_Scene as Act I, except that the room has a bareness indicative of a
recent removal. The bookcase is on the floor instead of being fastened
to the wall, and no pictures are hung._
_Mrs. Garside, dressed as Act I, sits dejectedly in the rocking-chair.
A knock at the door, centre. Mrs. Garside sighs heavily, rouses herself
slowly, crosses and opens door. Denis O'Callagan is on the doorstep. The
blind is drawn. One incandescent light._
*****
O'Cal. May I come in, Mrs. Garside?
Mrs. G. And welcome, Mr. O'Callagan.
[_He enters. She closes door._
O'Cal. (_coming centre, in front of table, glancing upwards_). Still the
same?
Mrs. G. (_standing centre, gloomily_). Oh, yes. He doesn't seem to care
for anything.
O'Cal. I can hear him moving about upstairs.
Mrs. G. (_sitting left of table, as if too weary to stand_). I never
hear anything else. It's driving me mad. Up and down, up and down, all
day long, and all night too, till he drops because he's too tired to put
one foot before the other. It's like a wild beast in a cage.
O'Cal. You've not got him to go out yet?
Mrs. G. Nor look like doing till he's carried out feet foremost. He says
he'll never show his face in Midlandton again. I've done all the work.
Getting the furniture out of store and everything. Peter didn't raise a
hand.
O'Cal. You dropped lucky finding the old house empty.
Mrs. G. I don't know if I did. It reminds him. Won't take his food now.
That's the latest. Not that I've much to give him. Heaven knows where
it'll end. We with no money coming in and nearly every penny as we had
gone to pay his debts in London and fetch us here. Workhouse next, I
reckon.
O'Cal. (_patting her shoulder encouragingly_). Let you not be talking
like that, Mrs. Garside. There's no call to despair. Peter's got to be
roused.
Mrs. G. Haven't we tried and failed? If you fancy you know the way to do
it I'll be obliged by your telling me.
O'Cal. Oh, we've not tried them all yet.
Mrs. G. (_vigorously_). Then for God's sake go up to him and try.
O'Cal. (_without moving_). Sure he's not himself at all.
Mrs. G. (_rising, with more force in her voice_). Denis O'Callagan, if
you've a plan to rouse my poor boy I've told you to go upstairs and try
it on him. If you've come to stand there like a log and tell me what
I've known this week and more, there's my door, and the sooner you put
your ugly face outside it the better you'll please me.
O'Cal. (_giving way a little_). I come to tell you of the cure we will
be putting on him. I'm thinking it won't be to your taste and you short
tempered with your trouble.
Mrs. G. Do you think I care what it is so it puts an end to this?
O'Cal. Is that the truth you're telling me?
Mrs. G. Truth! Bless the man. I'm at the bitter end.
O'Cal. (_briskly_). Then I'll be stepping out and bringing out my cure.
I didn't fetch her in because I knew you quarrelled with her. (_He
reaches the door and puts his hand to the latch._)
Mrs. G. Stop! Do you mean Margaret Shaweross?
O'Cal. Yes. (_He takes a step towards table. They speak across it._)
Mrs. G. That woman doesn't cross my threshold.
O'Cal. The sight of her _'_ull bring the life back into Peter.
Mrs. G. No.
O'Cal. You said you wouldn't care what I did.
Mrs. G. I didn't know you meant her.
O'Cal. (_coming round table_). No, and you called me all the names you
could lay your tongue to when I came in last week.
Mrs. G. I thought you one of the lot that ruined Peter. I've told you
I'm sorry for what I said.
O'Cal. Yes. You see it now. Why won't you see Miss Shaweross is a friend
as well?
Mrs. G. (_sullenly_). She's a woman.
O'Cal. And can't you be mistaken about a woman just as much as a man?
Mrs. G. She never did Peter any good. She always thought too little of
him.
O'Cal. (_pleadingly_). Give her a chance, Mrs. Garside, she loves him.
Mrs. G. She'd a queer way of showing it, then.
O'Cal. She loves him.
Mrs. G. (_hotly_). And don't I love him? If love's all he wants to put
him right, won't his mother----
O'Cal. There's different kinds of love. Let her try hers.
Mrs. G. (_grimly_). Yes. Let her try.
O'Cal. (_moving eagerly_). May I?
Mrs. G. Bring her in.
