_Verity's dining-room as Act II a week later. Bamford and Stephen enter
from r. Stephen just pocketing his watch._
[Illustration: 0092]
Stephen. You're a bit early for the meeting, Sam. (_Crosses to c. above
table._)
Bamford. Yes; fact is, I wanted a word with you alone about that other
matter.
Ste. Lucy?
Bam. (_r. c._). Aye. I'm a bit uneasy about it, Verity.
Ste. No need to be.
Bam. Well, I am.
Ste. Natural enough, I dare say. When a young man's fancy turns to
thoughts of love it churns up his inside a bit.
Bam. 'Tisn't that. I'm not a young man. (_Crosses l._)
Ste. You're young enough for all marriageable purposes.
Bam. I'm doubtful if I'm the right man to make that girl happy.
Ste. You're going to be Mayor, aren't you?
Bam. Yes.
Ste. And you promised her a carriage?
Bam. Yes.
Ste. And as much dressing as she's a mind to? Bam. Yes.
Ste. (_sits above table_). Then what's troubling you? What else does any
female woman want?
Bam. (_sits l. of table_). Eh! I dunno! They're a grasping lot, women..
Ste. Damn you, Sam, do you fancy my girl's not been well brought up?
You're as good as telling me she's not good enough for you.
Bam. Nay, I'm not; I'm only thinking I may not be good enough for her.
Ste. I'm best judge of that. The thing's settled. We said it once, you
and I, and we're not weathervanes.
Bam. (_resignedly_). Yes, I suppose it's settled.
Ste. That's all right, then.
(_Maid announces Mr. Smithson. Enter Smithson, Maid exit._)
Ah, good evening, Smithson. (_Rises._)
Smiths. Good evening, Verity. (_Shakes hands._) Evening, Bamford.
Bam. Good evening.
Ste. (_to Smithson_). Seen anything of Alcorn? Smiths. Yes. He's gone
round to the Post Office on his way here to see if a letter's been
forwarded from the London office.
Ste. Well, sit you down.
(_They sit at table. Stephen head, Smithson r. and Bamford l._)
I've a bit of news for you gentlemen.
Smiths. Yes?
Ste. I've been paying a call--afternoon call on some friends of mine in
the Polygon.
Bam. What!
Ste. Take it easy, Sam. (_Chuckles._) Aye, they wanted the Council to
petition Sir Charles not to sell. Tried to get me to do it for 'em.
Smiths. Good, that.
Ste. Well, we'd a little talk, Mr. Vining and I, and we come to a sort
of a compromise.
Smiths. Compromise?
Bam. Compromise! Verity? I don't like that word.
Ste. Finish was, they've written to Sir Charles asking him to sell the
town their grass plat--tennis courts and what-not--if he'll leave their
houses alone.
Bam. Verity, I don't like this. Ask me, it sounds like treachery to the
company.
Ste. Treachery be hanged. I drafted the letter myself.
Bam. That makes it worse.
Ste. Don't be stupid, Sam.
Bam. (_indignantly_). Stupid! I say, Verity----
Ste. Put yourself in Sir Charles' place. He's got an offer, the
company's offer, cash down for the whole Polygon.
Smiths. Aye.
Ste. Well, say he has got a soft spot for his tenants there, old
tenants, doesn't want to turn them out, that sort of thing.
Smiths. Quite likely.
Ste. Then he gets their letter. Sees they're ready to lose their tennis
courts. All right, says he, if they're a slack back set of weaklings to
propose that of themselves, I shan't have any trouble in getting shut
of them altogether. Their rents aren't worth having. But the company's
offer's a sound ready cash affair. He's a bit short of the ready, isn't
he?
Bam. Aye. Above a bit.
Ste. So when he sees they'll shift without trouble, being weak enough
to offer a compromise before they're even asked for one, he'll take a
flying jump at our offer, and there you are. And a good afternoon's work
I call it.
