_The same evening. The ante-room of the Assembly Hall--a dingy place,
used on occasion as a dressing-room, and containing a small deal table
and a few battered cane-bottomed chairs. Two gas-brackets project from
the wall at the right and wire netting protects the lights. A door r.
gives access and one c. up three stairs leads on to the platform. A
rough hat-rack under the left gas-jet bears two ancient bowler hats
and a cloth cap. Their owners are three members of the mens
executive--Robert Jones, James Pullen and Joseph Livesey. Pullen, the
owner of the cap, is smoking a clay pipe. He is a stoutish man of about
forty, obviously no teetotaller, with a moustache and an obstinate jaw.
Jones and Livesey, the leaders of the strike movement, are perhaps ten
years his juniors and just a shade more educated in their accents. All
are roughly dressed, but in their evening, not their working clothes.
Livesey wearing a very much cut away black coat and a waistcoat adorned
with a silver watch chain. Pullen has a scarf and no collar, but the
other pair wear celluloid collars over cotton shirts. Pullen is sitting
at the table sideways, r. Jones has his back to the fire, l. and
Livesey is walking about above table._
Pullen. What 'A says is this 'ere. Maister Thompson's a jolly good
sort. Gives us 'af-day Thursday to play us in, with full brass an' all.
'And-some, A calls it, 'andsome. (_He emphasizes by striking his fist on
the table._)
Jones. Tha's a fule, Jim Pullen. Tha's allays drawin' red 'erring?
across the trail. Tha makes me tired. _'_Ere's a mate o' ours walks into
th' _'_oist same as it might be thee or me an' th' next minute _'_e's
gone to kingdom come. Thompson gives us an _'_af-day off to attend th'
buryin' if us wants to, an' theer's thou an' a few like thee ready to
lick _'_is boots because _'_e's yeard us snarlin' an' chucked us a bone
to shut our jaws on. Can't tha see _'_is game?
Livesey (_behind table_). Oh, A'm noan sayin' nought about that. That
were an accident like what might _'_appen anywheers. It's th' whole
system we want altered.
Pullen. System is it? Aye, tha find me a system as'll give us more beer
an' more easy time to sup it in an' A'm with thee.
Livesey. It's not so much for usselves as for our childer.
Pullen (_shuffling irritably_). A'm noan wed. 'Ad more sense. If you
young 'uns will marry, you mun tak' consequences.
Livesey (_sitting behind table r. side_). The kids! That's the point,
Jones. We're ould.
Pullen (_contemptuously_). Thee ould! Why, lad, tha were nobbut breeched
t'other day.
Livesey (_turning on him_). Yes, we are--we're ould as life goes here.
We're done. But th' kids have a reeght to summat better. We canna see
our way out. We're nobbut a silly crowd o' fuies.
Pullen (_interposing_). Tha are that.
Livesey (_continuing_). But if we could nobbut educate our childer.
They'd find a way.
Pullen. 'Ere, mister, my lad, what's tha gettin' at? The kids gets their
schooling, don't they?
Jones. Aye, till they're legally ould enough to coom to work an' forget
in a year all as they've 'ad shoved into their yeads in eight. (_Spits
in fire._) They've a reeght to a better chance than we _'_ad an' we
can't give it 'em. We're not paid enough. We're livin' on hope, an'
hope's like ivy. It clings to ruins.
Livesey. That's good. Tha remember yon an' give it 'em in theer in thy
speech. (_Jerking his thumb towards the door c._)
Jones (_going on as though speaking to a meeting_). Th' bosses 'ave got
us down and they're sitting on our yeads. It's about time we woke oop
an' showed _'_em the working man's not such a blamed fool as _'_e looks.
Livesey. Aye. Now tha' talkin'.
Jones. We keep body an' soul together and that's the limit.
(_Enter R. Job Alcott, another workman, quite roughly dressed and
apparently of the most poorly paid class. He looks ill._)
Alcott. Good evening.
Livesey. Tha doesn't look so rosy to-neeght, lad. What's oop wi' thee?
Alcott (_wearily, hanging his cap up, then sitting in chair R. by
table_). Oh, th' usual thing. You all know. Can't relish my food an'
yeadache an' faint feelin'. Rum taste in my mouth, an' all.
Livesey. Aye. We all know that taste.
Pullen. Beer's th' stuff to wash it out o' your mouth. (_Crosses to fire
and sits R. of it._)
Alcott. A saw doctor last neeght.
Jones. Aye. What's 'e say?
Alcott (_bitterly_). Tould me A'd no chance if A went on 'ere. Get
soom fresh air for a month or two, 'e says. Get away out o' this into
country, 'e says. Country! Likely isn't it? A'm a labourer. Ask off for
a month, supposin' A'd got th' brass to keep me which A've not, an' A'll
get sack sharp. They've only to send to the next big town an' a thousand
poor chaps as is out o' collar 'ull coom trampin' out after my bloomin'
eighteen bob a week an' be damned glad to get it an' all.
Livesey. Shame!
Jones. It's a cryin' shame. Why, look at me wi' eighteen bob a week same
as him, an' the mouths A've got to fill. Ma missus as 'ad eleven of 'em
in _'_er time. A were wed at eighteen, A were.
Pullen (_quarrelsomely_). Tha's never got eleven childer. Don't try to
kid me.
Jones. Not livin', A haven't. Some of _'_em's dead--thank God.
