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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12687-0.txt b/12687-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2123339 --- /dev/null +++ b/12687-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3222 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12687 *** + +_The Title_ + + +A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS + + +BY +ARNOLD BENNETT + + +LONDON +CHATTO & WINDUS +MCMXVIII + + + + +CHARACTERS + +MR. CULVER +MRS. CULVER +HILDEGARDE CULVER } their children +JOHN CULVER } +TRANTO +MISS STARKEY +SAMPSON STRAIGHT +PARLOURMAID + + + + +ACT I + +An evening between Christmas and New Year, before dinner. + + +ACT II + +The next evening, after dinner. + + +ACT III + +The next day, before lunch. + + +The scene throughout is a sitting-room in the well-furnished West End +abode of the Culvers. There is a door, back. There is also another door +(L) leading to Mrs. Culver's boudoir and elsewhere. + + + + +ACT I + + + + +ACT I + + +Hildegarde _is sitting at a desk, writing_. John, _in a lounging +attitude, is reading a newspaper_. + +_Enter_ Tranto, _back_. + +TRANTO. Good evening. + +HILDEGARDE (_turning slightly in her seat and giving him her left hand, +the right still holding a pen_). Good evening. Excuse me one moment. + +TRANTO. All right about my dining here to-night? (Hildegarde _nods_.) +Larder equal to the strain? + +HILDEGARDE. Macaroni. + +TRANTO. Splendid. + +HILDEGARDE. Beefsteak. + +TRANTO. Great heavens! (_imitates sketchily the motions of cutting up a +piece of steak. Shaking hands with_ John, _who has risen_). Well, John. +How are things? Don't let me disturb you. Have a cigarette. + +JOHN (_flattered_). Thanks. (_As they light cigarettes_.) You're the +first person here that's treated me like a human being. + +TRANTO. Oh! + +JOHN. Yes. They all treat me as if I was a schoolboy home for the hols. + +TRANTO. But you are, aren't you? + +JOHN. In a way, of course. But--well, don't you see what I mean? + +TRANTO (_sympathetically_). You mean that a schoolboy home for the hols +isn't necessarily something escaped out of the Zoo. + +JOHN (_warming_). That's it. + +TRANTO. In fact, what you mean is you're really an individual very like +the rest of us, subject, if I may say so, to the common desires, +weaknesses and prejudices of humanity--and not a damned freak. + +JOHN (_brightly_). That's rather good, that is. If it's a question of +the Zoo, what I say is--what price home? Now, homes _are_ extraordinary +if you like--I don't know whether you've ever noticed it. School--you +can understand school. But home--! Strange things happen here while I'm +away. + +TRANTO. Yes? + +JOHN. It was while I was away they appointed Dad a controller. When I +heard--I laughed. Dad a controller! Why, he can't even control mother. + +HILDEGARDE (_without looking round_). Oh yes he can. + +JOHN (_pretending to start back_). Stay me with flagons! (_Resuming to_ +Tranto.) And _you're_ something new here since the summer holidays. + +TRANTO. I never looked at myself in that light. But I suppose I _am_ +rather new here. + +JOHN. Not quite new. But you've made a lot of progress during the last +term. + +TRANTO. That's comforting. + +JOHN. You understand what I mean. You were rather stiff and prim in +August--now you aren't a bit. + +TRANTO. Just so. Well, I won't ask you what you think of _me_, John--you +might tell me--but what do you think of my newspaper? + +JOHN. _The Echo_? I don't know what to think. You see, we don't read +newspapers much at school. Some of the masters do. And a few chaps in +the Fifth--swank, of course. But speaking generally we don't. Prefects +don't. No time. + +TRANTO. How strange! Aren't you interested in the war? + +JOHN. Interested in the war! Would you mind if I spoke plainly? + +TRANTO. I should love it. + +JOHN. Each time I come home I wonder more and more whether you people in +London have got the slightest notion what war really is. Fact! At +school, it's just because we _are_ interested in the war that we've no +time for newspapers. + +TRANTO. How's that? + +JOHN. How's that? Well, munition workshops--with government inspectors +tumbling all over us about once a week. O.T.C. work. Field days. +Cramming fellows for Sandhurst. Not to mention female masters. +'Mistresses,' I ought to say, perhaps. All these things take time. + +TRANTO. I never thought of that. + +JOHN. No. People don't. However, I've decided to read newspapers in +future--it'll be part of my scheme. That's why I was reading _The +Echo_. Now, I should like to ask you something about this paper of +yours. + +TRANTO. Yes. + +JOHN. Why do you let Hilda write those articles for you about food +economy stunts in the household? + +TRANTO. Well--(_hesitating_) + +JOHN. Now, I look at things practically. When Hilda'd spent all her +dress allowance and got into debt besides, about a year and a half ago, +she suddenly remembered she wasn't doing much to help the war, and so +she went into the Food Ministry as a typist at thirty-five shillings a +week. Next she learnt typing. Then she became an authority on +everything. And now she's concocting these food articles for you. +Believe me, the girl knows nothing whatever about cookery. She couldn't +fry a sausage for nuts. Once the mater insisted on her doing the +housekeeping--in the holidays, too! Stay me with flagons! + +HILDEGARDE (_without looking round_). Stay you with chocolates, you +mean, Johnnie, dear. + +JOHN. There you are! Her thoughts fly instantly to chocolates--and in +the fourth year of the greatest war that the world-- + +HILDEGARDE. Etcetera, etcetera. + +TRANTO. Then do I gather that you don't entirely approve of your +sister's articles? + +JOHN. Tripe, I think. My fag could write better. I'll tell you what I do +approve of. I approve of that article to-day by that chap Sampson +Straight about titles and the shameful traffic in honours, and the rot +of the hereditary principle, and all that sort of thing. + +TRANTO. I'm glad. Delivers the goods, doesn't he, Mr. Sampson Straight? + +JOHN. Well, _I_ think so. Who is he? + +TRANTO. One of my discoveries, John. He sent me in an article about--let +me see, when was it?--about eight months ago. I at once perceived that +in Mr. Sampson Straight I had got on to a bit of all right. And I was +not mistaken. He has given London beans pretty regularly once a week +ever since. + +JOHN. He must have given the War Cabinet neuralgia this afternoon, +anyhow. I should like to meet him. + +TRANTO. I'm afraid that's impossible. + +JOHN. Is it? Why? + +TRANTO. Well, I haven't met him myself yet. He lives at a quiet country +place in Cornwall. Hermit, I believe. Hates any kind of publicity. +Absolutely refuses to be photographed. + +JOHN. Photographed! I should think not! But couldn't you get him to come +and lecture at school? We have frightful swells, you know. + +TRANTO. I expect you do. But he wouldn't come. + +JOHN. I wish he would. We had a debate the other Saturday night on, +Should the hereditary principle be abolished? + +TRANTO. And did you abolish it? + +JOHN. Did we abolish it? I should say we did. Eighty-five to twenty-one. +Some debate, believe _me_! + +HILDEGARDE (_looking round_). Yes, but didn't you tell us once that in +your Debating Society the speakers always tossed for sides beforehand? + +JOHN (_shrugging his shoulders. More confidentially to_ Tranto). As I +was saying, I'm going to read the papers in future, as part of my +scheme. And d'you know what the scheme is? (_Impressively_.) I've +decided to take up a political career. + +TRANTO. Good! + +JOHN. Yes, it was during that hereditary principle debate that I +decided. It came over me all of a sudden while I was on the last lap of +my speech and the fellows were cheering. And so I want to understand +first of all the newspaper situation in London. There are one or two +things about it I _don't_ understand. + +TRANTO. Not more? I can explain the newspaper situation to you in ten +words. You know I've got a lot of uncles. I daresay I've got more uncles +than anybody else in 'Who's Who.' Well, I own _The Echo_,--inherited it +from my father. My uncles own all the rest of the press--(_airily_) with +a few trifling exceptions. That's the London newspaper situation. Quite +simple, isn't it? + +JOHN. But of course _The Echo_ is up against all your uncles' papers--at +least it seems so. + +TRANTO. Absolutely up against them. Tooth and nail. Daggers drawn. No +quarter. Death or victory. + +JOHN. But do you and your uncles speak to each other? + +TRANTO. Best of friends. + +JOHN. But aren't two of your uncles lords? + +TRANTO. Yes. Uncle Joe was made an earl not long since--you may have +heard of the fuss about it. Uncle Sam's only a miserable baron yet. And +Uncle Cuthbert is that paltry insect--a baronet. + +JOHN. What did they get their titles for? + +TRANTO. Ask me another. + +JOHN. Of course I don't want to be personal, but _how_ did they get +them? Did they--er--buy them? + +TRANTO. Don't know. + +JOHN. Haven't you ever asked them? + +TRANTO. Well, John, you've got relatives yourself, and you probably know +there are some things that even the most affectionate relatives _don't_ +ask each other. + +HILDEGARDE (_rising from the desk and looking at John's feet_). Yes, +indeed! This very morning I unwisely asked Johnnie whether his socks +ever talked. Altercation followed. 'Some debate, believe _me_!' + +JOHN (_rising; with scornful tranquillity_). I'd better get ready for +dinner. Besides, you two would doubtless like to be alone together for a +few precious moments. + +HILDEGARDE (_sharply and self-consciously_). What do you mean? + +JOHN (_lightly_). Nothing. I thought editor and contributor-- + +HILDEGARDE. Oh! I see. + +JOHN (_stopping at door, and turning round_). Do you mean to say your +uncles won't be frightfully angry at Mr. Sampson Straight's articles? +Why, dash it, when he's talking about traffic in honours, if he doesn't +mean them who does he mean? + +TRANTO. My dear friend, stuff like that's meat and drink to my uncles. +They put it down like chocolates. + +JOHN. Well my deliberate opinion is--it's a jolly strange world. (_Exit +quickly, back)_. + +TRANTO (_looking at_ Hildegarde). So it is. Philosopher, John! Questions +rather pointed perhaps; but result in the discovery of new truths. By +the way, have I come too early? + +HILDEGARDE (_archly)_. How could you? But father's controlling the +country half an hour more than usual this evening, and I expect mamma +was so angry about it she forgot to telephone you that dinner's moved +accordingly. (_With piquancy and humour_.) I was rather surprised to +hear when I got home from my Ministry that you'd sent word you'd like to +dine to-night. + +TRANTO. Were you? Why? + +HILDEGARDE. Because last week when mamma _asked_ you for to-night, you +said you had another engagement. + +TRANTO. Oh! I'd forgotten I'd told her that. Still, I really had +another engagement. + +HILDEGARDE. The Countess of Blackfriars--you said. + +TRANTO. Yes. Auntie Joe's. I've just sent her a telephone message to say +I'm ill and confined to the house. + +HILDEGARDE. Which house? + +TRANTO. I didn't specify any particular house. + +HILDEGARDE. And are you ill? + +TRANTO. I am not.... To get back to the realm of fact, when I read +Sampson Straight's article about the degradation of honours this +afternoon-- + +HILDEGARDE. Didn't you read it before you published it? + +TRANTO. No. I had to rush off and confront the Medical Board at 9 a.m. I +felt certain the article would be all right. + +HILDEGARDE. And it wasn't all right. + +TRANTO (_positively_). Perfectly all right. + +HILDEGARDE. You don't seem quite sure. Are we still in the realm of +fact, or are we slipping over the frontier? + +TRANTO. The article was perfectly all right. It rattled off from +beginning to end like a machine-gun, and must have caused enormous +casualties. Only I thought Auntie Joe might be one of the casualties. I +thought it might put her out of action as a hostess for a week or so. +You see, for me to publish such an onslaught on new titles in the +afternoon, and then attempt to dine with the latest countess the same +night--and she my own aunt--well, it might be regarded as a bit--thick. +So I'm confined to the house--this house as it happens. + +HILDEGARDE. But you told John your people would take the article like +meat and drink. + +TRANTO. What if I did? John can't expect to discover the whole truth +about everything at one go. He's found out it's a jolly strange world. +That ought to satisfy him for to-day. Besides, he only asked me about my +uncles. He said nothing about my uncles' wives. You know what women +are--I mean wives. + +HILDEGARDE. Oh, I do! Mother is a marvellous specimen. + +TRANTO. I haven't told you the worst. + +HILDEGARDE. I hope no man ever will. + +TRANTO. The worst is this. Auntie Joe actually thinks _I_'m Sampson +Straight. + +HILDEGARDE. She doesn't! + +TRANTO. She does. She has an infinite capacity for belief. The +psychology of the thing is as follows. My governor died a comparatively +poor man. A couple of hundred thousand pounds, more or less. Whereas +Uncle Joe is worth five millions--and Uncle Joe was going to adopt me, +when Auntie Joe butted in and married him. She used to arrange the +flowers for his first wife. Then she arranged _his_ flowers. Then she +became a flower herself and he had to gather her. Then she had twins, +and my chances of inheriting that five millions (_he imitates the noise +of a slight explosion_) short-circuited! Well, I didn't care a volt--not +a volt! I've got lots of uncles left who are quite capable of adopting +me. But I didn't really want to be adopted at all. To adopt me was only +part of Uncle Joe's political game. It was my _Echo_ that he was after +adopting. But I'd sooner run my _Echo_ on my own than inherit Uncle +Joe's controlling share in twenty-five daily papers, seventy-one weekly +papers, six monthly magazines, and three independent advertising +agencies. I know I'm a poor man, but I'm quite ready to go on facing the +world bravely with my modest capital of a couple of hundred thousand +pounds. Only Auntie Joe can't understand that. She's absolutely +convinced that I have a terrific grudge against her and her twins, and +that in order to gratify that grudge I myself personally write articles +against all her most sacred ideals under the pseudonym of Sampson +Straight. I've pointed out to her that I'm a newspaper proprietor, and +no newspaper proprietor ever _could_ write. No use! She won't listen. + +HILDEGARDE. Then she thinks you're a liar. + +TRANTO. Oh, not at all. Only a journalist. But you perceive the widening +rift in the family lute. (_A silence_.) Pardon this glimpse into the +secret history of the week. + +HILDEGARDE (_formidably_). Mr. Tranto, you and I are sitting on the edge +of a volcano. + +TRANTO. We are. I like it. Thrilling, and yet so warm and cosy. + +HILDEGARDE. I used to like it once. But I don't think I like it any +more. + +TRANTO. Now please don't let Auntie Joe worry you. She's my cross, not +yours. + +HILDEGARDE. Yes. But considered as a cross, your Auntie Joe is nothing +to my brother John, who quite justly calls his sister's cookery stuff +'tripe.' It was a most ingenious camouflage of yours to have me +pretending to be the author of that food economy 'tripe,' so as to cover +my writing quite different articles for _The Echo_ and your coming here +to see me so often. Most ingenious. Worthy of a newspaper proprietor. +But why should I be saddled with 'tripe' that isn't mine? + +TRANTO. Why, indeed! Then you think we ought to encourage the volcano +with a lighted match--and run? + +HILDEGARDE. I'm ready if you are. + +TRANTO. Oh! I'm ready. Secrecy was a great stunt at first. Letting out +the secret will be an even greater stunt now. It'll make the finest +newspaper story since the fearful fall of the last Cabinet. Sampson +Straight--equals Miss Hildegarde Culver, the twenty-one year old +daughter of the Controller of Accounts! Typist in the Food Department, +by day! Journalistic genius by night! The terror of Ministers! Read by +all London! Raised the circulation of _The Echo_ two hundred per cent! +Phenomenon unique in the annals of Fleet Street! (_In a different tone, +noticing_ Hildegarde's _face_). Crude headlines, I admit, but that's +what Uncle Joe has brought us to. We have to compete with Uncle Joe.... + +HILDEGARDE. Of course I shall have to leave home. + +TRANTO. Leave home! + +HILDEGARDE. Yes, and live by myself in rooms. + +TRANTO. But why? + +HILDEGARDE. I couldn't possibly stay here. Think how it would compromise +father with the War Cabinet if I did. It might ruin him. And as accounts +are everything in modern warfare, it might lose the war. But that's +nothing--it's mamma I'm thinking of. Do you forget that Sampson +Straight, being a young woman of advanced ideas, has written about +everything, _everything_--yes, and several other subjects besides? For +instance, here's the article I was revising when you came in. (_Shows +the title-page to_ Tranto.) + +TRANTO. Splendid! You're the most courageous creature I ever met. + +HILDEGARDE. Possibly. But not courageous enough to offer to kiss mamma +when I went to bed on the night that _that (indicating the article_) had +appeared in print under my own name. You don't know mamma. + +TRANTO. But dash it! You could eat your mother! + +HILDEGARDE. Pardon me. The contrary is the fact. Mamma could eat me. + +TRANTO. But you're the illustrious Sampson Straight. There's more +intelligence in your little finger than there is in your mother's whole +body. See how you write. + +HILDEGARDE. Write! I only began to write as a relief from mamma. I +escaped secretly into articles like escaping into an underground +passage. But as for facing mamma in the open!... Even father scarcely +ever does that; and when he does, we hold our breath, and the cook turns +teetotal. It wouldn't be the slightest use me trying to explain the +situation logically to mamma. She wouldn't understand. She's far too +clever to understand anything she doesn't like. Perhaps that's the +secret of her power. No, if the truth about Sampson Straight is to come +out I must leave home--quietly but firmly leave home. And why not? I can +keep myself in splendour on Sampson's earnings. And the break is bound +to come sooner or later. I admit I didn't begin very seriously, but +reading my own articles has gradually made me serious. I feel I have a +cause. A cause may be inconvenient, but it's magnificent. It's like +champagne or high heels, and one must be prepared to suffer for it. + +TRANTO. Cause be hanged! Suffer be hanged! High heels be hanged! +Champagne--(_stops_). Miss Culver, if a disclosure means your leaving +home I won't agree to any disclosure whatever. I will--not--agree. +We'll sit tight on the volcano. + +HILDEGARDE. But why won't you agree? + +TRANTO (_excited_). Why won't I agree! Why won't I agree! Because I +don't want you to leave home. I know you're a born genius--a marvel, a +miracle, a prodigy, an incredible orchid, the most brilliant journalist +in London. I'm fully aware of all that. But I do not and will not see +you as a literary bachelor living with a cause and holding receptions of +serious people in chambers furnished by Roger Fry. I like to think of +you at home, here, in this charming atmosphere, amid the delightful +vicissitudes of family existence, and--well, I like to think of you as a +woman. + +HILDEGARDE (_calmly and teasingly_). Mr. Tranto, we are forgetting one +thing. + +TRANTO. What's that? + +HILDEGARDE. You're an editor, and I'm a contributor whom you've never +met. + +_Enter_ Mrs. Culver (_L_). + +MRS. CULVER. Mr. Tranto, how are you? (_Shaking hands_.) I'm delighted +to see you. So sorry I didn't warn you we dine half an hour +later--thanks to the scandalous way the Government slave-drives my poor +husband. Please do excuse me. (_She sits_). + +TRANTO. On the contrary, it's I who should ask to be excused--proposing +myself like this at the last moment. + +MRS. CULVER. It was very nice of you to think of us. Come and sit down +here. (_Indicating a place by her side on the sofa_.) Now in my poor +addled brain I had an idea you were engaged for to-night at your aunt's, +Lady Blackfriars'. + +TRANTO (_sitting_). Mrs. Culver, you forget nothing. I _was_ engaged for +Auntie Joe's, but she's ill and she's put me off. + +MRS. CULVER. Dear me! How very sudden! + +TRANTO. Sudden? + +MRS. CULVER. I met Lady Blackfriars at tea late this afternoon and it +struck me how well she was looking. + +TRANTO. Yes, she always looks particularly well just before she's going +to be ill. She's very brave, very brave. + +MRS. CULVER. D'you mean in having twins? It was more than brave of her; +it was beautiful--both boys, too. + +HILDEGARDE (_innocently_). Budgeting for a long war. + +MRS. CULVER (_affectionately_). My dear girl! Come here, darling, you +haven't changed. Excuse me, Mr. Tranto. + +HILDEGARDE (_approaching_). I've been so busy. And I thought nobody was +coming. + +MRS. CULVER. Is your father nobody? (_stroking and patting_ Hildegarde's +_dress into order_). What have you been so busy on? + +HILDEGARDE. Article for _The Echo_. (Tranto, _who has been holding the +MS., indicates it_.) + +MRS. CULVER. I do wish you would let me see those cookery articles of +yours before they're printed. + +TRANTO (_putting MS. in his pocket_). I'm afraid that's quite against +the rules. You see, in Fleet Street-- + +MRS. CULVER (_very pleasantly_). As you please. I don't pretend to be +intellectual. But I confess I'm just a wee bit disappointed in +Hildegarde's cookery articles. I'm a great believer in good cookery. I +put it next to the Christian religion--and far in front of mere +cleanliness. I've just been trying to read Professor Metchnikoff's +wonderful book on 'The Nature of Man.' It only confirms me in my +lifelong belief that until the nature of man is completely altered good +cooking is the chief thing that women ought to understand. Now I taught +Hildegarde some cookery myself. She was not what I should call a +brilliant pupil, but she did grasp the great eternal principles. And yet +I find her writing (_with charm and benevolence_) stuff like her last +article--'The Everlasting Boiled Potato,' I think she called it. +Hildegarde, it was really very naughty of you to say what you said in +that article. (_Drawing down_ Hildegarde's _head and kissing her_.) + +TRANTO. Now why, Mrs. Culver? I thought it was so clever. + +MRS. CULVER. It may be clever to advocate fried potatoes and chip +potatoes and sauté potatoes as a change from the everlasting boiled. I +daresay it's what you call journalism. But how can you fry potatoes +without fat? + +TRANTO. Ah! How? + +MRS. CULVER. And where are you to obtain fat? _I_ can't obtain fat. I +stand in queues for hours because my servants won't--it's the latest +form of democracy--but _I_ can't obtain fat. I think the nearest fat is +at Stratford-on-Avon. + +TRANTO. Stand in queues! Mrs. Culver, you make me feel very guilty, +plunging in at a moment's notice and demanding a whole dinner in a +fatless world. I shall eat nothing but dry bread. + +MRS. CULVER. We never serve bread at lunch or dinner unless it's +specially asked for. But if soup, macaroni, eggs, and jelly will keep +you alive till breakfast-- + +HILDEGARDE. But there's beefsteak, mamma--I've told Mr. Tranto. + +MRS. CULVER. Only a little, and that's for your father. Beefsteak's the +one thing that keeps off his neuralgia, Mr. Tranto. (_With apologetic +persuasiveness_.) I'm sure you'll understand. + +TRANTO. Dear lady, I've never had neuralgia in my life. Macaroni, eggs, +and jelly are my dream. I've always wanted to feel like an invalid. + +MRS. CULVER. And how did you get on with your Medical Board this +morning? + +TRANTO. How marvellous of you to remember that I had a Medical Board +this morning! I believe I've found out your secret, Mrs. Culver--you're +undergoing a course of Pelman with those sixty generals and forty +admirals. Well, the Medical Board have given me a new complaint. You'll +be sorry to hear that I'm deformed. + +MRS. CULVER. Not deformed! + +TRANTO. Yes. It appears I'm flat-footed. (_Extending his leg_.) Have I +ever told you that I had a dashing military career extending over four +months, three of which I spent in hospital for a disease I hadn't got? +Then I was discharged as unfit. After a year they raked me in again. +Since then I've been boarded five times, and on the unimpeachable +authority of various R.A.M.C. Colonels I've been afflicted with valvular +disease of the heart, incipient tuberculosis, rickets, varicose veins, +diabetes--practically everything, except spotted fever and leprosy. And +now flat feet are added to all the rest. Even the Russian collapse and +the transfer of the entire German army to the Western Front hasn't +raised me higher than C 3. + +MRS. CULVER. How annoying for you! You might have risen to be a captain +by this time. + +HILDEGARDE (_reflectively_). No doubt, in a home unit. But if he'd gone +to the Front he would still have been a second lieutenant. + +MRS. CULVER. My _dear_! + +TRANTO. Whereas in fact I'm still one of those able-bodied young +shirkers in mufti that patriotic old gentlemen in clubs are always +writing to my uncles' papers about. + +MRS. CULVER. Please! please! (_A slight pause; pulling herself +together; cheerfully_.) Let me see, you were going in for Siege +Artillery, weren't you? + +TRANTO. Me! Siege Artillery. My original ambition was trench +mortars--not so noisy. + +MRS. CULVER (_simply_). Oh! Then it must have been somebody else who was +talking to me about Siege Artillery. I understand it's very +scientific--all angles and degrees and wind-pressures and things. John +will soon be eighteen, and his father and I want him to be really useful +in the Army. We don't want him to be thrown away. He has brains, and so +we are thinking of Siege Artillery for him. + +(_During this speech_ John _has entered, in evening dress_.) + +JOHN. Are you on Siege again, mater? The mater's keen on Siege because +she's heard somewhere it's the safest thing there is. + +MRS. CULVER. And if it does happen to be the safest--what then? + +TRANTO. I suppose you're all for the Flying Corps, John? + +JOHN (_with condescension_). Not specially. Since one of the old boys +came and did looping the loop stunts over the school the whole Fifth +has gone mad on the R.F.C. Most fellows are just like sheep. _Somebody_ +in the Sixth has to be original. I want to fight as much as any chap +with wings across his chest, but I've got my private career to think of +too. If you ask me, the mater's had a brain-wave for once. + +_Enter_ Mr. Culver, _back. He stands a moment at the door, surveying the +scene_. Mrs. Culver _springs up, and_ Tranto _also rises, moving towards +the door_. + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur, have you come? + +CULVER (_advancing a little_). Apparently. Hello, Tranto, glad to see +you. I wanted to. (_Shakes hands with_ Tranto.) + +MRS. CULVER. What's the matter, Arthur? + +CULVER. Everything. + +MRS. CULVER (_alarmed, but carefully coaxing_). Why are you wearing your +velvet coat? (_To_ Tranto.) He always puts on his velvet coat instead of +dressing when something's gone wrong. (_To_ Mr. Culver.) Have you got +neuralgia again? + +CULVER. I don't think so. + +MRS. CULVER. But surely you must know! You look terribly pale. + +CULVER. The effect of the velvet coat, my dear--nicely calculated in +advance. + +MRS. CULVER (_darting at him, holding him by the shoulders, and then +kissing him violently. With an intonation of affectionate protest_). +Darling! + +JOHN. Oh! I say, mater, look here! + +MRS. CULVER (_to_ Culver, _still holding him_). I'm very annoyed with +you. It's perfectly absurd the way you work. (_To_ Tranto.) Do you know +he was at the office all day Christmas Day and all day Boxing Day? (_To_ +Culver.) You really must take a holiday. + +CULVER. But what about the war, darling? + +MRS. CULVER (_loosing him_). Oh! You're always making the war an excuse. +I know what I shall do. I shall just go-- + +CULVER. Yes, darling, just go and suggest a short armistice to the +Germans while you take me to Brighton for a week's fondling. + +MRS. CULVER. I shall just speak to Miss Starkey. Strange that the wife, +in order to influence the husband, should have to appeal to +(_disdainfully_) the lady secretary! But so it is. + +CULVER. Hermione, I must beg you not to interfere between Miss Starkey +and me. Interference will upset Miss Starkey, and I cannot stand her +being upset. I depend upon her absolutely. First, Miss Starkey is the +rock upon which my official existence is built. She is a serious and +conscientious rock. She is hard and expects me to be hard. Secondly, +Miss Starkey is the cushion between me and the world. She knows my +tender spots, and protects them. Thirdly, Miss Starkey is my rod--and I +kiss it. + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur!... (_tries to be agreeable_). But I really am +vexed. + +CULVER. Well, I'm only hungry. + +_Enter_ Parlourmaid. + +PARLOURMAID. Cook's compliments, madam, and dinner will be twenty +minutes late. (_Exit_.) + +(_A shocked silence_.) + +CULVER (_with an exhausted sigh_). And yet I gave that cook one of my +most captivating smiles this morning. + +MRS. CULVER (_settling_ Mr. Culver _into a chair_). She's done it simply +because I told her to-night that rationing is definitely coming in. Her +reply was that the kitchen would never stand it, whatever the Government +said. She was quite upset--and so she's gone and done something to the +dinner. + +CULVER. Surely rather illogical of her, isn't it? Or have I missed a +link in the chain of reasoning? + +MRS. CULVER. I shall give her notice--after dinner. + +JOHN. Couldn't you leave it till after the holidays, mother? + +HILDEGARDE. And where shall you find another cook, mamma? + +MRS. CULVER. The first thing is to get rid of the present one. Then we +shall see. + +CULVER. My dear, you talk as if she was a prime minister. Still, it +might be a good plan to sack all the servants before rationing comes in, +and engage deaf-mutes. + +MRS. CULVER. Deaf-mutes! + +CULVER. Deaf-mutes. Then they wouldn't be worried by the continual +groaning of _my_ hunger, and I shouldn't hear any complaints about +_theirs_. + +MRS. CULVER (_to_ Hildegarde). My pet, you've time to change now. Do run +and change. You're so sombre. + +HILDEGARDE. I can't do it in twenty minutes. + +MRS. CULVER. Then put a bright shawl on--for papa's sake. + +HILDEGARDE. I haven't got a bright shawl. + +MRS. CULVER. Then take mine. The one with the pink beads on it. It's in +my wardrobe--right-hand side. + +JOHN. That means it'll be on the left-hand side. + +(_Exit_ Hildegarde, _back, with a look at Tranto, who opens the door for +her_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_with sweet apprehensiveness_). Now Arthur, I'm afraid +after all you have something on your mind. + +CULVER. I've got nothing on my stomach, anyway. (_Bracing himself_.) +Yes, darling, it's true. I have got something on my mind. Within the +last hour I've had a fearful shock-- + +MRS. CULVER. I knew it! + +CULVER. And I need sustaining. I hadn't meant to say anything until +after dinner, but in view of cook's drastic alterations in the +time-table I may as well tell you (_looking round_) at once. + +MRS. CULVER. It's something about the Government again. + +CULVER. The Government has been in a very serious situation. + +MRS. CULVER (_alarmed_). You mean they're going to ask you to resign? + +CULVER. I wish they would! + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur! Do please remember the country is at war. + +CULVER. Is it? So it is. You see, my pet, I remember such a lot of +things. I remember that my brainy partner is counting khaki trousers in +the Army clothing department. I remember that my other partner ought to +be in a lunatic asylum, but isn't. I remember that my business is going +to the dogs at a muzzle velocity of about five thousand feet a second. I +remember that from mere snobbishness I work for the Government without a +penny of salary, and that my sole reward is to be insulted and libelled +by high-brow novelists who write for the press. Therefore you ought not +to be startled if I secretly yearn to resign. However, I shall not be +asked to resign. I said that the Government had been in a very serious +situation. It was. But it will soon recover. + +MRS. CULVER. How soon? + +CULVER. On New Year's Day. + +JOHN. Then what's the fearful shock, dad? + +MRS. CULVER. Yes. Have you heard anything special? + +CULVER. No. But I've seen something special. I saw it less than an hour +ago. It was shown to me without the slightest warning, and I admit it +shook me. You can perceive for yourselves that it shook me. + +MRS. CULVER. But what? + +CULVER. The New Year's Honours List--or rather a few choice selections +from the more sensational parts of it. + +_Enter_ Hildegarde. + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur, _what_ do you mean? (_To_ Hildegarde, _in +despair_.) My chick, your father grows more and more puzzling every day! +How well that shawl suits you! You look quite a different girl. But +you've--(_arranges the shawl on_ Hildegarde) I really don't know what +your father has on his mind! I really don't! + +JOHN (_impatient of this feminine manifestation_). Oh, dad, go on. Go +on! I want to get at the bottom of this titles business. I'm hanged if I +can understand it. What strikes me as an unprejudiced observer is that +titles are supposed to be such a terrific honour, and yet the people who +deal them out scarcely ever keep any for themselves. Look at Mr. +Gladstone, for instance. He must have made about forty earls and seven +thousand baronets in his time. Now if I was a Prime Minister, and I +believed in titles--which I jolly well don't--I should make myself a +duke right off; and I should have several marquises and viscounts round +me in the Cabinet like a sort of bodyguard, and my private secretaries +would have to be knights. There'd be some logic in that arrangement +anyhow. + +CULVER. In view of your political career, John, will you mind if I give +you a brief lesson on elementary politics--though you _are_ on your +holidays? + +JOHN (_easily_). I'm game. + +CULVER. What is the first duty of modern Governments? + +JOHN. To govern. + +CULVER. My innocent boy. I thought better of you. I know that you look +on the venerable Mr. Tranto as a back number, and I suspect that Mr. +Tranto in his turn regards me as prehistoric; and yet you are so behind +the times as to imagine that the first duty of modern Governments is to +govern! My dear Rip van Winkle, wake up. The first duty of a Government +is to live. It has no right to be a Government at all unless it is +convinced that if it fell the country would go to everlasting smash. +Hence its first duty is to survive. In order to survive it must do three +things--placate certain interests, influence votes, and obtain secret +funds. All these three things can be accomplished by the ingenious +institution of Honours. Only the simple-minded believe that Honours are +given to honour. Honours are given to save the life of the Government. +Hence the Honours List. Examine the Honours List and you can instantly +tell how the Government feels in its inside. When the Honours List is +full of rascals, millionaires, and--er--chumps, you may be quite sure +that the Government is dangerously ill. + +TRANTO. But that amounts to what we've been saying in _The Echo_ to-day. + +CULVER. Yes, I've read the _The Echo_. + +JOHN. I thought you never had a free moment at the office--always rushed +to death--at least that's the mater's theory. + +CULVER. I've read _The Echo_, and my one surprise is that you're here +to-night, Tranto. + +TRANTO. Why? + +CULVER. I quite thought you'd have been shoved into the Tower under the +Defence of the Realm Act. Or Sampson Straight, anyway. (Hildegarde +_starts_.) Your contributor has committed the unpardonable sin of +hitting the nail on the head. He might almost have seen an advance copy +of the Honours List. + +TRANTO. He hadn't. Nor had I. Who's in it? + +CULVER. You might ask who isn't in it. (_Taking a paper from his +pocket_.) Well, Gentletie's in it. He gets a knighthood. + +TRANTO. Never heard of him. Who is he? + +HILDEGARDE. Oh, yes, you've heard of him. (John _glances at her +severely_.) He's M.P. for some earthly paradise or other in the South +Riding. + +TRANTO. Oh! + +CULVER. Perhaps I might read you something written by my private +secretary--he's one of these literary wags. You see there's been a +demand that the Government should state clearly, in every case of an +Honour, exactly what services the Honour is given for. This (_taking +paper from his pocket_) is supposed to be the stuff sent round to the +Press by the Press Bureau. (_Reads_.) 'Mr. Gentletie has gradually made +a solid reputation for himself as the dullest man in the House of +Commons. Whenever he rises to his feet the House empties as if by magic. +In cases of inconvenience, when the Government wishes abruptly to close +a debate by counting out the House, it has invariably put up Mr. +Gentletie to speak. The device has never been known to fail. Nobody can +doubt that Mr. Gentletie's patriotic devotion to the Allied cause well +merits the knighthood which is now bestowed on him.' + +JOHN (_astounded_.) Stay me with flagons! + +TRANTO. So that's that! And who else? + +CULVER. Another of your esteemed uncles. + +TRANTO. Well, that's not very startling, seeing that my uncle's chief +daily organ is really a department of the Government. + +JOHN. What I say is-- + +HILDEGARDE (_simultaneously with_ John). Wouldn't it be more +correct--(_continuing alone_) wouldn't it be more correct to say that +the Government is really a department of your uncle's chief daily organ? + +JOHN. Hilda, old girl, I wish you wouldn't interrupt. Cookery's your +line. + +HILDEGARDE. Sorry, Johnnie. I see I was in danger of becoming unsexed. + +CULVER (_to_ John). Yes? You were about to say? + +JOHN. Oh, nothing. + +CULVER (_to_ Tranto). Shall I read the passage on your uncle? + +TRANTO. Don't trouble. Who's the next? + +CULVER. The next is--Ullivant, munitions manufacturer. Let me see. +(_Reads_.) By the simple means of saying that the cost price of shells +was eighteen shillings and ninepence each, whereas it was in fact only +ten shillings and ninepence, Mr. Joshua Ullivant has made a fortune of +two million pounds during the war. He has given a hundred thousand to +the Prince of Wales's Fund, a hundred thousand to the Red Cross, and a +hundred thousand to the party funds. Total net profit on the war, one +million seven hundred thousand pounds, not counting the peerage which is +now bestowed upon him, and which it must be admitted is a just reward +for his remarkable business acumen.' + +TRANTO. Very agreeable fellow Ullivant is, nevertheless. + +CULVER. Oh, he is. They're most of them too damned agreeable for +anything. Another prominent name is Orlando Bush. + +TRANTO. Ah! + +MRS. CULVER. I've met his wife. She dances beautifully at charity +matinees. + +CULVER. No doubt. But apparently that's not the reason. + +TRANTO. I know Orlando. I've just bought the serial rights of his book. + +CULVER. Have you paid him? + +TRANTO. No. + +CULVER. How wise of you! (_Reads_). 'Mr. Orlando Bush has written a +historical sketch, with many circumstantial details, of the political +origins of the present Government. For his forbearance in kindly +consenting to withold publication until the end of the war Mr. Bush +receives a well-earned'-- + +TRANTO. What? + +CULVER. Knighthood. + +TRANTO. Cheap! But what a sell for me! + +CULVER. Now, ladies and gentlemen, the last name with which I will +trouble you is that of Mr. James Brill. + +TRANTO. Not Jimmy Brill! + +CULVER. Jimmy Brill. + +TRANTO. But he's a-- + +CULVER. Stop, my dear Tranto. No crude phrases, please. (_Reads_.) 'Mr. +James Brill, to use the language of metaphor, possessed a pistol, which +pistol he held point blank at the head of the Government. The Government +has thought it wise to purchase Mr. James Brill's pistol--' + +TRANTO. But he's a-- + +CULVER (_raising a hand_). He is merely the man with the pistol, and in +exchange for the pistol he gets a baronetcy. + +TRANTO. A baronetcy! + +CULVER. His title and pistol will go rattling down the ages, my dear +Tranto, from generation to generation. For the moment the fellow's name +stinks, but only for the moment. In the nostrils of his grandson (third +baronet), it will have a most sweet odour. + +MRS. CULVER. But all this is perfectly shocking. + +CULVER. Now I hope you comprehend my emotion, darling. + +MRS. CULVER But surely there are some _nice_ names on the List. + +CULVER. Of course. There have to be some nice names, for the sake of the +psychological effect on the public mind on New Year's Day. The public +looks for a good name, or for a name it can understand. It skims down +the List till it sees one. Then it says: 'Ah! That's not so bad!' Then +it skims down further till it sees another one, and it says again: 'Ah! +That's not so bad!' And so on. So that with about five or six decent +names you can produce the illusion that after all the List is really +rather good. + +HILDEGARDE. The strange thing to me is that decent people condescend to +receive titles at all. + +MRS. CULVER. Bravo, Hildegarde! Yes, if it's so bad as you make out, +Arthur, why _do_ decent people take Honours? + +CULVER. I'll tell you. Decent people have wives, and their wives lead +them by the nose. That's why decent people take Honours. + +MRS. CULVER. Well, I think it's monstrous! + +CULVER. So it is. I've been a Conservative all my life; I am a +Conservative. I swear I am. And yet, now when I look back, I'm amazed at +the things I used to do. Why, once I actually voted against a candidate +who stood for the reform of the House of Lords. Seems incredible. This +war is changing my ideas. (_Suddenly, after a slight pause_.) I'm +dashed if I don't join the Labour party and ask Ramsay Macdonald to +lunch. + +_Enter_ Parlourmaid, _back_. + +PARLOURMAID. You are wanted on the telephone, madam. + +MRS. CULVER. Oh, Arthur! (_Pats him on the shoulder as she goes out_.) + +(_Exit_ Mrs. Culver _and_ Parlourmaid, _back_.) + +CULVER. Hildegarde, go and see if you can hurry up dinner. + +HILDEGARDE. No one could. + +CULVER. Never mind, go and see. (_Exit_ Hildegarde, _back_.) John, just +take these keys, and get some cigars out of the cabinet, you know, +Partagas. + +JOHN. Oh! Is it a Partaga night? (_Exit, back_.) + +CULVER (_watching the door close_). Tranto, we are conspirators. + +TRANTO. You and I? + +CULVER. Yes. But we must have no secrets. Who wrote that article in _The +Echo_? Who is Sampson Straight? + +TRANTO (_temporising, lightly_). You remind me of the man with the +pistol. + +CULVER. Is it Hildegarde? + +TRANTO. How did you guess? + +CULVER. Well; first, I knew my daughter couldn't be the piffling lunatic +who does your war cookery articles. Second, I asked myself: What reason +has she for pretending to be that piffling lunatic? Third, I have an +exceedingly high opinion of my daughter's brains. Fourth, she gave a +funny start just now when I mentioned the idea of Sampson Straight going +to the Tower. + +TRANTO. Perhaps I ought to explain-- + +CULVER. No you oughn't. There's no time. I simply wanted a bit of +information. I've got it. Now I have a bit of information for you. I've +been offered a place in this beautiful Honours List. Baronetcy! Me! I am +put on the same high plane as Mr. James Brill, the unspeakable. The +formal offer hasn't actually arrived--it's late; I expect the letter'll +be here in the morning--but I know for a fact I'm in the List for a +baronetcy. + +TRANTO. Well, I congratulate you. + +CULVER. You'd better not. + +TRANTO. You deserve more than a baronetcy. Your department has been a +striking success--one of the very few in the whole length of Whitehall. + +CULVER. I know my department has been a success. But that's not why I'm +offered a baronetcy. Good heavens, I haven't even spoken to any member +of the War Cabinet yet. I've been trying to for about a year, but in +spite of powerful influences to help me I've never been able to bring +off a meeting with the mandarins. No! I'm offered a baronetcy because +I'm respectable; I'm decent; and at the last moment they thought the +List looked a bit too thick--so they pushed me in. One of their +brilliant afterthoughts!... No damned merit about the thing, I can tell +you! + +TRANTO. Do you mean you intend to refuse? + +CULVER. Do you mean you ever imagined that I should accept? Me, in the +same galley with Brill--who daren't go into his own clubs--and Ullivant, +and a few more pretty nearly as bad! Of course, I shall refuse. Nothing +on earth would induce me to accept. Nothing! (_More calmly_.) Mind you, +I don't blame the Government; probably the Government can't help itself. +Therefore the Government must be helped; and sometimes the best way to +help a fellow creature is to bring him to his senses by catching him one +across the jaw. + +TRANTO. Why are you making a secret of it? The offer is surely bound to +come out. + +CULVER. Of course. I'm only making a secret of it for the moment, while +I prepare the domestic ground for my refusal. + +TRANTO. You wish me to understand-- + +CULVER. You know what women are. (_With caution_.) I speak of the sex in +general. + +TRANTO. I see. + +CULVER. That's all right. + +TRANTO. Well, if I mayn't congratulate you on the title, let me +congratulate you on your marvellous skill in this delicate operation of +preparing the domestic ground for your refusal of the title. Your +success is complete, absolute. + +CULVER (_sardonic_.) Complete? Absolute? + +TRANTO. You have--er--jockeyed Mrs.