[MRS. HILLCRIST comes in.]
What d'ye want for this secret?
MRS. H. Nothing.
HORNBLOWER. Indeed! Wonderful!--the trouble ye've taken for--
nothing.
MRS. H. If you harm us we shall harm you. Any use whatever of the
Centry.
HORNBLOWER. For which ye made me pay nine thousand five hundred
pounds.
MRS. H. We will buy it from you.
HORNBLOWER. At what price?
MRS. H. The Centry at the price Miss Muffins would have taken at
first, and Longmeadow at the price you--gave us--four thousand five
hundred altogether.
HORNBLOWER. A fine price, and me six thousand out of pocket. Na,
no! I'll keep it and hold it over ye. Ye daren't tell this secret
so long as I've got it.
MRS. H. No, Mr. Hornblower. On second thoughts, you must sell.
You broke your word over the Jackmans. We can't trust you. We
would rather have our place here ruined at once, than leave you the
power to ruin it as and when you like. You will sell us the Centry
and Longmeadow now, or you know what will happen.
HORNBLOWER. [Writhing] I'll not. It's blackmail.
MRS. H. Very well then! Go your own way and we'll go ours. There
is no witness to this conversation.
HORNBLOWER. [Venomously] By heaven, ye're a clever woman. Will ye
swear by Almighty God that you and your family, and that agent of
yours, won't breathe a word of this shockin' thing to mortal soul.
MRS. H. Yes, if you sell.
HORNBLOWER. Where's Dawker?
MRS. H. [Going to the door, Right] Mr. Dawker
[DAWKER comes in.]
HORNBLOWER. I suppose ye've got your iniquity ready.
[DAWKER grins and produces the document.]
It's mighty near conspiracy, this. Have ye got a Testament?
MRS. H. My word will be enough, Mr. Hornblower.
HORNBLOWER. Ye'll pardon me--I can't make it solemn enough for you.
MRS. H. Very well; here is a Bible.
[She takes a small Bible from the bookshelf.]
DAWKER. [Spreading document on bureau] This is a short conveyance
of the Centry and Longmeadow--recites sale to you by Miss Mulling,
of the first, John Hillcrist of the second, and whereas you have
agreed for the sale to said John Hillcrist, for the sum of four
thousand five hundred pounds, in consideration of the said sum,
receipt whereof, you hereby acknowledge you do convey all that, etc.
Sign here. I'll witness.
HORNBLOWER [To MRS. HILLCRIST] Take that Book in your hand, and
swear first. I swear by Almighty God never to breathe a word of
what I know concerning Chloe Hornblower to any living soul.
MRS. H. No, Mr. Hornblower; you will please sign first. We are not
in the habit of breaking our word.
[HORNBLOWER after a furious look at them, seizes a pen, runs
his eye again over the deed, and signs, DAWKER witnessing.]
To that oath, Mr. Hornblower, we shall add the words, "So long as
the Hornblower family do us no harm."
HORNBLOWER. [With a snarl] Take it in your hands, both of ye, and
together swear.
MRS. H. [Taking the Book] I swear that I will breathe no word of
what I know concerning Chloe Hornblower to any living soul, so long
as the Hornblower family do us no harm.
DAWKER. I swear that too.
MRS. H. I engage for my husband.
HORNBLOWER. Where are those two fellows?
DAWKER. Gone. It's no business of theirs.
HORNBLOWER. It's no business of any of ye what has happened to a
woman in the past. Ye know that. Good-day!
[He gives them a deadly look, and goes out, left, followed by
DAWKER.]
MRS. H. [With her hand on the Deed] Safe!
[HILLCRIST enters at the French window, followed by JILL.]
[Holding up the Deed] Look! He's just gone! I told you it was
only necessary to use the threat. He caved in and signed this; we
are sworn to say nothing. We've beaten him.
[HILLCRIST studies the Deed.]
JILL. [Awed] We saw Chloe in the car. How did she take it,
mother?
MRS. H. Denied, then broke down when she saw our witnesses. I'm
glad you were not here, Jack.
JILL. [Suddenly] I shall go and see her.
MRS. H. Jill, you will not; you don't know what she's done.
JILL. I shall. She must be in an awful state.
HILLCRIST. My dear, you can do her no good.
JILL. I think I can, Dodo.
MRS. H. You don't understand human nature. We're enemies for life
with those people. You're a little donkey if you think anything
else.
JILL. I'm going, all the same.
MRS. H. Jack, forbid her.
HILLCRIST. [Lifting an eyebrow] Jill, be reasonable.
JILL. Suppose I'd taken a knock like that, Dodo, I'd be glad of
friendliness from someone.
MRS. H. You never could take a knock like that.
JILL. You don't know what you can do till you try, mother.
HILLCRIST. Let her go, Amy. Im sorry for that young woman.
MRS. H. You'd be sorry for a man who picked your pocket, I believe.
HILLCRIST. I certainly should! Deuced little he'd get out of it,
when I've paid for the Centry.
MRS. H. [Bitterly] Much gratitude I get for saving you both our
home!
JILL. [Disarmed] Oh! Mother, we are grateful. Dodo, show your
gratitude.
HILLCRIST. Well, my dear, it's an intense relief. I'm not good at
showing my feelings, as you know. What d'you want me to do? Stand
on one leg and crow?
JILL. Yes, Dodo, yes! Mother, hold him while I [Suddenly she
stops, and all the fun goes out of her] No! I can't--I can't help
thinking of her.
CURTAIN falls for a minute.
SCENE II
When it rises again, the room is empty and dark, same for
moonlight coming in through the French window, which is open.
The figure of CHLOE, in a black cloak, appears outside in the
moonlight; she peers in, moves past, comes bank, hesitatingly
enters. The cloak, fallen back, reveals a white evening dress;
and that magpie figure stands poised watchfully in the dim
light, then flaps unhappily Left and Right, as if she could not
keep still. Suddenly she stands listening.
ROLF'S VOICE. [Outside] Chloe! Chloe!
[He appears]
CHLOE. [Going to the window] What are you doing here?
ROLF. What are you? I only followed you.
CHLOE. Go away.
ROLF. What's the matter? Tell me!
CHLOE. Go away, and don't say anything. Oh! The roses! [She has
put her nose into some roses in a bowl on a big stand close to the
window] Don't they smell lovely?
ROLF. What did Jill want this afternoon?
CHLOE. I'll tell you nothing. Go away!
ROLF. I don't like leaving you here in this state.
CHLOE. What state? I'm all right. Wait for me down in the drive,
if you want to.
[ROLF starts to go, stops, looks at her, and does go. CHLOE,
with a little moaning sound, flutters again, magpie-like, up
and down, then stands by the window listening. Voices are
heard, Left. She darts out of the window and away to the
Right, as HILLCRIST and JILL come in. They have turned up the
electric light, and come down in frond of the fireplace, where
HILLCRIST sits in an armchair, and JILL on the arm of it. They
are in undress evening attire.]
HILLCRIST. Now, tell me.
JILL. There isn't much, Dodo. I was in an awful funk for fear I
should meet any of the others, and of course I did meet Rolf, but I
told him some lie, and he took me to her room-boudoir, they call it
--isn't boudoir a "dug-out" word?
HILLCRIST. [Meditatively] The sulking room. Well?
JILL. She was sitting like this. [She buries her chin in her
hands, wide her elbows on her knees] And she said in a sort of
fierce way: "What do you want?" And I said: "I'm awfully sorry, but
I thought you might like it."
HILLCRIST. Well?
JILL. She looked at me hard, and said: "I suppose you know all
about it." And I Said: "Only vaguely," because of course I don't.
And she said: "Well, it was decent of you to come." Dodo, she looks
like a lost soul. What has she done?
HILLCRIST. She committed her real crime when she married young
Hornblower without telling him. She came out of a certain world to
do it.
JILL. Oh! [Staring in front of her] Is it very awful in that
world, Dodo?
HILLCRIST. [Uneasy] I don't know, Jill. Some can stand it, I
suppose; some can't. I don't know which sort she is.
JILL. One thing I'm sure of: she's awfully fond of Chearlie.
HILLCRIST. That's bad; that's very bad.
JILL. And she's frightened, horribly. I think she's desperate.
HILLCRIST. Women like that are pretty tough, Jill; don't judge her
too much by your own feelings.
JILL. No; only----Oh! it was beastly; and of course I dried up.
HILLCRIST. [Feelingly] H'm! One always does. But perhaps it was
as well; you'd have been blundering in a dark passage.
JILL. I just said: "Father and I feel awfully sorry; if there's
anything we can do----"
HILLCRIST. That was risky, Jill.
JILL. (Disconsolately) I had to say something. I'm glad I went,
anyway. I feel more human.
HILLCRIST. We had to fight for our home. I should have felt like a
traitor if I hadn't.
JILL. I'm not enjoying home tonight, Dodo.
HILLCRIST. I never could hate proper; it's a confounded nuisance.
JILL. Mother's fearfully' bucked, and Dawker's simply oozing
triumph. I don't trust him. Dodo; he's too--not pugilistic--the
other one with a pug-naceous.
HILLCRIST. He is rather.
JILL. I'm sure he wouldn't care tuppence if Chloe committed
suicide.
HILLCRIST. [Rising uneasily] Nonsense! Nonsense!
JILL. I wonder if mother would.
HILLCRIST. [Turning his face towards the window] What's that? I
thought I heard--[Louder]--Is these anybody out there?
[No answer. JILL, springs up and runs to the window.]
JILL. You!
[She dives through to the Right, and returns, holding CHLOE'S
hand and drawing her forward]
Come in! It's only us! [To HILLCRIST] Dodo!
HILLCRIST. [Flustered, but making a show of courtesy] Good
evening! Won't you sit down?
JILL. Sit down; you're all shaky.
[She makes CHLOE sit down in the armchair, out of which they
have risen, then locks the door, and closing the windows, draws
the curtains hastily over them.]
HILLCRIST. [Awkward and expectant] Can I do anything for you?
CHLOE. I couldn't bear it he's coming to ask you----
HILLCRIST. Who?
CHLOE. My husband. [She draws in her breath with a long shudder,
then seem to seize her courage in her hands] I've got to be quick.
He keeps on asking--he knows there's something.
HILLCRIST. Make your mind easy. We shan't tell him.
CHLOE. [Appealing] Oh! that's not enough. Can't you tell him
something to put him back to thinking it's all right? I've done him
such a wrong. I didn't realise till after--I thought meeting him
was just a piece of wonderful good luck, after what I'd been
through. I'm not such a bad lot--not really.
[She stops from the over-quivering of her lips. JILL, standing
beside the chair, strokes her shoulder. HILLCRIST stands very
still, painfully biting at a finger.]
You see, my father went bankrupt, and I was in a shop----
HILLCRIST. [Soothingly, and to prevent disclosures] Yes, yes; Yes,
yes!
CHLOE. I never gave a man away or did anything I was ashamed of--at
least--I mean, I had to make my living in all sorts of ways, and
then I met Charlie.
[Again she stopped from the quivering of her lips.]
JILL. It's all right.
CHLOE. He thought I was respectable, and that was such a relief,
you can't think, so--so I let him.
JILL. Dodo! It's awful
HILLCRIST. It is!
CHLOE. And after I married him, you see, I fell in love. If I had
before, perhaps I wouldn't have dared only, I don't know--you never
know, do you? When there's a straw going, you catch at it.
JILL. Of course you do.
CHLOE. And now, you see, I'm going to have a child.
JILL. [Aghast] Oh! Are you?
HILLCRIST. Good God!
CHLOE. [Dully] I've been on hot bricks all this month, ever since
that day here. I knew it was in the wind. What gets in the wind
never gets out. [She rises and throws out her arms] Never! It
just blows here and there [Desolately] and then--blows home. [Her
voice changes to resentment] But I've paid for being a fool--
'tisn't fun, that sort of life, I can tell you. I'm not ashamed and
repentant, and all that. If it wasn't for him! I'm afraid he'll
never forgive me; it's such a disgrace for him--and then, to have
his child! Being fond of him, I feel it much worse than anything I
ever felt, and that's saying a good bit. It is.
JILL. [Energetically] Look here! He simply mustn't find out.