Livesey. Coom, draw it mild, lad. Yon's blasphemy.
Jones (_sullenly_). No, _'_tisn't, neither. A do thank God for it. Poor
little beggars, they're better dead nor alive an' starvin' wi' th'
rest. A man can pull his belt oop a hole an' suck a pebble if he's
hunger-mad. Th' kids can't do that.
Livesey. They wouldn't need if tha'd keep off the booze.
Jones (_fiercely_). A don't drink. A don't like beer. It turns
my'stomach. (_Up stage round R._)
Pullen (_rising disgustedly and walking away as if from a portent_).
Call thasel' a mon and don't like beer? (_He turns to light his pipe at
a gas, but fails to get it through the wire, mutters "Blast," and takes
a match out and lights up._)
Livesey. Then what dost take It for.
Jones. What for? To mak' me forget. (_Going down to sit l. of table._) A
must forget soomtimes. A'd go crazed if A didn't forget. (_Sitting._)
Pullen (_at the gas_), Blast.
Livesey. It's a weary life.
Alcott (_rising and going up c._) It's a hell. Damn Thompson. Damn him an'
all that's hissen.
Jones (_protestingly_). Damn _him_, aye, but not all that's hissen. That
means Miss Thompson, an' she's a blessed angel.
Pullen (_coming forward_). Bah! Her an angel, her wi' her 'ard proud mug
goin' about as if we was dirt at 'er feet.
Jones. Aye, an angel, lad. That's her; 'ard as nails she looks an proud
as Lucifer but tha's not wed; tha's not seed yon wench sittin' i' thy
kitchen nussin' thy kids. Maybe she's never sent thee fine grub when tha
was sick.
Pullen. A'm never sick.
Jones No, but she'd know if tha wert, an tha'd know she knowed it, an'
all. Not as she maks a fuss about it It's all done quiet. A dunno if
Thompson _'_isself so much as knows a word about it. Alcott (_l.c. at
back_). Aye, that's reeght. Sorry A cursed _'_er. Theer were a two three
bottles of champagne an' soom jelly an' stuff waitin to whoam for me
last neeght when A get theer from docto? Not a word about who'd sent
them, but----
Pullen. Eh! _'_Ere lads, A feels bad. Took sudden, some road.
Livesey. What's to do?
Pullen. A dunno. Thowt o' that champagne, A reckon.
(_Enter R. Mrs. Jones--a slight careworn woman of about thirty with
pinched features and wears clogs, and a drab cloth skirt, blouse and a
shawl over her head, all well worn. She crosses quickly to Jones shakes
his should, violently, speaking in a shrill voice._)
Mrs. Jones. Thee coom whoam, Bob Jones. Coom 'ome, A tell thee.
Alcott. Eh! missus, what's to do? Mrs Jones (_turning on him_). Thee
shut tha ugly mug, and don't put thy spoke in atween man an wife. (_To
Jones._) Now then, art coomin.
Jones. What's oop wi' thee, lass?
Mrs. Jones. Tha knows. A tould thee A'd coom an' fetch thee whoam if
tha dared to shove tha nose in at meetin'. Strike indeed, tha great
leatherhead! Wait till A get thee to whoam. A'll give thee strike.
Livesey. Leave 'im be, missus. Tha don't know what tha's talkin' about.
Mrs. Jones. Don't A, ma lad? (_Her arms go akimbo._) Maybe A knows more
than the lot o' you put together. Ma faither were on strike onct when
A were nobbut a young wench. A knows what strikes means. Strikes means
clemmin', and ma childer shallna clem as A'd to clem then if A can 'elp
it. Now, then, ar't coomin'?
Jones (_rising_). Leave be. This 'ere's not wimmen's business.
Mrs. Jones. No, but it's a woman's business to see as 'er childer gets
their baggin', an' it's a woman's business to sit an' watch 'em clem if
theer's no baggin' to give 'em. It's you men as does th' silly things
an' us women an' childer as pays for 'em. Thee coom whoam an' quit
makkin' a fool o' thasel'. (_Pulling Jones towards door._)
Jones. _'_Ere, missus, see yon door? Well, get thasel' 't'other side o'
it sharp. Tha's no reeght in 'ere at all.
Mrs. Jones. A've the reeght o' a moother wi young bellies to fill. Tha
coom whoam or tha'll get rough side o' ma tongue till tha'll wish tha'd
never, bin born. Wait while A get hold o' yon Bunting chap, an' all.
A'll give 'im strikes. What does 'e want wi' interferin' in other folk's
business wantin' folks to strike--'im as 'as allays gone fed an' warm
clothed an' doan't know what clemmin' means? A'll strike _'_im, A will.
Livesey. Tha don't understand, Mrs. Jones.
Jones. Coom on now. Let's 'ave no more o' it. Outside.
Mrs. Jones. A don't stir a foot.
Jones. Don't thee, by gum? (_Picking her up._) It's all same to me which
way tha goes. (_Crossing to door r., carrying her struggling._)
Mrs. Jones (_as they go out_). Wait till A get thee whoam, my lad. (_He
carries her out. For a moment the altercation continues off r._)
Pullen. (_coming forward and sitting below table l. side_). Yon wench is
reeght, tha knows. A'm not goin' to 'ave nought to do wi' it. Man an'
boy, A've worked for Maister Thompson thirty year an' A'm noan goin' to
turn again ma ouid maister at ma time o' life. A know ma place, A do.
