MADGE. [Turning to the door.] No, it is not my house; keep clear of

my house, Mrs. Underwood.

[She goes out. ENID taps her fingers on the table.]

MRS. ROBERTS. Please to forgive Madge Thomas, M'm; she's a bit upset

to-day.

[A pause.]

ENID. [Looking at her.] Oh, I think they're so stupid, all of them.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With a faint smile]. Yes, M'm.

ENID. Is Roberts out?

MRS. ROBERTS. Yes, M'm.

ENID. It is his doing, that they don't come to an agreement. Now is

n't it, Annie?

MRS. ROBERTS. [Softly, with her eyes on ENID, and moving the fingers

of one hand continually on her breast.] They do say that your

father, M'm----

ENID. My father's getting an old man, and you know what old men are.

MRS. ROBERTS. I am sorry, M'm.

ENID. [More softly.] I don't expect you to feel sorry, Annie. I

know it's his fault as well as Roberts's.

MRS. ROBERTS. I'm sorry for any one that gets old, M'm; it 's

dreadful to get old, and Mr. Anthony was such a fine old man, I

always used to think.

ENID. [Impulsively.] He always liked you, don't you remember? Look

here, Annie, what can I do? I do so want to know. You don't get

what you ought to have. [Going to the fire, she takes the kettle

off, and looks for coals.] And you're so naughty sending back the

soup and things.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With a faint smile.] Yes, M'm?

ENID. [Resentfully.] Why, you have n't even got coals?

MRS. ROBERTS. If you please, M'm, to put the kettle on again;

Roberts won't have long for his tea when he comes in. He's got to

meet the men at four.

ENID. [Putting the kettle on.] That means he'll lash them into a

fury again. Can't you stop his going, Annie?

[MRS. ROBERTS smiles ironically.]

Have you tried?

[A silence.]

Does he know how ill you are?

MRS. ROBERTS. It's only my weak 'eard, M'm.

ENID. You used to be so well when you were with us.

MRS. ROBERTS. [Stiffening.] Roberts is always good to me.

ENID. But you ought to have everything you want, and you have

nothing!

MRS. ROBERTS. [Appealingly.] They tell me I don't look like a dyin'

woman?

ENID. Of course you don't; if you could only have proper--- Will you

see my doctor if I send him to you? I'm sure he'd do you good.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With faint questioning.] Yes, M'm.

ENID. Madge Thomas ought n't to come here; she only excites you. As

if I did n't know what suffering there is amongst the men! I do feel

for them dreadfully, but you know they have gone too far.

MRS. ROBERTS. [Continually moving her fingers.] They say there's no

other way to get better wages, M'm.

ENID. [Earnestly.] But, Annie, that's why the Union won't help

them. My husband's very sympathetic with the men, but he says they

are not underpaid.

MRS. ROBERTS. No, M'm?

ENID. They never think how the Company could go on if we paid the

wages they want.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With an effort.] But the dividends having been so

big, M'm.

ENID. [Takes aback.] You all seem to think the shareholders are

rich men, but they're not--most of them are really no better off than

working men.

[MRS. ROBERTS smiles.]

They have to keep up appearances.

MRS. ROBERTS. Yes, M'm?

ENID. You don't have to pay rates and taxes, and a hundred other

things that they do. If the men did n't spend such a lot in drink

and betting they'd be quite well off!

MRS. ROBERTS. They say, workin' so hard, they must have some

pleasure.

ENID. But surely not low pleasure like that.

MRS. ROBERTS. [A little resentfully.] Roberts never touches a drop;

and he's never had a bet in his life.

ENID. Oh! but he's not a com----I mean he's an engineer----

a superior man.

MRS. ROBERTS. Yes, M'm. Roberts says they've no chance of other

pleasures.

ENID. [Musing.] Of course, I know it's hard.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With a spice of malice.] And they say gentlefolk's

just as bad.

ENID. [With a smile.] I go as far as most people, Annie, but you

know, yourself, that's nonsense.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With painful effort.] A lot 'o the men never go near

the Public; but even they don't save but very little, and that goes

if there's illness.

ENID. But they've got their clubs, have n't they?

MRS. ROBERTS. The clubs only give up to eighteen shillin's a week,

M'm, and it's not much amongst a family. Roberts says workin' folk

have always lived from hand to mouth. Sixpence to-day is worth more

than a shillin' to-morrow, that's what they say.

ENID. But that's the spirit of gambling.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With a sort of excitement.] Roberts says a working

man's life is all a gamble, from the time 'e 's born to the time 'e

dies.

[ENID leans forward, interested. MRS. ROBERTS goes on with a

growing excitement that culminates in the personal feeling of

the last words.]

He says, M'm, that when a working man's baby is born, it's a toss-up

from breath to breath whether it ever draws another, and so on all

'is life; an' when he comes to be old, it's the workhouse or the

grave. He says that without a man is very near, and pinches and

stints 'imself and 'is children to save, there can't be neither

surplus nor security. That's why he wouldn't have no children [she

sinks back], not though I wanted them.

ENID. Yes, yes, I know!

MRS. ROBERTS. No you don't, M'm. You've got your children, and

you'll never need to trouble for them.

ENID. [Gently.] You oughtn't to be talking so much, Annie. [Then,

in spite of herself.] But Roberts was paid a lot of money, was n't

he, for discovering that process?

MRS. ROBERTS. [On the defensive.] All Roberts's savin's have gone.

He 's always looked forward to this strike. He says he's no right to

a farthing when the others are suffering. 'T is n't so with all o'

them! Some don't seem to care no more than that--so long as they get

their own.

ENID. I don't see how they can be expected to when they 're

suffering like this. [In a changed voice.] But Roberts ought to

think of you! It's all terrible----! The kettle's boiling. Shall I

make the tea? [She takes the teapot and, seeing tea there, pours

water into it.] Won't you have a cup?

MRS. ROBERTS. No, thank you, M'm. [She is listening, as though for

footsteps.] I'd--sooner you did n't see Roberts, M'm, he gets so

wild.

ENID. Oh! but I must, Annie; I'll be quite calm, I promise.

MRS. ROBERTS. It's life an' death to him, M'm.

ENID. [Very gently.] I'll get him to talk to me outside, we won't

excite you.

MRS. ROBERTS. [Faintly.] No, M'm.

[She gives a violent start. ROBERTS has come in, unseen.]

ROBERTS. [Removing his hat--with subtle mockery.] Beg pardon for

coming in; you're engaged with a lady, I see.

ENID. Can I speak to you, Mr. Roberts?

ROBERTS. Whom have I the pleasure of addressing, Ma'am?

ENID. But surely you know me! I 'm Mrs. Underwood.

ROBERTS. [With a bow of malice.] The daughter of our Chairman.

ENID. [Earnestly.] I've come on purpose to speak to you; will you

come outside a minute?

[She looks at MRS. ROBERTS.]

ROBERTS. [Hanging up his hat.] I have nothing to say, Ma'am.

ENID. But I must speak to you, please.

[She moves towards the door.]

ROBERTS. [With sudden venom.] I have not the time to listen!

MRS. ROBERTS. David!

ENID. Mr. Roberts, please!

ROBERTS. [Taking off his overcoat.] I am sorry to disoblige a lady

--Mr. Anthony's daughter.

ENID. [Wavering, then with sudden decision.] Mr. Roberts, I know

you've another meeting of the men.

[ROBERTS bows.]

I came to appeal to you. Please, please, try to come to some

compromise; give way a little, if it's only for your own sakes!

ROBERTS. [Speaking to himself.] The daughter of Mr. Anthony begs me

to give way a little, if it's only for our own sakes!

ENID. For everybody's sake; for your wife's sake.

ROBERTS. For my wife's sake, for everybody's sake--for the sake of

Mr. Anthony.

ENID. Why are you so bitter against my father? He has never done

anything to you.

ROBERTS. Has he not?

ENID. He can't help his views, any more than you can help yours.

ROBERTS. I really did n't know that I had a right to views!

ENID. He's an old man, and you----

[Seeing his eyes fixed on her, she stops.]

ROBERTS. [Without raising his voice.] If I saw Mr. Anthony going to

die, and I could save him by lifting my hand, I would not lift the

little finger of it.

ENID. You--you----[She stops again, biting her lips.]

ROBERTS. I would not, and that's flat!

ENID. [Coldly.] You don't mean what you say, and you know it!

ROBERTS. I mean every word of it.

ENID. But why?

ROBERTS. [With a flash.] Mr. Anthony stands for tyranny! That's

why!

ENID. Nonsense!

[MRS. ROBERTS makes a movement as if to rise, but sinks back in

her chair.]

ENID. [With an impetuous movement.] Annie!

ROBERTS. Please not to touch my wife!

ENID. [Recoiling with a sort of horror.] I believe--you are mad.

ROBERTS. The house of a madman then is not the fit place for a lady.

ENID. I 'm not afraid of you.

ROBERTS. [Bowing.] I would not expect the daughter of Mr. Anthony

to be afraid. Mr. Anthony is not a coward like the rest of them.

ENID. [Suddenly.] I suppose you think it brave, then, to go on with

the struggle.

ROBERTS. Does Mr. Anthony think it brave to fight against women and

children? Mr. Anthony is a rich man, I believe; does he think it

brave to fight against those who have n't a penny? Does he think it

brave to set children crying with hunger, an' women shivering with

cold?

ENID. [Putting up her hand, as though warding off a blow.] My

father is acting on his principles, and you know it!

ROBERTS. And so am I!

ENID. You hate us; and you can't bear to be beaten!

ROBERTS. Neither can Mr. Anthony, for all that he may say.

ENID. At any rate you might have pity on your wife.

[MRS. ROBERTS who has her hand pressed to her heart, takes it

away, and tries to calm her breathing.]

ROBERTS. Madam, I have no more to say.

[He takes up the loaf. There is a knock at the door, and

UNDERWOOD comes in. He stands looking at them, ENID turns to

him, then seems undecided.]

UNDERWOOD. Enid!

ROBERTS. [Ironically.] Ye were not needing to come for your wife,

Mr. Underwood. We are not rowdies.

UNDERWOOD. I know that, Roberts. I hope Mrs. Roberts is better.

[ROBERTS turns away without answering. Come, Enid!]

ENID. I make one more appeal to you, Mr. Roberts, for the sake of

your wife.

ROBERTS. [With polite malice.] If I might advise ye, Ma'am--make it

for the sake of your husband and your father.

[ENID, suppressing a retort, goes out. UNDERWOOD opens the door

for her and follows. ROBERTS, going to the fire, holds out his

hands to the dying glow.]

ROBERTS. How goes it, my girl? Feeling better, are you?

[MRS. ROBERTS smiles faintly. He brings his overcoat and wraps

it round her.]

[Looking at his watch.] Ten minutes to four! [As though inspired.]

I've seen their faces, there's no fight in them, except for that one

old robber.

MRS. ROBERTS. Won't you stop and eat, David? You've 'ad nothing all

day!

ROBERTS. [Putting his hand to his throat.] Can't swallow till those

old sharks are out o' the town: [He walks up and down.] I shall have

a bother with the men--there's no heart in them, the cowards. Blind

as bats, they are--can't see a day before their noses.

MRS. ROBERTS. It's the women, David.

ROBERTS. Ah! So they say! They can remember the women when their

own bellies speak! The women never stop them from the drink; but

from a little suffering to themselves in a sacred cause, the women

stop them fast enough.

MRS. ROBERTS. But think o' the children, David.

ROBERTS. Ah! If they will go breeding themselves for slaves,

without a thought o' the future o' them they breed----

MRS. ROBERTS. [Gasping.] That's enough, David; don't begin to talk

of that--I won't--I can't----

ROBERTS. [Staring at her.] Now, now, my girl!

MRS. ROBERTS. [Breathlessly.] No, no, David--I won't!

ROBERTS. There, there! Come, come! That's right! [Bitterly.] Not

one penny will they put by for a day like this. Not they! Hand to

mouth--Gad!--I know them! They've broke my heart. There was no

holdin' them at the start, but now the pinch 'as come.

MRS. ROBERTS. How can you expect it, David? They're not made of

iron.

ROBERTS. Expect it? Wouldn't I expect what I would do meself?

Wouldn't I starve an' rot rather than give in? What one man can do,

another can.

MRS. ROBERTS. And the women?

ROBERTS. This is not women's work.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With a flash of malice.] No, the women may die for

all you care. That's their work.

ROBERTS. [Averting his eyes.] Who talks of dying? No one will die

till we have beaten these----

[He meets her eyes again, and again turns his away. Excitedly.]

This is what I've been waiting for all these months. To get the old

robbers down, and send them home again without a farthin's worth o'

change. I 've seen their faces, I tell you, in the valley of the

shadow of defeat.

[He goes to the peg and takes down his hat.]

MRS. ROBERTS. [Following with her eyes-softly.] Take your overcoat,

David; it must be bitter cold.

ROBERTS. [Coming up to her-his eyes are furtive.] No, no! There,

there, stay quiet and warm. I won't be long, my girl.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With soft bitterness.] You'd better take it.