CHLOE. That's it; but it's started, and he's bound to keep on
because he knows there's something. A man isn't going to be
satisfied when there's something he suspects about his wife, Charlie
wouldn't never. He's clever, and he's jealous; and he's coming
here.
[She stops, and looks round wildly, listening.]
JILL. Dodo, what can we say to put him clean off the scent?
HILLCRIST. Anything--in reason.
CHLOE. [Catching at this straw] You will! You see, I don't know
what I'll do. I've got soft, being looked after--he does love me.
And if he throws me off, I'll go under--that's all.
HILLCRIST. Have you any suggestion?
CHLOE. [Eagerly] The only thing is to tell him something positive,
something he'll believe, that's not too bad--like my having been a
lady clerk with those people who came here, and having been
dismissed on suspicion of taking money. I could get him to believe
that wasn't true.
JILL. Yes; and it isn't--that's splendid! You'd be able to put
such conviction into it. Don't you think so, Dodo?
HILLCRIST. Anything I can. I'm deeply sorry.
CHLOE. Thank you. And don't say I've been here, will you? He's
very suspicious. You see, he knows that his father has re-sold that
land to you; that's what he can't make out--that, and my coming here
this morning; he knows something's being kept from him; and he
noticed that man with Dawker yesterday. And my maid's been spying
on me. It's in the air. He puts two and two together. But I've
told him there's nothing he need worry about; nothing that's true.
HILLCRIST. What a coil!
CHLOE. I'm very honest and careful about money. So he won't
believe that about me, and the old man wants to keep it from
Charlie, I know.
HILLCRIST. That does seem the best way out.
CHLOE. [With a touch of defiance] I'm a true wife to him.
CHLOE. Of course we know that.
HILLCRIST. It's all unspeakably sad. Deception's horribly against
the grain--but----
CHLOE. [Eagerly] When I deceived him, I'd have deceived God
Himself--I was so desperate. You've never been right down in the
mud. You can't understand what I've been through.
HILLCRIST. Yes, Yes. I daresay I'd have done the same. I should
be the last to judge.
[CHLOE covers her eyes with her hands.]
There, there! Cheer up! [He puts his hand on her arm.]
CHLOE. [To herself] Darling Dodo!
CHLOE. [Starting] There's somebody at the door. I must go; I must
go.
[She runs to the window and slips through the curtains.]
[The handle of the door is again turned.]
JILL. [Dismayed] Oh! It's locked--I forgot.
[She spring to the door, unlocks and opens it, while HILLCRIST
goes to the bureau and sits down.]
It's all right, Fellows; I was only saying something rather
important.
FELLOWS. [Coming in a step or two and closing the door behind him]
Certainly, Miss. Mr. Charles 'Ornblower is in the hall. Wants to
see you, sir, or Mrs. Hillcrist.
JILL. What a bore! Can you see him, Dodo?
HILLCRIST. Er--yes. I suppose so. Show him in here, Fellows.
[As FELLOWS goes out, JILL runs to the window, but has no time
to do more than adjust the curtains and spring over to stand by
her father, before CHARLES comes in. Though in evening
clothes, he is white and disheveled for so spruce a young
mean.]
CHARLES. Is my wife here?
HILLCRIST. No, sir.
CHARLES. Has she been?
HILLCRIST. This morning, I believe, Jill?
JILL. Yes, she came this morning.
CHARLES. [staring at her] I know that--now, I mean?
JILL. No.
[HILLCRIST shakes has head.]
CHARLES. Tell me what was said this morning.
HILLCRIST. I was not here this morning.
CHARLES. Don't try to put me off. I know too much. [To JILL]
You.
JILL. Shall I, Dodo?
HILLCRIST. No; I will. Won't you sit down?
CHARLES. No. Go on.
HILLCRIST. [Moistening his lips] It appears, Mr. Hornblower, that
my agent, Mr. Dawker--
[CHARLES, who is breathing hard, utters a sound of anger.]
--that my agent happens to know a firm, who in old days employed
your wife. I should greatly prefer not to say any more, especially
as we don't believe the story.
JILL. No; we don't.
CHARLES. Go on!
HILLCRIST. [Getting up] Come! If I were you, I should refuse to
listen to anything against my wife.
CHARLES. Go on, I tell you.
HILLCRIST. You insist? Well, they say there was some question
about the accounts, and your wife left them under a cloud. As I
told you, we don't believe it.
CHARLES. [Passionately] Liars!
[He makes a rush for the door.]
HILLCRIST. [Starting] What did you say?
JILL. [Catching his arm] Dodo! [Sotto voce] We are, you know.
CHARLES. [Turning back to them] Why do you tell me that lie? When
I've just had the truth out of that little scoundrel! My wife's
been here; she put you up to it.
[The face of CHLOE is seen transfixed between the curtains,
parted by her hands.]
She--she put you up to it. Liar that she is--a living lie. For
three years a living lie!
[HILLCRIST whose face alone is turned towards the curtains,
sees that listening face. His hand goes up from uncontrollable
emotion.]
And hasn't now the pluck to tell me. I've done with her. I won't
own a child by such a woman.
[With a little sighing sound CHLOE drops the curtain and
vanishes.]
HILLCRIST. For God's sake, man, think of what you're saying. She's
in great distress.
CHARLES. And what am I?
JILL. She loves you, you know.
CHARLES. Pretty love! That scoundrel Dawker told me--told me--
Horrible! Horrible!
HILLCRIST. I deeply regret that our quarrel should have brought
this about.
CHARLES. [With intense bitterness] Yes, you've smashed my life.
[Unseen by them, MRS. HILLCRIST has entered and stands by the
door, Left.]
MRS. H. Would you have wished to live on in ignorance? [They all
turn to look at her.]
CHARLES. [With a writhing movement] I don't know. But--you--you
did it.
MRS. H. You shouldn't have attacked us.
CHARLES. What did we do to you--compared with this?
MRS. H. All you could.
HILLCRIST. Enough, enough! What can we do to help you?
CHARLES. Tell me where my wife is.
[JILL draws the curtains apart--the window is open--JILL looks
out. They wait in silence.]
JILL. We don't know.
CHARLES. Then she was here?
HILLCRIST. Yes, sir; and she heard you.
CHARLES. All the better if she did. She knows how I feel.
HILLCRIST. Brace up; be gentle with her.
CHARLES. Gentle? A woman who--who----
HILLCRIST. A most unhappy creature. Come!
CHARLES. Damn your sympathy!
[He goes out into the moonlight, passing away.]
JILL. Dodo, we ought to look for her; I'm awfully afraid.
HILLCRIST. I saw her there--listening. With child! Who knows
where things end when they and begin? To the gravel pit, Jill; I'll
go to the pond. No, we'll go together. [They go out.]
[MRS. HILLCRIST comes down to the fireplace, rings the bell
and stands there, thinking. FELLOWS enters.]
MRS. H. I want someone to go down to Mr. Dawker's.
FELLOWS. Mr. Dawker is here, ma'am, waitin' to see you.
MRS. H. Ask him to come in. Oh! and Fellows, you can tell the
Jackmans that they can go back to their cottage.
FELLOWS. Very good, ma'am. [He goes out.]
[MRS. HILLCRIST searches at the bureau, finds and takes out the
deed. DAWKERS comes in; he has the appearance of a man whose
temper has been badly ruffled.]
MRS. H. Charles Hornblower--how did it happen?
DAWKER. He came to me. I said I knew nothing. He wouldn't take
it; went for me, abused me up hill and down dale; said he knew
everything, and then he began to threaten me. Well, I lost my
temper, and I told him.
MRS. H. That's very serious, Dawker, after our promise. My husband
is most upset.
DAWKER. [Sullenly] It's not my fault, ma'am; he shouldn't have
threatened and goaded me on. Besides, it's got out that there's a
scandal; common talk in the village--not the facts, but quite enough
to cook their goose here. They'll have to go. Better have done
with it, anyway, than have enemies at your door.
MRS. H. Perhaps; but--Oh! Dawker, take charge of this. [She hands
him the deed] These people are desperate--and--I'm sot sure of my
husband when his feelings are worked on.
[The sound of a car stopping.]
DAWKER. [At the window, looking to the Left] Hornblower's, I
think. Yes, he's getting out.
MRS. H. [Bracing herself] You'd better wait, then.
DAWKER. He mustn't give me any of his sauce; I've had enough.
[The door is opened and HORNBLOWER enters, pressing so on the
heels of FELLOWS that the announcement of his name is lost.]
HORNBLOWER. Give me that deed! Ye got it out of me by false
pretences and treachery. Ye swore that nothing should be heard of
this. Why! me own servants know.
MRS. H. That has nothing to do with us. Your son came and wrenched
the knowledge out of Mr. DAWKER by abuse and threats; that is all.
You will kindly behave yourself here, or I shall ask that you be
shown out.
HORNBLOWER. Give me that deed, I say! [He suddenly turns on
DAWKER] Ye little ruffian, I see it in your pocket.
[The end indeed is projecting from DAWKER'S breast pocket.]
DAWKER. [Seeing red] Now, look 'ere, 'Ornblower, I stood a deal
from your son, and I'll stand no more.
HORNBLOWER. [To MRS. HILLCRIST] I'll ruin your place yet! [To
DAWKER] Ye give me that deed, or I'll throttle ye.
[He closes on DAWKER, and makes a snatch at the deed. DAWKER,
springs at him, and the two stand swaying, trying for a grip at
each other's throats. MRS. HILLCRIST tries to cross and reach
the bell, but is shut off by their swaying struggle.]
[Suddenly ROLF appears in the window, looks wildly at the
struggle, and seizes DAWKER'S hands, which have reached
HORNBLOWER'S throat. JILL, who is following, rushes up to him
and clutches his arm.]
JILL. Rolf! All of you! Stop! Look!
[DAWKER'S hand relaxes, and he is swung round. HORNBLOWER
staggers and recovers himself, gasping for breath. All turn to
the window, outside which in the moonlight HILLCRIST and
CHARLES HORNBLOWER have CHLOE'S motionless body in their arms.]
In the gravel pit. She's just breathing; that's all.
MRS. H. Bring her in. The brandy, Jill!
HORNBLOWER. No. Take her to the car. Stand back, young woman! I
want no help from any of ye. Rolf--Chearlie--take her up.
[They lift and bear her away, Left. JILL follows.]
Hillcrist, ye've got me beaten and disgraced hereabouts, ye've
destroyed my son's married life, and ye've killed my grandchild.
I'm not staying in this cursed spot, but if ever I can do you or
yours a hurt, I will.
DAWKER. [Muttering] That's right. Squeal and threaten. You began
it.
HILLCRIST. Dawker, have the goodness! Hornblower, in the presence
of what may be death, with all my heart I'm sorry.
HORNBLOWER. Ye hypocrite!
[He passes them with a certain dignity, and goes out at the
window, following to his car.]
[HILLCRIST who has stood for a moment stock-still, goes slowly
forward and sits in his swivel chair.]
MRS. H. Dawker, please tell Fellows to telephone to Dr. Robinson to
go round to the Hornblowers at once.
[DAWKER, fingering the deed, and with a noise that sounds like
"The cur!" goes out, Left.]
[At the fireplace]
Jack! Do you blame me?
HILLCRIST. [Motionless] No.
MRS. H. Or Dawker? He's done his best.
HILLCRIST. No.
MRS. H. [Approaching] What is it?
HILLCRIST. Hypocrite!
[JILL comes running in at the window.]
JILL. Dodo, she's moved; she's spoken. It may not be so bad.
HILLCRIST. Thank God for that!
[FELLOWS enters, Left.]
FELLOWS. The Jackmans, ma'am.
HILLCRIST. Who? What's this?
[The JACKMANS have entered, standing close to the door.]
MRS. J. We're so glad we can go back, sir--ma'am, we just wanted to
thank you.
[There is a silence. They see that they are not welcome.]
Thank you kindly, sir. Good night, ma'am.
[They shuffle out. ]
HILLCRIST. I'd forgotten their existence. [He gets up] What is it
that gets loose when you begin a fight, and makes you what you think
you're not? What blinding evil! Begin as you may, it ends in this
--skin game! Skin game!
JILL. [Rushing to him] It's not you, Dodo; it's not you, beloved
Dodo.
