): Nearly three hours ago! Open the window, Roger. ROGER: No, sir. You open the window.
Let me handle the thing. My life is nothing. Yours is of great value to England. WESTON: No, Roger, no.
You are young. I have had my life. There are still great things for you to do in the world. You must live, and write my life for posterity.
Do as I say. I promise you shall exercise the greatest care. ( As ROGER rushes to the window ) No. Wait.
A better idea. The gardener’s pail. It is still on the landing! ROGER: Yes!
Yes, of course! ( He is out of the room and back in a moment with the wooden pail of water, which still has the wet cleaning rag hung over its edge .) WESTON: Stand back. ( He picks up the parcel gingerly .) We do not know what may 12th - - Page happen. ( He inserts the parcel lengthwise into the pail, at full stretch of his arm, his head averted, his eyes watching from their extreme corners ) There is not enough water!
Not enough to cover it. ROGER: I’ll get some. I shall not be a moment. WESTON: No.
Don’t go. The flowers! ( He indicates a bowl of daffodils ). ROGER: Of course!
( He pulls the daffodils from their setting, throwing them on the desk in his agitation and pours the water into the pail ). Ah! That has done it! WESTON ( dismayed, as he takes his hand from the package ): Now it is going to float!
It must be wet through, or it is no use. ROGER: We must put something heavy on top, to keep it down. WESTON: Yes, yes. Get something.
ROGER: What shall I get? WESTON: Anything, anything that is heavy and that will fit into the pail. Books, anything! ROGER ( to whom books are objects of reverence, if not awe ): Books sir?
But they’ll get very wet, won’t they? WESTON: In the name of heaven bring the first six books off