[_O'Callagan goes to door, then turns suddenly suspicious._
O'Cal. You're not going to be rude to her?
Mrs. G. I'm going to give her her chance fair and square. Loves him,
does she? We'll see if her love's good enough to do what my love can't,
and I'll own I'm wrong about her. She'll get no second chance.
O'Cal. She'll need none, neither.
Mrs. G. Well, we'll see. Open the door and call her in.
[_O'Callagan opens door and calls off._
O'Cal. Will you come in, Miss Shawcross?
[_Enter Margaret in a plain winter costume with a cheap fur round her
neck._
O'Cal. (_in her ear as she passes him_). It's all right.
[_He closes door, Margaret crosses to Mrs. Garside._
Mar. (_anxiously--waiving ceremony_). How is he, Mrs. Garside?
Mrs. G. (_turning from her to O'Callagan_). Bring him down, Denis,
you know the way. (_O'Callagan crosses and exit r. Mrs. Garside
faces Margaret._) We'll understand each other first. You're here on
sufferance. I've let you in same as I would a doctor, because O'Callagan
thinks there's a chance you'll cure Peter. We're strangers till you've
done it.
Mar. I understand. Thank you for letting me come. How is he?
Mrs. G. He's like to die because he doesn't want to live.
[_Enter r., O'Callagan and Peter, whose spectacular disarray is
nicely calculated. Physically he appears normal, but his ruffled hair,
cross-buttoned waistcoat unbuttoned collar and crooked black tie give
the appearance of hopeless abandon. He enters wearily, forgetting
himself for a moment on seeing Margaret and speaking vigorously._
Peter. You here! (_Turns as if to go back, but O'Callagan closes the
door quickly._) Why didn't you tell me, Denis?
Mar. (_stepping forward_). Don't go. I've come to see you, Peter.
Peter. I'm not on exhibition. What have you come for? To gloat over me,
to see for yourself how well you prophesied when you told me I should
fail. (_He turns his back on her, only to face O'Callagan._)
O'Cal. I'm telling you you're not a failure. It's just a temporary check
in your career you've had.
Peter (_sullenly_). My career's ended.
[_Mrs. Garside sits in the rocking-chair, aloof, watching._
Mar. At twenty-six, Peter?
Peter (_turning_). That's my tragedy. Waste. At twenty-six I'm looking
backward on a closed account. The future's blank--all the brilliant
fruitful years I might have lived.
Mar. That you _will_ live, Peter.
Peter (_sitting left of table, elbows on table and head in hands_). Oh,
what's the use of that? I'm finished. Out, middle stump. And there's no
second innings in life.
O'Cal. Isn't there? Don't the people need you just as much as ever?
Peter (_without turning to him_). The people have no use for broken
idols, Denis.
Mar. But _we_ need you, Peter.
Peter (_looking up_). Who are we?
Mar. Your own people.
Peter. You! You never believed in me.
Mar. I always thought you'd the wrong temperament for Parliament.
Peter. You knew me for the rotten failure that I am. I congratulate you
on your perspicacity.
Mar. (_shaking her head_). I'm not proud of it. What do you propose to
do?
Peter. I don't propose to do anything. (_Resuming the hopeless
attitude_). I've shot my bolt. I'm a man with a past, an ex-M.P.,
ex-Everything.
O'Cal. (_with conviction_). You're a blazing idiot.
Peter. I quite agree.
O'Cal. You're not. You know you're not. I'm only saying it to rouse you.
Peter. You'll say nothing that I won't agree with.
O'Cal. All right. You've a big future before you.
Peter. I can't agree to that.
O'Cal. You have. You're going to----
Peter. I'm going to take it lying down, Denis, and that's all there is
to it.
Mar. That's a pretty mean thing to say, Peter.
Peter. Oh, taunts don't sting me now. I've reached the further side of
agony.
Mar. (_sitting at table, centre, leaning on it very close to Peter, and
speaking without a trace of sympathy_). Peter, don't you think you've
made sufficient demonstration of your grief?
Peter. Demonstration?
Mar. We're all tremendously impressed. You've thoroughly alarmed
us. That's what you wanted, wasn't it? (_Peter meets her eye
questioningly._) To prove to yourself that after all you're still of
consequence to somebody. It's quite true, Peter. We're not content to
watch you sulk to death. You've made your big effect. For a week you've
had the joy of fostering your wound, keeping it open for all the world
to see how hardly you've been hit, but it's time you healed it now.
