OUTWARD BOUND
By
SUTTON VANE
LONDON
CHATTO & WINDUS
1924
PRINTED IN ENGLAND BY
THE DE LA MORE PRESS LTD.
LONDON, W.
[Illustration]
ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED
TO DIANA, MY WIFE
All applications for amateur performances of this play must be made
to Samuel French Limited, 26 Southampton Street, Strand, London, W.C.
2, and for professional rights to the author’s agents The London Play
Company, 51 Piccadilly, London, W. 1.
“OUTWARD BOUND” was first produced at the Everyman Theatre,
Hampstead, London on Monday, the 17th of September, 1923, with the
following cast:
SCRUBBY STANLEY LATHBURY
ANN DIANA HAMILTON
HENRY WILLIAM STACK
Mr. PRIOR FREDERICK COOPER
Mrs. CLIVEDEN-BANKS GLADYS FFOLLIOTT
Rev. WILLIAM DUKE FREDERICK LEISTER
Mrs. MIDGET CLARE GREET
Mr. LINGLEY ARTHUR PAGE
Rev. FRANK THOMSON ROY BYFORD
CHARACTERS
(_In order of their appearance_)
SCRUBBY
ANN
HENRY
MR. PRIOR
MRS. CLIVEDEN-BANKS
REV. WILLIAM DUKE
MRS. MIDGET
MR. LINGLEY
REV. FRANK THOMSON
_Scene_: On board ship.
_Time_: The present.
ACT I
In harbour. Morning.
ACT II
At sea. The same evening.
ACT III
About six days later. SCENE I. Afternoon. SCENE II. The night of the
same day.
CONTENTS
ACT I
ACT II
ACT III
Scene I
Scene II
ACT I
_The curtain rises on a room which suggests rather than represents
the lounge smoke-room of a small ocean liner. There is a bar on the
right with the usual array of glasses and bottles on the counter and
on the shelves behind it. On the extreme left is a small writing
table, and the rest of the furniture consists of the usual small
round tables and swivel arm-chairs that are found in the smoke-room
on most liners. Up against the bar are two high stools. Around the
room at the back is a red cushioned wall seat. The carpet is of warm
neutral tone. There are three doors. One behind the bar: another
leading off left and a third, centre, opening on to the deck. This
centre door is wide open, and behind it can be seen the liner
railings. The colour of the sky at the back arrests the attention at
once. It is a curious colour--vague and almost nondescript. There are
four portholes in the back wall, fitted up with small curtains which
are now drawn. Three large lights hang from the ceiling, and some
small lamp brackets on the walls._
_The sun is shining, and it is a clear still morning. Behind the bar
stands_ Scrubby,_ busy polishing the glasses--preparatory to the boat
sailing. He is dressed in the usual uniform of a ship’s steward. His
manner is always calm and reposeful, and his voice gentle and kindly.
He is an elderly man, typically English._
Ann _is seen to pass along the deck, and she comes through the centre
door into the room. She is wearing a hat and coat, underneath which
is a simple but very smart clinging frock of green. She is young, but
one sees at once that she is terribly nervous. She pauses and looks
round in a frightened manner. Then_ Scrubby _clinks a glass and she
turns and sees him._
ANN. Oh, I beg your pardon--good morning.
SCRUBBY. Good morning, madam.
ANN. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid we’ve lost our way.
SCRUBBY. Where do you want to get to, Madam?
ANN. The cabins, of course.
SCRUBBY. Cabins?
ANN. Yes! Where we sleep. I’m afraid I’m awfully stupid. I’ve never
been on the sea before.
SCRUBBY. The old ship will be highly flattered. You’ll find all the
berths right forward (_points to the left_) down there.
ANN. Thank you very much. (_She goes up to the centre opening and
speaks to someone outside._) Henry, come along, dear, I was quite
right, this is the way.
(Henry _enters from the deck. He is wearing a well-cut lounge suit
and a dark soft hat. He is an ardent young man, about thirty years
old. He is good looking, quietly emotional, serious and sincere.
He is rather mystic in manner, and behaves like a dazed man who has
recently received a severe shock._)
HENRY. Sorry, I was looking at the sea. What did you say?
ANN. This _is_ the way, dear.
HENRY. Oh, good! We’ll probably find all our stuff in the cabin
already. How did you find out?
ANN. _He_ told me. (_Indicating_ Scrubby.)
HENRY. Oh!--good morning!
SCRUBBY. Good morning, sir.
(Ann _moves down to left_.)
HENRY. Bit confusing these boats, aren’t they?
SCRUBBY. Yes, sir, to begin with.
ANN. Come along, dear.
HENRY. I say, I’m feeling awfully tired.
ANN. Do you wonder?--after what you’ve been through?
HENRY. No, I suppose I don’t. I can’t quite focus it all even now,
you know. By Jove, we’ll have a gorgeous trip though, won’t we.
ANN. Yes, dear.
HENRY. The rest--the peace and--and--
ANN. Don’t worry so, dear.
HENRY. And the forgetfulness--
ANN. Of course, dear, don’t worry.
HENRY. No, I won’t, I won’t! (_To_ Scrubby.) Thanks for telling
my--my wife the way.
ANN. Give me your hand.
HENRY. What’s that?
ANN. Give me your hand, dear.
HENRY. Oh! You treat me like a child! I’m quite all right really.
ANN. Give me your hand. (_Goes to her, takes her hand._) There!
HENRY. Thanks for the hand.
ANN. Come along.
(_They go off together, left, and a moment later_ Tom Prior _enters
by the centre door._ Prior _is a slight young man, highly strung. He
is not specifically drunk at the moment, but rather more displays the
mellow and bland cock-sureness of a youth who for some time has kept
himself going with constant stimulants. He is wearing a lounge suit,
and is very cheerful and smiling._)
TOM. Oh!--er--good morning, steward.
SCRUBBY. Good morning, sir.
TOM. This is the smoke-room, I suppose?
SCRUBBY. Yes, sir.
TOM. Look here, then--er--how long before we sail?
SCRUBBY. About a quarter of an hour--sir--or more--or less.
TOM. Then I say, could I--er--I get a drink?
