Scene I. The library at Allen’s Chambers. Fire l. Doors r.and c. Table
L.c. Big easy chair l. by fire. Peters discovered l. c. arranging and
cutting papers on table and whistling.
(_Enter Piffin r. Music to open._)
Piff. Have you seen my cub about?
Peters. (_Without looking up._) No, Foxey, I ain’t. Didn’t know as you
had had one.
Piff. (_c._) You know who I mean--your master. Peters. (_Going to door
c._) Not far off from where yours is I suppose.
(_Exit Peters c._)
Piff. Um! The master has been getting impertinent to me of late, so the
servants seem to be following suit. (_Shrugging his shoulders._) I shall
throw this job up when I’ve made another hundred or two. I wonder how
much longer he’s going to keep me waiting.
(_Exit Piff. c._)
(_Enter Allen r. creeping in cautiously in a mysterious and watchful
manner. He has a huge pewter pot in one hand and a large church-warden
clay pipe alight in the other. He looks round stealthily, listens, then
crosses nervously and sits l. in easy chair. He stretches himself out
as luxuriously as his tight clothes will allow--especially the collar.
Takes a long pull at the pot and long puffs at the pipe. In the middle
of each pull, grunts “good” in evident enjoyment._)
Allen. (_Chuckling in a deep undertone. Crosses to c. and sits._)
Ah-h-h, I’ve done un this time. He’s waiting upstairs to curl my hair.
(_Chuckling again._) Told un I’d come up when (_grandly_) I’d finished
conducting my correspondence. (_Chuckles, pulls at pipe, and takes a
deep draught._) First time I’ve ever enjoyed myself since I came into my
property. (_Breaks out into some country ale-house sort of song, sings,
warming as he goes on with great gusto._)
(_Enter Piffin c., unseen by Allen. Piff. comes down and stands c.
looking on. Allen finishes song and then buries his face in the pot.
As his eyes emerge over the brim he catches sight of Piff. He remains
looking at him for a while and then slowly puts the pot on the table._)
Allen. What do thee want? Didn’t I tell ’ee I wur going to conduct my
correspondence, and that I didn’t want to be disturbed?
Piff. (_Goes up table._) I beg pardon, sir, but I thought maybe you had
completed your correspondence, especially as there was only one letter
this morning, and that was a circular about coals.
Allen. Oh, did you. Well, I ain’t you see. I’m going to write a lot of
original correspondence this morning, and I’m collecting my thoughts.
(_Goes on smoking sulkily._)
Piff. Yes, sir--certainly, sir--but might I be allowed to suggest, sir,
that a pot of ale and a clay pipe are hardly the _dolce far niente_ of a
_grand seigneur_.
Allen. Hardly the what of my which? Look here, don’t you be so spry at
calling me them jaw-breaking foreign names, because I don’t like it.
It wur only yesterday you alluded to me as a _bo-mo_, and last week
you said I ought to be in the _hot tongs_. I didn’t say anything at the
time, but you drop it.
Piff. I referred to you as belonging to the _beau monde_, sir, and I
may have said your position was now among the _haut ton_. We always talk
like that in good society, sir. Both expressions were flattering, very
flattering.
Allen. Ah, maybe they wur and maybe they wurn’t. Next time, you call
it me in English, and then I can judge for myself. And don’t worrit me
to-day at all. I’ve got a trying morning before me, and I’m going to
have a little quiet enjoyment to set myself up before it begins.
Piff. Might I suggest, then, sir, that a cigarette and a little absinthe
would be more _de rigueur?_ My late lamented master the Count de
Fizziani invariably took a little absinthe after breakfast and found
great benefit from it.
Allen. Yes, I know. I tried your friend’s cough mixture before, you
know. Old ale’s good enough for me.
Piff. But, sir--
Allen. Don’t you worrit. I’ve been a gentleman for a month; I think I
might have a morning off.
Piff. Very well, sir. Just as you please, of course, sir; but I’ve my
character to consider, sir--and--and--I am not accustomed to the service
of gentlemen with pothouse proclivities.
Allen. (_Sotto voce._) Oh, go and hang yourself.
Piff. (_Up c._) That’s never done now, sir, in good society. My late
lamented master, the Count de Fizziani--
Allen. (_Springing up, working Piff. round, from table l. to desk r._)
Oh, you go to your late lamented master, the fizzing Count, and tell him
to--I have had eno’ of him and I’ve had eno’ of you. Blest if I’ve had a
happy moment since you came into the house. You’ve dressed me up like a
tailor’s dummy, and curled my hair like a Sunday school kid; you’ve made
me talk like a man in a play, and walk like a monkey on stilts. Thee’ve
chivied me about from morning till night, and thee’ve rammed that old
lamented corpse of yours down my throat every two minutes of the day.
