JAMES - Philip down yet? EMILY - He'...

JAMES - Philip down yet?

EMILY - He's just having his breakfast.

JAMES - (looking at his watch) Ten o'clock. (Snapping it shut and putting it back) Ten o'clock. I say ten o'clock, Emily.

EMILY - Yes, dear, I heard you.

JAMES - You don't say anything?

EMILY - (vaguely) I expect he's tired after that long war.

JAMES - That's no excuse for not being punctual. I suppose he learnt punctuality in the Army?

EMILY - I expect he learnt it, James, but I understood him to say that he'd forgotten it.

JAMES - Then the sooner he learns it again the better. I particularly stayed away from the office to-day in order to talk things over with him, and (looking at his watch) here's ten o'clock—past ten—and no sign of him. I'm practically throwing away a day.

EMILY - What are you going to talk to him about?

JAMES - His future, naturally. I have decided that the best thing he can do is to come into the business at once.

EMILY - Are you really going to talk it over with him, James, or are you just going to tell him that he must come?

JAMES - (surprised) What do you mean? What's the difference? Naturally we shall talk it over first, and—er—naturally he'll fall in with my wishes.

EMILY - I suppose he can hardly help himself, poor boy.

JAMES - Not until he's twenty-five, anyhow. When he's twenty-five he can have his own money and do what he likes with it.

EMILY - (timidly) But I think you ought to consult him at little, dear. After all, he has been fighting for us.

JAMES - (with his back to the fire) Now that's the sort of silly sentiment that there's been much too much of. I object to it strongly. I don't want to boast, but I think I may claim to have done my share. I gave up my nephew to my country, and I—er— suffered from the shortage of potatoes to an extent that you probably didn't realize. Indeed, if it hadn't been for your fortunate discovery about that time that you didn't really like potatoes, I don't know how we should have carried on. And, as I think I've told you before, the excess-profits tax seemed to me a singularly stupid piece of legislation—but I paid it. And I don't go boasting about how much I paid.

EMILY - (unconvinced) Well, I think that Philip's four years out there have made him more of a man; he doesn't seem somehow like a boy who can be told what to do. I'm sure they've taught him something.

JAMES - I've no doubt that they've taught him something about—er—bombs and—er—which end a revolver goes off, and how to form fours. But I don't see that that sort of thing helps him to decide upon the most suitable career for a young man in after-war conditions.

EMILY - Well, I can only say you'll find him different.

JAMES - I didn't notice any particular difference last night.

EMILY - I think you'll find him rather more—I can't quite think of the word, but Mrs. Higgins could tell you what I mean.

JAMES - Of course, if he likes to earn his living any other way, he may; but I don’t see how he proposes to do it so long as I hold the purse-strings. (Looking at his watch) Perhaps you'd better tell him that I cannot wait any longer.

A.A. Milne, “The Boy Comes Home” in First Plays, Trieste Publishing, 2018, pp.114-6.

First Plays on Amazon