SCRUBBY. Certainly, sir.
TOM. Bravo! (_He crosses right and sits down._) I want it.
SCRUBBY. What shall I get you, sir?
TOM. A Scotch.
SCRUBBY. Any soda-water, sir?
TOM. No, thank you.
SCRUBBY. All Scotch!
TOM. As a matter of fact, steward, you’ll probably see a lot of me
during this trip. Yes, you’ll get to know me quite well, so I thought
I’d warn you to begin with.
SCRUBBY (_brings drink_). The warning is an honour, sir.
TOM. Yes, thanks. How much is it?
SCRUBBY. Oh, you needn’t pay, sir.
TOM. What!
SCRUBBY. If you’ll just sign this. (_Presents chit book._)
TOM. Oh yes, of course, I’d forgotten that catch. Have one yourself?
SCRUBBY. No thank you, sir.
TOM (_drinks_). Ah, that’s better. As a matter of fact, steward, I’d
a rather thick night last night--
SCRUBBY. Indeed, sir!
TOM. Yes--yes--and I want pulling together. By Jove--it must have
been a jolly thick night because I can’t remember anything about
it now. But never mind--(_Drinks again._) It’s a gorgeous morning,
anyway.
SCRUBBY. It is, sir. A pity some people should be alive to spoil it.
TOM. What’s that?
SCRUBBY. I was talking to myself, sir.
TOM. I say, steward, how many passengers have we got?
SCRUBBY. Not many, sir, it’s our slack time of year.
TOM. The last time I came out--why--it must be over ten years
ago--I was going tea planting, and--and--I was only about
nineteen--and--(_Pause._) Phew, how time flies! Get me some
cigarettes.
SCRUBBY. Yes, sir! Egyptians, Turkish or Virginian?
TOM. Gold Flake. What’s the old Captain like?
SCRUBBY. Very decent sort I’ve heard say, sir. Very respected, I
_know_.
TOM. Oh, I don’t like that sort--not on these small ships. Now when I
went out before--
SCRUBBY. Your cigarettes, sir.
TOM. Thank you. And get me another drink. The same.
(Mrs. Cliveden-Banks _enters from the centre and goes down to_
Tom. _She is a withered old harridan of fifty odd--probably once
beautiful. Smartly frocked in travelling costume. She carries an
armful of magazines._)
MRS. C-BANKS. Ah ha! I thought I knew that voice!
TOM. What! (_Rises, turns._) Oh, really! Good gracious! Mrs.
Cliveden-Banks! How are you? What a surprise. (_Shakes hands._)
MRS. C-BANKS. I saw your name on the passenger list, so I asked for
the bar at once, and here you are! (_Sits left of table._)
TOM. Delighted. Come and sit down. What are you doing here? (_Sits
above table._)
MRS. C-BANKS. Joining my dear husband. And I’m afraid we’re in for a
very dull trip. There is nobody on board--at least nobody who _is_
anybody. Though, of course, the poor creatures can’t help that. You
follow me. What I say I mean in the most kindly manner--but still,
there it is.
TOM. We must try and cheer each other up then, Mrs. Banks.
MRS. C-BANKS. Yes, all friends at sea, of course. By the way, my
name is _Cliveden_-Banks. You know, of course, but it’s such a long
while since we met. There was a plain Mrs. Banks in the divorce
court lately--so silly of her--and so plain, judging from the
Daily Mirror--a total stranger, of course. Still it’s made me very
particular about my hyphen. Not that I am ever likely to appear in a
divorce court.
TOM. No, most unlikely. (_With a significant appraisal of her._)
MRS. C-BANKS. Still you see what I mean.
(Scrubby _puts drink on table_.)
TOM. Of course. Thank you. Mrs. _Cliveden_-Banks, will you have a
drink?
MRS. C-BANKS. Thank you--what are you drinking--ginger ale?
TOM. No--er--whiskey.
MRS. C-BANKS. At this time in the morning?
TOM. Whiskey at any time in the morning, afternoon or evening.
MRS. C-BANKS. I’m afraid you’re still a naughty boy. I’ll have a
ginger ale. (Scrubby _proceeds to fetch her the drink_.) When I said
there was nobody on board, dear Mr. Prior, between you and me, there
is one person on board to whom I shall take a strong objection. He’s
a clergyman.
TOM. Poor blighter! I should pity rather than blame him.
MRS. C-BANKS. Oh, don’t you know? Clergymen at sea are dreadfully
unlucky. We shall probably all go to the bottom. If we do I shall
blame the clergyman entirely. In my opinion steamship companies have
no right to let clergymen travel at all. The clergy ought to stay at
home in their own parishes and do good, not go gadding about all over
the world putting other people’s lives in danger.
SCRUBBY. Your ginger ale, madam! (_Puts drink on table._)
MRS. C-BANKS. Thank you, steward. (_Takes drink._) Isn’t that so?
SCRUBBY. Isn’t what so, Madam?
MRS. C-BANKS. Oh, you must have been listening to what I was saying.
SCRUBBY. I assure you, Madam, I was not.
MRS. C-BANKS. How odd! (Tom _signs for drink_.) I was remarking that
the sea-faring men regard the presence of a Clergyman on board your
ship as highly unlucky.
SCRUBBY. I believe there is a superstition to that effect, Madam,
yes. (_Returns behind bar._)
MRS. C-BANKS. There! I told you so. Well, the best thing we can do is
to cut the fellow dead. Nicely, of course, but firmly. (_They change
glasses._)
TOM. Just as you like. But will we save the boat by doing it?
MRS. C-BANKS. How droll you are!
TOM. Look out! Talk of the--
(The Rev. William Duke _enters left, crosses to desk and looks for
writing paper and envelope. As he does so he speaks to_ Tom. Duke _is
a very sincere, earnest young clergyman_.)
DUKE. Good morning, sir.
TOM (_in a loud voice to_ Mrs. C-Banks). How is the Colonel?