--er--the sex into committing itself +quite definitely against titles. Hence I look on your position as +impregnable. + +CULVER. Good heavens, Tranto! How old are you? + +TRANTO. Twenty-five. + +CULVER. A quarter of a century--and you haven't learnt that no position +is impregnable against--er--the sex! You never know where the offensive +will come, nor when, nor how. The offensive is bound to be a surprise. +You aren't married. When you are you'll soon find out that being a +husband is a whole-time job. That's why so many husbands fail. They +can't give their entire attention to it. Tranto, my position must be +still further strengthened--during dinner. It can't be strengthened too +much. I've brought you into the conspiracy because you're on the spot +and I want you to play up. + +TRANTO. Certainly, sir. + +CULVER. The official letter _might_ come by to-night's post. If it does, +a considerable amount of histrionic skill will be needed. + +TRANTO. Trust me for that. + +CULVER. Oh! I do! Indeed I fancy after all I'm fairly safe. There's only +one danger. + +TRANTO. Yes? + +CULVER. My--I mean the sex, must hear of the offered title from me +first. If the news came to her indirectly she'd-- + +_Enter_ Mrs. Culver _rapidly, back_. + +MRS. CULVER (_rushing to him_). Darling! Dearest! What a tease you are! +You needn't pretend any longer. Lady Prockter has just whispered to me +over the telephone that you're to have a baronetcy. Of course she'd be +bound to know. She said I might tell you. I never _dreamed_ of a title. +I'm so glad. Oh! But you _are_ a tease! (_Kisses him enthusiastically_.) + +CURTAIN. + + + + +ACT II + + + + +ACT II + + +_The next day after dinner_. Culver _and_ Parlourmaid. + +CULVER (_handing_ Parlourmaid _a letter_). That's for the post. Is Miss +Starkey here? + +PARLOURMAID. Yes, sir. She is waiting. + +CULVER. Ask her to be good enough to keep on waiting. She may come in +when I ring twice. + +PARLOURMAID. Yes, sir. + +_Enter_ Mrs. Culver, _back_. + +MRS. CULVER (_to_ Parlourmaid, _stopping her as she goes out, +dramatically_). Give me that letter. (_She snatches the letter from the_ +Parlourmaid.) You can go. (Culver _rises_.) (_Exit_ Parlourmaid.) + +MRS. CULVER. I am determined to make a stand this time. + +CULVER (_soothingly_). So I see, darling. + +MRS. CULVER. I have given way to you all my life. But I won't give way +now. This letter shall not go. + +CULVER. As you like, darling. + +MRS. CULVER. No. (_She tears the envelope open, without having looked at +it, and throws the letter into the fire. In doing so she lets fall a +cheque_.) + +CULVER (_rising and picking up the cheque_). I'll keep the cheque as a +memento. + +MRS. CULVER. Cheque? What cheque? + +CULVER. Darling, once in the old, happy days--I think it was last +week--you and I were walking down Bond Street, almost hand in hand, but +not quite, and you saw a brooch in a shop window. You simply had to have +that brooch. I offered it to you for a Christmas present. You are +wearing it now, and very well it suits you. This (_indicating the +cheque_) was to pay the bill. + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur! + +CULVER. Moral: Look before you burn. Miss Starkey will now have to write +a fresh letter. + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur! You must forgive me. I'm in a horrid state of +nerves, and you said you were positively going to write to Lord Woking +to-night to refuse the title. + +CULVER. I did say so. + +MRS. CULVER (_hopefully_). But you haven't written? + +CULVER. I haven't. + +MRS. CULVER. You don't know how relieved I am! + +CULVER (_sitting down, drawing her to him, and setting her on his +knee_). Infant! Cherub! Angel! Dove!... Devil! (_Caressing her_.) Are we +friends? + +MRS. CULVER. It kills me to quarrel with you. (_They kiss_.) + +CULVER. Darling, we are absurd. + +MRS. CULVER. I don't care. + +CULVER. Supposing that anyone came in and caught us! + +MRS. CULVER. Well, we're married. + +CULVER.--But it's so long since. Hildegarde's twenty-one! John, +seventeen! + +MRS. CULVER. It seems to me like yesterday. + +CULVER. Yes, you're incurably a girl. + +MRS. CULVER. I'm not. + +CULVER. You are. And I'm a boy. I say we are absurd. We're continually +absurd. We were absurd all last evening when we pretended before the +others, with the most disastrous results, that nothing was the matter. +We were still more absurd when we went to our twin beds and argued +savagely with each other from bed to bed until four o'clock this +morning. Do you know that I had exactly one hour and fifty-five minutes' +sleep? (_Yawns_.) Do you know that owing to extreme exhaustion my +behaviour at my office to-day has practically lost the war? But the most +absurd thing of all was you trying to do the Roman matron business at +dinner to-night. Mind you, I adore you for being absurd, but-- + +MRS. CULVER (_very endearingly, putting her hand on his mouth_). +Dearest, you needn't continue. I know you're wiser and stronger than me +in every way. But I love that. Most women wouldn't; but I do. (_Kisses +him_.) Oh! I'm so glad you've at last seen the force of my arguments +about the title. + +CULVER (_gently warning_). Now, now! You're behaving like a journalist. + +MRS. CULVER. Like a journalist? + +CULVER. Journalists say a thing that they know isn't true, in the hope +that if they keep on saying it long enough it _will_ be true. + +MRS. CULVER. But you do see the force of my arguments! + +CULVER. Quite. But I also see the force of mine, and, as an impartial +judge, I'm bound to say that yours aren't in it with mine. + +MRS. CULVER. Then you've refused the title after all? + +CULVER (_ingratiatingly_). No. I told you I hadn't. But I'm going to. I +was just thinking over the terms of the fatal letter to Lord Woking when +you came in. Starkey is now waiting for me to dictate it. You see it +positively must be posted to-night. + +MRS. CULVER (_springing from his knee_). Arthur, you're playing with me! + +CULVER. No doubt. Like a mouse plays with a cat. + +MRS. CULVER. Surely it has occurred to you-- + +CULVER (_firmly, but very pleasantly_). Stop! You had till four o'clock +this morning to deliver all your arguments. You aren't going to begin +again. I understand you've stayed in bed all day. Quite right! But if +you stayed in bed merely to think of fresh arguments while I've been +slaving away at the office for my country, I say you're taking an unfair +advantage of me, and I won't have it. + +MRS. CULVER (_with dignity_). No. I haven't any fresh arguments; and if +I had, I shouldn't say what they were. + +CULVER. Oh! Why? + +MRS. CULVER. Because I can see it's useless to argue with a man like +you. + +CULVER. Now that's what I call better news from the Front. + +MRS. CULVER. I was only going to say this. Surely it has occurred to you +that on patriotic grounds alone you oughtn't to refuse the title. I +quite agree that Honours have been degraded. Quite! The thing surely is +to try and make them respectable again. And how are they ever to be +respectable if respectable men refuse them? + +CULVER. This looks to me suspiciously like an argument. + +MRS. CULVER. Not at all. It's simply a question. + +CULVER. Well, the answer is, I don't want Honours to be respectable any +more. Proverb: When fish has gone bad ten thousand decent men can't take +away the stink. + +MRS. CULVER. Now you're insulting your country. I know you often pretend +your country's the slackest place on earth, but it's only pretence. You +don't really think so. The truth is that inside you you're positively +conceited about your country. You think it's the greatest country that +ever was. And so it is. And yet when your country offers you this honour +you talk about bad fish. I say it's an insult to Great Britain. + +CULVER. Great Britain hasn't offered me any title. The fact is that +there are a couple of shrewd fellows up a devil of a tree in Whitehall, +and they're waving a title at me in the hope that I shall come and stand +under the tree so that they can get down by putting their dirty boots on +my shoulders. Well, I'm not going to be a ladder. + +MRS. CULVER. I wish you wouldn't try to be funny. + +CULVER. I'm not _trying_ to be funny. I _am_ being funny. + +MRS. CULVER. You might be serious for once. + +CULVER. I am serious. Beneath this amusing and delightful exterior, +there is hidden the most serious, determined, resolute, relentless, +inexorable, immovable man that ever breathed. And let me tell you +something else, my girl--something I haven't mentioned before because of +my nice feelings. What has this title affair got to do with you? What +the dickens has it got to do with you? The title isn't offered as a +reward for _your_ work; it's offered as a reward for _my_ work. _You_ +aren't the Controller of Accounts, _I_ happen to be the Controller of +Accounts. I have decided to refuse the title, and I shall refuse it. +_Nothing will induce me to accept it_. Do I make myself clear, or +(_smiling affectionately_) am I lost in a mist of words? + +MRS. CULVER (_suddenly furious_). You are a brute. You always were. You +never think of anybody but yourself. My life has been one long +sacrifice, and you know it perfectly well. Perfectly well! You talk +about _your_ work. What about my work? Why! You'd be utterly useless +without me. You can't even look after your own collars. Could you go +down to your ridiculous office without a collar? I've done everything +for you, everything! And now! (_Weeping_). I can't even be called 'my +lady.' I only wanted to hear the parlourmaid call me 'my lady.' It seems +a simple enough thing-- + +CULVER (_persuasively and softly, trying to seize her_). You divine +little snob! + +MRS. CULVER (_in a supreme, blazing outbreak escaping him_). Let me +alone! I told you at the start I should never give way. And I never +will. Never! If you send that letter of refusal, do you know what I +shall do? I shall go and see the War Cabinet myself. I shall tell them +you don't mean it. I'll make the most horrible scandal.... When I think +of the Duke of Wellington-- + +CULVER (_surprised and alarmed_). The Duke of Wellington? + +MRS. CULVER (_drawing herself up at the door, L_). The Duke of +Wellington didn't refuse a title! Hildegarde shall sleep in our room, +and you can have hers! (_Exit violently, L_.) + +CULVER (_intimidated, as she goes_). Look here, hurricane! (_He rushes +out after her_.) + +_Enter_ Hildegarde _and_ Tranto, _back_. + +HILDEGARDE (_seeing the room empty_). Well, I thought I heard them. + +TRANTO (_catching noise of high words from the boudoir_.) I fancy I _do_ +hear them. + +HILDEGARDE. Perhaps we'd better go. + +TRANTO. But I want to speak to you--just for a moment. + +HILDEGARDE (_moving uneasily_). What about? + +TRANTO. I don't know. Anything. It doesn't matter what ... I don't hear +them now. + +HILDEGARDE (_listening and hearing nothing; reassured_). I should have +thought you wouldn't have wanted to come here any more for a long time. + +TRANTO. Why? + +HILDEGARDE. After the terrible experiences of last night, during dinner +and after dinner. + +TRANTO. The general constraint? + +HILDEGARDE. The general constraint. + +TRANTO. The awkwardness? HILDEGARDE. The awkwardness. + +TRANTO. The frightful silences and the forced conversations? + +HILDEGARDE (_nods_). Why _did_ you come? + +TRANTO. Well-- + +HILDEGARDE. I suppose you're still confined to this house. + +TRANTO (_in a new confidential tone_). I wish you'd treat me as your +father does. + +HILDEGARDE. But of course I will-- + +TRANTO. That's fine. He treats me as an intimate friend. + +HILDEGARDE. But you must treat me as you treat papa. + +TRANTO (_slightly dashed_). I'll try. I might tell you that I had two +very straight talks with your father last night. + +HILDEGARDE. Two? + +TRANTO. Yes; one before dinner, and the other just before I left--when +you'd gone to bed. He began them--both of them. + +HILDEGARDE. Oh! So that you may be said to know the whole situation. + +TRANTO. Yes. Up to last thing last night, that is. + +HILDEGARDE. Since then it's developed on normal lines. What do you think +of it? + +TRANTO. I adore your mother, but I think your father's quite right. + +HILDEGARDE. Well, naturally! I take that for granted. I was expecting +something rather more original. + +TRANTO. You shall have it. I think that you and I are very largely +responsible for the situation. I think our joint responsibility binds us +inextricably together. + +HILDEGARDE. Mr. Tranto! + +TRANTO. Certainly. There's no doubt in my mind that your father was +enormously influenced by Sampson Straight's article on the Honours +scandal. In fact he told me so. And seeing that you wrote it and I +published it-- + +HILDEGARDE (_alarmed_). You didn't tell him I'm Sampson Straight? +TRANTO. Can you imagine me doing such a thing? + +HILDEGARDE. I hope not. Shall I tell you what _I_ think of the +situation? + +TRANTO. I wish you would. + +HILDEGARDE. I think such situations would never arise if parents weren't +so painfully unromantic. I'm not speaking particularly of papa and +mamma. I mean all parents. But take mamma. She's absolutely +matter-of-fact. And papa's nearly as bad. Of course I know they're +always calling each other by pet names; but that's mere camouflage for +their matter-of-factness. Whereas if they both had in them a little of +the real romance of life--everything would be different. At the same +time I needn't say that in this affair that we're now in the middle +of--there's no question of ratiocination. + +TRANTO. Of what? + +HILDEGARDE. Ratiocination. Reasoning. On either side. + +TRANTO. Oh no! + +HILDEGARDE. It's simply a question of mutual attitude, isn't it? Now, if +only--. But there! What's the use? Parents are like that, poor dears! +They have forgotten! (_With emphasis_.) They have forgotten--what makes +life worth living. + +TRANTO. You mean, for instance, your mother never sits on your father's +knee. + +HILDEGARDE (_bravely, after hesitation_). Yes! Crudely--that's what I do +mean. + +TRANTO. Miss Hildegarde, you are the most marvellous girl I ever met. +You are, really! You seem to combine all qualities. It's amazing to me. +I'm more and more astounded. Every time I come here there's a fresh +revelation. Now you mention romance. I'm glad you mentioned it first. +But I _saw_ it first. I saw it in your eyes the first time I ever met +you. Yes! Miss Hilda, do you see it in mine? Look. Look closely. +(_Approaching her_.) Because it's there. I must tell you. I can't wait +any longer. (_Feeling for her hand, vainly_.) + +HILDEGARDE (_drawing back_). Mr. Tranto, is this the way you treat +father? + +_Enter_ Mr. Culver, _back_. + +CULVER (_quickly_). Hilda, go to your mother. She's upstairs. +HILDEGARDE. What am I to do? + +CULVER. I don't know. (_With meaning_.) Think what the sagacious Sampson +Straight would do, and do that. + +(Hildegarde _gives a sharp look first at_ Culver, _and then at_ Tranto, +_and exit, back_.) + +CULVER (_turning to_ Tranto). My dear fellow, the war is practically +over. + +TRANTO. Good heavens! There was nothing on the tape when I left the +Club. + +CULVER. Oh! I don't mean your war. I mean the twenty-two years' war. + +TRANTO. The twenty-two years' war? + +CULVER. My married life. Over! Finished! Napoo! + +TRANTO. Do you know what you're saying? + +CULVER. Look here, Tranto. You and I don't belong to the same +generation. In fact, if I'd started early enough I might have been your +father. But we got so damned intimate last night, and I'm in such a +damned hole, and you're so damned wise, that I feel I must talk to you. +Not that it'll be any use. + +TRANTO. But what's the matter? + +CULVER. The matter is--keeping a woman in the house. + +TRANTO. Mr. Culver! You don't mean-- + +CULVER. I mean my wife--of course. I've just had the most ghastly rumpus +with my wife. It was divided into two acts. The first took place here, +the second in the boudoir (_indicating boudoir_). The second act was the +shortest but the worst. + +TRANTO. But what was it all about? + +CULVER. Now for heaven's sake don't ask silly questions. You know +perfectly well what it was about. It was about the baronetcy. I have +decided to refuse that baronetcy, and my wife has refused to let me +refuse it. + +TRANTO. But what are her arguments? + +CULVER. I've implored you once not to ask silly questions. 'What are her +arguments' indeed! She hasn't got any arguments. You know that. You're +too wise not to know it. She merely wants the title, that's all. + +TRANTO. And how did the second act end? + +CULVER. I don't quite remember. + +TRANTO. Let me suggest that you sit down. (Culver _sits_.) Thanks. Now +I've always gathered from my personal observation, that you, if I may +say so, are the top dog here when it comes to the point--the crowned +head, as it were. + +CULVER. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. At least, it did last +night, and I shall be greatly surprised if it doesn't to-night. + +TRANTO. Naturally. A crown isn't a night-cap. But you are the top dog. +In the last resort, what you say, goes. That is so, isn't it? I only +want to be clear. + +CULVER. Yes, I think that's pretty right. + +TRANTO. Well, you have decided on public grounds, and as a question of +principle, to refuse the title. You intend to refuse it. + +CULVER. I--I do. + +TRANTO. Nobody can stop you from refusing it. + +CULVER. Nobody. + +TRANTO. Mrs. Culver can't stop you from refusing it? + +CULVER. Certainly not. It concerns me alone. + +TRANTO. Well, then, where is the difficulty? A rumpus--I think you +said. What of that? My dear Mr. Culver, believe me, I have seen far more +of marriage than you have. You're only a married man. I'm a bachelor, +and I've assisted at scores of married lives. A rumpus is nothing. It +passes--and leaves the victor more firmly established than ever before. + +CULVER (_rising_). Don't talk to me of rumpuses. I know all about +rumpuses. This one is an arch-rumpus. This one is like no other rumpus +that ever was. It's something new in my vast experience. I shall win. I +have won. But at what cost? (_With effect_.) The cost may be that I +shall never kiss the enemy again. The whole domestic future is in grave +jeopardy. + +TRANTO. Seriously? + +CULVER. Seriously. + +TRANTO. Then you musn't win. + +CULVER. But what about my public duty? What about my principles? I can't +sacrifice my principles. + +TRANTO. Why not? + +CULVER. I never have. + +TRANTO. How old are you? + +CULVER. Forty-four. + +TRANTO. And you've never sacrificed a principle? + +CULVER. Never. + +TRANTO. Then it's high time you began. And you'd better begin, before +it's too late. Besides, there are no principles in married life. + +CULVER. Tranto, you are remarkable. How did you find that out? + +TRANTO. I've often noticed it. + +CULVER. It's a profound truth. It throws a new light on the entire +situation. + +TRANTO. It does. + +CULVER. Then you deliberately advise me to give way about the title? + +TRANTO. I do. + +CULVER. Strange! (_Casually_.) I had thought of doing so, but I never +dreamt you'd agree, and I'd positively determined to act on your advice. +You know, you're taking an immense responsibility. + +TRANTO. I can bear that. What I couldn't bear is any kind of real +trouble in this house. + +CULVER. Why? What's it got to do with you? + +TRANTO. Nothing! Nothing! Only my abstract interest in the institution +of marriage. + +CULVER (_ringing the bell twice_). Ah, well, after all, I'm not utterly +beaten yet. I've quite half an hour before post goes, and I shall fight +to the last ditch. + +TRANTO. But hasn't Mrs. Culver retired? + +CULVER. Yes. + +TRANTO. May I suggest that it would be mistaken tactics to--er--run +after her? + +CULVER. It would. + +TRANTO. Well then? + +CULVER. She will return. + +TRANTO. How do you know? + +CULVER. She always does.... No, Tranto, I may yet get peace on my own +terms. You see I'm an accountant. No ordinary people, accountants! For +one thing they make their money by counting other people's. I've known +accountants do marvellous stunts. + +_Enter_ Miss Starkey, _back_. + +TRANTO. I'll leave you. + +CULVER. You'll find John somewhere about. I shan't be so very long--I +hope. Miss Starkey, kindly take down these two letters. How much time +have we before post goes? + +(_Exit_ Tranto, _back_.) + +MISS STARKEY. Forty minutes. + +CULVER. Excellent. + +MISS STARKEY (_indicating some papers which she has brought_). These +things ought to be attended to to-night. + +CULVER. Possibly. But they won't be. + +MISS STARKEY. The Rosenberg matter is very urgent. He leaves for Glasgow +to-morrow. + +CULVER. I wish he'd leave for Berlin. I won't touch it to-night. Please +take down these two letters. + +MISS STARKEY. Then it will be necessary for you to be at the office at +9.30 in the morning. + +CULVER. I decline to be at the office at 9.30 in the morning. + +MISS STARKEY. But I've an appointment for you. I was afraid you wouldn't +do anything to-night. + +CULVER (_resigned_). Very well! Very well! Tell them to call me, and see +cook about breakfast. (_Beginning to dictate_.) 'My dear Lord Woking'-- + +MISS STARKEY (_sitting_). Excuse me, is this letter about the title? + +CULVER. Yes. + +MISS STARKEY. Then it ought to be an autograph letter. That's the +etiquette. + +CULVER. How do you know? + +MISS STARKEY. General knowledge. + +CULVER. In this case the rule will be broken. That's flat. + +MISS STARKEY. Then I must imitate your handwriting. + +CULVER. Can you? + +MISS STARKEY. You ought to know, Mr. Culver--by this time. + +CULVER. I don't know officially. However, have your own way. Forge the +whole thing, signature and all. I don't care. 'My dear Lord Woking. +Extreme pressure of--er--government business has compelled me to leave +till last thing to-night my reply to your letter in which you are good +enough to communicate to me the offer of a baronetcy. I cannot +adequately express to you my sense of the honour in contemplation, but, +comma, for certain personal reasons with which I need not trouble you, +comma, I feel bound, with the greatest respect and the greatest +gratitude, to ask to be allowed to refuse. (Miss Starkey _shows +emotion_.) I am sure I can rely on you to convey my decision to the +proper quarter with all your usual tact. Believe me, my dear Lord +Woking, Cordially yours.' (_To_ Miss Starkey.) What in heaven's name is +the matter with you? + +MISS STARKEY. Mr. Culver. I shall have to give you a month's notice. + +CULVER (_staggered_). Have--have you gone mad too? + +MISS STARKEY. Not that I am aware of. But I must give a month's +notice--for certain personal reasons with which I need not trouble you. +CULVER. Young woman, you know that you are absolutely indispensable to +me. You know that without you I should practically cease to exist. I am +quite open with you as to that--and as to everything. You are acquainted +with the very depths of my character and the most horrible secrets of my +life. I conceal nothing from you, and I demand that you conceal nothing +from me. What are your reasons for giving me notice in this manner? + +MISS STARKEY. My self respect would not allow me to remain with a +gentleman who had refused a title. Oh, Mr. Culver, to be the private +secretary to a baronet has been my life's dream. And--and--I have just +had the offer of a place where a _peerage_ is in prospect. Still, I +wouldn't have, taken even that if you had not--if you had +not--(_controlling herself, coldly_). Kindly accept my notice. I give it +at once because I shall have no time to lose for the peerage. + +CULVER. Miss Starkey, you drive me to the old, old conclusion--all women +are alike. + +MISS STARKEY. Then my leaving will cause you no inconvenience, because +you'll easily get another girl exactly like me. + +CULVER. You are a heartless creature. (_In an ordinary voice_.) Did we +finish the first letter? This is the second one. (_Dictates_.) 'My dear +Lord Woking'-- + +MISS STARKEY. But you've just given me that one. + +CULVER (_firmly_.) 'My dear Lord Woking.' Go on the same as the first +one down to 'I cannot adequately express to you my sense of the honour +in contemplation.' 'Full stop. I need hardly say that, in spite of my +feeling that I have done only too little to deserve it, I accept it with +the greatest pleasure and the greatest gratitude. Believe me, etc.' + +MISS STARKEY. But-- + +CULVER. Don't imagine that your giving me notice has affected me in the +slightest degree. It has not. I told you I had two letters. I have not +yet decided whether to accept or refuse the title. (_Enter_ Mrs. Culver, +_back_.) Go and copy both letters and bring them in to me in a quarter +of an hour, whether I ring or not. That will give you plenty of time for +post. Now--run! (_Exit_ Miss Starkey, _back_. Culver _rises, clears his +throat, and obviously braces himself for a final effort of firmness_. +Mrs. Culver _calmly rearranges some flowers in a vase_.) Well, my dear, +I was expecting you. + +MRS. CULVER (_very sweetly_), Arthur, I was wrong. + +CULVER (_startled_). Good God! (Mrs. Culver _bends down to examine the +upholstery of a chair_. Culver _gives a gesture, first of triumph, and +then of apprehension_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_looking straight at him_). I say I was wrong. + +CULVER (_lightly, but uneasily_). Oh no! Oh no! + +MRS. CULVER. Of course I don't mean wrong in my arguments about the +title. Not for a moment. I mean I was wrong not to sacrifice my own +point of view. I'm only a woman, and it's the woman's place to submit. +So I do submit. Naturally I shall always be a true wife to you, but-- + +CULVER. Now child, don't begin to talk like that. I don't mind _reading_ +novels, but I won't have raw lumps of them thrown _at_ me. + +MRS. CULVER (_with a gentle smile_), I _must_ talk like this. I shall do +everything I can to make you comfortable, and I hope nobody, and +especially not the poor children, will notice any difference in our +relations. + +CULVER (_advancing, with a sort of menace_). But? + +MRS. CULVER. But things can never be the same again. + +CULVER. I knew the confounded phrase was coming. I knew it. I've read it +scores of times. (_Picking up the vase_.) Hermione, if you continue in +that strain, I will dash this vase into a thousand fragments. + +MRS. CULVER (_quietly taking the vase from him and putting it down_). +Arthur, I could have forgiven you everything. What do I +care--really--about a title? (_Falsely_.) I only care for your +happiness. But I can't forgive you for having laid a trap for me last +night--and in front of the children and a stranger too. + +CULVER. Laid a trap for you? + +MRS. CULVER. You knew all about the title when you first came in last +night and you deliberately led me on. + +CULVER. Oh! That! Ah well! One does what one can. You've laid many a +trap for me, my girl. You're still about ten up and two to play in the +trap game. + +MRS. CULVER. I've never laid a trap for you. + +CULVER. Fibster! Come here. (Mrs. Culver _hesitates_.) Come hither--and +be kissed. (_She_ _approaches submissively, and then, standing like a +marble statue, allows herself to be kissed_. Culver _assumes the +attitude of the triumphant magnanimous male_.) There! That's all right. + +MRS. CULVER (_having moved away; still very sweetly and coldly_). Can I +do anything else for you before I go to bed? + +CULVER (_ignoring the question; grandly and tolerantly_). Do you +suppose, my marble statue, that after all I've said at the Club about +the rascality of this Honours business, I could ever have appeared there +as a New Year Baronet? The thing's unthinkable. Why, I should have had +to resign and join another Club! + +MRS. CULVER (_calmly and severely_). So that's it, is it? I might have +known what was really at the bottom of it all. Your Club again! You have +to choose between your wife and your Club, and of course it's your wife +that must suffer. Naturally! + +CULVER. Go on! You'll be saying next that I've committed bigamy with my +Club. + +MRS. CULVER (_with youthful vivacity_). I'm an old woman-- + +CULVER (_flatteringly_). Yes, look at you! Hag! When I fell in love +with you your hair was still down. The marvel to me is that I ever let +you put it up. + +MRS. CULVER. I'm only an old woman now. You have had the best part of my +life. You might have given me great pleasure with this title. But no! +Your Club comes first. And what a child you are! As if there's one +single member of your Club who wouldn't envy you your baronetcy! +However, I've nothing more to say. (_Moving towards the door, back_.) Oh +yes, I have. (_Casually_.) I've decided to go away to-morrow and stay +with grandma for a long holiday. She needs me, and if I'm not to break +down entirely I must have a change. I've told Hildegarde +our--arrangements. The poor girl's terribly upset. Please don't disturb +me in the morning. I shall take the noon train. Good-night. + +CULVER. Hermione! + +MRS. CULVER (_returning a little from the direction of the door, +submissively_). Yes, Arthur. + +CULVER. If you keep on playing the martyr much longer there will be +bloodshed, and you'll know what martyrdom is. + +MRS. CULVER (_in a slightly relenting tone_). Arthur, you were always +conscientious. Your conscience is working. + +CULVER. I have no conscience. Never had. + +MRS. CULVER (_persuasively, and with much charm_). Yes you have, and +it's urging you to give way to your sensible little wife. You know +you're only bluffing. + +CULVER. Indeed I'm not. + +MRS. CULVER. Yes, you are. Mr. Tranto advised you to give way, and you +think such a lot of his opinion. + +CULVER. Who told you Tranto advised me to give way? + +MRS. CULVER. He did. + +CULVER. Damn him! + +MRS. CULVER (_soothingly_). Yes, yes. + +CULVER. No, no! + +MRS. CULVER. And your dear, indispensable Miss Starkey thinks the same. +(_She tries to kiss him_.) CULVER. No, no! (Mrs. Culver _succeeds in +kissing him_.) + +_Enter_ Miss Starkey. + +(_The other two spring apart. A short pause_.) + +CULVER. Which is the refusal? + +MISS STARKEY. This one. + +CULVER. Put it in the fire. (Miss Starkey _obeys. Both the women show +satisfaction in their different ways_.) Give me the acceptance. (_He +takes the letter of acceptance and reads it_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_while he is reading the letter_). Miss Starkey, you look +very pale. Have you had any dinner? + +MISS STARKEY. Not yet, madam. + +MRS. CULVER. You poor dear! (_She strokes_ Miss Starkey. _They both look +at the tyrannical male_.) I'll order something for you at once. + +MISS STARKEY. I shall have to go to the post first. + +CULVER (_glancing up_). I'll go to the post myself. I must have air, +air! Where's the envelope? (_Exit_ Miss Starkey _quickly, back_.) (Mrs. +Culver _gently takes the letter from her husband and reads it_. Culver +_drops into a chair_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_putting down the letter_). Darling! + +CULVER. I thought I was a brute? + +MRS. CULVER (_caressing and kissing him_). I do so love my brute, and I +am so happy. Darling! But you are a silly old darling, wasting all this +time. + +CULVER. Wasting all what time? + +MRS. CULVER. Why, the moment I came in again I could see you'd decided +to give way. (_With a gesture of delight_.) I must run and tell the +children. (_Exit, L_.) + +_Enter_ Miss Starkey _back_. + +MISS STARKEY. Here's the envelope. + +CULVER (_taking it_). Tell them to get me my hat and overcoat. + +MISS STARKEY. Yes, Sir Arthur. (Culver _starts_.) (_Exit_ Miss Starkey, +_back_.) + +CULVER (_as he puts the letter in the envelope; with an air of +discovery_). I suppose I _do_ like being called 'Sir Arthur.' + +_Enter_ Hildegard _and_ John _both disgusted, back_. + +JOHN (_to_ Hildegarde, _as they come in_). I told you last night he +couldn't control even the mater. However, I'll be even with her yet. + +CULVER. What do you mean, boy? + +JOHN. I mean I'll be even with the mater yet. You'll see. + +HILDEGARDE. Papa, you've behaved basely. Basely! What an example to us! +I intend to leave this house and live alone. + +CULVER. You ought to marry Mr. Sampson Straight. (Hildegarde _starts and +is silent_.) + +JOHN. Fancy me having to go back to school the son of a rotten baronet, +and with the frightful doom of being a rotten baronet myself. What price +the anti-hereditary-principle candidate! Dad, I hope you won't die just +yet--it would ruin my political career. Stay me with flagons! + +CULVER. Me too! + +CURTAIN. + + + + +ACT III + + + + +ACT III + + +_The next day, before lunch_. Hildegarde _and_ John _are together_. + +JOHN (_nervously impatient_). I wish she'd come. + +HILDEGARDE. She'll be here in a moment. She's fussing round dad. + +JOHN. Is he really ill? + +HILDEGARDE. Well of course. It came on in the night, after he'd had time +to think things over. Why? + +JOHN. I read in some paper about the Prime Minister having only a +_political_ chill. So I thought perhaps the pater--under the circs-- + +HILDEGARDE (_shaking her head_). You can't have political dyspepsia. +Can't fake the symptoms. Who is to begin this affair, you or me? + +JOHN. Depends. What line are you going on with her? + +HILDEGARDE. I'm going to treat her exactly as she treats me. I've just +thought of it. Only I shan't lose my temper. + +JOHN. Sugarsticks? + +HILDEGARDE. Yes. + +JOHN. You'll never be able to keep it up. + +HILDEGARDE. O yes I shall. Somehow I feel much more mature than I did +yesterday. + +JOHN. More mature? Stay me with flagons! I was always mature. If you +knew what rot I think school is...! Well, anyway, you can begin. + +HILDEGARDE. You're very polite to-day, Johnnie. + +JOHN. Don't mention it. My argument 'll be the best, and I want to keep +it for the end, that's all. + +HILDEGARDE. Thanks. But I bet you we shall both fail. + +JOHN. Well, if we do, I've still got something else waiting for her +ladyship. A regular startler, my child. + +HILDEGARDE. What is it? + +_Enter_ Mrs. Culver, _back_. + +JOHN (_to_ Hildegarde, _as_ Mrs. Culver _enters_). Wait and see. + +MRS. CULVER (_cheerful and affectionate, to_ John). So you've come in. +(_To_ Hildegarde.) You _are_ back early to-day! Well, my darlings, what +do you want me for? + +HILDEGARDE (_imitating her mothers manner_). Well, mamma darling, we +hate bothering you. We know you've got quite enough worries, without +having any more. But it's about this baronetcy business. (Mrs. Culver +_starts_.) Do be an angel and listen to us. + +MRS. CULVER (_with admirable self-control_). Of course, my pet. But you +know the matter is quite, quite settled. Your father and I settled it +together last night, and the letter of acceptance is in the hands of the +Government by this time. + +JOHN. It isn't, mater. It's here. (_Pulls the letter out of his +pocket_.) + +MRS. CULVER. John! What-- + +JOHN. Now, now, mater! Keep calm. This is really your own doing. Pater +wanted to go to the post himself, but it was raining a bit, and you're +always in such a fidget about his getting his feet wet you wouldn't let +him go, and so I went instead. + +HILDEGARDE. Yes, mummy darling, you must acknowledge that you were +putting temptation in Johnnie's way. + +JOHN. Soon as I got outside, I said to myself: 'I think the pater ought +to have a night to think over this affair. It's very important. And he +can easily send round an answer by hand in the morning.' So I didn't +post the letter. I should have told you earlier, but you weren't down +for breakfast, and I had to go out afterwards on urgent private +business. + +MRS. CULVER. But--but--(_Controlling herself, grieved, but kind_.) Your +father will be terribly angry. I daren't face him. + +JOHN (_only half-suppressing his amusement at the last remark_). Don't +let that worry you. I'll face him. He'll be delighted. He'll write +another letter, and quite a different one. + +MRS. CULVER (_getting firmer_). But don't I tell you, my dearest boy, +that the affair is settled, quite settled? + +JOHN. It isn't settled so long as I've got this letter, anyway. + +HILDEGARDE. Of course it isn't settled. Mother darling, we simply must +look the facts in the face. Fact one, the letter is here. Fact two, the +whole family is most frightfully upset. Dad's ill-- + +MRS. CULVER. That was the lobster. + +JOHN. It wasn't. + +MRS. CULVER. Yes, dear. Lobster always upsets him. + +JOHN. It didn't this time. + +MRS. CULVER. How do you know? + +JOHN. I know, because _I_ ate all his lobster. He shoved it over to me. +You couldn't see for the fruit-bowl. + +HILDEGARDE. No, mamma sweetest. It's this baronetcy business that's +knocked poor papa over. And it's knocked over Johnnie and me too. I'm +perfectly, perfectly sure you acted for the best, but don't you think +you persuaded father against his judgment? Not to speak of our judgment! + +MRS. CULVER. I've only one thought-- + +HILDEGARDE (_caressing and kissing +her mother_). I know! I know! Father's happiness. Our happiness. Mamma, +please don't imagine for a single instant that we don't realise that. +You're the most delicious darling of an old mater-- + +MRS. CULVER (_slightly suspicious_). Hildegarde, you're quite a +different girl to-day. + +HILDEGARDE (_nods_). I've aged in a single night. I've become ever so +serious. This baronetcy business has shown me that I've got +convictions--and deep convictions. I admit I'm a different girl to-day. +But then everything's different to-day. The whole house is different. +Johnnie's different. Papa's missed going to the office for the first +time in eight months. (_Very sweetly_.) Surely you must see, mamma, that +something ought to be done, and that you alone can do it. + +MRS. CULVER. What? What ought I to do? + +HILDEGARDE. Go upstairs and tell dad you've changed your mind about the +title, and advise him to write off instantly and refuse it. You know you +always twist him round your little finger. + +MRS. CULVER (_looking at her little finger_). I shouldn't dream of +trying to influence your father once he had decided. And he _has_ +decided. + +HILDEGARDE (_sweetly_). Mamma, you're most tremendously clever--far +cleverer than any of us--but I'm not sure if you understand the attitude +of the modern girl towards things that affect her convictions. + +MRS. CULVER (_sweetly_). Are you the modern girl. + +HILDEGARDE. Yes. + +MRS. CULVER. Well, I'm the ancient girl. And I can tell you this--you're +very like me, and we're both very like somebody else. + +HILDEGARDE. Who's that. + +MRS. CULVER. Eve. + +JOHN. Come, mater. Eve would never have learnt typewriting. She'd have +gone on the land. + +MRS. CULVER. John, your sister and I are not jesting. + +HILDEGARDE. I'm so glad you admit I'm serious, mamma. Because I +am--very. I don't want to threaten-- + +MRS. CULVER. Threaten, darling? + +HILDEGARDE (_firmly, but quite lightly and sweetly_). No, darling. +_Not_ to threaten. The mere idea of threatening is absurd. But it would +be extremely unfair to you not to tell you that unless you agree to +father refusing the title, I shall have to leave the house and live by +myself. I really shall. Of course I can easily earn my own living. I +quite see that you have principles. But I also have principles. If they +clash--naturally it's my place to retire. And I shall, mamma dearest. + +MRS. CULVER. Is that final? + +HILDEGARDE. Final, mummy darling. + +MRS. CULVER. Then, my dearest child, you must go. + +HILDEGARDE (_still sweetly_). Is that final? + +MRS. CULVER (_still sweetly_). Final, my poor pet. + +JOHN (_firmly_). Now let _me_ say a word. + +MRS. CULVER (_benignly_). And what have you got to say in the matter? +You've already been very naughty about that letter. Do try not to be +ridiculous. Give me the letter. This affair has nothing to do with you. +JOHN (_putting the letter in his pocket_). Nothing whatever to do with +me! Mater, you really are a bit too thick. If it was a knighthood, I +wouldn't care. You could have your blooming knighthood. Knighthoods do +come to an end. Baronetcies go on for ever. I've told the dad, and I'll +tell you, that _I will not have_ my political career ruined by any +baronetcy. And if you insist--may I respectfully inform you what I shall +do? May I respectfully inform you--may I? + +MRS. CULVER. John! + +JOHN. I shall chuck Siege and go into the Flying Corps. And that's flat. +If you really want to shorten my life, all you have to do is to stick to +that bally baronetcy. + +MRS. CULVER. Your father won't allow you to join the Flying Corps. + +JOHN. My father can't stop me. I know the mess is expensive, but the +pay's good, and I've got £150 of my own. Not a fortune! Not a fortune! +But enough, quite enough. _A short life and a merry one_. I went to see +Captain Skewes at the Automobile this morning. One of our old boys. He's +delighted. He gave me Lanchester's 'Aircraft in Warfare' to read. Here +it is. (_Picking up the book_.) Here it _is_! I shall be sitting up all +night to-night reading it. _A short life and a merry one_. + +MRS. CULVER. You don't mean it! + +JOHN. I absolutely do. + +MRS. CULVER (_after a pause_). John, you're trying to bully your mother. + +JOHN. Not in the least, mater. I'm merely telling you what will happen +if father accepts that piffling baronetcy. + +MRS. CULVER (_checking a tear; very sweetly_). Well, my pets, you make +life just a little difficult for me. I live only for you and your +father. I think first of your father, and then of you two. For myself, I +am perfectly indifferent. I consider all politics extremely silly. There +never were any in my family, nor in your father's. And to me it's most +extraordinary that your father should catch them so late in life. I +always supposed that after thirty people were immune. (_To_ John.) You, +I suppose, were bound to have them sooner or later, but that _Hilda_ +should go out of her way to contract them--well, it passes me. It passes +me. However, I've no more to say. Your father had made up his mind to +accept the title. You want him to refuse it. I hate to influence him +(Hildegarde _again hides a cynical smile_) but for your sakes I'll try +to persuade him to alter his decision and refuse it. + +JOHN (_taking her arm_). Come along then--now! I'll go with you to see +fair play. (_He opens the door, L, and_ Mrs. Culver _passes out. Then +stopping in the doorway, to_ Hildegarde) Who did the trick? I say--who +did the trick? + +HILDEGARDE (_nicely_). Pooh! You may be a prefect at school. But here +you're only mamma's wee lamb! (_She drops on to the sofa_.) + +JOHN (_singing triumphantly_). Stay--me--with fla--gons! (_Exit_ John, +_L_.) + +_Enter_ Tranto, _back, shown in by the_ Parlourmaid. + +TRANTO. How d'ye do, Miss Hilda. I'm in a high state of nerves. + +HILDEGARDE (_shaking hands weakly_). We all are. + +TRANTO (_ignoring what she says_). I've come specially to see you. + +HILDEGARDE. But how did you know I should be here--at this time? I'm +supposed to be at the Food Ministry till one o'clock? + +TRANTO. I called for you at the Ministry. + +HILDEGARDE (_leaning forward_). That's quite against the rules. The +rules are made for the moral protection of the women-clerks. + +TRANTO. They told me you'd left early. + +HILDEGARDE. Why did you call? + +TRANTO. Shall I be frank? + +HILDEGARDE. Are you ever? + +TRANTO. I wanted to walk home with you. + +HILDEGARDE. Are you getting frightened about that next article of mine? + +TRANTO. No. I've lost all interest in articles. + +HILDEGARDE. Even in my articles? + +TRANTO. Even in yours. I'm only interested in the writer of your +articles. (_Agitated_.) Miss Hilda, the hour is about to strike. + +HILDEGARDE. What hour? + +TRANTO. Listen, please. Let me explain. The situation is this. Instinct +has got hold of me. When I woke up this morning something inside me +said: 'You must call at the Ministry for that young woman and walk home +with her.' This idea seemed marvellously beautiful to me; it seemed one +of the most enchanting ideas that had ever entered the heart of man. I +thought of nothing else all the morning. When I reached the Ministry and +you'd gone, I felt as if I'd been shot. Then I rushed here. If you +hadn't been at home I don't know what I should have done. My fever has +been growing every moment. Providentially you _are_ here. I give you +fair warning that I'm utterly in the grip of an instinct which is +ridiculously unconventional and which will brook no delay. I repeat, the +hour is about to strike. + +HILDEGARDE (_rousing herself_). Before it actually strikes, I want to +ask a question. + +TRANTO. But that's just what _I_ want to do. + +HILDEGARDE. Please. One moment of your valuable time. + +TRANTO. The whole of my life. + +HILDEGARDE. Last night, why did you advise papa to give way to mamma and +accept the baronetcy? + +TRANTO. Did I? + +HILDEGARDE. It seems so. + +TRANTO. Well--er-- + +HILDEGARDE. You know it's quite against his principles, and against mine +and Johnnie's, not to speak of yours. + +TRANTO. The fact is, you yourself had given me such an account of your +mother's personality that I felt sure she'd win anyhow; and--and--for +reasons of my own, I wished to be on the winning side. No harm in that, +surely. And as regards principles, I have a theory about principles. +Your father was much struck by it when I told him. + +HILDEGARDE. Namely? + +TRANTO. There are no principles in married life. + +HILDEGARDE. Oh, indeed! Well, there may not be any principles in your +married life, but there most positively will be in mine, if I ever have +a married life. And let me tell you that you aren't on the winning side +after all--you're on the losing side. + +TRANTO. How? Has your-- + +HILDEGARDE. Johnnie and I have had a great interview with mamma, and +she's yielded. She's abandoned the baronetcy. In half an hour from now +the baronetcy will have been definitely and finally refused. + +TRANTO. Great Scott! + +HILDEGARDE. You're startled? + +TRANTO. No! After all, I might have foreseen that you'd come out on top. +The day before yesterday your modesty was making you say that your +mother could eat you. I, on the contrary, insisted that you could eat +your mother. Who was right? I ask: who was right? When it really comes +to the point--well, you have a serious talk with your mother, and she +gives in! + +HILDEGARDE (_gloomily_). No! _I_ didn't do it. I tried, and failed. Then +Johnnie tried, and did it without the slightest trouble. A schoolboy! +That's why I'm so upset. + +TRANTO (_shaking his head_). You musn't tell me that, Miss Hilda. Of +course it was you that did it. + +HILDEGARDE (_impatiently; standing up_). But I _do_ tell you. + +TRANTO. Sorry! Sorry! Do be merciful! My feelings about you at this very +moment are so, if I may use the term, unbridled-- + +HILDEGARDE (_with false +gentle calm_). And that's not all. I suppose you haven't by any chance +told father that I'm Sampson Straight? + +TRANTO. Certainly not. + +HILDEGARDE. You're sure? + +TRANTO. Absolutely. + +HILDEGARDE. Well, I'm sorry. + +TRANTO. Why? + +HILDEGARDE (_quietly sarcastic_). Because papa told me you did tell him. +Therefore father is a liar. I don't like being the daughter of a liar. I +hate liars. + +TRANTO. Aren't you rather cutting yourself off from mankind? + +HILDEGARDE (_going straight on_). For the last day or two father had +been giving me such queer little digs every now and then that I began to +suspect he knew who Sampson Straight was. So I asked him right out this +morning--he was in bed--and he had to acknowledge he did know and that +you told him. + +TRANTO. Well, I didn't exactly tell him. He sort of guessed, and +I-- + +HILDEGARDE (_calmly, relentlessly_). You told him. + +TRANTO. No. I merely admitted it. You think I ought to have denied it? + +HILDEGARDE. Of course you ought to have denied it. + +TRANTO. But it was true. + +HILDEGARDE. And if it was? + +TRANTO. If it was true, how could I deny it? You've just said you hate +liars. + +HILDEGARDE (_losing self-control_). Please don't be absurd. + +TRANTO (_a little nettled_). I apologise. + +HILDEGARDE. What for? + +TRANTO. For having put you in the wrong. It's such shocking bad +diplomacy for any man to put any woman in the wrong. + +HILDEGARDE (_angrily_). Man--woman! Man--woman! There you are! It's +always the same with you males. Sex! Sex! Sex! + +TRANTO (_quite conquering his annoyance; persuasively_). But I'm fatally +in love with you. HILDEGARDE. Well, of course there you have the +advantage of me. + +TRANTO. Don't you care a little-- + +HILDEGARDE (_letting herself go_). Why should I care? What have I done +to make you imagine I care? It's quite true that I've saved your +newspaper from an early grave. It was suffering from rickets, spinal +curvature, and softening of the brain; and I've performed a miraculous +cure on it with my articles. I'm Sampson Straight. But that's not enough +for you. You can't keep sentiment out of business. No man ever could. +You'd like Sampson Straight to wear blouses and bracelets for you, and +loll on sofas for you, and generally offer you the glad eye. It's an +insult. And then on the top of all, you go and give the whole show away +to papa, in spite of our understanding; and if papa hadn't been the +greatest dear in the world you might have got me into the most serious +difficulties. + +TRANTO (_equably, after a pause_), I don't think I'll ask myself to stay +for lunch. + +HILDEGARDE. Good morning. + +TRANTO (_near the door_). I suppose I'd better announce that he's died +very suddenly under mysterious circumstances? + +HILDEGARDE. Who? + +TRANTO. Sampson Straight. + +HILDEGARDE. And what about my new article, that you've got in hand? + +TRANTO. It can be a posthumous article, in a black border. + +HILDEGARDE. Indeed! And why shouldn't Sampson Straight transfer his +services to another paper? There are several who'd jump at him. + +TRANTO. I never thought of that. + +HILDEGARDE. Naturally! + +TRANTO. He shall live. + +(_A pause_. Tranto _bows, and exit, back_.) + +(Hildegarde _subsides once more on to the sofa_.) + +_Enter_ Culver, _in his velvet coat, L_. + +CULVER (_softly, with sprightliness_). Hello, Sampson! + +HILDEGARDE. Dad, please don't call me that. + +CULVER. Not when we're alone? Why? + +HILDEGARDE. I--I--Dad, I'm in a fearful state of nerves just now. Lost +my temper and all sorts of calamities. + +CULVER. Really! I'd no idea. I gathered that the interview between you +and your mother had passed quite smoothly. + +HILDEGARDE. Oh! _That!_ + +CULVER. What do you mean--'Oh! _That!_'? + +HILDEGARDE (_standing; in a new, less gloomy tone_). Papa, what are you +doing out of bed? You're very ill. + +CULVER. Well, I'd managed to dress before your mother and Johnnie came. +As soon as they imparted to me the glad tidings that baronetcies were +off I felt so well I decided to come down and thank you for your +successful efforts on behalf of the family well-being. I'm no longer +your father. I'm your brother. + +HILDEGARDE. It was Johnnie did it. + +CULVER. It wasn't--_I_ know. + +HILDEGARDE (_exasperated_). I say it _was!_ (_Apologetically_). So +sorry, dad. (_Kisses him_). Where are they, those two? (_Sits_). +CULVER. Mother and John? Don't know. I fancy somebody called as I came +down. + +HILDEGARDE. Called! Before lunch! Who was it? + +CULVER. Haven't the faintest. + +_Enter_ John, _back_. + +JOHN (_proudly_). I say, good people! New acquaintance of mine! Just +looked in. Met him at the Automobile this morning with Skewes. I was +sure you'd all give your heads to see the old chap, so I asked him to +lunch on the chance. Dashed if he didn't accept! You see we'd been +talking a bit about politics. He's the most celebrated man in London. I +doubt if there's a fellow I admire more in the whole world--or you +either. He's knocked the mater flat already. Between ourselves, I really +asked him because I thought he might influence her on this baronetcy +business. However, that's all off now. What are you staring at? + +CULVER. We're only bursting with curiosity to hear the name of this +paragon of yours. As a general rule I like to know beforehand whom I'm +going to lunch with in my own house. + +JOHN. It's Sampson Straight. + +HILDEGARDE (_springing up_). _Sampson Str_-- + +CULVER (_calmly_). Keep your nerve, Hilda. Keep your nerve. + +JOHN. I thought I wouldn't say anything till he'd actually arrived. He +mightn't have come at all. Then what a fool I should have looked if I'd +told you he _was_ coming! Tranto himself doesn't know him. Tranto +pooh-poohed the idea of me ever meeting him, Tranto did. Well, I've met +him, and he's here. I haven't let on to him that I know Tranto. I'm +going to bring them together and watch them both having the surprise of +their lives. + +CULVER. John, this is a great score for you. I admit I've never been +more interested in meeting anyone. Never! + +_Enter_ Parlourmaid, _back_. + +PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey, sir. + +CULVER (_cheerfully_). I'll see her soon. (_Pulling himself up suddenly; +in an alarmed, gloomy tone_.) No, no! I can't possibly see her. + + +PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey says there are several important letters, sir. + +CULVER. No, no! I'm not equal to it. + +HILDEGARDE (_confidentially_). What's wrong, dad? + +CULVER (_to_ Hildegarde). She'll give me notice the minute she knows she +can't call me Sir Arthur. (_Shudders_.) I quail. + +_Enter_ Mrs. Culver _and_ Sampson Straight, _back_. + +(_The_ Parlourmaid _holds the door for them, and then exit_.) + +MRS. CULVER. This is my husband. Arthur, dear--Mr. Sampson Straight. And +this is my little daughter. (Hilda _bows_, John _surveys the scene with +satisfaction_.) + +CULVER (_recovering his equipoise; shaking hands heartily_). Mr. +Straight. Delighted to meet you. I simply cannot tell you how unexpected +this pleasure is. + +STRAIGHT. You're too kind. + +CULVER (_gaily_). I doubt it. I doubt it. + +STRAIGHT. I ought to apologise for coming in like this. But I've been so +charmingly received by Mrs. Culver-- + +MRS. CULVER. You've been so charming about my boy, Mr. Straight. +STRAIGHT. I was so very greatly impressed by your son this morning at +the Club that I couldn't resist the opportunity he gave me of visiting +his home. What I say is: like parents, like child. I'm an old-fashioned +man. + +MRS. CULVER. No one would guess that from your articles in _The Echo_. +Of course they're frightfully clever, but you know I don't quite agree +with all your opinions. + +STRAIGHT. Neither do I. You see--there's always a difference between +what one thinks and what one has to write. + +MRS. CULVER. I'm so glad. (Culver _starts and looks round_.) What is it, +Arthur? + +CULVER. Nothing! I thought I heard the ice cracking. (Hildegarde _begins +to smile_.) + +STRAIGHT (_looking at the floor; simply_). Ice? + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur! + +STRAIGHT. It was still thawing when I came in. As I was saying, I'm an +old-fashioned man. And I'm a provincial--and proud of it. + +MRS. CULVER. But my dear Mr. Straight, really, if you'll excuse me, you +look as if you never left the pavement of Piccadilly. CULVER. Say the +windows of the Turf club, darling. + +STRAIGHT (_serenely_). No. I live very, very quietly on my little place, +and when I feel the need of contact with the great world I run over for +the afternoon to--St. Ives. + +MRS. CULVER. How remarkable! Then that explains how it is you're so +deliciously unspoilt. + +STRAIGHT. Do you mean my face? + +MRS. CULVER. I meant you don't seem at all to realise that you're a very +great celebrity in London; very great indeed. A lion of the first order. + +STRAIGHT (_simply_). Lion? + +CULVER. You're expected to roar, Mr. Straight. + +STRAIGHT. Roar? + +MRS. CULVER. It may interest you to know that my little daughter also +writes articles in _The Echo_. Yes, about war cookery. But of course you +wouldn't notice them. (Hildegarde _moves away_.) I'm afraid +(_apologetically_) your mere presence is making her just a wee bit +nervous. HILDEGARDE (_from a distance, striving to control herself_). +Oh, Mr. Sampson Straight. There's one question I've been longing to ask +you. I always ask it of literary lions--and tigers. + +STRAIGHT. Tigers? + +HILDEGARDE. Do you write best in the morning or do you burn the midnight +oil? + +STRAIGHT. Oil? + +MRS. CULVER. Do sit down, Mr. Straight. (_She goes imploringly to_ +Hildegarde, _who has lost control of herself and is getting a little +hysterical with mirth. Aside to_ Hildegarde.) Hilda! (John, _puzzled and +threatening, also approaches_ Hildegarde.) + +CULVER (_sitting down by_ Straight.) And so, although you prefer a +country life, the lure of London has been too strong for you in the end. + +STRAIGHT. I came to town on business. + +CULVER. Ah! + +STRAIGHT. The fact is, business of the utmost importance. Perhaps I may +be able to interest you in it. + +CULVER. Now we're getting hotter. + +STRAIGHT. Hotter? + +CULVER. Go on, go on, Mr. Straight. + +STRAIGHT. To tell you the truth-- + +CULVER. Always a wise thing to do. + +STRAIGHT. One of my reasons for accepting your son's kind invitation was +that I thought that conceivably you might be willing to help in a great +patriotic scheme of mine. Naturally you show surprise. + +CULVER. Do I? Then I'm expressing myself badly. I'm not in the least +surprised. It is the contrary that would have surprised me. + +STRAIGHT. We may possibly discuss it later. + +CULVER. Later? Why later? Why not at once? I'm full of curiosity. I hate +to let the grass grow under my feet. + +STRAIGHT (_looking at the floor_). Grass? (_With a faint mechanical +laugh_.) Ah yes, I see. Figure of speech. Well, I'm starting a little +limited liability syndicate. + +CULVER. Precisely what I thought. Yes? + +STRAIGHT. The End-the-war Syndicate. + +JOHN (_approaching_). But surely you aren't one of those pacifists, Mr. +Straight! You've always preached fighting it out to a finish. + +STRAIGHT. The object of my syndicate is certainly to fight to a finish, +but to finish in about a week--by means of my little syndicate. + +CULVER. Splendid! But there is one draw-back. New capital issues are +forbidden under the Defence of the Realm Act. + +STRAIGHT. Even when the object is to win the war? + +CULVER. My dear sir, the Treasury would never permit such a thing. + +STRAIGHT. Well, we needn't have a limited company. Perhaps after all it +would be better to keep it quite private. + +CULVER. Oh! It would. And what is the central idea of this charming +syndicate? + +STRAIGHT. The idea is--(_looking round cautiously_)--a new explosive. + +CULVER. Again, precisely what I thought. Your own invention? + +STRAIGHT. No. A friend of mine. It truly is the most marvellous explosive. + +CULVER. I suppose it bangs everything. + +STRAIGHT (_simply_). Oh, it does. A development of trinitrotoluol on new +lines. I needn't say that my interest in the affair is purely patriotic. + +CULVER. Of course. Of course. + +STRAIGHT. I can easily get all the capital I need. + +CULVER. Of course. Of course. + +STRAIGHT. But I'm not in close touch with the official world, and in a +matter of this kind official influence is absolutely essential to +success. Now you _are_ in touch with the official world. I shouldn't ask +you to subscribe, though if you cared to do so there would be no +objection. And I may say that the syndicate can't help making a +tremendous lot of money. When I tell you that the new explosive is +forty-seven times as powerful as trinitrotoluol itself-- + +CULVER. When you tell me that, Mr. Straight, I can only murmur the hope +that you haven't got any of it in your pocket. + +STRAIGHT (_simply_). Oh, no! Please don't be alarmed. But you see the +immense possibilities. You see how this explosive would end the war +practically at once. And you'll understand, of course, that although my +articles in _The Echo_ have apparently caused considerable commotion in +London, and given me a position which I am glad to be able to use for +the service of the Empire, my interest in mere journalism as such has +almost ceased since my friend asked me to be secretary and treasurer of +the syndicate. + +CULVER. And so you're the secretary _and_ treasurer? + +STRAIGHT. Yes. We don't want to have subscribers of less than £100 each. +If you cared to look into the matter--I know you're very busy, but a +mere glance-- + +CULVER. Just so--a mere glance. + +_Enter_ Tranto _excitedly_. + +HILDEGARDE (_nearer the door than the rest_). Again? + +TRANTO (_rather loudly and not specially to_ Hildegarde). Terrible news! +I've just heard and I rushed back to tell you. Sampson Straight has died +very suddenly in Cornwall. Bright's disease. He breathed his last in +his own potato patch. (_Aside to_ Hildegarde, _in response to a gesture +from her_) I'm awfully sorry. The poor fellow simply had to expire. + +MRS. CULVER (_to_ Tranto). Now this just shows how the most absurd +rumours _do_ get abroad! Here _is_ Mr. Sampson Straight. I'm _so_ glad +you've come, because you've always wanted to meet him in the flesh. + +TRANTO (_to_ Straight). Are you Sampson Straight? + +STRAIGHT. I am, sir. + +TRANTO. The Sampson Straight who lives in Cornwall? + +STRAIGHT. Just so. + +TRANTO. Impossible! + +STRAIGHT. Pardon me. One moment. I was told there was a danger of my +being inconvenienced in London by one of these military raids for +rounding up slackers, and as I happen to have a rather youthful +appearance, I took the precaution of bringing with me my +birth-certificate and registration card. (_Produces them_.) + +TRANTO (_glancing at the card_). And it's really you who write those +brilliant articles in _The Echo_? + +STRAIGHT. 'Brilliant'--I won't say. But I do write them. + +TRANTO. Well, this is the most remarkable instance of survival after +death that I ever came across. + +STRAIGHT. I beg your pardon. + +TRANTO. You're dead, my fine fellow. Your place isn't here. You ought to +be in the next world. You're a humbug. + +STRAIGHT (_to_ Mrs. Culver). I'm not quite sure that I understand. Will +you kindly introduce me? + +MRS. CULVER. I'm so sorry. This is Mr. Tranto, proprietor and editor of +_The Echo_--(_apologetically, with an uneasy smile_) a great humourist. + +STRAIGHT (_thunderstruck; aside_). Well, I'm damned! (_His whole +demeanour changes. Nevertheless, while tacitly admitting that he is +found out, he at once resumes his mild calmness. To_ Culver.) I've just +remembered an appointment of vital importance. I'm afraid our little +talk about the syndicate must be adjourned. + +CULVER. I feared you might have to hurry away. + +(Straight _bows as a preliminary to departure_.) + +(John, _deeply humiliated, averts his glance from everybody_.) + +TRANTO. Here! But you can't go off like this. + +STRAIGHT. Why? Have you anything against me? + +TRANTO. Nothing (_casually_) except that you're an impostor. + +STRAIGHT. I fail to see it. + +TRANTO. But haven't you just said that you write those articles in my +paper? + +STRAIGHT. Oh! _That_! Well, of course, if I'd known who you were I +shouldn't have dreamed of saying any such thing. I always try to suit my +talk to my company. + +TRANTO. This time you didn't quite bring it off. + +STRAIGHT. Perhaps I owe you some slight explanation (_looking round +blandly_). + +CULVER. Do you really think so? + +STRAIGHT. The explanation is simplicity itself. (_A sudden impulse_.) +Nothing but that. Put yourselves in my place. I come to London. I hear a +vast deal of chatter about some articles in a paper called _The Echo_ by +some one calling himself 'Sampson Straight.' I also hear that nobody in +London knows who Sampson Straight is. As I happen to _be_ Sampson +Straight, and as I have need of all possible personal prestige for the +success of my purely patriotic mission, it occurs to me--in a flash!--to +assert that I am the author of the famous articles.... Well, what more +natural? + +CULVER. What indeed? + +STRAIGHT (_to_ Tranto). And may I say that I'm the only genuine Sampson +Straight in the United Kingdom, and that in my opinion it was a gross +impertinence on the part of your contributor to steal my name? Why did +you let him do it? + +TRANTO (_beginning reflectively_). Now _I_ hit on that name--not my +contributor. It was when I was down in Cornwall. I caught sight of it in +an old yellow newspaper in an old yellow hotel, and it struck me at once +what a fine signature it would make at the bottom of a slashing article. +By the way, have you ever been in the dock? + +STRAIGHT. Dock? + +TRANTO. I only ask because I seem to remember I saw your splendid name +in a report of the local Assizes. + +STRAIGHT. Assizes? + +TRANTO. A, double s (_pause_) i-z-e-s. + +STRAIGHT. I can afford to be perfectly open. I was--at one period of my +career--in prison, but for a quite respectable crime. Bigamy--with +extenuating circumstances. + +MRS. CULVER (_greatly upset_). Dear, dear! + +STRAIGHT. It might happen to any man. + +CULVER (_looking at_ Mrs. Culver). So it might. + +STRAIGHT. Do you wish to detain me? + +TRANTO. I simply haven't the heart to do it. + +STRAIGHT. Then, ladies and gentlemen, I'll say good morning. + +HILDEGARDE (_stopping_ Straight _near the door as he departs with more +bows_). Good-bye! (_She holds out her hand with a smile_!) And good +luck! + +STRAIGHT (_taking her hand_). Madam, I thank you. You evidently +appreciate the fact that when one lives solely on one's wits, little +mishaps are _bound_ to occur from time to time, and that too much +importance ought not to be attached to them. This is only my third slip, +and I am fifty-five. + +(_Exit, back_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_to_ Hildegarde, _gently surprised_). Darling, surely you +need not have been quite so effusive! + +HILDEGARDE. You see, I thought I owed him something, (_with meaning and +effect_) as it was I who stole his name. + +MRS. CULVER (_utterly puzzled for a moment; then, when she understands, +rushing to_ Hildegarde _and embracing her_). Oh! My wonderful girl! + +JOHN (_feebly and still humiliated_). Stay me with flagons! + +HILDEGARDE (_to her mother_). How nice you are about it, mamma! + +MRS. CULVER. But I'm very proud, my pet. Of course I think you might +have let me into the secret-- + +CULVER. None of us were let into the secret, +Hermione--I mean until comparatively recent times. It was a matter +between Hilda's conscience and her editor. + +MRS. CULVER. Oh! I'm not complaining. I'm so relieved she didn't write +those dreadful cookery articles. + +HILDEGARDE. But do you mean to say you aren't frightfully shocked by my +advanced politics, mamma? + +MRS. CULVER. My child, how naïve you are, after all! A woman is never +shocked, though of course at times it may suit her to pretend to be. +Only men are capable of being shocked. As for your advanced politics, as +you call them, can't you see that it doesn't matter what you write so +long as you are admired by the best people. It isn't views that are +disreputable, it's the persons that hold them. + +CULVER. I hope that's why you so gracefully gave way over the baronetcy, +my dear. + +MRS. CULVER (_continuing to_ Hildegarde). There's just one thing I +should venture to suggest, and that is, that you cease at once to be a +typist and employ one yourself instead. It's most essential that you +should live up to your position. Oh! I'm very proud of you. + +HILDEGARDE. I don't quite know what my position is. According to the +latest news I'm dead. (_Challengingly to_ Tranto.) Mr. Tranto, you're +keeping rather quiet, nearly as quiet as John (John _changes his seat_), +but don't you think you owe me some explanation? Not more than a quarter +of an hour ago in this very room it was distinctly agreed between us +that you would not kill Sampson Straight, and now you rush back in a +sort of homicidal mania. + +MRS. CULVER. Oh! I'd no idea Mr. Tranto had called already this morning! + +HILDEGARDE. Yes. I told him all about everything, and we came to a +definite understanding. + +MRS. CULVER. Oh! + +TRANTO. I'm only too anxious to explain. I killed Sampson for the most +urgent of all possible reasons. The Government is thinking of giving him +a baronetcy? + +CULVER. Not _my_ baronetcy? + +TRANTO. Precisely. + +MRS. CULVER. But this is the most terrible thing I ever heard of. + +TRANTO. It is. I met one of my chaps in the street. He was coming here +to see me. (_To_ Culver.) Your answer was expected this morning. It +didn't arrive. Evidently your notions about titles had got abroad, and +the Government has decided to offer a title to Sampson Straight this +afternoon if you refuse. + +CULVER. But how delightfully stupid of the Government. + +TRANTO. On the contrary it was a really brilliant idea. Sampson Straight +is a great literary celebrity, and he'd look mighty well in the Honours +List. Literature's always a good card to play for Honours. It makes +people think that Cabinet Ministers are educated. + +HILDEGARDE. But I've spent half my time in attacking the Government! + +TRANTO. Do you suppose the Government doesn't know that? In creating you +a baronet (_gazes at her_) it would gain two advantages--it would prove +how broad-minded it is, and it would turn an enemy into a friend. + +HILDEGARDE. But surely the silly Government would make some enquiries +first! + +CULVER. Hilda, do remember what your mother said, and try to live up to +your position. This isn't the Government that makes enquiries. It's the +Government that gets things done. + +TRANTO. You perceive the extreme urgency of the crisis. I had to act +instantly. I did act. I slew the fellow on the spot, and his obituary +will be in my late extra. The danger was awful--greater even than I +realised at the moment, because I didn't know till I got back here that +there was a genuine and highly unscrupulous Sampson Straight floating +about. + +MRS. CULVER. Danger? What danger? + +TRANTO. Danger of the Government falling, dear lady. You see, it's like +this. Assuming that the Government offers a baronetcy to Sampson +Straight, and the offer becomes public property, as it infallibly would, +then there are three alternatives. Either the Government has singled out +for honour a person who doesn't exist at all; or it has sought to turn a +woman (_glancing at_ Hilda) into a male creature; or it is holding up to +public admiration an ex-convict. Choose which theory you like. In any +case the exposure would mean the immediate ruin of any Government. + +HILDEGARDE (_to_ Tranto). I always thought you _wanted_ the Government +to fall. + +CULVER. Good heavens, my gifted child! No enlightened and patriotic +person wants the Government to fall. All enlightened and patriotic +persons want the Government to be afraid of falling. There you have the +whole of war politics in a nut-shell. If the British Government fell the +effect on the Allied cause would be bad, and might be extremely bad. But +that's not the real explanation. The real explanation is that no one +wants the Government to fall because no one wants to step into the +Government's shoes. However, thanks to Tranto's masterly presence of +mind in afflicting Sampson with a disease that kills like prussic acid, +the Government can no longer give Sampson a title, and the danger to the +Government is therefore over. + +TRANTO. Over! I wish it was! Supposing the Government doesn't happen to +see my late extra in time! Supposing the offer of a baronetcy to Sampson +Straight goes forth! The mischief will be done. Worst of all, supposing +the only genuine Sampson Straight hears of it and accepts it! A +baronetcy given to a bigamist! No Government could possibly survive the +exposure. + +MRS. CULVER. Not even if its survival was necessary to the success of +the Allied cause? + +CULVER (_gloomily, shaking his head_). My dear, Tranto is right. This +great country has always insisted first of all, and before anything else +whatever, on the unsullied purity of the domestic life of its public +men. Let a baronetcy be given, or even offered, to a bigamist--and this +great country would not hesitate for one second, not one second. + +TRANTO. The danger still exists. And only one man in this world can +avert it. + +CULVER. You don't mean me, Tranto? + +TRANTO. I understand that you have neither accepted nor refused the +offer. You must accept it instantly. Instantly. + +(_A silence_. John _begins to creep towards the door, back, and_ +Hildegarde _towards the door, L_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_firmly_). John, where are you going? + +JOHN. Anywhere. + +MRS. CULVER. Have you still got that letter to Lord Woking in which +your father accepts the title? + +JOHN. Yes. + +MRS. CULVER. Come here. Let me see it. (_She inspects the envelope of +the letter and returns it to_ John.) Yes, that's right. Now listen to +me. Get a taxi at once and drive to Lord Woking's, and insist on seeing +Lord Woking, and give him that letter with your own hand. Do you +understand? (_Exit_ Hildegarde, _L_.) The stamp will be wasted, but +never mind. Fly! + +JOHN. It's a damned shame. (Mrs. Culver _smiles calmly_.) + +CULVER (_shaking_ John's _flaccid hand_). So it is. But let us remember, +my boy, that you and I are--are doing our bit. (_Pushes him violently +towards the door_.) Get along. (_Exit_ John, _back_.) + +TRANTO (_looking round_). Where's Hildegarde? + +MRS. CULVER. She went in there. + +TRANTO. I must just speak to her. + +(_Exit_ Tranto, _L_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_with a gesture towards the door, L_). There's something +between those two. + +CULVER. I doubt it. (_With a sigh_.) + +MRS. CULVER. What do you mean--you doubt it? + +CULVER. They're probably too close together for there to be anything +between them. + +MRS. CULVER (_shakes her head, smiling sceptically_). The new generation +has no romance. (_In a new tone_.) Arthur, kiss me. + +CULVER. I'm dashed if I do! + +MRS. CULVER. Then I'll kiss you! (_She gives him a long kiss_.) + +(_The lunch gong sounds during the embrace. Startled, they separate_.) + +CULVER. Food! + +MRS. CULVER (_with admiring enthusiasm_). You've behaved splendidly. + +CULVER. Yes, that's what you always say when you've won and I--haven't. +(_She kisses him again_.) + +_Enter the_ Parlourmaid, _back_. + +PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey is still waiting, sir. + +CULVER. Inexorable creature! I won't--I will not--(_suddenly +remembering that he has nothing to fear from_ Miss Starkey; _gaily_). +Yes, I'll see her. She must lunch with us. May she lunch with us, +Hermione? + +MRS. CULVER (_submissively_). Why, Arthur, _of course!_ (_To_ +Parlourmaid.) Miss Starkey can have Master John's place. Some lunch must +be kept warm for Master John. (_As the_ Parlourmaid _is leaving_.) One +moment--bring up some champagne, please. + +PARLOURMAID. Yes, Madam. + +(_Exit_ Parlourmaid.) + +CULVER. Come along, I'm hungry. (_Leading her towards the door. Then +stopping_.) I say.... Oh well, never mind. + +MRS. CULVER. But what? + +CULVER. You're a staggering woman, that's all. (_Exit_ Culver _and_ Mrs. +Culver, _back_.) + +_Enter_ Hildegarde _and_ Tranto. + +HILDEGARDE (_plaintively, as they enter_). I told you my nerves were all +upset, and yet you ran off before I--before I--and now it's lunch time! + +TRANTO (_facing her suddenly_). Hilda! I now give you my defence. (_He +kisses her_.) + +_Enter_ Culver, _back, in time to interrupt the embrace_. + +CULVER. Excuse me. My wife sent me to ask if you'd lunch, Tranto. I +gather that you _will_. + +CURTAIN. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Title, by Arnold Bennett + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12687 *** diff --git a/12687-h/12687-h.htm b/12687-h/12687-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8a5e581 --- /dev/null +++ b/12687-h/12687-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6045 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html +PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" +"http://www.w3c.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Title, by Arnold + Bennett.</title> + + <meta http-equiv="content-type" + content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { + + margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10% + +} + +p { + + text-align: justify + +} + +blockquote { + + text-align: justify + +} + +h1 { + + text-align: center + +} + +h2 { + + text-align: center + +} + +h3 { + + text-align: center + +} + +h4 { + + text-align: center + +} + +h5 { + + text-align: center + +} + +h6 { + + text-align: center + +} + +pre { + + font-size: 0.7em + +} + +hr { + + width: 50%; text-align: center + +} + +unknown { + + margin-left: 25%; width: 50%; margin-right: 25% + +} + +hr.full { + + width: 100% + +} + +unknown { + + margin-left: 0%; width: 100%; margin-right: 0% + +} + +.note { + + font-size: 0.9em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10% + +} + +.footnote { + + font-size: 0.9em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10% + +} + +span.pagenum { + + font-size: 8pt; right: 91%; left: 1%; position: absolute + +} + +p.stagenote { text-align: center + +} + +.poem { + + margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; + +text-align: left + +} + +.poem .stanza { + + MARGIN: 1em 0em + +} + +.poem p { + + padding-left: 3em; margin: 0px; text-indent: -3em + +} + +.poem p.i2 { + + margin-left: 1em + +} + +.poem p.i4 { + + margin-left: 2em + +} + +.poem p.i6 { + + margin-left: 3em + +} + +.poem p.i8 { + + margin-left: 4em + +} + +.figure { + + padding-right: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: 0.8em; + +padding-bottom: 1em; margin: auto; padding-top: 1em; text-align: + +center + +} + +.figure img { + + border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; + +border-left-style: none; border-bottom-style: none + +} + +</style> + </head> + + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12687 ***</div> + + <hr class="full" /> + +<!-- Page 0 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page002" name="page002">[pg 2]</a> + </span> + + <br /> + +<!-- Page 1 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page003" name="page003">[pg 3]</a> + </span> + + <h1> + <i>The Title</i> + </h1> + + <br /> + + <h2>A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS</h2> + + <br /> + + <h3>BY</h3> + + <h2>ARNOLD BENNETT</h2> + + <br /> + + <center> + LONDON + <br /> + + CHATTO & WINDUS + <br /> + + MCMXVIII + </center> + + <br /> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 2 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page004" name="page004">[pg 4]</a> + </span> + + <h2>CHARACTERS</h2> + + <table> + <tr> + <td>MR. CULVER</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>MRS. CULVER</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>HILDEGARDE CULVER</td> + + <td>} their children</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>JOHN CULVER</td> + + <td>}</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>TRANTO</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>MISS STARKEY</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>SAMPSON STRAIGHT</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>PARLOURMAID</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 3 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page005" name="page005">[pg 5]</a> + </span> + + <h3> + <a href="#ACT_I">ACT I</a> + </h3> + + <p class="stagenote">An evening between Christmas and New Year, + before dinner.</p> + + <h3> + <a href="#ACT_II">ACT II</a> + </h3> + + <p class="stagenote">The next evening, after dinner.</p> + + <h3> + <a href="#ACT_III">ACT III</a> + </h3> + + <p class="stagenote">The next day, before lunch.</p> + + <p>The scene throughout is a sitting-room in the well-furnished + West End abode of the Culvers. There is a door, back. There is + also another door (L) leading to Mrs. Culver's boudoir and + elsewhere.</p> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 4 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page006" name="page006">[pg 6]</a> + </span> + + <br /> + +<!-- Page 5 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page007" name="page007">[pg 7]</a> + </span> + + <h2> + <a name='ACT_I'>ACT I</a> + </h2> + + <br /> + +<!-- Page 6 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page008" name="page008">[pg 8]</a> + </span> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 7 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page009" name="page009">[pg 9]</a> + </span> + + <h2>ACT I</h2> + + <br /> + + <p class="stagenote">Hildegarde + <i>is sitting at a desk, writing</i> + + . John, + <i>in a lounging attitude, is reading a newspaper</i> + + .</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Tranto, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Good evening.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>turning slightly in her seat and giving him her left hand, + the right still holding a pen</i> + + ). Good evening. Excuse me one moment.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. All right about my dining here to-night? (Hildegarde + + <i>nods</i> + + .) Larder equal to the strain?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Macaroni.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Splendid.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Beefsteak.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Great heavens! ( + <i>imitates sketchily the motions of cutting up a piece of + steak. Shaking hands with</i> + + John, + <i>who has risen</i> + + ). Well, John. How are things? Don't let me disturb you. Have a + cigarette.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 8 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page010" name="page010">[pg 10]</a> + </span> + + JOHN ( + <i>flattered</i> + + ). Thanks. ( + <i>As they light cigarettes</i> + + .) You're the first person here that's treated me like a human + being.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Oh!</p> + + <p>JOHN. Yes. They all treat me as if I was a schoolboy home + for the hols.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But you are, aren't you?</p> + + <p>JOHN. In a way, of course. But—well, don't you see + what I mean?</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>sympathetically</i> + + ). You mean that a schoolboy home for the hols isn't + necessarily something escaped out of the Zoo.</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>warming</i> + + ). That's it.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. In fact, what you mean is you're really an + individual very like the rest of us, subject, if I may say so, + to the common desires, weaknesses and prejudices of + humanity—and not a damned freak.</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>brightly</i> + + ). That's rather good, that is. If it's a question of the Zoo, + what I say is—what price home? Now, homes + <i>are</i> + + extraordinary if you like—I don't know whether you've + ever noticed it. School—you can understand school. But + home—! Strange things happen here while I'm away.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 9 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page011" name="page011">[pg 11]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Yes?</p> + + <p>JOHN. It was while I was away they appointed Dad a + controller. When I heard—I laughed. Dad a controller! + Why, he can't even control mother.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>without looking round</i> + + ). Oh yes he can.</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>pretending to start back</i> + + ). Stay me with flagons! ( + <i>Resuming to</i> + + Tranto.) And + <i>you're</i> + + something new here since the summer holidays.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I never looked at myself in that light. But I + suppose I + <i>am</i> + + rather new here.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Not quite new. But you've made a lot of progress + during the last term.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. That's comforting.</p> + + <p>JOHN. You understand what I mean. You were rather stiff and + prim in August—now you aren't a bit.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Just so. Well, I won't ask you what you think of + <i>me</i> + + , John—you might tell me—but what do you think of + my newspaper?</p> + + <p>JOHN. + <i>The Echo</i> + + ? I don't know what to think. You see, we don't read newspapers + much at school. Some of the masters do. And a few +<!-- Page 10 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page012" name="page012">[pg 12]</a> + </span> + + chaps in the Fifth—swank, of course. But speaking + generally we don't. Prefects don't. No time.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How strange! Aren't you interested in the war?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Interested in the war! Would you mind if I spoke + plainly?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I should love it.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Each time I come home I wonder more and more whether + you people in London have got the slightest notion what war + really is. Fact! At school, it's just because we + <i>are</i> + + interested in the war that we've no time for newspapers.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How's that?</p> + + <p>JOHN. How's that? Well, munition workshops—with + government inspectors tumbling all over us about once a week. + O.T.C. work. Field days. Cramming fellows for Sandhurst. Not to + mention female masters. 'Mistresses,' I ought to say, perhaps. + All these things take time.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I never thought of that.</p> + + <p>JOHN. No. People don't. However, I've decided to read + newspapers in future—it'll be part of my scheme. That's + why I was reading +<!-- Page 11 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page013" name="page013">[pg 13]</a> + </span> + + <i>The Echo</i> + + . Now, I should like to ask you something about this paper of + yours.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Yes.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Why do you let Hilda write those articles for you + about food economy stunts in the household?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well—( + <i>hesitating</i> + + )</p> + + <p>JOHN. Now, I look at things practically. When Hilda'd spent + all her dress allowance and got into debt besides, about a year + and a half ago, she suddenly remembered she wasn't doing much + to help the war, and so she went into the Food Ministry as a + typist at thirty-five shillings a week. Next she learnt typing. + Then she became an authority on everything. And now she's + concocting these food articles for you. Believe me, the girl + knows nothing whatever about cookery. She couldn't fry a + sausage for nuts. Once the mater insisted on her doing the + housekeeping—in the holidays, too! Stay me with + flagons!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>without looking round</i> + + ). Stay you with chocolates, you mean, Johnnie, dear.</p> + + <p>JOHN. There you are! Her thoughts fly instantly to + chocolates—and in the fourth year of the greatest war + that the world—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Etcetera, etcetera.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 12 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page014" name="page014">[pg 14]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Then do I gather that you don't entirely approve of + your sister's articles?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Tripe, I think. My fag could write better. I'll tell + you what I do approve of. I approve of that article to-day by + that chap Sampson Straight about titles and the shameful + traffic in honours, and the rot of the hereditary principle, + and all that sort of thing.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I'm glad. Delivers the goods, doesn't he, Mr. + Sampson Straight?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Well, + <i>I</i> + + think so. Who is he?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. One of my discoveries, John. He sent me in an + article about—let me see, when was it?—about eight + months ago. I at once perceived that in Mr. Sampson Straight I + had got on to a bit of all right. And I was not mistaken. He + has given London beans pretty regularly once a week ever + since.</p> + + <p>JOHN. He must have given the War Cabinet neuralgia this + afternoon, anyhow. I should like to meet him.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I'm afraid that's impossible.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Is it? Why?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, I haven't met him myself yet. He lives at a + quiet country place in Cornwall. +<!-- Page 13 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page015" name="page015">[pg 15]</a> + </span> + + Hermit, I believe. Hates any kind of publicity. Absolutely + refuses to be photographed.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Photographed! I should think not! But couldn't you get + him to come and lecture at school? We have frightful swells, + you know.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I expect you do. But he wouldn't come.</p> + + <p>JOHN. I wish he would. We had a debate the other Saturday + night on, Should the hereditary principle be abolished?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. And did you abolish it?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Did we abolish it? I should say we did. Eighty-five to + twenty-one. Some debate, believe + <i>me</i> + + !</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>looking round</i> + + ). Yes, but didn't you tell us once that in your Debating + Society the speakers always tossed for sides beforehand?</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>shrugging his shoulders. More confidentially to</i> + + Tranto). As I was saying, I'm going to read the papers in + future, as part of my scheme. And d'you know what the scheme + is? ( + <i>Impressively</i> + + .) I've decided to take up a political career.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Good!</p> + + <p>JOHN. Yes, it was during that hereditary principle debate + that I decided. It came over me +<!-- Page 14 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page016" name="page016">[pg 16]</a> + </span> + + all of a sudden while I was on the last lap of my speech and + the fellows were cheering. And so I want to understand first of + all the newspaper situation in London. There are one or two + things about it I + <i>don't</i> + + understand.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Not more? I can explain the newspaper situation to + you in ten words. You know I've got a lot of uncles. I daresay + I've got more uncles than anybody else in 'Who's Who.' Well, I + own + <i>The Echo</i> + + ,—inherited it from my father. My uncles own all the rest + of the press—( + <i>airily</i> + + ) with a few trifling exceptions. That's the London newspaper + situation. Quite simple, isn't it?</p> + + <p>JOHN. But of course + <i>The Echo</i> + + is up against all your uncles' papers—at least it seems + so.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Absolutely up against them. Tooth and nail. Daggers + drawn. No quarter. Death or victory.</p> + + <p>JOHN. But do you and your uncles speak to each other?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Best of friends.</p> + + <p>JOHN. But aren't two of your uncles lords?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Yes. Uncle Joe was made an earl not long + since—you may have heard of the fuss about it. Uncle + Sam's only a miserable baron yet. And Uncle Cuthbert is that + paltry insect—a baronet.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 15 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page017" name="page017">[pg 17]</a> + </span> + + JOHN. What did they get their titles for?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Ask me another.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Of course I don't want to be personal, but + <i>how</i> + + did they get them? Did they—er—buy them?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Don't know.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Haven't you ever asked them?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, John, you've got relatives yourself, and you + probably know there are some things that even the most + affectionate relatives + <i>don't</i> + + ask each other.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>rising from the desk and looking at John's feet</i> + + ). Yes, indeed! This very morning I unwisely asked Johnnie + whether his socks ever talked. Altercation followed. 'Some + debate, believe + <i>me</i> + + !'</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>rising; with scornful tranquillity</i> + + ). I'd better get ready for dinner. Besides, you two would + doubtless like to be alone together for a few precious + moments.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>sharply and self-consciously</i> + + ). What do you mean?</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>lightly</i> + + ). Nothing. I thought editor and contributor—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Oh! I see.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 16 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page018" name="page018">[pg 18]</a> + </span> + + JOHN ( + <i>stopping at door, and turning round</i> + + ). Do you mean to say your uncles won't be frightfully angry at + Mr. Sampson Straight's articles? Why, dash it, when he's + talking about traffic in honours, if he doesn't mean them who + does he mean?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. My dear friend, stuff like that's meat and drink to + my uncles. They put it down like chocolates.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Well my deliberate opinion is—it's a jolly + strange world. ( + <i>Exit quickly, back)</i> + + .</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>looking at</i> + + Hildegarde). So it is. Philosopher, John! Questions rather + pointed perhaps; but result in the discovery of new truths. By + the way, have I come too early?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>archly)</i> + + . How could you? But father's controlling the country half an + hour more than usual this evening, and I expect mamma was so + angry about it she forgot to telephone you that dinner's moved + accordingly. ( + <i>With piquancy and humour</i> + + .) I was rather surprised to hear when I got home from my + Ministry that you'd sent word you'd like to dine to-night.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Were you? Why?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Because last week when mamma + <i>asked</i> + + you for to-night, you said you had another engagement.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 17 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page019" name="page019">[pg 19]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Oh! I'd forgotten I'd told her that. Still, I really + had another engagement.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. The Countess of Blackfriars—you said.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Yes. Auntie Joe's. I've just sent her a telephone + message to say I'm ill and confined to the house.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Which house?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I didn't specify any particular house.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. And are you ill?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I am not.... To get back to the realm of fact, when + I read Sampson Straight's article about the degradation of + honours this afternoon—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Didn't you read it before you published it?