[_Rather poor lodgings. MARY, neatly but very plainly dressed, is
sewing at a child's garment. LEONARD sprawls on the sofa smoking cheap
cigarettes. He is carelessly dressed to the point of slovenliness and
a little anxiety begins to shew through his calmness which is
generally maintained. It is afternoon. Two or three months have
elapsed._]
LEONARD. I don't think it's that the old man's mean. He's got on the
high horse and doesn't know how to get down.
MARY. We oughtn't to take the money from your mother. It's very hard
for her.
LEONARD. Oh! but it only means that she gives them rice pudding
instead of gooseberry tart. It'll do them good. I expect the old man
sees the difference and pretends he doesn't. And Edgar will be
furious.
MARY. If little Leonard had a brother and they were like you and your
brother--I couldn't bear that.
LEONARD. It's a long way off, old lady.
MARY. Thing's aren't a long way off if you think they might come.
LEONARD. Don't worry, now. Don't worry.
MARY. I'm a great deal happier than you. I've got him.
LEONARD. Well, haven't I?
MARY. No, you haven't. Not like me.
LEONARD. You don't think I'm such a bad father, do you?
MARY. I don't know. You're funny with him and I like to see you
together but--
LEONARD. Well?
MARY. You keep spending the money.
LEONARD. But, Mary, you don't know how much more I could spend if I
had it.
MARY. And, so clever as you are, you don't make any--I mean don't make
much.
LEONARD. You see, in my trade, the better you are the more wretchedly
you get paid.
MARY. You keep telling me that.
LEONARD. And you don't believe it?
MARY. Yes, I do. I think you mean it. I don't think it can be quite
true. I think you could get more money if you tried. You're clever
enough to write the way they want.
LEONARD. What do you care for most in the world--barring the baby?
MARY. [_Considering._] I don't think there's anything. Oh! I beg your
pardon. Of course there's you.
LEONARD. Never mind me. Could you believe that I care more about
writing my own way than for anything?
MARY. I suppose it's good to care for something but that seems
selfish.
LEONARD. You're beginning to feel a bit of resentment. You don't hate
me yet, do you?
MARY. No, of course not.
LEONARD. I shouldn't blame you. You're a wonderfully even-tempered
person. I sometimes wonder whether I'm right about that streak of
wildness in you. Do you think you could do strange things--what shall
I say--wicked things?
MARY. I've done one wicked thing.
LEONARD. Does it trouble you, Mary? Does it still trouble you? Would
you alter it?
MARY. Then I shouldn't have little Leonard. I can never understand. If
I'd known of him--if I'd thought of little Leonard--then it couldn't
be wrong. But how could I think of him when he wasn't born? It was
wicked. It wasn't like me.
LEONARD. You did think of him, Mary. No, you didn't think. It's not
thought. It was nature--something bigger than you--forcing
you--forcing you to bring little Leonard into the world. Now, take
comfort in that, my girl; there is some comfort in it.
MARY. I can't see what it's got to do with _him._ It's not children I
care for; it's him. Well, he's here now. I've got him now.
LEONARD. Quite right, my dear.
MARY. But I think he ought to have Lubbock's food regularly and we
_must_ have a perambulator.
LEONARD. Well, this must go. [_Taking out his watch._]
MARY. Would you? Will you?
LEONARD. [_Looking ruefully at the watch._] You'd better take me at my
word. My generous moods don't last.
MARY. Shall I take it?
[_He is slowly unhooking the watch when there is a knock at the door
and MRS. GREAVES, the landlady, comes in. He puts the watch in his
pocket._]
MRS. GREAVES. I should like a word, sir.
LEONARD. A whole history if you like, Mrs. Greaves.
MRS. GREAVES. Sir?
LEONARD. I was only quoting Shakespeare, Mrs. Greaves.
MRS. GREAVES. I know nothing about him, sir.
LEONARD. He's the man that writes the plays.
MRS. GREAVES. There's some people too fond of plays and such things.
LEONARD. Now I hope you're not going to attack Shakespeare, Mrs.
Greaves.
MRS. GREAVES. I'm attacking nothing, sir, but I should like a word and
perhaps it would be more pleasant if Mrs.--the lady wasn't here.
LEONARD. Why mustn't Mrs. the lady be here?
MRS. GREAVES. It's as you like.
LEONARD. Fire away.