Bam. Verity, I apologize. You're the dandiest schemer I ever saw, and
I've seen some warm members in my time.
Ste. Well, they sent for me. I didn't think this out. I just saw the
chance while I was there.
Smiths. You don't let much pass you, Verity.
Ste. I take my brains along when I go calling of an afternoon on my
swell friends. I'd like to bet that letter Alcorn's fetching says "Yes"
to our offer.
Bam. It's odds on, or I'd take you.
(_Maid announces Mr. Walter Montgomery. Enter Walter. Exit Maid._)
Ste. Hullo! Oh, damn!
Walter (_r. c._). Good evening, Mr. Verity. Good evening. I hope I don't
interrupt business.
Ste. Young man, you appear to have a lot of time on your hands.
Walter. It's an important part of my business to visit my parishioners,
Mr. Verity.
Ste. Humph! Our turn for your parochial attentions soon comes round
again. You were here a week ago.
Walter. On my own business that time, sir.
Ste. What is it this time?
Walter. You're sure I'm not interrupting you?
Ste. I'm sure you are. Go on.
Walter. I've come to put you on your guard. You led me to suppose, and I
in turn told Mr. Vining, that the town authorities were proposing to buy
the Polygon.
Ste. And aren't they?
Walter. As an Alderman you ought to know that better than I do.
Ste. Never mind what I know. The question is, what do you know?
Walter. Oh, we fellows who go into the Church don't know much. You told
me yourself we go there because we're chicken-hearted fools without an
ounce of sense or fight in us.
Bam. Can't you make him cut the cackle, Verity?
Walter. Cackling's a professional failing, Mr. Bamford. We get the
talking habit in the pulpit.
Bam. You're not in the pulpit now.
Walter. No, sir. In the pulpit I'm in good company--my own.
Bam. What the----
Walter. In this room I'm in the company of certain members of a rascally
syndicate who hope to buy the Polygon cheap from Sir Charles and sell
dear to the town when they've carefully engineered a public demand.
Smiths. Who told you?
Ste. Tch, Smithson! Where the devil did you raise this cock and bull
story?
Walter. Oh, I don't think it was the devil. On the _contrary_, in fact,
Mr. Verity.
Ste. Come to facts.
Walter. Facts? Shall I give you names? (_Strolls round back to
fireplace._) I regret the absence of Mr. Alcorn and Miss Verity,
but--well, gentlemen, you're found out.
Ste. (_pause_). And if we are? (_Rises._)
Smiths, (_to Stephen_). And if we are, some one's blabbed.
Bam. (_to Stephen_). And you're the only one who pays afternoon calls in
the Polygon.
Ste. (_bending over table, beneath his breath_). Fools! (_Aloud._) Do
you think I foul my own nest?
Bam. Then if it isn't you, who is it? Tell me that.
(_Stephen looks first at Bamford, then Smithson, then suddenly moves to
door l. and calls._)
Ste. Lucy! Lucy! Come here! (_Returns above table._)
Bam. That's the worst of having a woman in the thing. They will talk.
Ste. How could she talk? She knew nothing.
(_Lucy enters._)
Walter (_l._). Funny how things get about, isn't it?
Lucy (_up l._). _Did_ you call me, father?
Ste. (_to Walter, still ignoring Lucy_). Get about? How many have you
told?
Walter. Oh, I've told nobody. Secrets cease to be valuable when they're
told, and I don't mind telling you this secret's going to be a valuable
lever to me.
Ste. (_to Lucy_). You've been talking to him.
Lucy (_up l._). Yes. I told him all you told me.
Ste. I didn't tell you anything.
Lucy. Oh, yes. You and Mr. Bamford. (_Stephen turns on Bamford._)
Bam. I? I never breathed.
Lucy. You squabbled together about the profits.
Bam. We _did_ say something.
Ste. And you pieced it out from that?
Lucy. Yes.
Bam. Um! smart girl, Verity. Chip of the old block.
