_Three or Four months later than Act I._
_The Hyde’s Homestead, S. Island, New Zealand. Left back, one end of
the low homestead with its broad, creeper-covered verandah abuts on
to the garden. A rough piece of road runs across right back of stage.
Back cloth painted with luxurious vegetation and vivid blue sky.
Mixture of common English fruit trees and Eucalyptus, the lily-palm,
masses of crimson ratas in flower._
_GORDON HYDE and LOVEDAY DISCOVERED sitting together in garden, down
right. GORDON has a sheaf of papers and writing pad on his knee,
pen in hand. LOVEDAY is chewing the end of a flower stalk as though
thinking._
GORDON. (_Laying down papers and looking at LOVEDAY with friendship
and admiration in his eyes, but not love._) It _is_ good of you coming
over so often to help me. I don’t know what I should have done without
you. The others try to slay with laughter all my young ideas. I _am_
indebted to you!
LOVEDAY. No, no! It has been simply splendid for me to see you work
out these great ideas. It has been wonderful to watch the little germ
of your conception grow and grow and take practical shape in your
wonderful brain!
GORDON. Oh, it is not mine. None of all this (_indicating papers on
his knee_) is mine. All my ideas before that day had been vague and
muddled. Now I am only writing down the ideas that vision, that goddess
gave me.
LOVEDAY. The practical ideas _are_ yours.
GORDON. No.
LOVEDAY. Yes. Indeed they are, I’ve watched you shaping them.
GORDON. No. The germ of everything was in that beautiful message she
gave me.
LOVEDAY. (_Looking at him as though acquiescing tenderly to humour him.
He does not see the look._) Who was it do you think?
GORDON. A spirit.
LOVEDAY. (_Triumphantly._) There _are_ no spirits you know--no spirits
that talk to living people. The ideas are your own, your very own--
GORDON. Perhaps the Maoris are right. This _was_ a spirit. It
_couldn’t_ have been imagination! I heard her speak quite clearly. Her
wonderful voice was like music, thrilling and deep like the songs of
birds in a cool, deep glade.
LOVEDAY. But you were overwrought. Imagination plays tricks then.
GORDON. Yes, I was overwrought. That recruiting business had amazingly
stirred me. But what she said was so remote from my misery that I
_could_ not have imagined anything so vital, so full of hope. I felt
shamed, anguished. I felt my manhood beaten in the dust, by my country,
by the woman I loved.
LOVEDAY. (_Murmurs._) No, no.
GORDON. Do you know what love is? Have you ever loved? If not, you
could never understand my shame.
LOVEDAY. I have never loved--
(_His face is averted, she looks at him long and tenderly._)
until--
GORDON. Ah, but you--beautiful and radiant as you are will never know
what it is to have love _spurned_--as I have.
LOVEDAY. I’m not--so--sure!
GORDON. (_Eagerly._) Are you not sure that my love is spurned? Do you
think Nora, after all, may love me?
LOVEDAY. That’s--that’s not quite what I meant. But--when--when once
Nora sees how the great world honours you for these ideas (_taps papers
on his knee_) she will love you, she must. All women will love you and
bless you--for you will be the saviour of their sons!
GORDON. But Nora is so living--so--_feminine_. I don’t think dreamy
things like _ideas_ appeal to her. Oh, how well I remember her as a
girl with her golden hair flying! We three were brought up together,
she and Robert and I. She never cared about reading, but always played
some real game.
LOVEDAY. As she gets older she will see that ideas are real. Perhaps,
and then--
GORDON. Wish that for me!
LOVEDAY. Are you sure you wish it for yourself?
GORDON. Sure! Wish it for me! There is something wonderful about you.
Your wishes would bring me luck.
LOVEDAY. I wish you every, every happiness.
GORDON. That’s vague. Say, “I wish that Nora may love you and make you
happy.”
LOVEDAY. I wish that if Nora loves you she may make you happy.
GORDON. Ah, _if_ (_suddenly looking at her_). What’s the matter with
you? Your voice sounds tired. Are you tired?
LOVEDAY. Yes. That’s it. I am a little tired.
GORDON. We’ll stop the work.
LOVEDAY. No, no. See. I’ll come here in the shade. (_She moves where he
can’t see her face._) Now read over some of what you have written, and
I’ll listen critically.
GORDON. (_Looks at her for a moment, then reads._) “The nations shall
unite and have a super-parliament to which they shall all send a
small number of representatives. This super-parliament shall make
International laws, but it shall chiefly exist to prevent any nation
flying at another’s throat. If necessary, by force.” (_In another
tone._) Flying at another’s throat, doesn’t seem formal enough, does it?
LOVEDAY. Perhaps not. Mark it. Go on.
GORDON. “In order to prevent any murderously-minded nation flying at
another’s throat (_in different tone_) as Germany did at Belgium.
_That_ example will never be forgotten.”
LOVEDAY. Never. But go on.
GORDON. “In order to prevent for ever,” I’ll add for ever, shall I?
LOVEDAY. Yes.
