_Naturally it is the dining room--consecrated as it is to the
distinguishing orgie of the season--which bears the brunt of what an
English household knows as Christmas decorations. They consist chiefly
of the branches of holly (that unyielding tree), stuck cock-eyed behind
the top edges of the pictures. The one picture conspicuously not
decorated is that which now hangs over the fireplace, a portrait of_ MR.
VOYSEY, _with its new gilt frame and its brassplate marking it also as a
presentation_. HONOR, _hastily and at some bodily peril, pulled down the
large bunch of mistletoe, which a callous housemaid had suspended above
it, in time to obviate the shock to family feelings which such
impropriety would cause. Otherwise the only difference between the
dining room's appearance at half past nine on Christmas eve and on any
other evening in the year is that little piles of queer shaped envelopes
seem to be lying about, while there is quite a lot of tissue paper and
string to be seen peeping from odd corners. The electric light is
reduced to one bulb, but when the maid opens the door showing in_ MR.
GEORGE BOOTH _she switches on the rest_.
PHOEBE. This room is empty, sir. I'll tell Mr. Edward.
_She leaves him to fidget towards the fireplace and back, not removing
his comforter or his coat, scarcely turning down the collar, screwing
his cap in his hands. In a very short time_ EDWARD _comes in, shutting
the door and taking stock of the visitor before he speaks_.
EDWARD. Well?
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_feebly._] I hope my excuse for not coming to dinner
was acceptable. I did have . . I have a very bad headache.
EDWARD. I daresay they believed it.
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I have come immediately to tell you of my decision . .
perhaps this trouble will then be a little more off my mind.
EDWARD. What is it?
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I couldn't think the matter out alone. I went this
afternoon to talk it all over with my old friend Colpus. [_at this news_
EDWARD'S _eyebrows contract and then rise_.] What a terrible shock to
him!
EDWARD. Oh, nearly three of his four thousand pounds are quite safe.
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. That you and your father . . you, whom he baptised . .
should have robbed him! I never saw a man so utterly prostrate with
grief. That it should have been your father! And his poor wife! . .
though she never got on with your father.
EDWARD. [_with cheerful irony._] Oh, Mrs. Colpus knows too, does she?
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Of course he told Mrs. Colpus. This is an unfortunate
time for the storm to break on him. What with Christmas Day and Sunday
following so close they're as busy as can be. He has resolved that
during this season of peace and goodwill he must put the matter from him
if he can. But once Christmas is over . . ! [_he envisages the Christian
old vicar giving_ EDWARD _a hell of a time then_.]
EDWARD. [_coolly._] So I conclude you mean to prosecute. For if you
don't, you've given the Colpuses a lot of unnecessary pain . . and
inflicted a certain amount of loss by telling them.
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_naively._] I never thought of that. No, Edward, I
have decided not to prosecute.
EDWARD _hides his face for a moment_.
EDWARD. And I've been hoping to escape! Well . . it can't be helped
[_and he sets his teeth_.]
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_with touching solemnity._] I think I could not bear
to see the family I have loved brought to such disgrace.
EDWARD. So you'll compound my felony?
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_a little nervous._] That's only your joke!
EDWARD. You'll come to no harm.
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. On the contrary. And I want to ask your pardon,
Edward, for some of the hard thoughts I have had of you. I consider this
effort of yours to restore to the firm the credit which your father lost
a very striking one. What improvements have you effected so far?
EDWARD. [_wondering what is coming now._] I took the money that my
father left . .
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. And I suppose you take the ordinary profits of the
firm?
EDWARD. Yes. It costs me very little to live.
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Do you restore to the clients all round in proportion
to the amount they have lost?
EDWARD. [_cautiously._] That's the law.
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. D'you think that's quite fair?
EDWARD. No, I don't.
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. No, I consider the treachery to have been blacker in
some cases than in others.
EDWARD. [_his face brightening a little._] Are you going to help me in
this work of mine?
