] It's all right. He won't.
WELLWYN. We'll hope not.
[He turns back to his picture.]
ANN. [At the cupboard.] Daddy!
WELLWYN. Hi!
ANN. There were three bottles.
WELLWYN. Oh!
ANN. Well! Now there aren't any.
WELLWYN. [Abstracted.] That'll be Timson.
ANN. [With real horror.] But it's awful!
WELLWYN. It is, my dear.
ANN. In seven days. To say nothing of the stealing.
WELLWYN. [Vexed.] I blame myself-very much. Ought to have kept it
locked up.
ANN. You ought to keep him locked up!
[There is heard a mild but authoritative knock.]
WELLWYN. Here's the Vicar!
ANN. What are you going to do about the rum?
WELLWYN. [Opening the door to CANON BERTLEY.] Come in, Vicar!
Happy New Year!
BERTLEY. Same to you! Ah! Ann! I've got into touch with her
young husband--he's coming round.
ANN. [Still a little out of her plate.] Thank Go---Moses!
BERTLEY. [Faintly surprised.] From what I hear he's not really a
bad youth. Afraid he bets on horses. The great thing, WELLWYN,
with those poor fellows is to put your finger on the weak spot.
ANN.
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