As the curtain rises, the scene and situation remain unchanged.
Presently, Robert, having completed his inspection of the other's
face and costume, moves away with a characteristic interjection.
ROBERT. Oh, Jeeroosalem! . . .
'Ere, 'elp us orf, comride: I'm wet through. Rainin' cats an'
dorgs dahn at the Junction! 'Ere, I cawn't . . . Wot oh! The
very identical! . . .
[MANSON has helped him off with his coat, and now hands him the
cassock.]
[Getting into it.] Don't know oo you are, ole pal, but you're a
bit of orl right! . . . Don't I look a corf-drop? 'Ere, where ye
teking it to? . . .
[He watches MANSON suspiciously as he places his coat before the
fire to dry.]
Bit 'andy, ain't yer? . . .
So this is where 'e lives! A bloomin' palace, as never I did
see! . . .
[MANSON prepares a place for him at the table, and pours out a cup
of tea, etc.]
Right you are, ole comride! 'E said breakfast, an' breakfast it
shall be, I don't fink! Blimey! Sossingers! Ain't 'ad the taste
of sossingers in my gizzard for I don't know 'ow long!
[He sits and devours whilst MANSON breaks and hands him bread,
waiting upon him.]
[Between bites.] Wouldn't think as I was 'is brother, would
yer--not to look at me? But strooth, _I am_; an' wot's more, 'e
cawn't deny it! . . . [He labours with a little joke.] There's a
lot o' brothers knockin' abaht as people don't know on, eh what?
See wot I mean? [Suddenly serious.] Not as I'm one o' them sort,
mind yer: my father married my mother honest, same as I married my
little . . .
[After a moment's reflection, he makes fresh onslaught upon the
sausages. Presently he looks up.]
'Ere, ain't you goin' ter 'av' none? . . . Cawn't yer speak?
MANSON. Yes.
ROBERT. Well, why cawn't yer arnser a bloke when 'e arsks yer
civil?
MANSON. You didn't make it dear that you wanted to eat with me.
ROBERT. Want a bit of 'eart in it, eh?
MANSON. Yes, that's all.
ROBERT [largely]. Sit dahn, ole pal! Mek yourself at 'ome!
[MANSON obeys.]
See, wot was I tawkin' abaht. Just afore you turned narsty?
MANSON. You were going to say something about--your little girl's
mother.
[ROBERT'S cutlery bristles up like bayonets.]
ROBERT. Look 'ere, mate, don't you come tryin' it on with me! I
don't care _oo_ you are!
MANSON. I know that.
ROBERT. Then let me be, I tell yer! You tek all the taste out o'
my sossingers.
MANSON. I should like to hear about her, comrade.
ROBERT. _You_ cawn't bring 'er back. She's dead.
MANSON. What was her name?
ROBERT. Mary--same as the little gel's.
MANSON. I wonder whether they are anything alike.
ROBERT. That's wot I come to see! . . .
She 'ad 'er mother's nose when she was a biby--_and_ 'er eyes!
Gorstrike, she was the very spit--far as a biby could be! . . .
Swelp me Moses, if I find 'er anything like Bill's ole geezer, I'll
cut 'er throat!
MANSON. And if she's like her mother? What then?
ROBERT. Why, then . . . there's allus my own. I nearly did it
once.
MANSON [after a pause]. How did you come to lose her?
ROBERT [roughly]. Never you mind!
MANSON. How did you come to lose her?
ROBERT [sullenly]. Typhoid fever.
[MANSON notes the evasion with a glance. He helps ROBERT to more
tea, and waits for him to speak. ROBERT wriggles under his gaze,
and at last he says, reluctantly.]
Oh, it was my own fault, as I lost the kid!
MANSON. That was a sore loss, comrade.
ROBERT. _I_ know it! Needn't rub it in! . . . Look, 'ere,
comride, I 'adn't a bad nature to begin with. Didn't me an' my
brother Joshua pinch an' slave the skin orf our bones to send that
spotted swine to school? Didn't we 'elp 'im out with 'is books an'
'is mortar-boards an' 'is bits of clothes to try an' mek 'im look
respectable? That's wot we did, till 'e got 'is lousy scholyships,
an' run away to get spliced with that she-male pup of a
blood-'ound! Cos why? Cos we was proud of the little
perisher!--proud of 'is 'ead-piece! We 'adn't gone none
ourselves--leastways, _I_ 'adn't: Joshua was different to me; and
now . . .
MANSON. And your brother Joshua: what of him? Where is _he_ now?