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. No. I had to rush off and confront the Medical Board + at 9 a.m. I felt certain the article would be all right.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. And it wasn't all right.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>positively</i> + + ). Perfectly all right.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. You don't seem quite sure. Are we still in the + realm of fact, or are we slipping over the frontier?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 18 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page020" name="page020">[pg 20]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. The article was perfectly all right. It rattled off + from beginning to end like a machine-gun, and must have caused + enormous casualties. Only I thought Auntie Joe might be one of + the casualties. I thought it might put her out of action as a + hostess for a week or so. You see, for me to publish such an + onslaught on new titles in the afternoon, and then attempt to + dine with the latest countess the same night—and she my + own aunt—well, it might be regarded as a bit—thick. + So I'm confined to the house—this house as it + happens.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But you told John your people would take the + article like meat and drink.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. What if I did? John can't expect to discover the + whole truth about everything at one go. He's found out it's a + jolly strange world. That ought to satisfy him for to-day. + Besides, he only asked me about my uncles. He said nothing + about my uncles' wives. You know what women are—I mean + wives.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Oh, I do! Mother is a marvellous specimen.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I haven't told you the worst.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I hope no man ever will.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The worst is this. Auntie Joe actually thinks + <i>I</i> + + 'm Sampson Straight.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 19 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page021" name="page021">[pg 21]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. She doesn't!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. She does. She has an infinite capacity for belief. + The psychology of the thing is as follows. My governor died a + comparatively poor man. A couple of hundred thousand pounds, + more or less. Whereas Uncle Joe is worth five + millions—and Uncle Joe was going to adopt me, when Auntie + Joe butted in and married him. She used to arrange the flowers + for his first wife. Then she arranged + <i>his</i> + + flowers. Then she became a flower herself and he had to gather + her. Then she had twins, and my chances of inheriting that five + millions ( + <i>he imitates the noise of a slight explosion</i> + + ) short-circuited! Well, I didn't care a volt—not a volt! + I've got lots of uncles left who are quite capable of adopting + me. But I didn't really want to be adopted at all. To adopt me + was only part of Uncle Joe's political game. It was my + <i>Echo</i> + + that he was after adopting. But I'd sooner run my + <i>Echo</i> + + on my own than inherit Uncle Joe's controlling share in + twenty-five daily papers, seventy-one weekly papers, six + monthly magazines, and three independent advertising agencies. + I know I'm a poor man, but I'm quite ready to go on facing the + world bravely with my modest capital of a couple of hundred + thousand pounds. Only Auntie Joe can't understand that. She's + absolutely convinced that I have a terrific grudge against her + and her twins, and that in order to +<!-- Page 20 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page022" name="page022">[pg 22]</a> + </span> + + gratify that grudge I myself personally write articles against + all her most sacred ideals under the pseudonym of Sampson + Straight. I've pointed out to her that I'm a newspaper + proprietor, and no newspaper proprietor ever + <i>could</i> + + write. No use! She won't listen.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Then she thinks you're a liar.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Oh, not at all. Only a journalist. But you perceive + the widening rift in the family lute. ( + <i>A silence</i> + + .) Pardon this glimpse into the secret history of the week.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>formidably</i> + + ). Mr. Tranto, you and I are sitting on the edge of a + volcano.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. We are. I like it. Thrilling, and yet so warm and + cosy.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I used to like it once. But I don't think I like + it any more.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Now please don't let Auntie Joe worry you. She's my + cross, not yours.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Yes. But considered as a cross, your Auntie Joe + is nothing to my brother John, who quite justly calls his + sister's cookery stuff 'tripe.' It was a most ingenious + camouflage of yours to have me pretending to be the author of + that food economy 'tripe,' so as to cover my writing quite + different articles for + <i>The Echo</i> + + and +<!-- Page 21 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page023" name="page023">[pg 23]</a> + </span> + + your coming here to see me so often. Most ingenious. Worthy of + a newspaper proprietor. But why should I be saddled with + 'tripe' that isn't mine?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Why, indeed! Then you think we ought to encourage + the volcano with a lighted match—and run?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I'm ready if you are.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Oh! I'm ready. Secrecy was a great stunt at first. + Letting out the secret will be an even greater stunt now. It'll + make the finest newspaper story since the fearful fall of the + last Cabinet. Sampson Straight—equals Miss Hildegarde + Culver, the twenty-one year old daughter of the Controller of + Accounts! Typist in the Food Department, by day! Journalistic + genius by night! The terror of Ministers! Read by all London! + Raised the circulation of + <i>The Echo</i> + + two hundred per cent! Phenomenon unique in the annals of Fleet + Street! ( + <i>In a different tone, noticing</i> + + Hildegarde's + <i>face</i> + + ). Crude headlines, I admit, but that's what Uncle Joe has + brought us to. We have to compete with Uncle Joe....</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Of course I shall have to leave home.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Leave home!</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 22 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page024" name="page024">[pg 24]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. Yes, and live by myself in rooms.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But why?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I couldn't possibly stay here. Think how it + would compromise father with the War Cabinet if I did. It might + ruin him. And as accounts are everything in modern warfare, it + might lose the war. But that's nothing—it's mamma I'm + thinking of. Do you forget that Sampson Straight, being a young + woman of advanced ideas, has written about everything, + <i>everything</i> + + —yes, and several other subjects besides? For instance, + here's the article I was revising when you came in. ( + <i>Shows the title-page to</i> + + Tranto.)</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Splendid! You're the most courageous creature I ever + met.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Possibly. But not courageous enough to offer to + kiss mamma when I went to bed on the night that + <i>that (indicating the article</i> + + ) had appeared in print under my own name. You don't know + mamma.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But dash it! You could eat your mother!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Pardon me. The contrary is the fact. Mamma could + eat me.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 23 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page025" name="page025">[pg 25]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. But you're the illustrious Sampson Straight. There's + more intelligence in your little finger than there is in your + mother's whole body. See how you write.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Write! I only began to write as a relief from + mamma. I escaped secretly into articles like escaping into an + underground passage. But as for facing mamma in the open!... + Even father scarcely ever does that; and when he does, we hold + our breath, and the cook turns teetotal. It wouldn't be the + slightest use me trying to explain the situation logically to + mamma. She wouldn't understand. She's far too clever to + understand anything she doesn't like. Perhaps that's the secret + of her power. No, if the truth about Sampson Straight is to + come out I must leave home—quietly but firmly leave home. + And why not? I can keep myself in splendour on Sampson's + earnings. And the break is bound to come sooner or later. I + admit I didn't begin very seriously, but reading my own + articles has gradually made me serious. I feel I have a cause. + A cause may be inconvenient, but it's magnificent. It's like + champagne or high heels, and one must be prepared to suffer for + it.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Cause be hanged! Suffer be hanged! High heels be + hanged! Champagne—( + <i>stops</i> + + ). Miss Culver, if a disclosure means your leaving +<!-- Page 24 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page026" name="page026">[pg 26]</a> + </span> + + home I won't agree to any disclosure whatever. I + will—not—agree. We'll sit tight on the volcano.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But why won't you agree?</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>excited</i> + + ). Why won't I agree! Why won't I agree! Because I don't want + you to leave home. I know you're a born genius—a marvel, + a miracle, a prodigy, an incredible orchid, the most brilliant + journalist in London. I'm fully aware of all that. But I do not + and will not see you as a literary bachelor living with a cause + and holding receptions of serious people in chambers furnished + by Roger Fry. I like to think of you at home, here, in this + charming atmosphere, amid the delightful vicissitudes of family + existence, and—well, I like to think of you as a + woman.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>calmly and teasingly</i> + + ). Mr. Tranto, we are forgetting one thing.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. What's that?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. You're an editor, and I'm a contributor whom + you've never met.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Mrs. Culver ( + <i>L</i> + + ).</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Mr. Tranto, how are you? ( + <i>Shaking hands</i> + + .) I'm delighted to see you. So sorry I didn't warn you we dine + half an hour +<!-- Page 25 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page027" name="page027">[pg 27]</a> + </span> + + later—thanks to the scandalous way the Government + slave-drives my poor husband. Please do excuse me. ( + <i>She sits</i> + + ).</p> + + <p>TRANTO. On the contrary, it's I who should ask to be + excused—proposing myself like this at the last + moment.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. It was very nice of you to think of us. Come + and sit down here. ( + <i>Indicating a place by her side on the sofa</i> + + .) Now in my poor addled brain I had an idea you were engaged + for to-night at your aunt's, Lady Blackfriars'.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>sitting</i> + + ). Mrs. Culver, you forget nothing. I + <i>was</i> + + engaged for Auntie Joe's, but she's ill and she's put me + off.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Dear me! How very sudden!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Sudden?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I met Lady Blackfriars at tea late this + afternoon and it struck me how well she was looking.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Yes, she always looks particularly well just before + she's going to be ill. She's very brave, very brave.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. D'you mean in having twins? It was more than + brave of her; it was beautiful—both boys, too.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 26 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page028" name="page028">[pg 28]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>innocently</i> + + ). Budgeting for a long war.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>affectionately</i> + + ). My dear girl! Come here, darling, you haven't changed. + Excuse me, Mr. Tranto.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>approaching</i> + + ). I've been so busy. And I thought nobody was coming.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Is your father nobody? ( + <i>stroking and patting</i> + + Hildegarde's + <i>dress into order</i> + + ). What have you been so busy on?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Article for + <i>The Echo</i> + + . (Tranto, + <i>who has been holding the MS., indicates it</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I do wish you would let me see those cookery + articles of yours before they're printed.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>putting MS. in his pocket</i> + + ). I'm afraid that's quite against the rules. You see, in Fleet + Street—</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>very pleasantly</i> + + ). As you please. I don't pretend to be intellectual. But I + confess I'm just a wee bit disappointed in Hildegarde's cookery + articles. I'm a great believer in good cookery. I put it next + to the Christian religion—and far in front of mere + cleanliness. I've just been trying to read Professor + Metchnikoff's wonderful book on 'The Nature of Man.' It +<!-- Page 27 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page029" name="page029">[pg 29]</a> + </span> + + only confirms me in my lifelong belief that until the nature of + man is completely altered good cooking is the chief thing that + women ought to understand. Now I taught Hildegarde some cookery + myself. She was not what I should call a brilliant pupil, but + she did grasp the great eternal principles. And yet I find her + writing ( + <i>with charm and benevolence</i> + + ) stuff like her last article—'The Everlasting Boiled + Potato,' I think she called it. Hildegarde, it was really very + naughty of you to say what you said in that article. ( + <i>Drawing down</i> + + Hildegarde's + <i>head and kissing her</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Now why, Mrs. Culver? I thought it was so + clever.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. It may be clever to advocate fried potatoes and + chip potatoes and sauté potatoes as a change from the + everlasting boiled. I daresay it's what you call journalism. + But how can you fry potatoes without fat?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Ah! How?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. And where are you to obtain fat? + <i>I</i> + + can't obtain fat. I stand in queues for hours because my + servants won't—it's the latest form of + democracy—but + <i>I</i> + + can't obtain fat. I think the nearest fat is at + Stratford-on-Avon.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Stand in queues! Mrs. Culver, you make me feel very + guilty, plunging in at a +<!-- Page 28 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page030" name="page030">[pg 30]</a> + </span> + + moment's notice and demanding a whole dinner in a fatless + world. I shall eat nothing but dry bread.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. We never serve bread at lunch or dinner unless + it's specially asked for. But if soup, macaroni, eggs, and + jelly will keep you alive till breakfast—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But there's beefsteak, mamma—I've told Mr. + Tranto.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Only a little, and that's for your father. + Beefsteak's the one thing that keeps off his neuralgia, Mr. + Tranto. ( + <i>With apologetic persuasiveness</i> + + .) I'm sure you'll understand.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Dear lady, I've never had neuralgia in my life. + Macaroni, eggs, and jelly are my dream. I've always wanted to + feel like an invalid.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. And how did you get on with your Medical Board + this morning?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How marvellous of you to remember that I had a + Medical Board this morning! I believe I've found out your + secret, Mrs. Culver—you're undergoing a course of Pelman + with those sixty generals and forty admirals. Well, the Medical + Board have given me a new complaint. You'll be sorry to hear + that I'm deformed.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Not deformed!</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 29 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page031" name="page031">[pg 31]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Yes. It appears I'm flat-footed. ( + <i>Extending his leg</i> + + .) Have I ever told you that I had a dashing military career + extending over four months, three of which I spent in hospital + for a disease I hadn't got? Then I was discharged as unfit. + After a year they raked me in again. Since then I've been + boarded five times, and on the unimpeachable authority of + various R.A.M.C. Colonels I've been afflicted with valvular + disease of the heart, incipient tuberculosis, rickets, varicose + veins, diabetes—practically everything, except spotted + fever and leprosy. And now flat feet are added to all the rest. + Even the Russian collapse and the transfer of the entire German + army to the Western Front hasn't raised me higher than C 3.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. How annoying for you! You might have risen to + be a captain by this time.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>reflectively</i> + + ). No doubt, in a home unit. But if he'd gone to the Front he + would still have been a second lieutenant.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. My + <i>dear</i> + + !</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Whereas in fact I'm still one of those able-bodied + young shirkers in mufti that patriotic old gentlemen in clubs + are always writing to my uncles' papers about.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 30 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page032" name="page032">[pg 32]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. Please! please! ( + <i>A slight pause; pulling herself together; cheerfully</i> + + .) Let me see, you were going in for Siege Artillery, weren't + you?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Me! Siege Artillery. My original ambition was trench + mortars—not so noisy.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>simply</i> + + ). Oh! Then it must have been somebody else who was talking to + me about Siege Artillery. I understand it's very + scientific—all angles and degrees and wind-pressures and + things. John will soon be eighteen, and his father and I want + him to be really useful in the Army. We don't want him to be + thrown away. He has brains, and so we are thinking of Siege + Artillery for him.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>During this speech</i> + + John + <i>has entered, in evening dress</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>JOHN. Are you on Siege again, mater? The mater's keen on + Siege because she's heard somewhere it's the safest thing there + is.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. And if it does happen to be the + safest—what then?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I suppose you're all for the Flying Corps, John?</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>with condescension</i> + + ). Not specially. Since one of the old boys came and did + looping the +<!-- Page 31 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page033" name="page033">[pg 33]</a> + </span> + + loop stunts over the school the whole Fifth has gone mad on the + R.F.C. Most fellows are just like sheep. + <i>Somebody</i> + + in the Sixth has to be original. I want to fight as much as any + chap with wings across his chest, but I've got my private + career to think of too. If you ask me, the mater's had a + brain-wave for once.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Mr. Culver, + <i>back. He stands a moment at the door, surveying the + scene</i> + + . Mrs. Culver + <i>springs up, and</i> + + Tranto + <i>also rises, moving towards the door</i> + + .</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Arthur, have you come?</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>advancing a little</i> + + ). Apparently. Hello, Tranto, glad to see you. I wanted to. ( + <i>Shakes hands with</i> + + Tranto.)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. What's the matter, Arthur?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Everything.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>alarmed, but carefully coaxing</i> + + ). Why are you wearing your velvet coat? ( + <i>To</i> + + Tranto.) He always puts on his velvet coat instead of dressing + when something's gone wrong. ( + <i>To</i> + + Mr. Culver.) Have you got neuralgia again?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I don't think so.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But surely you must know! You look terribly + pale.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 32 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page034" name="page034">[pg 34]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. The effect of the velvet coat, my dear—nicely + calculated in advance.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>darting at him, holding him by the shoulders, and then + kissing him violently. With an intonation of affectionate + protest</i> + + ). Darling!</p> + + <p>JOHN. Oh! I say, mater, look here!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + Culver, + <i>still holding him</i> + + ). I'm very annoyed with you. It's perfectly absurd the way you + work. ( + <i>To</i> + + Tranto.) Do you know he was at the office all day Christmas Day + and all day Boxing Day? ( + <i>To</i> + + Culver.) You really must take a holiday.</p> + + <p>CULVER. But what about the war, darling?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>loosing him</i> + + ). Oh! You're always making the war an excuse. I know what I + shall do. I shall just go—</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes, darling, just go and suggest a short armistice + to the Germans while you take me to Brighton for a week's + fondling.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I shall just speak to Miss Starkey. Strange + that the wife, in order to influence the husband, should have + to appeal to ( + <i>disdainfully</i> + + ) the lady secretary! But so it is.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Hermione, I must beg you not to interfere between + Miss Starkey and me. Interference +<!-- Page 33 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page035" name="page035">[pg 35]</a> + </span> + + will upset Miss Starkey, and I cannot stand her being upset. I + depend upon her absolutely. First, Miss Starkey is the rock + upon which my official existence is built. She is a serious and + conscientious rock. She is hard and expects me to be hard. + Secondly, Miss Starkey is the cushion between me and the world. + She knows my tender spots, and protects them. Thirdly, Miss + Starkey is my rod—and I kiss it.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Arthur!... ( + <i>tries to be agreeable</i> + + ). But I really am vexed.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Well, I'm only hungry.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Parlourmaid.</p> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. Cook's compliments, madam, and dinner will be + twenty minutes late. ( + <i>Exit</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>A shocked silence</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>with an exhausted sigh</i> + + ). And yet I gave that cook one of my most captivating smiles + this morning.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>settling</i> + + Mr. Culver + <i>into a chair</i> + + ). She's done it simply because I told her to-night that + rationing is definitely coming in. Her reply was that the + kitchen would never stand it, whatever the Government said. She + was quite upset—and so she's gone and done something to + the dinner.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 34 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page036" name="page036">[pg 36]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Surely rather illogical of her, isn't it? Or have I + missed a link in the chain of reasoning?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I shall give her notice—after dinner.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Couldn't you leave it till after the holidays, + mother?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. And where shall you find another cook, + mamma?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. The first thing is to get rid of the present + one. Then we shall see.</p> + + <p>CULVER. My dear, you talk as if she was a prime minister. + Still, it might be a good plan to sack all the servants before + rationing comes in, and engage deaf-mutes.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Deaf-mutes!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Deaf-mutes. Then they wouldn't be worried by the + continual groaning of + <i>my</i> + + hunger, and I shouldn't hear any complaints about + <i>theirs</i> + + .</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + Hildegarde). My pet, you've time to change now. Do run and + change. You're so sombre.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I can't do it in twenty minutes.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Then put a bright shawl on—for papa's + sake.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 35 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page037" name="page037">[pg 37]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. I haven't got a bright shawl.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Then take mine. The one with the pink beads on + it. It's in my wardrobe—right-hand side.</p> + + <p>JOHN. That means it'll be on the left-hand side.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>Exit</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>back, with a look at Tranto, who opens the door for her</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>with sweet apprehensiveness</i> + + ). Now Arthur, I'm afraid after all you have something on your + mind.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I've got nothing on my stomach, anyway. ( + <i>Bracing himself</i> + + .) Yes, darling, it's true. I have got something on my mind. + Within the last hour I've had a fearful shock—</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I knew it!</p> + + <p>CULVER. And I need sustaining. I hadn't meant to say + anything until after dinner, but in view of cook's drastic + alterations in the time-table I may as well tell you ( + <i>looking round</i> + + ) at once.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. It's something about the Government again.</p> + + <p>CULVER. The Government has been in a very serious + situation.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 36 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page038" name="page038">[pg 38]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER ( + <i>alarmed</i> + + ). You mean they're going to ask you to resign?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I wish they would!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Arthur! Do please remember the country is at + war.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Is it? So it is. You see, my pet, I remember such a + lot of things. I remember that my brainy partner is counting + khaki trousers in the Army clothing department. I remember that + my other partner ought to be in a lunatic asylum, but isn't. I + remember that my business is going to the dogs at a muzzle + velocity of about five thousand feet a second. I remember that + from mere snobbishness I work for the Government without a + penny of salary, and that my sole reward is to be insulted and + libelled by high-brow novelists who write for the press. + Therefore you ought not to be startled if I secretly yearn to + resign. However, I shall not be asked to resign. I said that + the Government had been in a very serious situation. It was. + But it will soon recover.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. How soon?</p> + + <p>CULVER. On New Year's Day.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Then what's the fearful shock, dad?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Yes. Have you heard anything special?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 37 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page039" name="page039">[pg 39]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. No. But I've seen something special. I saw it less than + an hour ago. It was shown to me without the slightest warning, + and I admit it shook me. You can perceive for yourselves that + it shook me.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But what?</p> + + <p>CULVER. The New Year's Honours List—or rather a few + choice selections from the more sensational parts of it.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Hildegarde.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Arthur, + <i>what</i> + + do you mean? ( + <i>To</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>in despair</i> + + .) My chick, your father grows more and more puzzling every + day! How well that shawl suits you! You look quite a different + girl. But you've—( + <i>arranges the shawl on</i> + + Hildegarde) I really don't know what your father has on his + mind! I really don't!</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>impatient of this feminine manifestation</i> + + ). Oh, dad, go on. Go on! I want to get at the bottom of this + titles business. I'm hanged if I can understand it. What + strikes me as an unprejudiced observer is that titles are + supposed to be such a terrific honour, and yet the people who + deal them out scarcely ever keep any for themselves. Look at + Mr. Gladstone, for instance. He must have made about forty + earls and seven thousand baronets in his time. Now if I was a +<!-- Page 38 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page040" name="page040">[pg 40]</a> + </span> + + Prime Minister, and I believed in titles—which I jolly + well don't—I should make myself a duke right off; and I + should have several marquises and viscounts round me in the + Cabinet like a sort of bodyguard, and my private secretaries + would have to be knights. There'd be some logic in that + arrangement anyhow.</p> + + <p>CULVER. In view of your political career, John, will you + mind if I give you a brief lesson on elementary + politics—though you + <i>are</i> + + on your holidays?</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>easily</i> + + ). I'm game.</p> + + <p>CULVER. What is the first duty of modern Governments?</p> + + <p>JOHN. To govern.</p> + + <p>CULVER. My innocent boy. I thought better of you. I know + that you look on the venerable Mr. Tranto as a back number, and + I suspect that Mr. Tranto in his turn regards me as + prehistoric; and yet you are so behind the times as to imagine + that the first duty of modern Governments is to govern! My dear + Rip van Winkle, wake up. The first duty of a Government is to + live. It has no right to be a Government at all unless it is + convinced that if it fell the country would go to everlasting + smash. Hence its first duty is to survive. In order to survive + it must do three +<!-- Page 39 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page041" name="page041">[pg 41]</a> + </span> + + things—placate certain interests, influence votes, and + obtain secret funds. All these three things can be accomplished + by the ingenious institution of Honours. Only the simple-minded + believe that Honours are given to honour. Honours are given to + save the life of the Government. Hence the Honours List. + Examine the Honours List and you can instantly tell how the + Government feels in its inside. When the Honours List is full + of rascals, millionaires, and—er—chumps, you may be + quite sure that the Government is dangerously ill.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But that amounts to what we've been saying in + <i>The Echo</i> + + to-day.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes, I've read the + <i>The Echo</i> + + .</p> + + <p>JOHN. I thought you never had a free moment at the + office—always rushed to death—at least that's the + mater's theory.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I've read + <i>The Echo</i> + + , and my one surprise is that you're here to-night, Tranto.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Why?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I quite thought you'd have been shoved into the + Tower under the Defence of the Realm Act. Or Sampson Straight, + anyway. (Hildegarde + <i>starts</i> + + .) Your contributor has committed the unpardonable sin of + hitting the nail on +<!-- Page 40 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page042" name="page042">[pg 42]</a> + </span> + + the head. He might almost have seen an advance copy of the + Honours List.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. He hadn't. Nor had I. Who's in it?</p> + + <p>CULVER. You might ask who isn't in it. ( + <i>Taking a paper from his pocket</i> + + .) Well, Gentletie's in it. He gets a knighthood.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Never heard of him. Who is he?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Oh, yes, you've heard of him. (John + <i>glances at her severely</i> + + .) He's M.P. for some earthly paradise or other in the South + Riding.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Oh!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Perhaps I might read you something written by my + private secretary—he's one of these literary wags. You + see there's been a demand that the Government should state + clearly, in every case of an Honour, exactly what services the + Honour is given for. This ( + <i>taking paper from his pocket</i> + + ) is supposed to be the stuff sent round to the Press by the + Press Bureau. ( + <i>Reads</i> + + .) 'Mr. Gentletie has gradually made a solid reputation for + himself as the dullest man in the House of Commons. Whenever he + rises to his feet the House empties as if by magic. In cases of + inconvenience, when the Government wishes abruptly to close a + debate by counting out the House, it +<!-- Page 41 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page043" name="page043">[pg 43]</a> + </span> + + has invariably put up Mr. Gentletie to speak. The device has + never been known to fail. Nobody can doubt that Mr. Gentletie's + patriotic devotion to the Allied cause well merits the + knighthood which is now bestowed on him.'</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>astounded</i> + + .) Stay me with flagons!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. So that's that! And who else?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Another of your esteemed uncles.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, that's not very startling, seeing that my + uncle's chief daily organ is really a department of the + Government.</p> + + <p>JOHN. What I say is—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>simultaneously with</i> + + John). Wouldn't it be more correct—( + <i>continuing alone</i> + + ) wouldn't it be more correct to say that the Government is + really a department of your uncle's chief daily organ?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Hilda, old girl, I wish you wouldn't interrupt. + Cookery's your line.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Sorry, Johnnie. I see I was in danger of + becoming unsexed.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + John). Yes? You were about to say?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 42 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page044" name="page044">[pg 44]</a> + </span> + + JOHN. Oh, nothing.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + Tranto). Shall I read the passage on your uncle?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Don't trouble. Who's the next?</p> + + <p>CULVER. The next is—Ullivant, munitions manufacturer. + Let me see. ( + <i>Reads</i> + + .) By the simple means of saying that the cost price of shells + was eighteen shillings and ninepence each, whereas it was in + fact only ten shillings and ninepence, Mr. Joshua Ullivant has + made a fortune of two million pounds during the war. He has + given a hundred thousand to the Prince of Wales's Fund, a + hundred thousand to the Red Cross, and a hundred thousand to + the party funds. Total net profit on the war, one million seven + hundred thousand pounds, not counting the peerage which is now + bestowed upon him, and which it must be admitted is a just + reward for his remarkable business acumen.'</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Very agreeable fellow Ullivant is, nevertheless.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Oh, he is. They're most of them too damned agreeable + for anything. Another prominent name is Orlando Bush.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Ah!</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 43 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page045" name="page045">[pg 45]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. I've met his wife. She dances beautifully at + charity matinees.</p> + + <p>CULVER. No doubt. But apparently that's not the reason.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I know Orlando. I've just bought the serial rights + of his book.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Have you paid him?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. No.</p> + + <p>CULVER. How wise of you! ( + <i>Reads</i> + + ). 'Mr. Orlando Bush has written a historical sketch, with many + circumstantial details, of the political origins of the present + Government. For his forbearance in kindly consenting to withold + publication until the end of the war Mr. Bush receives a + well-earned'—</p> + + <p>TRANTO. What?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Knighthood.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Cheap! But what a sell for me!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Now, ladies and gentlemen, the last name with which + I will trouble you is that of Mr. James Brill.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Not Jimmy Brill!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Jimmy Brill.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 44 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page046" name="page046">[pg 46]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. But he's a—</p> + + <p>CULVER. Stop, my dear Tranto. No crude phrases, please. ( + <i>Reads</i> + + .) 'Mr. James Brill, to use the language of metaphor, possessed + a pistol, which pistol he held point blank at the head of the + Government. The Government has thought it wise to purchase Mr. + James Brill's pistol—'</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But he's a—</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>raising a hand</i> + + ). He is merely the man with the pistol, and in exchange for + the pistol he gets a baronetcy.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. A baronetcy!</p> + + <p>CULVER. His title and pistol will go rattling down the ages, + my dear Tranto, from generation to generation. For the moment + the fellow's name stinks, but only for the moment. In the + nostrils of his grandson (third baronet), it will have a most + sweet odour.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But all this is perfectly shocking.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Now I hope you comprehend my emotion, darling.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER But surely there are some + <i>nice</i> + + names on the List.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 45 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page047" name="page047">[pg 47]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Of course. There have to be some nice names, for the + sake of the psychological effect on the public mind on New + Year's Day. The public looks for a good name, or for a name it + can understand. It skims down the List till it sees one. Then + it says: 'Ah! That's not so bad!' Then it skims down further + till it sees another one, and it says again: 'Ah! That's not so + bad!' And so on. So that with about five or six decent names + you can produce the illusion that after all the List is really + rather good.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. The strange thing to me is that decent people + condescend to receive titles at all.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Bravo, Hildegarde! Yes, if it's so bad as you + make out, Arthur, why + <i>do</i> + + decent people take Honours?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I'll tell you. Decent people have wives, and their + wives lead them by the nose. That's why decent people take + Honours.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Well, I think it's monstrous!</p> + + <p>CULVER. So it is. I've been a Conservative all my life; I am + a Conservative. I swear I am. And yet, now when I look back, + I'm amazed at the things I used to do. Why, once I actually + voted against a candidate who stood for the reform of the House + of Lords. Seems incredible. This +<!-- Page 46 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page048" name="page048">[pg 48]</a> + </span> + + war is changing my ideas. ( + <i>Suddenly, after a slight pause</i> + + .) I'm dashed if I don't join the Labour party and ask Ramsay + Macdonald to lunch.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Parlourmaid, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. You are wanted on the telephone, madam.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Oh, Arthur! ( + <i>Pats him on the shoulder as she goes out</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>Exit</i> + + Mrs. Culver + <i>and</i> + + Parlourmaid, + <i>back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER. Hildegarde, go and see if you can hurry up + dinner.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. No one could.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Never mind, go and see. ( + <i>Exit</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>back</i> + + .) John, just take these keys, and get some cigars out of the + cabinet, you know, Partagas.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Oh! Is it a Partaga night? ( + <i>Exit, back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>watching the door close</i> + + ). Tranto, we are conspirators.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. You and I?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes. But we must have no secrets. Who wrote that + article in + <i>The Echo</i> + + ? Who is Sampson Straight?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 47 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page049" name="page049">[pg 49]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO ( + <i>temporising, lightly</i> + + ). You remind me of the man with the pistol.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Is it Hildegarde?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How did you guess?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Well; first, I knew my daughter couldn't be the + piffling lunatic who does your war cookery articles. Second, I + asked myself: What reason has she for pretending to be that + piffling lunatic? Third, I have an exceedingly high opinion of + my daughter's brains. Fourth, she gave a funny start just now + when I mentioned the idea of Sampson Straight going to the + Tower.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Perhaps I ought to explain—</p> + + <p>CULVER. No you oughn't. There's no time. I simply wanted a + bit of information. I've got it. Now I have a bit of + information for you. I've been offered a place in this + beautiful Honours List. Baronetcy! Me! I am put on the same + high plane as Mr. James Brill, the unspeakable. The formal + offer hasn't actually arrived—it's late; I expect the + letter'll be here in the morning—but I know for a fact + I'm in the List for a baronetcy.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, I congratulate you.</p> + + <p>CULVER. You'd better not.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 48 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page050" name="page050">[pg 50]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. You deserve more than a baronetcy. Your department has + been a striking success—one of the very few in the whole + length of Whitehall.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I know my department has been a success. But that's + not why I'm offered a baronetcy. Good heavens, I haven't even + spoken to any member of the War Cabinet yet. I've been trying + to for about a year, but in spite of powerful influences to + help me I've never been able to bring off a meeting with the + mandarins. No! I'm offered a baronetcy because I'm respectable; + I'm decent; and at the last moment they thought the List looked + a bit too thick—so they pushed me in. One of their + brilliant afterthoughts!... No damned merit about the thing, I + can tell you!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Do you mean you intend to refuse?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Do you mean you ever imagined that I should accept? + Me, in the same galley with Brill—who daren't go into his + own clubs—and Ullivant, and a few more pretty nearly as + bad! Of course, I shall refuse. Nothing on earth would induce + me to accept. Nothing! ( + <i>More calmly</i> + + .) Mind you, I don't blame the Government; probably the + Government can't help itself. Therefore the Government must be + helped; and sometimes the best way to help a fellow creature is + to bring him to his senses by catching him one across the + jaw.