Peter (_hiding his head on the table_). Misunderstood!
Mar. Misunderstood? (_Rising and tapping the table._) Or found out,
Peter? Which?
Peter (_pitiably turning, still sitting, to Mrs. Garside_). Mother, you
let these people in. Are you going to sit there and let them bully a
sick man?
Mar. (_admiringly_). That's a good pose, Peter. The great, strong,
self-willed man brought down to crying to his mammie.
Peter (_in an agonised shriek_). Mother!
Mrs. G. (_firmly_). I'm not going to interfere. I promised Margaret her
own way.
Peter. But----
Mrs. G. (_interrupting, dryly_). Besides, I think there may be something
in it.
[_Peter hides his face again with a deep "Oh!"_
O'Cal. (_putting his hand on Peter's shoulder_). Be a man, Peter.
Peter (_looking up at him_). Yes, it's all very well for you to talk.
You with your beastly robust health. I'm an invalid.
Mar. I assure you, you're not looking half so feeble as you did. You're
improving under treatment.
Peter. Then I must thrive on torture.
Mar. Something's doing you good. You're not the woebegone catastrophe
you were.
Peter (_rising_). I won't tolerate this.
Mar. You prefer to be a catastrophe, in fact?
Peter (_moving right_). I want to be left alone. I'm going to my
bedroom. You can't follow me there.
Mar. Oh, you'll not escape that way. I don't in the least mind invading
your bedroom. A doctor has privileges.
Peter. All right. I'll go out, then. Mother, where's my hat?
Mar. Splendid. Fresh air will do you good.
Peter. I won't go out. They'll mock me in the streets.
Mar. Then you prefer my medicine? I'll go on dosing you.
Peter (_sitting centre, behind table, covering face_). I'll close my
eyes and stop my ears.
Mar. (_taking her hat off_). The night is young. (_She puts her hat on
the bookcase and her fur on it._)
Peter (_turning and watching her_). Oh! So it's to be a trial of
strength, is it?
Mar. Just as you like. As I'm strong and you're weak, I ought to win.
Peter. We'll see if I'm weak.
Mar. Of course, I've only your word for it.
[_Margaret takes chair from wall, right, and puts it before fire._
Peter. Weak as I am, I'm strong enough to tire you out. (_Folding his
arms._)
Mar. I don't go to work till nine in the morning. (_Sitting on her
chair._) You don't mind my making myself comfortable for the night, Mrs.
Garside?
Mrs. G. I've told you I'm not interfering, Margaret. You can do as you
like.
Mar. Denis, go home. I want to be alone with Peter.
Peter. Stay where you are, Denis. Don't leave me alone with her.
O'Cal. Don't! But I will and sharp too, for it's wishing you a quick
recovery I am, and the more you hate your medicine the better it is for
you. Good night.
[_Exit O'Callagan, l._
Mar. Now, Peter, I'm going to talk to you.
Mrs. G. I'll take myself out of your way. (_Going r._)
Peter. Mother! You too! Haven't I a friend in the world?
Mrs. G. You wouldn't listen to me. It's her turn how. Call me if you
want me, Margaret.
[_Exit Mrs. Garside, r._
Peter (_sitting c., stopping his ears_). I shan't listen.
Mar. (_sitting and making herself ostentatiously comfortable in the
rocking-chair, poking fire_). Oh, take your time. I'm quite comfortable.
(_She leans back humming "Home, Sweet Home"_)
Peter (_unstopping his ears_). What?
Mar. Oh, could you hear? You're such a bad listener as a rule. You much
prefer to talk.
Peter (_folding his arms_). My talking days are past. I'll be as mute as
a fish. Go on. Say what you like. I'll stand it all.
Mar. (_rising and looking down on him_). Peter, Peter, how young you
are!
Peter (_rising excitedly_). Young! I'm not young.
Mar. I thought you were going to be silent.
Peter (_walking up and down_). Young! As if youth had anything to do
with arithmetic and the number of one's years. I'm old in suffering and
experience. I'm an old, old man.
Mar. (_standing c. against table, watching_). When you sow wild oats
that old feeling is usually part of the crop.
Peter (_hotly_). I haven't sown wild oats. I'm not that sort of man.
