why: yours but to do and die. That's war. [Cooling down.] Have you anything else to say?
THE CLERK. Yes: I want a rise.
AUGUSTUS.[reeling against the table in his horror]. A rise! Horatio Floyd Beamish, do you know that we are at war?
THE CLERK.[feebly ironical]. I have noticed something about it in the papers. Heard you mention it once or twice, now I come to think of it.
AUGUSTUS. Our gallant fellows are dying in the trenches; and you want a rise!
THE CLERK. What are they dying for? To keep me alive, ain't it? Well, what's the good of that if I'm dead of hunger by the time they come back?
AUGUSTUS. Everybody else is making sacrifices without a thought of self; and you—
THE CLERK. Not half, they ain't. Where's the baker's sacrifice? Where's the coal merchant's? Where's the butcher's? Charging me double: that's how they sacrifice themselves. Well, I want to sacrifice myself that way too. Just double next Saturday: double and not a penny less; or no secretary for you [he stiffens himself shakily, and makes resolutely for the door.]
AUGUSTUS.[looking after him contemptuously]. Go, miserable pro-German.
THE CLERK.[rushing back and facing him]. Who are you calling a pro-German?
AUGUSTUS. Another word, and I charge you under the Act with discouraging me. Go.
- The clerk blenches and goes out, cowed.
- The telephone rings.
AUGUSTUS.[taking up the telephone receiver] Hallo. Yes: who are you?...oh, Blueloo, is it?...Yes: there's nobody in the room: fire away. What?...A spy!...A woman!...Yes:
