_The_ VOYSEY _dining-room at Chislehurst, when children and
grandchildren are visiting, is dining table and very little else. And at
this moment in the evening when five or six men are sprawling back in
their chairs, and the air is clouded with smoke, it is a very typical
specimen of the middle-class English domestic temple; the daily
sacrifice consummated, the acolytes dismissed, the women safely in the
drawing room, and the chief priests of it taking their surfeited ease
round the dessert-piled altar. It has the usual red-papered walls, (like
a refection, they are, of the underdone beef so much consumed within
them) the usual varnished woodwork which is known as grained oak; there
is the usual, hot, mahogany furniture; and, commanding point of the
whole room, there is the usual black-marble sarcophagus of a fireplace.
Above this hangs one of the two or three oil paintings, which are all
that break the red pattern of the walls, the portrait painted in 1880 of
an undistinguished looking gentleman aged sixty; he is shown sitting in
a more graceful attitude than it could ever have been comfortable for
him to assume._ MR. VOYSEY'S _father it is, and the brass plate at the
bottom of the frame tells us that the portrait was a presentation one.
On the mantelpiece stands, of course, a clock; at either end a china
vase filled with paper spills. And in front of the fire,--since that is
the post of vantage, stands at this moment_ MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. _He is
the second son, of the age that it is necessary for a Major to be, and
of an appearance that many ordinary Majors in ordinary regiments are. He
went into the army because he thought it would be like a schoolboy's
idea of it; and, being there, he does his little all to keep it so. He
stands astride, hands in pockets, coat-tails through his arms, cigar in
mouth, moustache bristling. On either side of him sits at the table an
old gentleman; the one is_ MR. EVAN COLPUS, _the vicar of their parish,
the other_ MR. GEORGE BOOTH, _a friend of long standing, and the Major's
godfather. Mr. Colpus is a harmless enough anachronism, except for the
waste of L400 a year in which his stipend involves the community.
Leaving most of his parochial work to an energetic curate, he devotes
his serious attention to the composition of two sermons a week. They
deal with the difficulties of living the christian life as experienced
by people who have nothing else to do. Published in series from time to
time, these form suitable presents for bedridden parishioners._ MR.
GEORGE BOOTH, _on the contrary, is as gay an old gentleman as can be
found in Chislehurst. An only son; his father left him at the age of
twenty-five a fortune of a hundred thousand pounds (a plum, as he called
it). At the same time he had the good sense to dispose of his father's
business, into which he had been most unwillingly introduced five years
earlier, for a like sum before he was able to depreciate its value. It
was_ MR. VOYSEY'S _invaluable assistance in this transaction which first
bound the two together in great friendship. Since that time Mr. Booth
has been bent on nothing but enjoying himself. He has even remained a
bachelor with that object. Money has given him all he wants, therefore
he loves and reverences money; while his imagination may be estimated
by the fact that he has now reached the age of sixty-five, still
possessing more of it than he knows what to do with. At the head of the
table, meditatively cracking walnuts, sits_ MR. VOYSEY. _He has his back
there to the conservatory door--you know it is the conservatory door
because there is a curtain to pull over it, and because half of it is
frosted glass with a purple key pattern round the edge. On_ MR. VOYSEY'S
_left is_ DENIS TREGONING, _a nice enough young man. And at the other
end of the table sits_ EDWARD, _not smoking, not talking, hardly
listening, very depressed. Behind him is the ordinary door of the room,
which leads out into the dismal draughty hall. The Major's voice is like
the sound of a cannon through the tobacco smoke._
MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Of course I'm hot and strong for conscription . .
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. My dear boy, the country'd never stand it. No
Englishman--
MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_dropping the phrase heavily upon the poor old
gentleman._] I beg your pardon. If we . . the Army . . say to the
country . . Upon our honour conscription is necessary for your safety . .
what answer has the country? What? [_he pauses defiantly._] There you
are . . none!
TREGONING. Booth will imagine because one doesn't argue that one has
nothing to say. You ask the country.
MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Perhaps I will. Perhaps I'll chuck the Service and
go into the House. [_then falling into the sing song of a favourite
phrase._] I'm not a conceited man . . but I believe that if I speak out
upon a subject I understand and only upon that subject the House will
listen . . and if others followed my example we should be a far more
business-like and go-ahead community.
_He pauses for breath and_ MR. BOOTH _seizes the opportunity_.
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. If you think the gentlemen of England will allow
themselves to be herded with a lot of low fellers and made to carry
guns--!
MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_obliterating him once more._] Just one moment.
Have you thought of the physical improvement which conscription would
bring about in the manhood of the country? What England wants is Chest!
[_he generously inflates his own._] Chest and Discipline. I don't care
how it's obtained. Why, we suffer from a lack of it in our homes--
MR. VOYSEY. [_with the crack of a nut._] Your godson talks a deal, don't
he? You know, when Booth gets into a club, he gets on the committee . .
gets on any committee to enquire into anything . . and then goes on at
'em just like this. Don't you, Booth?
BOOTH _knuckles under easily enough to his father's sarcasm_.
MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Well, sir, people tell me I'm a useful man on
committees.
MR. VOYSEY. I don't doubt it . . your voice must drown all discussion.
MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. You can't say I don't listen to you, sir.
MR. VOYSEY. I don't . . and I'm not blaming you. But I must say I often
think what a devil of a time the family will have with you when I'm
gone. Fortunately for your poor mother, she's deaf.
MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. And wouldn't you wish me, sir, as eldest son . . .
Trenchard not counting . . .
MR. VOYSEY. [_with the crack of another nut._] Trenchard not counting.
By all means, bully them. Get up your subjects a bit better, and then
bully them. I don't manage things that way myself, but I think it's your
best chance . . if there weren't other people present I'd say your only
chance, Booth.
MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_with some discomfort._] Ha! If I were a conceited
man, sir, I could trust you to take it out of me.
MR. VOYSEY. [_as he taps_ MR. BOOTH _with the nut crackers_.] Help
yourself, George, and drink to your godson's health. Long may he keep
his chest notes! Never heard him on parade, have you?
TREGONING. I notice military men must display themselves . . that's why
Booth acts as a firescreen. I believe that after mess that position is
positively rushed.
MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. [_cheering to find an opponent he can tackle._] If
you want a bit of fire, say so, you sucking Lord Chancellor. Because I
mean to allow you to be my brother-in-law, you think you can be
impertinent.
_So_ TREGONING _moves to the fire and that changes the conversation_.
MR. VOYSEY. By the bye, Vicar, you were at Lady Mary's yesterday. Is she
giving us anything towards that window?
MR. COLPUS. Five pounds more; she has promised me five pounds.
MR. VOYSEY. Then how will the debt stand?
MR. COLPUS. Thirty-three . . no, thirty-two pounds.
MR. VOYSEY. We're a long time clearing it off.
MR. COLPUS. [_gently querulous._] Yes, now that the window is up, people
don't seem so ready to contribute as they were.
TREGONING. We must mention that to Hugh!
MR. COLPUS. [_tactful at once._] Not that the work is not universally
admired. I have heard Hugh's design praised by quite competent judges.
But certainly I feel now it might have been wiser to have delayed the
unveiling until the money was forthcoming.
TREGONING. Never deliver goods to the Church on credit.