I'm half distracted. I dont know what
has happened to the boy: hes been lost these fourteen days--

MRS GILBEY. A fortnight, Rob.

GILBEY. --and not a word have we heard of him since.

MRS GILBEY. Dont fuss, Rob.

GILBEY. [yelling] I will fuss. Youve no feeling. You dont care what
becomes of the lad. [He sits down savagely].

DORA. [soothingly] Youve been anxious about him. Of course. How
thoughtless of me not to begin by telling you hes quite safe. Indeed hes
in the safest place in the world, as one may say: safe under lock and
key.

GILBEY. [horrified, pitiable] Oh my-- [his breath fails him]. Do you
mean that when he was in the police court he was in the dock? Oh, Maria!
Oh, great Lord! What has he done? What has he got for it? [Desperate]
Will you tell me or will you see me go mad on my own carpet?

DORA. [sweetly] Yes, old dear--

MRS GILBEY. [starting at the familiarity] Well!

DORA. [continuing] I'll tell you: but dont you worry: hes all right. I
came out myself this morning: there was such a crowd! and a band! they
thought I was a suffragette: only fancy! You see it was like this. Holy
Joe got talking about how he'd been a champion sprinter at college.

MRS GILBEY. A what?

DORA. A sprinter. He said he was the fastest hundred yards runner in
England. We were all in the old cowshed that night.

MRS GILBEY. What old cowshed?

GILBEY. [groaning] Oh, get on. Get on.

DORA. Oh, of course you wouldnt know. How silly of me! It's a rather
go-ahead sort of music hall in Stepney. We call it the old cowshed.

MRS GILBEY. Does Mr Grenfell take Bobby to music halls?

DORA. No. Bobby takes him. But Holy Joe likes it: fairly laps it up like
a kitten, poor old dear. Well, Bobby says to me, "Darling--"

MRS GILBEY. [placidly] Why does he call you Darling?

DORA. Oh, everybody calls me Darling: it's a sort of name Ive got.
Darling Dora, you know. Well, he says, "Darling, if you can get Holy Joe
to sprint a hundred yards, I'll stand you that squiffer with the gold
keys."

MRS GILBEY. Does he call his tutor Holy Joe to his face [Gilbey clutches
at his hair in his impatience].

DORA. Well, what would he call him? After all, Holy Joe is Holy Joe; and
boys will be boys.

MRS GILBEY. Whats a squiffer?

DORA. Oh, of course: excuse my vulgarity: a concertina. Theres one in
a shop in Green Street, ivory inlaid, with gold keys and Russia leather
bellows; and Bobby knew I hankered after it; but he couldnt afford