MRS. GREAVES. I must tell you, perfectly frank, that there's been some
talk about you. I know that lady that comes here to see you is your
mother and that I don't understand. But I've heard tell of carryings
on with a housemaid and it is said as you're not married. I know
mothers 'll do a good deal for their sons but I must say--
LEONARD. Who says this?
MRS. GREAVES. It's not only one. There's Mr. Whales, the milkman, and
he does a good round and hears a lot--
LEONARD. We shall have no more dealings with Mr. Whales.
MRS. GREAVES. You wouldn't, anyhow, till he got paid.
MARY. No more milk?
MRS. GREAVES. No, and it's not only milk.
LEONARD. Mrs. Greaves, this lady is my wife and anyone who says she
isn't is telling an abominable lie. I'm surprised that you should
listen to such stuff.
MRS. GREAVES. Of course I know she's got on a ring and all that but
that's what they do and I can't afford to be out of my money; I really
can't. I don't want to be hard but my account must be settled.
LEONARD. Now first of all, Mrs. Greaves, you will apologise to my
wife. Then we'll settle the other matter.
MRS. GREAVES. I'm sure I'm sorry if there's been a mistake. I've no
call to make mischief. I'll ask your pardon ma'am very willing, but
Mr. Whales, he said--and he's only saying what others--
LEONARD. No more of that, now, if you want to have your bill paid.
MRS. GREAVES. You can be made to pay.
LEONARD. And so can you be made to pay. Do you know what you've done?
MRS. GREAVES. Done? I know I've been done.
LEONARD. Good, Mrs. Greaves--very good--I'm glad you can joke about
it. It may be no joke for you.
MRS. GREAVES. What do you mean?
LEONARD. It's slander. They give very heavy damages now for slander.
MRS. GREAVES. I've only mentioned what I've been told.
LEONARD. Yes, that's slander. It's sometimes called defamation of
character. Same thing.
MRS. GREAVES. I'm sure I'd no intention at all of saying
anything--I've been very lenient, too.
LEONARD. Perhaps you'll give me the name of your Solicitor, Mrs.
Greaves.
MRS. GREAVES. What for? I haven't got a solicitor. I don't understand
what you want.
MARY. I think he's joking, Mrs. Greaves.
LEONARD. [_With mock vexation._] Tut! tut!
MRS. GREAVES. [_Doubtfully._] I know slander's a nasty law but I can't
see as I've said anything.
LEONARD. It's not all a joke, Mary. You may tell your Whales and
people that if I hear another word about it I go straight to a
Solicitor.
MRS. GREAVES. I'll tell him, sir.
LEONARD. Very well. You may go, Mrs. Greaves.
MARY. Solicitors like to be paid, too.
MRS. GREAVES. [_Turning at the door._] And what about my bill, sir?
LEONARD. It shall be attended to.
MRS. GREAVES. I've heard that very often.
LEONARD. It is a bit stale, isn't it? I apologise for the old wheeze.
Well, you see, there's the perambulator first.
MRS. GREAVES. The what, sir?
LEONARD. The first money we get is for a perambulator--no. The first
is for a pint or a peck, or whatever it is, of what's-his-name's food
for the baby. Second, the perambulator. You're only third, Mrs.
Greaves. Rather a bad third, but your turn will come.
MARY. It's not fair to her. She ought to be paid.
LEONARD. Of course she ought. We ought all to be paid. I'm in favour
of handsome incomes all round and I hope Lloyd George will take it up.
But, look here, Mrs. Greaves, we're all in the same boat. Now is there
anything _you'd_ like to pawn? I'm treating you as a friend.
MARY. There's your watch.
LEONARD. There's my watch. My wife suggests my watch. A nuisance to
me, of course. As a friend, Mrs. Greaves, what do you say to that?
MRS. GREAVES. I should be sorry, sir, but I must have my money.
LEONARD. You shall have it with compound interest at 5 per cent. Do
you know what that means?
MRS. GREAVES. I think so.
LEONARD. It's more than you can get safely elsewhere so it means that
the longer we keep you out of your money the more it will be to your
advantage.
MRS. GREAVES. I think you're a funny gentleman.
LEONARD. [_To MARY._] She's found me out.
MARY. Mrs. Greaves, we've got some money coming in a day or two. At
least I think so. But I'm anxious about the baby and I must have some
for it. I will pay you. I will.
MRS. GREAVES. Can you give me a little?
MARY. Yes, you shall have something to-morrow.
MRS. GREAVES. I think I know of an old perambulator.
MARY. Do you? Could we borrow it. We'd pay when we could.
MRS. GREAVES. I'll see.
MARY. Thank you, Mrs. Greaves.
MRS. GREAVES. I don't want to be hard.
MARY. You've been very kind.
MRS. GREAVES. P'raps there'd be no harm in letting the doctor have a
look at the baby.
MARY. Do you think so? Do you think he's--
MRS. GREAVES. He looks a little bit peaked.
MARY. You know about babies, too, don't you?
MRS. GREAVES. I should do. I've had seven of my own.
MARY. We'll have the doctor. And thank you, Mrs. Greaves.
MRS. GREAVES. I've been a bit soft, I know that.
[_She goes out._]
MARY. Will you sell your watch, then, or pawn it?
LEONARD. Oh!
MARY. And will you bring the doctor first?
LEONARD. Now, is that necessary?
MARY. And we must have some money for her to-morrow.
LEONARD. You choked her off very well. I can't keep serious enough.
MARY. She must have it.
LEONARD. Where's all this money to come from?
MARY. There's your watch. I've not many things. Some of my clothes
could go. I can't lose my wedding-ring.
[_She moves towards the door._]
LEONARD. Where are you going?
MARY. I'm going to look at him.
LEONARD. Wait a moment. This is getting serious. I'll write to my
mother again. I'll ask her to come. It's absurd. He thinks he's
teaching me a lesson. I suppose he is. Mary, do you remember exactly
what he said that day--I mean about the three hundred pounds? The old
man's very particular about keeping his word. That sort of people
always are.
MARY. Aren't you?
LEONARD. Shall I explain to you what a promise is?
MARY. I know.
LEONARD. Ah! Yes. It would spoil you to understand these things; and
I'm losing all my lightness of touch. I was rather stupid just now
with Mrs. Greaves. I didn't handle it well.
MARY. You must go to your father and tell him how we are. It's
different now I'm frightened about little Leonard. I'll go if you
don't. I can get milk. I don't want to do it but if I must I will.
LEONARD. Milk!
MARY. You heard her say that Mr. Whales wouldn't let us have any more.
George Truefit will let me have some.
LEONARD. George Truefit?
MARY. Yes, I shall be ashamed to go to him but I'll do it.
LEONARD. I had forgotten about George Truefit.
MARY. I hadn't.
LEONARD. My rival, the milkman, isn't he?
MARY. Yes, he's a milkman.
LEONARD. There's something rather piquant in this. I wonder whether
George Truefit would appreciate it. I suppose he wouldn't poison the
milk?
MARY. Poison the milk!
LEONARD. No, I _am_ getting a bit heavy-handed. That's stupid. What is
he like? What's George like?
MARY. He's--he's--you know where you've got him.
LEONARD. A fine fellow, is he?
MARY. You can trust him.
LEONARD. That's something, isn't it?
MARY. A good deal.
LEONARD. [_Sharply._] Now, now, now. You're contrasting him with me.
You're thinking that I can't be trusted. You mustn't do that. Weren't
you, now?
MARY. I was thinking of you both.
LEONARD. You're married to me, Mary.
MARY. I'm not complaining.
LEONARD. Do you love me, Mary?
MARY. [_After a short pause._] Sometimes I think I do.
LEONARD. Do you think I love you?
MARY. Do you?
LEONARD. Sometimes _I_ think I do. I'm a bit afraid of you, though?
MARY. Of me? Afraid?
LEONARD. I'm afraid of the truth. I'm afraid of the hardness at the
back of things. I like ideas and changes and poses and all the rest of
it. You make me uneasy.
MARY. I shall never understand you.
LEONARD. I think you understand me very well. It's only the things I
say you don't understand. Poor girl. I bewilder you. You're quite
right. I'm what you see. You keep thinking you don't understand and
that I may be better than that. You're a brave, humble person. By God!
There's no one like you. I wish I was different. I wish I was like
George Truefit.
MARY. Only a little bit like him. Yourself, too.
LEONARD. What must I do to be saved?
MARY. Now, you're talking queer again.
LEONARD. What is it you want? I see you watching me anxiously
sometimes. I can't make myself into another person but I'd like to
please you. What do you want me to do?
MARY. I suppose it's a lot of little things.
