THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [taking it] Great heavens!  He has swallowed half-a-pint of neat brandy. [Much perturbed, he screws the cap on again, and pockets the flask].

THE ENVOY [staggering to his feet; pulling a paper from his pocket; and speaking with boisterous confidence] Get up, Molly.  Up with you, Eth.

The two women rise to their knees.

THE ENVOY.  What I want to ask is this. [He refers to the paper].  Ahem!  Civilization has reached a crisis.  We are at the parting of the ways.  We stand on the brink of the Rubicon.  Shall we take the plunge?  Already a leaf has been torn out of the book of the Sybil.  Shall we wait until the whole volume is consumed?  On our right is the crater of the volcano:  on our left the precipice.  One false step, and we go down to annihilation dragging the whole human race with us. [He pauses for breath].

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [recovering his spirits under the familiar stimulus of political oratory] Hear, hear!

ZOO.  What are you raving about?  Ask your question while you have the chance.  What is it you want to know?

THE ENVOY [patronizing her in the manner of a Premier debating with a very young member of the Opposition] A young woman asks me a question.  I am always glad to see the young taking an interest in politics.  It is an impatient question; but it is a practical question, an intelligent question.  She asks why we seek to lift a corner of the veil that shrouds the future from our feeble vision.

ZOO.  I don’t.  I ask you to tell the oracle what you want, and not keep her sitting there all day.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [warmly] Order, order!

ZOO.  What does ‘Order, order!’ mean?

THE ENVOY.  I ask the august oracle to listen to my voice—­

ZOO.  You people seem never to tire of listening to your voices; but it doesn’t amuse us.  What do you want?

THE ENVOY.  I want, young woman, to be allowed to proceed without unseemly interruptions.

A low roll of thunder comes from the abyss.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN.  There!  Even the oracle is indignant. [To the Envoy] Do not allow yourself to be put down by this lady’s rude clamor, Ambrose.  Take no notice.  Proceed.

THE ENVOY’S WIFE.  I cant bear this much longer, Amby.  Remember:  I havn’t had any brandy.

HIS DAUGHTER [trembling] There are serpents curling in the vapor.  I am afraid of the lightning.  Finish it, Papa; or I shall die.

THE ENVOY [sternly] Silence.  The destiny of British civilization is at stake.  Trust me.  I am not afraid.  As I was saying—­where was I?

ZOO.  I don’t know.  Does anybody?

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN [tactfully] You were just coming to the election, I think.

THE ENVOY [reassured] Just so.  The election.  Now what we want to know is this:  ought we to dissolve in August, or put it off until next spring?