EDWARD. Oh . . I apologise. Don't forget the letters.
PEACEY. I will not, sir.
_He takes them with great dignity and is leaving the room._
PEACEY. Here's Mr. Hugh waiting.
EDWARD. To see me? Ask him in.
PEACEY. Come in, Mr. Hugh, please.
HUGH _comes in_, PEACEY _holding the door for him with a frigid
politeness of which he is quite oblivious. At this final slight_ PEACEY
_goes out in dudgeon_.
EDWARD. How are you, Hugh?
HUGH. Good Lord!
_And he throws himself into the chair by the fire._ EDWARD _quite used
to this sort of thing, goes quietly on with his work, adding
encouragingly after a moment_ . .
EDWARD. How's Beatrice?
HUGH. She's very busy.
_He studies his boots with the gloomiest expression. And indeed, they
are very dirty and his turned up trousers are muddy at the edge. They
are dark trousers and well cut, but he wears with them a loose coat and
waistcoat of a peculiar light brown check. Add to this the roughest of
overcoats and a very soft hat. Add also the fact that he doesn't shave
well or regularly and that his hair wants cutting, and_ HUGH'S
_appearance this morning is described. As he is quite capable of sitting
silently by the fire for a whole morning_ EDWARD _asks him at last_ . .
EDWARD. What d'you want?
HUGH. [_with vehemence._] I want a machine gun planted in Regent Street
. . and one in the Haymarket . . and one in Leicester Square and one in
the Strand . . and a dozen in the City. An earthquake would be simpler.
Or why not a nice clean tidal wave? It's no good preaching and patching
up any longer, Edward. We must begin afresh. Don't you feel, even in
your calmer moments, that this whole country is simply hideous? The
other nations must look after themselves. I'm patriotic . . I only ask
that we should be destroyed.
EDWARD. It has been promised.
HUGH. I'm sick of waiting. [_then as_ EDWARD _says nothing_.] You say
this is the cry just of the weak man in despair! I wouldn't be anything
but a weak man in this world. I wouldn't be a king, I wouldn't be rich . .
I wouldn't be a Borough Councillor . . I should be so ashamed. I've
walked here this morning from Hampstead. I started to curse because the
streets were dirty. You'd think that an Empire could keep its streets
clean! But then I saw that the children were dirty too.
EDWARD. That's because of the streets.
HUGH. Yes, it's holiday time. Those that can cross a road safely are
doing some work now . . earning some money. You'd think a governing
race, grabbing responsibilities, might care for its children.
EDWARD. Come, we educate them now. And I don't think many work in
holiday time.
HUGH. [_encouraged by contradiction._] We teach them all that we're not
ashamed of . . and much that we ought to be . . and the rest they find
out for themselves. Oh, every man and woman I met was muddy eyed! They'd
joined the great conspiracy which we call our civilization. They've been
educated! They believe in the Laws and the Money-market and
Respectability. Well, at least they suffer for their beliefs. But I'm
glad I don't make the laws . . and that I haven't any money . . and that
I hate respectability . . or I should be so ashamed. By the bye, that's
what I've come for.
EDWARD. [_pleasantly._] What? I thought you'd only come to talk.
HUGH. You must take that money of mine for your clients. Of course you
ought to have had it when you asked for it. It has never belonged to me.
Well . . it has never done me any good. I have never made any use of it
and so it has been just a clog to my life.
EDWARD. [_surprised._] My dear Hugh . . this is very generous of you.
HUGH. Not a bit. I only want to start fresh and free.
EDWARD. [_sitting back from his work._] Hugh, do you really think that
money has carried a curse with it?
HUGH. [_with great violence._] Think! I'm the proof of it and look at
me. When I said I'd be an artist the governor gave me a hundred and
fifty a year . . the rent of a studio and the price of a velvet coat he
thought it; that was all he knew about art. Then my respectable training
got me engaged and married. Marriage in a studio puzzled the governor,
so he guessed it at _two_ hundred and fifty a year . . and looked for
lay figure-babies, I suppose. What had I to do with Art? Nothing I've
done yet but reflects our drawing-room at Chislehurst.
EDWARD. [_considering._] Yes . . What do you earn in a year? I doubt if
you can afford to give this up.
HUGH. Oh, Edward . . you clank the chain with the best of them. That
word Afford! I want to be free from my advantages. Don't you see I must
find out what I'm worth in myself . . whether I even exist or not?
Perhaps I'm only a pretence of a man animated by an income.
EDWARD. But you can't return to nature on the London pavements.
HUGH. No. Nor in England at all . . it's nothing but a big back garden.
[_now he collects himself for a final outburst._] But if there's no
place on this earth where a man can prove his right to live by some
other means than robbing his neighbour . . I'd better go and request
the next horse I meet to ride me . . to the nearest lunatic asylum.
EDWARD _waits till the effects of this explosion are over_.
EDWARD. And what does Beatrice say to your emigrating to the backwoods . .
if that is exactly what you mean?