[She lifts the coat. But ROBERTS puts it back, and wraps it

round her. He tries to meet her eyes, but cannot. MRS.

ROBERTS stays huddled in the coat, her eyes, that follow him

about, are half malicious, half yearning. He looks at his watch

again, and turns to go. In the doorway he meets JAN THOMAS, a

boy of ten in clothes too big for him, carrying a penny

whistle.]

ROBERTS. Hallo, boy!

[He goes. JAN stops within a yard of MRS. ROBERTS, and stares

at her without a word.]

MRS. ROBERTS. Well, Jan!

JAN. Father 's coming; sister Madge is coming.

[He sits at the table, and fidgets with his whistle; he blows

three vague notes; then imitates a cuckoo.]

[There is a tap on the door. Old THOMAS comes in.]

THOMAS. A very coot tay to you, Ma'am. It is petter that you are.

MRS. ROBERTS. Thank you, Mr. Thomas.

THOMAS. [Nervously.] Roberts in?

MRS. ROBERTS. Just gone on to the meeting, Mr. Thomas.

THOMAS. [With relief, becoming talkative.] This is fery

unfortunate, look you! I came to tell him that we must make terms

with London. It is a fery great pity he is gone to the meeting. He

will be kicking against the pricks, I am thinking.

MRS. ROBERTS. [Half rising.] He'll never give in, Mr. Thomas.

THOMAS. You must not be fretting, that is very pat for you. Look

you, there iss hartly any mans for supporting him now, but the

engineers and George Rous. [Solemnly.] This strike is no longer

Going with Chapel, look you! I have listened carefully, an' I have

talked with her.

[JAN blows.]

Sst! I don't care what th' others say, I say that Chapel means us to

be stopping the trouple, that is what I make of her; and it is my

opinion that this is the fery best thing for all of us. If it was

n't my opinion, I ton't say but it is my opinion, look you.

MRS. ROBERTS. [Trying to suppress her excitement.] I don't know

what'll come to Roberts, if you give in.

THOMAS. It iss no disgrace whateffer! All that a mortal man coult

do he hass tone. It iss against Human Nature he hass gone; fery

natural any man may do that; but Chapel has spoken and he must not go

against her.

[JAN imitates the cuckoo.]

Ton't make that squeaking! [Going to the door.] Here iss my

daughter come to sit with you. A fery goot day, Ma'am--no fretting

--rememper!

[MADGE comes in and stands at the open door, watching the

street.]

MADGE. You'll be late, Father; they're beginning. [She catches him

by the sleeve.] For the love of God, stand up to him, Father--this

time!

THOMAS. [Detaching his sleeve with dignity.] Leave me to do what's

proper, girl!

[He goes out. MADGE, in the centre of the open doorway,

slowly moves in, as though before the approach of some one.]

ROUS. [Appearing in the doorway.] Madge!

[MADGE stands with her back to MRS. ROBERTS, staring at him with

her head up and her hands behind her.]

ROUS. [Who has a fierce distracted look.] Madge! I'm going to the

meeting.

[MADGE, without moving, smiles contemptuously.]

D' ye hear me?

[They speak in quick low voices.]

MADGE. I hear! Go, and kill your own mother, if you must.

[ROUS seizes her by both her arms. She stands rigid, with her head

bent back. He releases her, and he too stands motionless.]

ROUS. I swore to stand by Roberts. I swore that! Ye want me to go

back on what I've sworn.

MADGE. [With slow soft mockery.] You are a pretty lover!

ROUS. Madge!

MADGE. [Smiling.] I've heard that lovers do what their girls ask

them--

[JAN sounds the cuckoo's notes]

--but that's not true, it seems!

ROUS. You'd make a blackleg of me!

MADGE. [With her eyes half-closed.] Do it for me!

ROUS. [Dashing his hand across his brow.] Damn! I can't!

MADGE. [Swiftly.] Do it for me!

ROUS. [Through his teeth.] Don't play the wanton with me!

MADGE. [With a movement of her hand towards JAN--quick and low.]

I would be that for the children's sake!

ROUS. [In a fierce whisper.] Madge! Oh, Madge!

MADGE. [With soft mockery.] But you can't break your word for me!

ROUS. [With a choke.] Then, Begod, I can!

[He turns and rushes off.]

[MADGE Stands, with a faint smile on her face, looking after

him. She turns to MRS. ROBERTS.]

MADGE. I have done for Roberts!

MRS. ROBERTS. [Scornfully.] Done for my man, with that----!

[She sinks back.]

MADGE. [Running to her, and feeling her hands.] You're as cold as a

stone! You want a drop of brandy. Jan, run to the "Lion"; say, I

sent you for Mrs. Roberts.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With a feeble movement.] I'll just sit quiet, Madge.

Give Jan--his--tea.

MADGE. [Giving JAN a slice of bread.] There, ye little rascal.

Hold your piping. [Going to the fire, she kneels.] It's going out.

MRS. ROBERTS. [With a faint smile.] 'T is all the same!

[JAN begins to blow his whistle.]

MADGE. Tsht! Tsht!--you

[JAN Stops.]

MRS. ROBERTS. [Smiling.] Let 'im play, Madge.

MADGE. [On her knees at the fire, listening.] Waiting an' waiting.

I've no patience with it; waiting an' waiting--that's what a woman

has to do! Can you hear them at it--I can!

[JAN begins again to play his whistle; MADGE gets up; half

tenderly she ruffles his hair; then, sitting, leans her elbows

on the table, and her chin on her hands. Behind her, on MRS.

ROBERTS'S face the smile has changed to horrified surprise. She

makes a sudden movement, sitting forward, pressing her hands

against her breast. Then slowly she sinks' back; slowly her

face loses the look of pain, the smile returns. She fixes her

eyes again on JAN, and moves her lips and finger to the tune.]

The curtain falls.

SCENE II

It is past four. In a grey, failing light, an open muddy space

is crowded with workmen. Beyond, divided from it by a

barbed-wire fence, is the raised towing-path of a canal, on which

is moored a barge. In the distance are marshes and snow-covered

hills. The "Works" high wall runs from the canal across the open

space, and ivy the angle of this wall is a rude platform of

barrels and boards. On it, HARNESS is standing. ROBERTS, a

little apart from the crowd, leans his back against the wall. On

the raised towing-path two bargemen lounge and smoke

indifferently.

HARNESS. [Holding out his hand.] Well, I've spoken to you straight.

If I speak till to-morrow I can't say more.

JAGO. [A dark, sallow, Spanish-looking man with a short, thin

beard.] Mister, want to ask you! Can they get blacklegs?

BULGIN. [Menacing.] Let 'em try.

[There are savage murmurs from the crowd.]

BROWN. [A round-faced man.] Where could they get 'em then?

EVANS. [A small, restless, harassed man, with a fighting face.]

There's always blacklegs; it's the nature of 'em. There's always men

that'll save their own skins.

[Another savage murmur. There is a movement, and old THOMAS,

joining the crowd, takes his stand in front.]

HARNESS. [Holding up his hand.] They can't get them. But that

won't help you. Now men, be reasonable. Your demands would have

brought on us the burden of a dozen strikes at a time when we were

not prepared for them. The Unions live by justice, not to one, but

all. Any fair man will tell you--you were ill-advised! I don't say

you go too far for that which you're entitled to, but you're going

too far for the moment; you've dug a pit for yourselves. Are you to

stay there, or are you to climb out? Come!

LEWIS. [A clean-cut Welshman with a dark moustache.] You've hit it,

Mister! Which is it to be?

[Another movement in the crowd, and ROUS, coming quickly, takes

his stand next THOMAS.]

HARNESS. Cut your demands to the right pattern, and we 'll see you

through; refuse, and don't expect me to waste my time coming down

here again. I 'm not the sort that speaks at random, as you ought to

know by this time. If you're the sound men I take you for--no matter

who advises you against it--[he fixes his eyes on ROBERTS] you 'll

make up your minds to come in, and trust to us to get your terms.

Which is it to be? Hands together, and victory--or--the starvation

you've got now?

[A prolonged murmur from the crowd.]

JAGO. [Sullenly.] Talk about what you know.

HARNESS. [Lifting his voice above the murmur.] Know? [With cold

passion.] All that you've been through, my friend, I 've been

through--I was through it when I was no bigger than [pointing to a

youth] that shaver there; the Unions then were n't what they are

now. What's made them strong? It's hands together that 's made them

strong. I 've been through it all, I tell you, the brand's on my

soul yet. I know what you 've suffered--there's nothing you can tell

me that I don't know; but the whole is greater than the part, and you

are only the part. Stand by us, and we will stand by you.

[Quartering them with his eyes, he waits. The murmuring swells;

the men form little groups. GREEN, BULGIN, and LEWIS talk

together.]

LEWIS. Speaks very sensible, the Union chap.

GREEN. [Quietly.] Ah! if I 'd a been listened to, you'd 'ave 'eard

sense these two months past.

[The bargemen are seen laughing. ]

LEWIS. [Pointing.] Look at those two blanks over the fence there!

BULGIN. [With gloomy violence.] They'd best stop their cackle, or I

'll break their jaws.

JAGO. [Suddenly.] You say the furnace men's paid enough?

HARNESS. I did not say they were paid enough; I said they were paid

as much as the furnace men in similar works elsewhere.

EVANS. That's a lie! [Hubbub.] What about Harper's?

HARNESS. [With cold irony.] You may look at home for lies, my man.

Harper's shifts are longer, the pay works out the same.

HENRY ROUS. [A dark edition of his brother George.] Will ye support

us in double pay overtime Saturdays?

HARNESS. Yes, we will.

JAGO. What have ye done with our subscriptions?

HARNESS. [Coldly.] I have told you what we will do with them.

EVANS. Ah! will, it's always will! Ye'd have our mates desert us.

[Hubbub.]

BULGIN. [Shouting.] Hold your row!

[EVANS looks round angrily.]

HARNESS. [Lifting his voice.] Those who know their right hands from

their lefts know that the Unions are neither thieves nor traitors.

I 've said my say. Figure it out, my lads; when you want me you know

where I shall be.

[He jumps down, the crowd gives way, he passes through them, and

goes away. A BARGEMAN looks after him jerking his pipe with a

derisive gesture. The men close up in groups, and many looks

are cast at ROBERTS, who stands alone against the wall.]

EVANS. He wants ye to turn blacklegs, that's what he wants. He

wants ye to go back on us. Sooner than turn blackleg--I 'd starve, I

would.

BULGIN. Who's talkin' o' blacklegs--mind what you're saying, will

you?

BLACKSMITH. [A youth with yellow hair and huge arms.] What about

the women?

EVANS. They can stand what we can stand, I suppose, can't they?

BLACKSMITH. Ye've no wife?

EVANS. An' don't want one!

THOMAS. [Raising his voice.] Aye! Give us the power to come to

terms with London, lads.

DAVIES. [A dark, slow-fly, gloomy man.] Go up the platform, if you

got anything to say, go up an' say it.

[There are cries of "Thomas!" He is pushed towards the

platform; he ascends it with difficulty, and bares his head,

waiting for silence. A hush.]

RED-HAIRED YOUTH. [suddenly.] Coot old Thomas!

[A hoarse laugh; the bargemen exchange remarks; a hush again,

and THOMAS begins speaking.]

THOMAS. We are all in the tepth together, and it iss Nature that has

put us there.

HENRY ROUS. It's London put us there!

EVANS. It's the Union.

THOMAS. It iss not Lonton; nor it iss not the Union--it iss Nature.

It iss no disgrace whateffer to a potty to give in to Nature. For

this Nature iss a fery pig thing; it is pigger than what a man is.

There iss more years to my hett than to the hett of any one here.

It is fery pat, look you, this Going against Nature. It is pat to

make other potties suffer, when there is nothing to pe cot py it.

[A laugh. THOMAS angrily goes on.]

What are ye laughing at? It is pat, I say! We are fighting for a

principle; there is no potty that shall say I am not a peliever in

principle. Putt when Nature says "No further," then it is no coot

snapping your fingers in her face.

[A laugh from ROBERTS, and murmurs of approval.]

This Nature must pe humort. It is a man's pisiness to pe pure,

honest, just, and merciful. That's what Chapel tells you. [To

ROBERTS, angrily.] And, look you, David Roberts, Chapel tells you ye

can do that without Going against Nature.

JAGO. What about the Union?

THOMAS. I ton't trust the Union; they haf treated us like tirt.

"Do what we tell you," said they. I haf peen captain of the

furnace-men twenty years, and I say to the Union--[excitedly]--"Can you

tell me then, as well as I can tell you, what iss the right wages for

the work that these men do?" For fife and twenty years I haf paid my

moneys to the Union and--[with great excitement]--for nothings! What

iss that but roguery, for all that this Mr. Harness says!

EVANS. Hear, hear.

HENRY ROUS. Get on with you! Cut on with it then!

THOMAS. Look you, if a man toes not trust me, am I going to trust

him?

JAGO. That's right.

THOMAS. Let them alone for rogues, and act for ourselves.

[Murmurs.]

BLACKSMITH. That's what we been doin', haven't we?

