_Podb._ (_recognizing him_). My name's PODBURY--plain PODBURY, but
you're quite right. You _have_ met me--and you've met my bootmaker
too. "Lord UPPERSOLE," eh? That's where the mistake came in!

_Mr. C.S._ (_with hauteur_). I think not, Sir; I have no recollection
of the circumstance. I see now your face is quite unfamiliar to me.

[_He moves away; PODBURY gets a telegram form and sits down
at a table in the hall opposite CULCHARD._

_Culch._ (_reading over his telegram_). "Yours just received. Am
returning immediately."

_Podb._ (_do., do._). "Letter to hand. No end sorry. Start at once."
(_Seeing CULCHARD._) Wiring to Florence for room, eh?

_Culch._ Er--no. The fact is, I've just heard from my Chief--a--a
most intemperate communication, insisting on my instant return to my
duties! I shall have to humour him, I suppose, and leave at once.

_Podb._ So shall I. No end of a shirty letter from the Governor. Wants
to know how much longer I expect him to be tied to the office. Old
humbug, when he only turns up twice a week for a couple of hours!

_The Porter_. Peg your bardons, Schendlemen, but if you haf qvide done
vid ze schtamps on your ledders, I gollect bostage schtamps, yes.

_Culch._ (_irritably flinging him the envelope_). Oh, confound it all.
take them. _I_ don't want them! (_He looks at his letter once more._)
I say, PODBURY, it--it's worse than I thought. This thing's a week