LEONARD. Yes, yes. Can you tell me some of them?
MARY. While we're talking here you might have gone for the doctor.
LEONARD. The doctor?
MARY. You forget him. You often forget all about little Leonard.
[_Rising._] I must go to him.
LEONARD. Ah! Yes. Mrs. Greaves said he was peaked. Peaked! Good word
isn't it? Shakespeare has it, you know: "Shall he dwindle, peak and
pine"--
MARY. But you don't think he's pining, do you?
LEONARD. No, no. I'm only quoting the poet.
MARY. Why do you say things like that--just to amuse yourself--and you
might know they frighten me? That's it. You don't think of other
people--except now and then when you seem to get interested.
LEONARD. I'll go for the doctor.
MARY. Yes. Thank you.
LEONARD. Anything else I can do?
MARY. Would they trust us for Lubbock's food?
LEONARD. I'll pawn my watch.
MARY. Wait. We'll see what the doctor says.
LEONARD. Well, I won't be five minutes.
MARY. Thank you very much indeed.
LEONARD. No, my dear girl, don't put it like that. [_There is a ring
at the front door bell._] Anyone for us I wonder.
MARY. Oh! I must tell you. My mother might come. My father will come
too, but he couldn't get off now.
LEONARD. Of course you've got parents, too, haven't you.
MARY. Don't you ever think of that?
LEONARD. But where have they been all this time?
MARY. They didn't know where I lived.
LEONARD. They could have got the address from my mother.
MARY. I wrote and told them I'd gone to Canada. I felt I couldn't face
them then.
LEONARD. And now?
MARY. My mother knows a lot about babies. I want to see her. You won't
like them, I'm afraid. I think someone's coming in.
LEONARD. Oh! I'm sure I shall find them quite amusing. No, I don't
mean that. I mean interesting. Interesting; that's what I mean when I
say amusing. They're coming up.
MARY. That's my father's voice.
LEONARD. Let's see--what does he do?
MARY. He's a cabman.
LEONARD. Heavens! Are there such things still! A growler or what?
[_The door opens and MRS. GREAVES ushers in MR. AND MRS. BROOME. He is
dingily arrayed but confronts misfortunes with a slightly defiant air.
She is a rather sharp, quiet woman, shabbily dressed. She does not
display much tenderness to her daughter but regards her with some
solicitude. MRS. GREAVES watches the greetings curiously before
retiring._]
MARY. [_After kisses from father and mother._] This is my husband.
[_There is some rather stiff hand shaking._]
MARY. Sit down, mother.
LEONARD. Sit down, Mr. Broome.
MARY. Baby's not very well as I told you, mother, and he's just off
for the doctor. [_To LEONARD._] Will you go?
LEONARD. Yes, certainly.
BROOME. Is he coming back?
LEONARD. Good, Mr. Broome, good. You read my thoughts.
BROOME. What?
LEONARD. I was just wondering whether I was coming back. How soon, I
mean.
BROOME. Well, it'd only be polite--and you've nothing to do, it seems?
You're out of a job too?
MARY. Are you, father?
MRS. BROOME. [_Bitterly._] Ay, they've chucked him at last.
MARY. When?
MRS. BROOME. Only yesterday.
BROOME. [_With gloomy joviality to LEONARD._] So there's two on us at
a loose end.
LEONARD. [_Politely._] Yes, we ought to see something of one another,
Mr. Broome. But I'm not exactly out of a job. I've never been in one.
BROOME. Oh! A gentleman of means.
LEONARD. Without means, Mr. Broome, without means.
BROOME. Then you've got someone to keep you.
LEONARD. No, Mr. Broome. No.
BROOME. Then how are you going to get along?
LEONARD. That's just what's been bothering us.
BROOME. You're a cool customer.
LEONARD. And how do you propose to get along, Mr. Broome?
BROOME. It's them bloomin' taxis that's done for me.
MARY. Can't you drive one, father?
BROOME. They wouldn't give me a try if I wanted. And I don't want. I
wouldn't touch the things.
LEONARD. You've had the bad luck to be attached to a decaying
industry.
BROOME. Decaying my eye! There's no call for it to decay.
LEONARD. You don't hold with modern notions--progress and things, Mr.
Broome?
BROOME. I don't hold with taxis. They'll find out their mistake.
MRS. BROOME. He will talk like that.
BROOME. And so would you if you'd druv a cab twenty-nine years.