GORDON. “In order for ever to prevent any murderously-minded nation
flying at another’s throat, or stealing any of the rights, or breaking
any international law, the super-parliament shall have behind it the
whole of the armaments of the world.” That’s good, isn’t it? _That’s_
the point.
LOVEDAY. Splendid! That’s where your scheme differs from all the dear
crack-brained pacificists. Have you written out the clauses by which
that is secured?
GORDON. Yes. (_Shuffles the papers._) “The super-parliament is to have
complete control of all the armies and all the armament factories in
the whole world. Any individual or group of individuals violating
that monopoly and attempting private manufacture of armaments shall be
subject to instant death.”
LOVEDAY. Good!
GORDON. You are bloodthirsty!
LOVEDAY. I am only cruel to villains to be kind to the virtuous. But
I’m afraid a really sneak-dog nation, like--well, like _some_ we could
mention, would have made armaments secretly and piled them up.
GORDON. No, no, because--(_shuffles the papers_.) Where is it? There is
to be a clause preventing any such hanky-panky.
LOVEDAY. There is no doubt, that if that is managed properly, however
greedy or treacherous any individual nation might be, it simply
wouldn’t _dare_ to go to war.
GORDON. That’s the idea.
LOVEDAY. And that is a much more practical idea than that of the
pacificists who talk about _voluntary_ limitation of armaments.
GORDON. They idealise human nature.
LOVEDAY. Now _your_ plan _compels_ decent behaviour.
GORDON. _Don’t_ call it mine. It is all the gift of my fairy genius of
the woods.
LOVEDAY. (_Smiling as though tenderly humouring him._) Have you seen
her again--your spirit in the woods?
GORDON. No, only that once.
LOVEDAY. Well, what you told me of her words then was just the vague
dream of an idea, but look at all these sheets and sheets of carefully
worked out clauses. All these actual, practical, useful ideas are
_yours_!
GORDON. They are not. Though I was dreaming and longing vaguely for
something of the kind, I’m not big enough actually to have thought it
out.
LOVEDAY. You are. You are big enough for anything!
GORDON. Nora doesn’t think so.
LOVEDAY. (_Scornfully._) Nora!
GORDON. Why are you so keen on making me think too well of myself?
LOVEDAY. Not too well.
GORDON. Why do you trouble that I should even think well of myself at
all?
LOVEDAY. Because when a man is a man he should respect himself as one
man respects another.
GORDON. You are wonderful--women generally try to make a man feel a
worm.
LOVEDAY. (_Hastily._) What I like best about this splendid scheme of
_yours_ is, that even Germany will _have_ to accept it when it is
proposed to her, because she is all the while demanding “only her own
national safety,” and pretending she has no aggressive desires, so she
can’t have the face to refuse to join in--and yet when she does her
militarism will be choked. Nothing could destroy all militarism more
completely than this!
GORDON. Yes. And she would give herself away so utterly if she stood
out!
LOVEDAY. And if she _did_ stand out, she’d--
(_NORA, with a basket of fruit on her arm, enters from road._)
NORA. (_Laughing._) Halloo, you two? At it again? Settling the affairs
of the world in _this_ remote spot!
GORDON. Why not? Every spot is remote from somewhere else.
NORA. London is not remote from the war, and _if_ your ideas aren’t
boiled gooseberries, they had better get to London.
LOVEDAY. Of course they will get to London. All ideas reach London in
the end.
GORDON. Robert left me here on trust. I must keep his sheep going, at
any rate till I can get a responsible manager. Then I’ll go to London.
NORA. London has got too many ideas of its own to listen to an utterly
unknown New Zealand sheep farmer.
GORDON. (_Sighing._) It may take time!
NORA. (_Laughing._) Time! It’ll take more than time. You don’t know a
soul in London.
GORDON. I don’t, that’s flat.
LOVEDAY. _I_ do.
NORA. _You_ do? Of course you do. You will have to write him
introductions. How will you begin? “A young genius, called Gordon Hyde,
has ideas to set the Thames on fire. For love of me please give him a
match”--or--“Gordon Hyde is my dear friend, and a dear fool, and as
sometimes fools rush in where angels fear to tread, please send him in
your motor car at once to the Prime Minister.”
(_BOTH laugh, though GORDON flushes as if somewhat hurt._)
LOVEDAY. You laugh because you don’t know how powerful a really great
idea is.
NORA. I don’t. Perhaps because I’ve never met one.
LOVEDAY. (_Seeing GORDON looking wistfully at NORA, rises._) Here,
Gordon, give me those papers. We have done enough for the present. I’ll
take them into the house. (_She saunters along the verandah and enters
the house._)
GORDON. Sit down, Nora. You’ll be tired after picking all that fruit.
I’ll carry it over for you when you are rested.
NORA. I can carry it quite well myself. I’m every bit as strong as you.
GORDON. Don’t, Nora. Don’t always be cruel now.
NORA. I’m not cruel. It would be much crueller to keep you dangling
around, puffed up with hope.