I’ve put up wi’ it all for a long while because I thought thee meant
well, and wur a-trying to make me into a gentleman, but blest if I think
thee knows much more about the genuine article than I does, and I’m
going to go it in my own way now. Look here. (_Takes off his tie and
collar and throws them down and jumps on them, pulls off his coat and
throws it in a corner, nifties his hair, unbuttons and throws back his
waistcoat, kicks off his boots, and throws himself into easy chair,
sticks his feet on table, takes long pull from the pot, slams it on
table> again, and commences to smoke his pipe vigorously, looking
defiantly at Piff._) That’s the sort o’ man I’m going to be now. (_Sits
l._)
Piff. (_Who has stood aghast, moving off._) Very well, sir; then I have
only to say that I wash my hands of you entirely. (_Pause._) You can’t
make a gentleman out of a pig’s ear. (_Sneeringly_).
Allen. (_Puffing quietly at pipe._) No, it ain’t the usual method.
Piff. (_By door c. muttering to himself, but meant to be heard by
Allen._) Only what I might have expected from mixing myself up with such
canaille. (_Pauses. Allen takes no notice._) Pray understand, sir, I
give you a week’s warning on the spot. My late master, the--
Allen. (_Springing up and throwing book at him. Piff. exits r._) Yes.
(_Piff. again appears hurriedly at door r. and cries, “Upstart bumpkin,”
and exit quickly._) I’ll give ’ee my toe on the spot if I hear any
more of--(_reseats himself, with a grunt of disgust; a pause, during
which he smokes._) He is right, I wurn’t meant for a gentleman after
all. Some of us was built for gaiters, and some on us for patent leather
shoes, and I be one of the gaiter sort--all my tastes are low. I doan’t
like claret and I doan’t like cigarettes. I’m uncomfortable in a
collar (_picking his up and fixing it_) and I prefer shove-ha’penny to
billiards. (_Sighs, continues dreamily._) Ah, I’d gie a trifle to be
going to spend this evening at the Dunkery Arms a-halping to sing a
chorus with old Joe Steddles and young Jem Whalley and Jack Clouter. Ah,
he’d got a fine voice, had old Jack Clouter. Never heard a man sing so
loud in all my life. Lord, I shall never forget her’s doing “Rock me
to sleep, mother,” round at the lodge, and a waking up mother Hammond’s
three kids just as her’d got un all off to sleep. Lord, how her let us
have it. (_Laughing._) Ah, us went home early that night. (_Chuckling._)
They coned back wi’ me, old Jack and Jim, and Deb made us a veal pasty
for supper. (_Smiling._) Ah, her do make good--
(_Enter Peters, followed by Purtwee, door c., says, “Mr. Purtwee,” takes
P.’s hat and exit. Allen rises and commences to pick up his various
articles of apparel and re fix them while talking to Purt._)
Purt. (_Coming forward._) Well, my boy.
Allen. Ah, it does me good to see thee again.
Purt. How are you?
Allen. (_Shakes hands._) Oh, I be all right outside. (_Rises, crosses
to L._) Bean’t very spry inside, so I tell ’ee. (_Explanatory of his
dressing arrangements._) Just been having a quiet smoke, you know.
Purt. (_With a smile._) And do you always undress to smoke?
Allen. (_Laughing._) No--but I has to now when I want to sit down
comfortable. (_Continues to dress--brings wine down to table._) Have a
glass of wine. I’m glad thee’ve come, I wur afraid from thy letter that
thee wouldn’t.
Purt. (_Sits in arm-chair l._) Well, it’s a very informal proceeding I’m
bound to say--not at all professional.
Allen. Perhaps not, but it’s simple and straightforward like and maybe
that’s as good. Have ’ee read the papers I sent thee?
Purt. Yes--most carefully--and they certainly make the story appear
very plausible--very plausible, indeed. Have you said anything to your
mother?
Allen. No--no, I thought I wouldn’t say a word to anybody until I was
sure one way or t’other. (_Sits L._)
Purt. Quite right--quite right. What sort of a man was he?
Allen. Blest if I could tell ’ee--I wur that taken aback I couldn’t
tell ’ee what it wur, but thee’ll see him for theeself in a minute. I
told Father Christmas to send him straight up when he comes.
Purt. (_Looking at his watch._) Well, if he’s an impostor, he’ll hardly
venture to come to a meeting of this kind.
(_Enter Peters announcing Richard Hanningford, door at back._)
Pet. Mr. Richard Hanningford.
