_Stephen Verity's dining-room the same evening. The room has doors right
and left. Window with drawn blind, r. Large table centre with chairs.
Fireplace left. Solid-looking sideboard back centre. The furniture is
solid, old-fashioned, and the atmosphere of the room is one of heavy
comfort without ostentation. The room is a small one. No books anywhere.
In an armchair before the fire is Stephen Verity. Walter Montgomery
faces him in a highbacked chair. Stephen is smoking a large, well
coloured briar._
[Illustration: 0092]
Stephen (_removing the pipe_). So you think you're good enough to marry
my daughter, do you? Walter. I ventured to think so.
Ste. Why?
Walter. Because I love her, Mr. Verity.
Ste. That the only reason?
Walter. No.
Ste. What are the others?
Walter. She loves me.
Ste. Did she tell you so?
Walter. Yes.
Ste. Um! (_Slight pause; he smokes reflectively._)
That all?
Walter (_rather startled_). All what?
Ste. All your reasons.
Walter. Yes, I think so.
Ste. They're too few.
Walter. But----
Ste. I'll ask _you_ something.
Walter. Yes?
Ste. What do you want to get married for?
Walter. I'm in love.
Ste. That's no reason. You curates, you're all alike--must be with
marrying other folk so much. Infectious, I reckon. Church ought to be
scheduled along with the other dangerous trades.
Walter. You're laughing at me.
Ste. No, I'm not. Marriage isn't a laughing matter, I know.
Walter. Won't you give me your answer, Mr. Verity?
Ste. Yes. (_He rises, knocks at his pipe in the grate, puts it on the
mantelpiece and goes himself to the door left. His deliberate movements
cause Walter an agony, of which Stephen is quite aware. Stephen opens
the door and calls._) Lucy!
Lucy (_off l._). Yes.
Ste. Come in here. (_He leaves the door open and goes below door. Enter
Lucy Verity. She is twenty-one, pretty, dressed in a skirt and blouse,
pointing to a very modest dress allowance. Her hair is plainly dressed.
Obviously her father is her master, but she is not without indications
of a will of her own. Walter rises as she enters._) Here's a friend of
yours. Tells me he wants to marry you.
(_Lucy crosses r. of table._)
Lucy (_anxiously_). Yes, father.
Ste. It's true, then? (_Motions her to sit._)
Lucy. Yes. (_Sits r. of table._)
Ste. Well, listen to me. He's a curate. Curates always marry young
and have enormous families on no income. (_Walter makes an attempt to
protest; Stephen proceeds unmoved._) I advise you not to marry him.
If he wants a wife, he'll not go begging one for long. There's always
crowds of silly girls ready to help a chap to button his collar behind.
Walter. Mr. Verity, this isn't a joke to us.
Ste. I don't know that losing Lucy 'ud be a joke to me.
Walter. I can very well believe that. But it's a thing that's bound to
come to you sooner or later.
Ste. You're making a mistake. It isn't bound to come at all. My
daughter's no need to find a man to keep her. She's a head on her
shoulders and sense enough to know when she's well off. Who's going to
look after my house if Lucy marries? Tell me that, young man.
Walter. I really haven't thought about it, Mr. Verity.
Ste. And I'm not going to.
Walter. There'd be plenty of time to consider that. We're not proposing
to get married to-morrow.
Ste. 'Um. Very good of you. Want a long engagement, eh?
Walter. Moderately.
Ste. And hope I'll be dead and out of your way first? (_Sitting behind
table c._)
Lucy. Father!
Ste. You hold your tongue. I'll get you to talk in a minute. (_To
Walter._) What do you want to wait for?
Walter. I'm hoping to get a living before long.
Ste. So you _have_ proposed on nothing a year. I thought as much.
Walter (_with excessive dignity_). I'm not without money, sir. I could
afford to marry at once.
Ste. Could you now? And what might you call being not without money?
Walter. I've £150 a year.
Ste. You plutocrat! Lucy, do you hear that? He's £150 a year. Nice sort
of marrying income, that is. Oh, but perhaps I'm wronging you. What's
your father going to do for you when you marry?
Walter. I don't know. I haven't asked him.
Ste. Well, give a guess at it.
Walter. Nothing, probably. He gave me an expensive education.
Ste. Then he made a bad investment if it's only worth £150 a year to you
to-day. I had no education and I'm worth--well, never mind. Lucy, tell
him what I've been telling you to-night.
Lucy. What you told me?
Ste. Don't repeat my words like a fool. Go on. You've got your chance of
talking now.
Lucy. But----
Ste. So like a woman to be backward at tongue-wagging, isn't it?
Lucy (_as if repeating a lesson_). You told me that mother left me money
which you've, increased by investment till it's now capable of yielding
£1,000 a year, and since my twenty-first birthday a week ago the money
lies to my credit at the bank.
Ste. That's right. Now, my gallant £3 a weeker, what have you got to say
to that?
Walter. Of course I didn't know.
Ste. No. I'll gamble you didn't. You fancied I lived in a small house
because I couldn't afford a big 'un. That's a regular Polygon notion.
You're used to their way of living up to your income and as much beyond
as you've pluck for. When a man's worked as hard as I have he don't
spend as fast as he earns. He sticks to what he's got.
Walter. I knew you were a successful man, sir.
Ste. I've made my way. I began low and I'm no class now, bar what they
think of me at the bank--and that's a fat lot more than they think of
any fine Polygon gentlemen. Would you like to know where Lucy's bit
comes from?
Walter. Really, I'm----
Ste. Her grandfather kept the _Black Bull_. That's where it was made,
except what I've added to it. Stinks of beer, that money does. Pubs were
a good thing in his time for a landlord that kept off the drink.
Walter. I've no doubt it was honestly made.
Ste. Aye, ye _would_ think that now you fancy your chance of fingering
it. It was made in the way of business same as my own was, and that
means the best man won and he hadn't time to stand still and think about
honesty. Too busy downing the other fellow for that. And now you've got
it. That's me, sir, builder and contractor, and married a publican's
daughter. Feeling as keen set on Lucy as you were?
Walter. I don't believe very much in artificial class distinctions, Mr.
Verity.
Ste. Don't you? Not in your business hours, you mean. Not so long as you
remember you're a parson.
Lucy. Father! (_Rises._)
Ste. Well, what's the matter with you? Do you want to marry him?
Lucy. Yes.
Ste. You're a fool. You've £1,000 a year. You're an heiress. He's a
pauper..
Walter. I'm not a pauper, but I quite agree.
From the worldly point of view----
Ste. It's the only view I care-about. (_To Lucy._) With your money you
can look high.
Lucy. Thanks, father. When I want to buy a husband, I'll let you know.
I'm thinking of marrying one at present.
Ste. (_immensely surprised_). Hullo! Showing spirit, are you? (_Rises._)
Lucy. It's the first time, if I am.
Ste. And it had better be the last, if you don't want to quarrel.
I'm not one of these weak-kneed modern fathers that let themselves
be browbeaten by their own children. Perhaps you think you'll get him
whether I consent or not?
Lucy. I hope you will consent. (_Pause._),
Ste. I'm not fond of curates, Lucy. It's a soft job, and a real man
looks for a fighting chance in life.
Walter. I get plenty of fighting to do, Mr. Verity.
Ste. Who do you fight with?
Walter. Evil, in every shape and form.
Ste. 'Um, the devil's game for a few rounds yet.
Walter. He's an old hand, and if we haven't knocked him out we're
weakening his defence.
Ste. Well, I'll give you a chance of showing it.
Walter. In a good cause, I hope.
Ste. The cause is all right. You're a parson. Got the good of the poor
at heart and all that sort of thing?
Walter. I hope so.
Ste. Yes. (_Briskly._) Well now, about Lucy.
Walter. Is that the fight?
Ste. I'm coming to the fight. You say you love her.
Walter. I do. (_Stephen is between them._)
Ste. (_to Lucy_). You love him?
Lucy. Yes. (_Lucy r., Stephen c., Walter l._)
Ste. (_holding up his hands evenly_). Quits so far. Income on the male
side £150 a year. (_Surveys his right hand._) Income on the female
side £1,000. (_Depressing his left hand as if weighing the incomes in
scales._) Hullo! wo! something wrong there. Doesn't balance.
Walter (_bitterly_). Do you think I don't know it?
Ste. (_dropping his hands_). Yes. You've hooked your fish, my boy. But
you're a long way off landing her yet.
Walter. Tell me what you want me to do.
Ste. (_curtly_). Earn her.