MRS. C-BANKS. Dear Benjamin, I regret to say is feeling the heat
dreadfully. I should have joined him last year, but somehow I never
got time. The penalty of popularity. My great friend, Mabel, the
Duchess of Middleford--_you don’t_ know her, of course, she was only
saying to me at the Palace the other day--
DUKE (_as he sits at writing desk with paper, etc., turns to_ Tom.)
Good morning.
TOM. Eh--oh, good morning.
MRS. C-BANKS. Who is that man?
TOM. Really, Mrs. Cliveden-Banks, I dunno--I--
MRS. C-BANKS. How strange! Peculiar people one must meet, mustn’t
one, in public places. Never mind. Let me see, where was I?
TOM. With your great friend whom I don’t know.
MRS. C-BANKS. Oh yes, of course. (Rev. William Duke _sits left and
writes_.) And then that strange man whom we neither of us know
interrupted by wishing you good morning. Never mind. Mabel pointed
out to me very clearly that I was in danger of neglecting my duty.
She said to me quite plainly, almost brutally, and she can be very
brutal sometimes--“My dear Genevieve,” she said, “you must remember
you are a daughter of the Empire, a soldier’s _daughter_--a soldier’s
_wife_. Your place is by your husband’s side in far far India.” In
fact she was so insistent on my leaving England that if I didn’t know
her really well, I should have felt she wanted to get rid of me.
Still I have taken her advice, I have abandoned London’s gaieties and
go to help poor dear Benjamin rule a lot of black men. Frankly I hate
the idea.
DUKE (_still sitting at table, turns_). I’m awfully sorry to bother
you, Madam, but could you tell me what the date is?
MRS. C-BANKS. What was that?
DUKE. I ought to know, of course, seeing that it’s the date we sail,
but my memory’s so--
MRS. C-BANKS. Did you say the date?
DUKE. Yes, if you please.
MRS. C-BANKS. The _date_?
DUKE. If you would--
MRS. C-BANKS. You’re trying to start a conversation with me, aren’t
you?
DUKE (_laughs_). Well, frankly, as we’re all to be shipmates, the
sooner we get to know each other the better, don’t you think?
MRS. C-BANKS. That, young man, is a matter of opinion.
DUKE. Oh, I’m awfully sorry if--I didn’t think introductions were
necessary on board ship.
MRS. C-BANKS. Possibly they may not have been in the days of Walter
Raleigh. Not having been there myself at the time I cannot say for
certain. But customs change at sea, young man, even though the
Church remains exactly where it always was. Under the circumstances,
therefore, there can be no question of me giving you a date.
DUKE. I beg your pardon--I’ll find it out for myself.
MRS. C-BANKS. Was that cutting enough, dear Mr. Prior?
TOM. Oh yes, most; but what did it mean?
MRS. C-BANKS. I don’t know.
(Mrs. Midget _wanders on from the deck. A poor charwoman in black
little bonnet, black shawl and dress--her best. Very humble, simple
and obviously out of place in these strange surroundings. But sweet
and motherly._)
MRS. MIDGET. You’ll excuse me, mum, but--
MRS. C-BANKS (_looking up and seeing her_). Good gracious!
MRS. MIDGET. You’ll excuse me speaking up as it were, but I must say
something to someone. And as you’re the only other lady I’ve seen
about, bar myself, I must ask you to give me a--
MRS. C-BANKS. Mr. Prior, am I to be attacked from all sides?
MRS. MIDGET (_starts suddenly at sound of name_). Mr. Prior?
TOM. Any objection?
MRS. MIDGET. No, very pleased to meet you. You see, mum, I ’ad to
follow yer because yer see, mum, I’ve been struck all of a ’eap.
MRS. C-BANKS. You’ve been what?
MRS. MIDGET. Struck all of a ’eap.
MRS. C-BANKS. Mr. Prior, rescue me. And you had better do something
for this good woman, too. It appears she has been struck all of a
heap--whatever that may mean.
TOM. Well--what’s the trouble?
MRS. MIDGET. Well, sir, thanking you, it’s like this, as it were--
MRS. C-BANKS. “As it were.” How quaint! “As it was” is correct, of
course--we all know that from our Prayer Book. Go on.
MRS. MIDGET. Well, sir, it were like this, _as it was;_ only last
Saturday, Mrs. Roberts and I were talking about the sheets being
damp, and I says--
MRS. C-BANKS. Ah! Sheets--damp. The good woman is, of course, a
stewardess.
TOM. Are you?
MRS. MIDGET. Am I what?
TOM. A stewardess on this boat?
MRS. MIDGET. No, I’m a passenger.
MRS. C-BANKS. She’s a passenger! Oh, I see it, she’s a passenger!
I see it all! The whole thing has come to me in a flash! She’s a
passenger. Don’t worry yourself any more, Mr. Prior, I have solved
the good woman’s trouble. She’s a passenger and she’s lost her way;
haven’t you, good woman?
MRS. MIDGET. Exactly, mum.
MRS. C-BANKS. Mr. Prior, tell that steward fellow to tell somebody
to take the good woman back to her proper place immediately. She’s
been wandering. She’s on the wrong deck, she’s in the wrong class.
Goodbye, good woman, goodbye. So glad to have been so helpful.
MRS. MIDGET. Thank you, mum.
TOM (_going to her_). Oh, steward, just get someone to show this
woman steerage--er--third class deck--or something, will you?
SCRUBBY (_turns to_ Tom). The third class, sir?
TOM. Yes, please.
SCRUBBY. I think you’ve made some mistake, sir. There is only one
class on the boat.
(Rev. William Duke _finishes his letter and goes out left._)
MRS. C-BANKS. (_Faintly._) What was that?
TOM. Only one class?
SCRUBBY. Yes, sir. It’s the same on all this line.
MRS. C-BANKS. What was that?
TOM. Oh, sorry--I didn’t know. (_Returning._) Er--Mrs.
Cliveden-Banks.--
MRS. C-BANKS. Mr. Prior, did I, or did I not hear that fellow say
there is only one class on this boat?
TOM. He said so, certainly.
MRS. C-BANKS. Mr. Prior, the thing’s impossible.
TOM. Well, he ought to know.
MRS. C-BANKS. How dare she--how dare my secretary book me a passage
on a vessel with only one class? How am I to know who are the ladies
and gentlemen, and who are not?