(_Exit Peters._)
Hann. Morning, gentlemen. (_Allen goes r.c. Hann. goes c._)
Allen. Good-morning. (_Motioning to Purt., who is l._) Mr. Purtwee, the
gentleman I spoke of.
Hann. Good-morning, (_c. and then coming r.sits L.c._) Guess I’m not a
particularly welcome visitor here.
Allen, (_r._) Well, I owns as I’ve come across folks as I’ve felt more
at home wi’. (_Allen sits R._) But I suppose we’ve got to get used to
’ee.
Purt. Well now, gentlemen, we’ve come for business and must not
waste time. Mr. Rollitt has told you who I am, and if you are Richard
Hanningford I shall be only too anxious for you to have your rights.
But then, my dear sir, I shall want to be very sure that you are Richard
Hanningford.
Hann. That’s right and square. I’ve got to prove it, I know, and I don’t
say that it will be an easy job.
Purt. At present you see we have nothing but your bare word for it. You
say this man who called himself Richard Hanningford and who died at Mrs.
Rollitt’s was an impostor.
Hann. And a damned scoundrel.
Purt. Quite so, if he were not Richard Hanningford, he must have been.
But then if he were Richard Hanningford--
Hann. Why then, I am the damned scoundrel.
Purt. Well--I wasn’t going to say that--but one of you must be the right
Hanningford--and the other the wrong one--and if we made a mistake three
months ago we don’t want to make another now.
Allen, (_r._) You see it ain’t so much the money I care about. There was
a time that I thought it would be a grand thing to be rich, but now
I’ve tried it, danged if I see so much fun in it as I thought there
wur. (_Rises._) It ain’t only that: it’s the girl I love--if I lose the
money, I loses her. I can’t expect her to have me wi’out it. She’s a
lady--I’m only a country bumpkin and I know it. With this money I can
win her and make her life happy--even if she doesn’t much care for me.
If I were sure you were Dick Hanningford, I’d gie it up. But I ain’t
sure and I’m going to fight--that’s plain. (_Turns and crosses r. Sits
R.c._)
Hann. (_Coes to Allen r.c._) Plain and sensible, and I don’t like you
any the less for it; but I am Dick Hanningford, and the money’s mine,
and I’m going to have a good fight to get it. (_Coes l. puts foot on
chair._)
Purt. (_After a pause._) You say this man who tried to--and, as he
thought, did--murder you--had been a friend of yours.
Hann. (_Fiercely--takes foot off chair._) He’d been my chum for over two
years--the cur--and knew everything about me--I saved his life when the
gang were going to hang him--he shared my diggings when we were in the
mining lay, and he had half my blanket every night when we were with the
cattle. And I trusted him--the skunk.
Purt. What was his name?
Hann. Cassidy--Dan Cassidy. (_Sits again._)
Purt. And then he murdered you--or tried to as you say--took your papers
from you, and came over here to impersonate you?
Hann. I suppose so.
Allen. He was uncommonly like you, too.
Hann. Like me! Not at all!
Purt. Oh, yes, my dear sir, I never saw him alive, but his features were
yours one for one.
Hann. Dan Cassidy was no more like me than I’m like a colored angel out
of a picture book.
(_Purt. and Allen exchange glances._)
Allen. Well, all I know is, that if the man who called himself Richard
Hanningford, and who fell down dead in my mother’s kitchen three months
ago was standing beside you now, nobody would know which wur you and
which wur him. .
Hann. (_Rising._) I don’t know that man! (_All rise and look at one
another._)
(_Enter Peters c._)
Purt. (_Pause._) Then what has become of Dan Cassidy? . .
Peters. Mr. Luke Cranbourne is downstairs, sir, and would like to see
you.
Allen. Oh, bother Luke Cranbourne--tell him I’m out.
Peters. Yes, sir. (_Going. As he is by door._)
Allen. Stop! (_Peters turns._) Ask Mr. Cranbourne to come back in a
quarter of an hour. (_Looks at watch._)
Peters. Yes, sir. (_Exit c._)
Allen. What sort of a man was Dan Cassidy?
Hann. A pale, dark-eyed man with a long black beard.
Allen. Would you know him again without the black beard, and under
another name?
Hann. (_Fiercely._) Know him! Will you bring me face to face with him?
Allen. Maybe I will.
Hann. (_c._) See here! I’ve lived among a set that like to wipe off a
score, no matter what the price. You put that man into my hands so that
justice may be done on him, and we share the old man’s money between us.
(_Crosses R._)
Allen. Is that a bargain?