GORDON. I’d be happier.
NORA. Only for a bit. It couldn’t go on.
GORDON. Why not?
NORA. Am I the kind of girl never to marry?
GORDON. Nora! You’re not--not engaged?
NORA. Not--yet.
GORDON. But--when will it be, I wonder!
NORA. Now, you are rude. Couldn’t I be engaged any minute I liked.
GORDON. Nora, how you tease me! And yet, I believe, underneath it all
you are fond of me--a little.
NORA. Of course, I’m fond of you. We were brought up like brother and
sister.
GORDON. But now, Nora--oh, bother!
(_There is a hullabaloo outside and ROTO and the 1ST SHEPHERD run on
looking towards road and shouting._)
ROTO. }
1ST SHEP. } Hey, mister, here’s a sight. Look at that now! The
first, the very first that’s been along that road. Hoo-o!
(_There is the sound of a carefully driven car, and a spidery looking
motor car driven by VARLIE draws up at the gate. VARLIE waves his hat.
ALL run forward, LOVEDAY comes out of the house, the collie dog runs
up, and a babble ensues._)
VARLIE. Yes, siree. I’m the boy to get the hustle on to these roads.
I’ll lay my bottom dollar this is the first car that has pulled up at
this Homestead.
SEVERAL. Yes. It is. It is that. Just fancy!
NORA. I say, _what_ an idea! You are a smart man, Mr. Varlie.
VARLIE. Smart! It ’ud tickle a racer to get ahead of me. I’m out to
bring this country up to date. Why, you folk would go on sleeping here
same as if automobiles had never been invented.
LOVEDAY. And I wish they hadn’t!
VARLIE. You just say that, Miss Loveday, because you are a beautiful
English girl--for England’s so small it is most over-run with
automobiles, that drop off it into the sea--but you wait till you see
what this little roundabout can do for these God-forsaken stations.
GORDON. (_Grinning amiably._) Don’t you lay it on too thick if you want
to sell your car. And I suppose that’s what you’re after?
VARLIE. Sure! (_Laughing._) Did you think I was intending to give it to
you?
GORDON. We might do without it.
VARLIE. Not likely. Not when you had once set eyes on it. The ladies
would fair grab at it if you let it slip.
NORA. There is my dad--he’ll be mad not to see it. He is away out in
the hills, or I’d fetch him along this minute.
VARLIE. Waal, let me show you what this little packet of lightening
can do. With this back seat raised she will take four of you into the
city in just one-third of the time that your horses would take you on
their backs. And you arrive spick and span as a daisy in your glad rags
instead of carrying your things to change every time there is a dance
or a the-atre.
NORA. (_Clapping her hands._) Splendid, simply splendid. Wouldn’t that
be lovely!
LOVEDAY. It might.
GORDON. If it didn’t jib half way.
VARLIE. No, siree. Not if you drive her right.
NORA. You’ll have to learn how, Gordon.
GORDON. If _you_ have the car I will learn to drive it all right.
NORA. I _must_ have it.
GORDON. Your dad’ll never spend so much just on your running about.
VARLIE. But I’ve not done yet, by gum! See what business she’ll do. See
what she will carry. If you don’t have that little back seat raised,
but have it locked down, this whole back top of her will open out on
a hinge, and run behind on runners, stretching her out like a trolley
car. See? (_He manipulates the back of car as he speaks._) Then you put
up these rails, bolt ’em together--and look at the freight she’ll carry!
NORA, }
GORDON }
and OTHERS }
TOGETHER } Wonderful! I say, that’s neat. Fancy that now! That’s a
difference from my young days.
VARLIE. She won’t carry machinery or dead weight like that--but all
your ordinary freight--flour, groceries--all you want out from the
city--she’ll take in your fruit so that you can sell it fresh in town
instead of letting it rot on your trees--she--
GORDON. Have you sold any around here?
VARLIE. Sold any? Why, there’s scarcely a station that isn’t ordering
one.
NORA. We must, dad _must_!
VARLIE. Ah, Miss Nora. I bet your poppa knows his duty to a peach like
you!
GORDON. (_Prowls round the car, examining it closely and with
interest._) Where was she made?
VARLIE. That’s an Amurrican made sample, but when I have booked enough
orders, the firm will set up and make them here.
GORDON. It is ingenious.
VARLIE. Any suggestion you like to make, sir, I’ll report to my firm.
We are out to supply to this country what she requires. It’s a fresh,
growing country with fresh-growing needs, and the firm that doesn’t try
to foist off continental models into it, but supplies those needs, will
get some business.
GORDON. That is so.
VARLIE. Why, the folk around here don’t know what it is to spend money.
There’s a power of unconscious demands right here waiting the supplies.
You need to learn how to require luxuries.
GORDON. (_Hotly._) And waste good work making things we are happier
without! No! Till this war is settled up, and after it, till everyone
is fed and clothed decently, work must be spent on those jobs, not on
senseless fripperies which enslave us to make some soulless idiot rich!