THOMAS. [With increased excitement.] I wass brought up to do for

meself. I wass brought up to go without a thing, if I hat not moneys

to puy it. There iss too much, look you, of doing things with other

people's moneys. We haf fought fair, and if we haf peen beaten, it

iss no fault of ours. Gif us the power to make terms with London for

ourself; if we ton't succeed, I say it iss petter to take our peating

like men, than to tie like togs, or hang on to others' coat-tails to

make them do our pisiness for us!

EVANS. [Muttering.] Who wants to?

THOMAS. [Craning.] What's that? If I stand up to a potty, and he

knocks me town, I am not to go hollering to other potties to help me;

I am to stand up again; and if he knocks me town properly, I am to

stay there, is n't that right?

[Laughter.]

JAGO. No Union!

HENRY ROUS. Union!

[Murmurs.]

[Others take up the shout.]

EVANS. Blacklegs!

[BULGIN and the BLACKSMITH shake their fists at EVANS.]

THOMAS. [With a gesture.] I am an olt man, look you.

[A sudden silence, then murmurs again.]

LEWIS. Olt fool, with his "No Union!"

BULGIN. Them furnace chaps! For twopence I 'd smash the faces o'

the lot of them.

GREEN. If I'd a been listened to at the first!

THOMAS. [Wiping his brow.] I'm comin' now to what I was going to

say----

DAVIES. [Muttering.] An' time too!

THOMAS. [Solemnly.] Chapel says: Ton't carry on this strife! Put

an end to it!

JAGO. That's a lie! Chapel says go on!

THOMAS. [Scornfully.] Inteet! I haf ears to my head.

RED-HAIRED YOUTH. Ah! long ones!

[A laugh.]

JAGO. Your ears have misbeled you then.

THOMAS. [Excitedly.] Ye cannot be right if I am, ye cannot haf it

both ways.

RED-HAIRED YOUTH. Chapel can though!

["The Shaver" laughs; there are murmurs from the crowd.]

THOMAS. [Fixing his eyes on "The Shaver."] Ah! ye 're Going the

roat to tamnation. An' so I say to all of you. If ye co against

Chapel I will not pe with you, nor will any other Got-fearing man.

[He steps down from the platform. JAGO makes his way towards

it. There are cries of "Don't let 'im go up!"]

JAGO. Don't let him go up? That's free speech, that is. [He goes

up.] I ain't got much to say to you. Look at the matter plain; ye

've come the road this far, and now you want to chuck the journey.

We've all been in one boat; and now you want to pull in two. We

engineers have stood by you; ye 're ready now, are ye, to give us the

go-by? If we'd aknown that before, we'd not a-started out with you

so early one bright morning! That's all I 've got to say. Old man

Thomas a'n't got his Bible lesson right. If you give up to London,

or to Harness, now, it's givin' us the chuck--to save your skins--you

won't get over that, my boys; it's a dirty thing to do.

[He gets down; during his little speech, which is ironically

spoken, there is a restless discomfort in the crowd. ROUS,

stepping forward, jumps on the platform. He has an air of

fierce distraction. Sullen murmurs of disapproval from the

crowd.]

ROUS. [Speaking with great excitement.] I'm no blanky orator,

mates, but wot I say is drove from me. What I say is yuman nature.

Can a man set an' see 'is mother starve? Can 'e now?

ROBERTS. [Starting forward.] Rous!

ROUS. [Staring at him fiercely.] Sim 'Arness said fair! I've

changed my mind!

ROBERTS. Ah! Turned your coat you mean!

[The crowd manifests a great surprise.]

LEWIS. [Apostrophising Rous.] Hallo! What's turned him round?

ROUS. [Speaking with intense excitement.] 'E said fair. "Stand by

us," 'e said, "and we'll stand by you." That's where we've been

makin' our mistake this long time past; and who's to blame fort? [He

points at ROBERTS] That man there! "No," 'e said, "fight the

robbers," 'e said, "squeeze the breath out o' them!" But it's not the

breath out o' them that's being squeezed; it's the breath out of us

and ours, and that's the book of truth. I'm no orator, mates, it's

the flesh and blood in me that's speakin', it's the heart o' me.

[With a menacing, yet half-ashamed movement towards ROBERTS.] He'll

speak to you again, mark my words, but don't ye listen. [The crowd

groans.] It's hell fire that's on that man's tongue. [ROBERTS is

seen laughing.] Sim 'Arness is right. What are we without the

Union--handful o' parched leaves--a puff o' smoke. I'm no orator,

but I say: Chuck it up! Chuck it up! Sooner than go on starving the

women and the children.

[The murmurs of acquiescence almost drown the murmurs of

dissent.]

EVANS. What's turned you to blacklegging?

ROUS. [With a furious look.] Sim 'Arness knows what he's talking

about. Give us power to come to terms with London; I'm no orator,

but I say--have done wi' this black misery!

[He gives his muter a twist, jerks his head back, and jumps off

the platform. The crowd applauds and surges forward. Amid

cries of "That's enough!" "Up Union!" "Up Harness!" ROBERTS

quietly ascends the platform. There is a moment of silence.]

BLACKSMITH. We don't want to hear you. Shut it!

HENRY Rous. Get down!

[Amid such cries they surge towards the platform.]

EVANS. [Fiercely.] Let 'im speak! Roberts! Roberts!

BULGIN. [Muttering.] He'd better look out that I don't crack his

skull.

[ROBERTS faces the crowd, probing them with his eyes till they

gradually become silent. He begins speaking. One of the

bargemen rises and stands.]

ROBERTS. You don't want to hear me, then? You'll listen to Rous and

to that old man, but not to me. You'll listen to Sim Harness of the

Union that's treated you so fair; maybe you'll listen to those men

from London? Ah! You groan! What for? You love their feet on your

necks, don't you? [Then as BULGIN elbows his way towards the

platform, with calm bathos.] You'd like to break my jaw, John

Bulgin. Let me speak, then do your smashing, if it gives you

pleasure. [BULGIN Stands motionless and sullen.] Am I a liar, a

coward, a traitor? If only I were, ye'd listen to me, I'm sure.

[The murmurings cease, and there is now dead silence.] Is there a

man of you here that has less to gain by striking? Is there a man of

you that had more to lose? Is there a man of you that has given up

eight hundred pounds since this trouble here began? Come now, is

there? How much has Thomas given up--ten pounds or five, or what?

You listened to him, and what had he to say? "None can pretend," he

said, "that I'm not a believer in principle--[with biting irony]--but

when Nature says: 'No further, 't es going agenst Nature.'" I tell

you if a man cannot say to Nature: "Budge me from this if ye can!"--

[with a sort of exaltation]his principles are but his belly. "Oh,

but," Thomas says, "a man can be pure and honest, just and merciful,

and take off his hat to Nature!" I tell you Nature's neither pure

nor honest, just nor merciful. You chaps that live over the hill,

an' go home dead beat in the dark on a snowy night--don't ye fight

your way every inch of it? Do ye go lyin' down an' trustin' to the

tender mercies of this merciful Nature? Try it and you'll soon know

with what ye've got to deal. 'T es only by that--[he strikes a blow

with his clenched fist]--in Nature's face that a man can be a man.

"Give in," says Thomas, "go down on your knees; throw up your foolish

fight, an' perhaps," he said, "perhaps your enemy will chuck you down

a crust."

JAGO. Never!

EVANS. Curse them!

THOMAS. I nefer said that.

ROBERTS. [Bitingly.] If ye did not say it, man, ye meant it.

An' what did ye say about Chapel? "Chapel's against it," ye said.

"She 's against it!" Well, if Chapel and Nature go hand in hand,

it's the first I've ever heard of it. That young man there--

[pointing to ROUS]--said I 'ad 'ell fire on my tongue. If I had I

would use it all to scorch and wither this talking of surrender.

Surrendering 's the work of cowards and traitors.

HENRY ROUS. [As GEORGE ROUS moves forward.] Go for him, George--

don't stand his lip!

ROBERTS. [Flinging out his finger.] Stop there, George Rous, it's

no time this to settle personal matters. [ROUS stops.] But there

was one other spoke to you--Mr. Simon Harness. We have not much to

thank Mr. Harness and the Union for. They said to us "Desert your

mates, or we'll desert you." An' they did desert us.

EVANS. They did.

ROBERTS. Mr. Simon Harness is a clever man, but he has come too

late. [With intense conviction.] For all that Mr. Simon Harness

says, for all that Thomas, Rous, for all that any man present here

can say--We've won the fight!

[The crowd sags nearer, looking eagerly up.]

[With withering scorn.] You've felt the pinch o't in your bellies.

You've forgotten what that fight 'as been; many times I have told

you; I will tell you now this once again. The fight o' the country's

body and blood against a blood-sucker. The fight of those that spend

themselves with every blow they strike and every breath they draw,

against a thing that fattens on them, and grows and grows by the law

of merciful Nature. That thing is Capital! A thing that buys the

sweat o' men's brows, and the tortures o' their brains, at its own

price. Don't I know that? Wasn't the work o' my brains bought for

seven hundred pounds, and has n't one hundred thousand pounds been

gained them by that seven hundred without the stirring of a finger.

It is a thing that will take as much and give you as little as it

can. That's Capital! A thing that will say--"I'm very sorry for

you, poor fellows--you have a cruel time of it, I know," but will not

give one sixpence of its dividends to help you have a better time.

That's Capital! Tell me, for all their talk, is there one of them

that will consent to another penny on the Income Tax to help the

poor? That's Capital! A white-faced, stony-hearted monster! Ye

have got it on its knees; are ye to give up at the last minute to

save your miserable bodies pain? When I went this morning to those

old men from London, I looked into their very 'earts. One of them

was sitting there--Mr. Scantlebury, a mass of flesh nourished on us:

sittin' there for all the world like the shareholders in this

Company, that sit not moving tongue nor finger, takin' dividends a

great dumb ox that can only be roused when its food is threatened.

I looked into his eyes and I saw he was afraid--afraid for himself

and his dividends; afraid for his fees, afraid of the very

shareholders he stands for; and all but one of them's afraid--like

children that get into a wood at night, and start at every rustle of

the leaves. I ask you, men--[he pauses, holding out his hand till

there is utter silence]--give me a free hand to tell them: "Go you

back to London. The men have nothing for you!" [A murmuring.] Give

me that, an' I swear to you, within a week you shall have from London

all you want.

EVANS, JAGO, and OTHERS. A free hand! Give him a free hand! Bravo

--bravo!

ROBERTS. 'T is not for this little moment of time we're fighting

[the murmuring dies], not for ourselves, our own little bodies, and

their wants, 't is for all those that come after throughout all time.

[With intense sadness.] Oh! men--for the love o' them, don't roll

up another stone upon their heads, don't help to blacken the sky, an'

let the bitter sea in over them. They're welcome to the worst that

can happen to me, to the worst that can happen to us all, are n't

they--are n't they? If we can shake [passionately] that white-faced

monster with the bloody lips, that has sucked the life out of

ourselves, our wives, and children, since the world began. [Dropping

the note of passion but with the utmost weight and intensity.] If we

have not the hearts of men to stand against it breast to breast, and

eye to eye, and force it backward till it cry for mercy, it will go

on sucking life; and we shall stay forever what we are [in almost a

whisper], less than the very dogs.

[An utter stillness, and ROBERTS stands rocking his body

slightly, with his eyes burning the faces of the crowd.]

EVANS and JAGO. [Suddenly.] Roberts! [The shout is taken up.]

[There is a slight movement in the crowd, and MADGE passing

below the towing-path, stops by the platform, looking up at

ROBERTS. A sudden doubting silence.]

ROBERTS. "Nature," says that old man, "give in to Nature." I tell

you, strike your blow in Nature's face--an' let it do its worst!

[He catches sight of MADGE, his brows contract, he looks away.]

MADGE. [In a low voice-close to the platform.] Your wife's dying!

[ROBERTS glares at her as if torn from some pinnacle of

exaltation.]

ROBERTS. [Trying to stammer on.] I say to you--answer them--answer

them----

[He is drowned by the murmur in the crowd.]

THOMAS. [Stepping forward.] Ton't you hear her, then?

ROBERTS. What is it? [A dead silence.]

THOMAS. Your wife, man!

[ROBERTS hesitates, then with a gesture, he leaps down, and goes

away below the towing-path, the men making way for him. The

standing bargeman opens and prepares to light a lantern.

Daylight is fast failing.]

MADGE. He need n't have hurried! Annie Roberts is dead. [Then in

the silence, passionately.] You pack of blinded hounds! How many

more women are you going to let to die?

[The crowd shrinks back from her, and breaks up in groups, with

a confused, uneasy movement. MADGE goes quickly away below the

towing-path. There is a hush as they look after her.]

LEWIS. There's a spitfire, for ye!

BULGIN. [Growling.] I'll smash 'er jaw.

GREEN. If I'd a-been listened to, that poor woman----

THOMAS. It's a judgment on him for going against Chapel. I tolt him

how 't would be!

