TRANTO. How's that?

JOHN. How's that? Well, munition workshops--with government inspectors
tumbling all over us about once a week. O.T.C. work. Field days.
Cramming fellows for Sandhurst. Not to mention female masters.
'Mistresses,' I ought to say, perhaps. All these things take time.

TRANTO. I never thought of that.

JOHN. No. People don't. However, I've decided to read newspapers in
future--it'll be part of my scheme. That's why I was reading _The
Echo_. Now, I should like to ask you something about this paper of
yours.

TRANTO. Yes.

JOHN. Why do you let Hilda write those articles for you about food
economy stunts in the household?

TRANTO. Well--(_hesitating_)

JOHN. Now, I look at things practically. When Hilda'd spent all her
dress allowance and got into debt besides, about a year and a half ago,
she suddenly remembered she wasn't doing much to help the war, and so
she went into the Food Ministry as a typist at thirty-five shillings a
week. Next she learnt typing. Then she became an authority on
everything. And now she's concocting these food articles for you.
Believe me, the girl knows nothing whatever about cookery. She couldn't
fry a sausage for nuts. Once the mater insisted on her doing the
housekeeping--in the holidays, too! Stay me with flagons!