HILLCRIST. It is me. For I am, or should be, master in this house!
MRS. H. I don't understand.
HILLCRIST. When we began this fight, we had clean hands--are they
clean' now? What's gentility worth if it can't stand fire?
CURTAIN
FROM THE SERIES OF SIX SHORT PLAYS
Contents:
The First and The Last
The Little Man
Hall-marked
Defeat
The Sun
Punch and Go
THE FIRST AND THE LAST
A DRAMA IN THREE SCENES
PERSONS OF THE PLAY
KEITH DARRANT, K.C.
LARRY DARRANT, His Brother.
WANDA.
SCENE I. KEITH'S Study.
SCENE II. WANDA's Room.
SCENE III. The Same.
Between SCENE I. and SCENE II.--Thirty hours.
Between SCENE II. and SCENE III.--Two months.
SCENE I
It is six o'clock of a November evening, in KEITH DARRANT'S
study. A large, dark-curtained room where the light from a single
reading-lamp falling on Turkey carpet, on books beside a large
armchair, on the deep blue-and-gold coffee service, makes a sort of
oasis before a log fire. In red Turkish slippers and an old brown
velvet coat, KEITH DARRANT sits asleep. He has a dark, clean-cut,
clean-shaven face, dark grizzling hair, dark twisting eyebrows.
[The curtained door away out in the dim part of the room behind
him is opened so softly that he does not wake. LARRY DARRANT
enters and stands half lost in the curtain over the door. A
thin figure, with a worn, high cheek-boned face, deep-sunk blue
eyes and wavy hair all ruffled--a face which still has a certain
beauty. He moves inwards along the wall, stands still again and
utters a gasping sigh. KEITH stirs in his chair.]
KEITH. Who's there?
LARRY. [In a stifled voice] Only I--Larry.
KEITH. [Half-waked] Come in! I was asleep. [He does not turn his
head, staring sleepily at the fire.]
The sound of LARRY's breathing can be heard.
[Turning his head a little] Well, Larry, what is it?
LARRY comes skirting along the wall, as if craving its support,
outside the radius of the light.
[Staring] Are you ill?
LARRY stands still again and heaves a deep sigh.
KEITH. [Rising, with his back to the fire, and staring at his
brother] What is it, man? [Then with a brutality born of nerves
suddenly ruffled] Have you committed a murder that you stand there
like a fish?
LARRY. [In a whisper] Yes, Keith.
KEITH. [With vigorous disgust] By Jove! Drunk again! [In a
voice changed by sudden apprehension] What do you mean by coming
here in this state? I told you---- If you weren't my brother----!
Come here, where I can we you! What's the matter with you, Larry?
[With a lurch LARRY leaves the shelter of the wall and sinks into
a chair in the circle of light.]
LARRY. It's true.
[KEITH steps quickly forward and stares down into his brother's
eyes, where is a horrified wonder, as if they would never again
get on terms with his face.]
KEITH. [Angry, bewildered-in a low voice] What in God's name is
this nonsense?
[He goes quickly over to the door and draws the curtain aside, to
see that it is shut, then comes back to LARRY, who is huddling
over the fire.]
Come, Larry! Pull yourself together and drop exaggeration! What on
earth do you mean?
LARRY. [In a shrill outburst] It's true, I tell you; I've killed a
man.
KEITH. [Bracing himself; coldly] Be quiet!
LARRY lifts his hands and wrings them.
[Utterly taken aback] Why come here and tell me this?
LARRY. Whom should I tell, Keith? I came to ask what I'm to do--
give myself up, or what?
KEITH. When--when--what----?
LARRY. Last night.
KEITH. Good God! How? Where? You'd better tell me quietly from
the beginning. Here, drink this coffee; it'll clear your head.
He pours out and hands him a cup of coffee. LARRY drinks it
off.
LARRY. My head! Yes! It's like this, Keith--there's a girl----
KEITH. Women! Always women, with you! Well?
LARRY. A Polish girl. She--her father died over here when she was
sixteen, and left her all alone. There was a mongrel living in the
same house who married her--or pretended to. She's very pretty,
Keith. He left her with a baby coming. She lost it, and nearly
starved. Then another fellow took her on, and she lived with him two
years, till that brute turned up again and made her go back to him.
He used to beat her black and blue. He'd left her again when--I met
her. She was taking anybody then. [He stops, passes his hand over
his lips, looks up at KEITH, and goes on defiantly] I never met a
sweeter woman, or a truer, that I swear. Woman! She's only twenty
now! When I went to her last night, that devil had found her out
again. He came for me--a bullying, great, hulking brute. Look!
[He touches a dark mark on his forehead] I took his ugly throat, and
when I let go--[He stops and his hands drop.]
KEITH. Yes?
LARRY. [In a smothered voice] Dead, Keith. I never knew till
afterwards that she was hanging on to him--to h-help me. [Again he
wrings his hands.]
KEITH. [In a hard, dry voice] What did you do then?
LARRY. We--we sat by it a long time.
KEITH. Well?
LARRY. Then I carried it on my back down the street, round a corner,
to an archway.
KEITH. How far?
LARRY. About fifty yards.
KEITH. Was--did anyone see?
LARRY. No.
KEITH. What time?
LARRY. Three in the morning.
KEITH. And then?
LARRY. Went back to her.
KEITH. Why--in heaven's name?
LARRY. She way lonely and afraid. So was I, Keith.
KEITH. Where is this place?
LARRY. Forty-two Borrow Square, Soho.
KEITH. And the archway?
LARRY. Corner of Glove Lane.
KEITH. Good God! Why, I saw it in the paper this morning. They
were talking of it in the Courts! [He snatches the evening paper
from his armchair, and runs it over anal reads] Here it is again.
"Body of a man was found this morning under an archway in Glove Lane.
From marks about the throat grave suspicion of foul play are
entertained. The body had apparently been robbed." My God!
[Suddenly he turns] You saw this in the paper and dreamed it.
D'you understand, Larry?--you dreamed it.
LARRY. [Wistfully] If only I had, Keith!
[KEITH makes a movement of his hands almost like his brother's.]
KEITH. Did you take anything from the-body?
LARRY. [Drawing au envelope from his pocket] This dropped out while
we were struggling.
KEITH. [Snatching it and reading] "Patrick Walenn"--Was that his
name? "Simon's Hotel, Farrier Street, London." [Stooping, he puts it
in the fire] No!--that makes me----[He bends to pluck it out, stays
his hand, and stamps it suddenly further in with his foot] What in
God's name made you come here and tell me? Don't you know I'm--I'm
within an ace of a Judgeship?
LARRY. [Simply] Yes. You must know what I ought to do. I didn't,
mean to kill him, Keith. I love the girl--I love her. What shall I
do?
KEITH. Love!
LARRY. [In a flash] Love!--That swinish brute! A million creatures
die every day, and not one of them deserves death as he did. But but
I feel it here. [Touching his heart] Such an awful clutch, Keith.
Help me if you can, old man. I may be no good, but I've never hurt a
fly if I could help it. [He buries his face in his hands.]
KEITH. Steady, Larry! Let's think it out. You weren't seen, you
say?
LARRY. It's a dark place, and dead night.
KEITH. When did you leave the girl again?
LARRY. About seven.
KEITH. Where did you go?
LARRY. To my rooms.
KEITH. To Fitzroy Street?
LARRY. Yes.
KEITH. What have you done since?
LARRY. Sat there--thinking.
KEITH. Not been out?
LARRY. No.
KEITH. Not seen the girl?
[LARRY shakes his head.]
Will she give you away?
LARRY. Never.
KEITH. Or herself hysteria?
LARRY. No.
KEITH. Who knows of your relations with her?
LARRY. No one.
KEITH. No one?
LARRY. I don't know who should, Keith.
KEITH. Did anyone see you go in last night, when you first went to
her?
LARRY. No. She lives on the ground floor. I've got keys.
KEITH. Give them to me.
LARRY takes two keys from his pocket and hands them to his
brother.
LARRY. [Rising] I can't be cut off from her!
KEITH. What! A girl like that?
LARRY. [With a flash] Yes, a girl like that.
KEITH. [Moving his hand to put down old emotion] What else have you
that connects you with her?
LARRY. Nothing.
KEITH. In your rooms?
[LARRY shakes his head.]
Photographs? Letters?
LARRY. No.
KEITH. Sure?
LARRY. Nothing.
KEITH. No one saw you going back to her?
[LARRY shakes his head. ]
Nor leave in the morning? You can't be certain.
LARRY. I am.
KEITH. You were fortunate. Sit down again, man. I must think.
He turns to the fire and leans his elbows on the mantelpiece and
his head on his hands. LARRY Sits down again obediently.
KEITH. It's all too unlikely. It's monstrous!
LARRY. [Sighing it out] Yes.
KEITH. This Walenn--was it his first reappearance after an absence?
LARRY. Yes.
KEITH. How did he find out where she was?
LARRY. I don't know.
KEITH. [Brutally] How drunk were you?
LARRY. I was not drunk.
KEITH. How much had you drunk, then?
LARRY. A little claret--nothing!
KEITH. You say you didn't mean to kill him.
LARRY. God knows.
KEITH. That's something.
LARRY. He hit me. [He holds up his hands] I didn't know I was so
strong.
KEITH. She was hanging on to him, you say?--That's ugly.
LARRY. She was scared for me.
KEITH. D'you mean she--loves you?
LARRY. [Simply] Yes, Keith.
KEITH. [Brutally] Can a woman like that love?
LARRY. [Flashing out] By God, you are a stony devil! Why not?
KEITH. [Dryly] I'm trying to get at truth. If you want me to help,
I must know everything. What makes you think she's fond of you?
LARRY. [With a crazy laugh] Oh, you lawyer! Were you never in a
woman's arms?
KEITH. I'm talking of love.
LARRY. [Fiercely] So am I. I tell you she's devoted. Did you ever
pick up a lost dog? Well, she has the lost dog's love for me. And I
for her; we picked each other up. I've never felt for another woman
what I feel for her--she's been the saving of me!
KEITH. [With a shrug] What made you choose that archway?
LARRY. It was the first dark place.
KEITH. Did his face look as if he'd been strangled?
LARRY. Don't!
KEITH. Did it?
[LARRY bows his head.]
Very disfigured?
LARRY. Yes.
KEITH. Did you look to see if his clothes were marked?
LARRY. No.
KEITH. Why not?
LARRY. [In an outburst] I'm not made of iron, like you. Why not?
If you had done it----!
KEITH. [Holding up his hand] You say he was disfigured. Would he
be recognisable?
LARRY. [Wearily] I don't know.
KEITH. When she lived with him last--where was that?
LARRY. In Pimlico, I think.
KEITH. Not Soho?
[LARRY shakes his head.]
How long has she been at this Soho place?
LARRY. Nearly a year.
KEITH. Living this life?
LARRY. Till she met me.
KEITH. Till, she met you? And you believe----?
LARRY. [Starting up] Keith!
KEITH. [Again raising his hand] Always in the same rooms?
LARRY. [Subsiding] Yes.
KEITH. What was he? A professional bully?
[LARRY nods.]
Spending most of his time abroad, I suppose.
LARRY. I think so.
KEITH. Can you say if he was known to the police?
LARRY. I've never heard.
KEITH turns away and walks up and down; then, stopping at
LARRY's chair, he speaks.
KEITH. Now listen, Larry. When you leave here, go straight home,
and stay there till I give you leave to go out again. Promise.
LARRY. I promise.
KEITH. Is your promise worth anything?
LARRY. [With one of his flashes] "Unstable as water, he shall not
excel!"
KEITH. Exactly. But if I'm to help you, you must do as I say.
I must have time to think this out. Have you got money?
LARRY. Very little.
KEITH. [Grimly] Half-quarter day--yes, your quarter's always spent
by then. If you're to get away--never mind, I can manage the money.
LARRY. [Humbly] You're very good, Keith; you've always been very
good to me--I don't know why.
KEITH. [Sardonically] Privilege of A brother. As it happens, I'm
thinking of myself and our family. You can't indulge yourself in
killing without bringing ruin. My God! I suppose you realise that
you've made me an accessory after the fact--me, King's counsel--sworn
to the service of the Law, who, in a year or two, will have the
trying of cases like yours! By heaven, Larry, you've surpassed
yourself!