VARLIE. (_Strolls towards seat, down left._) Say! Have you got any
lemonade? I’m as dry as a fish. (_Sits._)
(_NORA and LOVEDAY sit near him._)
GORDON. Here, Roto, fetch along the drinks! (_ROTO hurries into the
house._)
1ST SHEP. (_Hovering near car, to GORDON._) Eh! But it’s a fair
miracle. Boss!
GORDON. (_Leaving the car and coming to outskirts of group, down
left._) Like all miracles, it don’t seem _sure_ to work.
(_ROTO returns, with tray of drinks and tumblers. GORDON helps to hand
them round._)
GORDON. (_To 1ST SHEPHERD, stretching out with a tumbler towards him._)
Here you are.
1ST SHEP. Thank you, Boss. (_Comes up to outskirts of group and stands
there sipping his drink._)
VARLIE. (_Cheerily._) Waal, and how have you been making time fly since
I was here last?
NORA. Much as usual, only we work harder and--(_laughs_)--Gordon moons
more than ever now he has someone to encourage him!
VARLIE. Ah, writes poetry, does he, poor chap?
GORDON. No. I don’t.
NORA. Well, what you do is just as useless.
LOVEDAY. It isn’t! He is working out ideas of great practical
use--immense--there is nothing more important in the world.
VARLIE. So _that’s_ how the land lies! (_Twinkling a knowing look at
LOVEDAY’S unconscious face._) And what _is_ the great idea, if I don’t
intrude?
GORDON. It is to make another such war as this impossible.
VARLIE. Oh, ho! That’s a _real_ smart idea, that is! Are you going to
do it by preaching to the armies, or lovin’ ’em like brothers, or how?
(_ROTO and 1ST SHEPHERD guffaw loudly._)
GORDON. I’m no silly mug of a pacifist.
NORA. Their idea--
LOVEDAY. _His_ idea--
NORA. Well then, as you like--his idea is to have only one army in the
world. Ha, ha, ha. He, he, he! Isn’t that practical!
LOVEDAY. Nora, you _are_ a tease! It’s nothing of the sort, Mr.
Varlie. Gordon’s idea is to have an international parliament, a
super-parliament, and for that to have complete control of an
international army, and also--what is very important--complete control
of all armament making.
GORDON. Then any nation would have all the rest of the world against it
directly it tried to do anything aggressive.
LOVEDAY. Yes. That’s where it will get Germany so splendidly. Germany
_pretends_ she goes in for her militarism only for self-preservation.
Now this international scheme will secure her self-preservation, but
will entirely destroy her militarism and make her aggression impossible!
VARLIE. Donnerwetter! (_Confused, trying to cover his mistake._) Sake’s
alive--
NORA. (_Pertly._) Are _you_ a German?
VARLIE. What do you take me for? I’m Amurrican. But I’ve travelled in
Germany, like most travellers.
NORA. It would be a joke if you were a German, wouldn’t it?
VARLIE. (_Cheerfully._) I’d be taking risks, wouldn’t I? But let’s hear
more of this idea. It’s a great idea if it’ll kill German militarism!
Why (_looking at GORDON_), I’d no idea you were such a top hole genius.
LOVEDAY. Now you’re laughing, too. None of you seem to think war _can_
be made impossible.
ROTO. That it can’t, Missy. Not while men are men.
1ST SHEP. (_Agreeing._) That’s so, that’s so!
LOVEDAY. How can _you_ think that, Roto? Why, there used to be war in
this very land between you and the English, and now there is none.
ROTO. That’s because the Pakeha are strong. They make laws we have to
obey. If a Maori kill a Pakeha or a Maori now, the Maori is hung by the
law. So Maori and Pakeha live without killing.
LOVEDAY. But that’s just it! If the International Parliament was strong
and it made laws, the nations would have to obey and if one nation went
to war and tried to kill another, that nation would suffer. So the
nations would live without war.
1ST SHEP. (_Shaking his head._) He, he, he! That’s likely! (_Whistles
to the collie and goes off._)
VARLIE. Germany would never consent.
GORDON. Then she would openly proclaim that her militarism is
aggressive and not for self-defence. It would have to be one of the
terms of peace that she did come in.
VARLIE. Waal, that may not be so easy.
LOVEDAY. Then all the more need for Gordon’s scheme. It is the only way
to destroy militarism.
GORDON. Without some such plan the nations will all be burdened beyond
endurance, with armament making and the upkeep of armies.
LOVEDAY. And all the lovely face of England will be scarred with
factories and works, and her people go grey and weary under roofs
instead of singing while they work under the blue sky. And not only
in England but everywhere, machines, machines, machines will sap the
vitals of men and women and make life a grey and sordid fear!
NORA. Aren’t they just _too_ absurd for anything, those two! As though
it was _their_ business to set the world right!
GORDON. Whose is it then?
NORA. Nobody’s.
GORDON. It is the business of everyone to make the world safer and more
beautiful--
NORA. (_Putting her fingers in her ears._) Aren’t they hopeless! (_To
VARLIE._) Come along, and I’ll show you my bed of English roses. You’ll
like them.
