THE MAN. Daisy! If I'd known you out there, I never could 'a stuck
it. They'd 'a got me for a deserter. That's how I love you!
THE GIRL. Jim, don't lift your hand to 'im! Promise!
THE MAN. That's according.
THE GIRL. Promise!
THE MAN. If 'e keeps quiet, I won't. But I'm not accountable--not
always, I tell you straight--not since I've been through that.
THE GIRL. [With a shiver] Nor p'raps he isn't.
THE MAN. Like as not. It takes the lynch pins out, I tell you.
THE GIRL. God 'elp us!
THE MAN. [Grimly] Ah! We said that a bit too often. What we want
we take, now; there's no one else to give it us, and there's no
fear'll stop us; we seen the bottom of things.
THE GIRL. P'raps he'll say that too.
THE MAN. Then it'll be 'im or me.
THE GIRL. I'm frightened:
THE MAN. [Tenderly] No, Daisy, no! The river's handy. One more or
less. 'E shan't 'arm you; nor me neither. [He takes out a knife.]
THE GIRL. [Seizing his hand] Oh, no! Give it to me, Jim!
THE MAN. [Smiling] No fear! [He puts it away] Shan't 'ave no need
for it like as not. All right, little Daisy; you can't be expected
to see things like what we do. What's life, anyway? I've seen a
thousand lives taken in five minutes. I've seen dead men on the
wires like flies on a flypaper. I've been as good as dead meself a
hundred times. I've killed a dozen men. It's nothin'. He's safe,
if 'e don't get my blood up. If he does, nobody's safe; not 'im, nor
anybody else; not even you. I'm speakin' sober.
THE GIRL. [Softly] Jim, you won't go fightin' in the sun, with the
birds all callin'?
THE MAN. That depends on 'im. I'm not lookin' for it. Daisy, I
love you. I love your hair. I love your eyes. I love you.
THE GIRL. And I love you, Jim. I don't want nothin' more than you
in all the world.
THE MAN. Amen to that, my dear. Kiss me close!
The sound of a voice singing breaks in on their embrace. THE
GIRL starts from his arms, and looks behind her along the
towing-path. THE MAN draws back against, the hedge, fingering
his side, where the knife is hidden. The song comes nearer.
"I'll be right there to-night,
Where the fields are snowy white;
Banjos ringing, darkies singing,
All the world seems bright."
THE GIRL. It's him!
THE MAN. Don't get the wind up, Daisy. I'm here!
[The singing stops. A man's voice says "Christ! It's Daisy;
it's little Daisy 'erself!" THE GIRL stands rigid. The figure
of a soldier appears on the other side of the stile. His cap is
tucked into his belt, his hair is bright in the sunshine; he is
lean, wasted, brown, and laughing.]
SOLDIER. Daisy! Daisy! Hallo, old pretty girl!
[THE GIRL does not move, barring the way, as it were.]
THE GIRL. Hallo, Jack! [Softly] I got things to tell you!
SOLDIER. What sort o' things, this lovely day? Why, I got things
that'd take me years to tell. Have you missed me, Daisy?
THE GIRL. You been so long.
SOLDIER. So I 'ave. My Gawd! It's a way they 'ave in the Army. I
said when I got out of it I'd laugh. Like as the sun itself I used
to think of you, Daisy, when the trumps was comin' over, and the wind
was up. D'you remember that last night in the wood? "Come back and
marry me quick, Jack." Well, here I am--got me pass to heaven. No
more fightin', no more drillin', no more sleepin' rough. We can get
married now, Daisy. We can live soft an' 'appy. Give us a kiss, my
dear.
THE GIRL. [Drawing back] No.
SOLDIER. [Blankly] Why not?
[THE MAN, with a swift movement steps along the hedge to THE
GIRL'S side.]
THE MAN. That's why, soldier.
SOLDIER. [Leaping over the stile] 'Oo are you, Pompey? The sun
don't shine in your inside, do it? 'Oo is he, Daisy?
THE GIRL. My man.
SOLDIER. Your-man! Lummy! "Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a
thief!" Well, mate! So you've been through it, too. I'm laughin'
this mornin' as luck will 'ave it. Ah! I can see your knife.
THE MAN. [Who has half drawn his knife] Don't laugh at me, I tell
you.
SOLDIER. Not at you, not at you. [He looks from one to the other]
I'm laughin' at things in general. Where did you get it, mate?
THE MAN. [Watchfully] Through the lung.
SOLDIER. Think o' that! An' I never was touched. Four years an'
never was touched. An' so you've come an' took my girl! Nothin'
doin'! Ha! [Again he looks from one to the other-then away] Well!
The world's before me! [He laughs] I'll give you Daisy for a lung
protector.
THE MAN. [Fiercely] You won't. I've took her.
SOLDIER. That's all right, then. You keep 'er. I've got a laugh in
me you can't put out, black as you look! Good-bye, little Daisy!
[THE GIRL makes a movement towards him.]
THE MAN. Don't touch 'im!
[THE GIRL stands hesitating, and suddenly bursts into tears.]
SOLDIER. Look 'ere, mate; shake 'ands! I don't want to see a girl
cry, this day of all, with the sun shinin'. I seen too much of
sorrer. You and me've been at the back of it. We've 'ad our whack.
Shake!
THE MAN. Who are you kiddin'? You never loved 'er!
SOLDIER. [After a long moment's pause] Oh! I thought I did.
THE MAN. I'll fight you for her.
[He drops his knife. ]
SOLDIER. [Slowly] Mate, you done your bit, an' I done mine. It's
took us two ways, seemin'ly.
THE GIRL. [Pleading] Jim!
THE MAN. [With clenched fists] I don't want 'is charity. I only
want what I can take.
SOLDIER. Daisy, which of us will you 'ave?
THE GIRL. [Covering her face] Oh! Him!
SOLDIER. You see, mate! Put your 'ands down. There's nothin' for
it but a laugh. You an' me know that. Laugh, mate!
THE MAN. You blarsted----!
[THE GIRL springs to him and stops his mouth.]
SOLDIER. It's no use, mate. I can't do it. I said I'd laugh
to-day, and laugh I will. I've come through that, an' all the stink
of it; I've come through sorrer. Never again! Cheerio, mate! The
sun's a-shinin'! He turns away.
THE GIRL. Jack, don't think too 'ard of me!
SOLDIER. [Looking back] No fear, my dear! Enjoy your fancy! So
long! Gawd bless you both!
He sings, and goes along the path, and the song fades away.
"I'll be right there to-night
Where the fields are snowy white;
Banjos ringing, darkies singing
All the world seems bright!"
THE MAN. 'E's mad!
THE GIRL. [Looking down the path with her hands clasped] The sun has
touched 'im, Jim!
CURTAIN
PUNCH AND GO
A LITTLE COMEDY
"Orpheus with his lute made trees
And the mountain tope that freeze....."
PERSONS OF THE PLAY
JAMES G. FRUST ..............The Boss
E. BLEWITT VANE .............The Producer
MR. FORESON .................The Stage Manager
"ELECTRICS"..................The Electrician
"PROPS" .....................The Property Man
HERBERT .....................The Call Boy
OF THE PLAY WITHIN THE PLAY
GUY TOONE ...................The Professor
VANESSA HELLGROVE ...........The Wife
GEORGE FLEETWAY .............Orpheus
MAUDE HOPKINS ...............The Faun
SCENE: The Stage of a Theatre.
Action continuous, though the curtain is momentarily lowered
according to that action.
PUNCH AND GO
The Scene is the stage of the theatre set for the dress
rehearsal of the little play: "Orpheus with his Lute." The
curtain is up and the audience, though present, is not supposed
to be. The set scene represents the end section of a room, with
wide French windows, Back Centre, fully opened on to an apple
orchard in bloom. The Back Wall with these French windows, is
set only about ten feet from the footlights, and the rest of the
stage is orchard. What is visible of the room would indicate
the study of a writing man of culture. ( Note.--If found
advantageous for scenic purposes, this section of room can be
changed to a broad verandah or porch with pillars supporting its
roof.) In the wall, Stage Left, is a curtained opening, across
which the curtain is half drawn. Stage Right of the French
windows is a large armchair turned rather towards the window,
with a book rest attached, on which is a volume of the
Encyclopedia Britannica, while on a stool alongside are writing
materials such as a man requires when he writes with a pad on
his knees. On a little table close by is a reading-lamp with a
dark green shade. A crude light from the floats makes the stage
stare; the only person on it is MR FORESON, the stage manager,
who is standing in the centre looking upwards as if waiting for
someone to speak. He is a short, broad man, rather blank, and
fatal. From the back of the auditorium, or from an empty box,
whichever is most convenient, the producer, MR BLEWITT VANE, a
man of about thirty four, with his hair brushed back, speaks.
VANE. Mr Foreson?
FORESON. Sir?
VANE. We'll do that lighting again.
[FORESON walks straight of the Stage into the wings Right.]
[A pause.]
Mr Foreson! [Crescendo] Mr Foreson.
[FORESON walks on again from Right and shades his eyes.]
VANE. For goodness sake, stand by! We'll do that lighting again.
Check your floats.
FORESON. [Speaking up into the prompt wings] Electrics!
VOICE OF ELECTRICS. Hallo!
FORESON. Give it us again. Check your floats.
[The floats go down, and there is a sudden blinding glare of
blue lights, in which FORESON looks particularly ghastly.]
VANE. Great Scott! What the blazes! Mr Foreson!
[FORESON walks straight out into the wings Left. Crescendo.]
Mr Foreson!
FORESON. [Re-appearing] Sir?
VANE. Tell Miller to come down.
FORESON. Electrics! Mr Blewitt Vane wants to speak to you. Come
down!
VANE. Tell Herbert to sit in that chair.
[FORESON walks straight out into the Right wings.]
Mr Foreson!
FORESON. [Re-appearing] Sir?
VANE. Don't go off the stage. [FORESON mutters.]
[ELECTRICS appears from the wings, Stage Left. He is a dark,
thin-faced man with rather spikey hair.]
ELECTRICS. Yes, Mr Vane?
VANE. Look!
ELECTRICS. That's what I'd got marked, Mr Vane.
VANE. Once for all, what I want is the orchard in full moonlight,
and the room dark except for the reading lamp. Cut off your front
battens.
[ELECTRICS withdraws Left. FORESON walks off the Stage into the
Right wings.]
Mr Foreson!
FORESON. [Re-appearing] Sir?
VANE. See this marked right. Now, come on with it! I want to get
some beauty into this!
[While he is speaking, HERBERT, the call boy, appears from the
wings Right, a mercurial youth of about sixteen with a wide
mouth.]
FORESON. [Maliciously] Here you are, then, Mr Vane. Herbert, sit
in that chair.
[HERBERT sits an the armchair, with an air of perfect peace.]
VANE. Now! [All the lights go out. In a wail] Great Scott!
[A throaty chuckle from FORESON in the darkness. The light
dances up, flickers, shifts, grows steady, falling on the
orchard outside. The reading lamp darts alight and a piercing
little glare from it strikes into the auditorium away from
HERBERT.]
[In a terrible voice] Mr Foreson.
FORESON. Sir?
VANE. Look--at--that--shade!
[FORESON mutters, walks up to it and turns it round so that the
light shines on HERBERT'S legs.]
On his face, on his face!
[FORESON turns the light accordingly.]
FORESON. Is that what you want, Mr Vane?
VANE. Yes. Now, mark that!
FORESON. [Up into wings Right] Electrics!
ELECTRICS. Hallo!
FORESON. Mark that!
VANE. My God!
[The blue suddenly becomes amber.]
[The blue returns. All is steady. HERBERT is seen diverting
himself with an imaginary cigar.]
Mr Foreson.
FORESON. Sir?
VANE. Ask him if he's got that?
FORESON. Have you got that?
ELECTRICS. Yes.
VANE. Now pass to the change. Take your floats off altogether.
FORESON. [Calling up] Floats out. [They go out.]
VANE. Cut off that lamp. [The lamp goes out] Put a little amber in
your back batten. Mark that! Now pass to the end. Mr Foreson!
FORESON. Sir?
VANE. Black out
FORESON. [Calling up] Black out!
[The lights go out.]
VANE. Give us your first lighting-lamp on. And then the two
changes. Quick as you can. Put some pep into it. Mr Foreson!
FORESON. Sir?
VANE. Stand for me where Miss Hellgrove comes in. FORESON crosses
to the window. No, no!--by the curtain.
[FORESON takes his stand by the curtain; and suddenly the three
lighting effects are rendered quickly and with miraculous
exactness.]
Good! Leave it at that. We'll begin. Mr Foreson, send up to Mr
Frust.
[He moves from the auditorium and ascends on to the Stage, by
some steps Stage Right.]
FORESON. Herb! Call the boss, and tell beginners to stand by.
Sharp, now!
[HERBERT gets out of the chair, and goes off Right.]
[FORESON is going off Left as VANE mounts the Stage.]
VANE. Mr Foreson.
FORESON. [Re-appearing] Sir?
VANE. I want "Props."
FORESON. [In a stentorian voice] "Props!"
[Another moth-eaten man appears through the French windows.]
VANE. Is that boulder firm?
PROPS. [Going to where, in front of the back-cloth, and apparently
among its apple trees, lies the counterfeitment of a mossy boulder;
he puts his foot on it] If, you don't put too much weight on it,
sir.
VANE. It won't creak?
PROPS. Nao. [He mounts on it, and a dolorous creaking arises.]
VANE. Make that right. Let me see that lute.
[PROPS produces a property lute. While they scrutinize it, a
broad man with broad leathery clean-shaven face and small mouth,
occupied by the butt end of a cigar, has come on to the stage
from Stage Left, and stands waiting to be noticed.]
PROPS. [Attracted by the scent of the cigar] The Boss, Sir.
VANE. [Turning to "PROPS"] That'll do, then.
["PROPS" goes out through the French windows.]
VANE. [To FRUST] Now, sir, we're all ready for rehearsal of
"Orpheus with his Lute."
FRUST. [In a cosmopolitan voice] "Orphoos with his loot!" That his
loot, Mr Vane? Why didn't he pinch something more precious? Has
this high-brow curtain-raiser of yours got any "pep" in it?
VANE. It has charm.
FRUST. I'd thought of "Pop goes the Weasel" with little Miggs. We
kind of want a cock-tail before "Louisa loses," Mr Vane.
VANE. Well, sir, you'll see.
FRUST. This your lighting? It's a bit on the spiritool side. I've
left my glass. Guess I'll sit in the front row. Ha'f a minute. Who
plays this Orphoos?
VANE. George Fleetway.
FRUST. Has he got punch?
VANE. It's a very small part.
FRUST. Who are the others?
VANE. Guy Toone plays the Professor; Vanessa Hellgrove his wife;
Maude Hopkins the faun.
FRUST. H'm! Names don't draw.