(_Hesitating._) Unless you mean----
Mar. I didn't, but I might have done.
Peter (_sitting, sullenly_). I wish there were no such things as women
in the world!
Mar. The bi-sexual system has its disadvantages. But we'll forget Miss
Mottram, Peter. That was a private indiscretion. You sowed your wild
oats publicly in the fierce light that beats upon a politician. That was
the arrogance of youth.
Peter. I'm not so young as you.
Mar. No. Youth is a gift we both possess. I don't intend to waste mine,
Peter.
Peter. No? Well, you've me before you as an awful warning. I'm a living
cautionary tale. I'm---- O, what's the good of talking?
Mar. Here's a change of front! You used to tell me talking was the
finest thing you knew.
Peter. Margaret, have you no reverence at all?
Mar. For talking?
Peter. For human suffering. You're mocking at my life's tragedy. You
hummed a tune just now you must have known was agony to me. My home in
Midlandton! It's like living in an ashpit.
Mar. Oh, no, it's not, and if it is, the microbes can be happy in their
insignificance.
Peter (_solemnly_). I shall not know happiness again.
Mar. Oh, need you keep it up with me, Peter?
Peter (_surprised_). Keep what up?
Mar. The pose. You've had your fun with us.
Peter. Fun!
Mar. You've brought us to your feet. We've all come: all of us who care.
Peter. Care? What do you care for me? Why should you care for a broken
man, a derelict, one of the legion of the lost, a rotten----
Mar. (_vigorously_). Will you stop embroidering? Do you think I've come
to listen to all the pretty phrases you've spent a week inventing about
yourself?
Peter. Heaven knows what you came for.
Mar. You know as well as Heaven does.
Peter. Do I? But it's---- So much has happened since. That's all so long
ago.
Mar. Less than a year, Peter.
Peter. A year! What's a year! From poverty to Parliament, from
Parliament to hell.
Mar. Still spinning phrases, Peter.
Peter (_sincerely_). I'm a pauper, Margaret. That's not a phrase, it's a
fact.
Mar. Is there no work to be done in the world?
Peter. A man like me wants something else than bread to work for. I had
a career once, it's gone today.
Mar. Thank God, it is.
Peter. Yes, if you like, thank God for it. It deserved to go. But
nothing's left worth living for.
Mar. I'll give you that.
Peter. What?
Mar. The object, Peter. Don't say again you don't know why I came.
Peter. Yes, Margaret, I know.
Mar. Why not admit it, then?
Peter. Because I daren't. A man who's fallen as I fell deserves no
second ehanee. I've been a silly fool, but it won't mend that to be a
criminal fool.
Mar. What do you mean by being a criminal fool?
Peter. I might have acted as I meant to act when next I saw you.
Mar. How did you mean to act?
Peter. I meant to ask forgiveness on my knees for all the things I said
to you. Up in my room I'd come to see it all, sec what a swine I'd been,
how right you were, how much you knew me better than I knew myself. I
thought in London that I'd met the worst. I thought my bitterest hour
was past. But worst and bitterest of all was when I realised all that
I'd done to you, all that that doing made me miss.
Mar. (_hardly_). Then when I came you didn't do as you intended.
Peter. Margaret, I saw you and I felt ashamed. It's one thing to decide
within one's mind to do a thing, but quite another thing to do it in
the flesh. I saw you, saw the suffering in your face and knew that I had
caused it all. I felt ashamed to speak.
Mar. Ashamed to ask forgiveness? Ashamed to carry out your plan?
Peter. We weren't alone. There were others there.
Mar. Just pride, in fact. You were too proud to ask. And when the others
went?
Peter. Oh, yes. Yes. Pride again. Then, too, until----
Mar. Till when? You've not asked yet.
Peter. Margaret, am I worth while forgiving?
Mar. Peter, when your mother let me come, I came.
Peter. Yes!
Mar. So I thought it worth while.
Peter. Margaret, you are so beautiful, and I----
Mar. Listen to me, Peter. You tell me I am beautiful. You told me I am
young. I am, but I'm a year older than I was twelve months ago. Twelve
months ago, when you----
Peter. Yes. I know.