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Surely by consenting not to prosecute I am doing so.
EDWARD. Will you do no more?
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Well, as far as my own money is concerned, this is my
proposal. [_he coughs and proceeds very formally._] Considering how
absolutely I trusted your father and believed in him, I think you
should at once return me the balance of my capital that there is left.
EDWARD. [_cold again._] That is being done.
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Good. That you should continue to pay me a fair
interest upon the rest of that capital, which ought to exist and does
not. And that you should, year by year, pay me back by degrees out of
the earnings of the firm as much of that capital as you can afford. We
will agree upon the sum . . say a thousand a year. I doubt if you can
ever restore me all that I have lost, but do your best and I shan't
complain. There . . I think that is fair dealing!
EDWARD _does not take his eyes off_ MR. BOOTH _until the whole meaning
of this proposition has settled in his brain. Then, without warning, he
goes off into peals of laughter, much to the alarm of_ MR. BOOTH, _who
has never thought him over-sane_.
EDWARD. How funny! How very funny!
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Edward, don't laugh.
EDWARD. I never heard anything quite so funny!
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Edward, stop laughing.
EDWARD. What will Colpus . . what will all the other Christian gentlemen
demand? Pounds of flesh! Pounds of flesh!
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Don't be hysterical. I demand what is mine . . in such
quantities as you can afford.
EDWARD'S _laughter gives way to the deepest anger of which he is
capable_.
EDWARD. I'm giving my soul and body to restoring you and the rest of you
to your precious money bags . . and you'll wring me dry. Won't you?
Won't you?
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Now be reasonable. Argue the point quietly.
EDWARD. Go to the devil, sir.
_And with that he turns away from the flabbergasted old gentleman._
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Don't be rude.
EDWARD. [_his anger vanishing._] I beg your pardon.
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. You're excited. Take time to think of it. I'm
reasonable.
EDWARD. [_his sense of humour returning._] Most! Most! [_There is a
knock at the door._] Come in. Come in.
HONOR _intrudes an apologetic head_.
HONOR. Am I interrupting business? I'm so sorry.
EDWARD. [_crowing in a mirthless enjoyment of his joke._] No! Business
is over . . quite over. Come in, Honor.
HONOR _puts on the table a market basket bulging with little paper
parcels, and, oblivious to_ MR. BOOTH'S _distracted face, tries to fix
his attention_.
HONOR. I thought, dear Mr. Booth, perhaps you wouldn't mind carrying
round this basket of things yourself. It's so very damp underfoot that I
don't want to send one of the maids out to-night if I can possibly avoid
it . . and if one doesn't get Christmas presents the very first thing on
Christmas morning quite half the pleasure in them is lost, don't you
think?
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Yes . . yes.
HONOR. [_fishing out the parcels one by one._] This is a bell for Mrs.
Williams . . something she said she wanted so that you can ring that for
her which saves the maids. Cap and apron for Mary. Cap and apron for
Ellen. Shawl for Davis when she goes out to the larder. All useful
presents. And that's something for you but you're not to look at it till
the morning.
_Having shaken each of these at the old gentleman, she proceeds to
re-pack them. He is now trembling with anxiety to escape before any more
of the family find him there._
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Thank you . . thank you! I hope my lot has arrived. I
left instructions . .
HONOR. Quite safely . . and I have hidden them. Presents are put on the
breakfast table to-morrow.
EDWARD. [_with an inconsequence that still further alarms_ MR. BOOTH.]
When we were all children our Christmas breakfast was mostly made off
chocolates.
_Before the basket is packed_, MRS. VOYSEY _sails slowly into the room,
as smiling and as deaf as ever_. MR. BOOTH _does his best not to scowl
at her_.
MRS. VOYSEY. Are you feeling better, George Booth?
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. No. [_then he elevates his voice with a show of
politeness._] No, thank you . . I can't say I am.