VARLIE. (_Rises, throws down a nearly burnt cigar and goes with her
across stage, standing down right with her to admire a rose bed in
bloom._) I guess you’re the best rose among them all.
NORA. (_Smiles as if pleased._) You have nothing to sell _me_!
VARLIE. No. But I might have something to give.
(_Meanwhile GORDON limps off after smiling at LOVEDAY. She picks up a
book and begins to read._)
NORA. _You_ never give anything unless you get its value back!
VARLIE. This time it is a free gift I’m thinking of, but I don’t deny I
might get its value back! More than its value perhaps.
NORA. Well, I’m sure you haven’t got anything I want as a gift.
VARLIE. Ah, you Angel face. Couldn’t you take a free gift of a man?
NORA. What man?
VARLIE. Suppose it was myself!
NORA. (_Meditating._) You are a _man_.
VARLIE. I am that. Would you take me as a free gift?
NORA. But what would I do with you?
VARLIE. Waal--what does a woman do with a man? Sometimes she marries
him.
NORA. Oh! Well--but _that_ wouldn’t be a free gift of a man. You would
get me in exchange.
VARLIE. Didn’t I say I might get more than its value back for my gift?
(_Meanwhile ROTO is sitting on the ground not far from LOVEDAY,
finishing VARLIE’S cigar, and playing with a carved jade curio.
Between the puffs of the cigar, and under his breath, he hums snatches
of the following song:_
[ROTO. He roa te wa ki Tipirere
He tino mamao,
He roa te wa ki Tipirere,
Ki taku kotiro.
E noho pikatiri,
Hei kona rehita koea,
He mamao rawa Tipirere
Ka tae ahua.])
NORA. Then that’s no bargain for me!
VARLIE. Say, you think it over. I’ve got a mighty fine business now,
and you could help me in it. You could live in the city or run about
with me or whatever you liked--and say, Angel face, I think you are
just the best ever!
NORA. You’re smart--but--
VARLIE. (_Leans over quickly and kisses her._) Say, Angel face, that’s
a man’s kiss, ain’t it?
NORA. Oh! (_Confused, half pleased, half indignant._) That’s not how to
treat New Zealand girls! (_She runs into house and slams the door._)
(_VARLIE, satisfied with himself, strolls back across stage and stands
looking down at the green jade curio ROTO is cleaning carefully.
LOVEDAY continues to read near by._)
VARLIE. Say, Sambo, what’s that pretty thing?
ROTO. I’m not a Sambo.
VARLIE. That’s right. I beg yours.
ROTO. (_Resentfully._) My name’s Roto, and I thought you knew it, Boss.
VARLIE. I did, then I didn’t, and I do now. Waal, Roto, let’s get back
to the trail. What’s that? (_Seats himself so that he can see the curio
in ROTO’S hands._)
ROTO. That’s a hei-tiki.
VARLIE. A hei-tiki, is it? Does it tick?
ROTO. Silly joke. Hei-tiki is Maori.
VARLIE. What for?
ROTO. For this. (_Shows greenstone charm round his neck._) Same here.
VARLIE. Let me see.
ROTO. No. No one touch but me. It is tapu.
VARLIE. Tapu? What does that mean?
ROTO. No one may touch but me. This one is tapu, sacred.
VARLIE. I won’t hurt it.
ROTO. When tapu put on anything, no one can touch unless tapu is raised.
VARLIE. Waal, and how is the tapu raised?
ROTO. Long ago, only death did--now--oh now, in weak men’s
time--_money_ will raise tapu.
VARLIE. The almighty dollar! And how much money will raise this tapu?
ROTO. Much, very much.
VARLIE. Why?
ROTO. This very rare, very useful hei-tiki.
VARLIE. How so?
ROTO. It has death in it, secret, strong death.
(_LOVEDAY looks up from her reading and watches quietly, and with
simple curiosity._)
VARLIE. How?
ROTO. Great secret. A very great wise chief found how to get secret
poison from karaka kernels.
VARLIE. Karaka?
ROTO. Every New Zealand Pakeha knows karaka seeds, very bad poison. But
kills too quick, too ugly, legs all stiff anyhow--all know that karaka
poison. But this great chief took part of karaka seed-poison, mixed
with magic, and then it kills more slowly in one, two hours after, like
as if the man died of himself.
VARLIE. And who do _you_ want to kill?
ROTO. Me? No fellow. All friends. But this hei-tiki useful. It has
secret poison, no doctor could tell was poison. That’s why tapu would
cost much for a pakeha to touch it.
VARLIE. I’d like to have it. How much?
ROTO. Good Maori-stone carved hei-tiki, with secret death. Very much
cost.
VARLIE. Twenty shillings?
ROTO. Oh, no, no! Two hundred shillings.
VARLIE. Gosh! Let me see it.
ROTO. No.
VARLIE. Waal, you can’t get my bottom dollar for a thing I haven’t even
seen!
