris? IRIS. Rather! BROXOPP. But—but—— JACK. Chillingham’s Cheese for Chickens. It’s the idea of a century. NANCY. But do chickens like cheese? IRIS (_firmly_). They’ve got to like this. BROXOPP (_doubtfully_). Yes, yes, why cheese, boy? JACK. Why not? BROXOPP. Er—well—— JACK. We’ll have a hen sitting on an enormous egg—this is where _I_ come in, drawing the posters. Above, Chillingham’s Cheese for Chickens. Underneath, Makes Hens Lay. BROXOPP. Does it make them lay? I thought Chicken Food only made chickens grow. JACK (_grimly_). If we say that it makes them lay, it makes them lay. IRIS. It’s a question of faith, Daddy Broxopp. If the hen knows you have faith in her, she will respond. She’s jolly well got to. JACK. That’s right. We’re not going to stand any nonsense from a Buff Orpington. BROXOPP. Jack, are you serious about this? JACK (_surprised_). Serious? Good Lord, yes. BROXOPP (_nervously_). It’s a risk. What do you say, Nancy? NANCY. I’m used to risks, dear.