LARRY. [Bringing out a little box] I'd better have done with it.
KErra. You fool! Give that to me.
LARRY. [With a strange smite] No. [He holds up a tabloid between
finger and thumb] White magic, Keith! Just one--and they may do
what they like to you, and you won't know it. Snap your fingers at
all the tortures. It's a great comfort! Have one to keep by you?
KEITH. Come, Larry! Hand it over.
LARRY. [Replacing the box] Not quite! You've never killed a man,
you see. [He gives that crazy laugh.] D'you remember that hammer
when we were boys and you riled me, up in the long room? I had luck
then. I had luck in Naples once. I nearly killed a driver for
beating his poor brute of a horse. But now--! My God! [He covers
his face.]
KEITH touched, goes up and lays a hand on his shoulder.
KEITH. Come, Larry! Courage!
LARRY looks up at him.
LARRY. All right, Keith; I'll try.
KEITH. Don't go out. Don't drink. Don't talk. Pull yourself
together!
LARRY. [Moving towards the door] Don't keep me longer than you can
help, Keith.
KEITH. No, no. Courage!
LARRY reaches the door, turns as if to say something-finds no
words, and goes.
[To the fire] Courage! My God! I shall need it!
CURTAIN
SCENE II
At out eleven o'clock the following night an WANDA'S room on the
ground floor in Soho. In the light from one close-shaded
electric bulb the room is but dimly visible. A dying fire burns
on the left. A curtained window in the centre of the back wall.
A door on the right. The furniture is plush-covered and
commonplace, with a kind of shabby smartness. A couch, without
back or arms, stands aslant, between window and fire.
[On this WANDA is sitting, her knees drawn up under her, staring
at the embers. She has on only her nightgown and a wrapper over
it; her bare feet are thrust into slippers. Her hands are
crossed and pressed over her breast. She starts and looks up,
listening. Her eyes are candid and startled, her face alabaster
pale, and its pale brown hair, short and square-cut, curls
towards her bare neck. The startled dark eyes and the faint
rose of her lips are like colour-staining on a white mask.]
[Footsteps as of a policeman, very measured, pass on the
pavement outside, and die away. She gets up and steals to the
window, draws one curtain aside so that a chink of the night is
seen. She opens the curtain wider, till the shape of a bare,
witch-like tree becomes visible in the open space of the little
Square on the far side of the road. The footsteps are heard
once more coming nearer. WANDA closes the curtains and cranes
back. They pass and die again. She moves away and looking down
at the floor between door and couch, as though seeing something
there; shudders; covers her eyes; goes back to the couch and
down again just as before, to stare at the embers. Again she is
startled by noise of the outer door being opened. She springs
up, runs and turns the light by a switch close to the door. By
the glimmer of the fire she can just be seen standing by the
dark window-curtains, listening. There comes the sound of
subdued knocking on her door. She stands in breathless terror.
The knocking is repeated. The sound of a latchkey in the door
is heard. Her terror leaves her. The door opens; a man enters
in a dark, fur overcoat.]
WANDA. [In a voice of breathless relief, with a rather foreign
accent] Oh! it's you, Larry! Why did you knock? I was so
frightened. Come in! [She crosses quickly, and flings her arms
round his neck] [Recoiling--in a terror-stricken whisper] Oh! Who
is it?
KEITH. [In a smothered voice] A friend of Larry's. Don't be
frightened.
She has recoiled again to the window; and when he finds the
switch and turns the light up, she is seen standing there
holding her dark wrapper up to her throat, so that her face has
an uncanny look of being detached from the body.
[Gently] You needn't be afraid. I haven't come to do you harm--
quite the contrary. [Holding up the keys] Larry wouldn't have given
me these, would he, if he hadn't trusted me?
WANDA does not move, staring like a spirit startled out of the
flesh.
[After looking round him] I'm sorry to have startled you.
WANDA. [In a whisper] Who are you, please?
KEITH. Larry's brother.
WANDA, with a sigh of utter relief, steals forward to the couch
and sinks down. KEITH goes up to her.
He'd told me.
WANDA. [Clasping her hands round her knees.] Yes?
KEITH. An awful business!
WANDA. Yes; oh, yes! Awful--it is awful!
KEITH. [Staring round him again.] In this room?
WANDA. Just where you are standing. I see him now, always falling.
KEITH. [Moved by the gentle despair in her voice] You--look very
young. What's your name?
WANDA. Wanda.
KEITH. Are you fond of Larry?
WANDA. I would die for him!
[A moment's silence.]
KEITH. I--I've come to see what you can do to save him.
WANDA, [Wistfully] You would not deceive me. You are really his
brother?
KEITH. I swear it.
WANDA. [Clasping her hands] If I can save him! Won't you sit down?
KEITH. [Drawing up a chair and sitting] This, man, your--your
husband, before he came here the night before last--how long since
you saw him?
WANDA. Eighteen month.
KEITH. Does anyone about here know you are his wife?
WANDA. No. I came here to live a bad life. Nobody know me. I am
quite alone.
KEITH. They've discovered who he was--you know that?
WANDA. No; I have not dared to go out.
KEITH: Well, they have; and they'll look for anyone connected with
him, of course.
WANDA. He never let people think I was married to him. I don't know
if I was--really. We went to an office and signed our names; but he
was a wicked man. He treated many, I think, like me.
KEITH. Did my brother ever see him before?
WANDA. Never! And that man first went for him.
KEITH. Yes. I saw the mark. Have you a servant?
WANDA. No. A woman come at nine in the morning for an hour.
KEITH. Does she know Larry?
WANDA. No. He is always gone.
KEITH. Friends--acquaintances?
WANDA. No; I am verree quiet. Since I know your brother, I see no
one, sare.
KEITH. [Sharply] Do you mean that?
WANDA. Oh, yes! I love him. Nobody come here but him for a long
time now.
KEITH. How long?
WANDA. Five month.
KEITH. So you have not been out since----?
[WANDA shakes her head.]
What have you been doing?
WANDA. [Simply] Crying. [Pressing her hands to her breast] He is
in danger because of me. I am so afraid for him.
KEITH. [Checking her emotion] Look at me.
[She looks at him.]
If the worst comes, and this man is traced to you, can you trust
yourself not to give Larry away?
WANDA. [Rising and pointing to the fire] Look! I have burned all
the things he have given me--even his picture. Now I have nothing
from him.
KEITH. [Who has risen too] Good! One more question. Do the police
know you--because--of your life?
[She looks at him intently, and shakes her, head.]
You know where Larry lives?
WANDA. Yes.
KEITH. You mustn't go there, and he mustn't come to you.
[She bows her head; then, suddenly comes close to him.]
WANDA. Please do not take him from me altogether. I will be so
careful. I will not do anything to hurt him. But if I cannot see
him sometimes, I shall die. Please do not take him from me.
[She catches his hand and presses it desperately between her
own.]
KEITH. Leave that to me. I'm going to do all I can.
WANDA. [Looking up into his face] But you will be kind?
Suddenly she bends and kisses his hand. KEITH draws his hand
away, and she recoils a little humbly, looking up at him again.
Suddenly she stands rigid, listening.
[In a whisper] Listen! Someone--out there!
She darts past him and turns out the light. There is a knock on
the door. They are now close together between door and window.
[Whispering] Oh! Who is it?
KEITH. [Under his breath] You said no one comes but Larry.
WANDA. Yes, and you have his keys. Oh! if it is Larry! I must open!
KEITH shrinks back against the wall. WANDA goes to the door.
[Opening the door an inch] Yes? Please? Who?
A thin streak of light from a bull's-eye lantern outside plays
over the wall. A Policeman's voice says: "All right, Miss.
Your outer door's open. You ought to keep it shut after dark,
you know."
WANDA. Thank you, air.
[The sound of retreating footsteps, of the outer door closing.
WANDA shuts the door.]
A policeman!
KEITH. [Moving from the wall] Curse! I must have left that door.
[Suddenly-turning up the light] You told me they didn't know you.
WANDA. [Sighing] I did not think they did, sir. It is so long I
was not out in the town; not since I had Larry.
KEITH gives her an intent look, then crosses to the fire. He
stands there a moment, looking down, then turns to the girl, who
has crept back to the couch.
KEITH. [Half to himself] After your life, who can believe---? Look
here! You drifted together and you'll drift apart, you know. Better
for him to get away and make a clean cut of it.
WANDA. [Uttering a little moaning sound] Oh, sir! May I not love,
because I have been bad? I was only sixteen when that man spoiled
me. If you knew----
KEITH. I'm thinking of Larry. With you, his danger is much greater.
There's a good chance as things are going. You may wreck it. And
for what? Just a few months more of--well--you know.
WANDA. [Standing at the head of the couch and touching her eyes with
her hands] Oh, sir! Look! It is true. He is my life. Don't take
him away from me.
KEITH. [Moved and restless] You must know what Larry is. He'll
never stick to you.
WANDA. [Simply] He will, sir.
KEITH. [Energetically] The last man on earth to stick to anything!
But for the sake of a whim he'll risk his life and the honour of all
his family. I know him.
WANDA. No, no, you do not. It is I who know him.
KEITH. Now, now! At any moment they may find out your connection
with that man. So long as Larry goes on with you, he's tied to this
murder, don't you see?
WANDA. [Coming close to him] But he love me. Oh, sir! he love me!
KEITH. Larry has loved dozens of women.
WANDA. Yes, but----[Her face quivers].
KEITH. [Brusquely] Don't cry! If I give you money, will you
disappear, for his sake?
WANDA. [With a moan] It will be in the water, then. There will be
no cruel men there.
KEITH. Ah! First Larry, then you! Come now. It's better for you
both. A few months, and you'll forget you ever met.
WANDA. [Looking wildly up] I will go if Larry say I must. But not
to live. No! [Simply] I could not, sir.
[KEITH, moved, is silent.]
I could not live without Larry. What is left for a girl like me--
when she once love? It is finish.
KEITH. I don't want you to go back to that life.
WANDA. No; you do not care what I do. Why should you? I tell you I
will go if Larry say I must.
KEITH. That's not enough. You know that. You must take it out of
his hands. He will never give up his present for the sake of his
future. If you're as fond of him as you say, you'll help to save
him.
WANDA. [Below her breath] Yes! Oh, yes! But do not keep him long
from me--I beg! [She sinks to the floor and clasps his knees.]
KEITH. Well, well! Get up.
[There is a tap on the window-pane]
Listen!
[A faint, peculiar whistle. ]
WANDA. [Springing up] Larry! Oh, thank God!
[She runs to the door, opens it, and goes out to bring him in.
KEITH stands waiting, facing the open doorway.]
[LARRY entering with WANDA just behind him.]
LARRY. Keith!
KEITH. [Grimly] So much for your promise not to go out!
LARRY. I've been waiting in for you all day. I couldn't stand it
any longer.
KEITH. Exactly!
LARRY. Well, what's the sentence, brother? Transportation for life
and then to be fined forty pounds'?
KEITH. So you can joke, can you?
LARRY. Must.
KEITH. A boat leaves for the Argentine the day after to-morrow; you
must go by it.
LARRY. [Putting his arms round WANDA, who is standing motionless
with her eyes fixed on him] Together, Keith?
KEITH. You can't go together. I'll send her by the next boat.
LARRY. Swear?
KEITH. Yes. You're lucky they're on a false scent.
LARRY. What?
KEITH. You haven't seen it?
LARRY. I've seen nothing, not even a paper.
KEITH. They've taken up a vagabond who robbed the body. He pawned a
snake-shaped ring, and they identified this Walenn by it. I've been
down and seen him charged myself.
LARRY. With murder?
WANDA. [Faintly] Larry!
KEITH. He's in no danger. They always get the wrong man first.
It'll do him no harm to be locked up a bit--hyena like that. Better
in prison, anyway, than sleeping out under archways in this weather.
LARRY. What was he like, Keith?
KEITH. A little yellow, ragged, lame, unshaven scarecrow of a chap.
They were fools to think he could have had the strength.
LARRY. What! [In an awed voice] Why, I saw him--after I left you
last night.