TOM. Now, now, don’t get excited.
MRS. C-BANKS. Excited! Mr. Prior, a terrible thought has just struck
me. That woman there--
TOM. Well, what about her?
MRS. C-BANKS. She probably eats.
TOM. Extremely likely, I should say.
MRS. C-BANKS. Well then--if she eats--and if there’s only one
class--she will eat in the same place as we shall. It can’t be done,
I shall disembark immediately.
TOM. Now look here, Mrs. Banks--Mrs. Cliveden-Banks--she’s probably
only a lady’s maid or something.
MRS. C-BANKS. Who would have a maid like that--outside a theatrical
boarding house?
TOM. The idea of your landing is absurd. Don’t get nervy about
nothing. We can easily avoid her. If you’re really upset--
MRS. C-BANKS. And I am, I am!
TOM. Then I’ll question her.
MRS. C-BANKS. Yes. Do, do, quickly. It would be quite impossible for
me to lunch at the same table with a woman who has been struck all of
a heap.
TOM. Come here, will you? I--er--we want to help you if we possibly
can. (_Drinks._)
MRS. MIDGET. Thank you, sir.
TOM. Excuse me. (_Finishes drink._) Thanks. Now, what is--your name?
MRS. MIDGET. Midget.
TOM. What?
MRS. MIDGET. Midget.
MRS. C-BANKS. That, to begin with, is an alibi. No one could possibly
be called Midget.
MRS. MIDGET (_warming in quick resentment_). Oh, couldn’t they? Well,
I’ll show you whether they could or not all right. Midget’s as good a
name as any other name, Midget is. And don’t you forget it, old Mrs.
’Igh and Mighty. My name’s Midget all right, Midget married me all
right, and I can prove it, and I’ve got my lines, which was a job to
get as I admit.
MRS. C-BANKS. How dreadfully sordid!
MRS. MIDGET. But when it comes to utter strangers tellin’ me as I
don’t know what my own name is, then I speaks up and unabashed, as I
would do in front of the ’ole street. I’ve nothing to ’ide, I’ve not,
I’m not one of these--
MRS. C-BANKS. That will do, that will do. The world is full of
troubles we know. Doubtless you have had yours, my good--er--my woman.
MRS. MIDGET. I ’ave ’ad trouble, I confess.
TOM. But what’s your present one--that’s what--what we want to know?
MRS. MIDGET. Where am I?
TOM. On board--on board this ship.
MRS. MIDGET. Yes, but what for?
TOM. How should _I_ know. Are your tickets and luggage all right?
MRS. MIDGET. I suppose so. I’m not one to worry over little things.
TOM. Have you been to your cabin yet?
MRS. MIDGET. No.
TOM. What’s the number?
MRS. MIDGET. ’Ow do I know if I ain’t been there?
TOM. I say--you’re not tight, are you?
MRS. MIDGET. Tight?
TOM. Blotto--squiffy--gone away.
MRS. MIDGET. Not me. “T.T.” I am.
TOM. How wise of you. (_Drinks._) Well, are you ill?
MRS. MIDGET. Now, that’s what I’m a-wondering. Am I ill? I don’t
think so. I don’t feel ill. And yet I said to Mrs. Roberts last
Thursday--or was it Wednesday--never mind, I said to ’er any way I
says--“What I want” says I--or did she say it to me? Never mind, it
don’t make no difference, one of us says it to the other, “What I or
you want” according to which ever of us _did_ say it, “is a thorough
’oliday.” And then--wait a minute--I remember now--it’s all coming
back--I’ve come on ’ere to meet somebody.
TOM. Oh, that’s it, is it?
MRS. MIDGET. Yes, at the other end. It was our parson’s idea. “A
thorough ’oliday” of course! ’Ow silly of me to forget. But of course
I ain’t ’ad much to eat to-day and what with the excitement and one
thing and another, and Mrs. Roberts--
TOM. Damn Mrs. Roberts!
MRS. MIDGET. Oh, I do, sir--often.
TOM. Look here, what you want’s a sandwich and a drink, and a good
sleep. Then you’ll remember everything. Someone should have brought
you here, of course. But if you’re being met at the other end,
there’s nothing to worry about.
MRS. MIDGET. Thank you, sir.
MRS. C-BANKS. The woman is obviously light-headed. Have her removed.
TOM. Steward, can you find out this passenger’s stewardess for
me--for her. Have her put in her charge, see she gets everything she
should have. Nervous you know, never been to sea.
SCRUBBY. Certainly, sir. (_Crosses left from behind bar._)
MRS. C-BANKS. I should certainly suggest a sleep for her. A long,
long sleep--in fact, if I were in her place I should take a complete
rest, have all my meals in my own cabin, and never come on deck at
all. I’m sure she would feel better if she did that.
MRS. MIDGET. Much obliged. But I ’ope to be ’opping about like a
cricket in an ’our or two.
SCRUBBY. This way, Madam.
MRS. MIDGET. (_Flattered by the attention._) Thank you, _Captain_.
(Scrubby _and_ Mrs. Midget _go off together left._)
SCRUBBY. Straight ahead.
MRS. C-BANKS. I should like to burn Miss Longton. Miss Longton is my
secretary.
TOM (_looking after them_). Do you think that woman was speaking the
truth?
MRS. C-BANKS. No. She’s probably one of a gang of international
crooks. Look at the way she scraped acquaintance with me. Personally
I shall be on my guard against her. (_Low muffled syren heard._) What
do you think that is?
TOM. Sailing shortly, I suppose.
MRS. C-BANKS. Then I shall go on deck and wave farewell to the dear
old white cliffs. (_Rises._) By the way, I’m told on many parts of
the coast they’re crumbling fast. Still, England, England, there is
no country like her.
TOM. Thank goodness.
MRS. C-BANKS. Why do you say that?
TOM. I don’t. That’s what other countries say.
MRS. C-BANKS. How naughty you are. Well, come along and protect me
from the mob.
TOM. No, thanks, if you’ll excuse me. I’d far rather remain here and
slip away from my native land oblivious of her disregard for me.
MRS. C-BANKS. Which means--?