Walter. Yes, but how? (_Steps forward._)
Ste. By fighting. By doing something for the good of the town. There's
this proposal to buy up the Polygon.
Walter (_eagerly_). Yes?
Ste. Well, now you know what you've to do. You know what Polygon people
are and you know what the town needs.
Walter. The town needs space and decent houses.
Ste. That's what you've to rub into your Polygon set, and you'll not
find 'em seeing it so easy.
Walter. You can't blame them if they don't exactly welcome the idea of
turning out and making fresh homes in their old age. It's only natural.
Ste. Oh, I'm not afraid of them. They'll not stop us. All you've to
do is to make them see they're an obstacle to progress in this town.
They're bound to see justice if they are narrow and selfish and too
puffed up with pride to know the townspeople and----
Walter. And they're my father and my friends, Mr. Verity.
Ste. Yes, I knew you only disbelieved in class distinctions during
business hours. Scratch the curate and find the hypocrite.
Walter (_keeping his temper smilingly_). As bad as all that?
Ste. The moment I attack your class you're up in arms to defend 'em.
Walter. No. They take up too much room in the Polygon. I never said they
didn't. But they'll not want to go. And surely the whole thing depends
on Sir Charles' readiness to sell.
Ste. Yes, but a willing Polygon will make a lot of difference, and if
you want Lucy as bad as you say, here's your way to help yourself to
her.
Walter. I don't see what Lucy has to do with it.
Ste. Don't you?
Walter. Well, do you? The town proposes to buy the Polygon for the
people. It's an excellent project and my plain duty is to further it. I
shan't fail in my duty merely because of the unpleasant unheaval in the
lives of a few people who happen to be dear to me.
Ste. Oh! Well, I don't want words, I want deeds. Succeed and I'll think
about calling you son-in-law--if Lucy doesn't change her mind meantime.
Walter. I can't see why you insist on making a kind of bribe of Lucy
when there's only one course open to me in any case.
Ste. (_grimly_). I'm making sure of things.
Lucy. Father, you don't doubt----
Ste. I always doubt an untried man. I doubt if he'll have the pluck to
face old Vining in the Polygon--I doubt lots of things. Put it that I'm
giving him some Dutch courage to stiffen his back.
Walter (_desperately_). I don't want Dutch courage. Is there any way of
convincing you that I mean what I say?
Ste. There's going and doing it.
Walter. Very well, I will. (_Moving as if to go._) Ste. (_stopping
him_). Remember, you're not engaged to Lucy yet.
Walter. I understand. (_Crosses r._)
Ste. That'll do, then. You know what you've to do. Good-night.
Walter. Yes. Good-night, Mr. Verity.
(_Lucy moves towards right door._)
Ste. (_to Lucy_). You stay where you are. Say good-night to him while
I've got my eye on you. He can find the front door without your help.
(_Lucy and Walter shake hands, R._)
Walter. Good-night.
(_Exit Walter, r. A slight pause. Stephen eyes Lucy from head to foot
before speaking. Lucy crosses and sits l. of table._)
Ste. (_before fire, judicially_). It strikes me pretty forcibly I've
brought a fool into the world. (_Sharply._) How long's this been going
on behind my back?
Lucy (_with an air of standing up to him_). Nothing's gone on behind
your back. I told Walter at once he must speak to you.
Ste. Umph! If you'd told me you wanted help to send him about his
business there'd have been some sense in it. But you backed him up.
You showed, fight. You're getting proud, my girl.
Lucy. I've grown up, father.
Ste. Grown up, have you? All right. If you fancy you're too old to come
to me for advice you can do without.
Lucy. You know I want your advice.
Ste. So as you can do opposite, eh?
Lucy. Oh, that's unjust, father. I never disobeyed you in my life.
Ste, And you'd better not begin now, or you and I will fall out. Ha!
So you're grown up, are you? Yes, you've been a legal woman for a week.
Only I've been a legal man for thirty years and you'll allow I know the
world better than you.
Lucy. Of course.
Ste. Oh, you do agree to that, do you?
Lucy. Certainly.
Ste. Well, I tell you you'll be throwing yourself away on young
Montgomery..(_Persuasively._) He's not up to your weight, Lucy. Polygon
type, he is. You know, shove all your goods in the shop window. Live in
a big house for swank and get it dirt cheap because the neighbourhood's
gone down. They're not solid.. Lucy, you and I together could buy up the
whole, crowd of swells to-morrow..