ROTO. (_Holds it carefully in his hands._) Well, see.
(_The audience also can see a green jade carving of very peculiar
shape._)
VARLIE. Where is the poison?
ROTO. Quite safe. Inside. If top pressed hard, pushes bottom on one
side, and poison drops out.
VARLIE. Is the poison coloured?
ROTO. Three or four drops clear like water. One drop enough. Try! And
take the poison yourself!
VARLIE. You old scamp. I guess you are not friends with me. You’d like
me to take the poison!
ROTO. (_Cunningly._) You’re not deep friend to our Pakeha, are you?
VARLIE. (_Laughing noisily._) That’s a good one! (_Looks up and sees
LOVEDAY._) Say, Miss Loveday, did you hear that? He don’t seem to trust
me!
LOVEDAY. He has queer intuitions sometimes. But perhaps he is only
afraid of your business superiority.
ROTO. Very cheap, Maori-stone, safe kill, no pakeha doctor could tell.
VARLIE. (_Laughing._) He’s a nice villain!
LOVEDAY. He’s all right. If he wanted to use it he wouldn’t talk about
it.
VARLIE. You’re smart. Do you believe in it? Or is he just pulling my
leg?
LOVEDAY. I believe in it. Gordon knows about a thing like that. I
thought he said it was the last though.
ROTO. This the _very_ last. This worth much money.
VARLIE. (_Taking out a pocketful of money._) Come. I’ll have it, to
keep you out of mischief. Take twenty shillings?
ROTO. No.
VARLIE. Forty then?
ROTO. No.
VARLIE. Fifty then? (_Lays out the money temptingly._)
ROTO. (_Looks eagerly at it, then yields._) Ten more.
VARLIE. Oh, all right! (_Lays down money._)
(_ROTO takes up the money, and hands the green stone to VARLIE who
looks at it [so that audience can see its shape] then slips it into
his pocket._)
VARLIE. (_Laughing reassuringly and sitting a little nearer LOVEDAY._)
These queer old curios get me every time. I’ll test a drop of his
precious poison on a mangy old dog I have, and if it _is_ as he says,
I’ll wash it out and keep eau de cologne in it. The jade is a pretty
shape.
LOVEDAY. Yes, it is. And it is quite a good bit of jade, too. It is
worth money. But do be careful with the stuff. I more than half believe
what he says.
VARLIE. An old hand like I am at life, don’t run no risks with a bit of
jade. I’ve seen too much of the world.
LOVEDAY. You have travelled much?
VARLIE. I should say! I have run around a bit, and got into many a good
scrape in my time. Why, any day you are lonesome, Miss Loveday, ask me
for the story of my wounds!
LOVEDAY. I’ve been rather lonesome this afternoon. How did you get that
red triangle on your right cheek bone? I have often wondered. It is so
regular.
VARLIE. (_Turns his right cheek so that she can see it, points it out
and turns again so that audience can see the bright red, definite small
triangle on his cheek._) Ah, now that’s one of my best stories. I was a
spry young fellow then. (_Looks at her._) Now, if you were a smart girl
you’d say, “_That’s_ not long ago then, Mr. Varlie!”
LOVEDAY. (_Smiling._) I’ll say it if it is a regulation part of the
story. Is it?
VARLIE. Waal, as you are a high and mighty young English girl, we’ll
take it as said.
(_Sounds of footsteps and panting along road--1ST SHEPHERD hurries on
carrying a telegram held out before him._)
1ST SHEP. Where’s Mr. Gordon? Oh, where is he? This telegram’s for him.
LOVEDAY. He went round the back of the house not long ago.
1ST SHEP. Oh, terrible, terrible. That I’ve to take him this telegram.
LOVEDAY. What is it?
1ST SHEP. Bad news, terrible bad news. The postman, he told me.
LOVEDAY. (_Anxiously._) But tell us.
1ST SHEP. Oh, Missy, how’ll ever Mister Gordon take it? Mr. Robert has
been killed.
LOVEDAY. (_Sinking back in chair._) Robert _killed_, oh! _poor_ Gordon!
VARLIE. Sakes alive, that’s a knock out.
1ST SHEP. That’s what I say. It had better been the other way about.
LOVEDAY. (_Swiftly, in anger._) How _can_ you say that?
NORA. (_Running out of house._) What _is_ the fuss?
1ST SHEP. (_A little important as being the bearer of sad news._) Ah,
Missy, it’s sad tidings there is in this telegram. Mr. Robert’s killed.
NORA. (_Screams and staggers. LOVEDAY springs up and goes to her._)
Robert, Robert! Killed. How do you know? It must be lies. How do you
know?
1ST SHEP. Postman told me. This is a Government telegram, telling it to
ye, official.
GORDON. (_Hurries round the house and comes centre forward._) Whatever
is the matter?
(_ROTO comes in and learning news from VARLIE, shows signs of real
grief._
_ALL hesitate to tell GORDON. 1ST SHEPHERD holds out telegram._)
1ST SHEP. It’s, it’s bad news, Mister Gordon.
