EDWARD. [_taken aback._] What?
HUGH. We mean to separate.
EDWARD. This is the first I've heard of it.
HUGH. Beatrice is making some money by her books, so it has become
possible.
EDWARD. [_humorously._] Have you told anyone yet?
HUGH. We mean to now. I think a thing comes to pass quicker in public.
EDWARD. Say nothing at home until after Christmas.
HUGH. Oh Lord, I forgot! They'll discuss it solemnly. [_then he
whistles._] Emily knows!
EDWARD. [_having considered._] I shan't accept this money from you . .
there's no need. All the good has been done that I wanted to do. No one
will be beggared now. So why should you be?
HUGH. [_with clumsy affection._] We've taken a fine lot of interest in
your labours, haven't we, Hercules?
EDWARD. You hold your tongue about the office affairs, don't you? It's
not safe.
HUGH. When will you be quit of the beastly business?
EDWARD. [_becoming reserved and cold at once._] I'm in no hurry.
HUGH. What do you gain by hanging on now?
EDWARD. Occupation.
HUGH. But, Edward, it must be an awfully wearying state of things. I
suppose any moment a policeman may knock at the door . . so to speak?
EDWARD. [_appreciating the figure of speech._] Any moment. I take no
precautions. I suppose that's why he doesn't come. At first I listened
for him, day by day. Then I said to myself . . next week. But a year has
gone by and more. I've ceased expecting to hear the knock at all.
HUGH. But look here . . is all this worth while?
EDWARD. [_supremely ironical._] My dear Hugh, what a silly question!
HUGH. [_very seriously._] But have you the right to make a mean thing of
your life like this?
EDWARD. Does my life matter?
HUGH. Well . . of course!
EDWARD. I find no evidence to convince me of it. The World that you talk
about so finely is using me up. A little wantonly . . a little
needlessly, I do think. But she knows her own damn business . . or so
she says, if you try to teach it her. And why should I trouble to fit
myself for better work than she has given me to do . . nursing fools'
money?
HUGH. [_responding at once to this vein._] Edward, we must turn this
world upside down. It's her stupidity that drives me mad. We all want a
lesson in values. We're never taught what is worth having and what
isn't. Why should your real happiness be sacrificed to the sham
happiness which people have invested in the firm?
EDWARD. I suppose their money means such happiness to them as they
understand.
HUGH. Then we want another currency. We must learn to express ourselves
in terms of vitality. There can be no other standard of worth in life,
can there? I never believed that money was valuable. I remember once
giving a crossing sweeper a sovereign. The sovereign was nothing. But
the sensation I gave him was an intrinsically valuable thing.
_He is fearfully pleased with his essay in philosophy._
EDWARD. He could buy other sensations with the sovereign.
HUGH. But none like the first. [_then the realities of life overwhelm
him again._] And yet . . we're slaves! Beatrice won't let me go until
we're each certain of two hundred a year. And she's quite right . . I
should only get into debt. You know that two fifty a year of mine is a
hundred and eighty now.
EDWARD. [_mischievous._] Why would you invest sensationally?
HUGH. [_with great seriousness._] I put money into things which I know
ought to succeed . .
_The telephone rings._ EDWARD _speaks through it_.
EDWARD. Certainly . . bring him in. [_then to his brother, who sits on
the table idly disarranging everything._] You'll have to go now, Hugh.
HUGH. [_shaking his head gloomily._] You're one of the few people I can
talk to, Edward.
EDWARD. I like listening.
HUGH. [_as much cheered as surprised._] Do you! I suppose I talk a lot
of rot . . but . .
_In comes old_ MR. GEORGE BOOTH, _older too in looks than he was
eighteen months back. Very dandyishly dressed, he still seems by no
means so happy as his clothes might be making him._
MR. BOOTH. 'Ullo, Hugh! I thought I should find you, Edward.
EDWARD. [_formally._] Good morning, Mr. Booth.
HUGH. [_as he collects his hat, his coat, his various properties._] Well
. . Beatrice and I go down to Chislehurst to-morrow. I say . . d'you
know that old Nursie is furious with you about something?
EDWARD. [_shortly._] Yes, I know. Good bye.
HUGH. How are you?
_He launches this enquiry at_ MR. BOOTH _with great suddenness just as
he leaves the room. The old gentleman jumps; then jumps again at the
slam of the door. And then he frowns at_ EDWARD _in a frightened sort of
way_.
EDWARD. Will you come here . . or will you sit by the fire?
MR. BOOTH. This'll do. I shan't detain you long.
_He takes the chair by the table and occupies the next minute or two,
carefully disposing of his hat and gloves._
EDWARD. Are you feeling all right again?
MR. BOOTH. A bit dyspeptic. How are you?
EDWARD. Quite well, thanks.
MR. BOOTH. I'm glad . . I'm glad. [_he now proceeds to cough a little,
hesitating painfully._] I'm afraid this isn't very pleasant business
I've come upon.
EDWARD. D'you want to go to Law with anyone?
MR. BOOTH. No . . oh, no. I'm getting too old to quarrel.
EDWARD. A pleasant symptom.
MR. BOOTH. [_with a final effort._] I mean to withdraw my securities
from the custody of your firm . . [_and he adds apologetically_] with
the usual notice, of course.
_It would be difficult to describe what_ EDWARD _feels at this moment.
Perhaps something of the shock that the relief of death may be as an end
to pain so long endured that it has been half forgotten. He answers very
quietly, without a sign of emotion._
EDWARD. Thank you . . May one ask why?
MR. BOOTH. [_relieved that the worst is over._] Certainly . . certainly.
My reason is straightforward and simple and well considered. I think you
must know, Edward, I have never been able to feel that implicit
confidence in your ability which I had in your father's. Well, it is
hardly to be expected, is it?
EDWARD. [_with a grim smile._] No.
MR. BOOTH. I can say that without unduly depreciating you. Men like
your father are few and far between. As far as I know things proceed at
this office as they have always done but . . since his death I have not
been happy about my affairs.
EDWARD. [_speaking as it is his duty to._] I think you need be under no
apprehension . .
MR. BOOTH. I daresay not. But that isn't the point. Now, for the first
time in my long life I am worried about money affairs; and I don't like
the feeling. The possession of money has always been a pleasure to me . .
and for what are perhaps my last years I don't wish that to be
otherwise. You must remember you have practically my entire property
unreservedly in your control.
EDWARD. Perhaps we can arrange to hand you over the reins to an extent
which will ease your mind, and at the same time not . .
MR. BOOTH. I thought of that. Believe me, I have every wish not to
slight unduly your father's son. I have not moved in the matter for
eighteen months. I have not been able to make up my mind to. Really, one
feels a little helpless . . and the transaction of business requires
more energy than . . But I saw my doctor yesterday, Edward, and he told
me . . well, it was a warning. And so I felt it my duty at once to . .
especially as I made up my mind to it some time ago. [_he comes to the
end of this havering at last and adds._] In point of fact, Edward, more
than a year before your father died I had quite decided that my affairs
could never be with you as they were with him.
EDWARD _starts almost out of his chair; his face pale, his eyes black_.
EDWARD. Did he know that?
MR. BOOTH. [_resenting this new attitude._] I think I never said it in
so many words. But he may easily have guessed.
EDWARD. [_as he relaxes and turns, almost shuddering, from the
possibility of dreadful knowledge._] No . . no . . he never guessed.
[_Then, with a sudden fresh impulse._] I hope you won't do this, Mr.
Booth.
MR. BOOTH. I have quite made up my mind.