MRS. VOYSEY. You don't look better.
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I still have my headache. [_with a distracted shout._]
Headache.
MRS. VOYSEY. Bilious, perhaps! I quite understood you didn't care to
dine. But why not have taken your coat off? How foolish in this warm
room!
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Thank you. I'm just going.
_He seizes the market basket. At that moment_ MRS. HUGH _appears_.
BEATRICE. Your shawl, mother. [_and she clasps it round_ MRS. VOYSEY'S
_shoulders_.]
MRS. VOYSEY. Thank you, Beatrice. I thought I had it on. [_then to_ MR.
BOOTH _who is now entangled in his comforter_.] A merry Christmas to
you.
BEATRICE. Good evening, Mr. Booth.
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I beg your pardon. Good evening, Mrs. Hugh.
HONOR. [_with sudden inspiration, to the company in general._] Why
shouldn't I write in here . . now the table's cleared!
MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_sternly, now he is safe by the door._] Will you see
me out, Edward?
EDWARD. Yes.
_He follows the old man and his basket, leaving the others to distribute
themselves about the room. It is a custom of the female members of the_
VOYSEY _family, especially about Christmas time, to return to the
dining room, when the table has been cleared and occupy themselves in
various ways which require space and untidiness. Sometimes as the
evening wears on they partake of cocoa, sometimes they abstain._
BEATRICE _has a little work-basket, containing a buttonless glove and
such things, which she is rectifying_. HONOR'S _writing is done with the
aid of an enormous blotting book, which bulges with apparently a year's
correspondence. She sheds its contents upon the end of the dining table
and spreads them abroad._ MRS. VOYSEY _settles to the fire, opens the
Nineteenth Century and is instantly absorbed in it_.
BEATRICE. Where's Emily?
HONOR. [_mysteriously._] Well, Beatrice, she's in the library talking to
Booth.
BEATRICE. Talking to her husband; good Heavens! I know she has taken my
scissors.
HONOR. I think she's telling him about you.
BEATRICE. What about me?
HONOR. You and Hugh.
BEATRICE. [_with a little movement of annoyance._] I suppose this is
Hugh's fault. It was carefully arranged no one was to be told till after
Christmas.
HONOR. Emily told me . . and Edward knows . . and Mother knows . .
BEATRICE. I warned Mother a year ago.
HONOR. Everyone seems to know but Booth . . so I thought he'd better be
told. I suggested one night so that he might have time to think over it
. . but Emily said that'd wake Alfred. Besides she's nearly always
asleep herself when he comes to bed.
BEATRICE. Why do they still have that baby in their room?
HONOR. Emily considers it her duty.
_At this moment_ EMILY _comes in, looking rather trodden upon_. HONOR
_concludes in the most audible of whispers_ . .
HONOR. Don't say anything . . it's my fault.
BEATRICE. [_fixing her with a severe forefinger._] Emily . . have you
taken my best scissors?
EMILY. [_timidly._] No, Beatrice.
HONOR. [_who is diving into the recesses of the blotting book._] Oh,
here they are! I must have taken them. I do apologise!
EMILY. [_more timidly still._] I'm afraid Booth's rather cross . . he's
gone to look for Hugh.
BEATRICE. [_with a shake of her head._] Honor . . I've a good mind to
make you sew on these buttons for me.
_In comes the Major, strepitant. He takes, so to speak, just time enough
to train himself on_ BEATRICE _and then fires_.
BOOTH. Beatrice, what on earth is this Emily has been telling me?
BEATRICE. [_with elaborate calm._] Emily, what have you been telling
Booth?
BOOTH. Please . . please do not prevaricate. Where is Hugh?
MRS. VOYSEY. [_looking over her spectacles._] What did you say, Booth?
BOOTH. I want Hugh, Mother.
MRS. VOYSEY. I thought you were playing billiards together.
EDWARD _strolls back from despatching_ MR. BOOTH, _his face thoughtful_.