Livesey. Oh, A've no patience wi' thee.
Pullen. (_Obstinately_) It's all reeght, Mr. Livesey. None o' your
strikes fur me. A can see through a ladder as clear as most. An' A'll
tell thee summat as is mebbe news to thee. Theer's above a few as thinks
along o' me, too, only they don't gas about it so loud as you.
Livesey. Very well, if theer are, theer'll be no strike. (_Going up c.
to door. Jones returns a little shamefacedly. The others avoid looking
at him. He goes up to c._)
Pullen. No. A 'll bet theer'll not.
Livesey. We'll soon see who's reeght.
Jones. Aye, coom on. Let's be startin' th' meetin'. (_Crossing to door
c._)
Livesey (_consulting a silver watch_). Wait a bit. Wheer's Mr. Bunting?
We canna staryt wi'out 'im. Give us another five minutes. How's room?
Open door theer and see.
Jones (_opening door c. Confused murmur as of a crowd is heard through
it_). Pretty nigh packed. They'll noan thank us for bein' late.
Livesey. Close th' door.
(_Jones closes the door and shuts off the sound, dropping R.C._)
Livesey. Tha'd best begin, Bob. A'll follow thee, an' Mr. Bunting can
say 'is bit when A've done. Then we'll put it to the vote, strike or no
strike.
Pullen (_sourly_). Tha's no need to trouble. Theer'll be no strike.
Livesey. That remains to be seen. We'll give _'_em every chance. No use
startin' a strike wi'out weighin' things oop proper first. What'll tha
say Bob?
Jones (_takes notes from his pocket_). This 'ere's what Mr. Bunting give
me to say. A'm straight fur striking. Tha knows that.
Alcott. Aye.
Pullen. Well, A say it's noan reeght, Joe Livesey. Tha's goin' to shoot
th' mon first an' tell 'im why arterwards. Give 'im a chance. It's th'
least us can do. 'E's a real good sort, is ould Thompson.
(_Enter r. Clavering and Charlie. They put coats and hats on the rack
R._)
Charlie. Good evening. Meeting not begun yet, I see.
Jones. We were nobbut waitin' on you, sir. (_He looks at Clavering._)
Charlie. All right. I met the doctor on the doorstep and brought him
along to say a few words.
Livesey (_to Clavering_). Glad to see you with us, sir.
Clav. (_nervously_). Er--yes. I'd like to speak to Mr. Bunting first if
you don't mind. Suppose you fellows go on to the platform and set the
ball rolling. We'll follow.
Jones. All reeght. (_A little awkwardly._) Tha'll noan be long wilta?
We's none on us much at speakin' on our own, tha knows.
Charlie (_reassuringly_). Don't be afraid of me, I'll do the talking. If
the men don't strike, it won't be my fault..
Livesey. That's the ticket. (_Passing to door c._)
Alcott. Give it 'em hot, sir. (_Following him._)
Jones. It will mean a lot coomin' from thee. (_Following._)
Charlie. We'll do our best, both of us.
(_Exeunt c. Livesey, Alcott and Jones. A burst of cheering is heard,
then Jones closes the door._)
Pullen. (_following the others, stopping before Charlie_) If this not
above takin' a bit o' advice from me, Maister Banting, tha'll be careful
what tha says about striking. Theer's me an' a good few others as
'ave put our yeads together, and we're gom to see as this business o'
striking gets no forrader.
Charlie. (_surprised_). What's this? (_Clavering paces about
impatiently._)
Pullen. We don't want no strike. If us wants brass, let's ask un for it
fair an' straight. Striking's not th' square thing.
Charlie (_roused and speaking passionately_). Are you blind, man?
Is Thompson straight with you. Do you expect a bloated bigwig of the
British belly class to give you your rights before you force him into
it? (_Clavering makes a gesture of despair._) In the whole history of
industrial employment have employers ever given employés their rights
until they were forced to? (_Clavering tries to cheek the stream
in vain._) They tell you of humane legislation, of factory acts and
sanitary regulations. Humane legislation! What was it but the capitalist
ruling classes giving way inch by inch before the pressure of the
masses?
(_Clavering puts his hand on Charlie s shoulder. Pullen has been
retreating step by step before the flow of eloquence and now stands
cornered and unaole to escape in the left hand corner. Charlie swings
round irritably on Clavering._)
Charlie. What's the matter?
Clav. (_soothingly_). Yes, yes, yes, old man. Keep all that for in
there. (_Nodding at door c._) Don t waste it on the desert air of an
ante-room. Let Pullen go. I want to talk to you.
Pullen. Aye. Soom one _'_ad best talk to _'_im if _'_e means to go on
that gait in theer.
Clav. (_impatiently_). Yes. All right, my man. Won't you go on to the
platform now?
Pullen. Aye. (_Crossing._) A'm going. (_He opens the door c. Livesey is
heard speaking inside._)
Livesey (_off, c., his back visible to audience as he stands speaking_).
Comrades, a strike is a terrible thing. Do not let us mak' light o'
it. When we call on you to decide whether to strike or not-------------
(_With a gesture of disgust and a muttered "Yah," Pullen goes out c. and
closes the door behind him._)
Charlie. Thank goodness they're not all that type--pig-headed, beery
lout. Now, old man, I suppose you want to talk about our speeches. It's
no good both saying the same thing. .
Clav. There's no fear of my saying the same as you.