Purt. You don’t suspect--(_goes to r.of l. table._)
Allen. (_Crosses to Purt. Hann. goes R._) Yes I do. He’s been no friend
of mine. Is it a bargain?
Hann. Yes. Without Dan Cassidy my case might be hard to prove. With him
it would be easy. £100,000 and my revenge are good enough for me. You
give me that. (_Goes to extreme R._)
(_Enter Dexter from door c. He draws back on seeing strangers, and
stands r.c._)
Dex. Beg pardon, my dear boy. Found the door open (_Allen goes up c.
to Dex._) and took the liberty of an old friend to walk in. Thought I
should find you alone.
Allen. (_Crosses up c._) Shall be in a minute, Colonel, if you will
excuse me. (_Draws the two men together near fireplace, Allen nearest,
Purt. next, Hann. r._) Can thee play billiards?
Hann. I can, but I don’t crave for them at this particular moment.
Allen. You’ll just have time to play fifty up afore the man as I takes
to be Dan Cassidy is here.
Purt. How will you let us know?
Allen. (_Looks round thinking, then catches sight of glasses on table l.;
takes one up and holds it over hearth._) Keep thee, ears open, and
when thee hears this glass fall and break, open the door and come in.
(_All go up c. speaking low._)
(_Exit Purt. and Hann. Dex. goes L._)
Allen. (_Returning c._) Well, Colonel Dexter, what do thee want? Glad to
see thee, thee know.
Dex. (_l.c._) Nothing, dear boy--nothing for myself. I have only brought
a letter from my little girl, and am to take back an answer. (_Produces
letter and hands to Allen._) I’m only Cupid to you young folks. Ha! Hat
Only Cupid.
Allen. Ah, they usen’t to wrap ’em up so much when I wur young.
(_Crosses R., opens and reads letter._)
Dex. (_Who is very much wrapped and buttoned up, laughs with much
ostentation._) Ha! Ha! Very good, very good. We really must bring you
out more, Allen. Ha! Ha! Ha!
Allen. (_Who has sat r.in front of desk, reading._) “My darling
Popsy-wopsy.” (_Looks up puzzled and round at Dex. Aside._) That ain’t
Clara’s usual style. (_Reads._) “I am so terribly sorry to worry my own
darling boy, but I am in such fearful trouble--I want £100 to pay some
debts owing to a wicked man having cheated us. Would my own darling lend
it to his broken-hearted little blossom, and don’t say anything to me
afterwards until I pay you back, as I shall be so ashamed of it. I send
papa with this. He knows nothing about it, so please don’t tell him--he
is so proud.--(_Allen looks at Dex., who turns away and tries to assume
airy unconsciousness_)--and would be so angry with me, but you are the
only friend I have. Oh, my darling, do let me have the money or I shall
go mad. A million, million kisses to my own sweet, precious lubby-dubby
from his ever loving little birdie, Clara.” (_Dex. sits c._) “P.
S.--Please don’t cross the cheque.”
(_Takes cheque-book from desk and begins to write._) Was Clara ill when
she wrote this?
Dex. (_Who is sitting at table L.c. having wine._) No, my dear boy--oh,
no.
Allen. Oh, because the writing seems a bit shaky like, and the letter so
funny--thought maybe she wur a bit queer.
Dex. (_Confused._) Oh--ah--yes. She was a little queer--very shaky
indeed--and she seemed very much worried, too, she wouldn’t tell me what
about. She tries to keep all her trouble away from her old father, dear
child. (_Enter Clara unseen by either._) Ah, I know how anxiously she’s
waiting for me now. “Come back soon, dear, dear papa,” she said--“and
bring it with you.” (_Crying r.c._)
(_Allen having put the cheque in an envelope rises and crosses and holds
it to Dex. Clara steps forward and takes it._)
Clara. Thank you! (_c. of the two men._)
Allen. Miss Dexter!
Dex. Clara!
Clara. This letter is addressed to me, I believe. (_Opens it and takes
out cheque, which she returns to Allen._) It’s very kind of you, Mr.
Rollitt, but I do not require it.
Allen, (_r._) Didn’t thee write for it? (_Showing letter to her._) Isn’t
this thy letter?
Clara. (_Looking at it._) It is the first time I have seen it. It has
the appearance of having been written by someone who was drunk over
night--possibly my father--imitating other people’s handwriting is one
of the few things at which he has attained eminence. (_Looks at Dex._)
Dex. Clara, my dear!
Clara. And perhaps it will be better, Mr. Rollitt, for me to take this
opportunity of ending our relationship by telling you that I am already
married. (_Crosses l._)
Allen. (_Starts hack._) Married!