VANE. They're not expensive, any of them. Miss Hellgrove's a find,
I think.
FRUST. Pretty?
VANE. Quite.
FRUST. Arty?
VANE. [Doubtfully] No. [With resolution] Look here, Mr FRUST,
it's no use your expecting another "Pop goes the Weasel."
FRUST. We-ell, if it's got punch and go, that'll be enough for me.
Let's get to it!
[He extinguishes his cigar and descends the steps and sits in
the centre of the front row of the stalls.]
VANE. Mr Foreson?
FORESON. [Appearing through curtain, Right] Sir?
VANE. Beginners. Take your curtain down.
[He descends the steps and seats himself next to FRUST. The
curtain goes down.]
[A woman's voice is heard singing very beautifully Sullivan's
song: "Orpheus with his lute, with his lute made trees and the
mountain tops that freeze'." etc.]
FRUST. Some voice!
The curtain rises. In the armchair the PROFESSOR is yawning,
tall, thin, abstracted, and slightly grizzled in the hair. He
has a pad of paper over his knee, ink on the stool to his right
and the Encyclopedia volume on the stand to his left-barricaded
in fact by the article he is writing. He is reading a page over
to himself, but the words are drowned in the sound of the song
his WIFE is singing in the next room, partly screened off by the
curtain. She finishes, and stops. His voice can then be heard
conning the words of his article.
PROF. "Orpheus symbolized the voice of Beauty, the call of life,
luring us mortals with his song back from the graves we dig for
ourselves. Probably the ancients realized this neither more nor less
than we moderns. Mankind has not changed. The civilized being still
hides the faun and the dryad within its broadcloth and its silk. And
yet"--[He stops, with a dried-up air-rather impatiently] Go on, my
dear! It helps the atmosphere.
[The voice of his WIFE begins again, gets as far as "made them
sing" and stops dead, just as the PROFESSOR's pen is beginning
to scratch. And suddenly, drawing the curtain further aside]
[SHE appears. Much younger than the PROFESSOR, pale, very
pretty, of a Botticellian type in face, figure, and in her
clinging cream-coloured frock. She gazes at her abstracted
husband; then swiftly moves to the lintel of the open window,
and stands looking out.]
THE WIFE. God! What beauty!
PROF. [Looking Up] Umm?
THE WIFE. I said: God! What beauty!
PROF. Aha!
THE WIFE. [Looking at him] Do you know that I have to repeat
everything to you nowadays?
PROF. What?
THE WIFE. That I have to repeat----
PROF. Yes; I heard. I'm sorry. I get absorbed.
THE WIFE. In all but me.
PROF. [Startled] My dear, your song was helping me like anything to
get the mood. This paper is the very deuce--to balance between the
historical and the natural.
THE WIFE. Who wants the natural?
PROF. [Grumbling] Umm! Wish I thought that! Modern taste!
History may go hang; they're all for tuppence-coloured sentiment
nowadays.
THE WIFE. [As if to herself] Is the Spring sentiment?
PROF. I beg your pardon, my dear; I didn't catch.
WIFE. [As if against her will--urged by some pent-up force] Beauty,
beauty!
PROF. That's what I'm, trying to say here. The Orpheus legend
symbolizes to this day the call of Beauty! [He takes up his pen,
while she continues to stare out at the moonlight. Yawning] Dash
it! I get so sleepy; I wish you'd tell them to make the after-dinner
coffee twice as strong.
WIFE. I will.
PROF. How does this strike you? [Conning] "Many Renaissance
pictures, especially those of Botticelli, Francesca and Piero di
Cosimo were inspired by such legends as that of Orpheus, and we owe a
tiny gem--like Raphael 'Apollo and Marsyas' to the same Pagan
inspiration."
WIFE. We owe it more than that--rebellion against the dry-as-dust.
PROF. Quite. I might develop that: "We owe it our revolt against
the academic; or our disgust at 'big business,' and all the grossness
of commercial success. We owe----". [His voice peters out.]
WIFE. It--love.
PROF. [Abstracted] Eh!
WIFE. I said: We owe it love.
PROF. [Rather startled] Possibly. But--er [With a dry smile]
I mustn't say that here--hardly!
WIFE. [To herself and the moonlight] Orpheus with his lute!
PROF. Most people think a lute is a sort of flute. [Yawning
heavily] My dear, if you're not going to sing again, d'you mind
sitting down? I want to concentrate.
WIFE. I'm going out.
PROF. Mind the dew!
WIFE. The Christian virtues and the dew.
PROF. [With a little dry laugh] Not bad! Not bad! The Christian
virtues and the dew. [His hand takes up his pen, his face droops
over his paper, while his wife looks at him with a very strange face]
"How far we can trace the modern resurgence against the Christian
virtues to the symbolic figures of Orpheus, Pan, Apollo, and Bacchus
might be difficult to estimate, but----"
[During those words his WIFE has passed through the window into
the moonlight, and her voice rises, singing as she goes:
"Orpheus with his lute, with his lute made trees . . ."]
PROF. [Suddenly aware of something] She'll get her throat bad.
[He is silent as the voice swells in the distance] Sounds queer at
night-H'm! [He is silent--Yawning. The voice dies away. Suddenly
his head nods; he fights his drowsiness; writes a word or two, nods
again, and in twenty seconds is asleep.]
[The Stage is darkened by a black-out. FRUST's voice is heard
speaking.]
FRUST. What's that girl's name?
VANE. Vanessa Hellgrove.
FRUST. Aha!
[The Stage is lighted up again. Moonlight bright on the
orchard; the room in darkness where the PROFESSOR'S figure is
just visible sleeping in the chair, and screwed a little more
round towards the window. From behind the mossy boulder a
faun-like figure uncurls itself and peeps over with ears
standing up and elbows leaning on the stone, playing a rustic
pipe; and there are seen two rabbits and a fox sitting up and
listening. A shiver of wind passes, blowing petals from the
apple-trees.]
[The FAUN darts his head towards where, from Right, comes slowly
the figure of a Greek youth, holding a lute or lyre which his
fingers strike, lifting out little wandering strains as of wind
whinnying in funnels and odd corners. The FAUN darts down
behind the stone, and the youth stands by the boulder playing
his lute. Slowly while he plays the whitened trunk of an
apple-tree is seen, to dissolve into the body of a girl with
bare arms and feet, her dark hair unbound, and the face of the
PROFESSOR'S WIFE. Hypnotized, she slowly sways towards him,
their eyes fixed on each other, till she is quite close. Her
arms go out to him, cling round his neck and, their lips meet.
But as they meet there comes a gasp and the PROFESSOR with
rumpled hair is seen starting from his chair, his hands thrown
up; and at his horrified "Oh!" the Stage is darkened with a
black-out.]
[The voice of FRUST is heard speaking.]
FRUST. Gee!
The Stage is lighted up again, as in the opening scene. The
PROFESSOR is seen in his chair, with spilt sheets of paper round
him, waking from a dream. He shakes himself, pinches his leg,
stares heavily round into the moonlight, rises.
PROF. Phew! Beastly dream! Boof! H'm! [He moves to the window
and calls.] Blanche! Blanche! [To himself] Made trees-made trees!
[Calling] Blanche!
WIFE's VOICE. Yes.
PROF. Where are you?
WIFE. [Appearing by the stone with her hair down] Here!
PROF. I say--I---I've been asleep--had a dream. Come in. I'll tell
you.
[She comes, and they stand in the window.]
PROF. I dreamed I saw a-faun on that boulder blowing on a pipe. [He
looks nervously at the stone] With two damned little rabbits and a
fox sitting up and listening. And then from out there came our
friend Orpheus playing on his confounded lute, till he actually
turned that tree there into you. And gradually he-he drew you like a
snake till you--er--put your arms round his neck and--er--kissed him.
Boof! I woke up. Most unpleasant. Why! Your hair's down!
WIFE. Yes.
PROF. Why?
WIFE. It was no dream. He was bringing me to life.
PROF. What on earth?
WIFE. Do you suppose I am alive? I'm as dead as Euridice.
PROF. Good heavens, Blanche, what's the matter with you to-night?
WIFE. [Pointing to the litter of papers] Why don't we live, instead
of writing of it? [She points out unto the moonlight] What do we
get out of life? Money, fame, fashion, talk, learning? Yes. And
what good are they? I want to live!
PROF. [Helplessly] My dear, I really don't know what you mean.
WIFE. [Pointing out into the moonlight] Look! Orpheus with his
lute, and nobody can see him. Beauty, beauty, beauty--we let it go.
[With sudden passion] Beauty, love, the spring. They should be in
us, and they're all outside.
PROF. My dear, this is--this is--awful. [He tries to embrace her.]
WIFE. [Avoiding him--an a stilly voice] Oh! Go on with your
writing!
PROF. I'm--I'm upset. I've never known you so--so----
WIFE. Hysterical? Well! It's over. I'll go and sing.
PROF. [Soothingly] There, there! I'm sorry, darling; I really am.
You're kipped--you're kipped. [He gives and she accepts a kiss]
Better?
[He gravitates towards his papers.]
All right, now?
WIFE. [Standing still and looking at him] Quite!
PROF. Well, I'll try and finish this to-night; then, to-morrow we
might have a jaunt. How about a theatre? There's a thing--they say
--called "Chinese Chops," that's been running years.
WIFE. [Softly to herself as he settles down into his chair] Oh!
God!
[While he takes up a sheet of paper and adjusts himself, she
stands at the window staring with all her might at the boulder,
till from behind it the faun's head and shoulders emerge once
more.]
PROF. Very queer the power suggestion has over the mind. Very
queer! There's nothing really in animism, you know, except the
curious shapes rocks, trees and things take in certain lights--effect
they have on our imagination. [He looks up] What's the matter now?
WIFE. [Startled] Nothing! Nothing!
[Her eyes waver to him again, and the FAUN vanishes. She turns
again to look at the boulder; there is nothing there; a little
shiver of wind blows some petals off the trees. She catches one
of them, and turning quickly, goes out through the curtain.]
PROF. [Coming to himself and writing] "The Orpheus legend is the--
er--apotheosis of animism. Can we accept----" [His voice is lost in
the sound of his WIFE'S voice beginning again: "Orpheus with his
lute--with his lute made trees----" It dies in a sob. The PROFESSOR
looks up startled, as the curtain falls].
FRUST. Fine! Fine!
VANE. Take up the curtain. Mr Foreson?
[The curtain goes up.]
FORESON. Sir?
VANE. Everybody on.
[He and FRUST leave their seats and ascend on to the Stage, on
which are collecting the four Players.]
VANE. Give us some light.
FORESON. Electrics! Turn up your floats!
[The footlights go up, and the blue goes out; the light is crude
as at the beginning.]
FRUST. I'd like to meet Miss Hellgrove. [She comes forward eagerly
and timidly. He grasps her hand] Miss Hellgrove, I want to say I
thought that fine--fine. [Her evident emotion and pleasure warm him
so that he increases his grasp and commendation] Fine. It quite got
my soft spots. Emotional. Fine!
MISS H. Oh! Mr Frust; it means so much to me. Thank you!
FRUST. [A little balder in the eye, and losing warmth] Er--fine!
[His eye wanders] Where's Mr Flatway?
VANE. Fleetway.
[FLEETWAY comes up.]
FRUST. Mr Fleetway, I want to say I thought your Orphoos very
remarkable. Fine.
FLEETWAY. Thank you, sir, indeed--so glad you liked it.
FRUST. [A little balder in the eye] There wasn't much to it, but
what there was was fine. Mr Toone.
[FLEETWAY melts out and TOONE is precipitated.]
Mr Toone, I was very pleased with your Professor--quite a
character-study. [TOONE bows and murmurs] Yes, sir! I thought it
fine. [His eye grows bald] Who plays the goat?
MISS HOPK. [Appearing suddenly between the windows] I play the
faun, Mr Frost.
FORESON. [Introducing] Miss Maude 'Opkins.
FRUST. Miss Hopkins, I guess your fawn was fine.
MISS HOPK. Oh! Thank you, Mr Frost. How nice of you to say so. I
do so enjoy playing him.
FRUST. [His eye growing bald] Mr Foreson, I thought the way you
fixed that tree was very cunning; I certainly did. Got a match?
[He takes a match from FORESON, and lighting a very long cigar,
walks up Stage through the French windows followed by FORESON,
and examines the apple-tree.]
[The two Actors depart, but Miss HELLGROVE runs from where she
has been lingering, by the curtain, to VANE, Stage Right.]
MISS H. Oh! Mr Vane--do you think? He seemed quite--Oh! Mr Vane
[ecstatically] If only----
VANE. [Pleased and happy] Yes, yes. All right--you were splendid.
He liked it. He quite----
MISS H. [Clasping her hand] How wonderful Oh, Mr Vane, thank you!
[She clasps his hands; but suddenly, seeing that FRUST is coming
back, fits across into the curtain and vanishes.]
[The Stage, in the crude light, as empty now save for FRUST,
who, in the French windows, Centre, is mumbling his cigar; and
VANE, Stage Right, who is looking up into the wings, Stage
Left.]
VANE. [Calling up] That lighting's just right now, Miller. Got it
marked carefully?
ELECTRICS. Yes, Mr Vane.
VANE. Good. [To FRUST who as coming down] Well, sir? So glad----
FRUST. Mr Vane, we got little Miggs on contract?
VANE. Yes.
FRUST. Well, I liked that little pocket piece fine. But I'm blamed
if I know what it's all about.
VANE. [A little staggered] Why! Of course it's a little allegory.
The tragedy of civilization--all real feeling for Beauty and Nature
kept out, or pent up even in the cultured.
FRUST. Ye-ep. [Meditatively] Little Miggs'd be fine in "Pop goes
the Weasel."
VANE. Yes, he'd be all right, but----
FRUST. Get him on the 'phone, and put it into rehearsal right now.
VANE. What! But this piece--I--I----!
FRUST. Guess we can't take liberties with our public, Mr Vane. They
want pep.
VANE. [Distressed] But it'll break that girl's heart. I--really--I
can't----
FRUST. Give her the part of the 'tweeny in "Pop goes".
VANE. Mr Frust, I--I beg. I've taken a lot of trouble with this
little play. It's good. It's that girl's chance--and I----
FRUST. We-ell! I certainly thought she was fine. Now, you 'phone
up Miggs, and get right along with it. I've only one rule, sir!
Give the Public what it wants; and what the Public wants is punch and
go. They've got no use for Beauty, Allegory, all that high-brow
racket. I know 'em as I know my hand.
[During this speech MISS HELLGROVE is seen listening by the
French window, in distress, unnoticed by either of them.]
VANE. Mr Frost, the Public would take this, I'm sure they would; I'm
convinced of it. You underrate them.
FRUST. Now, see here, Mr Blewitt Vane, is this my theatre? I tell
you, I can't afford luxuries.
VANE. But it--it moved you, sir; I saw it. I was watching.
