I'm sure he'll----
SIR WEBLEY: Ah, Trundleben. Come and sit down here. Come and----
TRUNDLEBEN: Thank you, Sir Webley. I think I will. I don't walk quite as
well as I used, and what with----
SIR WEBLEY: What's all this we hear about this Mr. Shakespeare,
Trundleben?
TRUNDLEBEN: Oh, ah, well yes, yes indeed. Well, you see, Sir Webley, he
was put up for the Club. Mr. Henry put him up.
SIR WEBLEY (_disapprovingly_): Oh, Mr. Henry.
NEEKS: Yes, yes, yes. Long hair and all that.
SIR WEBLEY: I'm afraid so.
NEEKS: Writes poetry, I believe.
SIR WEBLEY: I'm afraid so.
TRUNDLEBEN: Well then, what does Mr. Newton do but go and second him,
and there you are, Sir Webley.
SIR WEBLEY: Yes, a pretty state of things. Has he ... Does he ... What
is he?
TRUNDLEBEN: He seems to write, Sir Webley.
SIR WEBLEY: Oh, he does, does he? What does he write?
TRUNDLEBEN: Well, I wrote and asked him that, Sir Webley, and _he_ said
plays.
SIR WEBLEY: Plays? Plays? Plays? I'm sure I never heard ... What plays?
TRUNDLEBEN: I asked him that, Sir Webley, and he said ... he sent me a
list (_fumbling_). Ah, here it is.
[_He holds it high, far from his face, tilts his head back and looks
down his nose through his glasses._
He says--let me see--"Hamelt," or "Hamlet," I don't know how he
pronounces it.
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