The Apple Cart

An office in the royal palace. Two writing-tables face each other from opposite sides of the room, leaving plenty of room between them. Each table has a chair by it for visitors. The door is in the middle of the farthest wall. The clock shows that it is a little past 11; and the light is that of a fine summer morning.

Sempronius, smart and still presentably young, shows his right profile as he sits at one of the tables opening the King’s letters.

Pamphilius, middle aged, shows his left as he leans back in his chair at the other table with a pile of the morning papers at his elbow, reading one of them. This goes on silently for some time. Then Pamphilius, putting down his paper, looks at Sempronius for a moment before speaking.

Pamphilius

What was your father?

Sempronius

Startled. Eh?

Pamphilius

What was your father?

Sempronius

My father?

Pamphilius

Yes. What was he?

Sempronius

A Ritualist.

Pamphilius

I don’t mean his religion. I mean his profession. And his politics.

Sempronius

He was a Ritualist by profession, a Ritualist in politics, a Ritualist in religion: a raging emotional Die Hard Ritualist right down to his boots.

Pamphilius

Do you mean that he was a parson?

Sempronius

Not at all. He was a sort of spectacular artist. He got up pageants and Lord Mayors’ Shows and military tattoos and big public ceremonies and things like that.

Boanerges enters, dressed in a Russian blouse and peaked cap, which he keeps on. He is fifty, heavily built and aggressively self-assertive.

Boanerges

Look here. The King has an appointment with me at a quarter to twelve. How long more am I to be kept waiting?

Sempronius

With cheerful politeness. Good morning. Mr. Boanerges, I think.

Boanerges

Shortly, but a little taken aback. Oh, good morning to you. They say that politeness is the punctuality of kings⁠—

Sempronius

The other way about, Mr. Boanerges. Punctuality is the politeness of kings; and King Magnus is a model in that respect. Your arrival cannot have been announced to His Majesty. I will see about it. He hurries out.

Pamphilius

Be seated, Mr. Boanerges.

Boanerges

Seating himself by Pamphilius’s writing-table. A nice lot of young upstarts you have in this palace, Mr.⁠—?

Pamphilius

Pamphilius is my name.

Boanerges

Oh yes: I’ve heard of you. You’re one of the king’s private secretaries.

Pamphilius

I am. And what have our young upstarts been doing to you, Mr. Boanerges?

Boanerges

Well, I told one of them to tell the king I was here, and to look sharp about it. He looked at me as if I was a performing elephant, and took himself off after whispering to another flunkey. Then this other chap comes over to me and pretends he doesn’t know who I am! asks me can he have my name! “My lad,” I said: “not to know me argues yourself unknown. You know who I am as well as I do myself.