KEITH. You? Where?
LARRY. By the archway.
KEITH. You went back there?
LARRY. It draws you, Keith.
KErra. You're mad, I think.
LARRY. I talked to him, and he said, "Thank you for this little
chat. It's worth more than money when you're down." Little grey man
like a shaggy animal. And a newspaper boy came up and said: "That's
right, guv'nors! 'Ere's where they found the body--very spot. They
'yn't got 'im yet."
[He laughs; and the terrified girl presses herself against him.]
An innocent man!
KEITH. He's in no danger, I tell you. He could never have
strangled----Why, he hadn't the strength of a kitten. Now, Larry!
I'll take your berth to-morrow. Here's money [He brings out a pile
of notes and puts them on the couch] You can make a new life of it
out there together presently, in the sun.
LARRY. [In a whisper] In the sun! "A cup of wine and thou."
[Suddenly] How can I, Keith? I must see how it goes with that poor
devil.
KEITH. Bosh! Dismiss it from your mind; there's not nearly enough
evidence.
LARRY. Not?
KEITH. No. You've got your chance. Take it like a man.
LARRY. [With a strange smile--to the girl] Shall we, Wanda?
WANDA. Oh, Larry!
LARRY. [Picking the notes up from the couch] Take them back, Keith.
KEITH. What! I tell you no jury would convict; and if they did, no
judge would hang. A ghoul who can rob a dead body, ought to be in
prison. He did worse than you.
LARRY. It won't do, Keith. I must see it out.
KEITH. Don't be a fool!
LARRY. I've still got some kind of honour. If I clear out before I
know, I shall have none--nor peace. Take them, Keith, or I'll put
them in the fire.
KEITH. [Taking back the notes; bitterly] I suppose I may ask you
not to be entirely oblivious of our name. Or is that unworthy of
your honour?
LARRY. [Hanging his head] I'm awfully sorry, Keith; awfully sorry,
old man.
KEITH. [sternly] You owe it to me--to our name--to our dead mother
--to do nothing anyway till we see what happens.
LARRY. I know. I'll do nothing without you, Keith.
KEITH. [Taking up his hat] Can I trust you? [He stares hard at his
brother.]
LARRY. You can trust me.
KEITH. Swear?
LARRY. I swear.
KEITH. Remember, nothing! Good night!
LARRY. Good night!
KEITH goes. LARRY Sits down on the couch sand stares at the
fire. The girl steals up and slips her arms about him.
LARRY. An innocent man!
WANDA. Oh, Larry! But so are you. What did we want--to kill that
man? Never! Oh! kiss me!
[LARRY turns his face. She kisses his lips.]
I have suffered so--not seein' you. Don't leave me again--don't!
Stay here. Isn't it good to be together?--Oh! Poor Larry! How
tired you look!--Stay with me. I am so frightened all alone. So
frightened they will take you from me.
LARRY. Poor child!
WANDA. No, no! Don't look like that!
LARRY. You're shivering.
WANDA. I will make up the fire. Love me, Larry! I want to forget.
LARRY. The poorest little wretch on God's earth--locked up--for me!
A little wild animal, locked up. There he goes, up and down, up and
down--in his cage--don't you see him?--looking for a place to gnaw
his way through--little grey rat. [He gets up and roams about.]
WANDA. No, no! I can't bear it! Don't frighten me more!
[He comes back and takes her in his arms.]
LARRY. There, there! [He kisses her closed eyes.]
WANDA. [Without moving] If we could sleep a little--wouldn't it be
nice?
LARRY. Sleep?
WANDA. [Raising herself] Promise to stay with me--to stay here for
good, Larry. I will cook for you; I will make you so comfortable.
They will find him innocent. And then--Oh, Larry! in the sun-right
away--far from this horrible country. How lovely! [Trying to get
him to look at her] Larry!
LARRY. [With a movement to free 'himself] To the edge of the
world-and---over!
WANDA. No, no! No, no! You don't want me to die, Larry, do you? I
shall if you leave me. Let us be happy! Love me!
LARRY. [With a laugh] Ah! Let's be happy and shut out the sight of
him. Who cares? Millions suffer for no mortal reason. Let's be
strong, like Keith. No! I won't leave you, Wanda. Let's forget
everything except ourselves. [Suddenly] There he goes-up and down!
WANDA. [Moaning] No, no! See! I will pray to the Virgin. She will
pity us!
She falls on her knees and clasps her hands, praying. Her lips
move. LARRY stands motionless, with arms crossed, and on his
face are yearning and mockery, love and despair.
LARRY. [Whispering] Pray for us! Bravo! Pray away!
[Suddenly the girl stretches out her arms and lifts her face
with a look of ecstasy.]
What?
WANDA. She is smiling! We shall be happy soon.
LARRY. [Bending down over her] Poor child! When we die, Wanda,
let's go together. We should keep each other warm out in the dark.
WANDA. [Raising her hands to his face] Yes! oh, yes! If you die I
could not--I could not go on living!
CURTAIN
SCENE III.
TWO MONTHS LATER
WANDA'S room. Daylight is just beginning to fail of a January
afternoon. The table is laid for supper, with decanters of
wine.
WANDA is standing at the window looking out at the wintry trees
of the Square beyond the pavement. A newspaper Boy's voice is
heard coming nearer.
VOICE. Pyper! Glove Lyne murder! Trial and verdict! [Receding]
Verdict! Pyper!
WANDA throws up the window as if to call to him, checks herself,
closes it and runs to the door. She opens it, but recoils into
the room. KEITH is standing there. He comes in.
KEITH. Where's Larry?
WANDA. He went to the trial. I could not keep him from it. The
trial--Oh! what has happened, sir?
KEITH. [Savagely] Guilty! Sentence of death! Fools!--idiots!
WANDA. Of death! [For a moment she seems about to swoon.]
KEITH. Girl! girl! It may all depend on you. Larry's still living
here?
WANDA. Yes.
KEITH. I must wait for him.
WANDA. Will you sit down, please?
KEITH. [Shaking his head] Are you ready to go away at any time?
WANDA. Yes, yes; always I am ready.
KEITH. And he?
WANDA. Yes--but now! What will he do? That poor man!
KEITH. A graveyard thief--a ghoul!
WANDA. Perhaps he was hungry. I have been hungry: you do things
then that you would not. Larry has thought of him in prison so much
all these weeks. Oh! what shall we do now?
KEITH. Listen! Help me. Don't let Larry out of your sight. I must
see how things go. They'll never hang this wretch. [He grips her
arms] Now, we must stop Larry from giving himself up. He's fool
enough. D'you understand?
WANDA. Yes. But why has he not come in? Oh! If he have, already!
KEITH. [Letting go her arms] My God! If the police come--find me
here--[He moves to the door] No, he wouldn't without seeing you
first. He's sure to come. Watch him like a lynx. Don't let him go
without you.
WANDA. [Clasping her hands on her breast] I will try, sir.
KEITH. Listen!
[A key is heard in the lock.]
It's he!
LARRY enters. He is holding a great bunch of pink lilies and
white narcissus. His face tells nothing. KEITH looks from him
to the girl, who stands motionless.
LARRY. Keith! So you've seen?
KEITH. The thing can't stand. I'll stop it somehow. But you must
give me time, Larry.
LARRY. [Calmly] Still looking after your honour, KEITH!
KEITH. [Grimly] Think my reasons what you like.
WANDA. [Softly] Larry!
[LARRY puts his arm round her.]
LARRY. Sorry, old man.
KEITH. This man can and shall get off. I want your solemn promise
that you won't give yourself up, nor even go out till I've seen you
again.
LARRY. I give it.
KEITH. [Looking from one to the other] By the memory of our mother,
swear that.
LARRY. [With a smile] I swear.
KEITH. I have your oath--both of you--both of you. I'm going at
once to see what can be done.
LARRY. [Softly] Good luck, brother.
KEITH goes out.
WANDA. [Putting her hands on LARRY's breast] What does it mean?
LARRY. Supper, child--I've had nothing all day. Put these lilies in
water.
[She takes the lilies and obediently puts them into a vase.
LARRY pours wine into a deep-coloured glass and drinks it off.]
We've had a good time, Wanda. Best time I ever had, these last two
months; and nothing but the bill to pay.
WANDA. [Clasping him desperately] Oh, Larry! Larry!
LARRY. [Holding her away to look at her.] Take off those things and
put on a bridal garment.
WANDA. Promise me--wherever you go, I go too. Promise! Larry, you
think I haven't seen, all these weeks. But I have seen everything;
all in your heart, always. You cannot hide from me. I knew--I knew!
Oh, if we might go away into the sun! Oh! Larry--couldn't we? [She
searches his eyes with hers--then shuddering] Well! If it must be
dark--I don't care, if I may go in your arms. In prison we could not
be together. I am ready. Only love me first. Don't let me cry
before I go. Oh! Larry, will there be much pain?
LARRY. [In a choked voice] No pain, my pretty.
WANDA. [With a little sigh] It is a pity.
LARRY. If you had seen him, as I have, all day, being tortured.
Wanda,--we shall be out of it. [The wine mounting to his head] We
shall be free in the dark; free of their cursed inhumanities. I hate
this world--I loathe it! I hate its God-forsaken savagery; its pride
and smugness! Keith's world--all righteous will-power and success.
We're no good here, you and I--we were cast out at birth--soft,
will-less--better dead. No fear, Keith! I'm staying indoors. [He
pours wine into two glasses] Drink it up!
[Obediently WANDA drinks, and he also.]
Now go and make yourself beautiful.
WANDA. [Seizing him in her arms] Oh, Larry!
LARRY. [Touching her face and hair] Hanged by the neck until he's
dead--for what I did.
[WANDA takes a long look at his face, slips her arms from him,
and goes out through the curtains below the fireplace.]
[LARRY feels in his pocket, brings out the little box, opens it,
fingers the white tabloids.]
LARRY. Two each--after food. [He laughs and puts back the box] Oh!
my girl!
[The sound of a piano playing a faint festive tune is heard afar
off. He mutters, staring at the fire.]
[Flames-flame, and flicker-ashes.]
"No more, no more, the moon is dead, And all the people in it."
[He sits on the couch with a piece of paper on his knees, adding
a few words with a stylo pen to what is already written.]
[The GIRL, in a silk wrapper, coming back through the curtains,
watches him.]
LARRY. [Looking up] It's all here--I've confessed. [Reading]
"Please bury us together."
"LAURENCE DARRANT.
"January 28th, about six p.m."
They'll find us in the morning. Come and have supper, my dear love.
[The girl creeps forward. He rises, puts his arm round her, and
with her arm twined round him, smiling into each other's faces,
they go to the table and sit down.]
The curtain falls for a few seconds to indicate the passage of
three hours. When it rises again, the lovers are lying on the
couch, in each other's arms, the lilies stream about them. The
girl's bare arm is round LARRY'S neck. Her eyes are closed; his
are open and sightless. There is no light but fire-light.
A knocking on the door and the sound of a key turned in the
lock. KEITH enters. He stands a moment bewildered by the
half-light, then calls sharply: "Larry!" and turns up the light.
Seeing the forms on the couch, he recoils a moment. Then,
glancing at the table and empty decanters, goes up to the couch.
KEITH. [Muttering] Asleep! Drunk! Ugh!
[Suddenly he bends, touches LARRY, and springs back.]
What! [He bends again, shakes him and calls] Larry! Larry!
[Then, motionless, he stares down at his brother's open,
sightless eyes. Suddenly he wets his finger and holds it to the
girl's lips, then to LARRY'S.]
[He bends and listens at their hearts; catches sight of the
little box lying between them and takes it up.]
My God!
[Then, raising himself, he closes his brother's eyes, and as he
does so, catches sight of a paper pinned to the couch; detaches
it and reads:]
"I, Lawrence Darrant, about to die by my own hand confess that I----"
[He reads on silently, in horror; finishes, letting the paper
drop, and recoils from the couch on to a chair at the
dishevelled supper table. Aghast, he sits there. Suddenly he
mutters:]
If I leave that there--my name--my whole future!
[He springs up, takes up the paper again, and again reads.]
My God! It's ruin!
