DOROTHY. You’ve left me alone all day. Ever since that poor man was shot in there this morning you’ve left me alone. I’ve waited in here the whole day. No one’s even been to see me all day except Preston and he was so unpleasant I had to ask him to leave. Where have you been?

PHILIP. Just around and about.

DOROTHY. Chicote’s?

PHILIP. Yes.

DOROTHY. And did you see that horrible Moor?

PHILIP. Oh, yes, Anita. She sent messages.

DOROTHY. She’s unspeakable! You can keep the messages.

[PHILIP has ladled some of the contents of the stew-pan onto a plate and tastes it]

PHILIP. I say. What is this?

DOROTHY. I don’t know.

PHILIP. I say. It’s jolly good. Did you cook it yourself?

DOROTHY. [Coyly] Yes. Do you like it?

PHILIP. I didn’t know you could cook.

DOROTHY. [Shyly] Really, Philip?

PHILIP. I say it is good! But what gave you the idea of putting kippers in it?

DOROTHY. Oh, damn Petra! So that was the other tin she opened.

[There is a knock on the door. It is the MANAGER. One of his arms is firmly held by the COMRADE with the automatic rifle]

RIFLE COMRADE. This comrade here said he wanted to see you.

PHILIP. Thank you, Comrade. Let him come in.

[The RIFLE COMRADE turns the MANAGER loose and salutes]

MANAGER. It was an absolutely nothing, Mr. Philip. Passing in hall with overkeenness of smell produced by hunger, detected odor of cooking and stopped. Instantly was seized by the comrade. Perfectly all right, Mr. Philip. Absolutely nothing. Do not concern yourself. Buen provecho, Mr. Philip. Eat well, Madame.

PHILIP. You came by just at the right moment. I have something for you. Take this.

[Hands him the casserole, the plate, the fork, and ladle, with both hands]

MANAGER. Mr. Philip. No. I cannot.

PHILIP. Comrade Stamp Collector, you must!

MANAGER. No, Mr. Philip.

[Taking them]

I cannot. You move me to the tears. I could never. It is too much!

PHILIP. Comrade, not a word more!

MANAGER. You dissolve my heart in feeling. Mr. Philip, from my heart his bottom, I thank you.

[He goes out, holding the plate in one hand, the stew-pan in the other.]

DOROTHY. Philip, I’m sorry.

PHILIP. If you don’t mind, I’ll take a little whiskey with plain water. Then you might open a tin of the bully beef and slice up an onion.

DOROTHY. But Philip, darling, I can’t bear the smell of onions!

PHILIP. Chances are that won’t bother us tonight.

DOROTHY. You mean you’re not going to be here?

PHILIP. I have to go out.

DOROTHY. Why?

PHILIP. With the boys.

DOROTHY. I know what that means.

PHILIP. Do you?

DOROTHY. Yes. Only too well.

PHILIP. Ghastly, isn’t it?

DOROTHY. It’s hateful! The whole way you waste your time and your life is hateful and stupid.