Rupert (looking up). Ah—good evening, Sabot.
Sabot (commencing to clear meal away). Good evening, sair.
Rupert (reading). How are you getting on?
Sabot. Very well, thank you, sair.
[Sabot continues with his clearing. Rain is heard a little louder.
Rupert (after a pause. Quietly.) It’s going to be a dirty night.
Sabot. Yes, sair. It’s set in now, sair.
Rupert. I suppose Mr. Brandon’ll still be going, though.
Sabot. Pardon, sair?
Rupert. I suppose Mr. Brandon’ll still be going though—to Oxford?
Sabot. Oh—yes, sair. I suppose so, sair.
[Sabot busies himself with clearing. Rupert all at once puts down book and looks at little ticket again.
Rupert. Have you any idea of the date, Sabot?
Sabot. Ze date, sair? Yes, sair. It ees zee—er (screwing up eyes, just as he is about to remove a large bundle of plates)—er—sixteenth, sair.
Rupert. The———? (He is about to repeat “the sixteenth” in surprise.)
Sabot (quickly). No, sair! No, sair! It ees not, sair! It ees the seventeenth, sair!
Rupert (looking quite openly at ticket). Yes. I thought so. The seventeenth.
[Pause.
Rupert. Have you been getting into trouble lately, Sabot?
Sabot. Trouble, sair?
Rupert. Yes. Trouble.
Sabot. Er—trouble, sair?
Rupert. Uncanny as it may seem, the word I employed, Sabot, was trouble.
[ 40 ]