Lucy. I fell in love with Walter before I knew I'd a penny piece in the
world. I don't think my money must make any difference.
Ste. Don't be silly. Money makes all differences. We're all born
without pockets. It's pockets or no pockets that makes us rich or poor.
Yesterday you didn't knew you'd a pocket and the Polygon looked big and
young Montgomery, he looked big. I don't blame you. It looked a good
thing.
Lucy. It looks the same to-day as it did yesterday.
Ste. Women are fools over money. I did think _you'd_ more sense.
(_Dogmatically._) Money should, marry money. (_With rising irritation._)
It's all my eye to talk of throwing away your money on a penniless
curate.
Lucy (_rises_). I'm sorry to disagree. Obedience has its limits. I hope
we shan't quarrel, father, but I'm a free woman now and I warn you--oh,
I'm sorry.
Ste. Sorry, are you? I'm a hard man, Lucy. I'm a masterful man. I know
that. But I'm a soft-hearted fool where you're concerned, or I'd let you
marry the curate and suffer the consequences. But I've got ambitions
for you if you've none for yourself. (_R.d._) When you marry there's two
things for it--money or birth--and you'll not find either in Polygon.
They're a bad imitation of the real thing--about as near as the shoddy
Bamford makes it to honest broadcloth. Not one of them with a handle to
his name. (_Crosses to Lucy._) If you must get married, I'll find you a
husband. Leave it to me. And don't be in such a hurry to leave your old
dad if you are a free woman.
Lucy (_quietly_). I'm marrying Walter Montgomery, father; but we're not
in any hurry.
Ste. Going to be obstinate, are you? All right, We'll see who'll win.
Lucy. You've already given a conditional consent.
Ste. Don't you worry about that. He may help to keep the Polygon set
quiet till I've put the business through.
(_Puts ink on table from sideboard._)
Lucy. You'd use him and then throw him over afterwards. Father, you
don't mean that!
Ste. What do you know about business? I'd use the devil himself if I
thought he'd smooth my way to a bit of money.
Lucy. But this isn't money, is it? It's for the town.
Ste. Oh, yes, of course, it's the town.
Lucy. Then you'd----
(_Janet, the maid, opens the door right to Stephen's obvious relief._)
Janet. Mr. Bamford, Mr. Alcorn.
Ste. Ah, that's what I'm waiting for. Don't go beyond call, Lucy. I'll
be wanting you soon.
(_Exit Lucy l._)
(_Enter r. Bamford and Alcorn._)
(_Samuel Bamford is a wealthy shoddy manufacturer. He is a bachelor of
forty, a bon viveur and a sportsman. His shrewd ruddy face shows above a
white four-in-hand scarf, controlled by a horseshoe gold pin. He is well
covered with flesh, but not yet as gross as he probably will be in a few
years. His clothes are slightly sportsmanlike in cut and he wears spats.
A noticeably heavy gold chain crosses his stomach. Nathaniel Alcorn is
tall, spare and dark. His face is yellowish, with a drooping moustache.
He wears a frock coat, and his prosperity, though evident, is less
ostentatious than Bamford's._)
Ste. Good-evening, gentlemen. (_To Janet._) Send Mr. Smithson up when he
comes. No one else. Janet. Yes, sir. (_Exit Janet._)
Alcorn (_briskly_). Evening, Verity.
(_Bamford nods bluffly at Stephen._)
Ste. Sit down. Any news?
(_Stephen sits c. above table, Bamford r. and Alcorn l. of table._)
Alcorn (_producing letter from his pocket_). Yes, my brother's sent this
on. (_Hands letter to Stephen._) From Sir Charles' agent. He's abroad,
Sir Charles.
Bamford. Yes, confound him. How dare he be abroad when we want him?
(_Stephen reads the letter._)
Ste. (_looking up_). Dodging duns. (_To Bamford._) You've seen this?
Bamford (_gloomily_). Yes.
Alcorn (_equally gloomily_). It's not encouraging.
Ste. (_returning the letter to Alcorn_). What isn't encouraging?
Alcorn. Why, this. (_Reading the letter._) "Speaking for myself alone, I
consider it extremely improbable that Sir Charles will consent to a sale
of the Polygon to your company." (_Leaves letter on the table._)
Ste. There's nothing to be afraid of there.