FRUST. [With unmoved finality] Mr Vane, I judge I'm not the average
man. Before "Louisa Loses" the Public'll want a stimulant. "Pop
goes the Weasel" will suit us fine. So--get right along with it.
I'll go get some lunch.
[As he vanishes into the wings, Left, MISS HELLGROVE covers her
face with her hands. A little sob escaping her attracts VANE'S
attention. He takes a step towards her, but she flies.]
VANE. [Dashing his hands through his hair till it stands up]
Damnation!
[FORESON walks on from the wings, Right.]
FORESON. Sir?
VANE. "Punch and go!" That superstition!
[FORESON walks straight out into the wings, Left.]
VANE. Mr Foreson!
FORESON. [Re-appearing] Sir?
VANE. This is scrapped. [With savagery] Tell 'em to set the first
act of "Louisa Loses," and put some pep into it.
[He goes out through the French windows with the wind still in
his hair.]
FORESON. [In the centre of the Stage] Electrics!
ELECTRICS. Hallo!
FORESON. Where's Charlie?
ELECTRICS. Gone to his dinner.
FORESON. Anybody on the curtain?
A VOICE. Yes, Mr Foreson.
FORESON. Put your curtain down.
[He stands in the centre of the Stage with eyes uplifted as the
curtain descends.]
THE END
FIFTH SERIES
CONTENTS:
A Family Man
Loyalties
Windows
A FAMILY MAN
From the 5th Series Plays
By John Galsworthy
CHARACTERS
JOHN BUILDER................ of the firm of Builder & Builder
JULIA....................... His Wife
ATHENE...................... His elder Daughter
MAUD........................ His younger Daughter
RALPH BUILDER............... His Brother, and Partner
GUY HERRINGHAME............. A Flying Man
ANNIE....................... A Young Person in Blue
CAMILLE..................... Mrs Builder's French Maid
TOPPING..................... Builder's Manservant
THE MAYOR................... Of Breconridge
HARRIS...................... His Secretary
FRANCIS CHANTREY............ J.P.
MOON........................ A Constable
MARTIN...................... A Police Sergeant
A JOURNALIST................ From The Comet
THE FIGURE OF A POACHER
THE VOICES AND FACES OF SMALL BOYS
The action passes in the town of Breconridge, the Midlands.
ACT I.
SCENE I. BUILDER'S Study. After breakfast.
SCENE II. A Studio.
ACT II. BUILDER'S Study. Lunchtime.
ACT III.
SCENE I. THE MAYOR'S Study. 10am the following day.
SCENE II. BUILDER'S Study. The same. Noon.
SCENE III. BUILDER'S Study. The same. Evening.
ACT I
SCENE I
The study of JOHN BUILDER in the provincial town of Breconridge.
A panelled room wherein nothing is ever studied, except perhaps
BUILDER'S face in the mirror over the fireplace. It is, however,
comfortable, and has large leather chairs and a writing table in the
centre, on which is a typewriter, and many papers. At the back is a
large window with French outside shutters, overlooking the street,
for the house is an old one, built in an age when the homes of
doctors, lawyers and so forth were part of a provincial town, and
not yet suburban. There are two or three fine old prints on the
walls, Right and Left; and a fine, old fireplace, Left, with a
fender on which one can sit. A door, Left back, leads into the
dining-room, and a door, Right forward, into the hall.
JOHN BUILDER is sitting in his after-breakfast chair before the fire
with The Times in his hands. He has breakfasted well, and is in
that condition of first-pipe serenity in which the affairs of the.
nation seem almost bearable. He is a tallish, square, personable
man of forty-seven, with a well-coloured, jowly, fullish face,
marked under the eyes, which have very small pupils and a good deal
of light in them. His bearing has force and importance, as of a man
accustomed to rising and ownerships, sure in his opinions, and not
lacking in geniality when things go his way. Essentially a
Midlander. His wife, a woman of forty-one, of ivory tint, with a
thin, trim figure and a face so strangely composed as to be almost
like a mask (essentially from Jersey) is putting a nib into a
pen-holder, and filling an inkpot at the writing-table.
As the curtain rises CAMILLE enters with a rather broken-down
cardboard box containing flowers. She is a young woman with a good
figure, a pale face, the warm brown eyes and complete poise of a
Frenchwoman. She takes the box to MRS BUILDER.
MRS BUILDER. The blue vase, please, Camille.
CAMILLE fetches a vase. MRS BUILDER puts the flowers into the vase.
CAMILLE gathers up the debris; and with a glance at BUILDER goes
out.
BUILDER. Glorious October! I ought to have a damned good day's shooting
with Chantrey tomorrow.
MRS BUILDER. [Arranging the flowers] Aren't you going to the office
this morning?
BUILDER. Well, no, I was going to take a couple of days off. If you
feel at the top of your form, take a rest--then you go on feeling at the
top. [He looks at her, as if calculating] What do you say to looking up
Athene?
MRS BUILDER. [Palpably astonished] Athene? But you said you'd done
with her?
BUILDER. [Smiling] Six weeks ago; but, dash it, one can't have done with
one's own daughter. That's the weakness of an Englishman; he can't keep
up his resentments. In a town like this it doesn't do to have her living
by herself. One of these days it'll get out we've had a row. That
wouldn't do me any good.
MRS BUILDER. I see.
BUILDER. Besides, I miss her. Maud's so self-absorbed. It makes a big
hole in the family, Julia. You've got her address, haven't you?
MRS BUILDER. Yes. [Very still] But do you think it's dignified, John?
BUILDER. [Genially] Oh, hang dignity! I rather pride myself on knowing
when to stand on my dignity and when to sit on it. If she's still crazy
about Art, she can live at home, and go out to study.
MRS BUILDER. Her craze was for liberty.
BUILDER. A few weeks' discomfort soon cures that. She can't live on her
pittance. She'll have found that out by now. Get your things on and
come with me at twelve o'clock.
MRS BUILDER. I think you'll regret it. She'll refuse.
BUILDER. Not if I'm nice to her. A child could play with me to-day.
Shall I tell you a secret, Julia?
MRS BUILDER. It would be pleasant for a change.
BUILDER. The Mayor's coming round at eleven, and I know perfectly well
what he's coming for.
MRS BUILDER. Well?
BUILDER. I'm to be nominated for Mayor next month. Harris tipped me the
wink at the last Council meeting. Not so bad at forty-seven--h'm? I can
make a thundering good Mayor. I can do things for this town that nobody
else can.
MRS BUILDER. Now I understand about Athene.
BUILDER. [Good-humouredly] Well, it's partly that. But [more
seriously] it's more the feeling I get that I'm not doing my duty by her.
Goodness knows whom she may be picking up with! Artists are a loose lot.
And young people in these days are the limit. I quite believe in moving
with the times, but one's either born a Conservative, or one isn't.
So you be ready at twelve, see. By the way, that French maid of yours,
Julia--
MRS BUILDER. What about her?
BUILDER. Is she--er--is she all right? We don't want any trouble with
Topping.
MRS BUILDER. There will be none with--Topping.
[She opens the door Left.]
BUILDER. I don't know; she strikes me as--very French.
MRS BUILDER smiles and passes out.
BUILDER fills his second pipe. He is just taking up the paper again
when the door from the hall is opened, and the manservant TOPPING,
dried, dark, sub-humorous, in a black cut-away, announces:
TOPPING. The Mayor, Sir, and Mr Harris!
THE MAYOR of Breconridge enters, He is clean-shaven, red-faced,
light-eyed, about sixty, shrewd, poll-parroty, naturally jovial,
dressed with the indefinable wrongness of a burgher; he is followed
by his Secretary HARRIS, a man all eyes and cleverness. TOPPING
retires.
BUILDER. [Rising] Hallo, Mayor! What brings you so early? Glad to see
you. Morning, Harris!
MAYOR. Morning, Builder, morning.
HARRIS. Good-morning, Sir.
BUILDER. Sit down-sit down! Have a cigar!
The MAYOR takes a cigar HARRIS a cigarette from his own case.
BUILDER. Well, Mayor, what's gone wrong with the works?
He and HARRIS exchange a look.
MAYOR. [With his first puff] After you left the Council the other day,
Builder, we came to a decision.
BUILDER. Deuce you did! Shall I agree with it?
MAYOR. We shall see. We want to nominate you for Mayor. You willin' to
stand?
BUILDER. [Stolid] That requires consideration.
MAYOR. The only alternative is Chantrey; but he's a light weight, and
rather too much County. What's your objection?
BUILDER. It's a bit unexpected, Mayor. [Looks at HARRIS] Am I the
right man? Following you, you know. I'm shooting with Chantrey
to-morrow. What does he feel about it?
MAYOR. What do you say, 'Arris?
HARRIS. Mr Chantrey's a public school and University man, Sir; he's not
what I call ambitious.
BUILDER. Nor am I, Harris.
HARRIS. No, sir; of course you've a high sense of duty. Mr Chantrey's
rather dilettante.
MAYOR. We want a solid man.
BUILDER. I'm very busy, you know, Mayor.
MAYOR. But you've got all the qualifications--big business, family man,
live in the town, church-goer, experience on the Council and the Bench.
Better say "yes," Builder.
BUILDER. It's a lot of extra work. I don't take things up lightly.
MAYOR. Dangerous times, these. Authority questioned all over the place.
We want a man that feels his responsibilities, and we think we've got him
in you.
BUILDER. Very good of you, Mayor. I don't know, I'm sure. I must think
of the good of the town.
HARRIS. I shouldn't worry about that, sir.
MAYOR. The name John Builder carries weight. You're looked up to as a
man who can manage his own affairs. Madam and the young ladies well?
BUILDER. First-rate.
MAYOR. [Rises] That's right. Well, if you'd like to talk it over with
Chantrey to-morrow. With all this extremism, we want a man of principle
and common sense.
HARRIS. We want a man that'll grasp the nettle, sir--and that's you.
BUILDER. Hm! I've got a temper, you know.
MAYOR. [Chuckling] We do--we do! You'll say "yes," I see. No false
modesty! Come along, 'Arris, we must go.
BUILDER. Well, Mayor, I'll think it over, and let you have an answer.
You know my faults, and you know my qualities, such as they are. I'm
just a plain Englishman.
MAYOR. We don't want anything better than that. I always say the great
point about an Englishman is that he's got bottom; you may knock him off
his pins, but you find him on 'em again before you can say "Jack
Robinson." He may have his moments of aberration, but he's a sticker.
Morning, Builder, morning! Hope you'll say "yes."
He shakes hands and goes out, followed by HARRIS.
When the door is dosed BUILDER stands a moment quite still with a
gratified smile on his face; then turns and scrutinises himself in
the glass over the hearth. While he is doing so the door from the
dining-room is opened quietly and CAMILLE comes in. BUILDER,
suddenly seeing her reflected in the mirror, turns.
BUILDER. What is it, Camille?
CAMILLE. Madame send me for a letter she say you have, Monsieur, from
the dyer and cleaner, with a bill.
BUILDER. [Feeling in his pockets] Yes--no. It's on the table.
CAMILLE goes to the writing-table and looks. That blue thing.
CAMILLE. [Taking it up] Non, Monsieur, this is from the gas.
BUILDER. Oh! Ah!
[He moves up to the table and turns over papers. CAMILLE stands
motionless close by with her eyes fixed on him.]
Here it is!
[He looks up, sees her looking at him, drops his own gaze, and hands
her the letter. Their hands touch. Putting his hands in his
pockets]
What made you come to England?
CAMILLE. [Demure] It is better pay, Monsieur, and [With a smile] the
English are so amiable.
BUILDER. Deuce they are! They haven't got that reputation.
CAMILLE. Oh! I admire Englishmen. They are so strong and kind.
BUILDER. [Bluffly flattered] H'm! We've no manners.
CAMILLE. The Frenchman is more polite, but not in the 'eart.
BUILDER. Yes. I suppose we're pretty sound at heart.
CAMILLE. And the Englishman have his life in the family--the Frenchman
have his life outside.
BUILDER. [With discomfort] H'm!
CAMILLE. [With a look] Too mooch in the family--like a rabbit in a
'utch.
BUILDER. Oh! So that's your view of us! [His eyes rest on her,
attracted but resentful].
CAMILLE. Pardon, Monsieur, my tongue run away with me.
BUILDER. [Half conscious of being led on] Are you from Paris?
CAMILLE. [Clasping her hands] Yes. What a town for pleasure--Paris!
BUILDER. I suppose so. Loose place, Paris.
CAMILLE. Loose? What is that, Monsieur?
BUILDER. The opposite of strict.
CAMILLE. Strict! Oh! certainly we like life, we other French. It is
not like England. I take this to Madame, Monsieur. [She turns as if to
go] Excuse me.
BUILDER. I thought you Frenchwomen all married young.
CAMILLE. I 'ave been married; my 'usband did die--en Afrique.
BUILDER. You wear no ring.
CAMILLE. [Smiling] I prefare to be mademoiselle, Monsieur.
BUILDER. [Dubiously] Well, it's all the same to us. [He takes a letter
up from the table] You might take this to Mrs Builder too. [Again their
fingers touch, and there is a suspicion of encounter between their eyes.]
CAMILLE goes out.
BUILDER. [Turning to his chair] Don't know about that woman--she's a
tantalizer.
He compresses his lips, and is settling back into his chair, when
the door from the hall is opened and his daughter MAUD comes in; a
pretty girl, rather pale, with fine eyes. Though her face has a
determined cast her manner at this moment is by no means decisive.
She has a letter in her hand, and advances rather as if she were
stalking her father, who, after a "Hallo, Maud!" has begun to read
his paper.
MAUD. [Getting as far as the table] Father.
BUILDER. [Not lowering the paper] Well? I know that tone. What do you
want--money?
MAUD. I always want money, of course; but--but--
BUILDER. [Pulling out a note-abstractedly] Here's five pounds for you.
MAUD, advancing, takes it, then seems to find what she has come for
more on her chest than ever.
BUILDER. [Unconscious] Will you take a letter for me?
MAUD sits down Left of table and prepares to take down the letter.
[Dictating] "Dear Mr Mayor,--Referring to your call this morning, I have
--er--given the matter very careful consideration, and though somewhat
reluctant--"
MAUD. Are you really reluctant, father?
BUILDER. Go on--"To assume greater responsibilities, I feel it my duty
to come forward in accordance with your wish. The--er--honour is one of
which I hardly feel myself worthy, but you may rest assured--"
MAUD. Worthy. But you do, you know.
BUILDER. Look here! Are you trying to get a rise out of me?--because
you won't succeed this morning.
MAUD. I thought you were trying to get one out of me.
BUILDER. Well, how would you express it?
MAUD. "I know I'm the best man for the place, and so do you--"
BUILDER. The disrespect of you young people is something extraordinary.
And that reminds me where do you go every evening now after tea?
MAUD. I--I don't know.