Charlie. Oh, I don't know. It's as well to have a plan. (_Breaking off
in a kind of exultation._) Oh, Clavering, Clavering, isn't it great?
This is my night, my night of nights. Tell me I deserve it, old chap.
Haven't I worked for it? It's been no joke to wake those fellows up from
their lethargy, their ignorance, their ridiculous submission. But I did
it, I alone. Oh, you've done something--the book--but you left me the
men. That was what I wanted. They were mine. How I argued, wrestled,
fought with them till they saw the truth, till I lighted up their dull
intelligence and fanned the spark till it became the flame that this
night's work shall cause to blaze and demolish! (_Clavering stands in a
noncommittal attitude, but Charlie does not note his detachment._)
You mustn't grudge it me, Clavering. It's my night of triumph, the
culminating point of all my efforts. I haven't a doubt in me. I'm so
right, so utterly right. Nothing can stand before me now. They've tried
to stop me--my father, Thompson--and they've failed. Truth must out.
There must be justice at all costs, Clavering, at all costs. This is the
dawn of a new era for Thompson's men. Congratulate me, my ally! Oh, but
I don't want your help. It's kind of you to come, but tonight I need no
aid. I'm strong. I could sweep them off their feet in there. But yes,
you must come with me. Come, let us go. (_Clutching Clavering as if to
carry him bodily in._)
Clay (_eluding him_). Not yet.
Charlie (_astonished_). Why not?
Clav. I cannot come with you.
Charlie. But why? We've the same ideas about these things.
Clav. (_significantly_). We had.
Charlie (_puzzled_). We had? What do you mean?
Clav. Don't be angry with me. I've been thinking over the thing
and--well--things have been happening.
Charlie. You don't--no, it can't be true--I can't believe it. You! The
book! (_Realizing it._) Good God, he's bought you off.
Clav. (_firmly_). The book's all right and I don't allow such language,
Charlie.
Charlie (_bitterly_). I could have staked my life on your sincerity.
I--I hope you got a good price for your silence, Dr. Clavering.
Clav. Don't be a fool. I tell you I'm not going to be silent. The book
will appear right enough, and there'll be a note in it to say that the
respirator's in use at Thompson's works.
Charlie (_staggered_). What!
Clav. Yes. Come, now, haven't we got what we wanted? Isn't it worth
while to be bribed?
Charlie (_recovering himself_). Not by that man.
Clav. Oh, you're an extremist. (_Crossing over to fire._)
Charlie. Yes, where Thompson's concerned I am. (_By door c._)
Clav. Well, I'm not. His way's only relatively bad and if he adopts the
respirator--
Charlie (_interrupting_). His way is the way of the slave-driver. He
trades in the lives of men.
Clav. Oh, rot, man. You're drunk with words.
Charlie (_laughing bitterly_). You're defending your last ditch now. You
can't refute me; you can only revile, and the average coalheaver could
give you points at that.
Clav. That doesn't get us much further.
Charlie. Well, it doesn't matter much. After all, you're only one more
against me, and I'm not afraid. Nothing can stand in my path to-night.
I didn't feel the need for you. I can do without your speaking, Dr.
Clavering.
Clav. Oh, I'm going to speak. Mr. Thompson asked me to speak.
Charlie. (_Controlling himself visibly_). What are you going to say?
Clav. I've to tell them I'm appointed medical officer at the works. That
means free doctoring for the men. (_Cynically._) They didn't often
pay me anyhow, but it's officially free now instead of being a private
benevolence of mine.
Charlie. Yes, he's bought you by the respirator and made you his
creature by offering you a salary; (_Bitterly._) And I thought you were
an honest man!
Clav. (_quietly_). I've got to look after myself like everybody else.
(_Enter John r., palpably agitated and panting._)
John (_seeing Charlie_). Thank God I'm in time.
Charlie (_coldly_). In time for what?
John. To stop you. You've not spoken yet, have you?
Charlie. No, but you'll not stop me.
John. Dr. Clavering, tell him he mustn't. You're his friend, he'll
listen to you. Won't you help me to stop this folly?
Clav. I can't, Mr. Bunting. You can't cork up Niagara.
John (_distractedly_). Charlie, remember what this means to me. Jabez
will have no mercy if you incite his men to rebel against him. Think of
your father, my boy.
(_Clavering with a shrug strolls to the hack and stands aloof._)
Charlie. I can't betray my principles even to save you, whatever other
people can do when it suits their interests. (_With a backward glance at
Clavering, who smiles cynically._)
John (_pitiably_). You're throwing away my life. I can't face the
disgrace, Charlie.
Charlie (_firmly_). Nevertheless, I must speak. (_Going up l.c. by c.
doors._)
John. For mercy's sake, be reasonable.
Charlie (_Hotly_) Reasonable! What do you mean by "reasonable"? That I
should put your petty pride before the health and wellbeing of scores
of men and women. No, father, I can't be "reasonable." I've nailed my
colours to the mast and I shall speak--speak as I've never spoken yet,
speak with all my heart and soul. I've to fight Thompson in there,
Thompson and his renegade, this turncoat, Clavering, and I shall fight
to win. Right is with me and I'm not afraid to fight without the gloves.
(_He goes off c. in a kind of frenzied exultation. A burst of cheering
greets him cut off by his closing the door._)
Clav. (_sneeringly_). Melodramatic ass!
John (_sinking into a chair r. of table, and burying his face in his
hands on the table_). What shall I do? What shall I do?
