He'll want to get off by eleven. What? . . . Righto !
As he hangs up the receiver the MAYOR enters. He looks worried, and
is still dressed with the indefinable wrongness of a burgher.
MAYOR. Well, 'Arris?
HARRIS. They'll be over in five minutes, Mr Mayor.
MAYOR. Mr Chantrey?
HARRIS. On his way, sir.
MAYOR. I've had some awkward things to deal with in my time, 'Arris, but
this is just about the [Sniffs] limit.
HARRIS. Most uncomfortable, Sir; most uncomfortable!
MAYOR. Put a book on the chair, 'Arris; I like to sit 'igh.
HARRIS puts a volume of Eneyclopaedia on the Mayor's chair behind
the bureau.
[Deeply] Our fellow-magistrate! A family man! In my shoes next year.
I suppose he won't be, now. You can't keep these things dark.
HARRIS. I've warned Martin, sir, to use the utmost discretion. Here's
Mr Chantrey.
By the door Left, a pleasant and comely gentleman has entered,
dressed with indefinable rightness in shooting clothes.
MAYOR. Ah, Chantrey!
CHANTREY. How de do, Mr Mayor? [Nodding to HARRIS] This is
extraordinarily unpleasant.
The MAYOR nods.
What on earth's he been doing?
HARRIS. Assaulting one of his own daughters with a stick; and resisting
the police.
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