Alcorn. I don't know so much about that. These land owning fellows know
they're no good at business. They leave it to their agents, and if the
agent writes like that, you can take it he knows.
Ste. He knows all right. Sir Charles isn't a business man, but his
agent is. If there's a chance of selling, that agent wants a top price;
naturally he writes that way to bluff us into raising our offer.
Bamford. You've a head on your shoulders, Verity.
Ste. (_to Bamford_). It all depends on what you told us. If your
information's correct, they'll be only too glad to sell.
Alcorn. Yes. It's you that told us Sir Charles is in low water.
Bamford. He's dropped a pot of money lately. It's a well known fact.
I know one bookie that's taken ten thousand off him in the season, and
he's not the only one.
Alcorn (_sanctimoniously_). Deplorable wastrel.
Ste. Eh? Oh, aye! (_Ironically._) Lamentable prodigality. Shocking
extravagance, isn't it, Alcorn?
But it suits our book. The faster he goes the pace the better for us, so
you might as well be decently grateful instead of getting mealy mouthed
over it.
Bamford. Me and Alcorn were arguing coming along here what's to be done
with the land.
Alcorn. Aye, but as I told him, the first thing is to get possession of
the land.
Ste. Now, don't you worry about that, Alcorn. The land's as good as ours
at our own price. Sir Charles 'ull jump at it.
Bamford. Well, I'm for building on it.
Alcorn. And I'm not so sure.
Bamford. Of course you're on my side, Verity?
Ste. Your side?
Bamford. For building.
Ste. No.
Bamford. What, and you a builder!
Ste. I've finished building now. I'm getting old. I've made my money.
Alcorn. I'm out for making an open space of it.
Bamford. You're a blooming philanthropist.
Ste. No, he's not. It's a pity you missed our last meeting. You don't
grasp the idea yet. We buy the land from Sir Charles.
Bamford. Yes.
Ste. Then we create a demand in the town for a recreation ground.
Alcorn. And you back it up in the Council.
Ste. And Alcorn as borough surveyor approves officially.
Alcorn. We force the town to buy from us.
Ste. And get a quick return of our capital with a clinking profit.
Bamford (_obstinately_), Well, I thought it was houses. Houses are safe,
and you'd easier raise a cry for houses than playing fields.
Ste. Depends how you go about it. Work it proper and you could get them
yelling like kids for a municipal service of flying machines.
(_Enter Smithson, r._)
Smithson. Good evening, gentlemen all.
(_Stephen grunts and rises._)
Alcorn. } Good evening
Bamford. } Good evening
(_Stephen gives Smithson his chair, and takes the vacant one r. c. of
table._)
Smiths. Sorry I'm late, but I've been employing my time well. Sowing the
seed.
Ste. Been getting at the voters?
(_Smithson sits between Alcorn and Stephen._) Smiths. Yes, one or two.
Ste. You've been wasting time. I've collared a man who'll bring in
voters by the score.
Alcorn. Who might that be, Mr. Verity?
Ste. Young Montgomery. The parson lad. For all their talk, the Church
still has a big hold on the poorer classes. It'll pay to have that boy
on our side. He'll talk to them in the Polygon, too. Bamford. Aye. Good
man, that, Verity.
Ste. (_to Smithson_). There's a letter you'd better read.
(_Smithson reads it._)
Bamford (_sullenly; emerging from a silent sulk_). I thought it was
houses.
Ste. Well, it isn't. It 'ud take too much capital to cover the Polygon
with houses.
Bamford. It was houses. You've altered it. I ought to have been told. No
one told me.
Smiths (_looking up from the letter_). He'll come round.
Ste. Yes.
Bamford (_taking it personally; indignantly_). Who'll come round? I
won't come round. Houses it was and houses it's going to be.
Ste. (_moving Smithson to give Alcorn the letter. Alcorn pockets it.
Dryly._) We spoke of Sir Charles.
Bamford. Oh!
Smiths, (_tentatively_). I fancy, myself, houses would be a safer
battle-cry with the people, Mr. Verity.
Ste. Damn the people. Who cares for the people?
Alcorn (_rising_). I really must protest. Such language! (_He seems
genuinely shocked._)
Ste. (_impatiently_). It's so silly to talk as if the people mattered.