EVANS. All the more reason for sticking by 'im. [A cheer.] Are you

goin' to desert him now 'e 's down? Are you going to chuck him over,

now 'e 's lost 'is wife?

[The crowd is murmuring and cheering all at once.]

ROUS. [Stepping in front of platform.] Lost his wife! Aye! Can't

ye see? Look at home, look at your own wives! What's to save them?

Ye'll have the same in all your houses before long!

LEWIS. Aye, aye!

HENRY ROUS. Right! George, right!

[There are murmurs of assent.]

ROUS. It's not us that's blind, it's Roberts. How long will ye put

up with 'im!

HENRY, ROUS, BULGIN, DAVIES. Give 'im the chuck!

[The cry is taken up.]

EVANS. [Fiercely.] Kick a man that's down? Down?

HENRY ROUS. Stop his jaw there!

[EVANS throws up his arm at a threat from BULGIN. The bargeman,

who has lighted the lantern, holds it high above his head.]

ROUS. [Springing on to the platform.] What brought him down then,

but 'is own black obstinacy? Are ye goin' to follow a man that can't

see better than that where he's goin'?

EVANS. He's lost 'is wife.

ROUS. An' who's fault's that but his own. 'Ave done with 'im, I

say, before he's killed your own wives and mothers.

DAVIES. Down 'im!

HENRY ROUS. He's finished!

BROWN. We've had enough of 'im!

BLACKSMITH. Too much!

[The crowd takes up these cries, excepting only EVANS, JAGO, and

GREEN, who is seen to argue mildly with the BLACKSMITH.]

ROUS. [Above the hubbub.] We'll make terms with the Union, lads.

[Cheers.]

EVANS. [Fiercely.] Ye blacklegs!

BULGIN. [Savagely-squaring up to him.] Who are ye callin'

blacklegs, Rat?

[EVANS throws up his fists, parries the blow, and returns it.

They fight. The bargemen are seen holding up the lantern and

enjoying the sight. Old THOMAS steps forward and holds out his

hands.]

THOMAS. Shame on your strife!

[The BLACKSMITH, BROWN, LEWIS, and the RED-HAIRED YOUTH pull

EVANS and BULGIN apart. The stage is almost dark.]

The curtain falls.

ACT III

It is five o'clock. In the UNDERWOODS' drawing-room, which is

artistically furnished, ENID is sitting on the sofa working at a

baby's frock. EDGAR, by a little spindle-legged table in the

centre of the room, is fingering a china-box. His eyes are

fixed on the double-doors that lead into the dining-room.

EDGAR. [Putting down the china-box, and glancing at his watch.]

Just on five, they're all in there waiting, except Frank. Where's

he?

ENID. He's had to go down to Gasgoyne's about a contract. Will you

want him?

EDGAR. He can't help us. This is a director's job. [Motioning

towards a single door half hidden by a curtain.] Father in his room?

ENID. Yes.

EDGAR. I wish he'd stay there, Enid.

[ENID looks up at him. This is a beastly business, old girl?]

[He takes up the little box again and turns it over and over.]

ENID. I went to the Roberts's this afternoon, Ted.

EDGAR. That was n't very wise.

ENID. He's simply killing his wife.

EDGAR. We are you mean.

ENID. [Suddenly.] Roberts ought to give way!

EDGAR. There's a lot to be said on the men's side.

ENID. I don't feel half so sympathetic with them as I did before I

went. They just set up class feeling against you. Poor Annie was

looking dread fully bad--fire going out, and nothing fit for her to

eat.

[EDGAR walks to and fro.]

But she would stand up for Roberts. When you see all this

wretchedness going on and feel you can do nothing, you have to shut

your eyes to the whole thing.

EDGAR. If you can.

ENID. When I went I was all on their side, but as soon as I got

there I began to feel quite different at once. People talk about

sympathy with the working classes, they don't know what it means to

try and put it into practice. It seems hopeless.

EDGAR. Ah! well.

ENID. It's dreadful going on with the men in this state. I do hope

the Dad will make concessions.

EDGAR. He won't. [Gloomily.] It's a sort of religion with him.

Curse it! I know what's coming! He'll be voted down.

ENID. They would n't dare!

EDGAR. They will--they're in a funk.

ENID. [Indignantly.] He'd never stand it!

EDGAR. [With a shrug.] My dear girl, if you're beaten in a vote,

you've got to stand it.

ENID. Oh! [She gets up in alarm.] But would he resign?

EDGAR. Of course! It goes to the roots of his beliefs.

ENID. But he's so wrapped up in this company, Ted! There'd be

nothing left for him! It'd be dreadful!

[EDGAR shrugs his shoulders.]

Oh, Ted, he's so old now! You must n't let them!

EDGAR. [Hiding his feelings in an outburst.] My sympathies in this

strike are all on the side of the men.

ENID. He's been Chairman for more than thirty years! He made the

whole thing! And think of the bad times they've had; it's always

been he who pulled them through. Oh, Ted, you must!

EDGAR. What is it you want? You said just now you hoped he'd make

concessions. Now you want me to back him in not making them. This

is n't a game, Enid!

ENID. [Hotly.] It is n't a game to me that the Dad's in danger of

losing all he cares about in life. If he won't give way, and he's

beaten, it'll simply break him down!

EDGAR. Did n't you say it was dreadful going on with the men in this

state?

ENID. But can't you see, Ted, Father'll never get over it! You must

stop them somehow. The others are afraid of him. If you back him

up----

EDGAR. [Putting his hand to his head.] Against my convictions--

against yours! The moment it begins to pinch one personally----

ENID. It is n't personal, it's the Dad!

EDGAR. Your family or yourself, and over goes the show!

ENID. [Resentfully.] If you don't take it seriously, I do.

EDGAR. I am as fond of him as you are; that's nothing to do with it.

ENID. We can't tell about the men; it's all guess-work. But we know

the Dad might have a stroke any day. D' you mean to say that he

isn't more to you than----

EDGAR. Of course he is.

ENID. I don't understand you then.

EDGAR. H'm!

ENID. If it were for oneself it would be different, but for our own

Father! You don't seem to realise.

EDGAR. I realise perfectly.

ENID. It's your first duty to save him.

EDGAR. I wonder.

ENID. [Imploring.] Oh, Ted? It's the only interest he's got left;

it'll be like a death-blow to him!

EDGAR. [Restraining his emotion.] I know.

ENID. Promise!

EDGAR. I'll do what I can.

[He turns to the double-doors.]

[The curtained door is opened, and ANTHONY appears. EDGAR opens

the double-doors, and passes through.]

[SCANTLEBURY'S voice is faintly heard: "Past five; we shall

never get through--have to eat another dinner at that hotel!"

The doors are shut. ANTHONY walks forward.]

ANTHONY. You've been seeing Roberts, I hear.

ENID. Yes.

ANTHONY. Do you know what trying to bridge such a gulf as this is

like?

[ENID puts her work on the little table, and faces him.]

Filling a sieve with sand!

ENID. Don't!

ANTHONY. You think with your gloved hands you can cure the trouble

of the century.

[He passes on. ]

ENID. Father!

[ANTHONY Stops at the double doors.]

I'm only thinking of you!

ANTHONY. [More softly.] I can take care of myself, my dear.

ENID. Have you thought what'll happen if you're beaten--

[she points]--in there?

ANTHONY. I don't mean to be.

ENID. Oh! Father, don't give them a chance. You're not well; need

you go to the meeting at all?

ANTHONY. [With a grim smile.] Cut and run?

ENID. But they'll out-vote you!

ANTHONY. [Putting his hand on the doors.] We shall see!

ENID. I beg you, Dad! Won't you?

[ANTHONY looks at her softly.]

[ANTHONY shakes his head. He opens the doors. A buzz of voices

comes in.]

SCANTLEBURY. Can one get dinner on that 6.30 train up?

TENCH. No, Sir, I believe not, sir.

WILDER. Well, I shall speak out; I've had enough of this.

EDGAR. [Sharply.] What?

[It ceases instantly. ANTHONY passes through, closing the doors

behind him. ENID springs to them with a gesture of dismay. She

puts her hand on the knob, and begins turning it; then goes to

the fireplace, and taps her foot on the fender. Suddenly she

rings the bell. FROST comes in by the door that leads into the

hall.]

FROST. Yes, M'm?

ENID. When the men come, Frost, please show them in here; the

hall 's cold.

FROST. I could put them in the pantry, M'm.

ENID. No. I don't want to--to offend them; they're so touchy.

FROST. Yes, M'm. [Pause.] Excuse me, Mr. Anthony's 'ad nothing to

eat all day.

ENID. I know Frost.

FROST. Nothin' but two whiskies and sodas, M'm.

ENID. Oh! you oughtn't to have let him have those.

FROST. [Gravely.] Mr. Anthony is a little difficult, M'm. It's not

as if he were a younger man, an' knew what was good for 'im; he will

have his own way.

ENID. I suppose we all want that.

FROST. Yes, M'm. [Quietly.] Excuse me speakin' about the strike.

I'm sure if the other gentlemen were to give up to Mr. Anthony, and

quietly let the men 'ave what they want, afterwards, that'd be the

best way. I find that very useful with him at times, M'm.

[ENID shakes hey head.]

If he's crossed, it makes him violent. [with an air of discovery],

and I've noticed in my own case, when I'm violent I'm always sorry

for it afterwards.

ENID. [With a smile.] Are you ever violent, Frost?

FROST. Yes, M'm; oh! sometimes very violent.

ENID. I've never seen you.

FROST. [Impersonally.] No, M'm; that is so.

[ENID fidgets towards the back of the door.]

[With feeling.] Bein' with Mr. Anthony, as you know, M'm, ever since

I was fifteen, it worries me to see him crossed like this at his age.

I've taken the liberty to speak to Mr. Wanklin [dropping his voice]--

seems to be the most sensible of the gentlemen--but 'e said to me:

"That's all very well, Frost, but this strike's a very serious

thing," 'e said. "Serious for all parties, no doubt," I said, "but

yumour 'im, sir," I said, "yumour 'im. It's like this, if a man

comes to a stone wall, 'e does n't drive 'is 'ead against it, 'e gets

over it." "Yes," 'e said, "you'd better tell your master that."

[FROST looks at his nails.] That's where it is, M'm. I said to Mr.

Anthony this morning: "Is it worth it, sir?" "Damn it," he said to

me, "Frost! Mind your own business, or take a month's notice!" Beg

pardon, M'm, for using such a word.

ENID. [Moving to the double-doors, and listening.] Do you know that

man Roberts, Frost?

FROST. Yes, M'm; that's to say, not to speak to. But to look at 'im

you can tell what he's like.

ENID. [Stopping.] Yes?

FROST. He's not one of these 'ere ordinary 'armless Socialists.

'E's violent; got a fire inside 'im. What I call "personal." A man

may 'ave what opinions 'e likes, so long as 'e 's not personal; when

'e 's that 'e 's not safe.

ENID. I think that's what my father feels about Roberts.

FROST. No doubt, M'm, Mr. Anthony has a feeling against him.

[ENID glances at him sharply, but finding him in perfect

earnest, stands biting her lips, and looking at the

double-doors.]

It 's, a regular right down struggle between the two. I've no

patience with this Roberts, from what I 'ear he's just an ordinary

workin' man like the rest of 'em. If he did invent a thing he's no

worse off than 'undreds of others. My brother invented a new kind o'

dumb-waiter--nobody gave him anything for it, an' there it is, bein'

used all over the place.

[ENID moves closer to the double-doors.]

There's a kind o' man that never forgives the world, because 'e

wasn't born a gentleman. What I say is--no man that's a gentleman

looks down on another because 'e 'appens to be a class or two above

'im, no more than if 'e 'appens to be a class or two below.

ENID. [With slight impatience.] Yes, I know, Frost, of course.

Will you please go in and ask if they'll have some tea; say I sent

you.

FROST. Yes, M'm.

[He opens the doors gently and goes in. There is a momentary

sound of earnest, gather angry talk.]

WILDER. I don't agree with you.

WANKLIN. We've had this over a dozen times.

EDGAR. [Impatiently.] Well, what's the proposition?

SCANTLEBURY. Yes, what does your father say? Tea? Not for me, not

for me!

WANKLIN. What I understand the Chairman to say is this----

[FROST re-enters closing the door behind him.]

ENID. [Moving from the door.] Won't they have any tea, Frost?

[She goes to the little table, and remains motionless, looking

at the baby's frock.]

[A parlourmaid enters from the hall.]

PARLOURMAID. A Miss Thomas, M'm

ENID. [Raising her head.] Thomas? What Miss Thomas--d' you

mean a----?

PARLOURMAID. Yes, M'm.

ENID. [Blankly.] Oh! Where is she?

PARLOURMAID. In the porch.

ENID. I don't want----[She hesitates.]

FROST. Shall I dispose of her, M'm?

ENID. I 'll come out. No, show her in here, Ellen.

[The PARLOUR MAID and FROST go out. ENID pursing her lips, sits

at the little table, taking up the baby's frock. The

PARLOURMAID ushers in MADGE THOMAS and goes out; MADGE stands by

the door.]

ENID. Come in. What is it. What have you come for, please?

