he Camille, and the last straw!
BUILDER. [Sharply] I won't have it. So now you know.
But MRS BUILDER has very swiftly gone.
Julia, I tell you-- [The outer door is heard being closed] Damnation!
I will not have it! They're all mad! Here--where's my hat?
He looks distractedly round him, wrenches open the door, and a
moment later the street door is heard to shut with a bang.
CURTAIN.
ACT III
SCENE I
Ten o'clock the following morning, in the study of the Mayor of
Breconridge, a panelled room with no window visible, a door Left
back and a door Right forward. The entire back wall is furnished
with books from floor to ceiling; the other walls are panelled and
bare. Before the fireplace, Left, are two armchairs, and other
chairs are against the walls. On the Right is a writing-bureau at
right angles to the footlights, with a chair behind it. At its back
corner stands HARRIS, telephoning.
HARRIS. What--[Pause] Well, it's infernally awkward, Sergeant. . . .
The Mayor's in a regular stew. . . . [Listens] New constable?
I should think so! Young fool! Look here, Martin, the only thing to do
is to hear the charge here at once. I've sent for Mr Chantrey; he's on
his way. Bring Mr Builder and the witnesses round sharp. See? And, I
say, for God's sake keep it dark. Don't let the Press get on to it. Why
you didn't let him go home--! Black eye? The constable? Well, serve
him right. Blundering young ass! I mean, it's undermining all
authority. . . . Well, you oughtn't--at least, I . . . Damn it
all!--it's a nine days' wonder if it gets out--! All right! As soon as
you can. [He hangs up the receiver, puts a second chair behind the
bureau, and other chairs facing it.] [To himself] Here's a mess! Johnny
Builder, of all men! What price Mayors!
The telephone rings.
Hallo? . . . Poaching charge? Well, bring him too; only, I say, keep
him back till the other's over. By the way, Mr Chantrey's going
shooting. He'll want to get off by eleven. What? . . . Righto !
As he hangs up the receiver the MAYOR enters. He looks worried, and
is still dressed with the indefinable wrongness of a burgher.
MAYOR. Well, 'Arris?
HARRIS. They'll be over in five minutes, Mr Mayor.
MAYOR. Mr Chantrey?
HARRIS. On his way, sir.
MAYOR. I've had some awkward things to d
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