Dex. (_c. frantic and jumping about and screaming and hissing the words
out._) She ain’t. It’s a lie. Don’t believe her. She ain’t. She ain’t.
(_Goes c. Clara to l._) It’s only a trick to try your love. Ah, you
hussy! It’s all been planned. This is all part of it. She ain’t married.
We planned it to test your love for her. Ah, you beast! I’ll strangle
you. I’ll murder you. She’s only trying it on to see what you say. It’s
a trick. Don’t believe her. Don’t believe her.
Clara. And have been for the last three years.
Dex. (_As before._) No, she ain’t been, Mr. Rollitt. It’s a lie--it’s
a lie. It’s a lie. She says it to spite her old father. Ah you devil,
you--
Allen. Silence!
Dex. (_Cowed, but continuing in nervous undertone._) She’s not married.
I’m her father.
Allen. (_Pointing to door c._) And leave the room--afore I forget thee
art an old man. (_Turns him r.Backs Dex. up to c. door._)
Dex. (_Slinks out muttering._) She ain’t married! It’s a lie. It’s a
lie. (_Repeats_.)
(_Exit Dex. c._)
Allen. (_Turning to Clara._) What does it all mean?
Clara. (_Defiantly._) That I’ve been playing with you only for the
sake of sponging on you. And to get money out of you for my father and
husband--I haven’t had much myself--and that at last I’m grown tired of
it. (_Crosses R._)
Allen. (_l.c. after a pause._) Thee might have had all the money thee
wanted, lass, wi’out deceiving me.
Clara. (_Falling on her knees before him._) Forgive me, Allen, you
don’t know what my life has been. Dragged up among thieves and sharpers,
taught to trick and lie before I could speak plainly, I have never
know what truth and honor meant except as a dim longing. All the
humanity--all the womanhood--has been dried out of me till I am only the
thing you see me--a vulture--a human beast of prey. Ah, Allen, thank
God for your sake that I am married and that you have escaped me--forget
me--it is the only thing you can do. You can never hate me as I loathe
myself--you can never despise me as I shudder at my own life.
Allen. (_Puts his hand to his own forehead _) Poor lass! Poor lass!
Clara. (_Takes’ Allen’s hand, left._) You are the only man that has been
good to me, and I have brought you only pain and shame.
Allen. (_Raising her._) Ah, never mind that, lass. Thee didn’t mean to
do it. Come! I be more sorry for thee than for myself. I could see what
sort of life thee had got around thee, and I wanted to take thee away
from it all. I can do so little for thee now. (_Both at cabinet, Allen
r._)
Clara. You have taught me, Allen, that there are good men in the world;
forgive me for having taught you that there are bad women. (_Clara
crosses in front of Allen to r.door._)
Allen. Not bad, Clara. I guess thee’s been more sinned against than
sinning. Thy life has been very dark and thee’s stumbled here and there.
God grant that it may grow brighter for thee one day.
Clara, (_l._) Ah, Allen, don’t keep speaking kindly to me. Don’t think
kindly of me. Despise me--I can bear that--I am used to it. (_Sits at
cabinet._)
Allen. (_r.c. next to Clara._) No, lass, I can’t do that. I shall alius
think kindly of thee. I’ve loved thee too well to change now--because I
knows thy lot’s harder than I thought it wur.
Clara. (_Turns and looks at Allen._) Try not to think of me at all,
Allen--I am not worth it--forget me. There is one who loves you better
than I could ever do, and who is good and pure. (_Rises._) You men never
see the love that is under your feet--you reach only for what is beyond
you. Go back to her, Allen. She will make you a better wife than I could
ever have done. (_Allen at back of Clara up stage R._)
Allen. (_After a pause._) Who--who is this man--your husband?
Clara. Luke Cranbourne! (_She does not look at Allen._)
Allen. Luke Cranbourne! (_Looks nervously at door c. and then at
clock--then crosses to door and stands near it. He assumes to do this
naturally and not to let Clara notice his anxiety._)
Clara. We were married secretly before he left for America. Not even my
father knew it until a day or two ago.
Allen. And do you care for him? (_Allen at door c._)
Clara. With such love as a woman can feel without respect. He was the
first that I can remember ever speaking a kind word to me. He is the
only human being I have to cling to--and he is good to me in his way.
(_Looks up at Allen._) I don’t expect we shall ever see each other
again. For your sake, I wish we had never met--for myself, my life will
always seem a bit brighter for the love that an honest man once had for
me.