TOM. That I’m going to have another drink.
MRS. C-BANKS. You’re a bad lad. Still, I’ll see you later.
(_She passes through the centre door and goes left along the deck._)
TOM. I suppose so. Confound the woman. (_Drinks and lights
cigarette._)
(Rev. William Duke _re-appears from the left._)
Oh, I say, Padre!
DUKE. How is the Colonel? (_Goes up right to table._)
TOM. Padre.
DUKE. Were you speaking to me, sir?
TOM. Yes. I want to--to apologise.
DUKE (_centre_). What for?
TOM. Cutting you stone dead like the silly old woman I was with.
DUKE. Oh, that’s all right.
TOM. Sure?
DUKE. Sure!
TOM. Positive?
DUKE. Positive!
TOM. Good. Have a drink?
DUKE. Thanks. (_He sits down left of table._)
TOM. The fellow will be back in a second.
DUKE. Good.
TOM. Cigarette?
DUKE. Thanks.
TOM. Hot, isn’t it?
DUKE. Yes. Hot.
TOM. Yes--er--do you think we shall have--er--smooth passage?
DUKE. Quite. I mean--I hope so.
TOM. So do I.
DUKE. I suppose we all do.
TOM. Er--yes. I suppose we all do. I say, I must tell you, of course,
that I should never have behaved as I did just now, pretending not to
see you and all that, but of course I’m a very weak character.
DUKE. Strong of you to admit it.
TOM. Yes, I’m easily swayed. No stamina. (_Drinks._) I can’t think
why. And the old cat was drivelling along, and she persuaded me not
to see you. Told me you were unlucky.
DUKE. Ha!
TOM. So I agreed not to. I always agree with anyone I’m with. She was
to blame entirely.
DUKE. I have always found it an unwise habit to run down other
people. They have a nasty way of getting to hear about it and
retaliating--with interest.
TOM. You’re not going to preach a sermon, are you?
DUKE. Good lor’, no! I say, do you know Bethnal Green?
TOM. Good heavens, no!
DUKE. Take my advice then and don’t; I do. I’ve known it for the last
eight years. And I’m sick of the slums and people I was trying to
keep straight with sermons--official and otherwise--and the drizzle,
and the smell of tea in urns with the Vicar--oh yes, the Vicar more
than anything. No, no, no more sermons from me for a bit. But I beg
your pardon, I must be boring you.
TOM. Not at all so far. You must have had a pretty rotten time!
(Scrubby _re-enters from the left and goes to bar._)
DUKE. Oh, I don’t know, I’m awfully keen on my job. I want a rest,
that’s all.
TOM. “A thorough ’oliday,” in fact. Hello, he’s our man. This will do
you good. What’s it to be?
(Scrubby _collects empty glasses._)
DUKE. Beer, please.
TOM. Er--steward--er what is your name?
SCRUBBY. Scrubby.
TOM. Midget and Scrubby. Good lor’! Oh, well, it can’t be helped, I
suppose. A Bass please, and a--the same.
SCRUBBY. Yes, sir.
DUKE. I think everybody ought to be awfully keen, don’t you?
TOM. What do you mean? Sort of getting up in the morning before
breakfast and having a cold bath? Because if you do, I don’t.
DUKE. No, no, not necessarily that, of course. But keen every moment
of the day, keen on something--never wasting a moment--at it, always
at it, as it were. Now there’s the trip for instance, that we’re
going on. We must arrange to enjoy every moment of it.
TOM. Why?
DUKE. Because we’re meant to.
TOM. Oh!
DUKE. We must organise amongst ourselves. I’ve thought out lots of
jolly little ideas.
TOM. Such as--?
DUKE. Well--for instance--we’ll get up a concert.
TOM. Oh! that will be jolly. _Must_ we get up a concert?
DUKE. Of course.
TOM. How awful! Why must we?
DUKE. Just to amuse the other passengers.
TOM. _Would_ it amuse the other passengers?
DUKE. And ourselves too.
TOM. Oh, I see.
DUKE. It always _is_ done, you know.
TOM. Some habits want breaking--
DUKE. Do you sing?
TOM. No.
DUKE. That’s a pity.
TOM. Do you recite?
DUKE. Er--no--
TOM. That’s excellent!
(Scrubby _advances with drinks._)
SCRUBBY. Your drinks, sir, and it’s quite all _right_.
TOM. What’s quite all _right_?
SCRUBBY. The lady, sir.
TOM. Which lady?
SCRUBBY. The lady you wanted put in charge of her stewardess.
TOM. Oh yes, of course. That lady. Thanks very much.
SCRUBBY. Thank you, sir. (_Returns behind bar._)
DUKE. I say, I really oughtn’t to know, but I’d always understood you
couldn’t get a drink on board a ship until she sailed?
TOM. Neither you can as a rule. That never struck me--don’t say
anything.
DUKE. It’s very queer.
TOM. It’s very lucky. Cheero!
DUKE. Cheero!
TOM. Got any other gadget on you for the passenger’s amusement?
Perhaps you’d like me to walk the plank or something?
DUKE. We ought to have some sports, of course.
TOM. Why did I put the idea into your head?
DUKE. You can help with the organization. You need not participate.
TOM. Right. I’ll organize anything you like--from here. Cheery spot
this.
(_Through the centre door enters_ Mr. Lingley. _He is a hard and
unpleasant business man, aged fifty-five or sixty. He is loud and
officious, and is obviously self made. He has on a travelling cap
and a heavy overcoat, and he is carrying an attaché case, containing
business papers. He is evidently in a great hurry._)
LINGLEY. Ah, good morning, gentlemen. My name’s Lingley.
TOM. Hurray!
LINGLEY. I’ve had a narrow shave--nearly missed her.
DUKE (_rises_). Duke’s my name. Very warm to-day, sir.
LINGLEY. Damn warm--I beg your pardon, I didn’t notice your
collar--very warm. Steward get me a drink. (_Sits at table left._)
(Duke _sits._)
SCRUBBY. Whiskey and soda, sir?
LINGLEY. No, confound you, ginger ale with some ice. Yes, I left it a
bit too late, another five minutes and I’d have missed her.