BUILDER. Come now, that won't do--you're never in the house from six to
seven.
MAUD. Well! It has to do with my education.
BUILDER. Why, you finished that two years ago!
MAUD. Well, call it a hobby, if you like, then, father.
She takes up the letter she brought in and seems on the point of
broaching it.
BUILDER. Hobby? Well, what is it?
MAUD. I don't want to irritate you, father.
BUILDER. You can't irritate me more than by having secrets. See what
that led to in your sister's case. And, by the way, I'm going to put an
end to that this morning. You'll be glad to have her back, won't you?
MAUD. [Startled] What!
BUILDER. Your mother and I are going round to Athene at twelve o'clock.
I shall make it up with her. She must come back here.
MAUD. [Aghast, but hiding it] Oh! It's--it's no good, father. She
won't.
BUILDER. We shall see that. I've quite got over my tantrum, and I
expect she has.
MAUD. [Earnestly] Father! I do really assure you she won't; it's only
wasting your time, and making you eat humble pie.
BUILDER. Well, I can eat a good deal this morning. It's all nonsense!
A family's a family.
MAUD. [More and more disturbed, but hiding it] Father, if I were you,
I wouldn't-really! It's not-dignified.
BUILDER. You can leave me to judge of that. It's not dignified for the
Mayor of this town to have an unmarried daughter as young as Athene
living by herself away from home. This idea that she's on a visit won't
wash any longer. Now finish that letter--"worthy, but you may rest
assured that I shall do my best to sustain the--er--dignity of the
office." [MAUD types desperately.] Got that? "And--er--preserve the
tradition so worthily--" No-- "so staunchly"--er--er--
MAUD. Upheld.
BUILDER. Ah! "--upheld by yourself.--Faithfully yours."
MAUD. [Finishing] Father, you thought Athene went off in a huff. It
wasn't that a bit. She always meant to go. She just got you into a rage
to make it easier. She hated living at home.
BUILDER. Nonsense! Why on earth should she?
MAUD. Well, she did! And so do-- [Checking herself] And so you see
it'll only make you ridiculous to go.
BUILDER. [Rises] Now what's behind this, Maud?
MAUD. Behind--Oh! nothing!
BUILDER. The fact is, you girls have been spoiled, and you enjoy
twisting my tail; but you can't make me roar this morning. I'm too
pleased with things. You'll see, it'll be all right with Athene.
MAUD. [Very suddenly] Father!
BUILDER. [Grimly humorous] Well! Get it off your chest. What's that
letter about?
MAUD. [Failing again and crumpling the letter behind her back]
Oh! nothing.
BUILDER. Everything's nothing this morning. Do you know what sort of
people Athene associates with now--I suppose you see her?
MAUD. Sometimes.
BUILDER. Well?
MAUD. Nobody much. There isn't anybody here to associate with. It's
all hopelessly behind the times.
BUILDER. Oh! you think so! That's the inflammatory fiction you pick up.
I tell you what, young woman--the sooner you and your sister get rid of
your silly notions about not living at home, and making your own way, the
sooner you'll both get married and make it. Men don't like the new
spirit in women--they may say they do, but they don't.
MAUD. You don't, father, I know.
BUILDER. Well, I'm very ordinary. If you keep your eyes open, you'll
soon see that.
MAUD. Men don't like freedom for anybody but themselves.
BUILDER. That's not the way to put it. [Tapping out his pipe] Women in
your class have never had to face realities.
MAUD. No, but we want to.
BUILDER. [Good-humouredly] Well, I'll bet you what you like, Athene's
dose of reality will have cured her.
MAUD. And I'll bet you--No, I won't!
BUILDER. You'd better not. Athene will come home, and only too glad to
do it. Ring for Topping and order the car at twelve.
As he opens the door to pass out, MAUD starts forward, but checks
herself.
MAUD. [Looking at her watch] Half-past eleven! Good heavens!
She goes to the bell and rings. Then goes back to the table, and
writes an address on a bit of paper.
TOPPING enters Right.
TOPPING. Did you ring, Miss?
MAUD. [With the paper] Yes. Look here, Topping! Can you manage--
on your bicycle--now at once? I want to send a message to Miss Athene
--awfully important. It's just this: "Look out! Father is coming."
[Holding out the paper] Here's her address. You must get there and away
again by twelve. Father and mother want the car then to go there. Order
it before you go. It won't take you twenty minutes on your bicycle.
It's down by the river near the ferry. But you mustn't be seen by them
either going or coming.
TOPPING. If I should fall into their hands, Miss, shall I eat the
despatch?
MAUD. Rather! You're a brick, Topping. Hurry up!
TOPPING. Nothing more precise, Miss?
MAUD. M--m--No.
TOPPING. Very good, Miss Maud. [Conning the address] "Briary Studio,
River Road. Look out! Father is coming!" I'll go out the back way.
Any answer?
MAUD. No.
TOPPING nods his head and goes out.
MAUD. [To herself] Well, it's all I can do.
She stands, considering, as the CURTAIN falls.
SCENE II
The Studio, to which are attached living rooms, might be rented at
eighty pounds a year--some painting and gear indeed, but an air of
life rather than of work. Things strewn about. Bare walls, a
sloping skylight, no windows; no fireplace visible; a bedroom door,
stage Right; a kitchen door, stage Left. A door, Centre back, into
the street. The door knocker is going.
From the kitchen door, Left, comes the very young person, ANNIE, in
blotting-paper blue linen, with a white Dutch cap. She is pretty, her
cheeks rosy, and her forehead puckered. She opens the street door.
Standing outside is TOPPING. He steps in a pace or two.
TOPPING. Miss Builder live here?
ANNIE. Oh! no, sir; Mrs Herringhame.
TOPPING. Mrs Herringhame? Oh! young lady with dark hair and large
expressive eyes?
ANNIE. Oh! yes, sir.
TOPPING. With an "A. B." on her linen? [Moves to table].
ANNIE. Yes, sir.
TOPPING. And "Athene Builder" on her drawings?
ANNIE. [Looking at one] Yes, sir.
TOPPING. Let's see. [He examines the drawing] Mrs Herringhame, you
said?
ANNIE. Oh! yes, Sir.
TOPPING. Wot oh!
ANNIE. Did you want anything, sir?
TOPPING. Drop the "sir," my dear; I'm the Builders' man.
Mr Herringhame in?
ANNIE. Oh! no, Sir.
TOPPING. Take a message. I can't wait. From Miss Maud Builder. "Look
out! Father is coming." Now, whichever of 'em comes in first--that's
the message, and don't you forget it.
ANNIE. Oh! no, Sir.
TOPPING. So they're married?
ANNIE. Oh! I don't know, sir.
TOPPING. I see. Well, it ain't known to Builder, J.P., either. That's
why there's a message. See?
ANNIE. Oh! yes, Sir.
TOPPING. Keep your head. I must hop it. From Miss Maud Builder.
"Look out! Father is coming."
He nods, turns and goes, pulling the door to behind him. ANNIE
stands "baff" for a moment.
ANNIE. Ah!
She goes across to the bedroom on the Right, and soon returns with a
suit of pyjamas, a toothbrush, a pair of slippers and a case of
razors, which she puts on the table, and disappears into the
kitchen. She reappears with a bread pan, which she deposits in the
centre of the room; then crosses again to the bedroom, and once more
reappears with a clothes brush, two hair brushes, and a Norfolk
jacket. As she stuffs all these into the bread pan and bears it
back into the kitchen, there is the sound of a car driving up and
stopping. ANNIE reappears at the kitchen door just as the knocker
sounds.
ANNIE. Vexin' and provokin'! [Knocker again. She opens the door] Oh!
MR and MRS BUILDER enter.
BUILDER. Mr and Mrs Builder. My daughter in?
ANNIE. [Confounded] Oh! Sir, no, sir.
BUILDER. My good girl, not "Oh! Sir, no, sir." Simply: No, Sir. See?
ANNIE. Oh! Sir, yes, Sir.
BUILDER. Where is she?
ANNIE. Oh! Sir, I don't know, Sir.
BUILDER. [Fixing her as though he suspected her of banter] Will she be
back soon?
ANNIE. No, Sir.
BUILDER. How do you know?
ANNIE. I d--don't, sir.
BUILDER. They why do you say so? [About to mutter "She's an idiot!" he
looks at her blushing face and panting figure, pats her on the shoulder
and says] Never mind; don't be nervous.
ANNIE. Oh! yes, sir. Is that all, please, sir?
MRS BUILDER. [With a side look at her husband and a faint smile] Yes;
you can go.
ANNIE. Thank you, ma'am.
She turns and hurries out into the kitchen, Left. BUILDER gazes
after her, and MRS BUILDER gazes at BUILDER with her faint smile.
BUILDER. [After the girl is gone] Quaint and Dutch--pretty little
figure! [Staring round] H'm! Extraordinary girls are! Fancy Athene
preferring this to home. What?
MRS BUILDER. I didn't say anything.
BUILDER. [Placing a chair for his wife, and sitting down himself] Well,
we must wait, I suppose. Confound that Nixon legacy! If Athene hadn't
had that potty little legacy left her, she couldn't have done this.
Well, I daresay it's all spent by now. I made a mistake to lose my
temper with her.
MRS BUILDER. Isn't it always a mistake to lose one's temper?
BUILDER. That's very nice and placid; sort of thing you women who live
sheltered lives can say. I often wonder if you women realise the strain
on a business man.
MRS BUILDER. [In her softly ironical voice] It seems a shame to add the
strain of family life.
BUILDER. You've always been so passive. When I want a thing, I've got
to have it.
MRS BUILDER. I've noticed that.
BUILDER. [With a short laugh] Odd if you hadn't, in twenty-three years.
[Touching a canvas standing against the chair with his toe] Art! Just a
pretext. We shall be having Maud wanting to cut loose next. She's very
restive. Still, I oughtn't to have had that scene with Athene. I ought
to have put quiet pressure.
MRS BUILDER Smiles.
BUILDER. What are you smiling at?
MRS BUILDER shrugs her shoulders.
Look at this--Cigarettes! [He examines the brand on the box] Strong,
very--and not good! [He opens the door] Kitchen! [He shuts it,
crosses, and opens the door, Right] Bedroom!
MRS BUILDER. [To his disappearing form] Do you think you ought, John?
He has disappeared, and she ends with an expressive movement of her
hands, a long sigh, and a closing of her eyes. BUILDER'S peremptory
voice is heard: "Julia!"
What now?
She follows into the bedroom. The maid ANNIE puts her head out of
the kitchen door; she comes out a step as if to fly; then, at
BUILDER'S voice, shrinks back into the kitchen.
BUILDER, reappearing with a razor strop in one hand and a shaving-brush
in the other, is followed by MRS BUILDER.
BUILDER. Explain these! My God! Where's that girl?
MRS BUILDER. John! Don't! [Getting between him and the kitchen door]
It's not dignified.
BUILDER. I don't care a damn.
MRS BUILDER. John, you mustn't. Athene has the tiny beginning of a
moustache, you know.
BUILDER. What! I shall stay and clear this up if I have to wait a week.
Men who let their daughters--! This age is the limit. [He makes a
vicious movement with the strop, as though laying it across someone's
back.]
MRS BUILDER. She would never stand that. Even wives object, nowadays.
BUILDER. [Grimly] The war's upset everything. Women are utterly out
of hand. Why the deuce doesn't she come?
MRS BUILDER. Suppose you leave me here to see her.
BUILDER. [Ominously] This is my job.
MRS BUILDER. I think it's more mine.
BUILDER. Don't stand there opposing everything I say! I'll go and have
another look--[He is going towards the bedroom when the sound of a
latchkey in the outer door arrests him. He puts the strop and brush
behind his back, and adds in a low voice] Here she is!
MRS BUILDER has approached him, and they have both turned towards
the opening door. GUY HERRINGHAME comes in. They are a little out
of his line of sight, and he has shut the door before he sees them.
When he does, his mouth falls open, and his hand on to the knob of
the door. He is a comely young man in Harris tweeds. Moreover, he
is smoking. He would speak if he could, but his surprise is too
excessive. BUILDER. Well, sir?
GUY. [Recovering a little] I was about to say the same to you, sir.
BUILDER. [Very red from repression] These rooms are not yours, are
they?
GUY. Nor yours, sir?
BUILDER. May I ask if you know whose they are?
GUY. My sister's.
BUILDER. Your--you--!
MRS BUILDER. John!
BUILDER. Will you kindly tell me why your sister signs her drawings by
the name of my daughter, Athene Builder--and has a photograph of my wife
hanging there?
The YOUNG MAN looks at MRS BUILDER and winces, but recovers himself.
GUY. [Boldly] As a matter of fact this is my sister's studio; she's in
France--and has a friend staying here.
BUILDER. Oh! And you have a key?
GUY. My sister's.
BUILDER. Does your sister shave?
GUY. I--I don't think so.
BUILDER. No. Then perhaps you'll tell me what these mean? [He takes
out the strop and shaving stick].
GUY. Oh! Ah! Those things?
BUILDER. Yes. Now then?
GUY. [Addressing MRS BUILDER] Need we go into this in your presence,
ma'am? It seems rather delicate.
BUILDER. What explanation have you got?
GUY. Well, you see--
BUILDER. No lies; out with it!
GUY. [With decision] I prefer to say nothing.
BUILDER. What's your name?
GUY. Guy Herringhame.
BUILDER. Do you live here?
Guy makes no sign.
MRS BUILDER. [To Guy] I think you had better go.
BUILDER. Julia, will you leave me to manage this?
MRS BUILDER. [To Guy] When do you expect my daughter in?
GUY. Now--directly.
MRS BUILDER. [Quietly] Are you married to her?
GUY. Yes. That is--no--o; not altogether, I mean.
BUILDER. What's that? Say that again!
GUY. [Folding his arms] I'm not going to say another word.
BUILDER. I am.
MRS BUILDER. John--please!
BUILDER. Don't put your oar in! I've had wonderful patience so far.
[He puts his boot through a drawing] Art! This is what comes of it! Are
you an artist?
GUY. No; a flying man. The truth is--
BUILDER. I don't want to hear you speak the truth. I'll wait for my
daughter.
GUY. If you do, I hope you'll be so very good as to be gentle. If you
get angry I might too, and that would be awfully ugly.
BUILDER. Well, I'm damned!
GUY. I quite understand that, sir. But, as a man of the world, I hope
you'll take a pull before she comes, if you mean to stay.
BUILDER. If we mean to stay! That's good!
GUY. Will you have a cigarette?
BUILDER. I--I can't express--
GUY. [Soothingly] Don't try, sir. [He jerks up his chin, listening] I
think that's her. [Goes to the door] Yes. Now, please! [He opens the
door] Your father and mother, Athene.
ATHENE enters. She is flushed and graceful. Twenty-two, with a short
upper lip, a straight nose, dark hair, and glowing eyes. She wears
bright colours, and has a slow, musical voice, with a slight lisp.