Allen. (_Taking her hand in his._) Good-bye--if ever thee wants a
friend, Allen Rollitt, Woodbarrow Farm, Exmoor, will find him. (_Kissing
her on the forehead._) God bless thee, Clara!
Clara. Good-bye! (_She goes without a word r.After a few seconds enter
Luke c. announced by Pet._)
Luke. (_Coming down._) How de do, dear boy? (_Shaking hands. Allen
does so listlessly and almost unconsciously._) I wanted to see you
particularly this morning, before I went to the city. I’ve come across
something that will just double your fortune. Here. (_Laying papers on
table l. and taking up and pouring out a glass of wine._) You do have
such capital wine, Rollitt, I really must help myself to a glass. It is
a splendid scheme.
Allen, (_r.c._) Very like, but we won’t discuss it now. (_Taking notes
from his pocket-book._) I want thee to leave by the noon train for the
Continent.
Luke. (_Turns round, face to audience, glass in left hand._) What’s up?
Allen. (_Crosses l. c., hands him the notes._) Thy wife can join thee
there afterwards. (_Luke starts and looks hard at Allen._) And thee can
get away to Australia, or somewhere in that direction.
Luke. (_Defiantly._) And why, pray?
Allen. Because there is a man in the next room who be more anxious to
see thee than thee may be to see him.
Luke. What man?
Allen. Richard Hanningford.
(_Luke lets fall the glass._)
Allen. Good God! Thee’ve given the signal to call him in! Quick! (_Luke
rushes in terror to door at back._) Not that way. (_Luke bewildered and
helpless with fright, turns wildly about like a hunted thing not knowing
which way to fly. Is about to make for other door, when handle of door
at back is heard to move._) Too late--keep where thee art.
Luke. (_Clinging to Allen’s arm._) Save me! (_Allen thrusts him behind
door at c. as it opens and enter Hann. and Purt. following. Allen goes
r. Hann. comes down and stands c. Purt. remains near door and is about
to close it._)
Allen. (_Who has moved down to r.c., nervously, with effort to appear
calm and careless._) Leave the door, Mr. Purtwee, leave the door.
Purt. Wide open? (_Surprised._)
Allen. Yes, yes, it’s fearfully hot in here! (_Wiping his brow._)
Hann. (_Looking at him suspiciously._) I don’t find it so. I think we’ll
have it shut over this job. (_Turns to door._)
Allen. (_Eagerly._) No, no! Don’t shut it--don’t shut it.
Hann. Why not? (_Looks hard at Allen._)
Allen. Why--why--don’t I tell you. It’s so close--so--
(_Hann. crosses, goes to door c. and locks it, then returns, eyeing
Allen sternly. Luke has crept behind the curtain, which hangs like a
pillar by the side of the door. Allen watches with intense suspense._)
Hann. (_c._) Well--you gave the signal!
(_Allen r.c. a little to front of Hann. He keeps in front of Hann.
all through the scene until Luke has got away and prevents his turning
round--he is very excited but tries to appear careless--the result being
a slightly hysterical manner. When Luke comes from behind the curtain
and while he is crossing Allen catches Hann. by the lapels of his coat
and holds and works him round so that his back is to Luke. He grows
more and more eager and intense until Luke is off, when he gradually
subsides into a quieter manner, but not too suddenly. At Hann’s hint
that he has had too much brandy, he catches at the idea to cover his
excitement, to account for his conduct._)
Allen. Yes, my dear fellow--but--but--I wur going to explain to thee--it
wurn’t the signal--it wur an accident. I dropped the glass by accident.
Thee see I had just had a glass of brandy.
Hann. More than one glass, cousin?
Allen. (_Laughs loudly._) Ha! ha! Perhaps it wur two. (_First movement
of Luke._) (_At this point Luke creeps from behind curtain, Purt. sees
him and is about to make an exclamation, when Allen, covering his action
by assumed drunkenness, lunges half round and catches Purt. on his
shoulder, clutching it tightly with his left hand while holding Hann.
with his right--laughing boisterously all the time. Purt. understands
and remains silent. Allen grows more and more excited. Laughs._) Well,
now, look’ee here.
Hanningford. Cousin Dick--my long lost--(_laughs as before and slaps him
on the shoulder. Hann. impatient half turns round--Allen seises his coat
with both hands and keeps him round._) No--no--look thee here, Cousin
Dick. Now you say this Cassidy, this creeping, crawling, lying cur, Dan
Cassidy, tried to murder thee--(_Hann. again seems as though he would
turn round_)--and these papers--these papers that you sent me. Well,
I sent ’em on to Purtwee. Ah, he’s a sharp one. (_Door clicks after
Luke’s exit._) Purtwee, he’ll know who’s who. He’ll put us right. Won’t
’ee, Purtwee, old friend? Won’t ’ee--won’t ’ee?
