_Tramp._ What will you do with them when you catch them?
_Lepidopterist._ What shall I do? Well, each insect must be identified, recorded and assigned a place in my collection. The butterfly must be carefully killed, and then carefully pinned, and properly dried, and care must be taken that the powder is not rubbed off. And it must be protected against dust and draught. A little cyanide of potassium.
_Lepidopterist._ Love of nature--if you loved nature as much as I did, my man--Careful--didn't I tell you--they're off again. Never mind, I'll get you, see if I don't. [_Exit._
_Tramp._ 'E's clever, that there bloke. And as for me, P'raps I am screwed; but if I _am_, 'oo cares? That ain't the only reason why I see Everythink double, everythink in pairs.
Them little birds up there ... I see yer plain! Tweet-weety-weet ... Lord! 'ow they bill and coo, As yer might say. Them butterflies again, What sport they 'ave--'ow prettily they woo!
Love's what they want. Some day they'll get it, p'raps: Everythink does--or mostways everythink ... (S'pose _you'd_ a girl who loved all kinds of chaps-- Wouldn't _you_ damn yerself, and take to drink?)
Well, 'ere's the world, and though I'm down and out, It's worth while learnin' what it's all about.
_A hill. Many flowers and bright-coloured cushions. In the C. a small table or bar, with high seats and coloured glasses containing cold drinks and straws._
_Tramp._ I say--I say! It's a bit of all right. What price the 'Eath now? Paradise--that's what it is,--Paradise! And don't it smell nice! Odi Colone, not 'alf.
CLYTIE _runs in laughing, followed by_ OTTO.
_Tramp._ Butterflies! That's what they are. Butterflies, playin'. I'd like to stay 'ere and watch 'em if I wasn't so--Never mind; they can kick me out if they like. I'll lie down 'ere, comfortable.--'Pon my soul, I will. (_He takes and arranges the cushions_) (_Sleepily_) All right--that's what it is; all right.
_Felix._ (_Ecstatically_) Iris! Iris! Where are you, Iris? If only I could find a rhyme for you!
The star to whom my thoughts aspire is Iris, Iris, radiant Iris.
That's no better. I know! She will reject my passion and I shall then produce an exquisite lament. For instance,--
If only thou wert ill, hard-hearted Iris! Then I could melt thee with my kind inquiries ... [_Laughter behind._