ATHENE. Oh! How are you, mother dear? This is rather a surprise.
Father always keeps his word, so I certainly didn't expect him. [She
looks steadfastly at BUILDER, but does not approach].
BUILDER. [Controlling himself with an effort] Now, Athene, what's this?
ATHENE. What's what?
BUILDER. [The strop held out] Are you married to this--this--?
ATHENE. [Quietly] To all intents and purposes.
BUILDER. In law?
ATHENE. No.
BUILDER. My God! You--you--!
ATHENE. Father, don't call names, please.
BUILDER. Why aren't you married to him?
ATHENE. Do you want a lot of reasons, or the real one?
BUILDER. This is maddening! [Goes up stage].
ATHENE. Mother dear, will you go into the other room with Guy? [She
points to the door Right].
BUILDER. Why?
ATHENE. Because I would rather she didn't hear the reason.
GUY. [To ATHENE, sotto voce] He's not safe.
ATHENE. Oh! yes; go on.
Guy follows MRS BUILDER, and after hesitation at the door they go
out into the bedroom.
BUILDER. Now then!
ATHENE. Well, father, if you want to know the real reason, it's--you.
BUILDER. What on earth do you mean?
ATHENE. Guy wants to marry me. In fact, we--But I had such a stunner of
marriage from watching you at home, that I--
BUILDER. Don't be impudent! My patience is at breaking-point, I warn
you.
ATHENE. I'm perfectly serious, Father. I tell you, we meant to marry,
but so far I haven't been able to bring myself to it. You never noticed
how we children have watched you.
BUILDER. Me?
ATHENE. Yes. You and mother, and other things; all sorts of things--
BUILDER. [Taking out a handkerchief and wiping his brow] I really think
you're mad.
ATHENE. I'm sure you must, dear.
BUILDER. Don't "dear" me! What have you noticed? D'you mean I'm not a
good husband and father?
ATHENE. Look at mother. I suppose you can't, now; you're too used to
her.
BUILDER. Of course I'm used to her. What else is marrying for?
ATHENE. That; and the production of such as me. And it isn't good
enough, father. You shouldn't have set us such a perfect example.
BUILDER. You're talking the most arrant nonsense I ever heard. [He
lifts his hands] I've a good mind to shake it out of you.
ATHENE. Shall I call Guy?
He drops his hands.
Confess that being a good husband and father has tried you terribly. It
has us, you know.
BUILDER. [Taking refuge in sarcasm] When you've quite done being funny,
perhaps you'll tell me why you've behaved like a common street flapper.
ATHENE. [Simply] I couldn't bear to think of Guy as a family man.
That's all--absolutely. It's not his fault; he's been awfully anxious to
be one.
BUILDER. You've disgraced us, then; that's what it comes to.
ATHENE. I don't want to be unkind, but you've brought it on yourself.
BUILDER. [Genuinely distracted] I can't even get a glimmer of what you
mean. I've never been anything but firm. Impatient, perhaps. I'm not
an angel; no ordinary healthy man is. I've never grudged you girls any
comfort, or pleasure.
ATHENE. Except wills of our own.
BUILDER. What do you want with wills of your own till you're married?
ATHENE. You forget mother!
BUILDER. What about her?
ATHENE. She's very married. Has she a will of her own?
BUILDER. [Sullenly] She's learnt to know when I'm in the right.
ATHENE. I don't ever mean to learn to know when Guy's in the right.
Mother's forty-one, and twenty-three years of that she's been your wife.
It's a long time, father. Don't you ever look at her face?
BUILDER. [Troubled in a remote way] Rubbish!
ATHENE. I didn't want my face to get like that.
BUILDER. With such views about marriage, what business had you to go
near a man? Come, now!
ATHENE. Because I fell in love.
BUILDER. Love leads to marriage--and to nothing else, but the streets.
What an example to your sister!
ATHENE. You don't know Maud any more than you knew me. She's got a will
of her own too, I can tell you.
BUILDER. Now, look here, Athene. It's always been my way to face
accomplished facts. What's done can't be undone; but it can be remedied.
You must marry this young----at once, before it gets out. He's behaved
like a ruffian: but, by your own confession, you've behaved worse.
You've been bitten by this modern disease, this--this, utter lack of
common decency. There's an eternal order in certain things, and marriage
is one of them; in fact, it's the chief. Come, now. Give me a promise,
and I'll try my utmost to forget the whole thing.
ATHENE. When we quarrelled, father, you said you didn't care what became
of me.
BUILDER. I was angry.
ATHENE. So you are now.
BUILDER. Come, Athene, don't be childish! Promise me!
ATHENE. [With a little shudder] No! We were on the edge of it. But now
I've seen you again--Poor mother!
BUILDER. [Very angry] This is simply blasphemous. What do you mean by
harping on your mother? If you think that--that--she doesn't--that she
isn't--
ATHENE. Now, father!
BUILDER. I'm damned if I'll sit down under this injustice. Your mother
is--is pretty irritating, I can tell you. She--she--Everything
suppressed. And--and no--blood in her!
ATHENE. I knew it!
BUILDER. [Aware that he has confirmed some thought in her that he had no
intention of confirming] What's that?
ATHENE. Don't you ever look at your own face, father? When you shave,
for instance.
BUILDER. Of course I do.
ATHENE. It isn't satisfied, is it?
BUILDER. I don't know what on earth you mean.
ATHENE. You can't help it, but you'd be ever so much happier if you were
a Mohammedan, and two or three, instead of one, had--had learned to know
when you were in the right.
BUILDER. 'Pon my soul! This is outrageous!
ATHENE. Truth often is.
BUILDER. Will you be quiet?
ATHENE. I don't ever want to feel sorry for Guy in that way.
BUILDER. I think you're the most immodest--I'm ashamed that you're my
daughter. If your another had ever carried on as you are now--
ATHENE. Would you have been firm with her?
BUILDER. [Really sick at heart at this unwonted mockery which meets him
at every turn] Be quiet, you----!
ATHENE. Has mother never turned?
BUILDER. You're an unnatural girl! Go your own way to hell!
ATHENE. I am not coming back home, father.
BUILDER. [Wrenching open the door, Right] Julia! Come! We can't stay
here.
MRS BUILDER comes forth, followed by GUY.
As for you, sir, if you start by allowing a woman to impose her crazy
ideas about marriage on you, all I can say is--I despise you. [He
crosses to the outer door, followed by his wife. To ATHENE] I've done
with you!
He goes out.
MRS BUILDER, who has so far seemed to accompany him, shuts the door
quickly and remains in the studio. She stands there with that faint
smile on her face, looking at the two young people.
ATHENE. Awfully sorry, mother; but don't you see what a stunner father's
given me?
MRS BUILDER. My dear, all men are not alike.
GUY. I've always told her that, ma'am.
ATHENE. [Softly] Oh! mother, I'm so sorry for you.
The handle of the door is rattled, a fist is beaten on it.
[She stamps, and covers her ears] Disgusting!
GUY. Shall I--?
MRS BUILDER. [Shaking her head] I'm going in a moment. [To ATHENE] You
owe it to me, Athene.
ATHENE. Oh! if somebody would give him a lesson!
BUILDER's voice: "Julia!"
Have you ever tried, mother?
MRS BUILDER looks at the YOUNG MAN, who turns away out of hearing.
MRS BUILDER. Athene, you're mistaken. I've always stood up to him in my
own way.
ATHENE. Oh! but, mother--listen!
The beating and rattling have recommenced, and the voice: "Are you
coming?"
[Passionately] And that's family life! Father was all right before he
married, I expect. And now it's like this. How you survive--!
MRS BUILDER. He's only in a passion, my dear.
ATHENE. It's wicked.
MRS BUILDER. It doesn't work otherwise, Athene.
A single loud bang on the door.
ATHENE. If he beats on that door again, I shall scream.
MRS BUILDER smiles, shakes her head, and turns to the door.
MRS BUILDER. Now, my dear, you're going to be sensible, to please me.
It's really best. If I say so, it must be. It's all comedy, Athene.
ATHENE. Tragedy!
GUY. [Turning to them] Look here! Shall I shift him?
MRS BUILDER shakes her head and opens the door. BUILDER stands
there, a furious figure.
BUILDER. Will you come, and leave that baggage and her cad?
MRS BUILDER steps quickly out and the door is closed. Guy makes an angry
movement towards it.
ATHENE. Guy!
GUY. [Turning to her] That puts the top hat on. So persuasive! [He
takes out of his pocket a wedding ring, and a marriage licence] Well!
What's to be done with these pretty things, now?
ATHENE. Burn them!
GUY. [Slowly] Not quite. You can't imagine I should ever be like that,
Athene?
ATHENE. Marriage does wonders.
GUY. Thanks.
ATHENE. Oh! Guy, don't be horrid. I feel awfully bad.
GUY. Well, what do you think I feel? "Cad!"
They turn to see ANNIE in hat and coat, with a suit-case in her
hand, coming from the door Left.
ANNIE. Oh! ma'am, please, Miss, I want to go home.
GUY. [Exasperated!] She wants to go home--she wants to go home!
ATHENE. Guy! All right, Annie.
ANNIE. Oh! thank you, Miss. [She moves across in front of them].
ATHENE. [Suddenly] Annie!
ANNIE stops and turns to her.
What are you afraid of?
ANNIE. [With comparative boldness] I--I might catch it, Miss.
ATHENE. From your people?
ANNIE. Oh! no, Miss; from you. You see, I've got a young man that wants
to marry me. And if I don't let him, I might get into trouble meself.
ATHENE. What sort of father and mother have you got, Annie?
ANNIE. I never thought, Miss. And of course I don't want to begin.
ATHENE. D'you mean you've never noticed how they treat each other?
ANNIE. I don't think they do, Miss.
ATHENE. Exactly.
ANNIE. They haven't time. Father's an engine driver.
GUY. And what's your young man, Annie?
ANNIE. [Embarrassed] Somethin' like you, sir. But very respectable.
ATHENE. And suppose you marry him, and he treats you like a piece of
furniture?
ANNIE. I--I could treat him the same, Miss.
ATHENE. Don't you believe that, Annie!
ANNIE. He's very mild.
ATHENE. That's because he wants you. You wait till he doesn't.
ANNIE looks at GUY.
GUY. Don't you believe her, Annie; if he's decent--
ANNIE. Oh! yes, sir.
ATHENE. [Suppressing a smile] Of course--but the point is, Annie, that
marriage makes all the difference.
ANNIE. Yes, Miss; that's what I thought.
ATHENE. You don't see. What I mean is that when once he's sure of you,
he may change completely.
ANNIE. [Slowly, looking at her thumb] Oh! I don't--think--he'll hammer
me, Miss. Of course, I know you can't tell till you've found out.
ATHENE. Well, I've no right to influence you.
ANNIE. Oh! no, Miss; that's what I've been thinking.
-GUY. You're quite right, Annie=-this is no place for you.
ANNIE. You see, we can't be married; sir, till he gets his rise. So
it'll be a continual temptation to me.
ATHENE. Well, all right, Annie. I hope you'll never regret it.
ANNIE. Oh! no, Miss.
GUY. I say, Annie, don't go away thinking evil of us; we didn't realise
you knew we weren't married.
ATHENE. We certainly did not.
ANNIE. Oh! I didn't think it right to take notice.
GUY. We beg your pardon.
ANNIE. Oh! no, sir. Only, seein' Mr and Mrs Builder so upset, brought
it 'ome like. And father can be 'andy with a strap.
ATHENE. There you are! Force majeure!
ANNIE. Oh! yes, Miss.
ATHENE. Well, good-bye, Annie. What are you going to say to your
people?
ANNIE. Oh! I shan't say I've been livin' in a family that wasn't a
family, Miss. It wouldn't do no good.
ATHENE. Well, here are your wages.
ANNIE. Oh! I'm puttin' you out, Miss. [She takes the money].
ATHENE. Nonsense, Annie. And here's your fare home.
ANNIE. Oh! thank you, Miss. I'm very sorry. Of course if you was to
change your mind--[She stops, embarrassed].
ATHENE. I don't think--
GUY. [Abruptly] Good-bye, Annie. Here's five bob for the movies.
ANNIE. Oh! good-bye, sir, and thank you. I was goin' there now with my
young man. He's just round the corner.
GUY. Be very careful of him.
ANNIE. Oh! yes, sir, I will. Good-bye, sir. Goodbye, Miss.
She goes.
GUY. So her father has a firm hand too. But it takes her back to the
nest. How's that, Athene?
ATHENE. [Playing with a leathern button on his coat] If you'd watched
it ever since you could watch anything, seen it kill out all--It's having
power that does it. I know Father's got awfully good points.
GUY. Well, they don't stick out.
ATHENE. He works fearfully hard; he's upright, and plucky. He's not
stingy. But he's smothered his animal nature-and that's done it. I
don't want to see you smother anything, Guy.
GUY. [Gloomily] I suppose one never knows what one's got under the lid.
If he hadn't come here to-day--[He spins the wedding ring] He certainly
gives one pause. Used he to whack you?
ATHENE. Yes.
GUY. Brute!
ATHENE. With the best intentions. You see, he's a Town Councillor, and
a magistrate. I suppose they have to be "firm." Maud and I sneaked in
once to listen to him. There was a woman who came for protection from
her husband. If he'd known we were there, he'd have had a fit.
GUY. Did he give her the protection?
ATHENE. Yes; he gave her back to the husband. Wasn't it--English?
GUY. [With a grunt] Hang it! We're not all like that.
ATHENE. [Twisting his button] I think it's really a sense of property
so deep that they don't know they've got it. Father can talk about
freedom like a--politician.
GUY. [Fitting the wedding ring on her finger] Well! Let's see how it
looks, anyway.
ATHENE. Don't play with fire, Guy.
GUY. There's something in atavism, darling; there really is. I like it
--I do.
A knock on the door.
ATHENE. That sounds like Annie again. Just see.
GUY. [Opening the door] It is. Come in, Annie. What's wrong now?
ANNIE. [Entering in confusion] Oh! sir, please, sir--I've told my
young man.
ATHENE. Well, what does he say?
ANNIE. 'E was 'orrified, Miss.
GUY. The deuce he was! At our conduct?
ANNIE. Oh! no, sir--at mine.
ATHENE. But you did your best; you left us.
ANNIE. Oh! yes, Miss; that's why 'e's horrified.
GUY. Good for your young man.
ANNIE. [Flattered] Yes, sir. 'E said I 'ad no strength of mind.
ATHENE. So you want to come back?
ANNIE. Oh! yes, Miss.
ATHENE. All right.
GUY. But what about catching it?
ANNIE. Oh, sir, 'e said there was nothing like Epsom salts.
GUY. He's a wag, your young man.
ANNIE. He was in the Army, sir.
GUY. You said he was respectable.