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 49 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page051" name="page051">[pg 51]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Why are you making a secret of it? The offer is surely + bound to come out.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Of course. I'm only making a secret of it for the + moment, while I prepare the domestic ground for my refusal.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. You wish me to understand—</p> + + <p>CULVER. You know what women are. ( + <i>With caution</i> + + .) I speak of the sex in general.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I see.</p> + + <p>CULVER. That's all right.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, if I mayn't congratulate you on the title, let + me congratulate you on your marvellous skill in this delicate + operation of preparing the domestic ground for your refusal of + the title. Your success is complete, absolute.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>sardonic</i> + + .) Complete? Absolute?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. You have—er—jockeyed + Mrs.—er—the sex into committing itself quite + definitely against titles. Hence I look on your position as + impregnable.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Good heavens, Tranto! How old are you?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Twenty-five.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 50 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page052" name="page052">[pg 52]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. A quarter of a century—and you haven't learnt + that no position is impregnable against—er—the sex! + You never know where the offensive will come, nor when, nor + how. The offensive is bound to be a surprise. You aren't + married. When you are you'll soon find out that being a husband + is a whole-time job. That's why so many husbands fail. They + can't give their entire attention to it. Tranto, my position + must be still further strengthened—during dinner. It + can't be strengthened too much. I've brought you into the + conspiracy because you're on the spot and I want you to play + up.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Certainly, sir.</p> + + <p>CULVER. The official letter + <i>might</i> + + come by to-night's post. If it does, a considerable amount of + histrionic skill will be needed.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Trust me for that.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Oh! I do! Indeed I fancy after all I'm fairly safe. + There's only one danger.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Yes?</p> + + <p>CULVER. My—I mean the sex, must hear of the offered + title from me first. If the news came to her indirectly + she'd—</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Mrs. Culver + <i>rapidly, back</i> + + .</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 51 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page053" name="page053">[pg 53]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER ( + <i>rushing to him</i> + + ). Darling! Dearest! What a tease you are! You needn't pretend + any longer. Lady Prockter has just whispered to me over the + telephone that you're to have a baronetcy. Of course she'd be + bound to know. She said I might tell you. I never + <i>dreamed</i> + + of a title. I'm so glad. Oh! But you + <i>are</i> + + a tease! ( + <i>Kisses him enthusiastically</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote">CURTAIN.</p> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 52 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page054" name="page054">[pg 54]</a> + </span> + + <br /> + +<!-- Page 52 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page055" name="page055">[pg 55]</a> + </span> + + <h2> + <a name='ACT_II'>ACT II</a> + </h2> + +<!-- Page 53 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page056" name="page056">[pg 56]</a> + </span> + + <br /> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 54 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page057" name="page057">[pg 57]</a> + </span> + + <h2>ACT II</h2> + + <br /> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>The next day after dinner</i> + + . Culver + <i>and</i> + + Parlourmaid.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>handing</i> + + Parlourmaid + <i>a letter</i> + + ). That's for the post. Is Miss Starkey here?</p> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. Yes, sir. She is waiting.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Ask her to be good enough to keep on waiting. She + may come in when I ring twice.</p> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. Yes, sir.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Mrs. Culver, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + Parlourmaid, + <i>stopping her as she goes out, dramatically</i> + + ). Give me that letter. ( + <i>She snatches the letter from the</i> + + Parlourmaid.) You can go. (Culver + <i>rises</i> + + .) ( + <i>Exit</i> + + Parlourmaid.)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I am determined to make a stand this time.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>soothingly</i> + + ). So I see, darling.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 55 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page058" name="page058">[pg 58]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. I have given way to you all my life. But I won't + give way now. This letter shall not go.</p> + + <p>CULVER. As you like, darling.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. No. ( + <i>She tears the envelope open, without having looked at it, + and throws the letter into the fire. In doing so she lets fall + a cheque</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>rising and picking up the cheque</i> + + ). I'll keep the cheque as a memento.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Cheque? What cheque?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Darling, once in the old, happy days—I think + it was last week—you and I were walking down Bond Street, + almost hand in hand, but not quite, and you saw a brooch in a + shop window. You simply had to have that brooch. I offered it + to you for a Christmas present. You are wearing it now, and + very well it suits you. This ( + <i>indicating the cheque</i> + + ) was to pay the bill.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Arthur!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Moral: Look before you burn. Miss Starkey will now + have to write a fresh letter.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Arthur! You must forgive me. I'm in a horrid + state of nerves, and you said you +<!-- Page 56 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page059" name="page059">[pg 59]</a> + </span> + + were positively going to write to Lord Woking to-night to + refuse the title.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I did say so.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>hopefully</i> + + ). But you haven't written?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I haven't.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. You don't know how relieved I am!</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>sitting down, drawing her to him, and setting her on his + knee</i> + + ). Infant! Cherub! Angel! Dove!... Devil! ( + <i>Caressing her</i> + + .) Are we friends?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. It kills me to quarrel with you. ( + <i>They kiss</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER. Darling, we are absurd.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I don't care.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Supposing that anyone came in and caught us!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Well, we're married.</p> + + <p>CULVER.—But it's so long since. Hildegarde's + twenty-one! John, seventeen!</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 57 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page060" name="page060">[pg 60]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. It seems to me like yesterday.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes, you're incurably a girl.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I'm not.</p> + + <p>CULVER. You are. And I'm a boy. I say we are absurd. We're + continually absurd. We were absurd all last evening when we + pretended before the others, with the most disastrous results, + that nothing was the matter. We were still more absurd when we + went to our twin beds and argued savagely with each other from + bed to bed until four o'clock this morning. Do you know that I + had exactly one hour and fifty-five minutes' sleep? ( + <i>Yawns</i> + + .) Do you know that owing to extreme exhaustion my behaviour at + my office to-day has practically lost the war? But the most + absurd thing of all was you trying to do the Roman matron + business at dinner to-night. Mind you, I adore you for being + absurd, but—</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>very endearingly, putting her hand on his mouth</i> + + ). Dearest, you needn't continue. I know you're wiser and + stronger than me in every way. But I love that. Most women + wouldn't; but I do. ( + <i>Kisses him</i> + + .) Oh! I'm so glad you've at last seen the force of my + arguments about the title.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 58 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page061" name="page061">[pg 61]</a> + </span> + + CULVER ( + <i>gently warning</i> + + ). Now, now! You're behaving like a journalist.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Like a journalist?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Journalists say a thing that they know isn't true, + in the hope that if they keep on saying it long enough it + <i>will</i> + + be true.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But you do see the force of my arguments!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Quite. But I also see the force of mine, and, as an + impartial judge, I'm bound to say that yours aren't in it with + mine.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Then you've refused the title after all?</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>ingratiatingly</i> + + ). No. I told you I hadn't. But I'm going to. I was just + thinking over the terms of the fatal letter to Lord Woking when + you came in. Starkey is now waiting for me to dictate it. You + see it positively must be posted to-night.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>springing from his knee</i> + + ). Arthur, you're playing with me!</p> + + <p>CULVER. No doubt. Like a mouse plays with a cat.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 59 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page062" name="page062">[pg 62]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. Surely it has occurred to you—</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>firmly, but very pleasantly</i> + + ). Stop! You had till four o'clock this morning to deliver all + your arguments. You aren't going to begin again. I understand + you've stayed in bed all day. Quite right! But if you stayed in + bed merely to think of fresh arguments while I've been slaving + away at the office for my country, I say you're taking an + unfair advantage of me, and I won't have it.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>with dignity</i> + + ). No. I haven't any fresh arguments; and if I had, I shouldn't + say what they were.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Oh! Why?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Because I can see it's useless to argue with a + man like you.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Now that's what I call better news from the + Front.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I was only going to say this. Surely it has + occurred to you that on patriotic grounds alone you oughtn't to + refuse the title. I quite agree that Honours have been + degraded. Quite! The thing surely is to try and make them + respectable again. And how are they ever to be respectable if + respectable men refuse them?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 60 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page063" name="page063">[pg 63]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. This looks to me suspiciously like an argument.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Not at all. It's simply a question.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Well, the answer is, I don't want Honours to be + respectable any more. Proverb: When fish has gone bad ten + thousand decent men can't take away the stink.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Now you're insulting your country. I know you + often pretend your country's the slackest place on earth, but + it's only pretence. You don't really think so. The truth is + that inside you you're positively conceited about your country. + You think it's the greatest country that ever was. And so it + is. And yet when your country offers you this honour you talk + about bad fish. I say it's an insult to Great Britain.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Great Britain hasn't offered me any title. The fact + is that there are a couple of shrewd fellows up a devil of a + tree in Whitehall, and they're waving a title at me in the hope + that I shall come and stand under the tree so that they can get + down by putting their dirty boots on my shoulders. Well, I'm + not going to be a ladder.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I wish you wouldn't try to be funny.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 61 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page064" name="page064">[pg 64]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. I'm not + <i>trying</i> + + to be funny. I + <i>am</i> + + being funny.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. You might be serious for once.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I am serious. Beneath this amusing and delightful + exterior, there is hidden the most serious, determined, + resolute, relentless, inexorable, immovable man that ever + breathed. And let me tell you something else, my + girl—something I haven't mentioned before because of my + nice feelings. What has this title affair got to do with you? + What the dickens has it got to do with you? The title isn't + offered as a reward for + <i>your</i> + + work; it's offered as a reward for + <i>my</i> + + work. + <i>You</i> + + aren't the Controller of Accounts, + <i>I</i> + + happen to be the Controller of Accounts. I have decided to + refuse the title, and I shall refuse it. + <i>Nothing will induce me to accept it</i> + + . Do I make myself clear, or ( + <i>smiling affectionately</i> + + ) am I lost in a mist of words?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>suddenly furious</i> + + ). You are a brute. You always were. You never think of anybody + but yourself. My life has been one long sacrifice, and you know + it perfectly well. Perfectly well! You talk about + <i>your</i> + + work. What about my work? Why! You'd be utterly useless without + me. You can't even look after your own collars. Could you go + down to your ridiculous +<!-- Page 62 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page065" name="page065">[pg 65]</a> + </span> + + office without a collar? I've done everything for you, + everything! And now! ( + <i>Weeping</i> + + ). I can't even be called 'my lady.' I only wanted to hear the + parlourmaid call me 'my lady.' It seems a simple enough + thing—</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>persuasively and softly, trying to seize her</i> + + ). You divine little snob!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>in a supreme, blazing outbreak escaping him</i> + + ). Let me alone! I told you at the start I should never give + way. And I never will. Never! If you send that letter of + refusal, do you know what I shall do? I shall go and see the + War Cabinet myself. I shall tell them you don't mean it. I'll + make the most horrible scandal.... When I think of the Duke of + Wellington—</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>surprised and alarmed</i> + + ). The Duke of Wellington?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>drawing herself up at the door, L</i> + + ). The Duke of Wellington didn't refuse a title! Hildegarde + shall sleep in our room, and you can have hers! ( + <i>Exit violently, L</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>intimidated, as she goes</i> + + ). Look here, hurricane! ( + <i>He rushes out after her</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Hildegarde + <i>and</i> + + Tranto, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 63 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page066" name="page066">[pg 66]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>seeing the room empty</i> + + ). Well, I thought I heard them.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>catching noise of high words from the boudoir</i> + + .) I fancy I + <i>do</i> + + hear them.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Perhaps we'd better go.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But I want to speak to you—just for a + moment.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>moving uneasily</i> + + ). What about?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I don't know. Anything. It doesn't matter what ... I + don't hear them now.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>listening and hearing nothing; reassured</i> + + ). I should have thought you wouldn't have wanted to come here + any more for a long time.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Why?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. After the terrible experiences of last night, + during dinner and after dinner.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The general constraint?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. The general constraint.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The awkwardness? +<!-- Page 64 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page067" name="page067">[pg 67]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. The awkwardness.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The frightful silences and the forced + conversations?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>nods</i> + + ). Why + <i>did</i> + + you come?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I suppose you're still confined to this + house.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>in a new confidential tone</i> + + ). I wish you'd treat me as your father does.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But of course I will—</p> + + <p>TRANTO. That's fine. He treats me as an intimate friend.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But you must treat me as you treat papa.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>slightly dashed</i> + + ). I'll try. I might tell you that I had two very straight + talks with your father last night.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Two?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Yes; one before dinner, and the other just before I + left—when you'd gone to bed. He began them—both of + them.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 65 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page068" name="page068">[pg 68]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. Oh! So that you may be said to know the whole + situation.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Yes. Up to last thing last night, that is.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Since then it's developed on normal lines. What + do you think of it?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I adore your mother, but I think your father's quite + right.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Well, naturally! I take that for granted. I was + expecting something rather more original.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. You shall have it. I think that you and I are very + largely responsible for the situation. I think our joint + responsibility binds us inextricably together.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Mr. Tranto!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Certainly. There's no doubt in my mind that your + father was enormously influenced by Sampson Straight's article + on the Honours scandal. In fact he told me so. And seeing that + you wrote it and I published it—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>alarmed</i> + + ). You didn't tell him I'm Sampson Straight? +<!-- Page 66 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page069" name="page069">[pg 69]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Can you imagine me doing such a thing?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I hope not. Shall I tell you what + <i>I</i> + + think of the situation?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I wish you would.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I think such situations would never arise if + parents weren't so painfully unromantic. I'm not speaking + particularly of papa and mamma. I mean all parents. But take + mamma. She's absolutely matter-of-fact. And papa's nearly as + bad. Of course I know they're always calling each other by pet + names; but that's mere camouflage for their matter-of-factness. + Whereas if they both had in them a little of the real romance + of life—everything would be different. At the same time I + needn't say that in this affair that we're now in the middle + of—there's no question of ratiocination.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Of what?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Ratiocination. Reasoning. On either side.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Oh no!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. It's simply a question of mutual attitude, isn't + it? Now, if only—. But there! +<!-- Page 67 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page070" name="page070">[pg 70]</a> + </span> + + What's the use? Parents are like that, poor dears! They have + forgotten! ( + <i>With emphasis</i> + + .) They have forgotten—what makes life worth living.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. You mean, for instance, your mother never sits on + your father's knee.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>bravely, after hesitation</i> + + ). Yes! Crudely—that's what I do mean.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Miss Hildegarde, you are the most marvellous girl I + ever met. You are, really! You seem to combine all qualities. + It's amazing to me. I'm more and more astounded. Every time I + come here there's a fresh revelation. Now you mention romance. + I'm glad you mentioned it first. But I + <i>saw</i> + + it first. I saw it in your eyes the first time I ever met you. + Yes! Miss Hilda, do you see it in mine? Look. Look closely. ( + <i>Approaching her</i> + + .) Because it's there. I must tell you. I can't wait any + longer. ( + <i>Feeling for her hand, vainly</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>drawing back</i> + + ). Mr. Tranto, is this the way you treat father?</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Mr. Culver, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>quickly</i> + + ). Hilda, go to your mother. She's upstairs. +<!-- Page 68 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page071" name="page071">[pg 71]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. What am I to do?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I don't know. ( + <i>With meaning</i> + + .) Think what the sagacious Sampson Straight would do, and do + that.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">(Hildegarde + <i>gives a sharp look first at</i> + + Culver, + <i>and then at</i> + + Tranto, + <i>and exit, back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>turning to</i> + + Tranto). My dear fellow, the war is practically over.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Good heavens! There was nothing on the tape when I + left the Club.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Oh! I don't mean your war. I mean the twenty-two + years' war.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The twenty-two years' war?</p> + + <p>CULVER. My married life. Over! Finished! Napoo!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Do you know what you're saying?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Look here, Tranto. You and I don't belong to the + same generation. In fact, if I'd started early enough I might + have been your father. But we got so damned intimate last + night, and I'm in such a damned hole, and you're so damned + wise, that I feel I must talk to you. Not that it'll be any + use.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 69 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page072" name="page072">[pg 72]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. But what's the matter?</p> + + <p>CULVER. The matter is—keeping a woman in the + house.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Mr. Culver! You don't mean—</p> + + <p>CULVER. I mean my wife—of course. I've just had the + most ghastly rumpus with my wife. It was divided into two acts. + The first took place here, the second in the boudoir ( + <i>indicating boudoir</i> + + ). The second act was the shortest but the worst.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But what was it all about?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Now for heaven's sake don't ask silly questions. You + know perfectly well what it was about. It was about the + baronetcy. I have decided to refuse that baronetcy, and my wife + has refused to let me refuse it.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But what are her arguments?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I've implored you once not to ask silly questions. + 'What are her arguments' indeed! She hasn't got any arguments. + You know that. You're too wise not to know it. She merely wants + the title, that's all.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. And how did the second act end?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I don't quite remember.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 70 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page073" name="page073">[pg 73]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Let me suggest that you sit down. (Culver + <i>sits</i> + + .) Thanks. Now I've always gathered from my personal + observation, that you, if I may say so, are the top dog here + when it comes to the point—the crowned head, as it + were.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. At least, + it did last night, and I shall be greatly surprised if it + doesn't to-night.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Naturally. A crown isn't a night-cap. But you are + the top dog. In the last resort, what you say, goes. That is + so, isn't it? I only want to be clear.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes, I think that's pretty right.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, you have decided on public grounds, and as a + question of principle, to refuse the title. You intend to + refuse it.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I—I do.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Nobody can stop you from refusing it.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Nobody.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Mrs. Culver can't stop you from refusing it?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Certainly not. It concerns me alone.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 71 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page074" name="page074">[pg 74]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Well, then, where is the difficulty? A rumpus—I + think you said. What of that? My dear Mr. Culver, believe me, I + have seen far more of marriage than you have. You're only a + married man. I'm a bachelor, and I've assisted at scores of + married lives. A rumpus is nothing. It passes—and leaves + the victor more firmly established than ever before.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>rising</i> + + ). Don't talk to me of rumpuses. I know all about rumpuses. + This one is an arch-rumpus. This one is like no other rumpus + that ever was. It's something new in my vast experience. I + shall win. I have won. But at what cost? ( + <i>With effect</i> + + .) The cost may be that I shall never kiss the enemy again. The + whole domestic future is in grave jeopardy.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Seriously?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Seriously.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Then you musn't win.</p> + + <p>CULVER. But what about my public duty? What about my + principles? I can't sacrifice my principles.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Why not?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I never have.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How old are you?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 72 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page075" name="page075">[pg 75]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Forty-four.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. And you've never sacrificed a principle?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Never.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Then it's high time you began. And you'd better + begin, before it's too late. Besides, there are no principles + in married life.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Tranto, you are remarkable. How did you find that + out?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I've often noticed it.</p> + + <p>CULVER. It's a profound truth. It throws a new light on the + entire situation.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. It does.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Then you deliberately advise me to give way about + the title?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I do.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Strange! ( + <i>Casually</i> + + .) I had thought of doing so, but I never dreamt you'd agree, + and I'd positively determined to act on your advice. You know, + you're taking an immense responsibility.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 73 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page076" name="page076">[pg 76]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. I can bear that. What I couldn't bear is any kind of + real trouble in this house.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Why? What's it got to do with you?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Nothing! Nothing! Only my abstract interest in the + institution of marriage.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>ringing the bell twice</i> + + ). Ah, well, after all, I'm not utterly beaten yet. I've quite + half an hour before post goes, and I shall fight to the last + ditch.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But hasn't Mrs. Culver retired?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. May I suggest that it would be mistaken tactics + to—er—run after her?</p> + + <p>CULVER. It would.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well then?</p> + + <p>CULVER. She will return.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How do you know?</p> + + <p>CULVER. She always does.... No, Tranto, I may yet get peace + on my own terms. You see I'm an accountant. No ordinary people, + accountants! +<!-- Page 74 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page077" name="page077">[pg 77]</a> + </span> + + For one thing they make their money by counting other people's. + I've known accountants do marvellous stunts.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Miss Starkey, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I'll leave you.</p> + + <p>CULVER. You'll find John somewhere about. I shan't be so + very long—I hope. Miss Starkey, kindly take down these + two letters. How much time have we before post goes?</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>Exit</i> + + Tranto, + <i>back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Forty minutes.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Excellent.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY ( + <i>indicating some papers which she has brought</i> + + ). These things ought to be attended to to-night.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Possibly. But they won't be.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. The Rosenberg matter is very urgent. He leaves + for Glasgow to-morrow.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I wish he'd leave for Berlin. I won't touch it + to-night. Please take down these two letters.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 75 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page078" name="page078">[pg 78]</a> + </span> + + MISS STARKEY. Then it will be necessary for you to be at the + office at 9.30 in the morning.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I decline to be at the office at 9.30 in the + morning.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. But I've an appointment for you. I was afraid + you wouldn't do anything to-night.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>resigned</i> + + ). Very well! Very well! Tell them to call me, and see cook + about breakfast. ( + <i>Beginning to dictate</i> + + .) 'My dear Lord Woking'—</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY ( + <i>sitting</i> + + ). Excuse me, is this letter about the title?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Then it ought to be an autograph letter. + That's the etiquette.</p> + + <p>CULVER. How do you know?</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. General knowledge.</p> + + <p>CULVER. In this case the rule will be broken. That's + flat.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Then I must imitate your handwriting.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Can you?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 76 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page079" name="page079">[pg 79]</a> + </span> + + MISS STARKEY. You ought to know, Mr. Culver—by this + time.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I don't know officially. However, have your own way. + Forge the whole thing, signature and all. I don't care. 'My + dear Lord Woking. Extreme pressure of—er—government + business has compelled me to leave till last thing to-night my + reply to your letter in which you are good enough to + communicate to me the offer of a baronetcy. I cannot adequately + express to you my sense of the honour in contemplation, but, + comma, for certain personal reasons with which I need not + trouble you, comma, I feel bound, with the greatest respect and + the greatest gratitude, to ask to be allowed to refuse. (Miss + Starkey + <i>shows emotion</i> + + .) I am sure I can rely on you to convey my decision to the + proper quarter with all your usual tact. Believe me, my dear + Lord Woking, Cordially yours.' ( + <i>To</i> + + Miss Starkey.) What in heaven's name is the matter with + you?</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Mr. Culver. I shall have to give you a month's + notice.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>staggered</i> + + ). Have—have you gone mad too?</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Not that I am aware of. But I must give a + month's notice—for certain personal reasons with which I + need not trouble you. +<!-- Page 77 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page080" name="page080">[pg 80]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Young woman, you know that you are absolutely + indispensable to me. You know that without you I should + practically cease to exist. I am quite open with you as to + that—and as to everything. You are acquainted with the + very depths of my character and the most horrible secrets of my + life. I conceal nothing from you, and I demand that you conceal + nothing from me. What are your reasons for giving me notice in + this manner?</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. My self respect would not allow me to remain + with a gentleman who had refused a title. Oh, Mr. Culver, to be + the private secretary to a baronet has been my life's dream. + And—and—I have just had the offer of a place where + a + <i>peerage</i> + + is in prospect. Still, I wouldn't have, taken even that if you + had not—if you had not—( + <i>controlling herself, coldly</i> + + ). Kindly accept my notice. I give it at once because I shall + have no time to lose for the peerage.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Miss Starkey, you drive me to the old, old + conclusion—all women are alike.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Then my leaving will cause you no + inconvenience, because you'll easily get another girl exactly + like me.</p> + + <p>CULVER. You are a heartless creature. ( + <i>In an ordinary voice</i> + + .) Did we finish the first letter? +<!-- Page 78 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page081" name="page081">[pg 81]</a> + </span> + + This is the second one. ( + <i>Dictates</i> + + .) 'My dear Lord Woking'—</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. But you've just given me that one.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>firmly</i> + + .) 'My dear Lord Woking.' Go on the same as the first one down + to 'I cannot adequately express to you my sense of the honour + in contemplation.' 'Full stop. I need hardly say that, in spite + of my feeling that I have done only too little to deserve it, I + accept it with the greatest pleasure and the greatest + gratitude. Believe me, etc.'</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. But—</p> + + <p>CULVER. Don't imagine that your giving me notice has + affected me in the slightest degree. It has not. I told you I + had two letters. I have not yet decided whether to accept or + refuse the title. ( + <i>Enter</i> + + Mrs. Culver, + <i>back</i> + + .) Go and copy both letters and bring them in to me in a + quarter of an hour, whether I ring or not. That will give you + plenty of time for post. Now—run! ( + <i>Exit</i> + + Miss Starkey, + <i>back</i> + + . Culver + <i>rises, clears his throat, and obviously braces himself for a + final effort of firmness</i> + + . Mrs. Culver + <i>calmly rearranges some flowers in a vase</i> + + .) Well, my dear, I was expecting you.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 79 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page082" name="page082">[pg 82]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER ( + <i>very sweetly</i> + + ), Arthur, I was wrong.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>startled</i> + + ). Good God! (Mrs. Culver + <i>bends down to examine the upholstery of a chair</i> + + . Culver + <i>gives a gesture, first of triumph, and then of + apprehension</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>looking straight at him</i> + + ). I say I was wrong.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>lightly, but uneasily</i> + + ). Oh no! Oh no!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Of course I don't mean wrong in my arguments + about the title. Not for a moment. I mean I was wrong not to + sacrifice my own point of view. I'm only a woman, and it's the + woman's place to submit. So I do submit. Naturally I shall + always be a true wife to you, but—</p> + + <p>CULVER. Now child, don't begin to talk like that. I don't + mind + <i>reading</i> + + novels, but I won't have raw lumps of them thrown + <i>at</i> + + me.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>with a gentle smile</i> + + ), I + <i>must</i> + + talk like this. I shall do everything I can to make you + comfortable, and I hope nobody, and especially not the poor + children, will notice any difference in our relations.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>advancing, with a sort of menace</i> + + ). But?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 80 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page083" name="page083">[pg 83]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. But things can never be the same again.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I knew the confounded phrase was coming. I knew it. + I've read it scores of times. ( + <i>Picking up the vase</i> + + .) Hermione, if you continue in that strain, I will dash this + vase into a thousand fragments.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>quietly taking the vase from him and putting it down</i> + + ). Arthur, I could have forgiven you everything. What do I + care—really—about a title? ( + <i>Falsely</i> + + .) I only care for your happiness. But I can't forgive you for + having laid a trap for me last night—and in front of the + children and a stranger too.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Laid a trap for you?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. You knew all about the title when you first + came in last night and you deliberately led me on.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Oh! That! Ah well! One does what one can. You've + laid many a trap for me, my girl. You're still about ten up and + two to play in the trap game.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I've never laid a trap for you.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Fibster! Come here. (Mrs. Culver + <i>hesitates</i> + + .) Come hither—and be kissed. ( + <i>She</i> + +<!-- Page 81 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page084" name="page084">[pg 84]</a> + </span> + + <i>approaches submissively, and then, standing like a marble + statue, allows herself to be kissed</i> + + . Culver + <i>assumes the attitude of the triumphant magnanimous male</i> + + .) There! That's all right.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>having moved away; still very sweetly and coldly</i> + + ). Can I do anything else for you before I go to bed?</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>ignoring the question; grandly and tolerantly</i> + + ). Do you suppose, my marble statue, that after all I've said + at the Club about the rascality of this Honours business, I + could ever have appeared there as a New Year Baronet? The + thing's unthinkable. Why, I should have had to resign and join + another Club!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>calmly and severely</i> + + ). So that's it, is it? I might have known what was really at + the bottom of it all. Your Club again! You have to choose + between your wife and your Club, and of course it's your wife + that must suffer. Naturally!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Go on! You'll be saying next that I've committed + bigamy with my Club.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>with youthful vivacity</i> + + ). I'm an old woman—</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 82 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page085" name="page085">[pg 85]</a> + </span> + + CULVER ( + <i>flatteringly</i> + + ). Yes, look at you! Hag! When I fell in love with you your + hair was still down. The marvel to me is that I ever let you + put it up.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I'm only an old woman now. You have had the + best part of my life. You might have given me great pleasure + with this title. But no! Your Club comes first. And what a + child you are! As if there's one single member of your Club who + wouldn't envy you your baronetcy! However, I've nothing more to + say. ( + <i>Moving towards the door, back</i> + + .) Oh yes, I have. ( + <i>Casually</i> + + .) I've decided to go away to-morrow and stay with grandma for + a long holiday. She needs me, and if I'm not to break down + entirely I must have a change. I've told Hildegarde + our—arrangements. The poor girl's terribly upset. Please + don't disturb me in the morning. I shall take the noon train. + Good-night.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Hermione!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>returning a little from the direction of the door, + submissively</i> + + ). Yes, Arthur.</p> + + <p>CULVER. If you keep on playing the martyr much longer there + will be bloodshed, and you'll know what martyrdom is.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 83 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page086" name="page086">[pg 86]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER ( + <i>in a slightly relenting tone</i> + + ). Arthur, you were always conscientious. Your conscience is + working.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I have no conscience. Never had.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>persuasively, and with much charm</i> + + ). Yes you have, and it's urging you to give way to your + sensible little wife. You know you're only bluffing.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Indeed I'm not.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Yes, you are. Mr. Tranto advised you to give + way, and you think such a lot of his opinion.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Who told you Tranto advised me to give way?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. He did.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Damn him!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>soothingly</i> + + ). Yes, yes.</p> + + <p>CULVER. No, no!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. And your dear, indispensable Miss Starkey + thinks the same. ( + <i>She tries to kiss him</i> + + .) +<!-- Page 84 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page087" name="page087">[pg 87]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. No, no! (Mrs. Culver + <i>succeeds in kissing him</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Miss Starkey.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>The other two spring apart. A short pause</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER. Which is the refusal?</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. This one.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Put it in the fire. (Miss Starkey + <i>obeys. Both the women show satisfaction in their different + ways</i> + + .) Give me the acceptance. ( + <i>He takes the letter of acceptance and reads it</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>while he is reading the letter</i> + + ). Miss Starkey, you look very pale. Have you had any + dinner?</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Not yet, madam.