(_He slaps Purt. on back, laughing boisterously and half staggering
forward into Purt.’s arms. Luke has got away by door r., and from now
Allen’s excitement gradually subsides, and an air of exhaustion follows.
Sits l.c._)
Hann. (_c._) Say! Are you drunk or playing the fool? Where’s this man
Cassidy?
Allen. (_Pause._) I don’t know.
Hann. Isn’t he coming here?
Allen. No!
Hann. (_Angrily._) Didn’t you lead me to believe--
Allen. That you should be brought face to face wi’ him? Yes--but I’ve
changed my mind since then.
Hann. (_After a pause._) I understand: it was only a trick to give you
time to get him out of the way. You thought that without him I should
not be able to prove my case. I thought I was dealing with an honest man
and a friend, and I offered to share the money with you. (_With tierce
anger._)
Allen. (_Fiercely, rising._) And I tell you to take the whole of it!
(_A pause--Hann. steps back and stares at him._) I have learnt enough
within the last few minutes to believe that you are the man you say you
are, and if so, take it all. You offered me £100,000 to give thee
Dan Cassidy, I offer thee £200,000 to let him go his way in peace.
(_Pause._) Come, you may find it hard to prove thee art Hanningford
afore the law. Prove it to me and Mr. Purtwee, and give me thy hand on
it that thee’ll never seek to find Dan Cassidy or harm him, and thee art
old Hanningford’s heir, and I, Allen Rollitt, farmer and yeoman.
Hann. (_After a pause._) Your secrets are your own, cousin. I’d dearly
have loved to have my revenge upon the hound, but if Dan Cassidy is
worth £100,000 to you, you can have him--I shouldn’t have thought he
was.
Allen. He goes free, so far as you are concerned, for ever?
Hann. For ever.
Allen. Right, Dick Hanningford! (_They grasp hands._) And now we’ll
say good-bye for to-day if you don’t mind. Mr. Purtwee will see thee
to-morrow, and arrange things. I’d like to be quiet a bit just now.
Hann. You’ve had a rough morning, cousin, and I guess the kindest thing
I can do is to take myself off. Good-bye. (_Shakes hands._) Good-bye,
Mr. Purtwee.
Purt. Good-bye, Mr. Hanningford; I will write to you to-morrow.
Hann. (_Goes to door c._) No hurry. Good-bye.
(_Exit c._)
Purt. Well, I can’t understand you, my boy. It’s really a very Quixotic
thing to do. Why shouldn’t the man suffer for his crime?
Allen, (_l._) Because he can’t suffer without bringing suffering to them
as I’d rather spare--because he’s the husband of the woman I have been
calling Clara Dexter.
Purt. (_Astonished._) You don’t say that, lad! When did you learn it?
Allen. About five minutes ago. (_Crosses to r.; leans on chair._)
Purt. (_After a pause._) Hanningford said true; it’s been a rough
morning for you. (_Going up to Allen and laying his hand on his
shoulder._) Would you rather that I stopped with you a bit, lad, or left
you alone?
Allen. Leave me alone, old friend. (_Purt. goes to c. door._) I shall be
off soon.
Purt. (_At door c._) Where are you going to?
Allen. I’m going back to Woodbarrow Farm. I’ve had eno’ of the big
world. I’ve had enough of fine folks and their ways. I’m going back to
my own people--I’m going back to see the faces of them as I know loves
me, to feel the hands of them as I know thinks well of me--I’m going
back home.
(_Purt. exit R., Allen stands l. by fire, stage darkens, and scene
changes. Slow tableau. Music plays till change of scene and through
Scene 2._)
Scene 2. Same as Act i. Time, evening, fire burning brightly, and lamp
lit on table, where supper is laid. Deb. discovered by fire, attending
to cooking operations; Mrs. R. by fire, laying supper.
Mrs. R. Be it done, lass?
Deb. (_Who is kneeling down, looking into oven._) Yes, aunt, just to a
turn.
Mrs. R. (_Crossing and looking over Deb’s shoulder._) Ah, that be just
right. Thee’s a good cook, lass. (_Crossing back to table._) Ah, how un
used to like a veal pasty. (_Sighs._)
Deb. It’s a bad thing going to bed, though, ain’t it, aunt?
Mrs. R. Ah, anything be bad for them as ain’t got no stomachs, and
underdone bricks be all right for them as has. (_Gets dishes from
dresser; lays table._) Besides, we bain’t going to bed yet. Us’ll sit
and have a chat after supper.
