MR. VOYSEY'S _room at the office is_ EDWARD'S _now. It has somehow lost
that brilliancy which the old man's occupation seemed to give it.
Perhaps it is only because this December morning is dull and depressing,
but the fire isn't bright and the panels and windows don't shine as they
did. There are no roses on the table either._ EDWARD, _walking in as his
father did, hanging his hat and coat where his father's used to hang, is
certainly the palest shadow of that other masterful presence. A
depressed, drooping shadow too. This may be what_ PEACEY _feels, if no
more, for he looks very surly as he obeys the old routine of following
his chief to this room on his arrival. Nor has_ EDWARD _so much as a
glance for his clerk. They exchange the formalest of greetings._ EDWARD
_sits joylessly to his desk, on which the morning's pile of letters
lies, unopened now_.
PEACEY. Good morning, sir.
EDWARD. Good morning, Peacey. Have you any notes for me?
PEACEY. Well, I've hardly been through the letters yet, sir.
EDWARD. [_his eyebrows meeting._] Oh . . and I'm half an hour late
myself this morning.
PEACEY. I'm very sorry, sir.
EDWARD. If Mr. Bullen calls you had better show him all those papers I
gave you. Write to Metcalfe as soon as possible; say I interviewed Mr.
Vickery myself this morning and the houses will not be proceeded with.
Better let me see the letter.
PEACEY. Very good, sir.
EDWARD. That's all, thank you.
PEACEY _gets to the door, where he stops, looking not only surly but
nervous now_.
PEACEY. May I speak to you a moment, sir?
EDWARD. Certainly.
PEACEY, _after a moment, makes an effort, purses his mouth and begins_.
PEACEY. Bills are beginning to come in upon me as is usual at this
season, sir. My son's allowance at Cambridge is now rather a heavy item
of my expenditure. I hope that the custom of the firm isn't to be
neglected now that you are the head of it, Mr. Edward. Two hundred your
father always made it at Christmas . . in notes if you please.
_Towards the end of this_ EDWARD _begins to pay great attention. When he
answers his voice is harsh._
EDWARD. Oh, to be sure . . your hush money.
PEACEY. [_bridling._] That's not a very pleasant word.
EDWARD. This is a very unpleasant subject.
PEACEY. I'm sure it isn't my wish to bring out in cold conversation what
I know of the firm's position. Your father always gave me the notes in
an envelope when he shook hands with me at Christmas.
EDWARD. [_blandly._] And I've been waiting for you to ask me.
PEACEY. Well, we'll say no more about it. There's always a bit of
friction in coming to an understanding about anything, isn't there, sir?
_He is going when_ EDWARD'S _question stops him_.
EDWARD. Why didn't you speak to me about this last Christmas?
PEACEY. I knew you were upset at your father's death.
EDWARD. No, no, my father died the August before that.
PEACEY. Well . . truthfully, Mr. Edward?
EDWARD. As truthfully as you think suitable.
_The irony of this is wasted on_ PEACEY, _who becomes pleasantly
candid_.
PEACEY. Well, I couldn't make you out last Christmas. I'd always thought
there must be a smash when your father died . . but it didn't come. But
then again at Christmas you seemed all on edge and I didn't know what
might happen. So I thought I'd better keep quiet and say nothing.
EDWARD. I see. This little pull of yours over the firm is an inheritance
from your father, isn't it?
PEACEY. [_discreetly._] When he retired, sir, he said to me . . I've
told the Governor you know what I know. And Mr. Voysey said to me . . I
treat you as I did your father, Peacey. I never had another word on the
subject with him.
EDWARD. A very decent arrangement. Your son's at Cambridge you say,
Peacey?
PEACEY. Yes.
EDWARD. I wonder you didn't bring him into the firm.
PEACEY. [_taking this very kind._] Thank you, sir . . I thought of it.
But then I thought that two generations going in for this sort of thing
was enough.
EDWARD. That's a matter of taste.
PEACEY. And then, sir . . I don't want to hurt your feelings, but things
simply cannot go on for ever. The marvel to me is that the game has been
kept up as it has. So now, if he does well at Cambridge, I hope he'll go
to the bar. He has a distinct talent for patiently applying himself to
the details of a thing.
EDWARD. I hope he'll do well. I'm glad to have had this talk with you,
Peacey. I'm sorry you can't have the money you want.
_He returns to his letters, a little steely-eyed._ PEACEY _quite at his
ease, makes for the door yet again, saying_ . .
PEACEY. Oh, any time will do, sir.
EDWARD. You can't have the money at all.
PEACEY. [_brought up short._] Can't I?
EDWARD. [_very decidedly indeed._] No . . I made up my mind about that
eighteen months ago. Since my father's death the trust business of the
firm has not been conducted as it was formerly. We no longer make
illicit profits out of our clients. There are none for you to share.
_Having thus given the explanation he considers due, he goes on with his
work. But_ PEACEY _has flushed up_.
PEACEY. Look here, Mr. Edward, I'm sorry I began this discussion. You'll
give me my two hundred as usual, please, and we'll drop the subject.
EDWARD. By all means drop the subject.
PEACEY. [_his voice rising sharply._] I want the money. I think it is
not gentlemanly in you, Mr. Edward, to make these excuses to try to get
out of paying it me. Your father would never have made such an excuse.