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. You poor dear! ( + <i>She strokes</i> + + Miss Starkey. + <i>They both look at the tyrannical male</i> + + .) I'll order something for you at once.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. I shall have to go to the post first.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>glancing up</i> + + ). I'll go to the post myself. I must have air, air! Where's + the envelope? ( + <i>Exit</i> + + Miss Starkey + <i>quickly, back</i> + + .) +<!-- Page 85 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page088" name="page088">[pg 88]</a> + </span> + + (Mrs. Culver + <i>gently takes the letter from her husband and reads it</i> + + . Culver + <i>drops into a chair</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>putting down the letter</i> + + ). Darling!</p> + + <p>CULVER. I thought I was a brute?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>caressing and kissing him</i> + + ). I do so love my brute, and I am so happy. Darling! But you + are a silly old darling, wasting all this time.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Wasting all what time?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Why, the moment I came in again I could see + you'd decided to give way. ( + <i>With a gesture of delight</i> + + .) I must run and tell the children. ( + <i>Exit, L</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Miss Starkey + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Here's the envelope.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>taking it</i> + + ). Tell them to get me my hat and overcoat.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Yes, Sir Arthur. (Culver + <i>starts</i> + + .) ( + <i>Exit</i> + + Miss Starkey, + <i>back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>as he puts the letter in the envelope; with an air of + discovery</i> + + ). I suppose I + <i>do</i> + + like being called 'Sir Arthur.'</p> + +<!-- Page 86 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page089" name="page089">[pg 89]</a> + </span> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Hildegard + <i>and</i> + + John + <i>both disgusted, back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>to</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>as they come in</i> + + ). I told you last night he couldn't control even the mater. + However, I'll be even with her yet.</p> + + <p>CULVER. What do you mean, boy?</p> + + <p>JOHN. I mean I'll be even with the mater yet. You'll + see.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Papa, you've behaved basely. Basely! What an + example to us! I intend to leave this house and live alone.</p> + + <p>CULVER. You ought to marry Mr. Sampson Straight. (Hildegarde + + <i>starts and is silent</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>JOHN. Fancy me having to go back to school the son of a + rotten baronet, and with the frightful doom of being a rotten + baronet myself. What price the anti-hereditary-principle + candidate! Dad, I hope you won't die just yet—it would + ruin my political career. Stay me with flagons!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Me too!</p> + + <p class="stagenote">CURTAIN.</p> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 87 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page090" name="page090">[pg 90]</a> + </span> + + <br /> + +<!-- Page 87 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page091" name="page091">[pg 91]</a> + </span> + + <h2> + <a name='ACT_III'>ACT III</a> + </h2> + + <br /> + +<!-- Page 88 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page092" name="page092">[pg 92]</a> + </span> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 89 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page093" name="page093">[pg 93]</a> + </span> + + <h2>ACT III</h2> + + <br /> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>The next day, before lunch</i> + + . Hildegarde + <i>and</i> + + John + <i>are together</i> + + .</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>nervously impatient</i> + + ). I wish she'd come.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. She'll be here in a moment. She's fussing round + dad.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Is he really ill?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Well of course. It came on in the night, after + he'd had time to think things over. Why?</p> + + <p>JOHN. I read in some paper about the Prime Minister having + only a + <i>political</i> + + chill. So I thought perhaps the pater—under the + circs—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>shaking her head</i> + + ). You can't have political dyspepsia. Can't fake the symptoms. + Who is to begin this affair, you or me?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Depends. What line are you going on with her?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 90 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page094" name="page094">[pg 94]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. I'm going to treat her exactly as she treats me. + I've just thought of it. Only I shan't lose my temper.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Sugarsticks?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Yes.</p> + + <p>JOHN. You'll never be able to keep it up.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. O yes I shall. Somehow I feel much more mature + than I did yesterday.</p> + + <p>JOHN. More mature? Stay me with flagons! I was always + mature. If you knew what rot I think school is...! Well, + anyway, you can begin.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. You're very polite to-day, Johnnie.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Don't mention it. My argument 'll be the best, and I + want to keep it for the end, that's all.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Thanks. But I bet you we shall both fail.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Well, if we do, I've still got something else waiting + for her ladyship. A regular startler, my child.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 91 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page095" name="page095">[pg 95]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. What is it?</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Mrs. Culver, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>to</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>as</i> + + Mrs. Culver + <i>enters</i> + + ). Wait and see.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>cheerful and affectionate, to</i> + + John). So you've come in. ( + <i>To</i> + + Hildegarde.) You + <i>are</i> + + back early to-day! Well, my darlings, what do you want me + for?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>imitating her mothers manner</i> + + ). Well, mamma darling, we hate bothering you. We know you've + got quite enough worries, without having any more. But it's + about this baronetcy business. (Mrs. Culver + <i>starts</i> + + .) Do be an angel and listen to us.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>with admirable self-control</i> + + ). Of course, my pet. But you know the matter is quite, quite + settled. Your father and I settled it together last night, and + the letter of acceptance is in the hands of the Government by + this time.</p> + + <p>JOHN. It isn't, mater. It's here. ( + <i>Pulls the letter out of his pocket</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. John! What—</p> + + <p>JOHN. Now, now, mater! Keep calm. This is really your own + doing. Pater wanted to go to +<!-- Page 92 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page096" name="page096">[pg 96]</a> + </span> + + the post himself, but it was raining a bit, and you're always + in such a fidget about his getting his feet wet you wouldn't + let him go, and so I went instead.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Yes, mummy darling, you must acknowledge that + you were putting temptation in Johnnie's way.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Soon as I got outside, I said to myself: 'I think the + pater ought to have a night to think over this affair. It's + very important. And he can easily send round an answer by hand + in the morning.' So I didn't post the letter. I should have + told you earlier, but you weren't down for breakfast, and I had + to go out afterwards on urgent private business.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But—but—( + <i>Controlling herself, grieved, but kind</i> + + .) Your father will be terribly angry. I daren't face him.</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>only half-suppressing his amusement at the last remark</i> + + ). Don't let that worry you. I'll face him. He'll be delighted. + He'll write another letter, and quite a different one.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>getting firmer</i> + + ). But don't I tell you, my dearest boy, that the affair is + settled, quite settled?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 93 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page097" name="page097">[pg 97]</a> + </span> + + JOHN. It isn't settled so long as I've got this letter, + anyway.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Of course it isn't settled. Mother darling, we + simply must look the facts in the face. Fact one, the letter is + here. Fact two, the whole family is most frightfully upset. + Dad's ill—</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. That was the lobster.</p> + + <p>JOHN. It wasn't.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Yes, dear. Lobster always upsets him.</p> + + <p>JOHN. It didn't this time.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. How do you know?</p> + + <p>JOHN. I know, because + <i>I</i> + + ate all his lobster. He shoved it over to me. You couldn't see + for the fruit-bowl.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. No, mamma sweetest. It's this baronetcy business + that's knocked poor papa over. And it's knocked over Johnnie + and me too. I'm perfectly, perfectly sure you acted for the + best, but don't you think you persuaded father against his + judgment? Not to speak of our judgment!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I've only one thought—</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 94 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page098" name="page098">[pg 98]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>caressing and kissing her mother</i> + + ). I know! I know! Father's happiness. Our happiness. Mamma, + please don't imagine for a single instant that we don't realise + that. You're the most delicious darling of an old + mater—</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>slightly suspicious</i> + + ). Hildegarde, you're quite a different girl to-day.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>nods</i> + + ). I've aged in a single night. I've become ever so serious. + This baronetcy business has shown me that I've got + convictions—and deep convictions. I admit I'm a different + girl to-day. But then everything's different to-day. The whole + house is different. Johnnie's different. Papa's missed going to + the office for the first time in eight months. ( + <i>Very sweetly</i> + + .) Surely you must see, mamma, that something ought to be done, + and that you alone can do it.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. What? What ought I to do?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Go upstairs and tell dad you've changed your + mind about the title, and advise him to write off instantly and + refuse it. You know you always twist him round your little + finger.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>looking at her little finger</i> + + ). I shouldn't dream of trying to influence your father once he + had decided. And he + <i>has</i> + + decided.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 95 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page099" name="page099">[pg 99]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>sweetly</i> + + ). Mamma, you're most tremendously clever—far cleverer + than any of us—but I'm not sure if you understand the + attitude of the modern girl towards things that affect her + convictions.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>sweetly</i> + + ). Are you the modern girl.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Yes.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Well, I'm the ancient girl. And I can tell you + this—you're very like me, and we're both very like + somebody else.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Who's that.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Eve.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Come, mater. Eve would never have learnt typewriting. + She'd have gone on the land.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. John, your sister and I are not jesting.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I'm so glad you admit I'm serious, mamma. + Because I am—very. I don't want to threaten—</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Threaten, darling?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 96 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page100" name="page100">[pg 100]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>firmly, but quite lightly and sweetly</i> + + ). No, darling. + <i>Not</i> + + to threaten. The mere idea of threatening is absurd. But it + would be extremely unfair to you not to tell you that unless + you agree to father refusing the title, I shall have to leave + the house and live by myself. I really shall. Of course I can + easily earn my own living. I quite see that you have + principles. But I also have principles. If they + clash—naturally it's my place to retire. And I shall, + mamma dearest.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Is that final?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Final, mummy darling.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Then, my dearest child, you must go.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>still sweetly</i> + + ). Is that final?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>still sweetly</i> + + ). Final, my poor pet.</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>firmly</i> + + ). Now let + <i>me</i> + + say a word.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>benignly</i> + + ). And what have you got to say in the matter? You've already + been very naughty about that letter. Do try not to be + ridiculous. Give me the letter. This affair has nothing to do + with you. +<!-- Page 97 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page101" name="page101">[pg 101]</a> + </span> + + JOHN ( + <i>putting the letter in his pocket</i> + + ). Nothing whatever to do with me! Mater, you really are a bit + too thick. If it was a knighthood, I wouldn't care. You could + have your blooming knighthood. Knighthoods do come to an end. + Baronetcies go on for ever. I've told the dad, and I'll tell + you, that + <i>I will not have</i> + + my political career ruined by any baronetcy. And if you + insist—may I respectfully inform you what I shall do? May + I respectfully inform you—may I?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. John!</p> + + <p>JOHN. I shall chuck Siege and go into the Flying Corps. And + that's flat. If you really want to shorten my life, all you + have to do is to stick to that bally baronetcy.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Your father won't allow you to join the Flying + Corps.</p> + + <p>JOHN. My father can't stop me. I know the mess is expensive, + but the pay's good, and I've got £150 of my own. Not a + fortune! Not a fortune! But enough, quite enough. + <i>A short life and a merry one</i> + + . I went to see Captain Skewes at the Automobile this morning. + One of our old boys. He's delighted. He gave me Lanchester's + 'Aircraft in Warfare' to read. Here it is. ( + <i>Picking up the book</i> + + .) Here it + <i>is</i> + + ! I shall be sitting up +<!-- Page 98 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page102" name="page102">[pg 102]</a> + </span> + + all night to-night reading it. + <i>A short life and a merry one</i> + + .</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. You don't mean it!</p> + + <p>JOHN. I absolutely do.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>after a pause</i> + + ). John, you're trying to bully your mother.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Not in the least, mater. I'm merely telling you what + will happen if father accepts that piffling baronetcy.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>checking a tear; very sweetly</i> + + ). Well, my pets, you make life just a little difficult for me. + I live only for you and your father. I think first of your + father, and then of you two. For myself, I am perfectly + indifferent. I consider all politics extremely silly. There + never were any in my family, nor in your father's. And to me + it's most extraordinary that your father should catch them so + late in life. I always supposed that after thirty people were + immune. ( + <i>To</i> + + John.) You, I suppose, were bound to have them sooner or later, + but that + <i>Hilda</i> + + should go out of her way to contract them—well, it passes + me. It passes me. However, I've no more to say. Your father had + made up his mind to accept the title. You want him to refuse + it. I hate to influence him +<!-- Page 99 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page103" name="page103">[pg 103]</a> + </span> + + (Hildegarde + <i>again hides a cynical smile</i> + + ) but for your sakes I'll try to persuade him to alter his + decision and refuse it.</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>taking her arm</i> + + ). Come along then—now! I'll go with you to see fair + play. ( + <i>He opens the door, L, and</i> + + Mrs. Culver + <i>passes out. Then stopping in the doorway, to</i> + + Hildegarde) Who did the trick? I say—who did the + trick?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>nicely</i> + + ). Pooh! You may be a prefect at school. But here you're only + mamma's wee lamb! ( + <i>She drops on to the sofa</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>singing triumphantly</i> + + ). Stay—me—with fla—gons! ( + <i>Exit</i> + + John, + <i>L</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Tranto, + <i>back, shown in by the</i> + + Parlourmaid.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How d'ye do, Miss Hilda. I'm in a high state of + nerves.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>shaking hands weakly</i> + + ). We all are.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>ignoring what she says</i> + + ). I've come specially to see you.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But how did you know I should be here—at + this time? I'm supposed to be at the Food Ministry till one + o'clock?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 100 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page104" name="page104">[pg 104]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. I called for you at the Ministry.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>leaning forward</i> + + ). That's quite against the rules. The rules are made for the + moral protection of the women-clerks.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. They told me you'd left early.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Why did you call?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Shall I be frank?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Are you ever?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I wanted to walk home with you.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Are you getting frightened about that next + article of mine?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. No. I've lost all interest in articles.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Even in my articles?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Even in yours. I'm only interested in the writer of + your articles. ( + <i>Agitated</i> + + .) Miss Hilda, the hour is about to strike.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. What hour?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Listen, please. Let me explain. The situation is + this. Instinct has got hold of me. When I woke up this morning + something inside +<!-- Page 101 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page105" name="page105">[pg 105]</a> + </span> + + me said: 'You must call at the Ministry for that young woman + and walk home with her.' This idea seemed marvellously + beautiful to me; it seemed one of the most enchanting ideas + that had ever entered the heart of man. I thought of nothing + else all the morning. When I reached the Ministry and you'd + gone, I felt as if I'd been shot. Then I rushed here. If you + hadn't been at home I don't know what I should have done. My + fever has been growing every moment. Providentially you + <i>are</i> + + here. I give you fair warning that I'm utterly in the grip of + an instinct which is ridiculously unconventional and which will + brook no delay. I repeat, the hour is about to strike.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>rousing herself</i> + + ). Before it actually strikes, I want to ask a question.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But that's just what + <i>I</i> + + want to do.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Please. One moment of your valuable time.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The whole of my life.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Last night, why did you advise papa to give way + to mamma and accept the baronetcy?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Did I?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 102 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page106" name="page106">[pg 106]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. It seems so.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well—er—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. You know it's quite against his principles, and + against mine and Johnnie's, not to speak of yours.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The fact is, you yourself had given me such an + account of your mother's personality that I felt sure she'd win + anyhow; and—and—for reasons of my own, I wished to + be on the winning side. No harm in that, surely. And as regards + principles, I have a theory about principles. Your father was + much struck by it when I told him.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Namely?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. There are no principles in married life.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Oh, indeed! Well, there may not be any + principles in your married life, but there most positively will + be in mine, if I ever have a married life. And let me tell you + that you aren't on the winning side after all—you're on + the losing side.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How? Has your—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Johnnie and I have had a great interview with + mamma, and she's yielded. She's +<!-- Page 103 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page107" name="page107">[pg 107]</a> + </span> + + abandoned the baronetcy. In half an hour from now the baronetcy + will have been definitely and finally refused.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Great Scott!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. You're startled?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. No! After all, I might have foreseen that you'd come + out on top. The day before yesterday your modesty was making + you say that your mother could eat you. I, on the contrary, + insisted that you could eat your mother. Who was right? I ask: + who was right? When it really comes to the point—well, + you have a serious talk with your mother, and she gives in!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>gloomily</i> + + ). No! + <i>I</i> + + didn't do it. I tried, and failed. Then Johnnie tried, and did + it without the slightest trouble. A schoolboy! That's why I'm + so upset.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>shaking his head</i> + + ). You musn't tell me that, Miss Hilda. Of course it was you + that did it.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>impatiently; standing up</i> + + ). But I + <i>do</i> + + tell you.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Sorry! Sorry! Do be merciful! My feelings about you + at this very moment are so, if I may use the term, + unbridled—</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 104 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page108" name="page108">[pg 108]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>with false gentle calm</i> + + ). And that's not all. I suppose you haven't by any chance told + father that I'm Sampson Straight?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Certainly not.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. You're sure?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Absolutely.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Well, I'm sorry.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Why?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>quietly sarcastic</i> + + ). Because papa told me you did tell him. Therefore father is a + liar. I don't like being the daughter of a liar. I hate + liars.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Aren't you rather cutting yourself off from + mankind?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>going straight on</i> + + ). For the last day or two father had been giving me such queer + little digs every now and then that I began to suspect he knew + who Sampson Straight was. So I asked him right out this + morning—he was in bed—and he had to acknowledge he + did know and that you told him.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, I didn't exactly tell him. He sort of guessed, + and I—</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 105 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page109" name="page109">[pg 109]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>calmly, relentlessly</i> + + ). You told him.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. No. I merely admitted it. You think I ought to have + denied it?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Of course you ought to have denied it.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But it was true.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. And if it was?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. If it was true, how could I deny it? You've just + said you hate liars.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>losing self-control</i> + + ). Please don't be absurd.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>a little nettled</i> + + ). I apologise.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. What for?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. For having put you in the wrong. It's such shocking + bad diplomacy for any man to put any woman in the wrong.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>angrily</i> + + ). Man—woman! Man—woman! There you are! It's always + the same with you males. Sex! Sex! Sex!</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>quite conquering his annoyance; persuasively</i> + + ). But I'm fatally in love with you. +<!-- Page 106 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page110" name="page110">[pg 110]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. Well, of course there you have the advantage of + me.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Don't you care a little—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>letting herself go</i> + + ). Why should I care? What have I done to make you imagine I + care? It's quite true that I've saved your newspaper from an + early grave. It was suffering from rickets, spinal curvature, + and softening of the brain; and I've performed a miraculous + cure on it with my articles. I'm Sampson Straight. But that's + not enough for you. You can't keep sentiment out of business. + No man ever could. You'd like Sampson Straight to wear blouses + and bracelets for you, and loll on sofas for you, and generally + offer you the glad eye. It's an insult. And then on the top of + all, you go and give the whole show away to papa, in spite of + our understanding; and if papa hadn't been the greatest dear in + the world you might have got me into the most serious + difficulties.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>equably, after a pause</i> + + ), I don't think I'll ask myself to stay for lunch.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Good morning.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>near the door</i> + + ). I suppose I'd better announce that he's died very suddenly + under mysterious circumstances?</p> +<!-- Page 107 --> + <p><span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page111" name="page111">[pg 111]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. Who?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Sampson Straight.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. And what about my new article, that you've got + in hand?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. It can be a posthumous article, in a black + border.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Indeed! And why shouldn't Sampson Straight + transfer his services to another paper? There are several who'd + jump at him.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I never thought of that.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Naturally!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. He shall live.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>A pause</i> + + . Tranto + <i>bows, and exit, back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote">(Hildegarde + <i>subsides once more on to the sofa</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Culver, + <i>in his velvet coat, L</i> + + .</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>softly, with sprightliness</i> + + ). Hello, Sampson!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Dad, please don't call me that.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Not when we're alone? Why?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 108 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page112" name="page112">[pg 112]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. I—I—Dad, I'm in a fearful state of + nerves just now. Lost my temper and all sorts of + calamities.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Really! I'd no idea. I gathered that the interview + between you and your mother had passed quite smoothly.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Oh! + <i>That!</i> + </p> + + <p>CULVER. What do you mean—'Oh! + <i>That!</i> + + '?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>standing; in a new, less gloomy tone</i> + + ). Papa, what are you doing out of bed? You're very ill.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Well, I'd managed to dress before your mother and + Johnnie came. As soon as they imparted to me the glad tidings + that baronetcies were off I felt so well I decided to come down + and thank you for your successful efforts on behalf of the + family well-being. I'm no longer your father. I'm your + brother.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. It was Johnnie did it.</p> + + <p>CULVER. It wasn't— + <i>I</i> + + know.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>exasperated</i> + + ). I say it + <i>was!</i> + + ( + <i>Apologetically</i> + + ). So sorry, dad. ( + <i>Kisses him</i> + + ). Where are they, those two? ( + <i>Sits</i> + + ). +<!-- Page 109 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page113" name="page113">[pg 113]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Mother and John? Don't know. I fancy somebody called as + I came down.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Called! Before lunch! Who was it?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Haven't the faintest.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + John, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>proudly</i> + + ). I say, good people! New acquaintance of mine! Just looked + in. Met him at the Automobile this morning with Skewes. I was + sure you'd all give your heads to see the old chap, so I asked + him to lunch on the chance. Dashed if he didn't accept! You see + we'd been talking a bit about politics. He's the most + celebrated man in London. I doubt if there's a fellow I admire + more in the whole world—or you either. He's knocked the + mater flat already. Between ourselves, I really asked him + because I thought he might influence her on this baronetcy + business. However, that's all off now. What are you staring + at?</p> + + <p>CULVER. We're only bursting with curiosity to hear the name + of this paragon of yours. As a general rule I like to know + beforehand whom I'm going to lunch with in my own house.</p> + + <p>JOHN. It's Sampson Straight.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 110 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page114" name="page114">[pg 114]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>springing up</i> + + ). + <i>Sampson Str</i> + + —</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>calmly</i> + + ). Keep your nerve, Hilda. Keep your nerve.</p> + + <p>JOHN. I thought I wouldn't say anything till he'd actually + arrived. He mightn't have come at all. Then what a fool I + should have looked if I'd told you he + <i>was</i> + + coming! Tranto himself doesn't know him. Tranto pooh-poohed the + idea of me ever meeting him, Tranto did. Well, I've met him, + and he's here. I haven't let on to him that I know Tranto. I'm + going to bring them together and watch them both having the + surprise of their lives.</p> + + <p>CULVER. John, this is a great score for you. I admit I've + never been more interested in meeting anyone. Never!</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Parlourmaid, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey, sir.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>cheerfully</i> + + ). I'll see her soon. ( + <i>Pulling himself up suddenly; in an alarmed, gloomy tone</i> + + .) No, no! I can't possibly see her.</p> + + <br /> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey says there are several important + letters, sir.</p> + + <p>CULVER. No, no! I'm not equal to it.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 111 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page115" name="page115">[pg 115]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>confidentially</i> + + ). What's wrong, dad?</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + Hildegarde). She'll give me notice the minute she knows she + can't call me Sir Arthur. ( + <i>Shudders</i> + + .) I quail.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Mrs. Culver + <i>and</i> + + Sampson Straight, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>The</i> + + Parlourmaid + <i>holds the door for them, and then exit</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. This is my husband. Arthur, dear—Mr. + Sampson Straight. And this is my little daughter. (Hilda + <i>bows</i> + + , John + <i>surveys the scene with satisfaction</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>recovering his equipoise; shaking hands heartily</i> + + ). Mr. Straight. Delighted to meet you. I simply cannot tell + you how unexpected this pleasure is.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. You're too kind.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>gaily</i> + + ). I doubt it. I doubt it.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. I ought to apologise for coming in like this. But + I've been so charmingly received by Mrs. Culver—</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. You've been so charming about my boy, Mr. + Straight. +<!-- Page 112 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page116" name="page116">[pg 116]</a> + </span> + + STRAIGHT. I was so very greatly impressed by your son this + morning at the Club that I couldn't resist the opportunity he + gave me of visiting his home. What I say is: like parents, like + child. I'm an old-fashioned man.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. No one would guess that from your articles in + <i>The Echo</i> + + . Of course they're frightfully clever, but you know I don't + quite agree with all your opinions.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Neither do I. You see—there's always a + difference between what one thinks and what one has to + write.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I'm so glad. (Culver + <i>starts and looks round</i> + + .) What is it, Arthur?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Nothing! I thought I heard the ice cracking. + (Hildegarde + <i>begins to smile</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>looking at the floor; simply</i> + + ). Ice?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Arthur!</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. It was still thawing when I came in. As I was + saying, I'm an old-fashioned man. And I'm a + provincial—and proud of it.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But my dear Mr. Straight, really, if you'll + excuse me, you look as if you never left the pavement of + Piccadilly. +<!-- Page 113 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page117" name="page117">[pg 117]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Say the windows of the Turf club, darling.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>serenely</i> + + ). No. I live very, very quietly on my little place, and when I + feel the need of contact with the great world I run over for + the afternoon to—St. Ives.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. How remarkable! Then that explains how it is + you're so deliciously unspoilt.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Do you mean my face?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I meant you don't seem at all to realise that + you're a very great celebrity in London; very great indeed. A + lion of the first order.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>simply</i> + + ). Lion?</p> + + <p>CULVER. You're expected to roar, Mr. Straight.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Roar?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. It may interest you to know that my little + daughter also writes articles in + <i>The Echo</i> + + . Yes, about war cookery. But of course you wouldn't notice + them. (Hildegarde + <i>moves away</i> + + .) I'm afraid ( + <i>apologetically</i> + + ) your mere presence is making her just a wee bit nervous. +<!-- Page 114 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page118" name="page118">[pg 118]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>from a distance, striving to control herself</i> + + ). Oh, Mr. Sampson Straight. There's one question I've been + longing to ask you. I always ask it of literary lions—and + tigers.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Tigers?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Do you write best in the morning or do you burn + the midnight oil?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Oil?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Do sit down, Mr. Straight. ( + <i>She goes imploringly to</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>who has lost control of herself and is getting a little + hysterical with mirth. Aside to</i> + + Hildegarde.) Hilda! (John, + <i>puzzled and threatening, also approaches</i> + + Hildegarde.)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>sitting down by</i> + + Straight.) And so, although you prefer a country life, the lure + of London has been too strong for you in the end.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. I came to town on business.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Ah!</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. The fact is, business of the utmost importance. + Perhaps I may be able to interest you in it.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Now we're getting hotter.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 115 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page119" name="page119">[pg 119]</a> + </span> + + STRAIGHT. Hotter?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Go on, go on, Mr. Straight.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. To tell you the truth—</p> + + <p>CULVER. Always a wise thing to do.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. One of my reasons for accepting your son's kind + invitation was that I thought that conceivably you might be + willing to help in a great patriotic scheme of mine. Naturally + you show surprise.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Do I? Then I'm expressing myself badly. I'm not in + the least surprised. It is the contrary that would have + surprised me.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. We may possibly discuss it later.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Later? Why later? Why not at once? I'm full of + curiosity. I hate to let the grass grow under my feet.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>looking at the floor</i> + + ). Grass? ( + <i>With a faint mechanical laugh</i> + + .) Ah yes, I see. Figure of speech. Well, I'm starting a little + limited liability syndicate.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Precisely what I thought. Yes?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. The End-the-war Syndicate.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 116 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page120" name="page120">[pg 120]</a> + </span> + + JOHN ( + <i>approaching</i> + + ). But surely you aren't one of those pacifists, Mr. Straight! + You've always preached fighting it out to a finish.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. The object of my syndicate is certainly to fight + to a finish, but to finish in about a week—by means of my + little syndicate.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Splendid! But there is one draw-back. New capital + issues are forbidden under the Defence of the Realm Act.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Even when the object is to win the war?</p> + + <p>CULVER. My dear sir, the Treasury would never permit such a + thing.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Well, we needn't have a limited company. Perhaps + after all it would be better to keep it quite private.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Oh! It would. And what is the central idea of this + charming syndicate?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. The idea is—( + <i>looking round cautiously</i> + + )—a new explosive.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Again, precisely what I thought. Your own + invention?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 117 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page121" name="page121">[pg 121]</a> + </span> + + STRAIGHT. No. A friend of mine. It truly is the most marvellous + explosive.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I suppose it bangs everything.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>simply</i> + + ). Oh, it does. A development of trinitrotoluol on new lines. I + needn't say that my interest in the affair is purely + patriotic.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Of course. Of course.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. I can easily get all the capital I need.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Of course. Of course.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. But I'm not in close touch with the official + world, and in a matter of this kind official influence is + absolutely essential to success. Now you + <i>are</i> + + in touch with the official world. I shouldn't ask you to + subscribe, though if you cared to do so there would be no + objection. And I may say that the syndicate can't help making a + tremendous lot of money. When I tell you that the new explosive + is forty-seven times as powerful as trinitrotoluol + itself—</p> + + <p>CULVER. When you tell me that, Mr. Straight, I can only + murmur the hope that you haven't got any of it in your + pocket.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 118 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page122" name="page122">[pg 122]</a> + </span> + + STRAIGHT ( + <i>simply</i> + + ). Oh, no! Please don't be alarmed. But you see the immense + possibilities. You see how this explosive would end the war + practically at once. And you'll understand, of course, that + although my articles in + <i>The Echo</i> + + have apparently caused considerable commotion in London, and + given me a position which I am glad to be able to use for the + service of the Empire, my interest in mere journalism as such + has almost ceased since my friend asked me to be secretary and + treasurer of the syndicate.</p> + + <p>CULVER. And so you're the secretary + <i>and</i> + + treasurer?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Yes. We don't want to have subscribers of less + than £100 each. If you cared to look into the + matter—I know you're very busy, but a mere + glance—</p> + + <p>CULVER. Just so—a mere glance.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Tranto + <i>excitedly</i> + + .</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>nearer the door than the rest</i> + + ). Again?</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>rather loudly and not specially to</i> + + Hildegarde). Terrible news! I've just heard and I rushed back + to tell you. Sampson Straight has died very suddenly in + Cornwall. Bright's disease. +<!-- Page 119 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page123" name="page123">[pg 123]</a> + </span> + + He breathed his last in his own potato patch. ( + <i>Aside to</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>in response to a gesture from her</i> + + ) I'm awfully sorry. The poor fellow simply had to expire.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + Tranto). Now this just shows how the most absurd rumours + <i>do</i> + + get abroad! Here + <i>is</i> + + Mr. Sampson Straight. I'm + <i>so</i> + + glad you've come, because you've always wanted to meet him in + the flesh.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>to</i> + + Straight). Are you Sampson Straight?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. I am, sir.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The Sampson Straight who lives in Cornwall?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Just so.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Impossible!