ANNIE. Oh! yes, sir; but not so respectable as that.
ATHENE. Well, Annie, get your things off, and lay lunch.
ANNIE. Oh! yes, Miss.
She makes a little curtsey and passes through into the kitchen.
GUY. Strength of mind! Have a little, Athene won't you? [He holds out
the marriage licence before her].
ATHENE. I don't know--I don't know! If--it turned out--
GUY. It won't. Come on. Must take chances in this life.
ATHENE. [Looking up into his face] Guy, promise me--solemnly that you'll
never let me stand in your way, or stand in mine!
GUY. Right! That's a bargain. [They embrace.]
ATHENE quivers towards him. They embrace fervently as ANNIE enters
with the bread pan. They spring apart.
ANNIE. Oh!
GUY. It's all right, Annie. There's only one more day's infection
before you. We're to be married to-morrow morning.
ANNIE. Oh! yes, sir. Won't Mr Builder be pleased?
GUY. H'm! That's not exactly our reason.
ANNIE. [Right] Oh! no, sir. Of course you can't be a family without,
can you?
GUY. What have you got in that thing?
ANNIE is moving across with the bread pan. She halts at the bedroom
door.
ANNIE. Oh! please, ma'am, I was to give you a message--very important--
from Miss Maud Builder "Lookout! Father is coming!"
She goes out.
The CURTAIN falls.
ACT II
BUILDER'S study. At the table, MAUD has just put a sheet of paper
into a typewriter. She sits facing the audience, with her hands
stretched over the keys.
MAUD. [To herself] I must get that expression.
Her face assumes a furtive, listening look. Then she gets up,
whisks to the mirror over the fireplace, scrutinises the expression
in it, and going back to the table, sits down again with hands
outstretched above the keys, and an accentuation of the expression.
The door up Left is opened, and TOPPING appears. He looks at MAUD,
who just turns her eyes.
TOPPING. Lunch has been ready some time, Miss Maud.
MAUD. I don't want any lunch. Did you give it?
TOPPING. Miss Athene was out. I gave the message to a young party. She
looked a bit green, Miss. I hope nothing'll go wrong with the works.
Shall I keep lunch back?
MAUD. If something's gone wrong, they won't have any appetite, Topping.
TOPPING. If you think I might risk it, Miss, I'd like to slip round to
my dentist. [He lays a finger on his cheek].
MAUD. [Smiling] Oh! What race is being run this afternoon, then,
Topping?
TOPPING. [Twinkling, and shifting his finger to the side of his nose]
Well, I don't suppose you've 'eard of it, Miss; but as a matter of fact
it's the Cesarwitch.
MAUD. Got anything on?
TOPPING. Only my shirt, Miss.
MAUD. Is it a good thing, then?
TOPPING. I've seen worse roll up. [With a touch of enthusiasm] Dark
horse, Miss Maud, at twenty to one.
MAUD. Put me ten bob on, Topping. I want all the money I can get, just
now.
TOPPING. You're not the first, Miss.
MAUD. I say, Topping, do you know anything about the film?
TOPPING. [Nodding] Rather a specialty of mine, Miss.
MAUD. Well, just stand there, and give me your opinion of this.
TOPPING moves down Left. She crouches over the typewriter, lets her
hands play on the keys; stops; assumes that listening, furtive look;
listens again, and lets her head go slowly round, preceded by her
eyes; breaks it off, and says:
What should you say I was?
TOPPING. Guilty, Miss.
MAUD. [With triumph] There! Then you think I've got it?
TOPPING. Well, of course, I couldn't say just what sort of a crime you'd
committed, but I should think pretty 'ot stuff.
MAUD. Yes; I've got them here. [She pats her chest].
TOPPING. Really, Miss.
MAUD. Yes. There's just one point, Topping; it's psychological.
TOPPING. Indeed, Miss?
MAUD. Should I naturally put my hand on them; or would there be a
reaction quick enough to stop me? You see, I'm alone--and the point is
whether the fear of being seen would stop me although I knew I couldn't
be seen. It's rather subtle.
TOPPING. I think there's be a rehaction, Miss.
MAUD. So do I. To touch them [She clasps her chest] is a bit obvious,
isn't it?
TOPPING. If the haudience knows you've got 'em there.
MAUD. Oh! yes, it's seen me put them. Look here, I'll show you that
too.
She opens an imaginary drawer, takes out some bits of sealing-wax,
and with every circumstance of stealth in face and hands, conceals
them in her bosom.
All right?
TOPPING. [Nodding] Fine, Miss. You have got a film face. What are
they, if I may ask?
MAUD. [Reproducing the sealing-wax] The Fanshawe diamonds. There's
just one thing here too, Topping.
In real life, which should I naturally do--put them in here [She touches
her chest] or in my bag?
TOPPING. [Touching his waistcoat--earnestly] Well! To put 'em in here,
Miss, I should say is more--more pishchological.
MAUD. [Subduing her lips] Yes; but--
TOPPING. You see, then you've got 'em on you.
MAUD. But that's just the point. Shouldn't I naturally think: Safer in
my bag; then I can pretend somebody put them there. You see, nobody
could put them on me.
TOPPING. Well, I should say that depends on your character. Of course I
don't know what your character is.
MAUD. No; that's the beastly part of it--the author doesn't, either.
It's all left to me.
TOPPING. In that case, I should please myself, Miss. To put 'em in
'ere's warmer.
MAUD. Yes, I think you're right. It's more human.
TOPPING. I didn't know you 'ad a taste this way, Miss Maud.
MAUD. More than a taste, Topping--a talent.
TOPPING. Well, in my belief, we all have a vice about us somewhere. But
if I were you, Miss, I wouldn't touch bettin', not with this other on
you. You might get to feel a bit crowded.
MAUD. Well, then, only put the ten bob on if you're sure he's going to
win. You can post the money on after me. I'll send you an address,
Topping, because I shan't be here.
TOPPING. [Disturbed] What! You're not going, too, Miss Maud?
MAUD. To seek my fortune.
TOPPING. Oh! Hang it all, Miss, think of what you'll leave behind.
Miss Athene's leavin' home has made it pretty steep, but this'll touch
bottom--this will.
MAUD. Yes; I expect you'll find it rather difficult for a bit when I'm
gone. Miss Baldini, you know. I've been studying with her. She's got
me this chance with the movie people. I'm going on trial as the guilty
typist in "The Heartache of Miranda."
TOPPING. [Surprised out of politeness] Well, I never! That does sound
like 'em! Are you goin' to tell the guv'nor, Miss?
MAUD nods. In that case, I think I'll be gettin' off to my dentist
before the band plays.
MAUD. All right, Topping; hope you won't lose a tooth.
TOPPING. [With a grin] It's on the knees of the gods, Miss, as they say
in the headlines.
He goes. MAUD stretches herself and listens.
MAUD. I believe that's them. Shivery funky.
She runs off up Left.
BUILDER. [Entering from the hall and crossing to the fireplace]
Monstrous! Really monstrous!
CAMILLE enters from the hall. She has a little collecting book in
her hand.
BUILDER. Well, Camille?
CAMILLE. A sistare from the Sacred 'Eart, Monsieur--her little book for
the orphan children.
BUILDER. I can't be bothered--What is it?
CAMILLE. Orphan, Monsieur.
BUILDER. H'm! Well! [Feeling in his breast pocket] Give her that.
He hands her a five-pound note.
CAMILLE. I am sure she will be veree grateful for the poor little
beggars. Madame says she will not be coming to lunch, Monsieur.
BUILDER. I don't want any, either. Tell Topping I'll have some coffee.
CAMILLE. Topping has gone to the dentist, Monsieur; 'e 'as the
toothache.
BUILDER. Toothache--poor devil! H'm! I'm expecting my brother, but I
don't know that I can see him.
CAMILLE. No, Monsieur?
BUILDER. Ask your mistress to come here.
He looks up, and catching her eye, looks away.
CAMILLE. Yes, Monsieur.
As she turns he looks swiftly at her, sweeping her up and down. She
turns her head and catches his glance, which is swiftly dropped.
Will Monsieur not 'ave anything to eat?
BUILDER. [Shaking his head-abruptly] No. Bring the coffee!
CAMILLE. Is Monsieur not well?
BUILDER. Yes--quite well.
CAMILLE. [Sweetening her eyes] A cutlet soubise? No?
BUILDER. [With a faint response in his eyes, instantly subdued] Nothing!
nothing!
CAMILLE. And Madame nothing too--Tt! Tt! With her hand on the door she
looks back, again catches his eyes in an engagement instantly broken off,
and goes out.
BUILDER. [Stock-still, and staring at the door] That girl's a continual
irritation to me! She's dangerous! What a life! I believe that girl--
The door Left is opened and MRS BUILDER comes in.
BUILDER. There's some coffee coming; do your head good. Look here,
Julia. I'm sorry I beat on that door. I apologize. I was in a towering
passion. I wish I didn't get into these rages. But--dash it all--! I
couldn't walk away and leave you there.
MRS BUILDER. Why not?
BUILDER. You keep everything to yourself, so; I never have any notion
what you're thinking. What did you say to her?
MRS BUILDER. Told her it would never work.
BUILDER. Well, that's something. She's crazy. D'you suppose she was
telling the truth about that young blackguard wanting to marry her?
MRS BUILDER. I'm sure of it.
BUILDER. When you think of how she's been brought up. You would have
thought that religion alone--
MRS BUILDER. The girls haven't wanted to go to church for years.
They've always said they didn't see why they should go to keep up your
position. I don't know if you remember that you once caned them for
running off on a Sunday morning.
BUILDER. Well?
MRS BUILDER. They've never had any religion since.
BUILDER. H'm! [He takes a short turn up the room] What's to be done
about Athene?
MRS BUILDER. You said you had done with her.
BUILDER. You know I didn't mean that. I might just as well have said
I'd done with you! Apply your wits, Julia! At any moment this thing may
come out. In a little town like this you can keep nothing dark. How can
I take this nomination for Mayor?
MRS BUILDER. Perhaps Ralph could help.
BUILDER. What? His daughters have never done anything disgraceful, and
his wife's a pattern.
MRS BUILDER. Yes; Ralph isn't at all a family man.
BUILDER. [Staring at her] I do wish you wouldn't turn things upside
down in that ironical way. It isn't--English.
MRS BUILDER. I can't help having been born in Jersey.
BUILDER. No; I suppose it's in your blood. The French-- [He stops
short].
MRS BUILDER. Yes?
BUILDER. Very irritating sometimes to a plain Englishman--that's all.
MRS BUILDER. Shall I get rid of Camille?
BUILDER. [Staring at her, then dropping his glance] Camille? What's
she got to do with it?
MRS BUILDER. I thought perhaps you found her irritating.
BUILDER. Why should I?
CAMILLE comes in from the dining-room with the coffee.
Put it there. I want some brandy, please.
CAMILLE. I bring it, Monsieur.
She goes back demurely into the dining-room.
BUILDER. Topping's got toothache, poor chap! [Pouring out the coffee]
Can't you suggest any way of making Athene see reason? Think of the
example! Maud will be kicking over next. I shan't be able to hold my
head up here.
MRS BUILDER. I'm afraid I can't do that for you.
BUILDER. [Exasperated] Look here, Julia! That wretched girl said
something to me about our life together. What--what's the matter with
that?
MRS BUILDER. It is irritating.
BUILDER. Be explicit.
MRS BUILDER. We have lived together twenty-three years, John. No talk
will change such things.
BUILDER. Is it a question of money? You can always have more. You know
that. [MRS BUILDER smiles] Oh! don't smile like that; it makes me feel
quite sick!
CAMILLE enters with a decanter and little glasses, from the
dining-room.
CAMILLE. The brandy, sir. Monsieur Ralph Builder has just come.
MRS BUILDER. Ask him in, Camille.
CAMILLE. Yes, Madame.
She goes through the doorway into the hall. MRS BUILDER, following
towards the door, meets RALPH BUILDER, a man rather older than
BUILDER and of opposite build and manner. He has a pleasant,
whimsical face and grizzled hair.
MRS BUILDER. John wants to consult you, Ralph.
RALPH. That's very gratifying.
She passes him and goes out, leaving the two brothers eyeing one
another.
About the Welsh contract?
BUILDER. No. Fact is, Ralph, something very horrible's happened.
RALPH. Athene gone and got married?
BUILDER. No. It's--it's that she's gone and--and not got married.
RALPH utters a sympathetic whistle.
Jolly, isn't it?
RALPH. To whom?
BUILDER. A young flying bounder.
RALPH. And why?
BUILDER. Some crazy rubbish about family life, of all things.
RALPH. Athene's a most interesting girl. All these young people are so
queer and delightful.
BUILDER. By George, Ralph, you may thank your stars you haven't got a
delightful daughter. Yours are good, decent girls.
RALPH. Athene's tremendously good and decent, John. I'd bet any money
she's doing this on the highest principles.
BUILDER. Behaving like a--
RALPH. Don't say what you'll regret, old man! Athene always took things
seriously--bless her!
BUILDER. Julia thinks you might help. You never seem to have any
domestic troubles.
RALPH. No--o. I don't think we do.
BUILDER. How d'you account for it?
RALPH. I must ask at home.
BUILDER. Dash it! You must know!
RALPH. We're all fond of each other.
BUILDER. Well, I'm fond of my girls too; I suppose I'm not amiable
enough. H'm?
RALPH. Well, old man, you do get blood to the head. But what's Athene's
point, exactly?
BUILDER. Family life isn't idyllic, so she thinks she and the young man
oughtn't to have one.
RALPH. I see. Home experience?
BUILDER. Hang it all, a family's a family! There must be a head.
RALPH. But no tail, old chap.
BUILDER. You don't let your women folk do just as they like?
RALPH. Always.
BUILDER. What happens if one of your girls wants to do an improper
thing? [RALPH shrugs his shoulders]. You don't stop her?
RALPH. Do you?
BUILDER. I try to.
RALPH. Exactly. And she does it. I don't and she doesn't.
BUILDER. [With a short laugh] Good Lord! I suppose you'd have me eat
humble pie and tell Athene she can go on living in sin and offending
society, and have my blessing to round it off.
RALPH. I think if you did she'd probably marry him.
BUILDER. You've never tested your theory, I'll bet.
RALPH. Not yet.
BUILDER. There you are.
RALPH. The 'suaviter in modo' pays, John. The times are not what they
were.
BUILDER. Look here! I want to get to the bottom of this. Do you tell
me I'm any stricter than nine out of ten men?
RALPH. Only in practice.
BUILDER. [Puzzled] How do you mean?
RALPH. Well, you profess the principles of liberty, but you practise the
principles of government.
BUILDER. H'm! [Taking up the decanter] Have some?
RALPH. No, thank you.
BUILDER fills and raises his glass.
CAMILLE. [Entering] Madame left her coffee.