MARY. But the taxis go faster, father, and you've only got to pay the
same.
BROOME. Never mind that. Why should they injure a established trade?
Why should they spoil other trades? What's a country without its
trades?
MRS. BROOME. That's the way he talks.
BROOME. Mark my words. They'll find out their mistake. Look what's
coming to the breed of horses. Look at nosebags.
LEONARD. Nosebags?
BROOME. Ay. I've been told of a firm as used to turn out a matter of
two hundred nosebags a week and now they don't do fifty.
MRS. BROOME. He may get taken on at a mews.
BROOME. Mews's days are numbered.
LEONARD. The young generation is knocking at our doors, Mr. Broome.
BROOME. What?
LEONARD. Yours is an interesting type of Conservatism.
BROOME. I'm not a Conservative. I'm a radical.
MRS. BROOME. You voted Tory last time.
BROOME. Yes, and what have they done for me? I don't hold with
Socialism but I may be druv to it.
MRS. BROOME. We came to hear about you, Mary?
BROOME. And what's your perfession, sir, if I may ask?
LEONARD. Well, it's rather hard to define, Mr. Broome. What am I,
Mary?
MARY. He writes things.
BROOME. What things?
LEONARD. Well, shall we say--sketches, critical impressions, verses,
even stories.
BROOME. Hardly work for a man is it?
MARY. Now--father!
LEONARD. Perhaps not. You see, Mr. Broome, you and I are at the
opposite ends. Without offence, I hope, I referred to yours as a
decaying industry. With me it's the other way. They're not ready for
me.
BROOME. It don't pay?
LEONARD. At present it can hardly be said to pay.
BROOME. Well, you can lend me a couple of sovereigns, anyhow?
MARY. } { Father!
} [_Together._]
MRS. BROOME. } { Nonsense.
LEONARD. I should be charmed, Mr. Broome, but I haven't got them. I
was just wondering whether I might borrow five pounds from you.
BROOME. Right. I just wanted to know how the land lies--
MARY. [_To LEONARD._] Won't you go for the doctor now?
LEONARD. Yes, I will. [_He takes his hat._]
MARY. You'll come back with him?
LEONARD. Yes, if he can come. Good-bye for the present, Mrs. Broome.
[_He goes out airily._]
MRS. BROOME. Good-bye, sir. A cheerful young man. Now, my dear,
perhaps you'll explain.
MARY. I'm not going to explain much, mother.
MRS. BROOME. Then explain a little.
MARY. I told you most of what I'm going to tell you.
MRS. BROOME. Let's have the other bit.
BROOME. What I want to know is--Are you married?
MARY. Yes, I am.
BROOME. Prove it.
MARY. My word's good enough.
MRS. BROOME. Have you gone to Canada?
MARY. That's different.
MRS. BROOME. One lie's very like another.
MARY. There's my ring. [_Showing it._]
MRS. BROOME. Anyone can get a ring. Have you got your marriage lines?
BROOME. Ay, let's see the marriage lines.
MARY. I think you ought to take my word.
MRS. BROOME. Let's see them.
MARY. I wouldn't but that I told you that lie about Canada. It's the
first I've ever told you, mother.
MRS. BROOME. That's what frightens me.
BROOME. Where are they?
MARY. They're in my purse. [_She goes to drawer and brings out the
purse._] There's nothing else in it.
MRS. BROOME. They're better than money.
MARY. Here then. [_She gives them the paper which they scrutinise
together._]
MRS. BROOME. That's all right, John?
BROOME. Ay, that seems all right. [_MRS. BROOME takes the paper from
him and gives it to MARY._]
MRS. BROOME. Put it away.
BROOME. Here, let's have another look at it.
MRS. BROOME. Put it away. She's shown it us all right.
BROOME. When was that baby born?
MRS. BROOME. Never mind that.
BROOME. How old is it?
MRS. BROOME. What do you call him, Mary?
MARY. Leonard, like his father.
MRS. BROOME. Is his father kind to you?
MARY. Yes.
BROOME. Of course she'd say that. I'll have a talk with that young
man. I never thought a daughter of mine--
MRS. BROOME. Now shut up.
BROOME. Oh! yes. Take his part. Never mind me. Never mind my feelings.
Do you mean to say this young toff's got no money, really?
MARY. He's been brought up not to work and his father won't give him
any now.
