Act I - Page 2

and dont presume to argue. Even if she kills you, it is your duty
to die for your country. Right about face. March. (The Orderly
goes out, trembling.)

THE VOICE OUTSIDE. Votes for Women! Votes for Women! Votes for
Women!

MITCHENER (mimicking her). Votes for Women! Votes for Women!
Votes for Women! (in his natural voice) Votes for children! Votes
for babies! Votes for monkeys! (He posts himself on the
hearthrug, and awaits the enemy.)

THE ORDERLY (outside). In you go. (He pushes a panting Suffraget
into the room.) The person sir. (He withdraws.)

The Suffraget takes off her tailor made skirt and reveals a pair
of fashionable trousers.

MITCHENER (horrified). Stop, madam. What are you doing? You must
not undress in my presence. I protest. Not even your letter from
the Prime Minister--

THE SUFFRAGET. My dear Mitchener: I AM the Prime Minister. (He
tears off his hat and cloak; throws them on the desk; and
confronts the General in the ordinary costume of a Cabinet
minister.)

MITCHENER. Good heavens! Balsquith!

BALSQUITH (throwing himself into Mitchener's chair). Yes: it is
indeed Balsquith. It has come to this: that the only way that the
Prime Minister of England can get from Downing Street to the War
Office is by assuming this disguise; shrieking "VOTES for Women";
and chaining himself to your doorscraper. They were at the corner
in force. They cheered me. Bellachristina herself was there. She
shook my hand and told me to say I was a vegetarian, as the diet
was better in Holloway for vegetarians.

MITCHENER. Why didnt you telephone?

BALSQUITH. They tap the telephone. Every switchboard in London is
in their hands or in those of their young men.

MITCHENER. Where on Earth did you get that dress?

BALSQUITH. I stole it from a little Exhibition got up by my wife
in Downing Street.

MITCHENER. You dont mean to say its a French dress?

BALSQUITH. Great Heavens, no. My wife isnt allowed even to put on
her gloves with French chalk. Everything labelled Made in
Camberwell. She advised me to come to you. And what I have to say
must be said here to you personally, in the most intimate
confidence, with the most urgent persuasion. Mitchener: Sandstone
has resigned.

MITCHENER (amazed). Old Red resigned!

BALSQUITH. Resigned.

MITCHENER. But how? Why? Oh, impossible! the proclamation of
martial law last Tuesday made Sandstone virtually Dictator in the
metropolis, and to resign now is flat desertion.

BALSQUITH. Yes, yes, my dear Mitchener; I know all that as well
as you do: I argued with him until I was black in the face and he
so red about the neck that if I had gone on he would