HILDEGARDE (_without looking round_). Stay you with chocolates, you
mean, Johnnie, dear.

JOHN. There you are! Her thoughts fly instantly to chocolates--and in
the fourth year of the greatest war that the world--

HILDEGARDE. Etcetera, etcetera.

TRANTO. Then do I gather that you don't entirely approve of your
sister's articles?

JOHN. Tripe, I think. My fag could write better. I'll tell you what I do
approve of. I approve of that article to-day by that chap Sampson
Straight about titles and the shameful traffic in honours, and the rot
of the hereditary principle, and all that sort of thing.

TRANTO. I'm glad. Delivers the goods, doesn't he, Mr. Sampson Straight?

JOHN. Well, _I_ think so. Who is he?

TRANTO. One of my discoveries, John. He sent me in an article about--let
me see, when was it?--about eight months ago. I at once perceived that
in Mr. Sampson Straight I had got on to a bit of all right. And I was
not mistaken. He has given London beans pretty regularly once a week
ever since.

JOHN. He must have given the War Cabinet neuralgia this afternoon,
anyhow. I should like to meet him.