that's partly why I came here. I'm giving the medical students a turn in my next book, and I wanted to get material. (Writing.) Hard up, of course? (Ted nods.) Loud tie. (Sniffs.) Shag! (Turns to Jack.) Friend an artist? Also hard up? Coloured shirt!

JACK MEDBURY.

They last clean so much longer than the white ones.

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Quite so—blunt and careless. Gentleman on mantelpiece seems to be suffering from toothache.

TED MORRIS.

(Laughs.) Oh, that's Nelly's nonsense, I suppose. This is Mr. Tapley. We call him Mr. Tapley because he is always so jolly.

THEODORE TRAVERS.

(Shutting book.) Thanks. Now that will be really useful to me. You see I'm a realist. We don't imagine, we study; the world's my scenery, mankind my characters. I write as I run.

JACK MEDBURY.

Do you ever get your head punched?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Did once.

TED MORRIS.

What did you do?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Made a note of the experience while it was fresh in my mind, and then hit him back.

JACK MEDBURY.

You don't waste your experiences?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Never. Experience is the cypher that explains the universe. I've been everything, done everything, made a note of everything, and understand everything. I've fought in Russia and made love in Spain, edited a newspaper in Calcutta, and ran a company in New York. Been imprisoned in Japan, and married in Egypt. I've studied mankind from the Equator to the Pole and I flatter myself I know the poor thing inside and out.

TED MORRIS.

You're rather young to know so much. Aren't you afraid of overdoing it, and injuring yourself?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

My dear fellow, I never was young. Age is a question of senses, not of seasons. I was born pretty much as you see me now. I told my first lie before most children can lisp the truth. I posed before most children can stand. I drank brandy at an age when most children lick sherbet, and made love while my co-temporaries were making mudpies.

JACK MEDBURY.

I wonder you care to stop on any longer in this world.

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Duty, my dear fellow. I'm wanted down here. The age requires me. Great men are scarce.

TED MORRIS.

And modest—I always thought.

THEODORE TRAVERS.

A popular delusion. They pretend to be. In reality they all think of themselves exactly as I think of myself; I am setting them an example of naturalness and candour.

TED MORRIS.

(Laughs.) You certainly can't be accused of the "pride that apes humility." Well, and how are my respected aunt and uncle?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Mr. and Mrs. Ben Dixon? Oh, they are getting on very well now. I've gone to live with them.

TED MORRIS.

Awfully good of you. How do you get on with the old man?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Ben Dixon? Well, I like him. He amuses me.

TED MORRIS.

Is he still in the philanthropic line?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Yes, doing a bigger business than ever. I'm afraid he won't live long. They'll be wanting him for an angel when the next vacancy occurs. He is a County Councillor already. By-the-bye, he landed you pretty heavily, didn't he?

TED MORRIS.

Oh, that was my fault. I let him invest all our money in some cast-iron affair that was going to pay a hundred per cent. He had influence with the Directors, and got them to let us into it—as a favour.

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Um! and a very pretty little "let in" it was. Well, it's all experience, my dear boy—all.

(Enter Nelly. Theodore rises.)

TED MORRIS.

This is my sister.

THEODORE TRAVERS.

I envy you, my dear boy. How do you do, Miss Morris? I'm Theodore Travers, your cousin, you know.

NELLY MORRIS.

Oh, yes, I remember. How did you manage to find us?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Oh, the step-mater's been on your track ever since you disappeared. She'll be here in a minute.

TED MORRIS.

(Aghast.) Mrs. Ben Dixon coming here!

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Yes, and he's coming too. I ought to have told you before, only I've been so taken up with your interesting conversation.

TED MORRIS.

(Aside, savagely.) Why the deuce can't they wait till they're asked?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

And if you would permit me, as a practical stage-manager, I would suggest a rearrangement of the props. (Looking round room.) Let me see. Step-mater will take the centre of the stage, of course; she always does, from force of habit.

NELLY MORRIS.

(Putting flimsy chair R. of table, and smiling.) There!

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Yes, that's the place, but it's not the chair. (Shaking and testing it.)

JACK MEDBURY.

(Bringing a big one over from window.) This one?

THEODORE TRAVERS.

That's more the thing, and then, let me see, the old man—he won't sit anywhere, he'll stand in front of the fire and try to look like a stained-glass window; and then the girl——

TED MORRIS.

What girl!

THEODORE TRAVERS.

Oh, a protégée of the step-mater's—a dear little thing—suggests roses and old Chippendale. (Takes chair to window.) She can sit over here near me. (At window, he looks out.) Ah, there's the carriage going away now. They are here evidently—all on the stairs in different degrees of exhaustion.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

(Without.) Well, we can't go any higher; it must be this. (Door opens, and in bustles breezily Mrs. Ben Dixon. She is a kindly, blunt, slightly vulgar woman of about forty. Her style in dress is pronounced.) Yes. Here they are, both of them. The young villains! Oh, you bad boy! Oh, you bad girl! I'll never forgive you, neither of you. Come and kiss me. (She embraces Nelly.)

(She is followed in by Mr. Ben Dixon and Primrose Deane. Mr. Ben Dixon is an unctuous, plausible, smiling old humbug. He is dressed with the nicest regard to ostentatious respectability. Primrose is a sweet, childish girl.)

MR. BEN DIXON.

So we have run you to earth at last, you young rogues. (He kisses Nelly and introduces her to Primrose.)

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Run them to earth! Run them to air you mean. (Referring to Tea's proffered hand.) Lord help the boy, I don't want that. I want a kiss. What's the good of being an aunt if you can't kiss your good-looking young nephews? (Embraces him.) Oh, I am cross with you. I'm going to tell you both what I think of you as soon as I get my breath back.

NELLY MORRIS.

Don't be angry, aunt. We were only waiting for Ted to pass.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Pass what? The Bankruptcy Court?

NELLY MORRIS.

No; his final examination. He's nearly a full-blown surgeon.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

What! Ted going in for doctoring!

MR. BEN DIXON.

(Standing before the fire.) A noble and useful profession! Also, I believe, exceedingly remunerative.

THEODORE TRAVERS.

And one which atones for its folly in assisting people into the world by its efficacy in assisting them out of it again.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

Oh, do you be quiet, Theo; I got you to go on in front on purpose that you should have a quiet twenty minutes' talk all to yourself, and so give us a chance when we came.

THEODORE TRAVERS.

All right, mater—all right, if you think this is your scene, I'll talk aside up stage Right. There's not room for the two of us I know.

MRS. BEN DIXON.

(To Nelly.) Wonderful boy that, if only he wouldn't fancy that God Almighty made the universe just to hear what he would say about it. (Nelly laughs.)

PRIMROSE DEANE.

Oh, I think it must be so beautiful to be a doctor, and to help people in pain and