TARLETON. _[going to the sideboard]_ Here! try a mouthful of sloe
gin.

GUNNER. No, thanks. I'm a teetotaler. I cant touch alcohol in any
form.

TARLETON. Nonsense! This isnt alcohol. Sloe gin. Vegetarian, you
know.

GUNNER. _[hesitating]_ Is it a fruit beverage?

TARLETON. Of course it is. Fruit beverage. Here you are. _[He
gives him a glass of sloe gin]._

GUNNER. _[going to the sideboard]_ Thanks. _[he begins to drink it
confidently; but the first mouthful startles and almost chokes him]._
It's rather hot.

TARLETON. Do you good. Dont be afraid of it.

MRS TARLETON. _[going to him]_ Sip it, dear. Dont be in a hurry.

_Gunner sips slowly, each sip making his eyes water._

JOHNNY. _[coming forward into the place left vacant by Gunner's visit
to the sideboard]_ Well, now that the gentleman has been attended to,
I should like to know where we are. It may be a vulgar business
habit; but I confess I like to know where I am.

TARLETON. I dont. Wherever you are, youre there anyhow. I tell you