MADGE. Brought a message from Mrs. Roberts.

ENID. A message? Yes.

MADGE. She asks you to look after her mother.

ENID. I don't understand.

MADGE. [Sullenly.] That's the message.

ENID. But--what--why?

MADGE. Annie Roberts is dead.

[There is a silence.]

ENID. [Horrified.] But it's only a little more than an hour since I

saw her.

MADGE. Of cold and hunger.

ENID. [Rising.] Oh! that's not true! the poor thing's heart----

What makes you look at me like that? I tried to help her.

MADGE. [With suppressed savagery.] I thought you'd like to know.

ENID. [Passionately.] It's so unjust! Can't you see that I want to

help you all?

MADGE. I never harmed any one that had n't harmed me first.

ENID. [Coldly.] What harm have I done you? Why do you speak to me

like that?

MADGE. [With the bitterest intensity.] You come out of your comfort

to spy on us! A week of hunger, that's what you want!

ENID. [Standing her ground.] Don't talk nonsense!

MADGE. I saw her die; her hands were blue with the cold.

ENID. [With a movement of grief.] Oh! why wouldn't she let me help

her? It's such senseless pride!

MADGE. Pride's better than nothing to keep your body warm.

ENID. [Passionately.] I won't talk to you! How can you tell what I

feel? It's not my fault that I was born better off than you.

MADGE. We don't want your money.

ENID. You don't understand, and you don't want to; please to go

away!

MADGE. [Balefully.] You've killed her, for all your soft words, you

and your father!

ENID. [With rage and emotion.] That's wicked! My father is

suffering himself through this wretched strike.

MADGE. [With sombre triumph.] Then tell him Mrs. Roberts is dead!

That 'll make him better.

ENID. Go away!

MADGE. When a person hurts us we get it back on them.

[She makes a sudden and swift movement towards ENID, fixing her

eyes on the child's frock lying across the little table. ENID

snatches the frock up, as though it were the child itself. They

stand a yard apart, crossing glances.]

MADGE. [Pointing to the frock with a little smile.] Ah! You felt

that! Lucky it's her mother--not her children--you've to look after,

is n't it. She won't trouble you long!

ENID. Go away!

MADGE. I've given you the message.

[She turns and goes out into the hall. ENID, motionless till

she has gone, sinks down at the table, bending her head over the

frock, which she is still clutching to her. The double-doors

are opened, and ANTHONY comes slowly in; he passes his daughter,

and lowers himself into an arm-chair. He is very flushed.]

ENID. [Hiding her emotion-anxiously.] What is it, Dad?

[ANTHONY makes a gesture, but does not speak.]

Who was it?

[ANTHONY does not answer. ENID going to the double-doors meets

EDGAR Coming in. They speak together in low tones.]

What is it, Ted?

EDGAR. That fellow Wilder! Taken to personalities! He was

downright insulting.

ENID. What did he say?

EDGAR. Said, Father was too old and feeble to know what he was

doing! The Dad's worth six of him!

ENID. Of course he is.

[They look at ANTHONY.]

[The doors open wider, WANKLIN appears With SCANTLEBURY.]

SCANTLEBURY. [Sotto voce.] I don't like the look of this!

WANKLIN. [Going forward.] Come, Chairman! Wilder sends you his

apologies. A man can't do more.

[WILDER, followed by TENCH, comes in, and goes to ANTHONY.]

WILDER. [Glumly.] I withdraw my words, sir. I'm sorry.

[ANTHONY nods to him.]

ENID. You have n't come to a decision, Mr. Wanklin?

[WANKLIN shakes his head.]

WANKLIN. We're all here, Chairman; what do you say? Shall we get on

with the business, or shall we go back to the other room?

SCANTLEBURY. Yes, yes; let's get on. We must settle something.

[He turns from a small chair, and settles himself suddenly in

the largest chair with a sigh of comfort.]

[WILDER and WANKLIN also sit; and TENCH, drawing up a

straight-backed chair close to his Chairman, sits on the edge

of it with the minute-book and a stylographic pen.]

ENID. [Whispering.] I want to speak to you a minute, Ted.

[They go out through the double-doors.]

WANKLIN. Really, Chairman, it's no use soothing ourselves with a

sense of false security. If this strike's not brought to an end

before the General Meeting, the shareholders will certainly haul us

over the coals.

SCANTLEBURY. [Stirring.] What--what's that?

WANKLIN. I know it for a fact.

ANTHONY. Let them!

WILDER. And get turned out?

WANKLIN. [To ANTHONY.] I don't mind martyrdom for a policy in which

I believe, but I object to being burnt for some one else's

principles.

SCANTLEBURY. Very reasonable--you must see that, Chairman.

ANTHONY. We owe it to other employers to stand firm.

WANKLIN. There's a limit to that.

ANTHONY. You were all full of fight at the start.

SCANTLEBURY. [With a sort of groan.] We thought the men would give

in, but they-have n't!

ANTHONY. They will!

WILDER. [Rising and pacing up and down.] I can't have my reputation

as a man of business destroyed for the satisfaction of starving the

men out. [Almost in tears.] I can't have it! How can we meet the

shareholders with things in the state they are?

SCANTLEBURY. Hear, hear--hear, hear!

WILDER. [Lashing himself.] If any one expects me to say to them

I've lost you fifty thousand pounds and sooner than put my pride in

my pocket I'll lose you another. [Glancing at ANTHONY.] It's--it's

unnatural! I don't want to go against you, sir.

WANKLIN. [Persuasively.] Come Chairman, we 're not free agents.

We're part of a machine. Our only business is to see the Company

earns as much profit as it safely can. If you blame me for want of

principle: I say that we're Trustees. Reason tells us we shall never

get back in the saving of wages what we shall lose if we continue

this struggle--really, Chairman, we must bring it to an end, on the

best terms we can make.

ANTHONY. No.

[There is a pause of general dismay.]

WILDER. It's a deadlock then. [Letting his hands drop with a sort

of despair.] Now I shall never get off to Spain!

WANKLIN. [Retaining a trace of irony.] You hear the consequences of

your victory, Chairman?

WILDER. [With a burst of feeling.] My wife's ill!

SCANTLEBURY. Dear, dear! You don't say so.

WILDER. If I don't get her out of this cold, I won't answer for the

consequences.

[Through the double-doors EDGAR comes in looking very grave.]

EDGAR. [To his Father.] Have you heard this, sir? Mrs. Roberts is

dead!

[Every one stages at him, as if trying to gauge the importance

of this news.]

Enid saw her this afternoon, she had no coals, or food, or anything.

It's enough!

[There is a silence, every one avoiding the other's eyes, except

ANTHONY, who stares hard at his son.]

SCANTLEBURY. You don't suggest that we could have helped the poor

thing?

WILDER. [Flustered.] The woman was in bad health. Nobody can say

there's any responsibility on us. At least--not on me.

EDGAR. [Hotly.] I say that we are responsible.

ANTHONY. War is war!

EDGAR. Not on women!

WANKLIN. It not infrequently happens that women are the greatest

sufferers.

EDGAR. If we knew that, all the more responsibility rests on us.

ANTHONY. This is no matter for amateurs.

EDGAR. Call me what you like, sir. It's sickened me. We had no

right to carry things to such a length.

WILDER. I don't like this business a bit--that Radical rag will

twist it to their own ends; see if they don't! They'll get up some

cock and bull story about the poor woman's dying from starvation. I

wash my hands of it.

EDGAR. You can't. None of us can.

SCANTLEBURY. [Striking his fist on the arm of his chair.] But I

protest against this!

EDGAR. Protest as you like, Mr. Scantlebury, it won't alter facts.

ANTHONY. That's enough.

EDGAR. [Facing him angrily.] No, sir. I tell you exactly what I

think. If we pretend the men are not suffering, it's humbug; and if

they're suffering, we know enough of human nature to know the women

are suffering more, and as to the children--well--it's damnable!

[SCANTLEBURY rises from his chair.]

I don't say that we meant to be cruel, I don't say anything of the

sort; but I do say it's criminal to shut our eyes to the facts. We

employ these men, and we can't get out of it. I don't care so much

about the men, but I'd sooner resign my position on the Board than go

on starving women in this way.

[All except ANTHONY are now upon their feet, ANTHONY sits

grasping the arms of his chair and staring at his son.]

SCANTLEBURY. I don't--I don't like the way you're putting it, young

sir.

WANKLIN. You're rather overshooting the mark.

WILDER. I should think so indeed!

EDGAR. [Losing control.] It's no use blinking things! If you want

to have the death of women on your hands--I don't!

SCANTLEBURY. Now, now, young man!

WILDER. On our hands? Not on mine, I won't have it!

EDGAR. We are five members of this Board; if we were four against

it, why did we let it drift till it came to this? You know perfectly

well why--because we hoped we should starve the men out. Well, all

we've done is to starve one woman out!

SCANTLEBURY. [Almost hysterically.] I protest, I protest! I'm a

humane man--we're all humane men!

EDGAR. [Scornfully.] There's nothing wrong with our humanity. It's

our imaginations, Mr. Scantlebury.

WILDER. Nonsense! My imagination's as good as yours.

EDGAR. If so, it is n't good enough.

WILDER. I foresaw this!

EDGAR. Then why didn't you put your foot down!

WILDER. Much good that would have done.

[He looks at ANTHONY.]

EDGAR. If you, and I, and each one of us here who say that our

imaginations are so good--

SCANTLEBURY. [Flurried.] I never said so.

EDGAR. [Paying no attention.]--had put our feet down, the thing

would have been ended long ago, and this poor woman's life wouldn't

have been crushed out of her like this. For all we can tell there

may be a dozen other starving women.

SCANTLEBURY. For God's sake, sir, don't use that word at a--at a

Board meeting; it's--it's monstrous.

EDGAR. I will use it, Mr. Scantlebury.

SCANTLEBURY. Then I shall not listen to you. I shall not listen!

It's painful to me.

[He covers his ears.]

WANKLIN. None of us are opposed to a settlement, except your Father.

EDGAR. I'm certain that if the shareholders knew----

WANKLIN. I don't think you'll find their imaginations are any better

than ours. Because a woman happens to have a weak heart----

EDGAR. A struggle like this finds out the weak spots in everybody.

Any child knows that. If it hadn't been for this cut-throat policy,

she need n't have died like this; and there would n't be all this

misery that any one who is n't a fool can see is going on.

[Throughout the foregoing ANTHONY has eyed his son; he now moves

as though to rise, but stops as EDGAR speaks again.]

I don't defend the men, or myself, or anybody.

WANKLIN. You may have to! A coroner's jury of disinterested

sympathisers may say some very nasty things. We mustn't lose sight

of our position.

SCANTLEBURY. [Without uncovering his ears.] Coroner's jury! No,

no, it's not a case for that!

EDGAR. I 've had enough of cowardice.

WANKLIN. Cowardice is an unpleasant word, Mr. Edgar Anthony. It

will look very like cowardice if we suddenly concede the men's

demands when a thing like this happens; we must be careful!

WILDER. Of course we must. We've no knowledge of this matter,

except a rumour. The proper course is to put the whole thing into

the hands of Harness to settle for us; that's natural, that's what we

should have come to any way.

SCANTLEBURY. [With dignity.] Exactly! [Turning to EDGAR.] And as

to you, young sir, I can't sufficiently express my--my distaste for

the way you've treated the whole matter. You ought to withdraw!

Talking of starvation, talking of cowardice! Considering what our

views are! Except your own is--is one of goodwill--it's most

irregular, it's most improper, and all I can say is it's--it's given

me pain----

[He places his hand over his heart.]

EDGAR. [Stubbornly.] I withdraw nothing.

[He is about to say mote when SCANTLEBURY once more coveys up

his ears. TENCH suddenly makes a demonstration with the

minute-book. A sense of having been engaged in the unusual comes

over all of them, and one by one they resume their seats. EDGAR

alone remains on his feet.]

WILDER. [With an air of trying to wipe something out.] I pay no

attention to what young Mr. Anthony has said. Coroner's jury! The

idea's preposterous. I--I move this amendment to the Chairman's

Motion: That the dispute be placed at once in the hands of Mr. Simon

Harness for settlement, on the lines indicated by him this morning.

Any one second that?

[TENCH writes in his book.]

WANKLIN. I do.

WILDER. Very well, then; I ask the Chairman to put it to the Board.

ANTHONY. [With a great sigh-slowly.] We have been made the subject

of an attack. [Looking round at WILDER and SCANTLEBURY with ironical

contempt.] I take it on my shoulders. I am seventy-six years old. I

have been Chairman of this Company since its inception two-and-thirty

years ago. I have seen it pass through good and evil report. My

connection with it began in the year that this young man was born.

[EDGAR bows his head. ANTHONY, gripping his chair, goes on.]

I have had do to with "men" for fifty years; I've always stood up to

them; I have never been beaten yet. I have fought the men of this

Company four times, and four times I have beaten them. It has been

said that I am not the man I was. [He looks at Wilder.] However

that may be, I am man enough to stand to my guns.