GORDON. The telegram is official--it’s--is Robert wounded? (_Tears open
the telegram._)
GORDON. Killed! (_Lets telegram fall, and staggers forward to chair,
all are silent._)
NORA. (_Crying softly._) Oh Robert, Robert, Robert!
(_LOVEDAY tries to soothe her and is sad also. ROTO sniffs. The collie
dog comes up to the group, looking from one to the other, then goes to
GORDON and rubs against him licking his hand. GORDON pats him._)
GORDON. Good old chap. Yes, he’ll never come back. Your master is
dead--died a hero’s death.
VARLIE. (_Comes up and shakes GORDON’S hand._) Accept my condolences.
GORDON. Thanks--thanks, you’re kind. (_Pays little attention to him,
goes over to NORA, who is still weeping._) Nora, dear. (_He kneels
beside her._) How sweet of you to care so much--he, he’d be proud if he
knew.
NORA. (_Fiercely._) He wouldn’t! He never cared for me. _And I loved
him_--and I hate you. Go away!
(_She pushes him roughly from her so that, on his knees, still, he
scarcely keeps his balance. She turns and weeps fiercely in LOVEDAY’S
arms. LOVEDAY, soothing her, really watches and feels for GORDON. As
he staggers blindly to his feet, she looks with infinite tenderness
and pity towards him and stretches out a hand to steady him. He takes
it, and clasps it for a moment._)
ROTO. (_Wailing._) What’ll happen? What’ll happen now Mister Robert
won’t come back?
1ST SHEP. Eh, eh, dear, dear.
GORDON. He won’t come back! (_He looks up suddenly, and seems to gather
strength._) He won’t come back! He has done _his_ job for the Empire!
That frees me! Now I’ll do mine! I’ve nothing to keep me here.
1ST SHEP. Why! the sheep do, Boss.
GORDON. Robert charged me to keep the station going for him till he
came back. Now he’ll never come back; I’m done with the station! Other
men must raise the sheep.
LOVEDAY. (_Her eyes sparkling._) You’ll go to London?
GORDON. Yes. We have often said I’d have to go to London some day to
get _my_ job put through.
VARLIE. (_Half aside._) The man’s mad! He doesn’t propose seriously to
bring forward that devilish scheme of his. (_Aloud._) What will you
do? Have you the dollars? It’ll take a good deal of money!
GORDON. No. All I have is the homestead, and the sheep. But I’ll sell
them.
VARLIE. It’s the worst time to sell just now.
GORDON. I’ll lose something of course, but the homestead and all is
really worth quite ten thousand pounds altogether.
VARLIE. Snakes! It’s not worth nearly half that.
1ST SHEP. Yes it is, Mister. It’s a good station. None better
hereabouts.
VARLIE. Is it freehold?
GORDON. Yes. And unencumbered.
VARLIE. Is it all yours?
GORDON. Yes--_now_ it is. Robert and I shared it. He left his will with
me--he said his share was all for me, as he hadn’t got a girl.
(_NORA is seen to shudder as though hurt._)
VARLIE. Then you can sell at once.
GORDON. I shall.
1ST SHEP. Don’t ’e, Mister Gordon, don’t ’e. You’ll best wait. Land’s
not sellin’ just now. Wait a bit.
GORDON. But my work won’t wait! I shan’t.
LOVEDAY. Splendid! Go.
GORDON. You say so? You back me?
LOVEDAY. Yes. Yes.
GORDON. Well, I have one on my side.
VARLIE. It’s a fool business.
GORDON. I must sell at once. Perhaps neighbour Lee might like to join
this station on to his.
NORA. (_Looking up fiercely._) My dad? I won’t let him. I won’t!
VARLIE. You’ll not get a purchaser at present.
ROTO. That’s true, Boss. No one is buying land just now.
GORDON. (_Turning away._) Well, I must sell for else I have no money to
go to Europe with and I _will_ go. It will be a very expensive job.
Propaganda costs. I must put my scheme before the Prime Minister of
England, and it’s no good to write to him. I must see him, I must talk
to him.
VARLIE. Has he a good opinion of you?
GORDON. He doesn’t know me yet.
NORA. (_Scolding._) How do you think that you, an absolutely unknown
Colonial with a hair-brained scheme, are going to get at him?
GORDON. I’ll manage it somehow.
VARLIE. London is not like Dunedin, I opine. Do you know anyone in
London who knows the Prime Minister?
GORDON. No. But I’ll get to.
NORA. Do you know a single living soul in London?
GORDON. No. But I will when I get there.
LOVEDAY. He will. _I’ll_ see to that!
NORA. (_Spitefully._) Oh! Do _you_ know people who know the Prime
Minister of England?
LOVEDAY. (_Quietly._) I do.
NORA. (_Taken aback._) Oh! Who?
LOVEDAY. The Duchess of Rainshire.
VARLIE. (_Very alert, evidently taking note of the name._) Does she
know the Prime Minister intimately?