Clav. Umph! It's a pity he's too big an infant to have some sense
whipped into him, Mr. Bunting.
John. Don't mock an old man's ruin.
(_Enter r. Rose and then Jabez._)
Jabez (_briskly_). Oh, here you are, Clavering. Sit down, Rosie. Dirty
hole it is. I can't think why on earth you insisted on coming here.
(_Clavering dusts a chair R. with his hand and places it for her._)
Rosie. Thanks. (_To Jabez._) Of course I came. I couldn't stay away.
I had to know what happened, and I knew you'd never tell me. (_Jabez
snorts and looks round, seeing John, who had again sunk his face wrapt
up in his misery. Clavering shuts the door which Jabez had left open.
John rises and approaches Jabez appealingly. Jabez sees him with
surprise._)
Jabez. Hullo, John.
John (_rising_). Jabez, for pity's sake.
Jabez (_impatiently_). Oh, I've no time to waste now, John, (_John
goes l. and leans head on mantelpiece._) I'll see you later. (_To
Clavering_). I suppose Charlie's on his hind legs by now? (_Up to c.
doors._)
Clav. Yes. That's the platform entrance. (_He crosses to it._)
Jabez. Wait a bit. Don't go yet. (_Clavering stops._) Open the door and
let's listen to him. (_Clavering opens doors, disclosing Charlie's hack
as he stands speaking on platform._)
Charlie (_off, c._). Your trade's dangerous. You don't make old bones.
If you're not poisoned by fumes at forty, you're chucked on the scrap
heap because you're no longer strong enough to work. Don't you deserve
some compensation when you risk your lives every day you work, when
you're only fit to work while you're young? Life is a handicap where the
weakest starts at scratch and the devil takes the hindmost. (_Cheers.
Clavering makes a questioning gesture._)
Jabez. No. Hear him out. (_Clavering nods, still holding the door
open._)
Charlie (_off, c._). You're not dogs. You're men. (_Cheers._) You want
decent homes and a bit of pleasure in life and something to put by for
the time when you can't work! How are you going to do it?
Livesey (_off, c._). Demand higher wages. Strike! (_Cries off of
"Strike," "More wages," "Vote."_)
Jabez (_motioning Clavering_). That'll do, Clavering. (_Clavering shuts
the door and comes down stairs._)
John (_putting out his hand in timid appeal_). Jabez!
Jabez (_impatiently_). Well, what is it?
John. Don't be hard on me, Jabez. I've tried to stop him. I've done my
best, indeed I have.
Jabez (_impatiently_). Oh, I've no time to waste now, John. Anyhow you'd
better come in yonder with me. It'll show 'em you're not of the same
mind as Charlie.
John (_eagerly_). Anything, Jabez. I'll do anything if you won't throw
me over.
Jabez. Well, we'll see about that later. Come along.
(_Exit Jabez c., John following. Slight murmurs and hoots. Clavering
goes up the stairs, hesitates, then closes the door and turns, looking
at Rosie._)
Clav. Miss Thompson!
Rosie (_coldly, looking up_). Did you speak to me, Dr. Clavering?
Clav. (_smilingly_). Yes. Mayn't I? (_Coming forward._)
Rosie (_huffily_). You can speak if you like. I don't undertake to
reply.
Clav. I'm sorry if I've offended you. Won't you tell me why?
Rosie. You've treated Mr. Bunting very shabbily, and I really don't wish
to hear another word from you.
Clav. Oh, don't say that. I've tried so often to get a chance of
speaking to you alone. I've hungered for it, but it never came. Your
radiant health stood in the way of even a professional visit. I found an
excuse to come last night.
Rosie. So Alcott's illness was only an excuse. Isn't he ill?
Clav. Of course he's ill. What does Alcott matter? He's only one more
ground up in the mill--and your father sent you from the room because I
broke his absurd rule of mentioning a works affair in your presence. I
knew the rule, and I risked his displeasure on the chance of seeing you
alone to plead my cause.
Rosie. Your cause was Alcott, wasn't it?
Clav. My cause was myself. You've not forgotten, have you, what I asked
you once before, how I came to you two years ago----?
Rosie. What do you mean? I think it is you who forget. Must I remind you
that I am engaged to be married to Mr. Bunting? (_Clavering gets chair
r. of table and sits facing Rosie._)
Clav. Of course I know that nominally you are engaged to him. (_Rosie
tries to interrupt in vain._) _I_ know how it all happened--an old
standing idea between your father and his. But really, really, these
family arrangements are out of date. I tell you, Miss Thompson, if I
could think for one moment that you were satisfied to marry Charlie, I'd
pluck my tongue out rather than speak to you like this. I won't believe
it. It's an "arrangement" which suits neither of you. Charlie kicks
openly against the pricks. Your splendid loyalty makes you submit in
silence. Loyalty and submission have their uses, but you must never let
this relic of bygone days survive to wreck our happiness.
Rosie. _Our_ happiness!
Clav. Oh, if you want proof of my devotion, haven't I given it to you?
I kept my bond. I've let you know of all illness amongst your father's
hands, and I've seen that no word of your ministrations reached his ear.
You mustn't think of Charlie. He's an inconsequential wobbler. Oh! he
sees what he wants all right, but his only idea of getting it is to bash
at everything in his way with a battering ram. He can't finesse.
Rosie. No. I think that's rather fine of him myself.
