(_Capt. H. Harry. Later Bessie_).
Harry Hagberd (_thirty-one, tall, broad shoulders, shaven face, small
moustache. Blue serge suit. Coat open. Grey flannel shirt without
collar and tie. No waistcoat. Belt with buckle. Black, soft felt hat,
wide-brimmed, worn crushed in the crown and a little on one side. Good
nature, recklessness, some swagger in the bearing. Assured, deliberate
walk with a heavy tread. Slight roll in the gait. Walks down. Stops,
hands in pockets. Looks about. Speaks_.) This must be it. Can't see
anything beyond. There's somebody. (_Walks up to Capt. Hagberd's gate?_)
Can you tell me... (_Manner changes. Leans elbow on gate?_) Why, you
must be Capt. Hagberd himself.
Capt. H. (_In garden, both hands on spade, peering, startled_). Yes, I
am.
Harry (_Slowly_). You've been advertising in the papers for your son, I
believe.
Capt. H. (_Off his guard, nervous_). Yes. My only boy Harry. He's coming
home to-morrow. (_Mumbles_.) For a permanent stay.
Harry (_Surprised_). The devil he is! (_Change of tone?_) My word!
You've grown a beard like Father Christmas himself.
Capt. H. (_Impressively_). Go your way. (_Waves one hand loftily?_)
What's that to you. Go your way. (_Agitated?_) Go your way.
Harry. There, there. I am not trespassing in the street--where I
stand--am I? Tell you what, I fancy there's something wrong about your
news. Suppose you let me come in--for a quiet chat, you know.
Capt. H. (_Horrified_). Let you--_you_ come in!
Harry (_Persuasive_). Because I could give you some real information
about your son. The--very--latest--tip. If you care to hear.
Capt. H. (_Explodes_). No! I don't care to hear. (_Begins to pace to
and fro, spade on shoulder. Gesticulating with his other arm_.) Here's
a fellow--a grinning town fellow, who says there's something wrong.
(_Fiercely_.) I have got more information than you're aware of. I have
all the information I want. I have had it for years--for years--for
years--enough to last me till to-morrow! Let you come in, indeed! What
would Harry say?
(_Bessie Carvil appears at cottage door with a white wrap on her head
and stands in her garden trying to see_).
Bessie. What's the matter?
Capt. H. (_Beside himself_). An information fellow. (_Stumbles_.)
Harry (_Putting out arm to steady him, gravely_). Here! Steady a bit!
Seems to me somebody's been trying to get at you. (_Change of tone_.)
Hullo! What's this rig you've got on?... Storm canvas coat, by George!
(_He gives a frig, throaty laugh_.) Well! You _are_ a character!
Capt. H. (_Daunted by the allusion, looks at coat_). I--I wear it
for--for the time being. Till--till--to-morrow. (_Shrinks away, spade in
hand, to door of his cottage_.)
Bessie (Advancing). And what may you want, sir?
Harry (_Turns to Bessie at once; easy manner_). I'd like to know about
this swindle that's going to be sprung on him. I didn't mean to startle
the old man. You see, on my way here I dropped into a barber's to get
a twopenny shave, and they told me there that he was something of a
character. He has been a character all his life.
Bessie (_Wondering_). What swindle?
Capt. H. A grinning fellow! (_Makes sudden dash indoors with the spade.
Door slams. Affected gurgling laugh within_.)