LOVEDAY. Yes. He often comes to see her.
GORDON. (_Triumphfully._) Splendid! You never told me that, Loveday,
when you said I should have to go and see him somehow.
LOVEDAY. (_Smiling._) I had it up my sleeve though. There was no need
to speak of it so long as you were not going. Now (_sadly_) you can
think only of this work. I’ll be proud to help in it. It is worth doing.
GORDON. With Robert’s example before me--I’ll do it, or die.
LOVEDAY. You’ll do it.
GORDON. But it may take a long time, and I must have money, plenty of
money too. I must sell the station at once.
VARLIE. (_Drawling._) I’ve put my thinking cap on. A business
connection of my firm is looking out for freehold in this country. If
this is freehold, I reckon I’d be safe to get my money back from him if
I bought it myself.
GORDON. You!
VARLIE. Yaas. I’ve got plenty of free cash when it’s wanted, you know.
Business hasn’t been bad lately, and--waal. I’ll lay down for this
freehold of yours.
GORDON. Good. That’ll save ever so much time I might waste in looking
for a buyer.
VARLIE. Let’s strike then.
GORDON. It is worth ten thousand pounds.
VARLIE. Shucks!
GORDON. But I’ll take less.
VARLIE. Waal?
GORDON. Say seven thousand--for money down.
VARLIE. (_Laughing derisively._) What do you take me for?
GORDON. It is really worth that, why the sheep alone--
VARLIE. Sell your sheep separately then. I ain’t buying sheep, I’m
buying land.
1ST SHEP. But you can’t do nothin’ with this land without sheep, Boss.
ROTO. It’s worth more than seven thousand pounds, that’s a bargain
price, Boss.
VARLIE. Sell elsewhere then.
ROTO. Do, Mister Gordon. Next month a Pakeha I know is coming to the
city. He thinkin’ of a station like this. I fetch him along, Mister
Gordon.
GORDON. Next _month_! I want to be half way to England next month.
VARLIE. (_Lighting a cigar._) I’ll give you four thousand five hundred
for it--
GORDON. That’s too little to discuss.
1ST SHEP. That’s robbery, Boss, don’t take it. After the war it’ll
fetch three times that. After the war--
GORDON. After the war will be too late for me. The international
super-parliament must be considered in the terms of peace.
1ST SHEP. (_Groans._) Them ideas! You’d let the sheep rot for ideas!
VARLIE. I’ll give you four thousand five hundred for it, down _to-day_.
GORDON. To-day!
VARLIE. Right now. We’ll ride into the city and get a notary to fix it
up all square.
GORDON. That’s better than waiting for an uncertain buyer--but it’s
very little--
VARLIE. But it’s here, _to-day_.
GORDON. To-day. Well, I’ll take it!
VARLIE. Done. A deal. Shake.
(_ROTO and the SHEPHERD mutter, and shake their heads._)
NORA. You’re a perfect _fool_, Gordon! You throw away more than
half your fortune so as to be able to rush off to England with a
crack-brained scheme! Why not write to the papers instead?
GORDON. (_Looks helpless, says appealingly._) Oh, Nora!
VARLIE. A lot of energy is let off safely in gas to the papers. Hyde is
bottlin’ his energy up it seems. That makes him dangerous, eh?
GORDON. (_To Loveday._) You’ll give me a letter of introduction?
LOVEDAY. (_Smiling sweetly._) No. I won’t.
VARLIE. Gee. Even _she_ thinks you are going off the rails.
GORDON. Loveday, you _said_ you would give me a letter of introduction!
LOVEDAY. How many introductory letters do you suppose the Duchess of
Rainshire gets? A _letter_ would do you very little good.
GORDON. (_Crestfallen._) Oh, Loveday, what do you mean?
LOVEDAY. Why! (_Taking a step towards him, radiant, in the centre of
stage._) I’m not going to trust to letters, which people can put in the
waste-paper basket!
GORDON. But, what do you mean, Loveday?
LOVEDAY. _I’ll come with you myself!_ I’ll wait on their doorsteps (I
know lots of people in London), I’ll waylay them at parties, and seize
the very _best_ opportunities for getting the right people to know you.
GORDON. You will? You are a brick! How splendid!
VARLIE. (_Somewhat disturbed, aside._) Ach! The English are mad enough
for anything. Gott sei dank I know of this! (_Aloud._) What about Mrs.
Grundy?
NORA. Yes. A pretty pair you will look. What will people say?
LOVEDAY. When the whole world’s future is at stake, do you think I care
what people say?
VARLIE. Who was it said the English are all mad? He was right.
GORDON. It is too much, Loveday!
NORA. You are English. You will make me agree with Mr. Varlie’s opinion
of your country’s sanity.
LOVEDAY. British women are free from the need to care what foolish
people think! (_Turning to GORDON._) We will go to London, Gordon, and
there I’ll work for you and your great idea, for all I’m worth!
(_GORDON takes a step towards her, his face shining with enthusiasm._)
CURTAIN.