Ste. Bit too smart this time. I hope she'll never play _you_ a trick
like that.
Bam. Yes, by Gad. I hadn't thought of that.
Walter. Well, gentlemen?
Ste. Oh, I'll attend to you. Look here, Sam--Smithson, I'll tackle this
chap. Just go into the other room there, will you? (_Pushes Smithson to
go below table._) I've a private word for the parson.
Bam. Can I smoke there?
Ste. (_r. c._). Aye.
(_Exeunt l., Bamford and Smithson. Walter before fireplace, Lucy c,
above table, Stephen r. of table._)
Now, Mr. Montgomery, my lad, what sort of a trick do you call this to
play on your future father-in-law? You've a queer idea of tact, you
have.
Walter. It wasn't my intention to be tactful, sir.
Ste. You're not improving your chances of marrying my daughter, you
know.
Walter. How do you know I want to marry her?
Lucy. Walter!
Ste. Why, you told me so yourself, the other night.
(_Lucy sits in armchair l. above fire._)
Walter. Since then, you see, I've made discoveries. If a man is known by
the company he keeps, the same applies to a woman. The woman I'm going
to marry doesn't, help to form a robbery syndicate along with Messieurs
Alcorn, Smithson and Bamford. So if you thought to buy my silence by
giving me your daughter, you made a bad mistake. No. Bamford's the man
for her. Partners in scoundrelism, partners in life.
(_Enter Bamford l. and crosses r. c._)
Ste. What do you want now?
Bam. (_apologetically, crossing r._). All right. I only want my pipe.
Left it in my overcoat.
Walter. Mr. Bamford, I congratulate you. (_Holding out hand._)
Bam. Eh? On what?
Walter, On being my successful rival for the hand of Miss Verity.
Bam. What's this? Was _he_ the other you spoke of? (_To Stephen._)
Walter (_to Lucy_). Don't be afraid.
Ste. Yes.
Bam. (_to Walter_). Who told you about me?
Walter. Oh, news soon gets round. (_Lightly._)
Bam. (_r. c._). Does it? Well, there's two sorts of news. Correct news
and incorrect news. Both sorts gets round, but incorrect news gets round
most. See what I mean?
Ste. (_sternly_). I don't.
Bam. (_to Stephen_). You will. (_To Walter._) Look here, have you given
her up?
Walter. You wouldn't have me stand in your way, would you?
Bam. So you _have_ given her up. Why?
Walter. Oh, I had my reasons.
Bam. Had you now? I'd like to hear those reasons.
Walter. That's not quite fair to the lady, I think.
Ste. No. He's out of it.
Bam. Is he? I take no man's leavings without I know why he left 'em.
Walter. It's all square, man. She's yours now.
Bam. I beg to differ.
Ste. (_angrily_). What?
Lucy (_rises to go_). The goods needn't be on exhibition while the sale
proceeds.
(_Stephen points her angrily to chair l. She sits._)
Ste. Here, sit down. Now, Sam, what's it all about?
Bam. I'd as lief tell you when you're by yourself.
Walter. I thought so.
Ste. You can speak now. We're all concerned in this.
Walter. I beg your pardon. I've ceased to----
Ste. (_his back to the right door_). Now, Sam?
Walter (_sitting below fire_). Oh, very well.
Bam. (_r. c., awkwardly_). Well, I've been thinking things over. The
married state and--well----
(_Hesitating._)
Ste. (_grimly_). Yes, go on.
Bam. (_desperately_). It means giving up too much.
Ste. (_c._). And a good thing, too, Sam Bamford. How much longer do you
think you'll last at the pace you go? You're cracking up already--not
half the man you were.
Lucy (_icily_). Think how nice it would be to have me for a nurse. I
warm father's carpet slippers beautifully, don't I, and my gruel's a
dream.
Bam. There's many a long day between me and carpet slippers and gruel. I
like roving about, Verity, and that's a fact.