Government by the people! Any fool can lead 'em where he wants.
Alcorn (_sitting_). We must consider their feelings a bit. Think of the
rates.
Ste. Oh, we'll consider their feelings all right. We must make 'em feel
what we want 'em to feel.. Then they'll vote for what we want and
kid themselves we do it for their sake. That's how to consider their
feelings. When I was a lad there was a trout stream ran through
Carrington. It's a sewer now, but there were trout in it then and I've
caught 'em by tickling their bellies. That's the way to catch voters,
Mr. Alcorn. Tickle 'em.
Alcorn. Yes, but the trout died. The voter lives to vote next time.
Ste. Go on tickling. I'm an old hand and I've never known it fail.
Bamford. You're not attending to me. I say houses. Smithson says houses.
Smiths, (_in alarm_). Oh, no, I don't. Indeed I don't. I only say houses
'ull bring votes quicker than playing fields.
Alcorn. I suppose you couldn't shout houses and make it the other thing
afterwards?
Smiths. I'm surprised at you, Mr. Alcorn. (_Very righteously._) I stand
for purity in municipal life.
Bamford. Yes. Always be honest with your electors.
Ste. Alcorn's got none. He's a permanent official with a certain job, or
he'd know better.
Bamford. If I provide a quarter of the capital, I've a right----
Ste. You've every right, Mr. Bamford, and we shall do nothing without
your approval.
Bamford. Then I approve houses. As a ratepayer--
Ste. (_definitely_). Only, if it's houses, I can't go on.
(_Consternation._)
Smiths. (_frightened_). We can't do without your influence.
Bamford (_grudgingly_). No, we can't do without Verity.
Ste. Our share of what 'ull go on the rates is a flea bite. Our profit
'ull cover it a hundred times. I don't deny the town needs houses, needs
'em badly, only I haven't the capital for houses. My money's tied up and
I'm not touching it. The money I'm putting into this isn't my own.
(_Alcorn writes on a scrap of paper and passes it to Smithson, who
reads, nods, and passes it to Stephen._)
Bamford. Who's is it, if it's a fair question? Ste. My daughter's. I'll
want it back quick. Alcorn. Your daughter's got money, then? Bamford
(_very interested_). Your daughter's? Nice looking girl, your daughter.
(_Slight pause._)
Well, I'm using my own money and----(_Irritably._)
What's that you're passing round? Another secret from me?
Ste. (_blandly_). No. (_Passing him the paper._) Bamford (_reading_).
"Make Bamford Mayor next year." (_He looks up at each in turn._) Um.
Well. Bamford's willing.
Alcorn. I think it's very suitable.
Ste. Yes. We'll call it a recreation ground, eh, Mr. Mayor-Elect?
Bamford. I'm not a favourite with the psalmsinging set, you know.
Alcorn. I've got them in my pocket. They'll be squared all right.
Ste. If I say mayor, you'll be mayor. You make a bit on the mayoral
allowance, you know. Needn't spend above half of it.
Bamford. All right. No need to say more. It's a recreation ground and
damn the expense. (_The tension passes._)
Ste. Right. Got those papers with you, Alcorn? Alcorn. Yes. (_Fussily
producing and smoothing the typewritten articles of association._)
Ste. Your signature's wanted, Bamford. Bamford (_examining the paper_).
Land Development Syndicate, Ltd. Sounds well, anyhow. Hullo! What's
this? Registered Offices, London Wall, E.C.
Alcorn. My brother's office in London. Bamford. Why?
Ste. Wouldn't do to have a local address here. Some busybody 'ud smell
it out.
Bamford. I see. (_Suspiciously._) What does his brother get out of it?
Alcorn. Nothing; and he's put down three of his clerks for one share
apiece to make up the statutory seven shareholders. Those are their
signatures above Smithson's and mine.
(_Bamford nods._)
Ste. (_dipping pen_). There's a pen.
(_Bamford signs._)
I'll witness. (_Calling off l._) Lucy!
Bamford. I deliver this as my act and deed.
(_Stephen signs without sitting. Enter Lucy, l. All rise._)
Lucy. Did you call, father?
Alcorn (_advancing and speaking with the respect due to a capitalist_).
Good evening, Miss Verity.
Ste. (_stepping back, and interposing impatiently_). Oh, never mind all
that; sit down, Lucy. (_Pushing her into his vacated chair and pointing
to the papers, handing pen._) Write your name there.