Clav. Fine! What good's he done? See what I've done already without your
help. The respirator's going to be used and the men get free doctoring.
I've done that. I alone. Charlie's only talked about it. Think how much
more I could do for the men if I had the help of your influence with
your father, if I were--your husband.
Rosie (_rising. Clavering rises_). Dr. Clavering, before I was engaged
to Charlie you asked me to marry you. You remember my answer?
Clav. Yes, but circumstances have changed. Rosie. Yes, they've changed.
Your proposal then was an honourable one, for I was free to choose, and
I refused you gently, hoping to spare you pain. To-day my answer is the
same, with this addition, that were I free to choose as I was then, I
should choose an honest man, a man who couldn't "finesse".
(_Enter John, c. Shouts and clapping heard. Jabez' back seen as he
stands speaking._)
Clav. (_recovering himself with an effort_). Well, Mr. Bunting, how are
things going in there?
John. Listen. Jabez is speaking now.
Jabez (_off c. speaking in a genial way_). It is like this, lads. I
always like to think of myself as the father of my men. I'm proud of you
fellows. The way you back me up when the spying factory inspectors come
round is a thing any man would be proud of....
Pullen (_off_). We're glad to do it for you, sir. (_Clavering whistles
softly and looks at Rosie, who avoids his eye._)
Jabez (_off_). We're just a big family, and I'd like to think we're
a happy-one. But in a big family there's bound to be some selfish lad
who's discontented and tries to make others discontented. I'll name no
names.
Clav. (_Softly_) That's one for Master Charlie.
Jabez (_Off_) I tell you I'm a sight poorer in yon hall than you
fellows in your cosy cottages. You think you'd like to change
places with me. I wish some of you could, and see how you'd like the
responsibility of finding work to keep the shop going for a week or two.
Damn it, lads, I'm a raven. I know that as well as you do, but I've got
to dress up in peacock's feathers and pretend. I'm no end of a swell
for your sakes. It's all bluff--it's the way business is done nowadays.
Appearances count.
(_Cries off of "That's right, that's right." "Good old Thompson!" "Go
on." He proceeds with a threat in his voice._)
Many a time I've been that worried over getting in the orders I've had
half a mind to shut up shop. Don't drive me too far or I'll do it. Where
_'_ud you be then? There's enough working men walking the streets.
How _'_ud you fellows like to join 'em? I know it's not an easy life.
(_Plaintively._) I'm doing my level best to make it easier. Only to-day
I've arranged with Dr. Clavering----
Clav. That's my cue. I'd better show up.
Jabez (_continuing_). To give him an appointment as medical officer to
my works. You'll get free doctoring. (_Clavering goes out c. quickly,
closing the door._)
John (_looking at Rosie appealingly_). Rosie!
Rosie. Yes, Mr. Bunting? (_Rises._)
John (_pitifully_). Don't let him be hard on me, my dear. I've done my
best. If only you will speak to him. You can always have your way with
your father. (_He puts out his hands appealingly._)
Rosie (_taking his hand in hers and patting it as if soothing a
frightened child_). Don't be afraid. Do you think I'd let you two old
gentlemen quarrel about nothing? Charlie's father and mine must always
be good friends.
John (_relieved and almost tearful_). Oh, my dear! (_Distressed again_).
But Charlie------(_He breaks off._)
Rosie (_encouragingly_). Yes?
John. You're not going to marry him after what's happened.
Rosie. Why, of course I am.
John (_bewildered_). But--I don't know anything--I thought he'd----
Rosie (_soothingly_). Never mind, Mr. Bunting. I promise you father
shan't be nasty to you.
John (_pressing her hand._) Bless you, my dear, bless you. You don't
know what that means to me. (_He goes out r., blunderingly. The murmur
of great applause comes from c. Rosie looks off c. expectantly. The door
opens and the sound increases. Enter Jabez visibly glowing with heat and
triumph, Clavering all smiles, and a little behind Charlie, very much
dejected. The door remains open and the sound dies down gradually._)
Jabez. Thanks, Clavering. You did that very neatly.
Clav. (_obsequiously_). You'd done the trick before I opened my mouth,
sir. (_Charlie goes to the back with the evident intention of effacing
himself._)
Jabez (_briskly_). Well, nothing to stay here for. We'd better be going,
Rosie.
Clav. It's all over but the shouting. (_A cry heard off--"Douse 'un in
th' 'orse-trough."_)
Jabez (_skarply_). What's that?
(_Enter Pullen c._)
Clav. Some of the shouting.
Pullen. There's going to be no strike, sir.
Jabez. Of course not. There never was the least chance of it. (_Charlie
stands near door r._)
Pullen (_scratching his head_). A dunno about that. A thowt it a pretty
near thing at one time afore tha coom in.
Jabez (_confidently_). Rubbish, man. Mere talk. Never deceived me for a
moment.
(_Enter c. Livesey, Jones and Alcott. They look sidelong at Jabez and
slink behind to their hats. Livesey goes to Charlie._)
Livesey. They're talking yonder o' dousing thee in _'_th
_'_orse-trough, Mr. Bunting. Tha'd best be off whoam sharp. (_Gets his
cap, r._)
Alcott. Aye, theer's none on us lot finished oop what tha might call
_'_ot favourites.