Ste. Didn't you think of that before?
Bam. I spoke hurried.
Ste. It's time you settled down. You won't lose much that a thousand a
year and home comforts don't match.
Bam. I'm rich enough.
Ste. You didn't talk like that on Tuesday.
Bam. (_irritably_). I tell you, I've thought things over. Fact is,
I didn't half like the way she answered you back. A man gets enough
worries in his working day. When he gets home he wants peace and no back
answers.
Ste. She's all right now. It was having him asking (_indicating Walter_)
that made her proud. He's thrown her over--not good enough for him.
Bam. And she's not good enough for me, either. I can be a bit particular
myself. I like 'em quiet.
Ste. She's as quiet as they make 'em.
Lucy. Father, I absolutely and finally decline to marry Mr. Bamford.
Bam. I ask you, does that sound like a quiet life?
Ste. Well, damme, Sam Bamford, you can't get a thousand a year without
paying a tax on it.
Bam. You can pay too much tax if you get a woman thrown in with a razor
instead of a tongue.
Ste. (_disgustedly_). I thought you were a man of your word.
Bam. And I thought you cracked to be a friend of mine.
Ste. I am your friend.
Bam. Perhaps; but as a rule when a man's as anxious as you are to sell
an article I begin to think there's something wrong with the goods.
Ste. Didn't I tell you on Tuesday I didn't want her to marry at all?
Bam. Didn't Sir Charles' agent write me he wouldn't want to sell? And
you know what you said about that.
Ste. But I'm not selling. I'm giving.
Bam. Yes, and nobody ever knew you to give away anything worth having.
What's he given her the chuck for, if it comes to that? He knows
something.
Walter. Yes. I know something, Mr. Bamford.
Ste. (_raps table_). I'm not going to be played about with like this.
I never asked either of you to come after my daughter. You came because
you liked, but you'll not cry off when you like.
Bam. What do you mean now?
Ste. _One_ of you's going to marry her.
Bam. It won't be me, then. I don't want any woman with a temper of her
own.
Ste. I tell you she hasn't got a temper.
Lucy (_rises_). I've got a tongue.
Ste. Be quiet.
Lucy. I won't be quiet while you wrangle over me like----
Ste. (_thundering_). Go to your room. I'll tame you.
(_Lucy deliberately sits down._)
Bam. There you are, Verity. Regular spitfire. Too late to send her away
now. I know what she is.
Walter (_rising_). So do I. She's a monstrous woman with an abnormally
developed bump of business capacity and I absolutely decline to marry
any member of a syndicate of avaricious thieves formed to swindle----
Ste. (_interrupting_). She's no more business capacity than a flea and
I'll take her off the syndicate to-night, if that 'ull please you. Now
then, which of you is it to be?
Bam. I don't wish to quarrel with you, Verity. I've told you I'm taking
none.
Ste. (_briskly_). All right. Then you marry young Montgomery, Lucy.
(_Moves L. above table._)
Lucy. He says he won't have me while I'm in the Syndicate.
Ste. I'll get you out of that.
Bam. You can't do that, Verity. (_Moves to table R._)
Ste. Can't I? I will, though.
Bam. You'll upset the whole thing.
Ste. I'll look after that.
(_Maid announces Mr. Alcorn. Enter Alcorn; exit Maid r._)
Ste. Ah! Got the letter, Alcorn?
Alcorn. Yes. I don't understand it.
Ste. Just a moment. (_Opens door l. and calls._) Smithson!
(_Enter Smithson._)
Walter. I'd better go.
Ste. You've no need. You know so much about it you can stay and listen
to the rest. (_Gets chair._)
(_Stephen sits at head of table. Bamford, Smithson, Alcorn sit as in Act
II. Lucy stands r., Walter sits below fire._)
Alcorn. Well, gentlemen, he won't sell. (_Taking out letter._)
Ste. Refuses to sell? What does this mean?