Lucy (_vaguely_). My name?
Ste. Yes. Can't you hear? See what it is? Lucy. No.
(_Bamford's eyes are set on Lucy with the air of a butcher appraising a
sheep._)
Ste. (_impatiently_). Oh, never mind. It 'ud take a week to make you
understand. You've some money lying at the bank. Mine's all tied up. I
want yours for a bit, so just sign your name there. (_Lucy signs._) Say
"I deliver this as my act and deed."
Lucy. I deliver this as my act and deed. (_To Stephen._) It's your deed
really, you know.
Ste. I'll witness. (_Signs._) Right.
Lucy (_reading_). The Land Development Syndicate, Ltd.
(_Stephen takes the paper from under her eyes, folds and hands it to
Alcorn._)
Ste. You'll see to that, now?
Alcorn. Yes. You're our partner, Miss Verity. Lucy (_standing_). But
what's it all about?
Smiths. That's right, Miss Verity. Sign first and ask afterwards.
Bamford. We're buying up the Polygon. Going to make a playing field of
it.
(_Bamford down r._)
Lucy. And presenting it to the town?
(_Stephen alone doesn't look awkward._)
Alcorn. Well----
Ste. (_curtly_). Yes, it 'ull come to the town.
Lucy (_sentimentally_). How noble of you!' Oh, thank you! Thank you so
much for letting me take a share in this----
Ste. (_interrupting_). Yes; now you go and have your supper. It's
getting late.
(_Exit Lucy, l._)
Ste. Well, that concludes the business for tonight, gentlemen. Nothing
more to be done till we hear from Sir Charles. (_Puts chair back up
stage._)
Alcorn. No, that's all.
Ste. (_finally_). Good night, then.
Alcorn. Good night, Verity. (_Crosses r._).
Smiths. Good night. (_Shakes hands and crosses R._) . ..
(_Smithson opens the door r. Alcorn follows him, pausing and looking
back at Bamford._)
Alcorn. Coming, Bamford?
Bamford. No, I want a word with Verity.
Smiths, (_suspiciously_). Business, eh, Mr. Bamford?
Bamford. Not about the Company. (_Glancing involuntarily after Lucy._)
Something else.
(_Exeunt Smithson and Alcorn._)
Ste. Well, Bamford? Have anything? I've a better port downstairs than
the Polygon toffs can run to.
Bamford. No, thanks.
(_Stephen looks relieved, Bamford sits. Their positions reproduce those
of Stephen and Walter at the opening._)
Ste. (_taking his pipe from the mantelpiece_). I'll have a pipe, if you
don't mind. Well, what's up with you?
Bamford (_jerking his thumb towards the left door_). It's about her.
Ste. Aye? Well, I like a man that comes to the point sharp.
Bamford. Perhaps you wouldn't call me a marrying man? (_Sitting below
fire._)
Ste. You've not done it yet that I know of.
Bamford. Never too late to mend. I'm a bit struck with that daughter of
yours, Verity.
Ste. I noticed you were when I mentioned she had money.
Bamford. Well, I'm the last man to deny that money's a very important
thing in life.
Ste. It's a useful thing to have about the house.
Bamford. I was thinking we might come to an arrangement.
Ste. It's not impossible..
Bamford. Eh!
Ste. Only she's a bit young.
Bamford. Meaning to say I'm a bit old, eh? I'm sound and hearty.
Ste. So's t'other fellow, and more her age.
Bamford (_rising_). The other fellow?'
Ste. (_remaining seated_). Aye. You thought you were being smart, didn't
you? Seeing a good thing and dashing at it prompt; but you're the second
man to come to me to-night over Lucy, for all that.
Bamford (_anxiously_). Is she promised?
Ste. No. .
Bamford (_relieved_). Ah!
Ste. The man that weds my daughter takes a tidy bit of money with her.
Bamford. It'll find some more of its own kidney if she brings it to me.
Ste. To tell you the truth, Sam, I'm not struck on the idea of losing
her at all. But she's got a fancy in her head and it's one I don't
cotton to. Best cure might be to put you there instead and be sure of
her not making a fool of herself.
Bamford. Then I'm not too late. (_Sits again._)
Ste. You're the best man up to now.