[His voice grows stronger. The double-doors are opened. ENID

slips in, followed by UNDERWOOD, who restrains her.]

The men have been treated justly, they have had fair wages, we have

always been ready to listen to complaints. It has been said that

times have changed; if they have, I have not changed with them.

Neither will I. It has been said that masters and men are equal!

Cant! There can only be one master in a house! Where two men meet

the better man will rule. It has been said that Capital and Labour

have the same interests. Cant! Their interests are as wide asunder

as the poles. It has been said that the Board is only part of a

machine. Cant! We are the machine; its brains and sinews; it is for

us to lead and to determine what is to be done, and to do it without

fear or favour. Fear of the men! Fear of the shareholders! Fear of

our own shadows! Before I am like that, I hope to die.

[He pauses, and meeting his son's eyes, goes on.]

There is only one way of treating "men"--with the iron hand. This

half and half business, the half and half manners of this generation,

has brought all this upon us. Sentiment and softness, and what this

young man, no doubt, would call his social policy. You can't eat

cake and have it! This middle-class sentiment, or socialism, or

whatever it may be, is rotten. Masters are masters, men are men!

Yield one demand, and they will make it six. They are [he smiles

grimly] like Oliver Twist, asking for more. If I were in their

place I should be the same. But I am not in their place. Mark my

words: one fine morning, when you have given way here, and given way

there--you will find you have parted with the ground beneath your

feet, and are deep in the bog of bankruptcy; and with you,

floundering in that bog, will be the very men you have given way to.

I have been accused of being a domineering tyrant, thinking only of

my pride--I am thinking of the future of this country, threatened

with the black waters of confusion, threatened with mob government,

threatened with what I cannot see. If by any conduct of mine I help

to bring this on us, I shall be ashamed to look my fellows in the

face.

[ANTHONY stares before him, at what he cannot see, and there is

perfect stillness. FROST comes in from the hall, and all but

ANTHONY look round at him uneasily.]

FROST. [To his master.] The men are here, sir. [ANTHONY makes a

gesture of dismissal.] Shall I bring them in, sir?

ANTHONY. Wait!

[FROST goes out, ANTHONY turns to face his son.]

I come to the attack that has been made upon me.

[EDGAR, with a gesture of deprecation, remains motionless with

his head a little bowed.]

A woman has died. I am told that her blood is on my hands; I am told

that on my hands is the starvation and the suffering of other women

and of children.

EDGAR. I said "on our hands," sir.

ANTHONY. It is the same. [His voice grows stronger and stronger,

his feeling is more and more made manifest.] I am not aware that if

my adversary suffer in a fair fight not sought by me, it is my fault.

If I fall under his feet--as fall I may--I shall not complain. That

will be my look-out--and this is--his. I cannot separate, as I

would, these men from their women and children. A fair fight is a

fair fight! Let them learn to think before they pick a quarrel!

EDGAR. [In a low voice.] But is it a fair fight, Father? Look at

them, and look at us! They've only this one weapon!

ANTHONY. [Grimly.] And you're weak-kneed enough to teach them how

to use it! It seems the fashion nowadays for men to take their

enemy's side. I have not learnt that art. Is it my fault that they

quarrelled with their Union too?

EDGAR. There is such a thing as Mercy.

ANTHONY. And justice comes before it.

EDGAR. What seems just to one man, sir, is injustice to another.

ANTHONY. [With suppressed passion.] You accuse me of injustice--of

what amounts to inhumanity--of cruelty?

[EDGAR makes a gesture of horror--a general frightened

movement.]

WANKLIN. Come, come, Chairman.

ANTHONY. [In a grim voice.] These are the words of my own son.

They are the words of a generation that I don't understand; the words

of a soft breed.

[A general murmur. With a violent effort ANTHONY recovers his

control.]

EDGAR. [Quietly.] I said it of myself, too, Father.

[A long look is exchanged between them, and ANTHONY puts out his

hand with a gesture as if to sweep the personalities away; then

places it against his brow, swaying as though from giddiness.

There is a movement towards him. He moves them back.]

ANTHONY. Before I put this amendment to the Board, I have one more

word to say. [He looks from face to face.] If it is carried, it

means that we shall fail in what we set ourselves to do. It means

that we shall fail in the duty that we owe to all Capital. It means

that we shall fail in the duty that we owe ourselves. It means that

we shall be open to constant attack to which we as constantly shall

have to yield. Be under no misapprehension--run this time, and you

will never make a stand again! You will have to fly like curs before

the whips of your own men. If that is the lot you wish for, you will

vote for this amendment.

[He looks again, from face to face, finally resting his gaze on

EDGAR; all sit with their eyes on the ground. ANTHONY makes a

gesture, and TENCH hands him the book. He reads.]

"Moved by Mr. Wilder, and seconded by Mr. Wanklin: 'That the men's

demands be placed at once in the hands of Mr. Simon Harness for

settlement on the lines indicated by him this morning.'" [With

sudden vigour.] Those in favour: Signify the same in the usual way!

[For a minute no one moves; then hastily, just as ANTHONY is

about to speak, WILDER's hand and WANKLIN'S are held up, then

SCANTLEBURY'S, and last EDGAR'S who does not lift his head.]

[ANTHONY lifts his own hand.]

[In a clear voice.] The amendment is carried. I resign my position

on this Board.

[ENID gasps, and there is dead silence. ANTHONY sits

motionless, his head slowly drooping; suddenly he heaves as

though the whole of his life had risen up within him.]

Contrary?

Fifty years! You have disgraced me, gentlemen. Bring in the men!

[He sits motionless, staring before him. The Board draws

hurriedly together, and forms a group. TENCH in a frightened

manner speaks into the hall. UNDERWOOD almost forces ENID from

the room.]

WILDER. [Hurriedly.] What's to be said to them? Why isn't Harness

here? Ought we to see the men before he comes? I don't----

TENCH. Will you come in, please?

[Enter THOMAS, GREEN, BULGIN, and ROUS, who file up in a row

past the little table. TENCH sits down and writes. All eyes

are foxed on ANTHONY, who makes no sign.]

WANKLIN. [Stepping up to the little table, with nervous cordiality.]

Well, Thomas, how's it to be? What's the result of your meeting?

ROUS. Sim Harness has our answer. He'll tell you what it is. We're

waiting for him. He'll speak for us.

WANKLIN. Is that so, Thomas?

THOMAS. [Sullenly.] Yes. Roberts will not pe coming, his wife is

dead.

SCANTLEBURY. Yes, yes! Poor woman! Yes! Yes!

FROST. [Entering from the hall.] Mr. Harness, Sir!

[As HARNESS enters he retires.]

[HARNESS has a piece of paper in his hand, he bows to the

Directors, nods towards the men, and takes his stand behind the

little table in the very centre of the room.]

HARNESS. Good evening, gentlemen.

[TENCH, with the paper he has been writing, joins him, they

speak together in low tones.]

WILDER. We've been waiting for you, Harness. Hope we shall come to

some----

FROST. [Entering from the hall.] Roberts!

[He goes.]

[ROBERTS comes hastily in, and stands staring at ANTHONY. His

face is drawn and old.]

ROBERTS. Mr. Anthony, I am afraid I am a little late, I would have

been here in time but for something that--has happened. [To the

men.] Has anything been said?

THOMAS. No! But, man, what made ye come?

ROBERTS. Ye told us this morning, gentlemen, to go away and

reconsider our position. We have reconsidered it; we are here to

bring you the men's answer. [To ANTHONY.] Go ye back to London. We

have nothing for you. By no jot or tittle do we abate our demands,

nor will we until the whole of those demands are yielded.

[ANTHONY looks at him but does not speak. There is a movement

amongst the men as though they were bewildered.]

HARNESS. Roberts!

ROBERTS. [Glancing fiercely at him, and back to ANTHONY.] Is that

clear enough for ye? Is it short enough and to the point? Ye made a

mistake to think that we would come to heel. Ye may break the body,

but ye cannot break the spirit. Get back to London, the men have

nothing for ye?

[Pausing uneasily he takes a step towards the unmoving ANTHONY.]

EDGAR. We're all sorry for you, Roberts, but----

ROBERTS. Keep your sorrow, young man. Let your father speak!

HARNESS. [With the sheet of paper in his hand, speaking from behind

the little table.] Roberts!

ROBERT. [TO ANTHONY, with passionate intensity.] Why don't ye

answer?

HARNESS. Roberts!

ROBERTS. [Turning sharply.] What is it?

HARNESS. [Gravely.] You're talking without the book; things have

travelled past you.

[He makes a sign to TENCH, who beckons the Directors. They

quickly sign his copy of the terms.]

Look at this, man! [Holding up his sheet of paper.] "Demands

conceded, with the exception of those relating to the engineers and

furnace-men. Double wages for Saturday's overtime. Night-shifts as

they are." These terms have been agreed. The men go back to work

again to-morrow. The strike is at an end.

ROBERTS. [Reading the paper, and turning on the men. They shrink

back from him, all but ROUS, who stands his ground. With deadly

stillness.] Ye have gone back on me? I stood by ye to the death; ye

waited for that to throw me over!

[The men answer, all speaking together.]

ROUS. It's a lie!

THOMAS. Ye were past endurance, man.

GREEN. If ye'd listen to me!

BULGIN. (Under his breath.) Hold your jaw!

ROBERTS. Ye waited for that!

HARNESS. [Taking the Director's copy of the terms, and handing his

own to TENCH.] That's enough, men. You had better go.

[The men shuffle slowly, awkwardly away.]

WILDER. [In a low, nervous voice.] There's nothing to stay for now,

I suppose. [He follows to the door.] I shall have a try for that

train! Coming, Scantlebury?

SCANTLEBURY. [Following with WANKLIN.] Yes, yes; wait for me. [He

stops as ROBERTS speaks.]

ROBERTS. [To ANTHONY.] But ye have not signed them terms! They

can't make terms without their Chairman! Ye would never sign them

terms! [ANTHONY looks at him without speaking.] Don't tell me ye

have! for the love o' God! [With passionate appeal.] I reckoned on

ye!

HARNESS. [Holding out the Director's copy of the teems.] The Board

has signed!

[ROBERTS looks dully at the signatures--dashes the paper from

him, and covers up his eyes.]

SCANTLEBURY. [Behind his hand to TENCH.] Look after the Chairman!

He's not well; he's not well--he had no lunch. If there's any fund

started for the women and children, put me down for--for twenty

pounds.

[He goes out into the hall, in cumbrous haste; and WANKLIN, who

has been staring at ROBERTS and ANTHONY With twitchings of his

face, follows. EDGAR remains seated on the sofa, looking at the

ground; TENCH, returning to the bureau, writes in his minute--

book. HARNESS stands by the little table, gravely watching

ROBERTS.]

ROBERTS. Then you're no longer Chairman of this Company! [Breaking

into half-mad laughter.] Ah! ha-ah, ha, ha! They've thrown ye over

thrown over their Chairman: Ah-ha-ha! [With a sudden dreadful calm.]

So--they've done us both down, Mr. Anthony?

[ENID, hurrying through the double-doors, comes quickly to her

father.]

ANTHONY. Both broken men, my friend Roberts!

HARNESS. [Coming down and laying his hands on ROBERTS'S sleeve.]

For shame, Roberts! Go home quietly, man; go home!

ROBERTS. [Tearing his arm away.] Home? [Shrinking together--in a

whisper.] Home!

ENID. [Quietly to her father.] Come away, dear! Come to your room

[ANTHONY rises with an effort. He turns to ROBERTS who looks at

him. They stand several seconds, gazing at each other fixedly;

ANTHONY lifts his hand, as though to salute, but lets it fall.

The expression of ROBERTS'S face changes from hostility to

wonder. They bend their heads in token of respect. ANTHONY

turns, and slowly walks towards the curtained door. Suddenly

he sways as though about to fall, recovers himself, and is

assisted out by EDGAR and ENID; UNDERWOOD follows, but stops at

the door. ROBERTS remains motionless for several seconds,

staring intently after ANTHONY, then goes out into the hall.]

TENCH. [Approaching HARNESS.] It's a great weight off my mind, Mr.

Harness! But what a painful scene, sir! [He wipes his brow.]

[HARNESS, pale and resolute, regards with a grim half-smile the

quavering.]

TENCH. It's all been so violent! What did he mean by: "Done us both

down?" If he has lost his wife, poor fellow, he oughtn't to have

spoken to the Chairman like that!

HARNESS. A woman dead; and the two best men both broken!

TENCH. [Staring at him-suddenly excited.] D'you know, sir--these

terms, they're the very same we drew up together, you and I, and put

to both sides before the fight began? All this--all this--and--and

what for?

HARNESS. [In a slow grim voice.] That's where the fun comes in!

[UNDERWOOD without turning from the door makes a gesture of

assent.]

The curtain falls.