Smiths, (_to Bamford_). And you assured us he was broke.
Bam. So he was, absolutely broke. I don't understand it at all. .
Al. No more do I. Listen to this. (_Reading letter._) "I regret my
inability to entertain the offer made by your company. I have reason to
believe that owing to overcrowding the land is urgently wanted and
that the town authorities wish to deal with the matter themselves. I
am having the tennis lawns, etc., valued independently and the town may
then purchase at the valuation. I shall, however, not disturb my old
tenants in the Polygon, this letter referring only to the open space now
used as tennis lawns." Now what in thunder do you make of that?
Ste. (_looking at Walter_). You?
Walter. A letter to Monte Carlo only costs tuppence-halfpenny.
Bam. But hang it, Verity, the town isn't buying.
Ste. On the contrary, Sam, the town is. The overcrowding is a scandal.
We must have some fresh air.
Smiths. Oh, don't talk like a blooming philanthropist again.
Ste. I'm talking like a blooming alderman.
Al. This isn't a town's meeting. It's a company meeting. Stick to
company business.
Ste. The company has no further business. The company is wound up.
Bam. Damned if it is. This letter doesn't end all. It's your fault,
Verity. You shouldn't have gone to the Polygon. You over-reached
yourself.
Ste. This would still have happened, Sam, in any case.
Bam. I don't see it. Why?
Ste. Mr. Montgomery can tell you.
Bam. Well, it's not all up. Let's have what he offers.
Ste. He doesn't offer us anything. He offers it to the town.
Al. And the town must buy.
Ste. The town shall buy.
Bam. Yes; well I said houses. Let's make it houses. Model dwellings
as ugly as hell, for the Polygon toffs to look at every time they poke
their noses out of doors.
Ste. Don't be spiteful, Sam. We've had a licking, but don't bear malice.
Walter. Thank you, Mr. Verity.
Ste. Oh, I'd forgotten you were there. Oblige me by going into that room
for two minutes. You can wait in there till we're through.
Walter. But what have I to wait for? (_Rises._)
Ste. Sorry to occupy your valuable, time, but you're going to wait.
You'll find a fire.
(_Exit Walter l._)
That chap's wasted as a curate. (_Sits._) He's beaten me! Me licked by a
bricking curate!
Al. But I don't understand.
Ste. Oh, he got hold of our company idea, told Sir Charles and smashed
our plans. That's all. Nothing very serious. We're out of pocket for a
few expenses that won't hurt any of us, and we've missed a good piece of
plunder. Well, the thing to do now is to turn round and do the handsome
over that recreation ground. _Our_ idea for the benefit of the town!
_My_ negotiations with the Polygon! If we can't get cash by it,
gentlemen, let us get credit.
Smiths.. And what about the rates?
Ste. Well, what about them? More fresh air, less ill health. Less ill
health, less poverty. Less poverty, fewer paupers. That recreation
ground 'ull pay for itself in less than no time. If there's going to be
any barging about the rates we'll raise the money by subscription, and
for two pins I'll head the list myself.
Al. It's a queer finish to our plans.
Ste. It is a finish, Alcorn. We're knocked out, and we've got to take
it with a big, broad smile and nobody will even so much as guess we've
meant anything but the square thing all the time.
Bam. That curate 'ull talk. Curates are always talking.
Ste. No, he won't.
Bam. You can't stop an old woman gossiping. Gab's a parson's
stock-in-trade.
Ste. He's no old woman. He's a wide-awake young man and he's going to
marry my daughter--if she's free. That'll shut his mouth for him.
Smiths. Well, we'll leave that to you, Verity.
Ste. You can, safely.
Al. It's been a lot of trouble all for nothing.
(_Rises; general rise._)
Ste. Well, we're good sportsmen, I hope, and the Carrington recreation
ground 'ull be an everlasting monument to our civic enterprise and
public spirit.
Al. Aye, I'm beginning to feel good already.