[He makes as if to tear it across, stops, and looks down at
those two; covers his eyes with his hand; drops the paper and
rushes to the door. But he stops there and comes back,
magnetised, as it were, by that paper. He takes it up once more
and thrusts it into his pocket.]
[The footsteps of a Policeman pass, slow and regular, outside.
His face crisps and quivers; he stands listening till they die
away. Then he snatches the paper from his pocket, and goes past
the foot of the couch to the fore.]
All my----No! Let him hang!
[He thrusts the paper into the fire, stamps it down with his
foot, watches it writhe and blacken. Then suddenly clutching
his head, he turns to the bodies on the couch. Panting and like
a man demented, he recoils past the head of the couch, and
rushing to the window, draws the curtains and throws the window
up for air. Out in the darkness rises the witch-like skeleton
tree, where a dark shape seems hanging. KEITH starts back.]
What's that? What----!
[He shuts the window and draws the dark curtains across it
again.]
Fool! Nothing!
[Clenching his fists, he draws himself up, steadying himself
with all his might. Then slowly he moves to the door, stands a
second like a carved figure, his face hard as stone.]
[Deliberately he turns out the light, opens the door, and goes.]
[The still bodies lie there before the fire which is licking at
the last blackened wafer.]
CURTAIN
THE LITTLE MAN
A FARCICAL MORALITY IN THREE SCENES
CHARACTERS
THE LITTLE MAN.
THE AMERICAN.
THE ENGLISHMAN.
THE ENGLISHWOMAN.
THE GERMAN.
THE DUTCH BOY.
THE MOTHER.
THE BABY.
THE WAITER.
THE STATION OFFICIAL.
THE POLICEMAN.
THE PORTER.
SCENE I
Afternoon, on the departure platform of an Austrian railway
station. At several little tables outside the buffet persons
are taking refreshment, served by a pale young waiter. On a
seat against the wall of the buffet a woman of lowly station is
sitting beside two large bundles, on one of which she has placed
her baby, swathed in a black shawl.
WAITER. [Approaching a table whereat sit an English traveller and
his wife] Two coffee?
ENGLISHMAN. [Paying] Thanks. [To his wife, in an Oxford voice]
Sugar?
ENGLISHWOMAN. [In a Cambridge voice] One.
AMERICAN TRAVELLER. [With field-glasses and a pocket camera from
another table] Waiter, I'd like to have you get my eggs. I've been
sitting here quite a while.
WAITER. Yes, sare.
GERMAN TRAVELLER. 'Kellner, bezahlen'! [His voice is, like his
moustache, stiff and brushed up at the ends. His figure also is
stiff and his hair a little grey; clearly once, if not now, a
colonel.]
WAITER. 'Komm' gleich'!
[The baby on the bundle wails. The mother takes it up to soothe
it. A young, red-cheeked Dutchman at the fourth table stops
eating and laughs.]
AMERICAN. My eggs! Get a wiggle on you!
WAITER. Yes, sare. [He rapidly recedes.]
[A LITTLE MAN in a soft hat is seen to the right of tables. He
stands a moment looking after the hurrying waiter, then seats
himself at the fifth table.]
ENGLISHMAN. [Looking at his watch] Ten minutes more.
ENGLISHWOMAN. Bother!
AMERICAN. [Addressing them] 'Pears as if they'd a prejudice against
eggs here, anyway.
[The ENGLISH look at him, but do not speak. ]
GERMAN. [In creditable English] In these places man can get
nothing.
[The WAITER comes flying back with a compote for the DUTCH
YOUTH, who pays.]
GERMAN. 'Kellner, bezahlen'!
WAITER. 'Eine Krone sechzig'.
[The GERMAN pays.]
AMERICAN. [Rising, and taking out his watch--blandly] See here. If
I don't get my eggs before this watch ticks twenty, there'll be
another waiter in heaven.
WAITER. [Flying] 'Komm' gleich'!
AMERICAN. [Seeking sympathy] I'm gettin' kind of mad!
[The ENGLISHMAN halves his newspaper and hands the advertisement
half to his wife. The BABY wails. The MOTHER rocks it.]
[The DUTCH YOUTH stops eating and laughs. The GERMAN lights a
cigarette. The LITTLE MAN sits motionless, nursing his hat.
The WAITER comes flying back with the eggs and places them
before the AMERICAN.]
AMERICAN. [Putting away his watch] Good! I don't like trouble.
How much?
[He pays and eats. The WAITER stands a moment at the edge of
the platform and passes his hand across his brow. The LITTLE
MAN eyes him and speaks gently.]
LITTLE MAN. Herr Ober!
[The WAITER turns.]
Might I have a glass of beer?
WAITER. Yes, sare.
LITTLE MAN. Thank you very much.
[The WAITER goes.]
AMERICAN. [Pausing in the deglutition of his eggs--affably] Pardon
me, sir; I'd like to have you tell me why you called that little bit
of a feller "Herr Ober." Reckon you would know what that means?
Mr. Head Waiter.
LITTLE MAN. Yes, yes.
AMERICAN. I smile.
LITTLE MAN. Oughtn't I to call him that?
GERMAN. [Abruptly] 'Nein--Kellner'.
AMERICAN. Why, yes! Just "waiter."
[The ENGLISHWOMAN looks round her paper for a second. The DUTCH
YOUTH stops eating and laughs. The LITTLE MAN gazes from face
to face and nurses his hat.]
LITTLE MAN. I didn't want to hurt his feelings.
GERMAN. Gott!
AMERICAN. In my country we're very democratic--but that's quite a
proposition.
ENGLISHMAN. [Handling coffee-pot, to his wife] More?
ENGLISHWOMAN. No, thanks.
GERMAN. [Abruptly] These fellows--if you treat them in this manner,
at once they take liberties. You see, you will not get your beer.
[As he speaks the WAITER returns, bringing the LITTLE MAN'S
beer, then retires.]
AMERICAN. That 'pears to be one up to democracy. [To the LITTLE
MAN] I judge you go in for brotherhood?
LITTLE MAN. [Startled] Oh, no!
AMERICAN. I take considerable stock in Leo Tolstoi myself. Grand
man--grand-souled apparatus. But I guess you've got to pinch those
waiters some to make 'em skip. [To the ENGLISH, who have carelessly
looked his way for a moment] You'll appreciate that, the way he
acted about my eggs.
[The ENGLISH make faint motions with their chins and avert their
eyes.]
[To the WAITER, who is standing at the door of the buffet]
Waiter! Flash of beer--jump, now!
WAITER. 'Komm' gleich'!
GERMAN. 'Cigarren'!
WAITER. 'Schon'!
[He disappears.]
AMERICAN. [Affably--to the LITTLE MAN] Now, if I don't get that
flash of beer quicker'n you got yours, I shall admire.
GERMAN. [Abruptly] Tolstoi is nothing 'nichts'! No good! Ha?
AMERICAN. [Relishing the approach of argument] Well, that is a
matter of temperament. Now, I'm all for equality. See that poor
woman there--very humble woman--there she sits among us with her
baby. Perhaps you'd like to locate her somewhere else?
GERMAN. [Shrugging]. Tolstoi is 'sentimentalisch'. Nietzsche is
the true philosopher, the only one.
AMERICAN. Well, that's quite in the prospectus--very stimulating
party--old Nietch--virgin mind. But give me Leo! [He turns to the
red-cheeked YOUTH] What do you opine, sir? I guess by your labels
you'll be Dutch. Do they read Tolstoi in your country?
[The DUTCH YOUTH laughs.]
AMERICAN. That is a very luminous answer.
GERMAN. Tolstoi is nothing. Man should himself express. He must
push--he must be strong.
AMERICAN. That is so. In America we believe in virility; we like a
man to expand. But we believe in brotherhood too. We draw the line
at niggers; but we aspire. Social barriers and distinctions we've
not much use for.
ENGLISHMAN. Do you feel a draught?
ENGLISHWOMAN. [With a shiver of her shoulder toward the AMERICAN] I
do--rather.
GERMAN. Wait! You are a young people.
AMERICAN. That is so; there are no flies on us. [To the LITTLE MAN,
who has been gazing eagerly from face to face] Say! I'd like to
have you give us your sentiments in relation to the duty of man.
[The LITTLE MAN, fidgets, and is about to opens his mouth.]
AMERICAN. For example--is it your opinion that we should kill off
the weak and diseased, and all that can't jump around?
GERMAN. [Nodding] 'Ja, ja'! That is coming.
LITTLE MAN. [Looking from face to face] They might be me.
[The DUTCH YOUTH laughs.]
AMERICAN. [Reproving him with a look] That's true humility.
'Tisn't grammar. Now, here's a proposition that brings it nearer the
bone: Would you step out of your way to help them when it was liable
to bring you trouble?
GERMAN. 'Nein, nein'! That is stupid.
LITTLE MAN. [Eager but wistful] I'm afraid not. Of course one
wants to--There was St Francis d'Assisi and St Julien L'Hospitalier,
and----
AMERICAN. Very lofty dispositions. Guess they died of them. [He
rises] Shake hands, sir--my name is--[He hands a card] I am an
ice-machine maker. [He shakes the LITTLE MAN's hand] I like your
sentiments--I feel kind of brotherly. [Catching sight of the WAITER
appearing in the doorway] Waiter; where to h-ll is that glass of
beer?
GERMAN. Cigarren!
WAITER. 'Komm' gleich'!
ENGLISHMAN. [Consulting watch] Train's late.
ENGLISHWOMAN. Really! Nuisance!
[A station POLICEMAN, very square and uniformed, passes and
repasses.]
AMERICAN. [Resuming his seat--to the GERMAN] Now, we don't have so
much of that in America. Guess we feel more to trust in human
nature.
GERMAN. Ah! ha! you will bresently find there is nothing in him
but self.
LITTLE MAN. [Wistfully] Don't you believe in human nature?
AMERICAN. Very stimulating question.
[He looks round for opinions. The DUTCH YOUTH laughs.]
ENGLISHMAN. [Holding out his half of the paper to his wife] Swap!
[His wife swaps.]
GERMAN. In human nature I believe so far as I can see him--no more.
AMERICAN. Now that 'pears to me kind o' blasphemy. I believe in
heroism. I opine there's not one of us settin' around here that's
not a hero--give him the occasion.
LITTLE MAN. Oh! Do you believe that?
AMERICAN. Well! I judge a hero is just a person that'll help
another at the expense of himself. Take that poor woman there.
Well, now, she's a heroine, I guess. She would die for her baby any
old time.
GERMAN. Animals will die for their babies. That is nothing.
AMERICAN. I carry it further. I postulate we would all die for that
baby if a locomotive was to trundle up right here and try to handle
it. [To the GERMAN] I guess you don't know how good you are. [As
the GERMAN is twisting up the ends of his moustache--to the
ENGLISHWOMAN] I should like to have you express an opinion, ma'am.
ENGLISHWOMAN. I beg your pardon.
AMERICAN. The English are very humanitarian; they have a very high
sense of duty. So have the Germans, so have the Americans. [To the
DUTCH YOUTH] I judge even in your little country they have that.
This is an epoch of equality and high-toned ideals. [To the LITTLE
MAN] What is your nationality, sir?
LITTLE MAN. I'm afraid I'm nothing particular. My father was
half-English and half-American, and my mother half-German and
half-Dutch.
AMERICAN. My! That's a bit streaky, any old way. [The POLICEMAN
passes again] Now, I don't believe we've much use any more for those
gentlemen in buttons. We've grown kind of mild--we don't think of
self as we used to do.
[The WAITER has appeared in the doorway.]
GERMAN. [In a voice of thunder] 'Cigarren! Donnerwetter'!
AMERICAN. [Shaking his fist at the vanishing WAITER] That flash of
beer!
WAITER. 'Komm' gleich'!
AMERICAN. A little more, and he will join George Washington! I was
about to remark when he intruded: In this year of grace 1913 the
kingdom of Christ is quite a going concern. We are mighty near
universal brotherhood. The colonel here [He indicates the GERMAN] is
a man of blood and iron, but give him an opportunity to be
magnanimous, and he'll be right there. Oh, sir! yep!
[The GERMAN, with a profound mixture of pleasure and cynicism,
brushes up the ends of his moustache.]