ROBERT. _I_ don't know--gone to pot, like me! P'r'aps eatin' is
bleedin' 'eart out, same as I am, at the base ingratitood of the
world!
MANSON. Perhaps so!
ROBERT. Where was I? You mek me lose my air, shoving in with your
bit!
MANSON. You were saying that you hadn't a bad nature to begin with.
ROBERT [truculently]. No more I 'adn't! . . .
O' course, when she took an'--an' died, things was different: I
couldn't 'old up the same-- Somehow, I don't know, I lost my 'eart,
and . . .
MANSON. Yes? . . .
ROBERT. That's 'ow I come to lose my kid, my little kid . . .
Mind you, that was fifteen years ago: I was a rotter then, same as
you might be. I wasn't 'arf the man I am now . . .
_You_ can larf! A man can change a lot in fifteen years!
MANSON. _I_ didn't laugh.
ROBERT. Do you want to know wot's come over me since then? I
_work_--and work well: that's more than some of 'em can say-- And
I don't get much money for it, either! That ought to mek 'em feel
ashamed! I'm not the drunkard I was--not by 'arf! If I'm bitter,
oo's made me bitter? You cawn't be very sweet and perlite on
eighteen bob a week--_when yer get it_! I'll tell yer summat else:
I've eddicated myself since then--I'm not the gory fool I was--
_And_ they know it! They can't come playin' the 'anky with us,
same as they used to! It's _Nice Mister Working-man This and Nice
Mister Working-man That, will yer be so 'ighly hobliging as to 'and
over your dear little voting-paper_--you poor, sweet, muddy-nosed
old Idiot, as can't spot your natural enemy when yer see 'im! That
orter mek some on 'em sit up!
Fifteen years ago me an' my like 'adn't got a religion! By Gawd,
we 'av' one now! Like to 'ear wot it is?
MANSON. Yes.
ROBERT. SOCIALISM! Funny, ain't it?
MANSON. _I_ don't think so. It's mine, too.
ROBERT. I believe in fighting with my clarss!
MANSON. Oh, against whom?
ROBERT. Why, agin all the other clarsses--curse 'em!
MANSON. Isn't that a bit of the old Robert left, comrade?
ROBERT. Oh, leave me alone. I cawn't be allus pickin' an'
choosin' my words! I ain't no scholar--thank Gawd!
MANSON. All the same, I'm right, eh, comrade? Comrade . . .
ROBERT [grudgingly]. Well, yus! [Savagely.] Yus, I tell yer!
Cawn't a bloke speak 'otter than 'e means without _you_ scrapin' at
'is innards?
[Exploding again.] Wait till I set eyes on that bleedin' brother
of mine again, that's all!
MANSON. Which bleeding brother?
ROBERT [with a thumb-jerk]. Why, '_im_, o' course! [Sneering.]
The Reverend William! 'Im as you said was damned! . . . Allus did
'ate parsons! I 'ates the sight of their 'arf-baked, silly mugs!
[There is a very loud Ringing of the Bell.]
'Ello! 'Ello! Did I mek a row like that?
MANSON. You tried, didn't you?
ROBERT. So I did, not 'arf! Thought if I kicked up an 'ell of a
shindy they'd think some big bug was comin'; and then when they'd
be all smiles an' bowin' an' scrapin', in pops me, real low!
[ROGERS enters. On seeing them at the table, he is apparently
troubled with his inside.]
ROGERS. Oh, my 'oly Evings!
MANSON. Who is it, Rogers?
ROGERS [awed]. It's the Bishop of Lancashire!
MANSON [imperturbably]. Shew him in, Rogers.
ROGERS. Beg pardon, Mr. Manson . . .
MANSON. I said, shew him in.
Quick, Rogers. Keep a bishop waiting!
ROGERS. Well, I'm jiggered!
[He is; and goes out.]
ROBERT. 'Ere! Did 'e say _bishop_?
MANSON. Yes.
ROBERT. Comin' 'ere? Now?
[MANSON nods his head to each inquiry.]
Well, I ain't agoin' ter leave my sossingers, not if 'e was a
bloomin' archangel, see!
[ROGERS, still jiggered, ushers in JAMES PONSONBY MAKESHYFTE, D.D.,
the Most Reverend the Lord Bishop of Lancashire. He looks his
name, his goggles and ear-trumpet lending a beautiful perfection to
the resemblance.]
[MANSON has risen: ROBERT, imperturbable, discusses sossingers:
ROGERS, with a last excruciation of his ailment, vanishes.]
