Chorus I.

As clerks finish chorus, Enter Cuthbert Junior, the smallest and youngest of them. He is inquisitively examining a telegram in his hand. One of the clerks espies him.

Clark 6 (sharply):

Cuthbert!

He moves towards Cuthbert Junior to receive telegram. Other clerks move so as to form a line with him. So arranged their heights descend until Junior is reached. Their voices are in inverse proportion to their sizes, that of the youngest being the manliest.

Junior (handing telegram to Clerk 6):

Telegram, Mr. Cuthbert.

Clerk 6 (passing it on):

Telegram Mr. Cuthbert.

Clerk 5 (ditto):

Telegram Mr. Cuthbert.

Clerk 4 (ditto):

Telegram Mr. Cuthbert.

Clerk 3 (ditto):

Telegram Mr. Cuthbert.

Clerk 2 (ditto):

Telegram Mr. Cuthbert.

Clerk 1:

Thank you, Mr. Cuthbert.

While Clerk 1 inspects telegram (without opening it) "Thank you, Mr. Cuthbert" is passed down the line until it reaches Clerk 6, who merely says "Thank you, Cuthbert".

Enter six Teaypistes, goosestepping. (N.B. All characters goose-step throughout the piece). They each carry a cup of tea. The clerks space themselves out, bowing profoundly. The Teaypistes pass through their ranks and place cups on table. Then they turn and curtsey to clerks. Clerk 1 stuffs telegram into trouser pocket.

Minuet: Cuthberts and Teaypistes. Junior does his best without a partner.

Cuthberts take cups from table.

Clerk 1 (raising cup):

Gentlemen, the Ladies.

Teaypistes curtsey again, while Cuthberts drink - except Junior, who has no cup but goes through the motions.

Cuthberts ceremonially return cups to Teaypistes who thereupon goose-step off. Cuthberts goose-step off after them.

Junior plucks at sleeve of Clerk 6, who turns just as others disappear.

Clerk 6 (irritably):

Well... what is it now?

page 2 Junior:

I say...what was in that telegram?

Clerk 6 (suspiciously):

What do you want to know for?

Junior:

I'm only taking an interest in my work.

Clerk 6:

Well...don't. Remember our motto. See nothing... hear nothing... say nothing.

Junior:

And...do nothing.

Clerk 6:

No...you must not even do that.

Junior:

Lumme...this is no place for modern youth. I'm going off to the War.

Clerk 6 (sharply):

What's that, what's that? What war?

Junior:

You know as well as I do what war. The war that telegram's about.

Clerk 6:

Cuthbert, my boy...I know nothing about anything. Neither do you. See? That's the rules.

Junior:

But...I say, Cuddie...If there's a war, are you going to go?

Clerk 6 (lofitly):

We Cuthberts do not go to wars. Weare indispensable...by virtue of our offices. So are you... by virtue of your office. See? And please... do... not...address me as Cuddie. Cuddie means a donkey. I am a Civil Servant.

He goose-steps off very haughtily.

Junior (scornfully):

Ass...ivil Servant. Hell of a lot of difference ain't there?

While Junior is gazing after Clerk 6, Enter from other side the Dictator? Mustalinitlerassinini, and the Minister of Exterminational Affairs, Doolittell.

If possible, the Dictator has a little moustahhe like Hitler, a goatee like a Frenchman, a red tie and a cap like Mussolini. He issupposed to be a compound of several types and is super-charged with vitality.

Doolittell, on the other hand, is the Metternich-Richelieu Machiavelli - type (if there is such). He has whiskers and horn-rims and, while on a familiar standing with the Dictator, obviously plays up to him.

Must. (to Junior):

Boy!

Junior (coming to life with a jerk of consternation):

Lumme... His Insane Magnificence! Messir.

He gives the Nozi salute, seizing nose with hand, then flinging hand outwards and upwards sharply in the Fascist salute.

Must. and D. Solemnly respond by thumbing their noses at him. This salute is used throughout the peice.

Must.

Now...get out!

Junior:

Yessir...er...your Insane Magnificance.

Must.:

Come back!

Junior:

Yessir...er...your Insane...

Must.:

Tell Mr. Cuthbert I wish to speak to him.

Junior:

Yessir...er...your...

Must.:

And...get out!

Junior:

Er...yessir...your...er...same to you, Sir.

Exit Junior precipitately.

D. (who has been quietly enjoying scene):

Your Highness has little reverence for modern youth.

Must.:

I love them.

D:

Quite. I rather fancy the young of today will make very good cannon fodder.

page 3 Must.:

I have a millions dollars' worth of armament shares that say they will.

D.:

So have I. Glorious youth, ha, ha. Soon...

Must.(breaking in upon D.'s visions):

The ultimatum was despatched all right?

D.:

Master, everything was done according to your esteemed orders.

Must.:

And a reply has not come?

D.:

Magnificence, I am not interested ina reply.

Must.:

Ha, Ha, no, of course not. But here is your beast of burden.

Enter Clerk 1. Nozi Salutes.

Clerk 1.

At your mercy, Most Insane Magnificence.

Must.:

Any reply to the ultimatum, Mr. Cuthbert?

Clerk 1:

None, your Frightfulness.

Must.:

Good. And, Mr. Cuthbert...

Clerk 1:

Yessir?

Must.:

0 Get.....out!

Clerk 1:

Er...yessir...your...er...yessir.

ExitClerk 1 rapidly.

Must. (going over to clock):

Time's getting on.

He shifts hands forward.

Bell all right?

He takes up striker and handles it.

D. (alarmed):

Do not touch it, Sire. The whole of your Dictatorate is tuned in to the sound of that bell. One slightest tinkle...and a thousand thousand loud speakers relay the glorious tocsin throughout the length and breadth of the land. And then...

Must.(proudly):

The Nozi legions march. Their glorious shirt-tails cross the enemy's frontiers.

D.(shocked):

Not enemy, Sire. Enemy presumptive.

Must.:

True. Doolittell...I feel that I should touch the bell now.

D.:

(gasping): Master...Insane Magnificence...the Council...do not forget the Council.

Must.(still toying with the stricker):

The Council...bah!

D.:

Yes, yes, of course, your Mightiness ...but...but...the ultimatum does not expire until twelve.

Must.:

True... I had forgotten.

Lays down stricker and moves hands of clock on a bit.

Thank you Monsieur le Ministre, for reminding me. Never shall the world have cause to say that Bunko Mustalinit-lerassinini, Dictator of Umbugonia, failed in the slightest to observe the niceties of diplomatic procedure when about to plunge the world into war.

D.(nervously):

World? War? Magnificence...I sometimes wonder...do you ever...think of war...in terms of... blood?

Must.:

Blood... bah! When I think of war, I think of sawdust, not of blood! blood is not blood...a thousand miles away. Here's the Council.

Enter. the six members of the Council, goose-stepping They are attired in frock goats and all wear face-fungus of varying foreign types. They look like anarchists.

page 4

Nozi salutes.