JACK (_excitedly_). Of course it’s a risk. That’s what makes it such fun. By Jove, to be really doing something at last! Makes Hens Lay! A Poultry Farm in every back-garden! Eggs on every breakfast-table. Chillingham eggs! IRIS. Chillingham and bacon for breakfast, Daddy Broxopp. BROXOPP (_shaking his head_). It’s a risk. It will want a lot of capital. What do you say, Nancy? NANCY. We’ve got a little left. IRIS. There’s what you gave Jack. We can do it on that, can’t we? JACK. Of course we can. BROXOPP (_unnerved_). I—I must think it over. One wants to think things over. There’s no hurry, after all. One naturally wants to look round a little before deciding. _If_ we decide on this, Iris, then—— JACK. Who was that fellow you were so keen on—came over from the office when you were ill—young chap—wrote your letters for you—what was his name? BROXOPP. Driver? JACK. Driver. That’s the chap. How can I get hold of him? Is he still at the office? BROXOPP. They’d know his address, anyhow. JACK. He’s good, isn’t he? BROXOPP. Excellent. You remember, Nancy, my telling you that I was going to promote him as soon as—— IRIS. What do you want him for? JACK. Business manager. Terribly keen. We must have somebody like that.... What about offices? BROXOPP (_vaguely_). Offices? NANCY. We went to Pritchard the agents. In Victoria Street somewhere—— JACK (_getting into his hat and coat_). That’s _your_ job, Iris. Get orders for half-a-dozen—three to four rooms, I should think. Central. We’d better make the stuff down at this chap’s place to start with—enlarge whatever plant he’s got. I’ll go after Driver, while you’re Pritcharding. IRIS (_getting her things together_). Right. Pritchard, Victoria Street. What number? JACK. Telephone book at the chemist’s round the corner. IRIS. Righto. (_To NANCY_) Good-bye, dear. JACK (_to NANCY_). We shall have supper with you, dear, so see that there’s some food. So will Miss Johns and her brother, probably. Food for six at eight, say. But we’ll be back before that, I expect. So long. (_He goes to the door._) IRIS. Good-bye, Daddy Broxopp. We’re making our fortune again. BROXOPP (_still bewildered_). Yes, but, Jack—Jack, you mustn’t—— JACK (_a last shout from the passage_). That’s all right, Dad, leave it to me! (_The door slams. They are gone. BROXOPP and NANCY are alone together. He is unhappy; she feels that he is unhappy. They sit there, saying nothing...._) BROXOPP (_almost to himself_). What did I call myself? The Great Chillingham. (_With a sad, disillusioned little laugh_) The Great Chillingham! NANCY (_comforting him_). Darling! BROXOPP. I said that the moment would come. It came. I said that I would seize it. (_He shrugs his shoulders._) NANCY. You were going to. Jack was too quick for you. BROXOPP. No. I was afraid.... I’m getting old.... I talk and I talk, and then when the moment comes—(_Sadly_) The Great Chillingham! NANCY. You wanted to think it over—of course you did.