THE END

GALSWORTHY PLAYS--SECOND SERIES--NO. 1

Contents:

The Eldest Son

The Little Dream

Justice

THE ELDEST SON

BY JOHN GALSWORTHY

PERSONS OF THE PLAY

SIR WILLIAM CHESHIRE, a baronet

LADY CHESHIRE, his wife

BILL, their eldest son

HAROLD, their second son

RONALD KEITH(in the Lancers), their son-in-law

CHRISTINE (his wife), their eldest daughter

DOT, their second daughter

JOAN, their third daughter

MABEL LANFARNE, their guest

THE REVEREND JOHN LATTER, engaged to Joan

OLD STUDDENHAM, the head-keeper

FREDA STUDDENHAM, the lady's-maid

YOUNG DUNNING, the under-keeper

ROSE TAYLOR, a village girl

JACKSON, the butler

CHARLES, a footman

TIME: The present. The action passes on December 7 and 8 at the

Cheshires' country house, in one of the shires.

ACT I SCENE I. The hall; before dinner.

SCENE II. The hall; after dinner.

ACT II. Lady Cheshire's morning room; after breakfast.

ACT III. The smoking-room; tea-time.

A night elapses between Acts I. and II.

ACT I

SCENE I

The scene is a well-lighted, and large, oak-panelled hall, with

an air of being lived in, and a broad, oak staircase. The

dining-room, drawing-room, billiard-room, all open into it; and

under the staircase a door leads to the servants' quarters. In

a huge fireplace a log fire is burning. There are tiger-skins

on the floor, horns on the walls; and a writing-table against

the wall opposite the fireplace. FREDA STUDDENHAM, a pretty,

pale girl with dark eyes, in the black dress of a lady's-maid,

is standing at the foot of the staircase with a bunch of white

roses in one hand, and a bunch of yellow roses in the other. A

door closes above, and SIR WILLIAM CHESHIRE, in evening dress,

comes downstairs. He is perhaps fifty-eight, of strong build,

rather bull-necked, with grey eyes, and a well-coloured face,

whose choleric autocracy is veiled by a thin urbanity. He

speaks before he reaches the bottom.

SIR WILLIAM. Well, Freda! Nice roses. Who are they for?

FREDA. My lady told me to give the yellow to Mrs. Keith, Sir

William, and the white to Miss Lanfarne, for their first evening.

SIR WILLIAM. Capital. [Passing on towards the drawing-room] Your

father coming up to-night?

FREDA. Yes.

SIR WILLIAM. Be good enough to tell him I specially want to see him

here after dinner, will you?

FREDA. Yes, Sir William.

SIR WILLIAM. By the way, just ask him to bring the game-book in, if

he's got it.

He goes out into the drawing-room; and FREDA stands restlessly

tapping her foot against the bottom stair. With a flutter of

skirts CHRISTINE KEITH comes rapidly down. She is a

nice-looking, fresh-coloured young woman in a low-necked dress.

CHRISTINE. Hullo, Freda! How are YOU?

FREDA. Quite well, thank you, Miss Christine--Mrs. Keith, I mean.

My lady told me to give you these.

CHRISTINE. [Taking the roses] Oh! Thanks! How sweet of mother!

FREDA. [In a quick, toneless voice] The others are for Miss Lanfarne.

My lady thought white would suit her better.

CHRISTINE. They suit you in that black dress.

[FREDA lowers the roses quickly.]

What do you think of Joan's engagement?

FREDA. It's very nice for her.

CHRISTINE. I say, Freda, have they been going hard at rehearsals?

FREDA. Every day. Miss Dot gets very cross, stage-managing.

CHRISTINE. I do hate learning a part. Thanks awfully for unpacking.

Any news?

FREDA. [In the same quick, dull voice] The under-keeper, Dunning,

won't marry Rose Taylor, after all.

CHRISTINE. What a shame! But I say that's serious. I thought there

was--she was--I mean----

FREDA. He's taken up with another girl, they say.

CHRISTINE. Too bad! [Pinning the roses] D'you know if Mr. Bill's

come?

FREDA. [With a swift upward look] Yes, by the six-forty.

RONALD KEITH comes slowly down, a weathered firm-lipped man, in

evening dress, with eyelids half drawn over his keen eyes, and

the air of a horseman.

KEITH. Hallo! Roses in December. I say, Freda, your father missed

a wigging this morning when they drew blank at Warnham's spinney.

Where's that litter of little foxes?

FREDA. [Smiling faintly] I expect father knows, Captain Keith.

KEITH. You bet he does. Emigration? Or thin air? What?

CHRISTINE. Studdenham'd never shoot a fox, Ronny. He's been here

since the flood.

KEITH. There's more ways of killing a cat--eh, Freda?

CHRISTINE. [Moving with her husband towards the drawing-room] Young

Dunning won't marry that girl, Ronny.

KEITH. Phew! Wouldn't be in his shoes, then! Sir William'll never

keep a servant who's made a scandal in the village, old girl. Bill

come?

As they disappear from the hall, JOHN LATTER in a clergyman's

evening dress, comes sedately downstairs, a tall, rather pale

young man, with something in him, as it were, both of heaven,

and a drawing-room. He passes FREDA with a formal little nod.

HAROLD, a fresh-cheeked, cheery-looking youth, comes down, three

steps at a time.

HAROLD. Hallo, Freda! Patience on the monument. Let's have a

sniff! For Miss Lanfarne? Bill come down yet?

FREDA. No, Mr. Harold.

HAROLD crosses the hall, whistling, and follows LATTER into the

drawing-room. There is the sound of a scuffle above, and a

voice crying: "Shut up, Dot!" And JOAN comes down screwing her

head back. She is pretty and small, with large clinging eyes.

JOAN. Am I all right behind, Freda? That beast, Dot!

FREDA. Quite, Miss Joan.

DOT's face, like a full moon, appears over the upper banisters.

She too comes running down, a frank figure, with the face of a

rebel.

DOT. You little being!

JOAN. [Flying towards the drawing-roam, is overtaken at the door]

Oh! Dot! You're pinching!

As they disappear into the drawing-room, MABEL LANFARNE, a tall

girl with a rather charming Irish face, comes slowly down. And

at sight of her FREDA's whole figure becomes set and meaningfull.

FREDA. For you, Miss Lanfarne, from my lady.

MABEL. [In whose speech is a touch of wilful Irishry] How sweet!

[Fastening the roses] And how are you, Freda?

FREDA. Very well, thank you.

MABEL. And your father? Hope he's going to let me come out with the

guns again.

FREDA. [Stolidly] He'll be delighted, I'm sure.

MABEL. Ye-es! I haven't forgotten his face-last time.

FREDA. You stood with Mr. Bill. He's better to stand with than Mr.

Harold, or Captain Keith?

MABEL. He didn't touch a feather, that day.

FREDA. People don't when they're anxious to do their best.

A gong sounds. And MABEL LANFARNE, giving FREDA a rather

inquisitive stare, moves on to the drawing-room. Left alone

without the roses, FREDA still lingers. At the slamming of a

door above, and hasty footsteps, she shrinks back against the

stairs. BILL runs down, and comes on her suddenly. He is a

tall, good-looking edition of his father, with the same stubborn

look of veiled choler.

BILL. Freda! [And as she shrinks still further back] what's the

matter? [Then at some sound he looks round uneasily and draws away

from her] Aren't you glad to see me?

FREDA. I've something to say to you, Mr. Bill. After dinner.

BILL. Mister----?

She passes him, and rushes away upstairs. And BILL, who stands

frowning and looking after her, recovers himself sharply as the

drawing-room door is opened, and SIR WILLIAM and MISS LANFARNE

come forth, followed by KEITH, DOT, HAROLD, CHRISTINE, LATTER,

and JOAN, all leaning across each other, and talking. By

herself, behind them, comes LADY CHESHIRE, a refined-looking

woman of fifty, with silvery dark hair, and an expression at

once gentle, and ironic. They move across the hall towards the

dining-room.

SIR WILLIAM. Ah! Bill.

MABEL. How do you do?

KEITH. How are you, old chap?

DOT. [gloomily] Do you know your part?

HAROLD. Hallo, old man!

CHRISTINE gives her brother a flying kiss. JOAN and LATTER pause and

look at him shyly without speech.

BILL. [Putting his hand on JOAN's shoulder] Good luck, you two!

Well mother?

LADY CHESHIRE. Well, my dear boy! Nice to see you at last. What a

long time!

She draws his arm through hers, and they move towards the

dining-room.

The curtain falls.

The curtain rises again at once.

SCENE II

CHRISTINE, LADY CHESHIRE, DOT, MABEL LANFARNE,

and JOAN, are returning to the hall after dinner.

CHRISTINE. [in a low voice] Mother, is it true about young Dunning

and Rose Taylor?

LADY CHESHIRE. I'm afraid so, dear.

CHRISTINE. But can't they be----

DOT. Ah! ah-h! [CHRISTINE and her mother are silent.] My child, I'm

not the young person.

CHRISTINE. No, of course not--only--[nodding towards JOAN and

Mable].

DOT. Look here! This is just an instance of what I hate.

LADY CHESHIRE. My dear? Another one?

DOT. Yes, mother, and don't you pretend you don't understand,

because you know you do.

CHRISTINE. Instance? Of what?

JOAN and MABEL have ceased talking, and listen, still at the fire.

DOT. Humbug, of course. Why should you want them to marry, if he's

tired of her?

CHRISTINE. [Ironically] Well! If your imagination doesn't carry you

as far as that!

DOT. When people marry, do you believe they ought to be in love with

each other?

CHRISTINE. [With a shrug] That's not the point.

DOT. Oh? Were you in love with Ronny?

CHRISTINE. Don't be idiotic!

DOT. Would you have married him if you hadn't been?

CHRISTINE. Of course not!

JOAN. Dot! You are!----

DOT. Hallo! my little snipe!

LADY CHESHIRE. Dot, dear!

DOT. Don't shut me up, mother! [To JOAN.] Are you in love with

John? [JOAN turns hurriedly to the fire.] Would you be going to

marry him if you were not?

CHRISTINE. You are a brute, Dot.

DOT. Is Mabel in love with--whoever she is in love with?

MABEL. And I wonder who that is.

DOT. Well, would you marry him if you weren't?

MABEL. No, I would not.

DOT. Now, mother; did you love father?

CHRISTINE. Dot, you really are awful.

DOT. [Rueful and detached] Well, it is a bit too thick, perhaps.

JOAN. Dot!

DOT. Well, mother, did you--I mean quite calmly?

LADY CHESHIRE. Yes, dear, quite calmly.

DOT. Would you have married him if you hadn't? [LADY CHESHIRE shakes

her head] Then we're all agreed!

MABEL. Except yourself.

DOT. [Grimly] Even if I loved him, he might think himself lucky if I

married him.

MABEL. Indeed, and I'm not so sure.

DOT. [Making a face at her] What I was going to----

LADY CHESHIRE. But don't you think, dear, you'd better not?

DOT. Well, I won't say what I was going to say, but what I do say

is--Why the devil----

LADY CHESHIRE. Quite so, Dot!

DOT. [A little disconcerted.] If they're tired of each other, they

ought not to marry, and if father's going to make them----

CHRISTINE. You don't understand in the least. It's for the sake of

the----

DOT. Out with it, Old Sweetness! The approaching infant! God bless

it!

There is a sudden silence, for KEITH and LATTER are seen coming

from the dining-room.

LATTER. That must be so, Ronny.

KEITH. No, John; not a bit of it!

LATTER. You don't think!

KEITH. Good Gad, who wants to think after dinner!

DOT. Come on! Let's play pool. [She turns at the billiard-room

door.] Look here! Rehearsal to-morrow is directly after breakfast;

from "Eccles enters breathless" to the end.

MABEL. Whatever made you choose "Caste," DOT? You know it's awfully

difficult.

DOT. Because it's the only play that's not too advanced. [The girls

all go into the billiard-room.]

LADY CHESHIRE. Where's Bill, Ronny?

KEITH. [With a grimace] I rather think Sir William and he are in

Committee of Supply--Mem-Sahib.

LADY CHESHIRE. Oh!

She looks uneasily at the dining-room; then follows the girls

out.

LATTER. [In the tone of one resuming an argument] There can't be

two opinions about it, Ronny. Young Dunning's refusal is simply

indefensible.

KEITH. I don't agree a bit, John.

LATTER. Of course, if you won't listen.

KEITH. [Clipping a cigar] Draw it mild, my dear chap. We've had

the whole thing over twice at least.

LATTER. My point is this----

KEITH. [Regarding LATTER quizzically with his halfclosed eyes]

I know--I know--but the point is, how far your point is simply

professional.

LATTER. If a man wrongs a woman, he ought to right her again.

There's no answer to that.

KEITH. It all depends.

LATTER. That's rank opportunism.

KEITH. Rats! Look here--Oh! hang it, John, one can't argue this out

with a parson.

LATTER. [Frigidly] Why not?

HAROLD. [Who has entered from the dining-room] Pull devil, pull

baker!

KEITH. Shut up, Harold!

LATTER. "To play the game" is the religion even of the Army.

KEITH. Exactly, but what is the game?

LATTER. What else can it be in this case?

KEITH. You're too puritanical, young John. You can't help it--line

of country laid down for you. All drag-huntin'! What!

LATTER. [With concentration] Look here!