She comes forward, holds out a cup for BUILDER to pour into, takes
it and goes out. BUILDER'S glass remains suspended. He drinks the
brandy off as she shuts the door.
BUILDER. Life isn't all roses, Ralph.
RALPH. Sorry, old man.
BUILDER. I sometimes think I try myself too high. Well, about that
Welsh contract?
RALPH. Let's take it.
BUILDER. If you'll attend to it. Frankly, I'm too upset.
As they go towards the door into the hall, MAUD comes in from the
dining-room, in hat and coat.
RALPH. [Catching sight of her] Hallo! All well in your cosmogony, Maud?
MAUD. What is a cosmogony, Uncle?
RALPH. My dear, I--I don't know.
He goes out, followed by BUILDER. MAUD goes quickly to the table,
sits down and rests her elbows on it, her chin on her hands, looking
at the door.
BUILDER. [Re-entering] Well, Maud! You'd have won your bet!
MAUD. Oh! father, I--I've got some news for you.
BUILDER. [Staring at her] News--what?
MAUD. I'm awfully sorry, but I-I've got a job.
BUILDER. Now, don't go saying you're going in for Art, too, because I
won't have it.
MAUD. Art? Oh! no! It's the--[With a jerk]--the Movies.
BUILDER. who has taken up a pipe to fill, puts it down.
BUILDER. [Impressively] I'm not in a joking mood.
MAUD. I'm not joking, father.
BUILDER. Then what are you talking about?
MAUD. You see, I--I've got a film face, and--
BUILDER. You've what? [Going up to his daughter, he takes hold of her
chin] Don't talk nonsense! Your sister has just tried me to the limit.
MAUD. [Removing his hand from her chin] Don't oppose it, father, please!
I've always wanted to earn my own living.
BUILDER. Living! Living!
MAUD. [Gathering determination] You can't stop me, father, because I
shan't need support. I've got quite good terms.
BUILDER. [Almost choking, but mastering himself] Do you mean to say
you've gone as far as that?
MAUD. Yes. It's all settled.
BUILDER. Who put you up to this?
MAUD. No one. I've been meaning to, ever so long. I'm twenty-one, you
know.
BUILDER. A film face! Good God! Now, look here! I will not have a
daughter of mine mixed up with the stage. I've spent goodness knows what
on your education--both of you.
MAUD. I don't want to be ungrateful; but I--I can't go on living at
home.
BUILDER. You can't--! Why? You've every indulgence.
MAUD. [Clearly and coldly] I can remember occasions when your
indulgence hurt, father. [She wriggles her shoulders and back] We never
forgot or forgave that.
BUILDER. [Uneasily] That! You were just kids.
MAUD. Perhaps you'd like to begin again?
BUILDER. Don't twist my tail, Maud. I had the most painful scene with
Athene this morning. Now come! Give up this silly notion! It's really
too childish!
MAUD. [Looking at him curiously] I've heard you say ever so many times
that no man was any good who couldn't make his own way, father. Well,
women are the same as men, now. It's the law of the country. I only
want to make my own way.
BUILDER. [Trying to subdue his anger] Now, Maud, don't be foolish.
Consider my position here--a Town Councillor, a Magistrate, and Mayor
next year. With one daughter living with a man she isn't married to--
MAUD. [With lively interest] Oh! So you did catch them out?
BUILDER. D'you mean to say you knew?
MAUD. Of course.
BUILDER. My God! I thought we were a Christian family.
MAUD. Oh! father.
BUILDER. Don't sneer at Christianity!
MAUD. There's only one thing wrong with Christians--they aren't!
BUILDER Seizes her by the shoulders and shakes her vigorously. When he
drops her shoulders, she gets up, gives him a vicious look, and suddenly
stamps her foot on his toe with all her might.
BUILDER. [With a yowl of pain] You little devil!
MAUD. [Who has put the table between them] I won't stand being shaken.
BUILDER. [Staring at her across the table] You've got my temper up and
you'll take the consequences. I'll make you toe the line.
MAUD. If you knew what a Prussian expression you've got!
BUILDER passes his hand across his face uneasily, as if to wipe
something off.
No! It's too deep!
BUILDER. Are you my daughter or are you not?
MAUD. I certainly never wanted to be. I've always disliked you, father,
ever since I was so high. I've seen through you. Do you remember when
you used to come into the nursery because Jenny was pretty? You think we
didn't notice that, but we did. And in the schoolroom--Miss Tipton. And
d'you remember knocking our heads together? No, you don't; but we do.
And--
BUILDER. You disrespectful monkey! Will you be quiet?
MAUD. No; you've got to hear things. You don't really love anybody but
yourself, father. What's good for you has to be good for everybody.
I've often heard you talk about independence, but it's a limited company
and you've got all the shares.
BUILDER. Rot; only people who can support themselves have a right to
independence.
MAUD. That's why you don't want me to support myself.
BUILDER. You can't! Film, indeed! You'd be in the gutter in a year.
Athene's got her pittance, but you--you've got nothing.
MAUD. Except my face.
BUILDER. It's the face that brings women to ruin, my girl.
MAUD. Well, when I'm there I won't come to you to rescue me.
BUILDER. Now, mind--if you leave my house, I've done with you.
MAUD. I'd rather scrub floors now, than stay.
BUILDER. [Almost pathetically] Well, I'm damned! Look here, Maud--
all this has been temper. You got my monkey up. I'm sorry I shook you;
you've had your revenge on my toes. Now, come! Don't make things worse
for me than they are. You've all the liberty you can reasonably want
till you marry.
MAUD. He can't see it--he absolutely can't!
BUILDER. See what?
MAUD. That I want to live a life of my own.
He edges nearer to her, and she edges to keep her distance.
BUILDER. I don't know what's bitten you.
MAUD. The microbe of freedom; it's in the air.
BUILDER. Yes, and there it'll stay--that's the first sensible word
you've uttered. Now, come! Take your hat off, and let's be friends!
MAUD looks at him and slowly takes off her hat.
BUILDER. [Relaxing his attitude, with a sigh of relief] That's right!
[Crosses to fireplace].
MAUD. [Springing to the door leading to the hall] Good-bye, father!
BUILDER. [Following her] Monkey!
At the sound of a bolt shot, BUILDER goes up to the window. There
is a fumbling at the door, and CAMILLE appears.
BUILDER. What's the matter with that door? CAMILLE. It was bolted,
Monsieur.
BUILDER. Who bolted it?
CAMILLE. [Shrugging her shoulders] I can't tell, Monsieur.
She collects the cups, and halts close to him. [Softly] Monsieur
is not 'appy.
BUILDER. [Surprised] What? No! Who'd be happy in a household like
mine?
CAMILLE. But so strong a man--I wish I was a strong man, not a weak
woman.
BUILDER. [Regarding her with reluctant admiration] Why, what's the
matter with you?
CAMILLE. Will Monsieur have another glass of brandy before I take it?
BUILDER. No! Yes--I will.
She pours it out, and he drinks it, hands her the glass and sits
down suddenly in an armchair. CAMILLE puts the glass on a tray, and
looks for a box of matches from the mantelshelf.
CAMILLE. A light, Monsieur?
BUILDER. Please.
CAMILLE. [She trips over his feet and sinks on to his knee] Oh!
Monsieur!
BUILDER flames up and catches her in his arms
Oh! Monsieur--
BUILDER. You little devil!
She suddenly kisses him, and he returns the kiss. While they are
engaged in this entrancing occupation, MRS BUILDER opens the door
from the hall, watches unseen for a few seconds, and quietly goes
out again.
BUILDER. [Pushing her back from him, whether at the sound of the door or
of a still small voice] What am I doing?
CAMILLE. Kissing.
BUILDER. I--I forgot myself.
They rise.
CAMILLE. It was na-ice.
BUILDER. I didn't mean to. You go away--go away!
CAMILLE. Oh! Monsieur, that spoil it.
BUILDER. [Regarding her fixedly] It's my opinion you're a temptation of
the devil. You know you sat down on purpose.
CAMILLE. Well, perhaps.
BUILDER. What business had you to? I'm a family man.
CAMILLE. Yes. What a pity! But does it matter?
BUILDER. [Much beset] Look here, you know! This won't do! It won't
do! I--I've got my reputation to think of!
CAMILLE. So 'ave I! But there is lots of time to think of it in
between.
BUILDER. I knew you were dangerous. I always knew it.
CAMILLE. What a thing to say of a little woman!
BUILDER. We're not in Paris.
CAMILLE. [Clasping her hands] Oh! 'Ow I wish we was!
BUILDER. Look here--I can't stand this; you've got to go. Out with you!
I've always kept a firm hand on myself, and I'm not going to--
CAMILLE. But I admire you so!
BUILDER. Suppose my wife had come in?
CAMILLE. Oh! Don't suppose any such a disagreeable thing! If you were
not so strict, you would feel much 'appier.
BUILDER. [Staring at her] You're a temptress!
CAMILLE. I lofe pleasure, and I don't get any. And you 'ave such a
duty, you don't get any sport. Well, I am 'ere!
She stretches herself, and BUILDER utters a deep sound.
BUILDER. [On the edge of succumbing] It's all against my--I won't do
it! It's--it's wrong!
CAMILLE. Oh! La, la!
BUILDER. [Suddenly revolting] No! If you thought it a sin--I--might.
But you don't; you're nothing but a--a little heathen.
CAMILLE. Why should it be better if I thought it a sin?
BUILDER. Then--then I should know where I was. As it is--
CAMILLE. The English 'ave no idea of pleasure. They make it all so
coarse and virtuous.
BUILDER. Now, out you go before I--! Go on!
He goes over to the door and opens it. His wife is outside in a hat
and coat. She comes in.
[Stammering] Oh! Here you are--I wanted you.
CAMILLE, taking up the tray, goes out Left, swinging her hips a very
little.
BUILDER. Going out?
MRS BUILDER. Obviously.
BUILDER. Where?
MRS BUILDER. I don't know at present.
BUILDER. I wanted to talk to you about Maud.
MRS BUILDER. It must wait.
BUILDER. She's-she's actually gone and--
MRS BUILDER. I must tell you that I happened to look in a minute ago.
BUILDER. [In absolute dismay] You! You what?
MRS BUILDER. Yes. I will put no obstacle in the way of your pleasures.
BUILDER. [Aghast] Put no obstacle? What do you mean? Julia, how can
you say a thing like that? Why, I've only just--
MRS BUILDER. Don't! I saw.
BUILDER. The girl fell on my knees. Julia, she did. She's--she's a
little devil. I--I resisted her. I give you my word there's been
nothing beyond a kiss, under great provocation. I--I apologise.
MRS BUILDER. [Bows her head] Thank you! I quite understand. But you
must forgive my feeling it impossible to remain a wet blanket any longer.
BUILDER. What! Because of a little thing like that--all over in two
minutes, and I doing my utmost.
MRS BUILDER. My dear John, the fact that you had to do your utmost is
quite enough. I feel continually humiliated in your house, and I want to
leave it--quite quietly, without fuss of any kind.
BUILDER. But--my God! Julia, this is awful--it's absurd! How can you?
I'm your husband. Really--your saying you don't mind what I do--it's not
right; it's immoral!
MRS BUILDER. I'm afraid you don't see what goes on in those who live
with you. So, I'll just go. Don't bother!
BUILDER. Now, look here, Julia, you can't mean this seriously. You
can't! Think of my position! You've never set yourself up against me
before.
MRS BUILDER. But I do now.
BUILDER. [After staring at her] I've given you no real reason. I'll
send the girl away. You ought to thank me for resisting a temptation
that most men would have yielded to. After twenty-three years of married
life, to kick up like this--you ought to be ashamed of yourself.
MRS BUILDER. I'm sure you must think so.
BUILDER. Oh! for heaven's sake don't be sarcastic! You're my wife, and
there's an end of it; you've no legal excuse. Don't be absurd!
MRS BUILDER. Good-bye!
BUILDER. D'you realise that you're encouraging me to go wrong? That's a
pretty thing for a wife to do. You ought to keep your husband straight.
MRS BUILDER. How beautifully put!
BUILDER. [Almost pathetically] Don't rile me Julia! I've had an awful
day. First Athene--then Maud--then that girl--and now you! All at once
like this! Like a swarm of bees about one's head. [Pleading] Come,
now, Julia, don't be so--so im practicable! You'll make us the
laughing-stock of the whole town. A man in my position, and can't
keep his own family; it's preposterous!
MRS BUILDER. Your own family have lives and thoughts and feelings of
their own.
BUILDER. Oh! This damned Woman's business! I knew how it would be when
we gave you the vote. You and I are married, and our daughters are our
daughters. Come, Julia. Where's your commonsense? After twenty-three
years! You know I can't do without you!
MRS BUILDER. You could--quite easily. You can tell people what you
like.
BUILDER. My God! I never heard anything so immoral in all my life from
the mother of two grownup girls. No wonder they've turned out as they
have! What is it you want, for goodness sake?
MRS BUILDER. We just want to be away from you, that's all. I assure you
it's best. When you've shown some consideration for our feelings and
some real sign that we exist apart from you--we could be friends again--
perhaps--I don't know.
BUILDER. Friends! Good heavens! With one's own wife and daughters!
[With great earnestness] Now, look here, Julia, you haven't lived with
me all this time without knowing that I'm a man of strong passions; I've
been a faithful husband to you--yes, I have. And that means resisting
all sorts of temptations you know nothing of. If you withdraw from my
society I won't answer for the consequences. In fact, I can't have you
withdrawing. I'm not going to see myself going to the devil and losing
the good opinion of everybody round me. A bargain's a bargain. And
until I've broken my side of it, and I tell you I haven't--you've no
business to break yours. That's flat. So now, put all that out of your
head.
MRS BUILDER. No.
BUILDER. [Intently] D'you realise that I've supported you in luxury and
comfort?
MRS BUILDER. I think I've earned it.
BUILDER. And how do you propose to live? I shan't give you a penny.
Come, Julia, don't be such an idiot! Fancy letting a kiss which no man
could have helped, upset you like this!
MRS BUILDER. The Camille, and the last straw!
BUILDER. [Sharply] I won't have it. So now you know.
But MRS BUILDER has very swiftly gone.
Julia, I tell you-- [The outer door is heard being closed] Damnation!
I will not have it! They're all mad! Here--where's my hat?
He looks distractedly round him, wrenches open the door, and a
moment later the street door is heard to shut with a bang.
CURTAIN.
ACT III
SCENE I
Ten o'clock the following morning, in the study of the Mayor of
Breconridge, a panelled room with no window visible, a door Left
back and a door Right forward. The entire back wall is furnished
with books from floor to ceiling; the other walls are panelled and
bare. Before the fireplace, Left, are two armchairs, and other
chairs are against the walls. On the Right is a writing-bureau at
right angles to the footlights, with a chair behind it. At its back
corner stands HARRIS, telephoning.