Jabez (_turning_). Oh, Livesey, that you? Shake hands. No malice, I
hope? (_Livesey puts out his hand shyly, Jabez shakes it cordially,
shaking after with Jones and Alcott, the latter of whom rubs his
hand first on his trouser leg._) Good night, lads. (_Charlie sits r.
dejectedly._)
Jones. Good night, sir. (_They go out r._)
Alcott. (_Then comes to Jabez with hand extended. Jabez off-handedly,
dismissing him_).
Jabez. Good night, Pullen.
Pullen (_drawing back disappointedly on seeing he is not to shake
hands_). Good night, sir.
(_Exit Pullen r._)
Jabez (_to Clavering_). There'll be no more trouble with those fellows.
They know they're marked men now.
Clav. (_flatteringly_). You do know how to manage them, sir.
Jabez. It's cheap at a handshake. You might cut along after them and
talk to the men as they come out. See what I mean? (_Walking with
Clavering to the door r._). We can't make too sure of a thing.
(_Clavering nods and goes out r., lifting coat and hat from rack r. as
he goes. Jabez turns and sees Charlie._) Well, Charlie, not sulking, are
you? (_Claps Charlie on the shoulder._)
Charlie (_rises_). You'd no right to speak, Mr. Thompson. It was my
meeting, not yours.
Jabez. Oh come, Charlie. All's fair in love and war. You can't tell me
I didn't give you your chance. You'd done before I went in. Come, shake
hands and be friends. You're fairly beaten. Take your gruel like a man.
Charlie (_Jerking his head up_). Yes, I'm beaten this time. But
it won't be so always, and you needn't think it will. Ingrained
conservatism and a silly tradition of loyalty have won for you this
time. You've bamboozled the majority to-night; but to-night's majority
is the minority of to-morrow.
Jabez. Look here, Charlie. Take an old man's advice and give it up.
You've had your fling with the men and a pretty hash you've made of it.
Charlie. Oh, I'm giving it up all right. You needn't worry about that.
I'm going away.
Rosie (_involuntarily_). Going away! (_She makes a slight move
forward._)
Jabez. Where?
Charlie (_ignoring Rosie--to Jabez_). Oh, I don't know. I'm clearing out
of this. I haven't thought where. What does that matter?
Rosie. But why, Charlie?
Jabez. Oh, that's as plain as the nose on his face. (_To Charlie._)
You're frightened of the men. You've been taught to-night that your
second-hand, second-rate ideas may look very pretty in a book, but they
won't wash in real life, and instead of facing it like a man and staying
here to live this down, you can think of nothing better than running
away.
Charlie. If you're going to insult me by telling me I'm afraid of a few
fools whose only idea of argument is physical force, I'd better say good
night. (_Turning as if to go r._)
Jabez. You think you've done something fine, don't you? (_r.c._) I
shouldn't wondor if you consider yourself quite a hero, eh, Charlie?
Charlie. No. (_Crossing to Jabez._) I'm a man looking for a job.
Jabez. You won't keep it long if you can't learn to mind your own
business.
Charlie. My business is Chemical Research. It was you who wanted me to
leave it and mix myself up with other matters.
Jabez. I wanted you to be a rational member of society, sir, not a
damned labour agitator and a failure at that. You boasted you could sway
a mob. Sway a mob! Why, man, you couldn't sway a child. You don't know
the A.B.C. of public speaking.
Charlie. Oh, you've a right to boast. Vae Victis.
Jabez. Yes, vanquished on your own ground, Charlie. You said you'd
speak, and you've spoken. A fat lot better off you are too. Now look
here, Charlie, you're a young fool, but I've alwrays been fond of you,
and I'm ready to take a lenient view of this.
Charlie (_r.c._). Lenient view!
Jabez. Yes... I've tumbled to what your silly twaddle really is. You've
simply been sowing your wild oats like any other young fellow, only it
wouldn't be you if you did things like other people. Most fellows do it
over cards or a woman or a lot of women. You've done it over my workmen.
And the point is, the point is that you _have_ sown them, that it's done
with, ended for good and all--------(_Charlie turns to speak._) Confound
you, don't interrupt. You've had your innings, now it's my turn. You're
going to drop your cursed--what's it called?--altruism--and you'll
settle down cosily and comfortably with Rosie. That's your programme, my
boy.
Charlie. To be not only a fool myself, but a breeder of fools! (_Rosie
turns to fire._) It's no good, Mr. Thompson. I tell you I am going
away. I must slip the cable if I'm to have any respect for myself after
to-night's work. (_Going p. to coat rack._)
Rosie (_turning, quietly_). Father, how long is it since you had a
cigar?
Jabez. I don't know.
Rosie. I am sure it's time you had another. (_Jabez takes case out._)
Jabez. Thank you, my dear.
Rosie (_apparently shocked_). Oh, but you mustn't smoke here. Go to the
air and smoke your cigar on the step till I come. (_Gently manoeuvring
him towards the dao? r._)
Jabez (_going reluclantly_) But what are you going to do?
Rosie. It will be all right. You see, this isn't a works' affair any
longer, is it?
Jabez. No. I suppose it isn't.
Rosie. So it's quite right for mc to speak to Charlie now. I shan't be
long. (_Jabez goes out r., his bearing indicating that he does so under
proest. Rosie closes the door behind him and faces Charlie._)
Rosie. Now, Charlie!
Charlie (_trying to escape_). I must be going. Good night, Miss
Thompson, and good-by. (_Holding his hand out._)
Rosie (_ignoring the hand standing with her back to the door she has
just closed._) Don't be silly, Charlie.