Mar. It's been a crowded year for you. (_Gesture from Peter._) Too
crowded, yes, but there was glamour in it all. You've paid a price, but
you've known the flavour of success. You've had your fun. I've spent
my year in Midlandton--(_Peter shudders_)--a plaee where one can live,
Peter. Oh, yes, one can. But I've been lonely here. A year's dropped
from me sadly, slowly. I've kept myself alive and that, the daily round,
is all my history, while you--well, never mind. The past is past. We're
where we were a year ago, a little older, just a little less in love
with life, but still we're here, Peter. You and I, just as we were
before.
Peter. Just as we were?
Mar. Why not? Love understands. We're both a little scarred. We both
need picking up and making whole. We need each other, Peter.
Peter. You need me! Margaret, you're not just putting it that way
because----
Mar. Because it's true. We need each other badly.
Peter (_taking her_). Margaret!
Mar. So you will have me, Peter?
Peter. I think I always loved you, Margaret. Throughout the madness of
my pride, behind it all, I think I never quite forgot the great
reality of you. I've been ambition's drunkard, but behind the mist of
self-deluded dream, the light shone dimly though. London brought me no
peace.
Mar. I'll bring you peace.
Peter. I think you will. (_From her._) Oh, but it's madness, madness,
Margaret. What are we thinking of?
Mar. Our happiness.
Peter. Yes, for a moment we've been happy fools. Now I'm awake.
Mar. And so?
Peter. And so good-bye.
Mar. Indeed?
Peter. Oh, would to God, it needn't be. But here I am, an outcast,
and----
Mar. (_quickly_). No phrases, Peter.
Peter. I'm a man without a job, Margaret. I can't keep myself, let alone
anyone else.
Mar. Have you tried?
Peter. I've thought of ways. Scraps of journalism, perhaps. I might
live that way for a time. I'm a notorious person. They'll take my stuff
until--my--my escapade's forgotten. Then they'll drop me.
Mar. Excellent reasons for not being a journalist.
Peter. I'm fit for nothing else. I thought I had supporters, friends
who'd rally round when the official party sent me to the rightabout.
I've waited there a week. I have no friends.
Mar. You don't need friends. You want an employer, and I thought you
were a skilled mechanic.
Peter. Yes. As a matter of fact I did have a vague idea of going in for
aeroplanes.
Mar. Oh, Peter, Peter, still the high flights!
Peter (_earnestly_). There's money in it, Margaret.
Mar. For the mechanic?
Peter. I shouldn't be a mechanic long. A man of original mind like me is
bound to be ahead of the crowd. I've to keep moving fast. I can't wait
for the mob to catch me up. Yes, there's something in that aeroplane
idea.
Mar. There is. Fame. Applause. Incense. Everything that ruined you
before.
Peter. You can't be famous without risk.
Mar. Why be famous?
Peter. That's your doing. You wakened my ambitions. They're there now,
ineradically fixed, and if they weren't there for myself, they would be
there for you.
Mar. For me? I don't want them, Peter. Fight them down. Be humble.
Peter. I'm not built for humility.
Mar. Drop your ambition, Peter. You will feel like Christian when he
lost his pack.
Peter. What do you want me to do?
Mar. There is always room for you at your old place.
Peter. Back to the mechanic's bench. In Midlandton, where everybody
knows! That's humble pie with a vengeance.
Mar. A new beginning, Peter.
Peter. There's no such thing. In life, we pay.
Mar. We'll pay together then.
Peter. I can't go back.
Mar. A man can do things for his woman, Peter, when he can't do them for
himself.
Peter. You want me to go back?
Mar. Yes, Peter, back to the starting-place.
Peter. It's a bitter pill.
Mar. But won't you swallow it--for me? For my sake, Peter.
Peter. Yes, Margaret, you've won. I'll go back if they'll have me.
Mar. Thank you, Peter.
Peter. Don't thank me, dear. It's----
Mar. Why not? It means I'm going to have my heart's desire.
Peter. What's that?
Mar. Just you.
Peter. Margaret!
Mar. Yes, Peter.
Peter. Are you happy?
Mar. Yes.
Peter. Yes? Only yes? When I'm almost afraid to be so happy, when----
Mar. Yes, Peter, when you are down, you are very, very down, and when
you're up you are up----
Peter. That's the way with all geniuses. Oh, I forgot. I'm not a----
Mar. Never mind. You're genius enough for me. Only, we'll stop telling
other people about it, eh, Peter? Now let's go to your mother.
[_They move r. together._
CURTAIN.