HAROLD. [Imitating the action of a man pulling at a horse's head]

'Come hup, I say, you hugly beast!'

KEITH. [To LATTER] You're not going to draw me, old chap. You

don't see where you'd land us all. [He smokes calmly]

LATTER. How do you imagine vice takes its rise? From precisely this

sort of thing of young Dunning's.

KEITH. From human nature, I should have thought, John. I admit that

I don't like a fellow's leavin' a girl in the lurch; but I don't see

the use in drawin' hard and fast rules. You only have to break 'em.

Sir William and you would just tie Dunning and the girl up together,

willy-nilly, to save appearances, and ten to one but there'll be the

deuce to pay in a year's time. You can take a horse to the water,

you can't make him drink.

LATTER. I entirely and absolutely disagree with you.

HAROLD. Good old John!

LATTER. At all events we know where your principles take you.

KEITH. [Rather dangerously] Where, please? [HAROLD turns up his

eyes, and points downwards] Dry up, Harold!

LATTER. Did you ever hear the story of Faust?

KEITH. Now look here, John; with all due respect to your cloth, and

all the politeness in the world, you may go to-blazes.

LATTER. Well, I must say, Ronny--of all the rude boors----[He turns

towards the billiard-room.]

KEITH. Sorry I smashed the glass, old chap.

LATTER passes out. There comes a mingled sound through the

opened door, of female voices, laughter, and the click of

billiard balls, dipped of by the sudden closing of the door.

KEITH. [Impersonally] Deuced odd, the way a parson puts one's back

up! Because you know I agree with him really; young Dunning ought to

play the game; and I hope Sir William'll make him.

The butler JACKSON has entered from the door under the stairs

followed by the keeper STUDDENHAM, a man between fifty and

sixty, in a full-skirted coat with big pockets, cord breeches,

and gaiters; he has a steady self respecting weathered face,

with blue eyes and a short grey beard, which has obviously once

been red.

KEITH. Hullo! Studdenham!

STUDDENHAM. [Touching his forehead] Evenin', Captain Keith.

JACKSON. Sir William still in the dining-room with Mr. Bill, sir?

HAROLD. [With a grimace] He is, Jackson.

JACKSON goes out to the dining-room.

KEITH. You've shot no pheasants yet, Studdenham?

STUDDENHAM. No, Sir. Only birds. We'll be doin' the spinneys and

the home covert while you're down.

KEITH. I say, talkin' of spinneys----

He breaks off sharply, and goes out with HAROLD into the

billiard-room. SIR WILLIAM enters from the dining-room,

applying a gold toothpick to his front teeth.

SIR WILLIAM. Ah! Studdenham. Bad business this, about young

Dunning!

STUDDENHAM. Yes, Sir William.

SIR WILLIAM. He definitely refuses to marry her?

STUDDENHAM. He does that.

SIR WILLIAM. That won't do, you know. What reason does he give?

STUDDENHAM. Won't say other than that he don't want no more to do

with her.

SIR WILLIAM. God bless me! That's not a reason. I can't have a

keeper of mine playing fast and loose in the village like this.

[Turning to LADY CHESHIRE, who has come in from the billiard-room]

That affair of young Dunning's, my dear.

LADY CHESHIRE. Oh! Yes! I'm so sorry, Studdenham. The poor girl!

STUDDENHAM. [Respectfully] Fancy he's got a feeling she's not his

equal, now, my lady.

LADY CHESHIRE. [To herself] Yes, I suppose he has made her his

superior.

SIR WILLIAM. What? Eh! Quite! Quite! I was just telling

Studdenham the fellow must set the matter straight. We can't have

open scandals in the village. If he wants to keep his place he must

marry her at once.

LADY CHESHIRE. [To her husband in a low voice] Is it right to force

them? Do you know what the girl wishes, Studdenham?

STUDDENHAM. Shows a spirit, my lady--says she'll have him--willin'

or not.

LADY CHESHIRE. A spirit? I see. If they marry like that they're

sure to be miserable.

SIR WILLIAM. What! Doesn't follow at all. Besides, my dear, you

ought to know by this time, there's an unwritten law in these

matters. They're perfectly well aware that when there are

consequences, they have to take them.

STUDDENHAM. Some o' these young people, my lady, they don't put two

and two together no more than an old cock pheasant.

SIR WILLIAM. I'll give him till to-morrow. If he remains obstinate,

he'll have to go; he'll get no character, Studdenham. Let him know

what I've said. I like the fellow, he's a good keeper. I don't want

to lose him. But this sort of thing I won't have. He must toe the

mark or take himself off. Is he up here to-night?

STUDDENHAM. Hangin' partridges, Sir William. Will you have him in?

SIR WILLIAM. [Hesitating] Yes--yes. I'll see him.

STUDDENHAM. Good-night to you, my lady.

LADY CHESHIRE. Freda's not looking well, Studdenham.

STUDDENHAM. She's a bit pernickitty with her food, that's where it

is.

LADY CHESHIRE. I must try and make her eat.

SIR WILLIAM. Oh! Studdenham. We'll shoot the home covert first.

What did we get last year?

STUDDENHAM. [Producing the game-book; but without reference to it]

Two hundred and fifty-three pheasants, eleven hares, fifty-two

rabbits, three woodcock, sundry.

SIR WILLIAM. Sundry? Didn't include a fox did it? [Gravely] I was

seriously upset this morning at Warnham's spinney----

SUDDENHAM. [Very gravely] You don't say, Sir William; that

four-year-old he du look a handful!

SIR WILLIAM. [With a sharp look] You know well enough what I mean.

STUDDENHAM. [Unmoved] Shall I send young Dunning, Sir William?

SIR WILLIAM gives a short, sharp nod, and STUDDENHAM retires by

the door under the stairs.

SIR WILLIAM. Old fox!

LADY CHESHIRE. Don't be too hard on Dunning. He's very young.

SIR WILLIAM. [Patting her arm] My dear, you don't understand young

fellows, how should you?

LADY CHESHIRE. [With her faint irony] A husband and two sons not

counting. [Then as the door under the stairs is opened] Bill, now

do----

SIR WILLIAM. I'll be gentle with him. [Sharply] Come in!

LADY CHESHIRE retires to the billiard-room. She gives a look

back and a half smile at young DUNNING, a fair young man dressed

in broom cords and leggings, and holding his cap in his hand;

then goes out.

SIR WILLIAM. Evenin', Dunning.

DUNNING. [Twisting his cap] Evenin', Sir William.

SIR WILLIAM. Studdenham's told you what I want to see you about?

DUNNING. Yes, Sir.

SIR WILLIAM. The thing's in your hands. Take it or leave it. I

don't put pressure on you. I simply won't have this sort of thing on

my estate.

DUNNING. I'd like to say, Sir William, that she [He stops].

SIR WILLIAM. Yes, I daresay-Six of one and half a dozen of the

other. Can't go into that.

DUNNING. No, Sir William.

SIR WILLIAM. I'm quite mild with you. This is your first place. If

you leave here you'll get no character.

DUNNING. I never meant any harm, sir.

SIR WILLIAM. My good fellow, you know the custom of the country.

DUNNING. Yes, Sir William, but----

SIR WILLIAM. You should have looked before you leaped. I'm not

forcing you. If you refuse you must go, that's all.

DUNNING. Yes. Sir William.

SIR WILLIAM. Well, now go along and take a day to think it over.

BILL, who has sauntered moody from the diningroom, stands by the

stairs listening. Catching sight of him, DUNNING raises his

hand to his forelock.

DUNNING. Very good, Sir William. [He turns, fumbles, and turns

again] My old mother's dependent on me----

SIR WILLIAM. Now, Dunning, I've no more to say.

[Dunning goes sadly away under the stairs.]

SIR WILLIAM. [Following] And look here! Just understand this

[He too goes out....]

BILL, lighting a cigarette, has approached the writing-table.

He looks very glum. The billiard-room door is flung open.

MABEL LANFARNE appears, and makes him a little curtsey.

MABEL. Against my will I am bidden to bring you in to pool.

BILL. Sorry! I've got letters.

MABEL. You seem to have become very conscientious.

BILL. Oh! I don't know.

MABEL. Do you remember the last day of the covert shooting?

BITS. I do.

MABEL. [Suddenly] What a pretty girl Freda Studdenham's grown!

BILL. Has she?

MABEL. "She walks in beauty."

BILL. Really? Hadn't noticed.

MABEL. Have you been taking lessons in conversation?

BILL. Don't think so.

MABEL. Oh! [There is a silence] Mr. Cheshire!

BILL. Miss Lanfarne!

MABEL. What's the matter with you? Aren't you rather queer,

considering that I don't bite, and was rather a pal!

BILL. [Stolidly] I'm sorry.

Then seeing that his mother has came in from the billiard-room,

he sits down at the writing-table.

LADY CHESHIRE. Mabel, dear, do take my cue. Won't you play too,

Bill, and try and stop Ronny, he's too terrible?

BILL. Thanks. I've got these letters.

MABEL taking the cue passes back into the billiard-room, whence comes

out the sound of talk and laughter.

LADY CHESHIRE. [Going over and standing behind her son's chair]

Anything wrong, darling?

BILL. Nothing, thanks. [Suddenly] I say, I wish you hadn't asked

that girl here.

LADY CHESHIRE. Mabel! Why? She's wanted for rehearsals. I thought

you got on so well with her last Christmas.

BILL. [With a sort of sullen exasperation.] A year ago.

LADY CHESHIRE. The girls like her, so does your father; personally I

must say I think she's rather nice and Irish.

BILL. She's all right, I daresay.

He looks round as if to show his mother that he wishes to be

left alone. But LADY CHESHIRE, having seen that he is about to

look at her, is not looking at him.

LADY CHESHIRE. I'm afraid your father's been talking to you, Bill.

BILL. He has.

LADY CHESHIRE. Debts? Do try and make allowances. [With a faint

smile] Of course he is a little----

BILL. He is.

LADY CHESHIRE. I wish I could----

BILL. Oh, Lord! Don't you get mixed up in it!

LADY CHESHIRE. It seems almost a pity that you told him.

BILL. He wrote and asked me point blank what I owed.

LADY CHESHIRE. Oh! [Forcing herself to speak in a casual voice]

I happen to have a little money, Bill--I think it would be simpler

if----

BILL. Now look here, mother, you've tried that before. I can't help

spending money, I never shall be able, unless I go to the Colonies,

or something of the kind.

LADY CHESHIRE. Don't talk like that, dear!

BILL. I would, for two straws!

LADY CHESHIRE. It's only because your father thinks such a lot of

the place, and the name, and your career. The Cheshires are all like

that. They've been here so long; they're all--root.

BILL. Deuced funny business my career will be, I expect!

LADY CHESHIRE. [Fluttering, but restraining herself lest he should

see] But, Bill, why must you spend more than your allowance?

BILL. Why--anything? I didn't make myself.

LADY CHESHIRE. I'm afraid we did that. It was inconsiderate,

perhaps.

BILL. Yes, you'd better have left me out.

LADY CHESHIRE. But why are you so--Only a little fuss about money!

BILL. Ye-es.

LADY CHESHIRE. You're not keeping anything from me, are you?

BILL. [Facing her] No. [He then turns very deliberately to the

writing things, and takes up a pen] I must write these letters,

please.

LADY CHESHIRE. Bill, if there's any real trouble, you will tell me,

won't you?

BILL. There's nothing whatever.

He suddenly gets up and walks about. LADY CHESHIRE, too, moves

over to the fireplace, and after an uneasy look at him, turns to

the fire. Then, as if trying to switch of his mood, she changes

the subject abruptly.

LADY CHESHIRE. Isn't it a pity about young Dunning? I'm so sorry

for Rose Taylor.

There is a silence. Stealthily under the staircase FREDA has

entered, and seeing only BILL, advances to speak to him.

BILL. [Suddenly] Oh! well,--you can't help these things in the

country.

As he speaks, FREDA stops dead, perceiving that he is not alone;

BILL, too, catching sight of her, starts.

LADY CHESHIRE. [Still speaking to the fire] It seems dreadful to

force him. I do so believe in people doing things of their own

accord. [Then seeing FREDA standing so uncertainly by the stairs] Do

you want me, Freda?

FREDA. Only your cloak, my lady. Shall I--begin it?

At this moment SIR WILLIAM enters from the drawing-room.

LADY CHESHIRE. Yes, yes.

SIR WILLIAM. [Genially] Can you give me another five minutes, Bill?

[Pointing to the billiard-room] We'll come directly, my dear.

FREDA, with a look at BILL, has gone back whence she came; and

LADY CHESHIRE goes reluctantly away into the billiard-room.

SIR WILLIAM. I shall give young Dunning short shrift. [He moves

over to the fireplace and divides hip coat-tails] Now, about you,

Bill! I don't want to bully you the moment you come down, but you

know, this can't go on. I've paid your debts twice. Shan't pay them

this time unless I see a disposition to change your mode of life.

[A pause] You get your extravagance from your mother. She's very

queer--[A pause]--All the Winterleighs are like that about money....

BILL. Mother's particularly generous, if that's what you mean.