BROOME. Ah! I see--I see. Vexed about this was he? And the young chap
did the right thing. Well--a good-hearted lad, I see.
MARY. I won't talk about it. I've been miserable not to come to see
you, mother, but I couldn't at first, and time went on and I didn't
like to. And I didn't know what to do.
MRS. BROOME. Never mind that now.
[_A ring at the doorbell is heard._]
MARY. That can't be the doctor yet.
MRS. BROOME. You don't have a many visitors, I s'pose.
MARY. I don't have any--except sometimes Mrs. Timbrell.
MRS. BROOME. P'raps it's her.
MARY. I'd like you to see her.
MRS. BROOME. Someone's coming up.
MARY. I think it must be.
MRS. TIMBRELL. [_Outside._] I know the way, thank you.
[_She enters carrying a little bunch of flowers._]
MARY. Here's my mother and father.
MRS. TIMBRELL. Oh! how d'ye do. [_She shakes hands._] I don't know why
we've never met before.
BROOME. We've never been here before.
MRS. TIMBRELL. Haven't you? I've not been many times. We must come
oftener. [_She smiles embarrassments away._]
BROOME. Of course. I see ma'am that you're not like to think as your
son and my daughter's a fair match but I tell you--
MRS. BROOME. Now, John.
MRS. TIMBRELL. It's a very good match for him.
BROOME. Eh?
MRS. TIMBRELL. He's lucky to marry such a girl as Mary.
BROOME. He's not up to much himself, isn't he?
MRS. TIMBRELL. I didn't say that.
BROOME. He seems to be kep' rather short of brass.
MRS. TIMBRELL. [_Sees the flowers in her hands._] Oh! I brought you
these, Mary.
MARY. [_Takes them._] Thank you, ma'am. Thank you, Mrs. Timbrell.
BROOME. [_Rather truculantly._] That baby'll get a fat lot o' good out
o' them.
MRS. TIMBRELL. Is the baby ill, Mary?
MARY. I keep fancying he's not so well. His father's gone for the
doctor.
MRS. TIMBRELL. Have you seen him, Mrs. Broome?
MRS. BROOME. Not yet. Will you take me, Mary? We must be going
directly.
MARY. Come on, then. [_Looking at the others._] Would you like?--
BROOME. Not me.
MRS. TIMBRELL. Yes, I'd like to see him.
BROOME. I thought, p'raps, you'd just like a word with me ma'am.
MRS. TIMBRELL. Oh! well--Presently, Mary, I'll just talk to Mr.
Broome.
[_MARY and MRS. BROOME go out._]
Well, Mr. Broome and what have you got to say?
BROOME. What 'ave I got to say?
MRS. TIMBRELL. You look like a man who has something to say.
BROOME. I've a good deal to say if it's any good saying it. What's it
all mean?
MRS. TIMBRELL. Yes, that's the point. Is it any good saying it? That's
just what I feel more and more Mr. Broome. I used to want to say
things and now I say to myself. Is it any good? I believe we think
very much alike about it.
BROOME. But a man has his feelings and so he's got somethin' to say.
MRS. TIMBRELL. That's exactly what I think, Mr. Broome. I want to talk
to relieve my feelings, not that I think it will do any good. Least
said, soonest mended, I suppose. I agree with you.
BROOME. [_Flattered._] I've no wish to make myself onpleasant only--
MRS. TIMBRELL. I was sure you hadn't.
BROOME. Only--I want to know how your son--
MRS. TIMBRELL. Hark! Is that somebody coming in? I wonder if he's got
the doctor.
BROOME. I'm not one as interferes where there's no call for it but--
MRS. TIMBRELL. Anyone can see that Mr. Broome.
BROOME. But--I mean to say--what I'm sayin' is--
MRS. TIMBRELL. I believe it is the doctor.
BROOME. I'm on'y a poor cabman. You're too clever for me.
MRS. TIMBRELL. Don't worry your daughter. Don't be always asking her
to explain things. Your wife sees that.
BROOME. I'm her father. I think there's something due to me.
MRS. TIMBRELL. That's where we parents make the mistake.
BROOME. Well, I can see a bit and I think the young man has acted
fair.
[_LEONARD enters._]
LEONARD. Your wife's going, Mr. Broome.
MRS. TIMBRELL. What does the doctor say?
LEONARD. He's just looking at the kid--nothing serious, I think.