LITTLE MAN. I wonder. One wants to, but somehow--[He shakes his
head.]
AMERICAN. You seem kind of skeery about that. You've had experience,
maybe. I'm an optimist--I think we're bound to make the devil hum in
the near future. I opine we shall occasion a good deal of trouble to
that old party. There's about to be a holocaust of selfish
interests. The colonel there with old-man Nietch he won't know
himself. There's going to be a very sacred opportunity.
[As he speaks, the voice of a RAILWAY OFFICIAL is heard an the
distance calling out in German. It approaches, and the words
become audible.]
GERMAN. [Startled] 'Der Teufel'! [He gets up, and seizes the bag
beside him.]
[The STATION OFFICIAL has appeared; he stands for a moment
casting his commands at the seated group. The DUTCH YOUTH also
rises, and takes his coat and hat. The OFFICIAL turns on his
heel and retires still issuing directions.]
ENGLISHMAN. What does he say?
GERMAN. Our drain has come in, de oder platform; only one minute we
haf.
[All, have risen in a fluster.]
AMERICAN. Now, that's very provoking. I won't get that flash of
beer.
[There is a general scurry to gather coats and hats and wraps,
during which the lowly WOMAN is seen making desperate attempts
to deal with her baby and the two large bundles. Quite
defeated, she suddenly puts all down, wrings her hands, and
cries out: "Herr Jesu! Hilfe!" The flying procession turn
their heads at that strange cry.]
AMERICAN. What's that? Help?
[He continues to run. The LITTLE MAN spins round, rushes back,
picks up baby and bundle on which it was seated.]
LITTLE MAN. Come along, good woman, come along!
[The WOMAN picks up the other bundle and they run.]
[The WAITER, appearing in the doorway with the bottle of beer,
watches with his tired smile.]
CURTAIN
SCENE II
A second-class compartment of a corridor carriage, in motion.
In it are seated the ENGLISHMAN and his WIFE, opposite each
other at the corridor end, she with her face to the engine, he
with his back. Both are somewhat protected from the rest of the
travellers by newspapers. Next to her sits the GERMAN, and
opposite him sits the AMERICAN; next the AMERICAN in one window
corner is seated the DUTCH YOUTH; the other window corner is
taken by the GERMAN'S bag. The silence is only broken by the
slight rushing noise of the train's progression and the
crackling of the English newspapers.
AMERICAN. [Turning to the DUTCH YOUTH] Guess I'd like that window
raised; it's kind of chilly after that old run they gave us.
[The DUTCH YOUTH laughs, and goes through the motions of raising
the window. The ENGLISH regard the operation with uneasy
irritation. The GERMAN opens his bag, which reposes on the
corner seat next him, and takes out a book.]
AMERICAN. The Germans are great readers. Very stimulating practice.
I read most anything myself!
[The GERMAN holds up the book so that the title may be read.]
"Don Quixote"--fine book. We Americans take considerable stock in
old man Quixote. Bit of a wild-cat--but we don't laugh at him.
GERMAN. He is dead. Dead as a sheep. A good thing, too.
AMERICAN. In America we have still quite an amount of chivalry.
GERMAN. Chivalry is nothing 'sentimentalisch'. In modern days--no
good. A man must push, he must pull.
AMERICAN. So you say. But I judge your form of chivalry is
sacrifice to the state. We allow more freedom to the individual
soul. Where there's something little and weak, we feel it kind of
noble to give up to it. That way we feel elevated.
[As he speaks there is seen in the corridor doorway the LITTLE
MAN, with the WOMAN'S BABY still on his arm and the bundle held
in the other hand. He peers in anxiously. The ENGLISH, acutely
conscious, try to dissociate themselves from his presence with
their papers. The DUTCH YOUTH laughs.]
GERMAN. 'Ach'! So!
AMERICAN. Dear me!
LITTLE MAN. Is there room? I can't find a seat.
AMERICAN. Why, yes! There's a seat for one.
LITTLE MAN. [Depositing bundle outside, and heaving BABY] May I?
AMERICAN. Come right in!
[The GERMAN sulkily moves his bag. The LITTLE MAN comes in and
seats himself gingerly.]
AMERICAN. Where's the mother?
LITTLE MAN. [Ruefully] Afraid she got left behind.
[The DUTCH YOUTH laughs. The ENGLISH unconsciously emerge from
their newspapers.]
AMERICAN. My! That would appear to be quite a domestic incident.
[The ENGLISHMAN suddenly utters a profound "Ha, Ha!" and
disappears behind his paper. And that paper and the one
opposite are seen to shake, and little sguirls and squeaks
emerge.]
GERMAN. And you haf got her bundle, and her baby. Ha! [He cackles
drily.]
AMERICAN. [Gravely] I smile. I guess Providence has played it
pretty low down on you. It's sure acted real mean.
[The BABY wails, and the LITTLE MAN jigs it with a sort of
gentle desperation, looking apologetically from face to face.
His wistful glance renews the fore of merriment wherever it
alights. The AMERICAN alone preserves a gravity which seems
incapable of being broken.]
AMERICAN. Maybe you'd better get off right smart and restore that
baby. There's nothing can act madder than a mother.
LITTLE MAN. Poor thing, yes! What she must be suffering!
[A gale of laughter shakes the carriage. The ENGLISH for a
moment drop their papers, the better to indulge. The LITTLE MAN
smiles a wintry smile.]
AMERICAN. [In a lull] How did it eventuate?
LITTLE MAN. We got there just as the train was going to start; and I
jumped, thinking I could help her up. But it moved too quickly,
and--and left her.
[The gale of laughter blows up again.]
AMERICAN. Guess I'd have thrown the baby out to her.
LITTLE MAN. I was afraid the poor little thing might break.
[The Baby wails; the LITTLE MAN heaves it; the gale of laughter
blows.]
AMERICAN. [Gravely] It's highly entertaining--not for the baby.
What kind of an old baby is it, anyway? [He sniff's] I judge it's a
bit--niffy.
LITTLE MAN. Afraid I've hardly looked at it yet.
AMERICAN. Which end up is it?
LITTLE MAM. Oh! I think the right end. Yes, yes, it is.
AMERICAN. Well, that's something. Maybe you should hold it out of
window a bit. Very excitable things, babies!
ENGLISHWOMAN. [Galvanized] No, no!
ENGLISHMAN. [Touching her knee] My dear!
AMERICAN. You are right, ma'am. I opine there's a draught out
there. This baby is precious. We've all of us got stock in this
baby in a manner of speaking. This is a little bit of universal
brotherhood. Is it a woman baby?
LITTLE MAN. I--I can only see the top of its head.
AMERICAN. You can't always tell from that. It looks kind of
over-wrapped up. Maybe it had better be unbound.
GERMAN. 'Nein, nein, nein'!
AMERICAN. I think you are very likely right, colonel. It might be a
pity to unbind that baby. I guess the lady should be consulted in
this matter.
ENGLISHWOMAN. Yes, yes, of course----!
ENGLISHMAN. [Touching her] Let it be! Little beggar seems all
right.
AMERICAN. That would seem only known to Providence at this moment.
I judge it might be due to humanity to look at its face.
LITTLE MAN. [Gladly] It's sucking my' finger. There, there--nice
little thing--there!
AMERICAN. I would surmise in your leisure moments you have created
babies, sir?
LITTLE MAN. Oh! no--indeed, no.
AMERICAN. Dear me!--That is a loss. [Addressing himself to the
carriage at large] I think we may esteem ourselves fortunate to have
this little stranger right here with us. Demonstrates what a hold
the little and weak have upon us nowadays. The colonel here--a man
of blood and iron--there he sits quite calm next door to it. [He
sniffs] Now, this baby is rather chastening--that is a sign of
grace, in the colonel--that is true heroism.
LITTLE MAN. [Faintly] I--I can see its face a little now.
[All bend forward.]
AMERICAN. What sort of a physiognomy has it, anyway?
LITTLE MAN. [Still faintly] I don't see anything but--but spots.
GERMAN. Oh! Ha! Pfui!
[The DUTCH YOUTH laughs.]
AMERICAN. I am told that is not uncommon amongst babies. Perhaps we
could have you inform us, ma'am.
ENGLISHWOMAN. Yes, of course--only what sort of----
LITTLE MAN. They seem all over its----[At the slight recoil of
everyone] I feel sure it's--it's quite a good baby underneath.
AMERICAN. That will be rather difficult to come at. I'm just a bit
sensitive. I've very little use for affections of the epidermis.
GERMAN. Pfui! [He has edged away as far as he can get, and is
lighting a big cigar]
[The DUTCH YOUTH draws his legs back.]
AMERICAN. [Also taking out a cigar] I guess it would be well to
fumigate this carriage. Does it suffer, do you think?
LITTLE MAN. [Peering] Really, I don't--I'm not sure--I know so
little about babies. I think it would have a nice expression--if--if
it showed.
AMERICAN. Is it kind of boiled looking?
LITTLE MAN. Yes--yes, it is.
AMERICAN. [Looking gravely round] I judge this baby has the
measles.
[The GERMAN screws himself spasmodically against the arm of the
ENGLISHWOMAN'S seat.]
ENGLISHWOMAN. Poor little thing! Shall I----?
[She half rises.]
ENGLISHMAN. [Touching her] No, no----Dash it!
AMERICAN. I honour your emotion, ma'am. It does credit to us all.
But I sympathize with your husband too. The measles is a very
important pestilence in connection with a grown woman.
LITTLE MAN. It likes my finger awfully. Really, it's rather a sweet
baby.
AMERICAN. [Sniffing] Well, that would appear to be quite a
question. About them spots, now? Are they rosy?
LITTLE MAN. No-o; they're dark, almost black.
GERMAN. Gott! Typhus! [He bounds up on to the arm of the
ENGLISHWOMAN'S Seat.]
AMERICAN. Typhus! That's quite an indisposition!
[The DUTCH YOUTH rises suddenly, and bolts out into the
corridor. He is followed by the GERMAN, puffing clouds of
smoke. The ENGLISH and AMERICAN sit a moment longer without
speaking. The ENGLISHWOMAN'S face is turned with a curious
expression--half pity, half fear--towards the LITTLE MAN. Then
the ENGLISHMAN gets up.]
ENGLISHMAN. Bit stuffy for you here, dear, isn't it?
[He puts his arm through hers, raises her, and almost pushes her
through the doorway. She goes, still looking back.]
AMERICAN. [Gravely] There's nothing I admire more'n courage. Guess
I'll go and smoke in the corridor.
[As he goes out the LITTLE MAN looks very wistfully after him.
Screwing up his mouth and nose, he holds the BABY away from him
and wavers; then rising, he puts it on the seat opposite and
goes through the motions of letting down the window. Having
done so he looks at the BABY, who has begun to wail. Suddenly
he raises his hands and clasps them, like a child praying.
Since, however, the BABY does not stop wailing, he hovers over
it in indecision; then, picking it up, sits down again to dandle
it, with his face turned toward the open window. Finding that
it still wails, he begins to sing to it in a cracked little
voice. It is charmed at once. While he is singing, the
AMERICAN appears in the corridor. Letting down the passage
window, he stands there in the doorway with the draught blowing
his hair and the smoke of his cigar all about him. The LITTLE
MAN stops singing and shifts the shawl higher to protect the
BABY'S head from the draught.]
AMERICAN. [Gravely] This is the most sublime spectacle I have ever
envisaged. There ought to be a record of this.
[The LITTLE MAN looks at him, wondering. You are typical, sir,
of the sentiments of modern Christianity. You illustrate the
deepest feelings in the heart of every man.]
[The LITTLE MAN rises with the BABY and a movement of approach.]
Guess I'm wanted in the dining-car.
[He vanishes. The LITTLE MAN sits down again, but back to the
engine, away from the draught, and looks out of the window,
patiently jogging the BABY On his knee.]
CURTAIN
SCENE III
An arrival platform. The LITTLE MAN, with the BABY and the
bundle, is standing disconsolate, while travellers pass and
luggage is being carried by. A STATION OFFICIAL, accompanied by
a POLICEMAN, appears from a doorway, behind him.
OFFICIAL. [Consulting telegram in his hand] 'Das ist der Herr'.
[They advance to the LITTLE MAN.]