HARRIS. What--[Pause] Well, it's infernally awkward, Sergeant. . . .
The Mayor's in a regular stew. . . . [Listens] New constable?
I should think so! Young fool! Look here, Martin, the only thing to do
is to hear the charge here at once. I've sent for Mr Chantrey; he's on
his way. Bring Mr Builder and the witnesses round sharp. See? And, I
say, for God's sake keep it dark. Don't let the Press get on to it. Why
you didn't let him go home--! Black eye? The constable? Well, serve
him right. Blundering young ass! I mean, it's undermining all
authority. . . . Well, you oughtn't--at least, I . . . Damn it
all!--it's a nine days' wonder if it gets out--! All right! As soon as
you can. [He hangs up the receiver, puts a second chair behind the
bureau, and other chairs facing it.] [To himself] Here's a mess! Johnny
Builder, of all men! What price Mayors!
The telephone rings.
Hallo? . . . Poaching charge? Well, bring him too; only, I say, keep
him back till the other's over. By the way, Mr Chantrey's going
shooting. He'll want to get off by eleven. What? . . Righto !
As he hangs up the receiver the MAYOR enters. He looks worried, and
is still dressed with the indefinable wrongness of a burgher.
MAYOR. Well, 'Arris?
HARRIS. They'll be over in five minutes, Mr Mayor.
MAYOR. Mr Chantrey?
HARRIS. On his way, sir.
MAYOR. I've had some awkward things to deal with in my time, 'Arris, but
this is just about the [Sniffs] limit.
HARRIS. Most uncomfortable, Sir; most uncomfortable!
MAYOR. Put a book on the chair, 'Arris; I like to sit 'igh.
HARRIS puts a volume of Eneyclopaedia on the Mayor's chair behind
the bureau.
[Deeply] Our fellow-magistrate! A family man! In my shoes next year.
I suppose he won't be, now. You can't keep these things dark.
HARRIS. I've warned Martin, sir, to use the utmost discretion. Here's
Mr Chantrey.
By the door Left, a pleasant and comely gentleman has entered,
dressed with indefinable rightness in shooting clothes.
MAYOR. Ah, Chantrey!
CHANTREY. How de do, Mr Mayor? [Nodding to HARRIS] This is
extraordinarily unpleasant.
The MAYOR nods.
What on earth's he been doing?
HARRIS. Assaulting one of his own daughters with a stick; and resisting
the police.
CHANTREY. [With a low whistle] Daughter! Charity begins at home.
HARRIS. There's a black eye.
MAYOR. Whose?
HARRIS. The constable's.
CHANTREY. How did the police come into it?
HARRIS. I don't know, sir. The worst of it is he's been at the police
station since four o'clock yesterday. The Superintendent's away, and
Martin never will take responsibility.
CHANTREY. By George! he will be mad. John Builder's a choleric fellow.
MAYOR. [Nodding] He is. 'Ot temper, and an 'igh sense of duty.
HARRIS. There's one other charge, Mr Mayor--poaching. I told them to
keep that back till after.
CHANTREY. Oh, well, we'll make short work of that. I want to get off by
eleven, Harris. I shall be late for the first drive anyway. John
Builder! I say, Mayor--but for the grace of God, there go we!
MAYOR. Harris, go out and bring them in yourself; don't let the
servants--
HARRIS goes out Left. The MAYOR takes the upper chair behind the
bureau, sitting rather higher because of the book than CHANTREY, who
takes the lower. Now that they are in the seats of justice, a sort
of reticence falls on them, as if they were afraid of giving away
their attitudes of mind to some unseen presence.
MAYOR. [Suddenly] H'm!
CHANTREY. Touch of frost. Birds ought to come well to the guns--no
wind. I like these October days.
MAYOR. I think I 'ear them. H'm.
CHANTREY drops his eyeglass and puts on a pair of "grandfather"
spectacles. The MAYOR clears his throat and takes up a pen. They
neither of them look up as the door is opened and a little
procession files in. First HARRIS; then RALPH BUILDER, ATHENE,
HERRINGHAME, MAUD, MRS BUILDER, SERGEANT MARTIN, carrying a heavy
Malacca cane with a silver knob; JOHN BUILDER and the CONSTABLE
MOON, a young man with one black eye. No funeral was ever attended
by mutes so solemn and dejected. They stand in a sort of row.
MAYOR. [Without looking up] Sit down, ladies; sit down.
HARRIS and HERRINGHAME succeed in placing the three women in chairs.
RALPH BUILDER also sits. HERRINGHAME stands behind. JOHN BUILDER
remains standing between the two POLICEMEN. His face is unshaved
and menacing, but he stands erect staring straight at the MAYOR.
HARRIS goes to the side of the bureau, Back, to take down the
evidence.
MAYOR. Charges!
SERGEANT. John Builder, of The Cornerways, Breconridge, Contractor and
Justice of the Peace, charged with assaulting his daughter Maud Builder
by striking her with a stick in the presence of Constable Moon and two
other persons; also with resisting Constable Moon in the execution of his
duty, and injuring his eye. Constable Moon!
MOON. [Stepping forward-one, two--like an automaton, and saluting] In
River Road yesterday afternoon, Your Worship, about three-thirty p.m., I
was attracted by a young woman callin' "Constable" outside a courtyard.
On hearing the words "Follow me, quick," I followed her to a painter's
studio inside the courtyard, where I found three persons in the act of
disagreement. No sooner 'ad I appeared than the defendant, who was
engaged in draggin' a woman towards the door, turns to the young woman
who accompanied me, with violence. "You dare, father," she says;
whereupon he hit her twice with the stick the same which is produced, in
the presence of myself and the two other persons, which I'm given to
understand is his wife and other daughter.
MAYOR. Yes; never mind what you're given to understand.
MOON. No, sir. The party struck turns to me and says, "Come in. I give
this man in charge for assault." I moves accordingly with the words:
"I saw you. Come along with me." The defendant turns to me sharp and
says: "You stupid lout--I'm a magistrate." "Come off it," I says to the
best of my recollection. "You struck this woman in my presence," I says,
"and you come along!" We were then at close quarters. The defendant
gave me a push with the words: "Get out, you idiot!" "Not at all," I
replies, and took 'old of his arm. A struggle ensues, in the course of
which I receives the black eye which I herewith produce. [He touches his
eye with awful solemnity.]
The MAYOR clears his throat; CHANTREY'S eyes goggle; HARRIS bends
over and writes rapidly.
During the struggle, Your Worship, a young man has appeared on the scene,
and at the instigation of the young woman, the same who was assaulted,
assists me in securing the prisoner, whose language and resistance was
violent in the extreme. We placed him in a cab which we found outside,
and I conveyed him to the station.
CHANTREY. What was his--er--conduct in the--er--cab?
MOON. He sat quiet.
CHANTREY. That seems--
MOON. Seein' I had his further arm twisted behind him.
MAYOR [Looking at BUILDER] Any questions to ask him?
BUILDER makes not the faintest sign, and the MAYOR drops his glance.
MAYOR. Sergeant?
MOON steps back two paces, and the SERGEANT steps two paces forward.
SERGEANT. At ten minutes to four, Your Worship, yesterday afternoon,
Constable Moon brought the defendant to the station in a four-wheeled
cab. On his recounting the circumstances of the assault, they were
taken down and read over to the defendant with the usual warning. The
defendant said nothing. In view of the double assault and the condition
of the constable's eye, and in the absence of the Superintendent,
I thought it my duty to retain the defendant for the night.
MAYOR. The defendant said nothing?
SERGEANT. He 'as not opened his lips to my knowledge, Your Worship, from
that hour to this.
MAYOR. Any questions to ask the Sergeant?
BUILDER continues to stare at the MAYOR without a word.
MAYOR. Very well!
The MAYOR and CHANTREY now consult each other inaudibly, and the
Mayor nods.
MAYOR. Miss Maud Builder, will you tell us what you know of this--er--
occurrence?
MAUD. [Rising; with eyes turning here and there] Must I?
MAYOR. I'm afraid you must.
MAUD. [After a look at her father, who never turns his eyes from the
MAYOR's face] I--I wish to withdraw the charge of striking me, please.
I--I never meant to make it. I was in a temper--I saw red.
MAYOR. I see. A--a domestic disagreement. Very well, that charge is
withdrawn. You do not appear to have been hurt, and that seems to me
quite proper. Now, tell me what you know of the assault on the
constable. Is his account correct?
MAUD. [Timidly] Ye-yes. Only--
MAYOR. Yes? Tell us the truth.
MAUD. [Resolutely] Only, I don't think my father hit the constable.
I think the stick did that.
MAYOR. Oh, the stick? But--er--the stick was in 'is 'and, wasn't it?
MAUD. Yes; but I mean, my father saw red, and the constable saw red, and
the stick flew up between them and hit him in the eye.
CHANTREY. And then he saw black?
MAYOR. [With corrective severity] But did 'e 'it 'im with the stick?
MAUD. No--no. I don't think he did.
MAYOR. Then who supplied the--er--momentum?
MAUD. I think there was a struggle for the cane, and it flew up.
MAYOR. Hand up the cane.
The SERGEANT hands up the cane. The MAYOR and CHANTREY examine it.
MAYOR. Which end--do you suggest--inflicted this injury?
MAUD. Oh! the knob end, sir.
MAYOR. What do you say to that, constable?
MOON. [Stepping the mechanical two paces] I don't deny there was a
struggle, Your Worship, but it's my impression I was 'it.
CHANTREY. Of course you were bit; we can see that. But with the cane or
with the fist?
MOON. [A little flurried] I--I--with the fist, sir.
MAYOR. Be careful. Will you swear to that?
MOON. [With that sudden uncertainty which comes over the most honest in
such circumstances] Not--not so to speak in black and white, Your
Worship; but that was my idea at the time.
MAYOR. You won't swear to it?
MOON. I'll swear he called me an idiot and a lout; the words made a deep
impression on me.
CHANTREY. [To himself] Mort aux vaches!
MAYOR. Eh? That'll do, constable; stand back. Now, who else saw the
struggle? Mrs Builder. You're not obliged to say anything unless you
like. That's your privilege as his wife.
While he is speaking the door has been opened, and HARRIS has gone
swiftly to it, spoken to someone and returned. He leans forward to
the MAYOR.
Eh? Wait a minute. Mrs Builder, do you wish to give evidence?
MRS BUILDER. [Rising] No, Mr Mayor.
MRS BUILDER Sits.
MAYOR. Very good. [To HARRIS] Now then, what is it?
HARRIS says something in a low and concerned voice. The MAYOR'S face
lengthens. He leans to his right and consults CHANTREY, who gives a
faint and deprecating shrug. A moment's silence.
MAYOR. This is an open Court. The Press have the right to attend if
they wish.
HARRIS goes to the door and admits a young man in glasses, of a
pleasant appearance, and indicates to him a chair at the back. At
this untimely happening BUILDER's eyes have moved from side to side,
but now he regains his intent and bull-like stare at his
fellow-justices.
MAYOR. [To Maud] You can sit down, Miss Builder.
MAUD resumes her seat.
Miss Athene Builder, you were present, I think?
ATHENE. [Rising] Yes, Sir.
MAYOR. What do you say to this matter?
ATHENE. I didn't see anything very clearly, but I think my sister's
account is correct, sir.
MAYOR. Is it your impression that the cane inflicted the injury?
ATHENE. [In a low voice] Yes.
MAYOR. With or without deliberate intent?
ATHENE. Oh! without.
BUILDER looks at her.
MAYOR. But you were not in a position to see very well?
ATHENE. No, Sir.
MAYOR. Your sister having withdrawn her charge, we needn't go into that.
Very good!
He motions her to sit down. ATHENE, turning her eyes on her
Father's impassive figure, sits.
MAYOR. Now, there was a young man. [Pointing to HERRINGHAME] Is this
the young man?
MOON. Yes, Your Worship.
MAYOR. What's your name?
GUY. Guy Herringhame.
MAYOR. Address?
GUY. Er--the Aerodrome, Sir. MAYOR. Private, I mean?
The moment is one of considerable tension.
GUY. [With an effort] At the moment, sir, I haven't one. I've just
left my diggings, and haven't yet got any others.
MAYOR. H'm! The Aerodrome. How did you come to be present?
GUY. I--er
BUILDER's eyes go round and rest on him for a moment.
It's in my sister's studio that Miss Athene Builder is at present
working, sir. I just happened to--to turn up.
MAYOR. Did you appear on the scene, as the constable says, during the
struggle?
GUY. Yes, sir.
MAYOR. Did he summon you to his aid?
GUY. Yes--No, sir. Miss Maud Builder did that.
MAYOR. What do you say to this blow?
GUY. [Jerking his chin up a little] Oh! I saw that clearly.
MAYOR. Well, let us hear.
GUY. The constable's arm struck the cane violently and it flew up and
landed him in the eye.
MAYOR. [With a little grunt] You are sure of that?
GUY. Quite sure, sir.
MAYOR. Did you hear any language?
GUY. Nothing out of the ordinary, sir. One or two damns and blasts.
MAYOR. You call that ordinary?
GUY. Well, he's a--magistrate, sir.
The MAYOR utters a profound grunt. CHANTREY smiles. There is a
silence. Then the MAYOR leans over to CHANTREY for a short
colloquy.
CHANTREY. Did you witness any particular violence other than a
resistance to arrest?
GUY. No, sir.
MAYOR. [With a gesture of dismissal] Very well, That seems to be the
evidence. Defendant John Builder--what do you say to all this?
BUILDER. [In a voice different from any we have heard from him] Say!
What business had he to touch me, a magistrate? I gave my daughter two
taps with a cane in a private house, for interfering with me for taking
my wife home--
MAYOR. That charge is not pressed, and we can't go into the
circumstances. What do you wish to say about your conduct towards
the constable?
BUILDER. [In his throat] Not a damned thing!
MAYOR. [Embarrassed] I--I didn't catch.
CHANTREY. Nothing--nothing, he said, Mr Mayor.
MAYOR. [Clearing his throat] I understand, then, that you do not wish to
offer any explanation?
BUILDER. I consider myself abominably treated, and I refuse to say
another word.
MAYOR. [Drily] Very good. Miss Maud Builder.
MAUD stands up.
MAYOR. When you spoke of the defendant seeing red, what exactly did you
mean?
MAUD. I mean that my father was so angry that he didn't know what he was
doing.
CHANTREY. Would you say as angry as he--er--is now?
MAUD. [With a faint smile] Oh! much more angry.
RALPH BUILDER stands up.
RALPH. Would you allow me to say a word, Mr Mayor?
MAYOR. Speaking of your own knowledge, Mr Builder?
RALPH. In regard to the state of my brother's mind--yes, Mr Mayor. He
was undoubtedly under great strain yesterday; certain circumstances,
domestic and otherwise--
MAYOR. You mean that he might have been, as one might say, beside
himself?
RALPH. Exactly, Sir.