DUKE. We’ll soon be off then?
LINGLEY. We’re sailing now.
TOM. Land of hope and glory--au revoir! (_Drinks._)
DUKE. You motored here?
LINGLEY. No, flew--in my office two hours ago. Now I must get on with
things. (_Opens attaché case and lays out papers._)
(Scrubby _brings him his drink._)
DUKE (_to_ Tom). There you are, you see, the man’s keen.
TOM. I _know_ the blighter.
LINGLEY (_to_ Scrubby). How much?
SCRUBBY. You needn’t pay, sir.
LINGLEY. I always pay. How much?
SCRUBBY. One shilling, sir.
LINGLEY. Damn--er--_very_ expensive still--here is _one_ shilling.
SCRUBBY. Thank you, sir.
LINGLEY. What for? (Scrubby _returns behind bar._) I haven’t tipped
you.
DUKE. I hope you won’t be so busy, sir, that we shan’t see you on the
trip.
LINGLEY. Once in my state-room I don’t suppose I’ll leave it--till we
touch--er--er--Marseilles.
DUKE. I hope it’s interesting work, sir.
LINGLEY. No, it isn’t, but it keeps me busy--I am an M.P. you know.
(Scrubby _disappears through the door right._)
DUKE. Oh! Pleased to meet you.
LINGLEY. Not at all. I’m on the London County Council as well,
incidentally I own twenty-one music-halls, a chain of cinemas, two
gold mines and a Methodist chapel. Naturally they want looking after.
DUKE. Naturally. What are you doing with the chapel?
LINGLEY. Having it pulled down.
TOM. Sportsman!
LINGLEY. You--you there!
TOM. Me?
LINGLEY. Yes! I know your face, don’t I? I never forget a face.
TOM. How that must sadden your sweet life at times.
LINGLEY. Where have I seen it before?
TOM. Oh, in your office. You gave me a job once. It lasted two days.
LINGLEY. What was the matter?
TOM. Your office! I couldn’t stand the atmosphere so I drownded it in
drink.
LINGLEY. I remember. I remember. You were sacked mechanically.
TOM. Yes. You wouldn’t give me a second chance.
LINGLEY. No one has ever given _me_ a second chance. I shall never
expect one. I shall certainly never ask for one.
TOM. As you said when you sacked me mechanically. In my opinion, Mr.
Lingley, L.C.C., M.P., you’re a pompous old idiot.
LINGLEY (_rising_). How dare you! How--you must be crazy.
TOM. I’m not in your ghastly office now. I can say what I like.
(_Shouts._) You’re a blue-nosed baboon! There! I’ve dreamt I said
that to you for weeks, and now I’ve said it.
LINGLEY. If you’re not careful, Mr.--Mr.--er--er--I’ll--I’ll--
TOM. If _you’re_ not careful, Mr. Lingley, I’ll make you walk the
plank at the sports.
LINGLEY. Mr. Prior, you are obviously drunk now.
TOM. I am drunk I admit--but I had trusted not obviously.
DUKE. Dear, dear, dear, dear!
TOM. Yes, that remark helps matters such a lot, doesn’t it?
LINGLEY. I shall go on deck. Where are my papers? I’ve been
irritated. The doctors said I must not be irritated. I’ve too much to
do to be irritated.
DUKE. Oh, I’m sure Mr. Prior didn’t mean--
TOM. I did. Every word of it. Shut up! He’s a pink-eyed rabbit. He’s
a rotter, he’s a grasper--
LINGLEY. Silence, sir! For goodness sake silence! I shan’t be able to
concentrate after this interruption. I came here for peace, damn you.
I’ve been thinking too hard as it is--and now this little gnat--he’s
destroyed what I’d nearly completed in my mind. Damn you, sir, I’m
sick of opposition--Damn you--you--(_the long low syren is heard
again_). Oh, my God! (_Drops into a chair._)
DUKE. Mr. Lingley, what is it? (_Goes to Lingley._)
(Tom _goes to above_ Lingley _glass in hand._)
LINGLEY. Wait--wait!
DUKE. You’re looking ill.
LINGLEY. Yes, I am ill, I’m feeling ill I am. Suddenly. I must have
help, I was warned about this. An arm, please--and some of that stuff
you’re drinking.
(Tom _gives him drink and supports him._)
Thank you. I shall be all right in a minute.
DUKE. I’ll get the doctor.
LINGLEY. No. He’ll only irritate me. I know what to do. I’ve been
told what to do. Absolute quiet and fresh air. I’ll go on deck.
(_Feels in pocket._) Oh yes, I’d forgotten. I’m to take one of these.
(Tom _takes phial from his pocket and gives him a tabloid._) Thank
you. I must keep quiet, calm and not think. I shall be all right in a
minute, and I’ll see another man the moment I get to--get to--(_Looks
from one to the other._)--where _am_ I going to?
DUKE. Marseilles you said, sir.
LINGLEY. Oh yes, of course, Marseilles. (_Pause._) What am I going to
Marseilles for?
DUKE. Don’t worry now.
LINGLEY. No, don’t worry, that’s right. I felt quite faint for the
moment, Mr. Duke; your drink has done me good. I’ll go on deck and
sit down.
DUKE. I’ll see you there.
LINGLEY. Thank you. I prefer to be alone. I’m quite all right. I
shall soon remember everything. I know what I’m doing. (_Rises._)
Oh, I’ve forgotten my papers.
(Tom _supports him towards the centre door._)
DUKE. Leave them--they can wait--I’ll look after them.
LINGLEY. No, no, give them to me.
(Tom _gives them._)
DUKE. I wish you’d let me come and--
LINGLEY. Please don’t worry me! It’s all right this time, I know
it is, if I’m not worried. Thank you. I know what I’m doing, of
course--I know--already I’m better. I’m going to meet someone, that’s
all. But was it Aaronson or was it Bantock?
DUKE. Remember what your doctor said, don’t worry!
LINGLEY (_going towards the door_). Of course not--no. That was the
worst attack I’ve had so far. But I’m better now--yes--and the quiet
and sea air will soon clear my mind completely. Thank you. I wish I
could remember if it was Aaronson or Bantock! Thank you, Mr. Duke,
for your very kind assistance.