MRS. TIMBRELL. Mary's with him, I suppose? [_She goes out slowly._]
BROOME. Now, sir, I thought I'd just like to have a word with you.
LEONARD. Very natural, very proper Mr. Broome, I am sure, but you
know--
BROOME. I'm only a cabman but I have my feelin's. I'm a father, sir.
LEONARD. Yes, it's a curious sensation, isn't it?
BROOME. Sir?
LEONARD. It's big. Mr. Broome; it's big, undeniably.
BROOME. What's big?
LEONARD. There's something in these primal relations, you know.
BROOME. I dunno what y're talkin' about.
LEONARD. I beg your pardon.
BROOME. It seems you're my son-in-law.
LEONARD. Yes, of course. Very jolly isn't it?
BROOME. That doesn't mean as I'm goin' to take liberties. I've had a
talk with your mother and we come to an agreement that least said
soonest mended so don't look for no pryin' from me nor my wife.
There's a thing or two I don't understand but I do say this. Whatever
mistakes you've made you've come out at the finish like a man.
LEONARD. It's very handsome of you to say so, I'm sure but--
BROOME. I know a man when I see one and there's my hand on it. [_He
offers his hand which LEONARD takes rather hesitatingly._] You've done
the fair thing and I honour you for it.
LEONARD. It's very charming of you I'm sure and your commendation is
very--very cheering but, really--
BROOME. I ask no questions but I can see a thing or two. Why, sir,
it's as plain to me as if I'd been told that your father's cut up
rough about this.
LEONARD. You're quite right.
BROOME. He wouldn't have you marry my gel and like an hon'rable young
feller in love--in love mindyer--you ups and you sez: I'll marry her
so's 'ow. It's as plain as mud--
LEONARD. It does look like that, doesn't it?
BROOME. It's on'y the other day I was readin' a bit of a novelette in
the paper--just to pass the time--and there was a young feller who did
just like that and the father says it's a cut off of a shillin. I said
there's a bit of human natur' there but I didn't expect to see it in
my own family so soon.
LEONARD. You're a reader, Mr. Broome.
BROOME. I've read a fairish bit, sittin in my keb. Sir, let me tell
you--the father in that there novelette come round.
LEONARD. That's encouraging, Mr. Broome.
BROOME. [_Listening._] Is that your mother coming? Give us your hand
again. [_He hastily takes LEONARD'S hand and poses as MRS. TIMBRELL,
MRS. BROOME and MARY enter. He speaks loudly for MRS. TIMBRELL'S
benefit._] I accept you, sir, in my family and I honour you for your
handsome conduct and hoping the old gentleman will soon come round
though, mind you, I ask no questions.
LEONARD. [_Retreating._] Very good of you.
MRS. BROOME. We're going now.
[_Farewells. BROOME is hearty again with LEONARD, confidential with
MRS. TIMBRELL and perfunctory with MARY. MRS. BROOME, subdued and a
little anxious, passes before LEONARD and says:--_]
You needn't be afraid that we shall come often.
LEONARD. Come as often as you like.
MRS. BROOME. No, we'll give you your chance.
BROOME. What are you talkin' about? [_To MRS. TIMBRELL._] All right.
I'll explain how things are to her, ma'am. I'm glad I come to-day. I
think I've cleared up things a bit. Come along, old lady. [_BROOME and
MRS. BROOME go._]
LEONARD. You're like me, Mary; you're your mother's child. You're not
a bit like your father.
MRS. TIMBRELL. What had you been telling him? Something about your
father?
LEONARD. Not a word. He seemed to have got it from you. And _is_ the
Governor coming round?
MRS. TIMBRELL. Oh! He will come round.
LEONARD. Bravo! That's better. We've been deucedly pinched, you know.
MRS. TIMBRELL. Perhaps it'll do you good. I don't mean you, Mary.
Who's that?
[_MRS. GREAVES enters with a letter which she gives to LEONARD and
retires._]
LEONARD. [_Opening the letter._] Hullo! This is from Cochrane.
MRS. TIMBRELL. [_Aside to MARY._] I brought you this. [_She gives her
money._]
MARY. I can't refuse it now. [_She looks over at LEONARD gravely._]
MARY. He never asked about little Leonard.
LEONARD. I say--look here. Cochrane wants me to go there. Just the
thing. Just what I want.
MARY. Where?
