ERNEST. Certainly not. And, after all, it is only once a month that
he is affable to you.

CRICHTON. On all other days of the month, sir, his lordship's
treatment of us is everything that could be desired.

ERNEST. (This is the epigram.) Tea cups! Life, Crichton, is like a
cup of tea; the more heartily we drink, the sooner we reach the
dregs.

CRICHTON (obediently). Thank you, sir.

ERNEST (becoming confidential, as we do when we have need of an
ally). Crichton, in case I should be asked to say a few words to
the servants, I have strung together a little speech. (His hand
strays to his pocket.) I was wondering where I should stand.

(He tries various places and postures, and comes to rest leaning
over a high chair, whence, in dumb show, he addresses a gathering.
CRICHTON, with the best intentions, gives him a footstool to stand
on, and departs, happily unconscious that ERNEST in some dudgeon has
kicked the footstool across the room.)

ERNEST (addressing an imaginary audience, and desirous of startling
them at once). Suppose you were all little fishes at the bottom of
the sea--

(He is not quite satisfied with his position, though sure that the
fault must lie with the chair for being too high, not with him for
being too short. CRICHTON'S suggestion was not perhaps a bad one