Bamford. Well----
Ste. See here, Sam. It's like this. That girl can look high. Question
is, are you high enough?
Bamford. Which way?
Ste. Money.
Bamford. Depends what you call high.
Ste. Yes... (_half apologetically._) I've a right to know before I put
it to her.
Bamford (_after slight hesitation_). Well, I'll tell you this: you know
what my father left?
Ste. Yes.
Bamford. There's more to-day. (_They exchange looks._)
Ste. (_rising with resolution_). That 'ull do. (_Opens left door._)
Lucy, come back a minute.
Bamford (_rises in alarm_). I'm not what you call a parlour ladies' man.
Ste. I'll stand by you.
(_Enter Lucy._)
Now then. (_Crosses r._)
Lucy. You want me?
Ste. (_indicating Bamford_). He does.
Bamford (_awkwardly_). Yes, I do, Miss Verity. That's just what I do. I
want you.
(_Lucy is puzzled._)
Ste. (_looking at her_). Well?
Lucy (_turning from one to the other_). You want me. I'm here. What do
you want me for?
Bamford (_l._). For better or for worse. (_Giggling genially._)
Lucy (_freezing_). I don't understand you.
Ste. (_roughly_). Don't play stupid now. You understand him well enough.
Lucy. But---- (_Looking appealingly at Stephen._)
Ste. Here's your chance, my girl. Here's your answer to the other
fellow.
Lucy. I have given him my answer.
Ste. Well, you can give, Mr.. Bamford his and say yes. He's got money.
Bamford (_eagerly_). Yes, I've got money and I spend it. I'll give you
the time of your life.
Lucy. Don't spoil this evening for me, Mr. Bamford. You've made me so
happy, so grateful to you all for letting me help in your charity. I
only knew to-night how rich I am. It frightened me--the thought of so
much money. I was afraid of it... of my unworthiness. Until you showed
me the way to use it well. I was proud that I... and now... father, this
isn't fair of you.
Ste. What isn't fair?
Lucy. Why didn't you tell Mr. Bamford? (_To Bamford._) I'm engaged.
Ste. (_r.c._). Don't lie. You're not.
Lucy (_bravely_). I choose to consider myself engaged.
Ste. He's a pauper. Look here, my girl, you're rebellious to-night. I'm
master here. I'm not the sort of fool to let you twist me round your
little finger. Don't think because you're twenty-one and got a thousand
a year (_the sum moves Bamford visibly_) that you'll ride rough-shod
over me. (_More gently._) You've got to be sensible. (_Smacks table._)
You've got to do what I tell you.
Bamford. You shall have your carriage and dress yourself as much as you
like; and what's more, marry me and you'll be. Mayoress of Carrington in
November.
Ste. Wait a minute, Bamford, not so fast.
Bamford. What's the matter?
Ste. (_crossing l._). Engaged, if you like, but no wedding till the
Polygon deal's complete. The profits on that are mine.
Bamford. Of course they are. I'll hand over your share when we've sold
to the town.
Lucy. Sold! Profit! I thought----
Ste. Never mind what you thought. (_Goes up to Lucy._) That wasn't meant
for your ears. You'd better go back to the other room now. I'll talk to
you after Mr. Bamford's gone. (_Indicating her to exit._)
Lucy. I hope. Mr. Bamford will remember I'm engaged.
Ste. He'll remember you're going to be--to him. (_Crosses down r. above,
table._)
Lucy. Father, I've obeyed you long enough. I'm twenty-one now, and I'm
going to take my own way.
Bamford (_doubtfully_). I don't like the look of this, Verity.
Ste. Look of what?
Bamford. She's a bit of a Tartar, isn't she?
Lucy. That's nothing to what I can do when I'm roused, Mr. Bamford.
Ste. Pssh! It's the first time she's broken out like this. She'll be
tame enough next time you come.
Lucy (_viciously_). Don't make too sure of that.
Ste. I'm not afraid of that. It's a pity if a man can't do as he likes
with his own flesh and blood.
Bamford (_warily_). Best sleep on it before you say more, Verity.
Ste. (_going to Lucy_): Yes. Go to bed, Lucy, and say over to yourself,
I'm going to marry Mr. Bamford. Then you'll get used to the idea.
Lucy. But I'm not.
Ste. Aren't you? We'll see.
Lucy. Yes, we will. (_At exit l._)
CURTAIN.