(_He goes out slowly on to the deck and passes out of sight to the
right._ Duke _follows up after him._)
TOM. Padre! (_Up by centre opening._)
DUKE (_stopping_). Well?
TOM. What was it?
DUKE. I don’t know--some sudden sort of attack--I’m going to stop by
him. (_Starting to follow_ Lingley.)
TOM. Padre!
DUKE. Well?
TOM. It was my fault, I suppose.
DUKE. Oh no, I--
TOM. Are you angry with me?
DUKE. Why should I be?
TOM. You know.
DUKE. Drink is a terrible--
TOM. It seemed to do _him_ good.
(_Returns to above table and sits, and_ Duke _follows._)
DUKE. That’s different.
TOM. You promised no sermons, anyway.
DUKE. What made you start it?
TOM. You said everyone should be keen on something. Drink’s my hobby.
Let’s leave it at that.
DUKE. Please don’t joke about it.
TOM. All right. If you won’t be angry with me--I hate people to be
angry with me. But I wasn’t joking.
DUKE (_over_ Tom). I’ll see you later. In fact I hope to see a lot of
you on the voyage. (_Starting out centre._)
TOM. Thanks. That’s what I said to the steward. (_Stopping him
again._) Padre!
DUKE (_returning_). Well--well!
TOM. One moment.
DUKE. What is it?
TOM. In strict confidence--now we’re friends again--has it struck you
by any chance that there’s anything queer about this boat? Strictly
between ourselves.
DUKE. No, it hasn’t.
TOM. It has me.
DUKE. How do you mean?
TOM. I think there’s something jolly queer about her. By Jove, if I
were right it _would_ be a joke!
DUKE. I don’t follow you.
TOM. It’s difficult to explain. But Mr. Lingley--and--and--Oh, I’m
not quite sure myself. It may be only my--
DUKE. Imagination?
TOM. Exactly. Only somehow I don’t think it is.
DUKE. Go on. I must hurry.
TOM. Yes. Well (_turns to_ Duke) there was a sort of charwoman here
just now--you didn’t see her--a very decent sort of soul, of course,
but--well--hardly the kind of person you’d expect to find here. And
she couldn’t remember where she was going. Excepting she was going
to meet someone. (_Turns to him._) Now this Lingley fellow’s just
told us the same thing in different words. He couldn’t remember where
he was going either, at least not clearly. And I’ve noticed lots
of other little things. For instance, it’s absurd sailing with our
passenger list--there are so few of us. I tell you it’s queer--and--
DUKE. Really I can’t follow you.
TOM. Then there’s old Mrs. Banks drivelling on about joining her
husband--Good lor’! It’s just struck me.
DUKE. What has?
TOM. Colonel Cliveden-Banks kicked the bucket over a month ago.
Surely she can’t have forgotten _that_. Or--or would _that_ be her
father?
DUKE. Mr. Prior, if you take my advice, you’ll follow Mr. Lingley’s
example and get some fresh air on deck.
TOM. Yes, I think I will. All the same it _is_ queer. (_Rises to
above table._) Certain you’re not angry with me?
DUKE. Oh yes, certain. Shipmates, eh? (_Shakes hands._)
TOM. Oh yes, shipmates. But I bet you cut me the moment we land.
DUKE. Rot!
(_He follows_ Lingley _on to the deck._ Henry _has entered and is
lighting his pipe from a match which he has taken from the table down
left._)
TOM. Excuse me, sir, after you. (_Coming up to him, takes his match
and lights his cigarette from it._) Thanks. I say, do you mind if I
ask you a question?
HENRY. Of course not.
TOM. It’s rather a queer question.
HENRY. Go on.
TOM. Do--you--know--where--you--are going--to?
HENRY. Are you a Salvation Army man or what?
TOM. No, I’m quite serious.
HENRY. Of course I know where I’m going to.
TOM. On this boat?
HENRY. Certainly.
TOM. Thank goodness! I’m going to get some fresh air!
(_He goes out on to the deck._ Henry _goes up towards the deck, looks
out._ Ann _enters left._)
ANN. Why did you run away?
HENRY. Wanted a match.
ANN. I had some.
HENRY. A bit nervy too. (_Coming down centre._)
ANN. You’ve no need to be now--we’ve sailed.
HENRY. Really!
ANN. Yes. I saw the water moving by the porthole.
HENRY. (_Runs up centre and looks out._) You’re right. Why, we’re
well out. Almost open water.
ANN. Yes, dear.
HENRY. Give me your hand. (_To her._)
ANN. Hold tight to it.
HENRY. Queer. It’s just like an ordinary sailing.
ANN. Is it? (_Pause._)
HENRY. A man just now asked me if I knew where I was going. I said I
did.
ANN. That was right.
HENRY. Funny question though, wasn’t it?
ANN. Oh, I don’t know.
HENRY. He said it was queer. You don’t think he--
ANN. Of course not, dear. Can you smell the sea?
HENRY. Yes, fine, isn’t it?
ANN. I hope it will be terribly rough with lots of spray and wind.
HENRY. Why?
ANN. You can hold me closer.
HENRY. Ann! Ann! I’ve been worrying, I’ve been thinking just
now--these modern inventions--and things like that, you know.
ANN. You prosaic old thing--aren’t you?
HENRY. They couldn’t possibly call us back even now, could they?
ANN. Of course not, dear. How could they? We’re safe enough as long
as we hold tight.
HENRY. It was a risk, though, wasn’t it?
ANN. Yes, dear.
HENRY. If--supposing--if it hadn’t happened.
ANN. My dear, we always knew it would.
HENRY. Yes, but if it hadn’t.
ANN. But we knew.
HENRY. I think you were always more certain than I was.
ANN (_sits_). Well then, I knew for both of us.
HENRY (_sits_). Yes, that’s right. You knew. Ann, I trust you so in
things I can’t quite understand. Of course I trust you in things I
can understand too. But you seem to know so much more about the big
things than I do.
ANN. Perhaps I only pretend to.