LEONARD. His place down in Norfolk. Fishing. Of course the fishing's
not much but he's got some rather good men there. By Jove! I see
myself talking again. I mean really talking. Just the thing.
MRS. TIMBRELL. Does he ask Mary?
LEONARD. Mary! Well, no. But there's no nonsense of that kind about
Mary.
MARY. I've got little Leonard.
LEONARD. [_Glancing at her._] By-the-bye, what did that chap say about
little Leonard?
MARY. He's coming in again. He wasn't very sure.
LEONARD. Then you may be sure there's nothing the matter. Good. Things
are looking better. [_To his mother._] Do you think the Governor would
let me have twenty pounds? Is he far enough round for that?
MRS. TIMBRELL. You'd soon have him back again if you tried.
LEONARD. It's awkward. I must get some things. And I've no fishing
rod. I might say I'd lost it on the way down. I must lose a bag, if
necessary, and borrow. Rather thin, though. Did Edgar leave his rod at
home? Could you manage ten pounds? What did you give Mary?
MRS. TIMBRELL. Is there any hope for him, Mary?
LEONARD. What? Oh! the baby--I keep forgetting about that blessed
baby. But he's not ill. I'm sure he's not ill. Look here! I must get
away. I shall hate you, Mary, if you stop me. I want a change, as the
doctors say. I want to talk to these chaps. They're men you can talk
to. I must go. I must go. I'm a flower turning to the light, I'm a
prisoner breaking from his dungeon, I'm a spirit winging upwards.
Don't stop me.
MARY. Why should I stop you? You want to be there. I want to be here.
LEONARD. Ah! yes. And if the child _is_ ill you've got a beautiful
time before you. A mother with her child ill is lovely, lovely. I
could come home to see it. Especially if those fellows get rather
dull. Cochrane doesn't mention a time. I wonder how long he'll have
me.
MRS. TIMBRELL. If anyone could change you, Mary would, but you don't
change.
LEONARD. Don't change! I'm always changing. I'm a perfect
Kaleidoscope.
MRS. TIMBRELL. Always a Kaleidoscope.
LEONARD. [_Taking his mother by the shoulders._] You just go and get
me some money, will you? Tell the old boy I'm a new man, a reformed
character. Put in a good word for Mary. Tell him she's done it. Then
see if you can't get fifty pounds out of him.
MRS. TIMBRELL. You'd kill the goose with the golden eggs, before it
laid any. Mary, we'd better let him go.
MARY. Oh! yes.
MRS. TIMBRELL. You must have some money? What's the least you can
manage with?
LEONARD. The least? Well, I should say the least is the most I can
get.
MRS. TIMBRELL. [_Fingering her rings._] Have you started with
pawnshops yet?
LEONARD. Oh! yes. I'm not afraid of pawnshops.
MRS. TIMBRELL. I'm too old to begin. [_She takes off a ring and gives
it to him._] Take that.
MARY. No, no. He can't do that.
MRS. TIMBRELL. I think he can.
LEONARD. Of course I can. I thought you would understand, Mary. A
mother's sacrifice for her son is one of the most beautiful
things--just think what you would do for little Leonard.
MARY. Yes, if there's need.
LEONARD. Need? There is need. But wouldn't like to deprive her of the
pleasure. The pleasure! It's a sacred joy. Isn't it mother?
MRS. TIMBRELL. You're a humbug.
LEONARD. I suppose I am. But I'm your son all the same. You can't be
less than a mother because I've got a bit of humbug about me. I wonder
if I should do better to sell it out and out to a jeweller. You don't
mind, mother?
MRS. TIMBRELL. You couldn't redeem it. You couldn't give it me back.
LEONARD. Do you want it back?
MRS. TIMBRELL. I thought it might be a sacred joy to give it back to
me.
LEONARD. Good. Very good. You're a damned fine woman, you know. Isn't
she, Mary? I suppose a lot of mothers do the kind of things that she
does for their sons but she does them lightly. She can be witty over
it.
MRS. TIMBRELL. Good-bye, Mary. I'll come again soon.
MARY. Good-bye. [_MRS. TIMBRELL goes. LEONARD goes out with her for a
moment and returns. He capers up to MARY, seizes her waist and waltzes
her round. She yields and laughs for a moment, then stiffens and
struggles._]
MARY. Hark! There's little Leonard.
LEONARD. Bother little Leonard!
[_She breaks away and runs out. He does a pas seul as the curtain
falls._]