EDWARD. [_flabbergasted._] Do you think I'm lying to you?
PEACEY. [_with a deprecating swallow._] I don't wish to criticise your
statements or your actions at all, sir. It was no concern of mine how
your father treated his clients.
EDWARD. I understand. And now it's no concern of yours how honest I am.
You want your money just the same.
PEACEY. Well, don't be sarcastic . . a man does get used to a state of
affairs whatever it may be.
EDWARD. [_with considerable force._] My friend, if I drop sarcasm I
shall have to tell you very candidly what I think of you.
PEACEY. That I'm a thief because I've taken money from a thief!
EDWARD. Worse than a thief. You're content that others should steal for
you.
PEACEY. And who isn't?
EDWARD _is really pleased with the aptness of this. He at once changes
his tone, which indeed had become rather bullying._
EDWARD. Ah, Peacey, I perceive that you study sociology. Well, that's
too big a question to enter into now. The application of the present
portion of it is that I have for the moment, at some inconvenience to
myself, ceased to receive stolen goods and therefore am in a position to
throw a stone at you. I have thrown it.
PEACEY, _who would far sooner be bullied than talked to like this, turns
very sulky_.
PEACEY. And now I'm to leave the firm, I suppose?
EDWARD. Not unless you wish.
PEACEY. I happen to think the secret's worth its price.
EDWARD. Perhaps someone will pay it you.
PEACEY. [_feebly threatening._] You're presuming upon its not being
worth my while to make use of what I know.
EDWARD. [_not unkindly._] My good Peacey, it happens to be the truth I
told you just now. Well, how on earth do you suppose you can
successfully blackmail a man, who has so much to gain by exposure and so
little to lose as I?
PEACEY. [_peeving._] I don't want to ruin you, sir, and I have a great
regard for the firm . . but you must see that I can't have my income
reduced in this way without a struggle.
EDWARD. [_with great cheerfulness._] Very well, my friend, struggle
away.
PEACEY. [_his voice rising high and thin._] For one thing, sir, I don't
think it fair dealing on your part to dock the money suddenly. I have
been counting on it most of the year, and I have been led into heavy
expenses. Why couldn't you have warned me?
EDWARD. That's true, Peacey, it was stupid of me. I apologise for the
mistake.
PEACEY _is a little comforted by this quite candid acknowledgment_.
PEACEY. Perhaps things may be easier for you by next Christmas.
EDWARD. I hope so.
PEACEY. Then . . perhaps you won't be so particular.
_At this gentle insinuation_ EDWARD _looks up exasperated_.
EDWARD. So you don't believe what I told you?
PEACEY. Yes, I do.
EDWARD. Then you think that the fascination of swindling one's clients
will ultimately prove irresistible?
PEACEY. It's what happened to your father, I suppose you know.
_This gives_ EDWARD _such pause that he drops his masterful tone_.
EDWARD. I didn't.
PEACEY. He got things as right as rain once.
EDWARD. Did he?
PEACEY. . . My father told me. Then he started again.
EDWARD. But how did you find that out?
PEACEY. [_expanding pleasantly._] Well, being so long in his service, I
grew to understand your father. But when I first came into the firm, I
simply hated him. He was that sour; so snappy with everyone . . as if he
had a grievance against the whole world.
EDWARD. [_pensively._] It seems he had in those days.
PEACEY. Well, as I said, his dealings with his clients were no business
of mine. And I speak as I find. He was very kind to me . . always
thoughtful and considerate. He grew to be so pleasant and generous to
everyone--
EDWARD. That you have great hopes of me yet?
PEACEY. [_who has a simple mind._] No, Mr. Edward, no. You're different
from your father . . one must make up one's mind to that. And you may
believe me or not but I should be very glad to know that the firm was
solvent and going straight. There have been times when I have sincerely
regretted my connection with it. If you'll let me say so, I think it's
very noble of you to have undertaken the work you have. [_then, as
everything seems smooth again._] And Mr. Edward, if you'll give me
enough to cover this year's extra expense I think I may promise you that
I shan't expect money again.
EDWARD. [_good-tempered, as he would speak to an importunate child._]
No, Peacey, no!
PEACEY. [_fretful again._] Well, sir, you make things very difficult for
me.
EDWARD. Here's a letter from Mr. Cartwright which you might attend to.
If he wants an appointment with me, don't make one till the New Year.
His case can't come on before February.
PEACEY. [_taking the letter._] I am anxious to meet you in every
way--[_he is handed another._]
EDWARD. "Perceval Building Estate" . . that's yours too.
PEACEY. [_putting them both down resolutely._] But I refuse to be
ignored. I must consider my whole position. I hope I may not be tempted
to make use of the power I possess. But if I am driven to proceed to
extremities . .
EDWARD. [_breaking in upon this bunch of tags._] My dear Peacey, don't
talk nonsense . . you couldn't proceed to an extremity to save your
life. You've taken this money irresponsibly for all these years. You'll
find you're no longer capable even of such a responsible act as tripping
up your neighbour.
_This does completely upset the gentle blackmailer. He loses one
grievance in another._
PEACEY. Really, Mr. Edward, I am a considerably older man than you, and
I think that whatever our positions--
EDWARD. Don't let us argue, Peacey. You're quite at liberty to do
whatever you think worth your while.