Charlie. There's another door, you know. (_Looking c._)
Rosie. The main entrance will be locked long since.
Charlie (_accepting the situation._) What do you want with me?
Rosie (_coming forward from the door and speaking softly._) I want to
help you.
Charlie. I don't want your help. I want to be alone. Can't you
understand my wanting to crawl away and hide? Won't you let me go?
Rosie (_sympathetically_). I want to help you.
Charlie. Your father's right, Rosie. I've made a hash of things. There's
nothing left for me to do here now. I've shot my bolt.
Rosie. What do you propose to do?
Chaelie (_irritably_). Oh, I don't know yet. Go on living, I suppose. I
shan't starve. I'm a qualified chemist. That's worth something anywhere.
(_Sitting l.c. on corner oj table._)
Rosie. You're worth more here.
Charlie. Here! I can never hold my head up again after to-night. You
don't understand what it is I've tried to do.
Rosie. I understand very well, and I don't quarrel with what you wished
to do, but you've gone about it in the wrong way. You were wrong,
utterly wrong, in talking to my father as you did. What made you do it?
Charlie. I only told him the truth.
Rosie. The truth! Don't you know that there are times when it's criminal
to tell the truth?
Charlie. Never!
Rosie. You won't persuade a man like my father to see the error of his
ways by blurting out a bundle of unpleasant truths. You're a reformer
in a hurry. You won't realize that his convictions are just as strong as
yours and that he is too old to alter.
Charlie (_With some slight return of spirit_) And I'm too young
to alter. We've got beyond the point when wisdom was regarded as the
monopoly of senile decay. I won't turn back. (_Rising from table and
going l._)
Rosie. My dear boy, I don't ask you to. I only ask you to advance
intelligently, (_over to Charlie, l._) to understand that the odds
against you are too great for you to fight single-handed.
Charlie (_gloomily_). You're quite right. I'm a broken gambler. I'm
bankrupt for this fight now--bankrupt with no assets. Your father's got
them all.
Rosie. No, Charlie, not all. You've one asset that he'd give half his
wealth to have.
Charlie. I have? What's that?
Rosie. You've youth. You can afford to wait. You mustn't throw up the
sponge and fly at a first reverse.
Charlie. It seems so hopeless to try to do anything here. I thought I'd
got hold of the men. Tonight's work has settled all that. I shall never
recover my influence. I don't know--of course one never does--but there
might be some place in the world where I could be of use. There's just
a chance, and I want to try again--to redeem all this. These things
mean so much to me--more than anything else in the world.
Suffering--poverty--I see them so clearly. Whenever I think of other
things, things I desire, my own personal wishes--they get in the way.
Rosie. And are you alone blessed with eyesight? Do you think me blind?
Do you combine your modern socialism with a mediaeval conception of
women? Charlie, if the men's condition has been an obsession with you,
with me it's been the passion of a lifetime. It's gone near to wrecking
my life.
Charlie (_involuntarily_). How?
Rosie. Because I needed help and I sought an instrument. A woman's
handicapped. I can do a lot with my father, but I never dared to
interfere openly at the works. That was his territory, and I knew he'd
stand no petticoat government there. I wanted a man's help. I wanted
you.
Charlie. Why didn't you tell me this before? We could have done so much?
Rosie. Charlie, do you realize that I'd to live with my father? You
had your differences with him, but at any rate they were confined to
business hours. For me, there was no escape. I lived under the same roof
with him, so I'd to do my good by stealth unknown to him.
Charlie. But why keep it from me?
Rosie (_pityingly_). My dear boy!
Charlie. Well?
Rosie. You, with your passion for the truth!
Charlie (_a little hotly_). Do you object to that?
Rosie. I like it. But it made it impossible for me to tell you this
before.
Charlie. Why? (_Pause._)
Rosie. Charlie, if I had told you, would you have kept it to yourself?
Charlie. Why should I do that?
Rosie. Exactly. Sooner or later you'd have blurted it all out to my
father, and I could have done no more good, no more little charities,
no more small alleviations. What sort of a life do you suppose I should
have had if he'd learnt that I had broken through his rule, that I was
doing all I could to soften his harsh management and to make things
easier for his pecple when they fell ill?
Charlie. You've been doing that? How little I knew you!
Rosie. It wasn't much, but I did what I could.
Charlie. What a sweep I've been!
Rosie. You're going to stay?
Charlie. Yes, I'm going to stay. I've been a fool. I thought I hadn't
time for marriage. I thought a wife would be a drag. I--I thought myself
a tower of strength.
Rosie (_smiling_). It had to be, Charlie. A poet always marries a cook.
Charlie. You mustn't talk like that. I'm not fit for you. I've played
with you. I thought of you as Thompson's daughter, content with him and
all he stands for. And all the time I wanted you, wanted you horribly.
Only that stood in the way. I loved you while I tried to hate you for
what I thought you were. I know you better now. You're going to help me.
That's kind, that's generous of you. I need you so much, Rosie.
Rosie. I'm ready now, father.
Jabez. About time, too.
Rosie. Charlie's coming home with us father.
Jabez. But the men are all outside, they'll all see,
Rosie. Why shouldn't they? Have you forgotten that we're going to be
married on April 25? Come along, Charlie. (_She takes his arm and urges him
to door. Jabez stares aghast, then follows Charlie's hat and coat._)
CURTAIN.