OFFICIAL. 'Sie haben einen Buben gestohlen'?
LITTLE MAN. I only speak English and American.
OFFICIAL. 'Dies ist nicht Ihr Bube'?
[He touches the Baby.]
LITTLE MAN. [Shaking his head] Take care--it's ill.
[The man does not understand.]
Ill--the baby----
OFFICIAL. [Shaking his head] 'Verstehe nicht'. Dis is nod your baby?
No?
LITTLE MAN. [Shaking his head violently] No, it is not. No.
OFFICIAL. [Tapping the telegram] Gut! You are 'rested. [He signs
to the POLICEMAN, who takes the LITTLE MAN's arm.]
LITTLE MAN. Why? I don't want the poor baby.
OFFICIAL. [Lifting the bundle] 'Dies ist nicht Ihr Gepack'--pag?
LITTLE Mary. No.
OFFICIAL. Gut! You are 'rested.
LITTLE MAN. I only took it for the poor woman. I'm not a thief--
I'm--I'm----
OFFICIAL. [Shaking head] Verstehe nicht.
[The LITTLE MAN tries to tear his hair. The disturbed BABY
wails.]
LITTLE MAN. [Dandling it as best he can] There, there--poor, poor!
OFFICIAL. Halt still! You are 'rested. It is all right.
LITTLE MAN. Where is the mother?
OFFICIAL. She comet by next drain. Das telegram say: 'Halt einen
Herren mit schwarzem Buben and schwarzem Gepack'. 'Rest gentleman
mit black baby and black--pag.
[The LITTLE MAN turns up his eyes to heaven.]
OFFICIAL. 'Komm mit us'.
[They take the LITTLE MAN toward the door from which they have
come. A voice stops them.]
AMERICAN. [Speaking from as far away as may be] Just a moment!
[The OFFICIAL stops; the LITTLE MAN also stops and sits down on
a bench against the wall. The POLICEMAN stands stolidly beside
him. The AMERICAN approaches a step or two, beckoning; the
OFFICIAL goes up to him.]
AMERICAN. Guess you've got an angel from heaven there! What's the
gentleman in buttons for?
OFFICIAL. 'Was ist das'?
AMERICAN. Is there anybody here that can understand American?
OFFICIAL. 'Verstehe nicht'.
AMERICAN. Well, just watch my gestures. I was saying [He points to
the LITTLE MAN, then makes gestures of flying] you have an angel
from heaven there. You have there a man in whom Gawd [He points
upward] takes quite an amount of stock. You have no call to arrest
him. [He makes the gesture of arrest] No, Sir. Providence has
acted pretty mean, loading off that baby on him. [He makes the
motion of dandling] The little man has a heart of gold. [He points
to his heart, and takes out a gold coin.]
OFFICIAL. [Thinking he is about to be bribed] 'Aber, das ist zu
viel'!
AMERICAN. Now, don't rattle me! [Pointing to the LITTLE MAN] Man
[Pointing to his heart] 'Herz' [Pointing to the coin] 'von' Gold.
This is a flower of the field--he don't want no gentleman in buttons
to pluck him up.
[A little crowd is gathering, including the Two ENGLISH, the
GERMAN, and the DUTCH YOUTH.]
OFFICIAL. 'Verstehe absolut nichts'. [He taps the telegram] 'Ich muss
mein' duty do.
AMERICAN. But I'm telling you. This is a white man. This is
probably the whitest man on Gawd's earth.
OFFICIAL. 'Das macht nichts'--gut or no gut, I muss mein duty do.
[He turns to go toward the LITTLE MAN.]
AMERICAN. Oh! Very well, arrest him; do your duty. This baby has
typhus.
[At the word "typhus" the OFFICIAL stops.]
AMERICAN. [Making gestures] First-class typhus, black typhus,
schwarzen typhus. Now you have it. I'm kind o' sorry for you and
the gentleman in buttons. Do your duty!
OFFICIAL. Typhus? Der Bub--die baby hat typhus?
AMERICAN. I'm telling you.
OFFICIAL. Gott im Himmel!
AMERICAN. [Spotting the GERMAN in the little throng] here's a
gentleman will corroborate me.
OFFICIAL. [Much disturbed, and signing to the POLICEMAN to stand
clear] Typhus! 'Aber das ist grasslich'!
AMERICAN. I kind o' thought you'd feel like that.
OFFICIAL. 'Die Sanitatsmachine! Gleich'!
[A PORTER goes to get it. From either side the broken half-moon
of persons stand gazing at the LITTLE MAN, who sits unhappily
dandling the BABY in the centre.]
OFFICIAL. [Raising his hands] 'Was zu thun'?
AMERICAN. Guess you'd better isolate the baby.
[A silence, during which the LITTLE MAN is heard faintly
whistling and clucking to the BABY.]
OFFICIAL. [Referring once more to his telegram]
"'Rest gentleman mit black baby." [Shaking his head] Wir must de
gentleman hold. [To the GERMAN] 'Bitte, mein Herr, sagen Sie ihm,
den Buben zu niedersetzen'. [He makes the gesture of deposit.]
GERMAN. [To the LITTLE MAN] He say: Put down the baby.
[The LITTLE MAN shakes his head, and continues to dandle the
BABY.]
OFFICIAL. You must.
[The LITTLE MAN glowers, in silence.]
ENGLISHMAN. [In background--muttering] Good man!
GERMAN. His spirit ever denies.
OFFICIAL. [Again making his gesture] 'Aber er muss'!
[The LITTLE MAN makes a face at him.]
'Sag' Ihm': Instantly put down baby, and komm' mit us.
[The BABY wails.]
LITTLE MAN. Leave the poor ill baby here alone? Be--be--be d---d to
you!
AMERICAN. [Jumping on to a trunk--with enthusiasm] Bully!
[The ENGLISH clap their hands; the DUTCH YOUTH laughs. The
OFFICIAL is muttering, greatly incensed.]
AMERICAN. What does that body-snatcher say?
GERMAN. He say this man use the baby to save himself from arrest.
Very smart he say.
AMERICAN. I judge you do him an injustice. [Showing off the LITTLE
MAN with a sweep of his arm.] This is a white man. He's got a black
baby, and he won' leave it in the lurch. Guess we would all act
noble that way, give us the chance.
[The LITTLE MAN rises, holding out the BABY, and advances a step
or two. The half-moon at once gives, increasing its size; the
AMERICAN climbs on to a higher trunk. The LITTLE MAN retires
and again sits down.]
AMERICAN. [Addressing the OFFICIAL] Guess you'd better go out of
business and wait for the mother.
OFFICIAL. [Stamping his foot] Die Mutter sall 'rested be for taking
out baby mit typhus. Ha! [To the LITTLE MAN] Put ze baby down!
[The LITTLE MAN smiles.]
Do you 'ear?
AMERICAN. [Addressing the OFFICIAL] Now, see here. 'Pears to me
you don't suspicion just how beautiful this is. Here we have a man
giving his life for that old baby that's got no claim on him. This
is not a baby of his own making. No, sir, this is a very Christ-like
proposition in the gentleman.
OFFICIAL. Put ze baby down, or ich will goummand someone it to do.
AMERICAN. That will be very interesting to watch.
OFFICIAL. [To POLICEMAN] Dake it vrom him.
[The POLICEMAN mutters, but does not.]
AMERICAN. [To the German] Guess I lost that.
GERMAN. He say he is not his officier.
AMERICAN. That just tickles me to death.
OFFICIAL. [Looking round] Vill nobody dake ze Bub'?
ENGLISHWOMAN. [Moving a step faintly] Yes--I----
ENGLISHMAN. [Grasping her arm]. By Jove! Will you!
OFFICIAL. [Gathering himself for a great effort to take the BABY,
and advancing two steps] Zen I goummand you--[He stops and his voice
dies away] Zit dere!
AMERICAN. My! That's wonderful. What a man this is! What a
sublime sense of duty!
[The DUTCH YOUTH laughs. The OFFICIAL turns on him, but as he
does so the MOTHER of the Busy is seen hurrying.]
MOTHER. 'Ach! Ach! Mei' Bubi'!
[Her face is illumined; she is about to rush to the LITTLE MAN.]
OFFICIAL. [To the POLICEMAN] 'Nimm die Frau'!
[The POLICEMAN catches hold of the WOMAN.]
OFFICIAL. [To the frightened WOMAN] 'Warum haben Sie einen Buben mit
Typhus mit ausgebracht'?
AMERICAN. [Eagerly, from his perch] What was that? I don't want to
miss any.
GERMAN. He say: Why did you a baby with typhus with you bring out?
AMERICAN. Well, that's quite a question.
[He takes out the field-glasses slung around him and adjusts
them on the BABY.]
MOTHER. [Bewildered] Mei' Bubi--Typhus--aber Typhus? [She shakes
her head violently] 'Nein, nein, nein! Typhus'!
OFFICIAL. Er hat Typhus.
MOTHER. [Shaking her head] 'Nein, nein, nein'!
AMERICAN. [Looking through his glasses] Guess she's kind of right!
I judge the typhus is where the baby' slobbered on the shawl, and
it's come off on him.
[The DUTCH YOUTH laughs.]
OFFICIAL. [Turning on him furiously] Er hat Typhus.
AMERICAN. Now, that's where you slop over. Come right here.
[The OFFICIAL mounts, and looks through the glasses.]
AMERICAN. [To the LITTLE MAN] Skin out the baby's leg. If we don't
locate spots on that, it'll be good enough for me.
[The LITTLE MAN fumbles Out the BABY'S little white foot.]
MOTHER. Mei' Bubi! [She tries to break away.]
AMERICAN. White as a banana. [To the OFFICIAL--affably] Guess
you've made kind of a fool of us with your old typhus.
OFFICIAL. Lass die Frau!
[The POLICEMAN lets her go, and she rushes to her BABY.]
MOTHER. Mei' Bubi!
[The BABY, exchanging the warmth of the LITTLE MAN for the
momentary chill of its MOTHER, wails.]
OFFICIAL. [Descending and beckoning to the POLICEMAN] 'Sie wollen
den Herrn accusiren'?
[The POLICEMAN takes the LITTLE MAN's arm.]
AMERICAN. What's that? They goin' to pitch him after all?
[The MOTHER, still hugging her BABY, who has stopped crying,
gazes at the LITTLE MAN, who sits dazedly looking up. Suddenly
she drops on her knees, and with her free hand lifts his booted
foot and kisses it.]
AMERICAN. [Waving his hat] Ra! Ra! [He descends swiftly, goes up
to the LITTLE MAN, whose arm the POLICEMAN has dropped, and takes his
hand] Brother; I am proud to know you. This is one of the greatest
moments I have ever experienced. [Displaying the LITTLE MAN to the
assembled company] I think I sense the situation when I say that we
all esteem it an honour to breathe the rather inferior atmosphere of
this station here Along with our little friend. I guess we shall all
go home and treasure the memory of his face as the whitest thing in
our museum of recollections. And perhaps this good woman will also
go home and wash the face of our little brother here. I am inspired
with a new faith in mankind. Ladies and gentlemen, I wish to present
to you a sure-enough saint--only wants a halo, to be transfigured.
[To the LITTLE MAN] Stand right up.
[The LITTLE MAN stands up bewildered. They come about him. The
OFFICIAL bows to him, the POLICEMAN salutes him. The DUTCH
YOUTH shakes his head and laughs. The GERMAN draws himself up
very straight, and bows quickly twice. The ENGLISHMAN and his
WIFE approach at least two steps, then, thinking better of it,
turn to each other and recede. The MOTHER kisses his hand. The
PORTER returning with the Sanitatsmachine, turns it on from
behind, and its pinkish shower, goldened by a ray of sunlight,
falls around the LITTLE MAN's head, transfiguring it as he
stands with eyes upraised to see whence the portent comes.]
AMERICAN. [Rushing forward and dropping on his knees] Hold on just
a minute! Guess I'll take a snapshot of the miracle. [He adjusts
his pocket camera] This ought to look bully!
CURTAIN
FROM THE SERIES OF SIX SHORT PLAYS
Four of the SIX SHORT PLAYS
CONTENTS:
HALL-MARKED
DEFEAT
THE SUN
PUNCH AND GO