) I should be dropping off
again. (He laughs awkwardly.)
PHILIP. Righto. (He puts his hand to his pocket. UNCLE JAMES
shivers and looks at him to horror. PHILIP brings out his pipe, and
a sickly grin of relief comes into JAMES'S face.)
JAMES. I suppose you smoked a lot in France?
PHILIP. Rather! Nothing else to do. It's allowed in here?
JAMES (hastily). Yes, yes, of course. (PHILIP lights his pipe.)
Well now, Philip, what are you going to do, now you've left the
Army?
PHILIP (promptly). Burn my uniform and sell my revolver.
JAMES (starting at the word "revolver"). Sell your revolver, eh?
PHILIP (surprised). Well, I don't want it now, do I?
JAMES. No. ... Oh no. ... Oh, most certainly not, I should say. Oh,
I can't see why you should want it at all. (With an uneasy laugh)
You're in England now. No need for revolvers here--eh?
PHILIP (staring at him). Well, no, I hope not.
JAMES (hastily). Quite so. Well now, Philip, what next? We must
find a profession for you.
PHILIP (yawning). I suppose so. I haven't really thought about it
much.
JAMES. You never wanted to be an architect?
PHILIP (surprised). Architect? (JAMES rubs his head and wonders
what made him think of architect.)
JAMES. Or anything like that.
PHILIP. It's a bit late, isn't it?
JAMES. Well, if you're four years behind, so is everybody else.
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