HENRY. Oh no, you know all right. Give me another light will you?
Thanks. It’s nice being able to smoke. Ann?
ANN. Well, dear.
HENRY. You’re quite, quite sure.
ANN. Quite sure, dear.
HENRY. Isn’t ours a terribly big secret?
ANN. Isn’t it?
HENRY. Yes, Ann, I love you.
ANN. I love you, Henry.
HENRY. Always?
ANN. Always.
HENRY. Ann, I wonder how the dog is?
ANN. You baby--poor old Jock! Oh, they’ll look after him all right.
HENRY. I hope so. I say, Ann, when dogs die, what do you think
happens to them?
ANN. I dunno. There must be some sort of doggie’s heaven, I suppose.
HENRY. What a jolly place it must be! No cats in it, of course.
ANN. Of course not. Just lots of bones and meat and water. And hot
fires to lie in front of in the winter.
HENRY. What about the kind masters?
ANN. I’d forgotten them. Oh, I expect there’s some arrangement so
that the good dogs can’t remember the kind masters.
HENRY. _We_ remember, though.
ANN. Yes. _You_ were a very kind master.
HENRY (_rises_). It’s queer. (_Over to centre._) Poor old Jock.
(_Turns._) I say, Ann, you don’t think--
ANN. What?
HENRY. Any of these other people can possibly know.
ANN. Our secret? Of course they can’t.
HENRY. It _is_ a wonderful secret.
ANN (_rises_). I told you, Henry, how it would be as long as we
believed.
HENRY. And yet? (_Over to her._) I wonder if it’s safe--even now.
ANN. What makes you say that?
HENRY. I can’t quite remember, Ann, not clearly, not yet--it’s coming
back gradually of course, but--but--
ANN. Yes, dear?
HENRY. Ann, haven’t you and I sinned in some way?
ANN. We’ve been true to each other. How can we have sinned?
HENRY. If we had, Ann, could they separate us?
ANN. Hold my hand tightly.
HENRY. I’m trying so hard to remember.
ANN. What, dear?
HENRY. What it is we’ve done that isn’t right.
ANN. We’ve done nothing that isn’t right.
HENRY. No. Not in our light, of course. But have we from other--from
the world’s--
ANN. We’ve never cared for the world. We’re not going to care for it
now.
HENRY. If we were wrong and if it were something very, very wrong,
they couldn’t separate us, could they?
ANN. That sort of thing’s all over now, Henry. You’ve forgotten our
secret.
HENRY. No, I haven’t, it’s all perfect, of course--excepting this
one thing. (Tom _enters from the deck and unobserved by them stands
quietly at the back leaning against doorway._) Don’t laugh--don’t
laugh at me, Ann, I’m only trying to remember, and asking for your
help. But it seems (_sits_) to me this thing--this crime, if it is
one--that we’ve committed, is something big and yet that it’s--now
don’t laugh--that it’s only something to do with gas.
ANN (_sits beside him_). Gas?
HENRY. Yes.
ANN. You silly.
HENRY. It seems to me that before we left the flat--
ANN. Our sad little flat!
HENRY. I forgot--to turn off--the gas.
ANN. You terrible silly! Of course you did. We--agreed--that. That’s
what we agreed.
HENRY. There’s nothing very wrong in not turning off gas!
ANN. Don’t worry, dear. Take my hand.
HENRY (_laughs_). Nothing so bad that they could separate us for it.
You can’t blame people for not turning off gas! And yet, I’d have
sworn--Ann, you’re quite certain that there isn’t something else
we’ve done. Something big?
ANN. There’s nothing else, dear, I’m certain. You’ve nothing to be
ashamed of.
HENRY. I love you so.
ANN. Thank you, Henry. Don’t worry, dear.
HENRY. I wish I could remember _how_ we got here. We wanted to so
long. Anyway, now we have.
ANN. Let’s go out on to the deck.
HENRY. Yes, let’s--bless you. (_Both turn and see_ Tom.) Hello, sir.
TOM (_quietly_). Hello!
HENRY. We didn’t notice you--
TOM. It’s all right. I just came back to--
HENRY. May I introduce my wife. Ann, this is the gentleman who asked
me if I knew where I was going.
ANN. How do you do?
TOM. How do you do?
(Tom _is a changed man. His tone is quiet and sad, and he stands
perfectly rigid. The awful truth which has dawned upon him has
completely sobered him. There is a pause. Then_ Ann _goes out on to
the deck, and_ Henry _follows her._)
HENRY (_as he goes_). We’ll see you later. We’ve sailed you know.
(Scrubby _appears behind the bar._)
TOM. Yes, I am right. (_Comes down to bar._) The same.
SCRUBBY. Yes, sir, certainly sir. A _very_ warm day, sir. (_Bringing
drink to table._)
TOM. I am right, aren’t I, Scrubby?
SCRUBBY. Right, sir, in the head, do you mean?
TOM (_takes drink_). You know what I mean.
SCRUBBY. No, I don’t sir. Right about what?
TOM. You--I--all of us on the boat.
SCRUBBY. What about all of us on this boat, sir?
TOM (_trembling with apprehension_). We are--now answer me
truthfully--we are all _dead, aren’t we_?
SCRUBBY (_after a pause. Very quietly with firm conviction._) Yes,
sir, we are all dead. Quite dead. They don’t find out so soon as you
have as a rule.
TOM (_pause_). Queer! (_Sits left of table._)
SCRUBBY. Not when you get used to it, sir.
TOM. How long have you been--you been--oh, you know?
SCRUBBY. Me, sir? Oh, I was lost young.
TOM. You were what?
SCRUBBY. Lost young, sir.
TOM. I don’t understand.
SCRUBBY. No, sir, you wouldn’t not yet. But you’ll get to know lots
of things as the voyage goes on.
TOM. Tell me--tell me one thing--_now_. (_His anxiety is terrific,
and he is in a state of extreme tension._)
SCRUBBY. Anything I can, sir.
TOM (_terrified_). Where--where are we sailing for?
SCRUBBY. Heaven, sir. (_Pause._) And hell too, (_pause_) it’s the
same place you see.
CURTAIN.