[The Most Reverend Father in God stands blinking for recognition.
Pained at the non-fulfilment of this worthy expectation, he
moves--a little blindly--towards the table. Here he encounters the
oppugnant back of the voracious ROBERT, who grows quite annoyed.
Indeed, be as good as says so.]
'Ere, where ye comin' to?
BISHOP [peering closely into his face, the other edging away]. Ah!
Mr. Smythe, or I am mistaken.
ROBERT. Smith's my name! Don't you call me Smythe!
BISHOP. My dear sir, don't mention it: my sister has explained
everything. I bear you no grudge--none whatever!
ROBERT. What's the silly ole josser jawin' abaht now?
BISHOP. But I perceive that I have--er--[sniffing] disturbed you
at your morning meal . . .
ROBERT [with conviction]. You 'av' that!
BISHOP. Eh? . . .
ROBERT [louder]. I say, you 'av'!
BISHOP [fixing his ear-trumpet]. Just once more . . .
ROB ERT. Oh, Moses! [Roaring, and indicating his breakfast.] You
'av' blarst you!
BISHOP [mistaking the gesticulation]. Thank you, you are very
kind. I think I will. I could get nothing on the journey but a
cup of coffee and a bun.
[He sits at the table without ever having perceived MANSON, who has
nevertheless been serving him.]
ROBERT. Yus, you look as if you fed on buns!
[Throughout the play the audience will understand where the BISHOP
does, and where he does not, hear by his use or non-use of the
ear-trumpet. Perhaps the reader will be good enough to imagine
these occasions for himself, as he may have observed a reluctance
on the part of the author to encumber the text with stage
directions.]
BISHOP [eating, and at the same time addressing the becassocked
ROBERT]. And you must not think, on account of the little coolness
between us, that I have not followed your career with great
interest--very great interest! Your scholastic achievements have
been most praiseworthy--especially under the unfortunate
circumstances. . . . Although, by-the-way, I cannot at all agree
with your gloss on Romans fourteen, twenty-three; _Katakekritai_
either means _damned_ or nothing at all.
ROBERT [gesticulating]. It was _'im_ as said _damned_!
BISHOP. No, no, sir: it is perfectly indefensible!
ROBERT. I'll use what langwidge I like!
BISHOP [warming]. You said _katakekritai_ . . .
ROBERT. I never did, _I_ tek my oath!
BISHOP. My dear sir, I learned my Greek at Shrewsbury, before you
were born! Don't argue, sir!
ROBERT. Oo is argufying? . . . Talking to me about yer
Katama-what-d'you-call-it!
BISHOP. We had better drop the subject! . . . Boeotian! After
all, it is not precisely the matter which has brought us together.
And that reminds me . . . [Trumpet.] Has he come yet?
ROBERT. Oo?
BISHOP. Your brother, of course.
ROBERT. My brother! Oh, you'll see _'im_ soon enough!
BISHOP. I gather from your remark that he has not arrived yet.
Good! The fact is, I should like a preliminary discussion with
yourself before meeting your illustrious brother.
ROBERT. Then you'd better look slippy!
BISHOP. I beg your pardon? . . .
ROBERT [with a flap at the trumpet]. Go on: you 'eard.
BISHOP. Of course, the _financial_ undertaking is considerable:
it's not like an _investment_, where there is some reasonable hope
of a return: it's merely a matter of charity! The money's--gone,
so to speak.
ROBERT. Yus, I've noticed that about money, myself.
BISHOP. At the same time, I should like my _name_ to be associated
with your brother's, in so worthy an enterprise . . .
ROBERT [mildly sarcastic]. You don't say!
BISHOP. And then again, I _trust_--I say I _trust_--I am not
impervious to the more sacred obligations involved; but . . .
[He gropes blindly for bread.]
ROBERT. I allus notice that sort of 'igh talk ends with a
"but" . . .
BISHOP. Naturally, I should like to learn a little, beforehand, of
your brother's _views_. From what I gather, they are not
altogether likely to coincide with my own. Of course, he is an
idealist, a dreamer. Now, under these circumstances, perhaps . . .
Eh, what-- Oh! Bless my soul!
[MANSON has been offering him bread for some time. He has just
tumbled to the fact of his presence. He rises.]
My--my Brother from Benares, I presume?
ROBERT. What, _my_ pal, _'is_ brother! Oh, Je'oshaphat!
BISHOP. Ten thousand pardons! Really, my eyesight is deplorable!
Delighted to meet you! . . .