tealing.

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.

BERTLEY. Surely you're the proper person.

WELLWYN. [Shaking his head.] It was my rum, Vicar. Look so
personal.

[There sound a number of little tat-tat knocks.]

WELLWYN. Isn't that the Professor's knock?

[While Ann sits down to make tea, he goes to the door and opens
it. There, dressed in an ulster, stands a thin, clean-shaved
man, with a little hollow sucked into either cheek, who, taking
off a grey squash hat, discloses a majestically bald forehead,
which completely dominates all that comes below it.]

WELLWYN. Come in, Professor! So awfully good of you! You know
Canon Bentley, I think?

CALWAY. Ah! How d'you do?

WELLWYN. Your opinion will be invaluable, Professor.

ANN. Tea, Professor Calway?

[They have assembled round the tea table.]

CALWAY. Thank you; no tea; milk.

WELLWYN. Rum?

[He pours rum into CALWAY's milk.]

CALWAY. A little-thanks! [Turning to ANN.] You were going to show
me some one you're trying to rescue, or something, I think.

ANN. Oh! Yes. He'll be here directly--simply perfect rotter.

CALWAY. [Smiling.] Really! Ah! I think you said he was a
congenital?

WELLWYN. [With great interest.] What!

ANN. [Low.] Daddy! [To CALWAY.] Yes; I--I think that's what you
call him.

CALWAY. Not old?

ANN. No; and quite healthy--a vagabond.

CALWAY. [Sipping.] I see! Yes. Is it, do you think chronic
unemployment with a vagrant tendency? Or would it be nearer the
mark to say: Vagrancy----

WELLWYN. Pure! Oh! pure! Professor. Awfully human.

CALWAY. [With a smile of knowledge.] Quite! And--er----

ANN. [Breaking in.] Before he comes, there's another----

BERTLEY. [Blandly.] Yes, when you came in, we were discussing what
should be done with a man who drinks rum--[CALWAY pauses in the act
of drinking]--that doesn't belong to him.

CALWAY. Really! Dipsomaniac?

BERTLEY. Well--perhaps you could tell us--drink certainly changing
thine to mine. The Professor could see him, WELLWYN?

ANN. [Rising.] Yes, d