Deb. It seems so lonely of an evening here now. (_Looking into fire._)
Mrs. R. (_In front of table r.c._) So it do, lass. (_Crossing L._)
Ah, the lads bean’t so big to look at, but they leaves a rare space
behind ’em when they goes away.
Deb. (_After a pause, still gazing dreamily into fire._) I wonder if
he’ll ever come back.
Mrs. R. Aye, aye; he’ll come back, never fear.
Deb. (_Turns._) What, to stop?
Mrs. R. (_l. sits on settle._) Ah, to stop.
Deb. What makes you think so, aunt?
Mrs. R. I dunno. It’s never seemed real to me, any on it. I’m awaiting
every day to hear un lift the latch and walk in to find as it had all
been a dream. So I alius lays for three (_l._)
(_Enter Allen c. He is dressed much as in Act 1. He shuts the door and
stands by it._)
Allen. Well, mother, (_c._)
Mrs. R. (_l. staring at him._) Allen, lad! (_Bewildered, not grasping
it. Deb. having risen, stands with the hot pie that she has that moment
taken from the oven, transfixed R._)
Allen. (_At door c._) I’ve come home, you see, to stop--for good. Are
thee glad to see me, mother?
Mrs. R. (_l._) Come home! To stop! For good! Ah! (_Rushes across with a
cry of joy and hugs him up c._) I said he would--I said he would--I said
he would. My boy! My boy! (_After a pause._) And--and all the money,
and--and Miss Dexter?
Allen. (_Taking off his hat and throwing it down at hack._) Shadows,
mother, that have passed away, out of my life, for ever. I’ll tell
thee all about it later on, never mind to-night. Let’s think only about
ourselves. (_Going to Deb. r._) Are thee glad to see me?
(_Mrs. R. pushes them together from behind r. Deb. still with pie in her
hands, puts her face up. Allen bends and kisses it. Mrs. R. catches the
two in her arms, and embraces both at once, laughing. Deb. holds pie out
at arm’s length to save it._)
Allen. Mind the pie, mother.
Mrs. R. (_Still embracing them._) Are thee hungry, lad?
Allen. Rather.
Mrs. R. Bless un, and thee’ve come back just in time for supper, as thee
alius used to. (_Laughs, sits up stage, top of table._) Can thee eat
veal pasty?
Allen. Can I eat veal--(_taking off overcoat and throwing it on chair r.
c._) Let me get at un, that’s all.
Mrs. R. Poor boy! Come and sit ’ee down. (_Pushing him in chair l. of
table._) Where be the potatoes, Deb.?
Deb. (_Bewildered, turns round and round._) I don’t know. (_Laughs._)
Mrs. R. Well, have a look in the saucepan, then. (_Sits back of table
r. c. Allen l. Deb. r._) Thee won’t find ‘em by turning round and
round. Now come lad, and get a bit inside thee. Us’ll do the talking
afterwards.
(_Deb. potters about between fire and table in a bewildered manner. She
brings potatoes, and puts them in front of Allen._)
Allen. Ah, it do smell lovely, don’t it? (_Sniffing at pie._)
Mrs. R. Never thee mind smelling it, thee taste it. Lud, how thin thee
art looking, lad. (_To Deb. who is almost doing so._) Don’t pour the
beer into the pie, child, and look where thee’s put the potatoes!
(_Takes jug away from her._)
Deb. (_Sitting down, laughing._) I don’t know what I’m doing. (_Takes
saucepan off table._)
Mrs. R. Well, us can see that.
Allen. And how’s everything been going on? How’s the colt?
Mrs. R. Kicked Parsons clean into the ditch yestermorning, the little
dear! (_All are now seated._)
Allen. No, did un? (_Laughs._)
Deb. One of the guinea hens is dead, the little one of all.
Allen. What, the one as used to squint?
Deb. Yes, Parsons left his shot on the pigstye wall, and she ate two
ounces. Oh, and you remember Jim?
Allen. What, the bantam?
Deb. Yes. He’s given his own father such a licking, and won’t let him
come near the yard.
Allen. (_Laughing heartily._) Plucky little beggar! Serve the old ‘un
right. He wur always a bully. Now, mother--(_about to hand her the
pie._) Why, mother, thee art crying!
Mrs. R. (_Crying._) No, I ain’t. Go on with thee supper, lad.
Allen. (_Looking at Deb._) And--why, here be Deb. crying too!
(_The two women laugh through their tears. Allen joins them as curtain
descends._)
Mrs. R. It’s wi’ joy, lad; it’s wi’ joy!
SLOW CURTAIN.