BOOTH. [_insistently._] Edward, where is Hugh?
EDWARD. [_with complete indifference._] I don't know.
BOOTH. [_in trumpet tones._] Honor, will you oblige me by finding Hugh
and saying I wish to speak to him, here, immediately?
HONOR, _who has leapt at the sound of her name, flies from the room
without a word_.
BEATRICE. I know quite well what you want to talk about, Booth. Discuss
the matter by all means if it amuses you . . but don't shout.
BOOTH. I use the voice Nature has gifted me with, Beatrice.
BEATRICE. [_as she searches for a glove button._] Certainly Nature did
let herself go over your lungs.
BOOTH. [_glaring round with indignation._] This is a family matter,
otherwise I should not feel it my duty to interfere . . as I do. Any
member of the family has a right to express an opinion. I want Mother's.
Mother, what do you think?
MRS. VOYSEY. [_amicably._] What about?
BOOTH. Hugh and Beatrice separating.
MRS. VOYSEY. They haven't separated.
BOOTH. But they mean to.
MRS. VOYSEY. Fiddle-de-dee!
BOOTH. I quite agree with you.
BEATRICE. [_with a charming smile._] This reasoning would convert a
stone.
BOOTH. Why have I not been told?
BEATRICE. You have just been told.
BOOTH. [_thunderously._] Before.
BEATRICE. The truth is, dear Booth, we're all so afraid of you.
BOOTH. [_a little mollified._] Ha . . I should be glad to think that.
BEATRICE. [_sweetly._] Don't you?
BOOTH. [_intensely serious._] Beatrice, your callousness shocks me! That
you can dream of deserting Hugh . . a man of all others who requires
constant care and attention.
BEATRICE. May I remark that the separation is as much Hugh's wish as
mine?
BOOTH. I don't believe that.
BEATRICE. [_her eyebrows up._] Really!
BOOTH. I don't imply that you're lying. But you must know that it's
Hugh's nature to wish to do anything that he thinks anybody wishes him
to do. All my life I've had to stand up for him . . and by Jove, I'll
continue to do so.
EDWARD. [_from the depths of his armchair._] If you'd taught him to
stand up for himself--
_The door is flung almost off its hinges by_ HUGH _who then stands
stamping and pale green with rage_.
HUGH. Look here, Booth . . I will not have you interfering with my
private affairs. Is one never to be free from your bullying?
BOOTH. You ought to be grateful.
HUGH. Well, I'm not.
BOOTH. This is a family affair.
HUGH. It is not!
BOOTH. [_at the top of his voice._] If all you can do is to contradict
me, you'd better listen to what I've got to say . . quietly.
HUGH, _quite shouted down, flings himself petulantly into a chair. A
hush falls._
EMILY. [_in a still small voice._] Would you like me to go, Booth?
BOOTH. [_severely._] No, Emily. Unless anything has been going on which
cannot be discussed before you . . [_then more severely still._] and I
hope that is not so.
HUGH. [_muttering rebelliously._] Oh, you have the mind of a . . cheap
schoolmaster!
BOOTH. Why do you wish to separate?
HUGH. What's the use of telling you? You won't understand.
BEATRICE. [_who sews on undisturbed._] We don't get on well together.
BOOTH. [_amazedly._] Is that all?
HUGH. [_snapping at him._] Yes, that's all. Can you find a better
reason?
BOOTH. [_with brotherly contempt._] I have given up expecting common
sense from you. But Beatrice--! [_his tone implores her to be
reasonable._]
BEATRICE. It doesn't seem to me any sort of sense that people should
live together for purposes of mutual irritation.
BOOTH. [_protesting._] My dear girl! . . that sounds like a quotation
from your last book.
BEATRICE. It isn't. I do think, Booth, you might read that book . . for
the honour of the Family.
BOOTH. [_successfully side-tracked. ._ ] I have bought it, Beatrice,
and--