Smiths. It's a disappointment, Verity. Ah, well, we can't win every
time.
Ste. No. Better luck next time. Good night, Smithson. (_Takes chair up
stage._)
Smiths. Good night. Good night all.
Al. I'm coming your way.
Smiths. Come along then. (_Crosses r._)
Al. Good night.
(_Exeunt Smithson and Alcorn, r._)
Bam. I'm glad they've gone. Something to put to you, Verity, private.
Ste. About her?
Bam. Her? No. I've said my say about that, and you need her to shut the
curate's mouth.
Ste. I'll shut his mouth without that if you want her. It's a thousand a
year, you know.
Lucy. The auction recommences, Mr. Bamford.
Bam. Don't fret yourself, Miss Verity. I'm not bidding. You've had my
last word, Verity.
Ste. Well, what's this you want to say?
Bam. About me being mayor. That stands, of course?
Ste. No, it doesn't. (_Above table._)
Bam. But----
Ste. That was a contract made by a company that's wound up.
Bam. But, hang it, I'd counted on being mayor. I've mentioned it to one
or two. (_Goes above table R._)
Ste. All right, then. There's your mayoress.
Bam. Is that the price?
Ste. There's your mayoress.
Lucy. I won't be haggled over.
Bam. Miss Verity, it's not you. If I wanted to marry I dunno as I'd
look an inch further. It's--I'm not the marrying sort and that's top and
bottom of it.
Ste. Sam, I'll be mayor myself if it's only for the fun of opening that
recreation ground to the public and making a speech about the anxious
negotiating the Council had to do before they brought off this great
scheme and conferred an inestimable boon on the deserving working
classes.
Bam. Oh, if you're putting up for mayor, I retire. I can't fight a man
of your weight.
Ste. Fight be hanged. We're good friends.
Bam. Aye. You've got your man in there.
Ste. Well! (_Pause._) Yes.
Lucy. It's very sweet of you not to want to marry me, Mr. Bamford.
Bam. Ask me to the wedding.
Ste. Yes, you should be good for a thumping present after this.
Bam. I'll stand my corner. You've to tackle the curate. I'll be off.
Ste. Good night.
Lucy. Good night, and thank you.
Bam. It's _me_ that's thankful. Good night.
(_Exit Bamford. Stephen crosses to left door, opens it and calls._)
Ste. Now, Mr. Montgomery.
(_Enter Walter. Lucy rises, l._)
Walter. Well, sir? (_Crosses to r. below table._)
Ste. (_c. above table_). Are you or are you not going to marry my
daughter?
Walter. That depends.
Ste. I'll tell you something. The syndicate's bust. In fact, there never
was a syndicate.
Walter. You mustn't ask me to believe that, sir. You gave the thing away
yourself.
Ste. (_impressively_). There never was a syndicate. A limited company
isn't a limited company till it's registered. We weren't registered.
You understand? You can't go telling people about a syndicate that never
existed.
Walter (_smiling_). That sounds reasonable. I shan't tell.
Ste. Yes. Well, what about my daughter?
Walter. I thought you objected to me.
Ste. I did. But I begin to think there's more in you than meets the eye.
Walter. Thanks for the compliment.
Ste. I do wish you weren't a curate, though.
(_Crosses to fire._) There's nothing in the Church for a smart man.
Walter. There are plenty of prizes in the Church.
Lucy. And Walter's going to win them, father. (_Up to Walter._)
Walter. Yes.
Ste. He's not won much yet.
Walter. This is all the prize I want, Mr. Verity. (_Takes her hand._)
Ste. She's not a bad start, either. You've got round me, and it takes a
bit of doing. (_Crosses to Walter._) Look here, my lad, I come of a long
lived stock and you'll disappoint me if I don't see you a bishop before
I die. I'll come to the Palace, Lucy, and hang my hat up some day.
(_Going to exit to leave them together._)
CURTAIN.