The Summer of Sir Lancelot

course, is our most priceless export,‘ he mentioned as Mrs Chuffey cleared away the strawberries and left them with the decanter.
    ‘In my country we are already very cultured,‘ pointed out Mr N‘agga. ‘Oh, yes. Our honoured President is very keen on culture.‘
    ‘Have you thought, Mr Waterfall, how your delivering fifty lectures on “The Novelist‘s Soul in the Atomic Age” would be a contribution to our export drive quite equal to, shall we say, the Metal Box Company‘s? Port? We already have our glasses, Mrs Chuffey,‘ he broke off crossly as she burst in and started rummaging in the sideboard.
    ‘Beg pardon, sir. I was just looking for a specimen bottle.‘
    ‘A what?‘ Anthony Waterfall‘s jaw dropped.
    ‘A bottle for a specimen, sir. No, that‘s for blood.‘ She discarded one. ‘And that‘s for urine.‘ She put aside another. ‘This is the one for the stomach contents,‘ she added in the direction of the author. ‘Sir Lancelot is just drawing them out of a patient with a stomach tube.‘
    ‘I don‘t think I feel very well,‘ announced Anthony Waterfall.
    ‘Mrs Chuffey!‘ Mr Nightrider jumped up. ‘This is outrageous! Can‘t you see we‘re in the middle of our— ‘
    ‘I‘m sorry, sir,‘ she apologized, hurrying off with a pint-sized jar, ‘but I can‘t keep Sir Lancelot waiting. Not while he‘s got a stomach tube down a patient, can I?‘
    ‘Mr Waterfall, I must most deeply apologize! Some quite exceptional combination of unfortunate circumstances — ‘
    ‘Somebody give me air,‘ muttered the author, pulling at his collar.
    ‘Perhaps the lobster was a trifle heavy,‘ murmured the Bishop as the General threw open another window.
    ‘My country has the biggest lobsters in the world. Oh, yes. Our honoured President is very keen on — ‘
    ‘Remember reading a story once,‘ the General broke his silence. ‘By Conan Doyle. Or Cronin, perhaps? Can‘t recall. Chap affected by sight of blood like our friend here. Wife being operated upon upstairs. House like this, y‘know. Moulded ceilings. Chap noticed bloodstain up there. By the chandelier. Gets bigger. Bigger. Splash! Drop starts to fall — ‘
    ‘I think I want to go home,‘ decided Anthony Waterfall, rising shakily.
    ‘My dear, dear, sir!‘ Mr Nightrider hurried round the table. ‘Perhaps a little sit-down-‘
    ‘In the end it wasn‘t blood at all, o‘course,‘ explained the General.
    ‘I want to go to bed. Somebody take me home and put me to bed — ‘
    ‘I‘m sure that a few minutes in the chair by the window, my dear Mr Waterfall — And what the hell are you doing here?‘ he demanded as his daughter Felicity burst in.
    ‘Daddy — ‘
    Her chin was in the air. Her flattish chest was heaving. Her sniffs resonated round the room.
    ‘Daddy, I wish to become married.‘
    ‘What? What?‘ cried Mr Nightrider. ‘Felicity, this is neither the time nor place — ‘
    ‘Doesn‘t your daughter‘s happiness come before anything else in the world?‘ she countered breathlessly.
    ‘Perhaps you would like us to withdraw at such a delicate domestic moment?‘ inquired the Bishop, who had been fanning Anthony Waterfall gently with his table napkin.
    ‘No, no! I am sure she has merely some form of acute hysteria — ‘
    ‘Mrs Chuffey!‘ Sir Lancelot‘s voice bellowed outside. ‘I want a vomit bowl.‘
    ‘Vomit bowl? Vomit bowl?‘ she muttered, reappearing to rummage in the sideboard again. ‘I don‘t know, really, I can‘t seem able to find a thing since the place was let.‘
    ‘His name is Ronald Bald, and he‘s a poet,‘ Felicity declared, her nostrils dilated like a winning filly in the final furlong. ‘I love him,‘ she added.
    ‘Hurry up, woman!‘ roared Sir Lancelot. ‘Or do you want to mop up the blasted floor?‘
    ‘Excuse me,‘ apologized Mrs Chuffey, tipping the fruit from the cut-glass bowl on to the tablecloth. ‘Coming, Sir Lancelot!‘
    There was a groan, as Anthony Waterfall heeled into the grapes.
    ‘Better fetch a doctor,‘ grunted the General.
    ‘No, no!, Mr Nightrider grabbed his daughter. ‘Drag him to the window, Arthur, there‘s a good fellow, while I try to find the brandy... What‘s all this nonsense?‘ he snapped to her, out in the hall.
    ‘This is Ron,‘ Felicity indicated.
     ‘'Lo,‘ said a thin youth with a dirty shirt and side whiskers.
    ‘Get out of my house this very instant.‘
    ‘Oh no you don‘t,‘ replied Ron affably. ‘I