</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Pardon me. One moment. I was told there was a + danger of my being inconvenienced in London by one of these + military raids for rounding up slackers, and as I happen to + have a rather youthful appearance, I took the precaution of + bringing with me my birth-certificate and registration card. ( + <i>Produces them</i> + + .)</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 120 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page124" name="page124">[pg 124]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO ( + <i>glancing at the card</i> + + ). And it's really you who write those brilliant articles in + <i>The Echo</i> + + ?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. 'Brilliant'—I won't say. But I do write + them.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, this is the most remarkable instance of + survival after death that I ever came across.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. I beg your pardon.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. You're dead, my fine fellow. Your place isn't here. + You ought to be in the next world. You're a humbug.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>to</i> + + Mrs. Culver). I'm not quite sure that I understand. Will you + kindly introduce me?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I'm so sorry. This is Mr. Tranto, proprietor + and editor of + <i>The Echo</i> + + —( + <i>apologetically, with an uneasy smile</i> + + ) a great humourist.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>thunderstruck; aside</i> + + ). Well, I'm damned! ( + <i>His whole demeanour changes. Nevertheless, while tacitly + admitting that he is found out, he at once resumes his mild + calmness. To</i> + + Culver.) I've just remembered an appointment of vital + importance. I'm afraid our little talk about the syndicate must + be adjourned.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 121 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page125" name="page125">[pg 125]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. I feared you might have to hurry away.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">(Straight + <i>bows as a preliminary to departure</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote">(John, + <i>deeply humiliated, averts his glance from everybody</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Here! But you can't go off like this.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Why? Have you anything against me?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Nothing ( + <i>casually</i> + + ) except that you're an impostor.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. I fail to see it.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But haven't you just said that you write those + articles in my paper?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Oh! + <i>That</i> + + ! Well, of course, if I'd known who you were I shouldn't have + dreamed of saying any such thing. I always try to suit my talk + to my company.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. This time you didn't quite bring it off.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Perhaps I owe you some slight explanation ( + <i>looking round blandly</i> + + ).</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 122 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page126" name="page126">[pg 126]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Do you really think so?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. The explanation is simplicity itself. ( + <i>A sudden impulse</i> + + .) Nothing but that. Put yourselves in my place. I come to + London. I hear a vast deal of chatter about some articles in a + paper called + <i>The Echo</i> + + by some one calling himself 'Sampson Straight.' I also hear + that nobody in London knows who Sampson Straight is. As I + happen to + <i>be</i> + + Sampson Straight, and as I have need of all possible personal + prestige for the success of my purely patriotic mission, it + occurs to me—in a flash!—to assert that I am the + author of the famous articles.... Well, what more natural?</p> + + <p>CULVER. What indeed?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>to</i> + + Tranto). And may I say that I'm the only genuine Sampson + Straight in the United Kingdom, and that in my opinion it was a + gross impertinence on the part of your contributor to steal my + name? Why did you let him do it?</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>beginning reflectively</i> + + ). Now + <i>I</i> + + hit on that name—not my contributor. It was when I was + down in Cornwall. I caught sight of it in an old yellow + newspaper in an old yellow hotel, and it struck me at once what + a fine signature it would make at the bottom of a slashing + article. By the way, have you ever been in the dock?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 123 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page127" name="page127">[pg 127]</a> + </span> + + STRAIGHT. Dock?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I only ask because I seem to remember I saw your + splendid name in a report of the local Assizes.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Assizes?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. A, double s ( + <i>pause</i> + + ) i-z-e-s.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. I can afford to be perfectly open. I was—at + one period of my career—in prison, but for a quite + respectable crime. Bigamy—with extenuating + circumstances.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>greatly upset</i> + + ). Dear, dear!</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. It might happen to any man.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>looking at</i> + + Mrs. Culver). So it might.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Do you wish to detain me?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I simply haven't the heart to do it.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Then, ladies and gentlemen, I'll say good + morning.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>stopping</i> + + Straight + <i>near the door as he departs with more bows</i> + + ). Good-bye! ( + <i>She holds out her hand with a smile</i> + + !) And good luck!</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 124 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page128" name="page128">[pg 128]</a> + </span> + + STRAIGHT ( + <i>taking her hand</i> + + ). Madam, I thank you. You evidently appreciate the fact that + when one lives solely on one's wits, little mishaps are + <i>bound</i> + + to occur from time to time, and that too much importance ought + not to be attached to them. This is only my third slip, and I + am fifty-five.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>Exit, back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>gently surprised</i> + + ). Darling, surely you need not have been quite so + effusive!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. You see, I thought I owed him something, ( + <i>with meaning and effect</i> + + ) as it was I who stole his name.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>utterly puzzled for a moment; then, when she understands, + rushing to</i> + + Hildegarde + <i>and embracing her</i> + + ). Oh! My wonderful girl!</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>feebly and still humiliated</i> + + ). Stay me with flagons!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>to her mother</i> + + ). How nice you are about it, mamma!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But I'm very proud, my pet. Of course I think + you might have let me into the secret—</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 125 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page129" name="page129">[pg 129]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. None of us were let into the secret, Hermione—I + mean until comparatively recent times. It was a matter between + Hilda's conscience and her editor.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Oh! I'm not complaining. I'm so relieved she + didn't write those dreadful cookery articles.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But do you mean to say you aren't frightfully + shocked by my advanced politics, mamma?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. My child, how naïve you are, after all! A + woman is never shocked, though of course at times it may suit + her to pretend to be. Only men are capable of being shocked. As + for your advanced politics, as you call them, can't you see + that it doesn't matter what you write so long as you are + admired by the best people. It isn't views that are + disreputable, it's the persons that hold them.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I hope that's why you so gracefully gave way over + the baronetcy, my dear.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>continuing to</i> + + Hildegarde). There's just one thing I should venture to + suggest, and that is, that you cease at once to be a typist and + employ one yourself instead. It's most essential +<!-- Page 126 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page130" name="page130">[pg 130]</a> + </span> + + that you should live up to your position. Oh! I'm very proud of + you.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I don't quite know what my position is. + According to the latest news I'm dead. ( + <i>Challengingly to</i> + + Tranto.) Mr. Tranto, you're keeping rather quiet, nearly as + quiet as John (John + <i>changes his seat</i> + + ), but don't you think you owe me some explanation? Not more + than a quarter of an hour ago in this very room it was + distinctly agreed between us that you would not kill Sampson + Straight, and now you rush back in a sort of homicidal + mania.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Oh! I'd no idea Mr. Tranto had called already + this morning!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Yes. I told him all about everything, and we + came to a definite understanding.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Oh!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I'm only too anxious to explain. I killed Sampson + for the most urgent of all possible reasons. The Government is + thinking of giving him a baronetcy?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Not + <i>my</i> + + baronetcy?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Precisely.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 127 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page131" name="page131">[pg 131]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. But this is the most terrible thing I ever heard + of.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. It is. I met one of my chaps in the street. He was + coming here to see me. ( + <i>To</i> + + Culver.) Your answer was expected this morning. It didn't + arrive. Evidently your notions about titles had got abroad, and + the Government has decided to offer a title to Sampson Straight + this afternoon if you refuse.</p> + + <p>CULVER. But how delightfully stupid of the Government.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. On the contrary it was a really brilliant idea. + Sampson Straight is a great literary celebrity, and he'd look + mighty well in the Honours List. Literature's always a good + card to play for Honours. It makes people think that Cabinet + Ministers are educated.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But I've spent half my time in attacking the + Government!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Do you suppose the Government doesn't know that? In + creating you a baronet ( + <i>gazes at her</i> + + ) it would gain two advantages—it would prove how + broad-minded it is, and it would turn an enemy into a + friend.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 128 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page132" name="page132">[pg 132]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. But surely the silly Government would make some + enquiries first!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Hilda, do remember what your mother said, and try to + live up to your position. This isn't the Government that makes + enquiries. It's the Government that gets things done.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. You perceive the extreme urgency of the crisis. I + had to act instantly. I did act. I slew the fellow on the spot, + and his obituary will be in my late extra. The danger was + awful—greater even than I realised at the moment, because + I didn't know till I got back here that there was a genuine and + highly unscrupulous Sampson Straight floating about.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Danger? What danger?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Danger of the Government falling, dear lady. You + see, it's like this. Assuming that the Government offers a + baronetcy to Sampson Straight, and the offer becomes public + property, as it infallibly would, then there are three + alternatives. Either the Government has singled out for honour + a person who doesn't exist at all; or it has sought to turn a + woman ( + <i>glancing at</i> + + Hilda) into a male creature; or it is holding up to public + admiration an ex-convict. Choose which +<!-- Page 129 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page133" name="page133">[pg 133]</a> + </span> + + theory you like. In any case the exposure would mean the + immediate ruin of any Government.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>to</i> + + Tranto). I always thought you + <i>wanted</i> + + the Government to fall.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Good heavens, my gifted child! No enlightened and + patriotic person wants the Government to fall. All enlightened + and patriotic persons want the Government to be afraid of + falling. There you have the whole of war politics in a + nut-shell. If the British Government fell the effect on the + Allied cause would be bad, and might be extremely bad. But + that's not the real explanation. The real explanation is that + no one wants the Government to fall because no one wants to + step into the Government's shoes. However, thanks to Tranto's + masterly presence of mind in afflicting Sampson with a disease + that kills like prussic acid, the Government can no longer give + Sampson a title, and the danger to the Government is therefore + over.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Over! I wish it was! Supposing the Government + doesn't happen to see my late extra in time! Supposing the + offer of a baronetcy to Sampson Straight goes forth! The + mischief will be done. Worst of all, supposing the only genuine + Sampson Straight hears of it and accepts +<!-- Page 130 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page134" name="page134">[pg 134]</a> + </span> + + it! A baronetcy given to a bigamist! No Government could + possibly survive the exposure.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Not even if its survival was necessary to the + success of the Allied cause?</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>gloomily, shaking his head</i> + + ). My dear, Tranto is right. This great country has always + insisted first of all, and before anything else whatever, on + the unsullied purity of the domestic life of its public men. + Let a baronetcy be given, or even offered, to a + bigamist—and this great country would not hesitate for + one second, not one second.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The danger still exists. And only one man in this + world can avert it.</p> + + <p>CULVER. You don't mean me, Tranto?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I understand that you have neither accepted nor + refused the offer. You must accept it instantly. Instantly.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>A silence</i> + + . John + <i>begins to creep towards the door, back, and</i> + + Hildegarde + <i>towards the door, L</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>firmly</i> + + ). John, where are you going?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Anywhere.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 131 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page135" name="page135">[pg 135]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. Have you still got that letter to Lord Woking in + which your father accepts the title?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Yes.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Come here. Let me see it. ( + <i>She inspects the envelope of the letter and returns it + to</i> + + John.) Yes, that's right. Now listen to me. Get a taxi at once + and drive to Lord Woking's, and insist on seeing Lord Woking, + and give him that letter with your own hand. Do you understand? + ( + <i>Exit</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>L</i> + + .) The stamp will be wasted, but never mind. Fly!</p> + + <p>JOHN. It's a damned shame. (Mrs. Culver + <i>smiles calmly</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>shaking</i> + + John's + <i>flaccid hand</i> + + ). So it is. But let us remember, my boy, that you and I + are—are doing our bit. ( + <i>Pushes him violently towards the door</i> + + .) Get along. ( + <i>Exit</i> + + John, + <i>back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>looking round</i> + + ). Where's Hildegarde?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. She went in there.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I must just speak to her.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>Exit</i> + + Tranto, + <i>L</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>with a gesture towards the door, L</i> + + ). There's something between those two.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 132 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page136" name="page136">[pg 136]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. I doubt it. ( + <i>With a sigh</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. What do you mean—you doubt it?</p> + + <p>CULVER. They're probably too close together for there to be + anything between them.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>shakes her head, smiling sceptically</i> + + ). The new generation has no romance. ( + <i>In a new tone</i> + + .) Arthur, kiss me.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I'm dashed if I do!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Then I'll kiss you! ( + <i>She gives him a long kiss</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>The lunch gong sounds during the embrace. Startled, they + separate</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER. Food!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>with admiring enthusiasm</i> + + ). You've behaved splendidly.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes, that's what you always say when you've won and + I—haven't. ( + <i>She kisses him again</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter the</i> + + Parlourmaid, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey is still waiting, sir.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 133 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page137" name="page137">[pg 137]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Inexorable creature! I won't—I will not—( + <i>suddenly remembering that he has nothing to fear from</i> + + Miss Starkey; + <i>gaily</i> + + ). Yes, I'll see her. She must lunch with us. May she lunch + with us, Hermione?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>submissively</i> + + ). Why, Arthur, + <i>of course!</i> + + ( + <i>To</i> + + Parlourmaid.) Miss Starkey can have Master John's place. Some + lunch must be kept warm for Master John. ( + <i>As the</i> + + Parlourmaid + <i>is leaving</i> + + .) One moment—bring up some champagne, please.</p> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. Yes, Madam.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>Exit</i> + + Parlourmaid.)</p> + + <p>CULVER. Come along, I'm hungry. ( + <i>Leading her towards the door. Then stopping</i> + + .) I say.... Oh well, never mind.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But what?</p> + + <p>CULVER. You're a staggering woman, that's all. ( + <i>Exit</i> + + Culver + <i>and</i> + + Mrs. Culver, + <i>back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Hildegarde + <i>and</i> + + Tranto.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>plaintively, as they enter</i> + + ). I told you my nerves were all upset, and yet you ran off + before I—before I—and now it's lunch time!</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 134 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page138" name="page138">[pg 138]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO ( + <i>facing her suddenly</i> + + ). Hilda! I now give you my defence. ( + <i>He kisses her</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Culver, + <i>back, in time to interrupt the embrace</i> + + .</p> + + <p>CULVER. Excuse me. My wife sent me to ask if you'd lunch, + Tranto. I gather that you + <i>will</i> + + .</p> + + <p class="stagenote">CURTAIN.</p> + + <hr class="full" /> + + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12687 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e6aa444 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12687 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12687) diff --git a/old/12687-8.txt b/old/12687-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..adc936e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12687-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3611 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Title, by Arnold Bennett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Title + A Comedy in Three Acts + +Author: Arnold Bennett + +Release Date: June 22, 2004 [EBook #12687] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TITLE *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David McLachlan and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + +_The Title_ + + +A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS + + +BY +ARNOLD BENNETT + + +LONDON +CHATTO & WINDUS +MCMXVIII + + + + +CHARACTERS + +MR. CULVER +MRS. CULVER +HILDEGARDE CULVER } their children +JOHN CULVER } +TRANTO +MISS STARKEY +SAMPSON STRAIGHT +PARLOURMAID + + + + +ACT I + +An evening between Christmas and New Year, before dinner. + + +ACT II + +The next evening, after dinner. + + +ACT III + +The next day, before lunch. + + +The scene throughout is a sitting-room in the well-furnished West End +abode of the Culvers. There is a door, back. There is also another door +(L) leading to Mrs. Culver's boudoir and elsewhere. + + + + +ACT I + + + + +ACT I + + +Hildegarde _is sitting at a desk, writing_. John, _in a lounging +attitude, is reading a newspaper_. + +_Enter_ Tranto, _back_. + +TRANTO. Good evening. + +HILDEGARDE (_turning slightly in her seat and giving him her left hand, +the right still holding a pen_). Good evening. Excuse me one moment. + +TRANTO. All right about my dining here to-night? (Hildegarde _nods_.) +Larder equal to the strain? + +HILDEGARDE. Macaroni. + +TRANTO. Splendid. + +HILDEGARDE. Beefsteak. + +TRANTO. Great heavens! (_imitates sketchily the motions of cutting up a +piece of steak. Shaking hands with_ John, _who has risen_). Well, John. +How are things? Don't let me disturb you. Have a cigarette. + +JOHN (_flattered_). Thanks. (_As they light cigarettes_.) You're the +first person here that's treated me like a human being. + +TRANTO. Oh! + +JOHN. Yes. They all treat me as if I was a schoolboy home for the hols. + +TRANTO. But you are, aren't you? + +JOHN. In a way, of course. But--well, don't you see what I mean? + +TRANTO (_sympathetically_). You mean that a schoolboy home for the hols +isn't necessarily something escaped out of the Zoo. + +JOHN (_warming_). That's it. + +TRANTO. In fact, what you mean is you're really an individual very like +the rest of us, subject, if I may say so, to the common desires, +weaknesses and prejudices of humanity--and not a damned freak. + +JOHN (_brightly_). That's rather good, that is. If it's a question of +the Zoo, what I say is--what price home? Now, homes _are_ extraordinary +if you like--I don't know whether you've ever noticed it. School--you +can understand school. But home--! Strange things happen here while I'm +away. + +TRANTO. Yes? + +JOHN. It was while I was away they appointed Dad a controller. When I +heard--I laughed. Dad a controller! Why, he can't even control mother. + +HILDEGARDE (_without looking round_). Oh yes he can. + +JOHN (_pretending to start back_). Stay me with flagons! (_Resuming to_ +Tranto.) And _you're_ something new here since the summer holidays. + +TRANTO. I never looked at myself in that light. But I suppose I _am_ +rather new here. + +JOHN. Not quite new. But you've made a lot of progress during the last +term. + +TRANTO. That's comforting. + +JOHN. You understand what I mean. You were rather stiff and prim in +August--now you aren't a bit. + +TRANTO. Just so. Well, I won't ask you what you think of _me_, John--you +might tell me--but what do you think of my newspaper? + +JOHN. _The Echo_? I don't know what to think. You see, we don't read +newspapers much at school. Some of the masters do. And a few chaps in +the Fifth--swank, of course. But speaking generally we don't. Prefects +don't. No time. + +TRANTO. How strange! Aren't you interested in the war? + +JOHN. Interested in the war! Would you mind if I spoke plainly? + +TRANTO. I should love it. + +JOHN. Each time I come home I wonder more and more whether you people in +London have got the slightest notion what war really is. Fact! At +school, it's just because we _are_ interested in the war that we've no +time for newspapers. + +TRANTO. How's that? + +JOHN. How's that? Well, munition workshops--with government inspectors +tumbling all over us about once a week. O.T.C. work. Field days. +Cramming fellows for Sandhurst. Not to mention female masters. +'Mistresses,' I ought to say, perhaps. All these things take time. + +TRANTO. I never thought of that. + +JOHN. No. People don't. However, I've decided to read newspapers in +future--it'll be part of my scheme. That's why I was reading _The +Echo_. Now, I should like to ask you something about this paper of +yours. + +TRANTO. Yes. + +JOHN. Why do you let Hilda write those articles for you about food +economy stunts in the household? + +TRANTO. Well--(_hesitating_) + +JOHN. Now, I look at things practically. When Hilda'd spent all her +dress allowance and got into debt besides, about a year and a half ago, +she suddenly remembered she wasn't doing much to help the war, and so +she went into the Food Ministry as a typist at thirty-five shillings a +week. Next she learnt typing. Then she became an authority on +everything. And now she's concocting these food articles for you. +Believe me, the girl knows nothing whatever about cookery. She couldn't +fry a sausage for nuts. Once the mater insisted on her doing the +housekeeping--in the holidays, too! Stay me with flagons! + +HILDEGARDE (_without looking round_). Stay you with chocolates, you +mean, Johnnie, dear. + +JOHN. There you are! Her thoughts fly instantly to chocolates--and in +the fourth year of the greatest war that the world-- + +HILDEGARDE. Etcetera, etcetera. + +TRANTO. Then do I gather that you don't entirely approve of your +sister's articles? + +JOHN. Tripe, I think. My fag could write better. I'll tell you what I do +approve of. I approve of that article to-day by that chap Sampson +Straight about titles and the shameful traffic in honours, and the rot +of the hereditary principle, and all that sort of thing. + +TRANTO. I'm glad. Delivers the goods, doesn't he, Mr. Sampson Straight? + +JOHN. Well, _I_ think so. Who is he? + +TRANTO. One of my discoveries, John. He sent me in an article about--let +me see, when was it?--about eight months ago. I at once perceived that +in Mr. Sampson Straight I had got on to a bit of all right. And I was +not mistaken. He has given London beans pretty regularly once a week +ever since. + +JOHN. He must have given the War Cabinet neuralgia this afternoon, +anyhow. I should like to meet him. + +TRANTO. I'm afraid that's impossible. + +JOHN. Is it? Why? + +TRANTO. Well, I haven't met him myself yet. He lives at a quiet country +place in Cornwall. Hermit, I believe. Hates any kind of publicity. +Absolutely refuses to be photographed. + +JOHN. Photographed! I should think not! But couldn't you get him to come +and lecture at school? We have frightful swells, you know. + +TRANTO. I expect you do. But he wouldn't come. + +JOHN. I wish he would. We had a debate the other Saturday night on, +Should the hereditary principle be abolished? + +TRANTO. And did you abolish it? + +JOHN. Did we abolish it? I should say we did. Eighty-five to twenty-one. +Some debate, believe _me_! + +HILDEGARDE (_looking round_). Yes, but didn't you tell us once that in +your Debating Society the speakers always tossed for sides beforehand? + +JOHN (_shrugging his shoulders. More confidentially to_ Tranto). As I +was saying, I'm going to read the papers in future, as part of my +scheme. And d'you know what the scheme is? (_Impressively_.) I've +decided to take up a political career. + +TRANTO. Good! + +JOHN. Yes, it was during that hereditary principle debate that I +decided. It came over me all of a sudden while I was on the last lap of +my speech and the fellows were cheering. And so I want to understand +first of all the newspaper situation in London. There are one or two +things about it I _don't_ understand. + +TRANTO. Not more? I can explain the newspaper situation to you in ten +words. You know I've got a lot of uncles. I daresay I've got more uncles +than anybody else in 'Who's Who.' Well, I own _The Echo_,--inherited it +from my father. My uncles own all the rest of the press--(_airily_) with +a few trifling exceptions. That's the London newspaper situation. Quite +simple, isn't it? + +JOHN. But of course _The Echo_ is up against all your uncles' papers--at +least it seems so. + +TRANTO. Absolutely up against them. Tooth and nail. Daggers drawn. No +quarter. Death or victory. + +JOHN. But do you and your uncles speak to each other? + +TRANTO. Best of friends. + +JOHN. But aren't two of your uncles lords? + +TRANTO. Yes. Uncle Joe was made an earl not long since--you may have +heard of the fuss about it. Uncle Sam's only a miserable baron yet. And +Uncle Cuthbert is that paltry insect--a baronet. + +JOHN. What did they get their titles for? + +TRANTO. Ask me another. + +JOHN. Of course I don't want to be personal, but _how_ did they get +them? Did they--er--buy them? + +TRANTO. Don't know. + +JOHN. Haven't you ever asked them? + +TRANTO. Well, John, you've got relatives yourself, and you probably know +there are some things that even the most affectionate relatives _don't_ +ask each other. + +HILDEGARDE (_rising from the desk and looking at John's feet_). Yes, +indeed! This very morning I unwisely asked Johnnie whether his socks +ever talked. Altercation followed. 'Some debate, believe _me_!' + +JOHN (_rising; with scornful tranquillity_). I'd better get ready for +dinner. Besides, you two would doubtless like to be alone together for a +few precious moments. + +HILDEGARDE (_sharply and self-consciously_). What do you mean? + +JOHN (_lightly_). Nothing. I thought editor and contributor-- + +HILDEGARDE. Oh! I see. + +JOHN (_stopping at door, and turning round_). Do you mean to say your +uncles won't be frightfully angry at Mr. Sampson Straight's articles? +Why, dash it, when he's talking about traffic in honours, if he doesn't +mean them who does he mean? + +TRANTO. My dear friend, stuff like that's meat and drink to my uncles. +They put it down like chocolates. + +JOHN. Well my deliberate opinion is--it's a jolly strange world. (_Exit +quickly, back)_. + +TRANTO (_looking at_ Hildegarde). So it is. Philosopher, John! Questions +rather pointed perhaps; but result in the discovery of new truths. By +the way, have I come too early? + +HILDEGARDE (_archly)_. How could you? But father's controlling the +country half an hour more than usual this evening, and I expect mamma +was so angry about it she forgot to telephone you that dinner's moved +accordingly. (_With piquancy and humour_.) I was rather surprised to +hear when I got home from my Ministry that you'd sent word you'd like to +dine to-night. + +TRANTO. Were you? Why? + +HILDEGARDE. Because last week when mamma _asked_ you for to-night, you +said you had another engagement. + +TRANTO. Oh! I'd forgotten I'd told her that. Still, I really had +another engagement. + +HILDEGARDE. The Countess of Blackfriars--you said. + +TRANTO. Yes. Auntie Joe's. I've just sent her a telephone message to say +I'm ill and confined to the house. + +HILDEGARDE. Which house? + +TRANTO. I didn't specify any particular house. + +HILDEGARDE. And are you ill? + +TRANTO. I am not.... To get back to the realm of fact, when I read +Sampson Straight's article about the degradation of honours this +afternoon-- + +HILDEGARDE. Didn't you read it before you published it? + +TRANTO. No. I had to rush off and confront the Medical Board at 9 a.m. I +felt certain the article would be all right. + +HILDEGARDE. And it wasn't all right. + +TRANTO (_positively_). Perfectly all right. + +HILDEGARDE. You don't seem quite sure. Are we still in the realm of +fact, or are we slipping over the frontier? + +TRANTO. The article was perfectly all right. It rattled off from +beginning to end like a machine-gun, and must have caused enormous +casualties. Only I thought Auntie Joe might be one of the casualties. I +thought it might put her out of action as a hostess for a week or so. +You see, for me to publish such an onslaught on new titles in the +afternoon, and then attempt to dine with the latest countess the same +night--and she my own aunt--well, it might be regarded as a bit--thick. +So I'm confined to the house--this house as it happens. + +HILDEGARDE. But you told John your people would take the article like +meat and drink. + +TRANTO. What if I did? John can't expect to discover the whole truth +about everything at one go. He's found out it's a jolly strange world. +That ought to satisfy him for to-day. Besides, he only asked me about my +uncles. He said nothing about my uncles' wives. You know what women +are--I mean wives. + +HILDEGARDE. Oh, I do! Mother is a marvellous specimen. + +TRANTO. I haven't told you the worst. + +HILDEGARDE. I hope no man ever will. + +TRANTO. The worst is this. Auntie Joe actually thinks _I_'m Sampson +Straight. + +HILDEGARDE. She doesn't! + +TRANTO. She does. She has an infinite capacity for belief. The +psychology of the thing is as follows. My governor died a comparatively +poor man. A couple of hundred thousand pounds, more or less. Whereas +Uncle Joe is worth five millions--and Uncle Joe was going to adopt me, +when Auntie Joe butted in and married him. She used to arrange the +flowers for his first wife. Then she arranged _his_ flowers. Then she +became a flower herself and he had to gather her. Then she had twins, +and my chances of inheriting that five millions (_he imitates the noise +of a slight explosion_) short-circuited! Well, I didn't care a volt--not +a volt! I've got lots of uncles left who are quite capable of adopting +me. But I didn't really want to be adopted at all. To adopt me was only +part of Uncle Joe's political game. It was my _Echo_ that he was after +adopting. But I'd sooner run my _Echo_ on my own than inherit Uncle +Joe's controlling share in twenty-five daily papers, seventy-one weekly +papers, six monthly magazines, and three independent advertising +agencies. I know I'm a poor man, but I'm quite ready to go on facing the +world bravely with my modest capital of a couple of hundred thousand +pounds. Only Auntie Joe can't understand that. She's absolutely +convinced that I have a terrific grudge against her and her twins, and +that in order to gratify that grudge I myself personally write articles +against all her most sacred ideals under the pseudonym of Sampson +Straight. I've pointed out to her that I'm a newspaper proprietor, and +no newspaper proprietor ever _could_ write. No use! She won't listen. + +HILDEGARDE. Then she thinks you're a liar. + +TRANTO. Oh, not at all. Only a journalist. But you perceive the widening +rift in the family lute. (_A silence_.) Pardon this glimpse into the +secret history of the week. + +HILDEGARDE (_formidably_). Mr. Tranto, you and I are sitting on the edge +of a volcano. + +TRANTO. We are. I like it. Thrilling, and yet so warm and cosy. + +HILDEGARDE. I used to like it once. But I don't think I like it any +more. + +TRANTO. Now please don't let Auntie Joe worry you. She's my cross, not +yours. + +HILDEGARDE. Yes. But considered as a cross, your Auntie Joe is nothing +to my brother John, who quite justly calls his sister's cookery stuff +'tripe.' It was a most ingenious camouflage of yours to have me +pretending to be the author of that food economy 'tripe,' so as to cover +my writing quite different articles for _The Echo_ and your coming here +to see me so often. Most ingenious. Worthy of a newspaper proprietor. +But why should I be saddled with 'tripe' that isn't mine? + +TRANTO. Why, indeed! Then you think we ought to encourage the volcano +with a lighted match--and run? + +HILDEGARDE. I'm ready if you are. + +TRANTO. Oh! I'm ready. Secrecy was a great stunt at first. Letting out +the secret will be an even greater stunt now. It'll make the finest +newspaper story since the fearful fall of the last Cabinet. Sampson +Straight--equals Miss Hildegarde Culver, the twenty-one year old +daughter of the Controller of Accounts! Typist in the Food Department, +by day! Journalistic genius by night! The terror of Ministers! Read by +all London! Raised the circulation of _The Echo_ two hundred per cent! +Phenomenon unique in the annals of Fleet Street! (_In a different tone, +noticing_ Hildegarde's _face_). Crude headlines, I admit, but that's +what Uncle Joe has brought us to. We have to compete with Uncle Joe.... + +HILDEGARDE. Of course I shall have to leave home. + +TRANTO. Leave home! + +HILDEGARDE. Yes, and live by myself in rooms. + +TRANTO. But why? + +HILDEGARDE. I couldn't possibly stay here. Think how it would compromise +father with the War Cabinet if I did. It might ruin him. And as accounts +are everything in modern warfare, it might lose the war. But that's +nothing--it's mamma I'm thinking of. Do you forget that Sampson +Straight, being a young woman of advanced ideas, has written about +everything, _everything_--yes, and several other subjects besides? For +instance, here's the article I was revising when you came in. (_Shows +the title-page to_ Tranto.) + +TRANTO. Splendid! You're the most courageous creature I ever met. + +HILDEGARDE. Possibly. But not courageous enough to offer to kiss mamma +when I went to bed on the night that _that (indicating the article_) had +appeared in print under my own name. You don't know mamma. + +TRANTO. But dash it! You could eat your mother! + +HILDEGARDE. Pardon me. The contrary is the fact. Mamma could eat me. + +TRANTO. But you're the illustrious Sampson Straight. There's more +intelligence in your little finger than there is in your mother's whole +body. See how you write. + +HILDEGARDE. Write! I only began to write as a relief from mamma. I +escaped secretly into articles like escaping into an underground +passage. But as for facing mamma in the open!... Even father scarcely +ever does that; and when he does, we hold our breath, and the cook turns +teetotal. It wouldn't be the slightest use me trying to explain the +situation logically to mamma. She wouldn't understand. She's far too +clever to understand anything she doesn't like. Perhaps that's the +secret of her power. No, if the truth about Sampson Straight is to come +out I must leave home--quietly but firmly leave home. And why not? I can +keep myself in splendour on Sampson's earnings. And the break is bound +to come sooner or later. I admit I didn't begin very seriously, but +reading my own articles has gradually made me serious. I feel I have a +cause. A cause may be inconvenient, but it's magnificent. It's like +champagne or high heels, and one must be prepared to suffer for it. + +TRANTO. Cause be hanged! Suffer be hanged! High heels be hanged! +Champagne--(_stops_). Miss Culver, if a disclosure means your leaving +home I won't agree to any disclosure whatever. I will--not--agree. +We'll sit tight on the volcano. + +HILDEGARDE. But why won't you agree? + +TRANTO (_excited_). Why won't I agree! Why won't I agree! Because I +don't want you to leave home. I know you're a born genius--a marvel, a +miracle, a prodigy, an incredible orchid, the most brilliant journalist +in London. I'm fully aware of all that. But I do not and will not see +you as a literary bachelor living with a cause and holding receptions of +serious people in chambers furnished by Roger Fry. I like to think of +you at home, here, in this charming atmosphere, amid the delightful +vicissitudes of family existence, and--well, I like to think of you as a +woman. + +HILDEGARDE (_calmly and teasingly_). Mr. Tranto, we are forgetting one +thing. + +TRANTO. What's that? + +HILDEGARDE. You're an editor, and I'm a contributor whom you've never +met. + +_Enter_ Mrs. Culver (_L_). + +MRS. CULVER. Mr. Tranto, how are you? (_Shaking hands_.) I'm delighted +to see you. So sorry I didn't warn you we dine half an hour +later--thanks to the scandalous way the Government slave-drives my poor +husband. Please do excuse me. (_She sits_). + +TRANTO. On the contrary, it's I who should ask to be excused--proposing +myself like this at the last moment. + +MRS. CULVER. It was very nice of you to think of us. Come and sit down +here. (_Indicating a place by her side on the sofa_.) Now in my poor +addled brain I had an idea you were engaged for to-night at your aunt's, +Lady Blackfriars'. + +TRANTO (_sitting_). Mrs. Culver, you forget nothing. I _was_ engaged for +Auntie Joe's, but she's ill and she's put me off. + +MRS. CULVER. Dear me! How very sudden! + +TRANTO. Sudden? + +MRS. CULVER. I met Lady Blackfriars at tea late this afternoon and it +struck me how well she was looking. + +TRANTO. Yes, she always looks particularly well just before she's going +to be ill. She's very brave, very brave. + +MRS. CULVER. D'you mean in having twins? It was more than brave of her; +it was beautiful--both boys, too. + +HILDEGARDE (_innocently_). Budgeting for a long war. + +MRS. CULVER (_affectionately_). My dear girl! Come here, darling, you +haven't changed. Excuse me, Mr. Tranto. + +HILDEGARDE (_approaching_). I've been so busy. And I thought nobody was +coming. + +MRS. CULVER. Is your father nobody? (_stroking and patting_ Hildegarde's +_dress into order_). What have you been so busy on? + +HILDEGARDE. Article for _The Echo_. (Tranto, _who has been holding the +MS., indicates it_.) + +MRS. CULVER. I do wish you would let me see those cookery articles of +yours before they're printed. + +TRANTO (_putting MS. in his pocket_). I'm afraid that's quite against +the rules. You see, in Fleet Street-- + +MRS. CULVER (_very pleasantly_). As you please. I don't pretend to be +intellectual. But I confess I'm just a wee bit disappointed in +Hildegarde's cookery articles. I'm a great believer in good cookery. I +put it next to the Christian religion--and far in front of mere +cleanliness. I've just been trying to read Professor Metchnikoff's +wonderful book on 'The Nature of Man.' It only confirms me in my +lifelong belief that until the nature of man is completely altered good +cooking is the chief thing that women ought to understand. Now I taught +Hildegarde some cookery myself. She was not what I should call a +brilliant pupil, but she did grasp the great eternal principles. And yet +I find her writing (_with charm and benevolence_) stuff like her last +article--'The Everlasting Boiled Potato,' I think she called it. +Hildegarde, it was really very naughty of you to say what you said in +that article. (_Drawing down_ Hildegarde's _head and kissing her_.) + +TRANTO. Now why, Mrs. Culver? I thought it was so clever. + +MRS. CULVER. It may be clever to advocate fried potatoes and chip +potatoes and sauté potatoes as a change from the everlasting boiled. I +daresay it's what you call journalism. But how can you fry potatoes +without fat? + +TRANTO. Ah! How? + +MRS. CULVER. And where are you to obtain fat? _I_ can't obtain fat. I +stand in queues for hours because my servants won't--it's the latest +form of democracy--but _I_ can't obtain fat. I think the nearest fat is +at Stratford-on-Avon. + +TRANTO. Stand in queues! Mrs. Culver, you make me feel very guilty, +plunging in at a moment's notice and demanding a whole dinner in a +fatless world. I shall eat nothing but dry bread. + +MRS. CULVER. We never serve bread at lunch or dinner unless it's +specially asked for. But if soup, macaroni, eggs, and jelly will keep +you alive till breakfast-- + +HILDEGARDE. But there's beefsteak, mamma--I've told Mr. Tranto. + +MRS. CULVER. Only a little, and that's for your father. Beefsteak's the +one thing that keeps off his neuralgia, Mr. Tranto. (_With apologetic +persuasiveness_.) I'm sure you'll understand. + +TRANTO. Dear lady, I've never had neuralgia in my life. Macaroni, eggs, +and jelly are my dream. I've always wanted to feel like an invalid. + +MRS. CULVER. And how did you get on with your Medical Board this +morning? + +TRANTO. How marvellous of you to remember that I had a Medical Board +this morning! I believe I've found out your secret, Mrs. Culver--you're +undergoing a course of Pelman with those sixty generals and forty +admirals. Well, the Medical Board have given me a new complaint. You'll +be sorry to hear that I'm deformed. + +MRS. CULVER. Not deformed! + +TRANTO. Yes. It appears I'm flat-footed. (_Extending his leg_.) Have I +ever told you that I had a dashing military career extending over four +months, three of which I spent in hospital for a disease I hadn't got? +Then I was discharged as unfit. After a year they raked me in again. +Since then I've been boarded five times, and on the unimpeachable +authority of various R.A.M.C. Colonels I've been afflicted with valvular +disease of the heart, incipient tuberculosis, rickets, varicose veins, +diabetes--practically everything, except spotted fever and leprosy. And +now flat feet are added to all the rest. Even the Russian collapse and +the transfer of the entire German army to the Western Front hasn't +raised me higher than C 3. + +MRS. CULVER. How annoying for you! You might have risen to be a captain +by this time. + +HILDEGARDE (_reflectively_). No doubt, in a home unit. But if he'd gone +to the Front he would still have been a second lieutenant. + +MRS. CULVER. My _dear_! + +TRANTO. Whereas in fact I'm still one of those able-bodied young +shirkers in mufti that patriotic old gentlemen in clubs are always +writing to my uncles' papers about. + +MRS. CULVER. Please! please! (_A slight pause; pulling herself +together; cheerfully_.) Let me see, you were going in for Siege +Artillery, weren't you? + +TRANTO. Me! Siege Artillery. My original ambition was trench +mortars--not so noisy. + +MRS. CULVER (_simply_). Oh! Then it must have been somebody else who was +talking to me about Siege Artillery. I understand it's very +scientific--all angles and degrees and wind-pressures and things. John +will soon be eighteen, and his father and I want him to be really useful +in the Army. We don't want him to be thrown away. He has brains, and so +we are thinking of Siege Artillery for him. + +(_During this speech_ John _has entered, in evening dress_.) + +JOHN. Are you on Siege again, mater? The mater's keen on Siege because +she's heard somewhere it's the safest thing there is. + +MRS. CULVER. And if it does happen to be the safest--what then? + +TRANTO. I suppose you're all for the Flying Corps, John? + +JOHN (_with condescension_). Not specially. Since one of the old boys +came and did looping the loop stunts over the school the whole Fifth +has gone mad on the R.F.C. Most fellows are just like sheep. _Somebody_ +in the Sixth has to be original. I want to fight as much as any chap +with wings across his chest, but I've got my private career to think of +too. If you ask me, the mater's had a brain-wave for once. + +_Enter_ Mr. Culver, _back. He stands a moment at the door, surveying the +scene_. Mrs. Culver _springs up, and_ Tranto _also rises, moving towards +the door_. + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur, have you come? + +CULVER (_advancing a little_). Apparently. Hello, Tranto, glad to see +you. I wanted to. (_Shakes hands with_ Tranto.) + +MRS. CULVER. What's the matter, Arthur? + +CULVER. Everything. + +MRS. CULVER (_alarmed, but carefully coaxing_). Why are you wearing your +velvet coat? (_To_ Tranto.) He always puts on his velvet coat instead of +dressing when something's gone wrong. (_To_ Mr. Culver.) Have you got +neuralgia again? + +CULVER. I don't think so. + +MRS. CULVER. But surely you must know! You look terribly pale. + +CULVER. The effect of the velvet coat, my dear--nicely calculated in +advance. + +MRS. CULVER (_darting at him, holding him by the shoulders, and then +kissing him violently. With an intonation of affectionate protest_). +Darling! + +JOHN. Oh! I say, mater, look here! + +MRS. CULVER (_to_ Culver, _still holding him_). I'm very annoyed with +you. It's perfectly absurd the way you work. (_To_ Tranto.) Do you know +he was at the office all day Christmas Day and all day Boxing Day? (_To_ +Culver.) You really must take a holiday. + +CULVER. But what about the war, darling? + +MRS. CULVER (_loosing him_). Oh! You're always making the war an excuse. +I know what I shall do. I shall just go-- + +CULVER. Yes, darling, just go and suggest a short armistice to the +Germans while you take me to Brighton for a week's fondling. + +MRS. CULVER. I shall just speak to Miss Starkey. Strange that the wife, +in order to influence the husband, should have to appeal to +(_disdainfully_) the lady secretary! But so it is. + +CULVER. Hermione, I must beg you not to interfere between Miss Starkey +and me. Interference will upset Miss Starkey, and I cannot stand her +being upset. I depend upon her absolutely. First, Miss Starkey is the +rock upon which my official existence is built. She is a serious and +conscientious rock. She is hard and expects me to be hard. Secondly, +Miss Starkey is the cushion between me and the world. She knows my +tender spots, and protects them. Thirdly, Miss Starkey is my rod--and I +kiss it. + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur!... (_tries to be agreeable_). But I really am +vexed. + +CULVER. Well, I'm only hungry. + +_Enter_ Parlourmaid. + +PARLOURMAID. Cook's compliments, madam, and dinner will be twenty +minutes late. (_Exit_.) + +(_A shocked silence_.) + +CULVER (_with an exhausted sigh_). And yet I gave that cook one of my +most captivating smiles this morning. + +MRS. CULVER (_settling_ Mr. Culver _into a chair_). She's done it simply +because I told her to-night that rationing is definitely coming in. Her +reply was that the kitchen would never stand it, whatever the Government +said. She was quite upset--and so she's gone and done something to the +dinner. + +CULVER. Surely rather illogical of her, isn't it? Or have I missed a +link in the chain of reasoning? + +MRS. CULVER. I shall give her notice--after dinner. + +JOHN. Couldn't you leave it till after the holidays, mother? + +HILDEGARDE. And where shall you find another cook, mamma? + +MRS. CULVER. The first thing is to get rid of the present one. Then we +shall see. + +CULVER. My dear, you talk as if she was a prime minister. Still, it +might be a good plan to sack all the servants before rationing comes in, +and engage deaf-mutes. + +MRS. CULVER. Deaf-mutes! + +CULVER. Deaf-mutes. Then they wouldn't be worried by the continual +groaning of _my_ hunger, and I shouldn't hear any complaints about +_theirs_. + +MRS. CULVER (_to_ Hildegarde). My pet, you've time to change now. Do run +and change. You're so sombre. + +HILDEGARDE. I can't do it in twenty minutes. + +MRS. CULVER. Then put a bright shawl on--for papa's sake. + +HILDEGARDE. I haven't got a bright shawl. + +MRS. CULVER. Then take mine. The one with the pink beads on it. It's in +my wardrobe--right-hand side. + +JOHN. That means it'll be on the left-hand side. + +(_Exit_ Hildegarde, _back, with a look at Tranto, who opens the door for +her_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_with sweet apprehensiveness_). Now Arthur, I'm afraid +after all you have something on your mind. + +CULVER. I've got nothing on my stomach, anyway. (_Bracing himself_.) +Yes, darling, it's true. I have got something on my mind. Within the +last hour I've had a fearful shock-- + +MRS. CULVER. I knew it! + +CULVER. And I need sustaining. I hadn't meant to say anything until +after dinner, but in view of cook's drastic alterations in the +time-table I may as well tell you (_looking round_) at once. + +MRS. CULVER. It's something about the Government again. + +CULVER. The Government has been in a very serious situation. + +MRS. CULVER (_alarmed_). You mean they're going to ask you to resign? + +CULVER. I wish they would! + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur! Do please remember the country is at war. + +CULVER. Is it? So it is. You see, my pet, I remember such a lot of +things. I remember that my brainy partner is counting khaki trousers in +the Army clothing department. I remember that my other partner ought to +be in a lunatic asylum, but isn't. I remember that my business is going +to the dogs at a muzzle velocity of about five thousand feet a second. I +remember that from mere snobbishness I work for the Government without a +penny of salary, and that my sole reward is to be insulted and libelled +by high-brow novelists who write for the press. Therefore you ought not +to be startled if I secretly yearn to resign. However, I shall not be +asked to resign. I said that the Government had been in a very serious +situation. It was. But it will soon recover. + +MRS. CULVER. How soon? + +CULVER. On New Year's Day. + +JOHN. Then what's the fearful shock, dad? + +MRS. CULVER. Yes. Have you heard anything special? + +CULVER. No. But I've seen something special. I saw it less than an hour +ago. It was shown to me without the slightest warning, and I admit it +shook me. You can perceive for yourselves that it shook me. + +MRS. CULVER. But what? + +CULVER. The New Year's Honours List--or rather a few choice selections +from the more sensational parts of it. + +_Enter_ Hildegarde. + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur, _what_ do you mean? (_To_ Hildegarde, _in +despair_.) My chick, your father grows more and more puzzling every day! +How well that shawl suits you! You look quite a different girl. But +you've--(_arranges the shawl on_ Hildegarde) I really don't know what +your father has on his mind! I really don't! + +JOHN (_impatient of this feminine manifestation_). Oh, dad, go on. Go +on! I want to get at the bottom of this titles business. I'm hanged if I +can understand it. What strikes me as an unprejudiced observer is that +titles are supposed to be such a terrific honour, and yet the people who +deal them out scarcely ever keep any for themselves. Look at Mr. +Gladstone, for instance. He must have made about forty earls and seven +thousand baronets in his time. Now if I was a Prime Minister, and I +believed in titles--which I jolly well don't--I should make myself a +duke right off; and I should have several marquises and viscounts round +me in the Cabinet like a sort of bodyguard, and my private secretaries +would have to be knights. There'd be some logic in that arrangement +anyhow. + +CULVER. In view of your political career, John, will you mind if I give +you a brief lesson on elementary politics--though you _are_ on your +holidays? + +JOHN (_easily_). I'm game. + +CULVER. What is the first duty of modern Governments? + +JOHN. To govern. + +CULVER. My innocent boy. I thought better of you. I know that you look +on the venerable Mr. Tranto as a back number, and I suspect that Mr. +Tranto in his turn regards me as prehistoric; and yet you are so behind +the times as to imagine that the first duty of modern Governments is to +govern! My dear Rip van Winkle, wake up. The first duty of a Government +is to live. It has no right to be a Government at all unless it is +convinced that if it fell the country would go to everlasting smash. +Hence its first duty is to survive. In order to survive it must do three +things--placate certain interests, influence votes, and obtain secret +funds. All these three things can be accomplished by the ingenious +institution of Honours. Only the simple-minded believe that Honours are +given to honour. Honours are given to save the life of the Government. +Hence the Honours List. Examine the Honours List and you can instantly +tell how the Government feels in its inside. When the Honours List is +full of rascals, millionaires, and--er--chumps, you may be quite sure +that the Government is dangerously ill. + +TRANTO. But that amounts to what we've been saying in _The Echo_ to-day. + +CULVER. Yes, I've read the _The Echo_. + +JOHN. I thought you never had a free moment at the office--always rushed +to death--at least that's the mater's theory. + +CULVER. I've read _The Echo_, and my one surprise is that you're here +to-night, Tranto. + +TRANTO. Why? + +CULVER. I quite thought you'd have been shoved into the Tower under the +Defence of the Realm Act. Or Sampson Straight, anyway. (Hildegarde +_starts_.) Your contributor has committed the unpardonable sin of +hitting the nail on the head. He might almost have seen an advance copy +of the Honours List. + +TRANTO. He hadn't. Nor had I. Who's in it? + +CULVER. You might ask who isn't in it. (_Taking a paper from his +pocket_.) Well, Gentletie's in it. He gets a knighthood. + +TRANTO. Never heard of him. Who is he? + +HILDEGARDE. Oh, yes, you've heard of him. (John _glances at her +severely_.) He's M.P. for some earthly paradise or other in the South +Riding. + +TRANTO. Oh! + +CULVER. Perhaps I might read you something written by my private +secretary--he's one of these literary wags. You see there's been a +demand that the Government should state clearly, in every case of an +Honour, exactly what services the Honour is given for. This (_taking +paper from his pocket_) is supposed to be the stuff sent round to the +Press by the Press Bureau. (_Reads_.) 'Mr. Gentletie has gradually made +a solid reputation for himself as the dullest man in the House of +Commons. Whenever he rises to his feet the House empties as if by magic. +In cases of inconvenience, when the Government wishes abruptly to close +a debate by counting out the House, it has invariably put up Mr. +Gentletie to speak. The device has never been known to fail. Nobody can +doubt that Mr. Gentletie's patriotic devotion to the Allied cause well +merits the knighthood which is now bestowed on him.' + +JOHN (_astounded_.) Stay me with flagons! + +TRANTO. So that's that! And who else? + +CULVER. Another of your esteemed uncles. + +TRANTO. Well, that's not very startling, seeing that my uncle's chief +daily organ is really a department of the Government. + +JOHN. What I say is-- + +HILDEGARDE (_simultaneously with_ John). Wouldn't it be more +correct--(_continuing alone_) wouldn't it be more correct to say that +the Government is really a department of your uncle's chief daily organ? + +JOHN. Hilda, old girl, I wish you wouldn't interrupt. Cookery's your +line. + +HILDEGARDE. Sorry, Johnnie. I see I was in danger of becoming unsexed. + +CULVER (_to_ John). Yes? You were about to say? + +JOHN. Oh, nothing. + +CULVER (_to_ Tranto). Shall I read the passage on your uncle? + +TRANTO. Don't trouble. Who's the next? + +CULVER. The next is--Ullivant, munitions manufacturer. Let me see. +(_Reads_.) By the simple means of saying that the cost price of shells +was eighteen shillings and ninepence each, whereas it was in fact only +ten shillings and ninepence, Mr. Joshua Ullivant has made a fortune of +two million pounds during the war. He has given a hundred thousand to +the Prince of Wales's Fund, a hundred thousand to the Red Cross, and a +hundred thousand to the party funds. Total net profit on the war, one +million seven hundred thousand pounds, not counting the peerage which is +now bestowed upon him, and which it must be admitted is a just reward +for his remarkable business acumen.' + +TRANTO. Very agreeable fellow Ullivant is, nevertheless. + +CULVER. Oh, he is. They're most of them too damned agreeable for +anything. Another prominent name is Orlando Bush. + +TRANTO. Ah! + +MRS. CULVER. I've met his wife. She dances beautifully at charity +matinees. + +CULVER. No doubt. But apparently that's not the reason. + +TRANTO. I know Orlando. I've just bought the serial rights of his book. + +CULVER. Have you paid him? + +TRANTO. No. + +CULVER. How wise of you! (_Reads_). 'Mr. Orlando Bush has written a +historical sketch, with many circumstantial details, of the political +origins of the present Government. For his forbearance in kindly +consenting to withold publication until the end of the war Mr. Bush +receives a well-earned'-- + +TRANTO. What? + +CULVER. Knighthood. + +TRANTO. Cheap! But what a sell for me! + +CULVER. Now, ladies and gentlemen, the last name with which I will +trouble you is that of Mr. James Brill. + +TRANTO. Not Jimmy Brill! + +CULVER. Jimmy Brill. + +TRANTO. But he's a-- + +CULVER. Stop, my dear Tranto. No crude phrases, please. (_Reads_.) 'Mr. +James Brill, to use the language of metaphor, possessed a pistol, which +pistol he held point blank at the head of the Government. The Government +has thought it wise to purchase Mr. James Brill's pistol--' + +TRANTO. But he's a-- + +CULVER (_raising a hand_). He is merely the man with the pistol, and in +exchange for the pistol he gets a baronetcy. + +TRANTO. A baronetcy! + +CULVER. His title and pistol will go rattling down the ages, my dear +Tranto, from generation to generation. For the moment the fellow's name +stinks, but only for the moment. In the nostrils of his grandson (third +baronet), it will have a most sweet odour. + +MRS. CULVER. But all this is perfectly shocking. + +CULVER. Now I hope you comprehend my emotion, darling. + +MRS. CULVER But surely there are some _nice_ names on the List. + +CULVER. Of course. There have to be some nice names, for the sake of the +psychological effect on the public mind on New Year's Day. The public +looks for a good name, or for a name it can understand. It skims down +the List till it sees one. Then it says: 'Ah! That's not so bad!' Then +it skims down further till it sees another one, and it says again: 'Ah! +That's not so bad!' And so on. So that with about five or six decent +names you can produce the illusion that after all the List is really +rather good. + +HILDEGARDE. The strange thing to me is that decent people condescend to +receive titles at all. + +MRS. CULVER. Bravo, Hildegarde! Yes, if it's so bad as you make out, +Arthur, why _do_ decent people take Honours? + +CULVER. I'll tell you. Decent people have wives, and their wives lead +them by the nose. That's why decent people take Honours. + +MRS. CULVER. Well, I think it's monstrous! + +CULVER. So it is. I've been a Conservative all my life; I am a +Conservative. I swear I am. And yet, now when I look back, I'm amazed at +the things I used to do. Why, once I actually voted against a candidate +who stood for the reform of the House of Lords. Seems incredible. This +war is changing my ideas. (_Suddenly, after a slight pause_.) I'm +dashed if I don't join the Labour party and ask Ramsay Macdonald to +lunch. + +_Enter_ Parlourmaid, _back_. + +PARLOURMAID. You are wanted on the telephone, madam. + +MRS. CULVER. Oh, Arthur! (_Pats him on the shoulder as she goes out_.) + +(_Exit_ Mrs. Culver _and_ Parlourmaid, _back_.) + +CULVER. Hildegarde, go and see if you can hurry up dinner. + +HILDEGARDE. No one could. + +CULVER. Never mind, go and see. (_Exit_ Hildegarde, _back_.) John, just +take these keys, and get some cigars out of the cabinet, you know, +Partagas. + +JOHN. Oh! Is it a Partaga night? (_Exit, back_.) + +CULVER (_watching the door close_). Tranto, we are conspirators. + +TRANTO. You and I? + +CULVER. Yes. But we must have no secrets. Who wrote that article in _The +Echo_? Who is Sampson Straight? + +TRANTO (_temporising, lightly_). You remind me of the man with the +pistol. + +CULVER. Is it Hildegarde? + +TRANTO. How did you guess? + +CULVER. Well; first, I knew my daughter couldn't be the piffling lunatic +who does your war cookery articles. Second, I asked myself: What reason +has she for pretending to be that piffling lunatic? Third, I have an +exceedingly high opinion of my daughter's brains. Fourth, she gave a +funny start just now when I mentioned the idea of Sampson Straight going +to the Tower. + +TRANTO. Perhaps I ought to explain-- + +CULVER. No you oughn't. There's no time. I simply wanted a bit of +information. I've got it. Now I have a bit of information for you. I've +been offered a place in this beautiful Honours List. Baronetcy! Me! I am +put on the same high plane as Mr. James Brill, the unspeakable. The +formal offer hasn't actually arrived--it's late; I expect the letter'll +be here in the morning--but I know for a fact I'm in the List for a +baronetcy. + +TRANTO. Well, I congratulate you. + +CULVER. You'd better not. + +TRANTO. You deserve more than a baronetcy. Your department has been a +striking success--one of the very few in the whole length of Whitehall. + +CULVER. I know my department has been a success. But that's not why I'm +offered a baronetcy. Good heavens, I haven't even spoken to any member +of the War Cabinet yet. I've been trying to for about a year, but in +spite of powerful influences to help me I've never been able to bring +off a meeting with the mandarins. No! I'm offered a baronetcy because +I'm respectable; I'm decent; and at the last moment they thought the +List looked a bit too thick--so they pushed me in. One of their +brilliant afterthoughts!... No damned merit about the thing, I can tell +you! + +TRANTO. Do you mean you intend to refuse? + +CULVER. Do you mean you ever imagined that I should accept? Me, in the +same galley with Brill--who daren't go into his own clubs--and Ullivant, +and a few more pretty nearly as bad! Of course, I shall refuse. Nothing +on earth would induce me to accept. Nothing! (_More calmly_.) Mind you, +I don't blame the Government; probably the Government can't help itself. +Therefore the Government must be helped; and sometimes the best way to +help a fellow creature is to bring him to his senses by catching him one +across the jaw. + +TRANTO. Why are you making a secret of it? The offer is surely bound to +come out. + +CULVER. Of course. I'm only making a secret of it for the moment, while +I prepare the domestic ground for my refusal. + +TRANTO. You wish me to understand-- + +CULVER. You know what women are. (_With caution_.) I speak of the sex in +general. + +TRANTO. I see. + +CULVER. That's all right. + +TRANTO. Well, if I mayn't congratulate you on the title, let me +congratulate you on your marvellous skill in this delicate operation of +preparing the domestic ground for your refusal of the title. Your +success is complete, absolute. + +CULVER (_sardonic_.) Complete? Absolute? + +TRANTO. You have--er--jockeyed Mrs.--er--the sex into committing itself +quite definitely against titles. Hence I look on your position as +impregnable. + +CULVER. Good heavens, Tranto! How old are you? + +TRANTO. Twenty-five. + +CULVER. A quarter of a century--and you haven't learnt that no position +is impregnable against--er--the sex! You never know where the offensive +will come, nor when, nor how. The offensive is bound to be a surprise. +You aren't married. When you are you'll soon find out that being a +husband is a whole-time job. That's why so many husbands fail. They +can't give their entire attention to it. Tranto, my position must be +still further strengthened--during dinner. It can't be strengthened too +much. I've brought you into the conspiracy because you're on the spot +and I want you to play up. + +TRANTO. Certainly, sir. + +CULVER. The official letter _might_ come by to-night's post. If it does, +a considerable amount of histrionic skill will be needed. + +TRANTO. Trust me for that. + +CULVER. Oh! I do! Indeed I fancy after all I'm fairly safe. There's only +one danger. + +TRANTO. Yes? + +CULVER. My--I mean the sex, must hear of the offered title from me +first. If the news came to her indirectly she'd-- + +_Enter_ Mrs. Culver _rapidly, back_. + +MRS. CULVER (_rushing to him_). Darling! Dearest! What a tease you are! +You needn't pretend any longer. Lady Prockter has just whispered to me +over the telephone that you're to have a baronetcy. Of course she'd be +bound to know. She said I might tell you. I never _dreamed_ of a title. +I'm so glad. Oh! But you _are_ a tease! (_Kisses him enthusiastically_.) + +CURTAIN. + + + + +ACT II + + + + +ACT II + + +_The next day after dinner_. Culver _and_ Parlourmaid. + +CULVER (_handing_ Parlourmaid _a letter_). That's for the post. Is Miss +Starkey here? + +PARLOURMAID. Yes, sir. She is waiting. + +CULVER. Ask her to be good enough to keep on waiting. She may come in +when I ring twice. + +PARLOURMAID. Yes, sir. + +_Enter_ Mrs. Culver, _back_. + +MRS. CULVER (_to_ Parlourmaid, _stopping her as she goes out, +dramatically_). Give me that letter. (_She snatches the letter from the_ +Parlourmaid.) You can go. (Culver _rises_.) (_Exit_ Parlourmaid.) + +MRS. CULVER. I am determined to make a stand this time. + +CULVER (_soothingly_). So I see, darling. + +MRS. CULVER. I have given way to you all my life. But I won't give way +now. This letter shall not go. + +CULVER. As you like, darling. + +MRS. CULVER. No. (_She tears the envelope open, without having looked at +it, and throws the letter into the fire. In doing so she lets fall a +cheque_.) + +CULVER (_rising and picking up the cheque_). I'll keep the cheque as a +memento. + +MRS. CULVER. Cheque? What cheque? + +CULVER. Darling, once in the old, happy days--I think it was last +week--you and I were walking down Bond Street, almost hand in hand, but +not quite, and you saw a brooch in a shop window. You simply had to have +that brooch. I offered it to you for a Christmas present. You are +wearing it now, and very well it suits you. This (_indicating the +cheque_) was to pay the bill. + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur! + +CULVER. Moral: Look before you burn. Miss Starkey will now have to write +a fresh letter. + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur! You must forgive me. I'm in a horrid state of +nerves, and you said you were positively going to write to Lord Woking +to-night to refuse the title. + +CULVER. I did say so. + +MRS. CULVER (_hopefully_). But you haven't written? + +CULVER. I haven't. + +MRS. CULVER. You don't know how relieved I am! + +CULVER (_sitting down, drawing her to him, and setting her on his +knee_). Infant! Cherub! Angel! Dove!... Devil! (_Caressing her_.) Are we +friends? + +MRS. CULVER. It kills me to quarrel with you. (_They kiss_.) + +CULVER. Darling, we are absurd. + +MRS. CULVER. I don't care. + +CULVER. Supposing that anyone came in and caught us! + +MRS. CULVER. Well, we're married. + +CULVER.--But it's so long since. Hildegarde's twenty-one! John, +seventeen! + +MRS. CULVER. It seems to me like yesterday. + +CULVER. Yes, you're incurably a girl. + +MRS. CULVER. I'm not. + +CULVER. You are. And I'm a boy. I say we are absurd. We're continually +absurd. We were absurd all last evening when we pretended before the +others, with the most disastrous results, that nothing was the matter. +We were still more absurd when we went to our twin beds and argued +savagely with each other from bed to bed until four o'clock this +morning. Do you know that I had exactly one hour and fifty-five minutes' +sleep? (_Yawns_.) Do you know that owing to extreme exhaustion my +behaviour at my office to-day has practically lost the war? But the most +absurd thing of all was you trying to do the Roman matron business at +dinner to-night. Mind you, I adore you for being absurd, but-- + +MRS. CULVER (_very endearingly, putting her hand on his mouth_). +Dearest, you needn't continue. I know you're wiser and stronger than me +in every way. But I love that. Most women wouldn't; but I do. (_Kisses +him_.) Oh! I'm so glad you've at last seen the force of my arguments +about the title. + +CULVER (_gently warning_). Now, now! You're behaving like a journalist. + +MRS. CULVER. Like a journalist? + +CULVER. Journalists say a thing that they know isn't true, in the hope +that if they keep on saying it long enough it _will_ be true. + +MRS. CULVER. But you do see the force of my arguments! + +CULVER. Quite. But I also see the force of mine, and, as an impartial +judge, I'm bound to say that yours aren't in it with mine. + +MRS. CULVER. Then you've refused the title after all? + +CULVER (_ingratiatingly_). No. I told you I hadn't. But I'm going to. I +was just thinking over the terms of the fatal letter to Lord Woking when +you came in. Starkey is now waiting for me to dictate it. You see it +positively must be posted to-night. + +MRS. CULVER (_springing from his knee_). Arthur, you're playing with me! + +CULVER. No doubt. Like a mouse plays with a cat. + +MRS. CULVER. Surely it has occurred to you-- + +CULVER (_firmly, but very pleasantly_). Stop! You had till four o'clock +this morning to deliver all your arguments. You aren't going to begin +again. I understand you've stayed in bed all day. Quite right! But if +you stayed in bed merely to think of fresh arguments while I've been +slaving away at the office for my country, I say you're taking an unfair +advantage of me, and I won't have it. + +MRS. CULVER (_with dignity_). No. I haven't any fresh arguments; and if +I had, I shouldn't say what they were. + +CULVER. Oh! Why? + +MRS. CULVER. Because I can see it's useless to argue with a man like +you. + +CULVER. Now that's what I call better news from the Front. + +MRS. CULVER. I was only going to say this. Surely it has occurred to you +that on patriotic grounds alone you oughtn't to refuse the title. I +quite agree that Honours have been degraded. Quite! The thing surely is +to try and make them respectable again. And how are they ever to be +respectable if respectable men refuse them? + +CULVER. This looks to me suspiciously like an argument. + +MRS. CULVER. Not at all. It's simply a question. + +CULVER. Well, the answer is, I don't want Honours to be respectable any +more. Proverb: When fish has gone bad ten thousand decent men can't take +away the stink. + +MRS. CULVER. Now you're insulting your country. I know you often pretend +your country's the slackest place on earth, but it's only pretence. You +don't really think so. The truth is that inside you you're positively +conceited about your country. You think it's the greatest country that +ever was. And so it is. And yet when your country offers you this honour +you talk about bad fish. I say it's an insult to Great Britain. + +CULVER. Great Britain hasn't offered me any title. The fact is that +there are a couple of shrewd fellows up a devil of a tree in Whitehall, +and they're waving a title at me in the hope that I shall come and stand +under the tree so that they can get down by putting their dirty boots on +my shoulders. Well, I'm not going to be a ladder. + +MRS. CULVER. I wish you wouldn't try to be funny. + +CULVER. I'm not _trying_ to be funny. I _am_ being funny. + +MRS. CULVER. You might be serious for once. + +CULVER. I am serious. Beneath this amusing and delightful exterior, +there is hidden the most serious, determined, resolute, relentless, +inexorable, immovable man that ever breathed. And let me tell you +something else, my girl--something I haven't mentioned before because of +my nice feelings. What has this title affair got to do with you? What +the dickens has it got to do with you? The title isn't offered as a +reward for _your_ work; it's offered as a reward for _my_ work. _You_ +aren't the Controller of Accounts, _I_ happen to be the Controller of +Accounts. I have decided to refuse the title, and I shall refuse it. +_Nothing will induce me to accept it_. Do I make myself clear, or +(_smiling affectionately_) am I lost in a mist of words? + +MRS. CULVER (_suddenly furious_). You are a brute. You always were. You +never think of anybody but yourself. My life has been one long +sacrifice, and you know it perfectly well. Perfectly well! You talk +about _your_ work. What about my work? Why! You'd be utterly useless +without me. You can't even look after your own collars. Could you go +down to your ridiculous office without a collar? I've done everything +for you, everything! And now! (_Weeping_). I can't even be called 'my +lady.' I only wanted to hear the parlourmaid call me 'my lady.' It seems +a simple enough thing-- + +CULVER (_persuasively and softly, trying to seize her_). You divine +little snob! + +MRS. CULVER (_in a supreme, blazing outbreak escaping him_). Let me +alone! I told you at the start I should never give way. And I never +will. Never! If you send that letter of refusal, do you know what I +shall do? I shall go and see the War Cabinet myself. I shall tell them +you don't mean it. I'll make the most horrible scandal.... When I think +of the Duke of Wellington-- + +CULVER (_surprised and alarmed_). The Duke of Wellington? + +MRS. CULVER (_drawing herself up at the door, L_). The Duke of +Wellington didn't refuse a title! Hildegarde shall sleep in our room, +and you can have hers! (_Exit violently, L_.) + +CULVER (_intimidated, as she goes_). Look here, hurricane! (_He rushes +out after her_.) + +_Enter_ Hildegarde _and_ Tranto, _back_. + +HILDEGARDE (_seeing the room empty_). Well, I thought I heard them. + +TRANTO (_catching noise of high words from the boudoir_.) I fancy I _do_ +hear them. + +HILDEGARDE. Perhaps we'd better go. + +TRANTO. But I want to speak to you--just for a moment. + +HILDEGARDE (_moving uneasily_). What about? + +TRANTO. I don't know. Anything. It doesn't matter what ... I don't hear +them now. + +HILDEGARDE (_listening and hearing nothing; reassured_). I should have +thought you wouldn't have wanted to come here any more for a long time. + +TRANTO. Why? + +HILDEGARDE. After the terrible experiences of last night, during dinner +and after dinner. + +TRANTO. The general constraint? + +HILDEGARDE. The general constraint. + +TRANTO. The awkwardness? HILDEGARDE. The awkwardness. + +TRANTO. The frightful silences and the forced conversations? + +HILDEGARDE (_nods_). Why _did_ you come? + +TRANTO. Well-- + +HILDEGARDE. I suppose you're still confined to this house. + +TRANTO (_in a new confidential tone_). I wish you'd treat me as your +father does. + +HILDEGARDE. But of course I will-- + +TRANTO. That's fine. He treats me as an intimate friend. + +HILDEGARDE. But you must treat me as you treat papa. + +TRANTO (_slightly dashed_). I'll try. I might tell you that I had two +very straight talks with your father last night. + +HILDEGARDE. Two? + +TRANTO. Yes; one before dinner, and the other just before I left--when +you'd gone to bed. He began them--both of them. + +HILDEGARDE. Oh! So that you may be said to know the whole situation. + +TRANTO. Yes. Up to last thing last night, that is. + +HILDEGARDE. Since then it's developed on normal lines. What do you think +of it? + +TRANTO. I adore your mother, but I think your father's quite right. + +HILDEGARDE. Well, naturally! I take that for granted. I was expecting +something rather more original. + +TRANTO. You shall have it. I think that you and I are very largely +responsible for the situation. I think our joint responsibility binds us +inextricably together. + +HILDEGARDE. Mr. Tranto! + +TRANTO. Certainly. There's no doubt in my mind that your father was +enormously influenced by Sampson Straight's article on the Honours +scandal. In fact he told me so. And seeing that you wrote it and I +published it-- + +HILDEGARDE (_alarmed_). You didn't tell him I'm Sampson Straight? +TRANTO. Can you imagine me doing such a thing? + +HILDEGARDE. I hope not. Shall I tell you what _I_ think of the +situation? + +TRANTO. I wish you would. + +HILDEGARDE. I think such situations would never arise if parents weren't +so painfully unromantic. I'm not speaking particularly of papa and +mamma. I mean all parents. But take mamma. She's absolutely +matter-of-fact. And papa's nearly as bad. Of course I know they're +always calling each other by pet names; but that's mere camouflage for +their matter-of-factness. Whereas if they both had in them a little of +the real romance of life--everything would be different. At the same +time I needn't say that in this affair that we're now in the middle +of--there's no question of ratiocination. + +TRANTO. Of what? + +HILDEGARDE. Ratiocination. Reasoning. On either side. + +TRANTO. Oh no! + +HILDEGARDE. It's simply a question of mutual attitude, isn't it? Now, if +only--. But there! What's the use? Parents are like that, poor dears! +They have forgotten! (_With emphasis_.) They have forgotten--what makes +life worth living. + +TRANTO. You mean, for instance, your mother never sits on your father's +knee. + +HILDEGARDE (_bravely, after hesitation_). Yes! Crudely--that's what I do +mean. + +TRANTO. Miss Hildegarde, you are the most marvellous girl I ever met. +You are, really! You seem to combine all qualities. It's amazing to me. +I'm more and more astounded. Every time I come here there's a fresh +revelation. Now you mention romance. I'm glad you mentioned it first. +But I _saw_ it first. I saw it in your eyes the first time I ever met +you. Yes! Miss Hilda, do you see it in mine? Look. Look closely. +(_Approaching her_.) Because it's there. I must tell you. I can't wait +any longer. (_Feeling for her hand, vainly_.) + +HILDEGARDE (_drawing back_). Mr. Tranto, is this the way you treat +father? + +_Enter_ Mr. Culver, _back_. + +CULVER (_quickly_). Hilda, go to your mother. She's upstairs. +HILDEGARDE. What am I to do? + +CULVER. I don't know. (_With meaning_.) Think what the sagacious Sampson +Straight would do, and do that. + +(Hildegarde _gives a sharp look first at_ Culver, _and then at_ Tranto, +_and exit, back_.) + +CULVER (_turning to_ Tranto). My dear fellow, the war is practically +over. + +TRANTO. Good heavens! There was nothing on the tape when I left the +Club. + +CULVER. Oh! I don't mean your war. I mean the twenty-two years' war. + +TRANTO. The twenty-two years' war? + +CULVER. My married life. Over! Finished! Napoo! + +TRANTO. Do you know what you're saying? + +CULVER. Look here, Tranto. You and I don't belong to the same +generation. In fact, if I'd started early enough I might have been your +father. But we got so damned intimate last night, and I'm in such a +damned hole, and you're so damned wise, that I feel I must talk to you. +Not that it'll be any use. + +TRANTO. But what's the matter? + +CULVER. The matter is--keeping a woman in the house. + +TRANTO. Mr. Culver! You don't mean-- + +CULVER. I mean my wife--of course. I've just had the most ghastly rumpus +with my wife. It was divided into two acts. The first took place here, +the second in the boudoir (_indicating boudoir_). The second act was the +shortest but the worst. + +TRANTO. But what was it all about? + +CULVER. Now for heaven's sake don't ask silly questions. You know +perfectly well what it was about. It was about the baronetcy. I have +decided to refuse that baronetcy, and my wife has refused to let me +refuse it. + +TRANTO. But what are her arguments? + +CULVER. I've implored you once not to ask silly questions. 'What are her +arguments' indeed! She hasn't got any arguments. You know that. You're +too wise not to know it. She merely wants the title, that's all. + +TRANTO. And how did the second act end? + +CULVER. I don't quite remember. + +TRANTO. Let me suggest that you sit down. (Culver _sits_.) Thanks. Now +I've always gathered from my personal observation, that you, if I may +say so, are the top dog here when it comes to the point--the crowned +head, as it were. + +CULVER. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. At least, it did last +night, and I shall be greatly surprised if it doesn't to-night. + +TRANTO. Naturally. A crown isn't a night-cap. But you are the top dog. +In the last resort, what you say, goes. That is so, isn't it? I only +want to be clear. + +CULVER. Yes, I think that's pretty right. + +TRANTO. Well, you have decided on public grounds, and as a question of +principle, to refuse the title. You intend to refuse it. + +CULVER. I--I do. + +TRANTO. Nobody can stop you from refusing it. + +CULVER. Nobody. + +TRANTO. Mrs. Culver can't stop you from refusing it? + +CULVER. Certainly not. It concerns me alone. + +TRANTO. Well, then, where is the difficulty? A rumpus--I think you +said. What of that? My dear Mr. Culver, believe me, I have seen far more +of marriage than you have. You're only a married man. I'm a bachelor, +and I've assisted at scores of married lives. A rumpus is nothing. It +passes--and leaves the victor more firmly established than ever before. + +CULVER (_rising_). Don't talk to me of rumpuses. I know all about +rumpuses. This one is an arch-rumpus. This one is like no other rumpus +that ever was. It's something new in my vast experience. I shall win. I +have won. But at what cost? (_With effect_.) The cost may be that I +shall never kiss the enemy again. The whole domestic future is in grave +jeopardy. + +TRANTO. Seriously? + +CULVER. Seriously. + +TRANTO. Then you musn't win. + +CULVER. But what about my public duty? What about my principles? I can't +sacrifice my principles. + +TRANTO. Why not? + +CULVER. I never have. + +TRANTO. How old are you? + +CULVER. Forty-four. + +TRANTO. And you've never sacrificed a principle? + +CULVER. Never. + +TRANTO. Then it's high time you began. And you'd better begin, before +it's too late. Besides, there are no principles in married life. + +CULVER. Tranto, you are remarkable. How did you find that out? + +TRANTO. I've often noticed it. + +CULVER. It's a profound truth. It throws a new light on the entire +situation. + +TRANTO. It does. + +CULVER. Then you deliberately advise me to give way about the title? + +TRANTO. I do. + +CULVER. Strange! (_Casually_.) I had thought of doing so, but I never +dreamt you'd agree, and I'd positively determined to act on your advice. +You know, you're taking an immense responsibility. + +TRANTO. I can bear that. What I couldn't bear is any kind of real +trouble in this house. + +CULVER. Why? What's it got to do with you? + +TRANTO. Nothing! Nothing! Only my abstract interest in the institution +of marriage. + +CULVER (_ringing the bell twice_). Ah, well, after all, I'm not utterly +beaten yet. I've quite half an hour before post goes, and I shall fight +to the last ditch. + +TRANTO. But hasn't Mrs. Culver retired? + +CULVER. Yes. + +TRANTO. May I suggest that it would be mistaken tactics to--er--run +after her? + +CULVER. It would. + +TRANTO. Well then? + +CULVER. She will return. + +TRANTO. How do you know? + +CULVER. She always does.... No, Tranto, I may yet get peace on my own +terms. You see I'm an accountant. No ordinary people, accountants! For +one thing they make their money by counting other people's. I've known +accountants do marvellous stunts. + +_Enter_ Miss Starkey, _back_. + +TRANTO. I'll leave you. + +CULVER. You'll find John somewhere about. I shan't be so very long--I +hope. Miss Starkey, kindly take down these two letters. How much time +have we before post goes? + +(_Exit_ Tranto, _back_.) + +MISS STARKEY. Forty minutes. + +CULVER. Excellent. + +MISS STARKEY (_indicating some papers which she has brought_). These +things ought to be attended to to-night. + +CULVER. Possibly. But they won't be. + +MISS STARKEY. The Rosenberg matter is very urgent. He leaves for Glasgow +to-morrow. + +CULVER. I wish he'd leave for Berlin. I won't touch it to-night. Please +take down these two letters. + +MISS STARKEY. Then it will be necessary for you to be at the office at +9.30 in the morning. + +CULVER. I decline to be at the office at 9.30 in the morning. + +MISS STARKEY. But I've an appointment for you. I was afraid you wouldn't +do anything to-night. + +CULVER (_resigned_). Very well! Very well! Tell them to call me, and see +cook about breakfast. (_Beginning to dictate_.) 'My dear Lord Woking'-- + +MISS STARKEY (_sitting_). Excuse me, is this letter about the title? + +CULVER. Yes. + +MISS STARKEY. Then it ought to be an autograph letter. That's the +etiquette. + +CULVER. How do you know? + +MISS STARKEY. General knowledge. + +CULVER. In this case the rule will be broken. That's flat. + +MISS STARKEY. Then I must imitate your handwriting. + +CULVER. Can you? + +MISS STARKEY. You ought to know, Mr. Culver--by this time. + +CULVER. I don't know officially. However, have your own way. Forge the +whole thing, signature and all. I don't care. 'My dear Lord Woking. +Extreme pressure of--er--government business has compelled me to leave +till last thing to-night my reply to your letter in which you are good +enough to communicate to me the offer of a baronetcy. I cannot +adequately express to you my sense of the honour in contemplation, but, +comma, for certain personal reasons with which I need not trouble you, +comma, I feel bound, with the greatest respect and the greatest +gratitude, to ask to be allowed to refuse. (Miss Starkey _shows +emotion_.) I am sure I can rely on you to convey my decision to the +proper quarter with all your usual tact. Believe me, my dear Lord +Woking, Cordially yours.' (_To_ Miss Starkey.) What in heaven's name is +the matter with you? + +MISS STARKEY. Mr. Culver. I shall have to give you a month's notice. + +CULVER (_staggered_). Have--have you gone mad too? + +MISS STARKEY. Not that I am aware of. But I must give a month's +notice--for certain personal reasons with which I need not trouble you. +CULVER. Young woman, you know that you are absolutely indispensable to +me. You know that without you I should practically cease to exist. I am +quite open with you as to that--and as to everything. You are acquainted +with the very depths of my character and the most horrible secrets of my +life. I conceal nothing from you, and I demand that you conceal nothing +from me. What are your reasons for giving me notice in this manner? + +MISS STARKEY. My self respect would not allow me to remain with a +gentleman who had refused a title. Oh, Mr. Culver, to be the private +secretary to a baronet has been my life's dream. And--and--I have just +had the offer of a place where a _peerage_ is in prospect. Still, I +wouldn't have, taken even that if you had not--if you had +not--(_controlling herself, coldly_). Kindly accept my notice. I give it +at once because I shall have no time to lose for the peerage. + +CULVER. Miss Starkey, you drive me to the old, old conclusion--all women +are alike. + +MISS STARKEY. Then my leaving will cause you no inconvenience, because +you'll easily get another girl exactly like me. + +CULVER. You are a heartless creature. (_In an ordinary voice_.) Did we +finish the first letter? This is the second one. (_Dictates_.) 'My dear +Lord Woking'-- + +MISS STARKEY. But you've just given me that one. + +CULVER (_firmly_.) 'My dear Lord Woking.' Go on the same as the first +one down to 'I cannot adequately express to you my sense of the honour +in contemplation.' 'Full stop. I need hardly say that, in spite of my +feeling that I have done only too little to deserve it, I accept it with +the greatest pleasure and the greatest gratitude. Believe me, etc.' + +MISS STARKEY. But-- + +CULVER. Don't imagine that your giving me notice has affected me in the +slightest degree. It has not. I told you I had two letters. I have not +yet decided whether to accept or refuse the title. (_Enter_ Mrs. Culver, +_back_.) Go and copy both letters and bring them in to me in a quarter +of an hour, whether I ring or not. That will give you plenty of time for +post. Now--run! (_Exit_ Miss Starkey, _back_. Culver _rises, clears his +throat, and obviously braces himself for a final effort of firmness_. +Mrs. Culver _calmly rearranges some flowers in a vase_.) Well, my dear, +I was expecting you. + +MRS. CULVER (_very sweetly_), Arthur, I was wrong. + +CULVER (_startled_). Good God! (Mrs. Culver _bends down to examine the +upholstery of a chair_. Culver _gives a gesture, first of triumph, and +then of apprehension_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_looking straight at him_). I say I was wrong. + +CULVER (_lightly, but uneasily_). Oh no! Oh no! + +MRS. CULVER. Of course I don't mean wrong in my arguments about the +title. Not for a moment. I mean I was wrong not to sacrifice my own +point of view. I'm only a woman, and it's the woman's place to submit. +So I do submit. Naturally I shall always be a true wife to you, but-- + +CULVER. Now child, don't begin to talk like that. I don't mind _reading_ +novels, but I won't have raw lumps of them thrown _at_ me. + +MRS. CULVER (_with a gentle smile_), I _must_ talk like this. I shall do +everything I can to make you comfortable, and I hope nobody, and +especially not the poor children, will notice any difference in our +relations. + +CULVER (_advancing, with a sort of menace_). But? + +MRS. CULVER. But things can never be the same again. + +CULVER. I knew the confounded phrase was coming. I knew it. I've read it +scores of times. (_Picking up the vase_.) Hermione, if you continue in +that strain, I will dash this vase into a thousand fragments. + +MRS. CULVER (_quietly taking the vase from him and putting it down_). +Arthur, I could have forgiven you everything. What do I +care--really--about a title? (_Falsely_.) I only care for your +happiness. But I can't forgive you for having laid a trap for me last +night--and in front of the children and a stranger too. + +CULVER. Laid a trap for you? + +MRS. CULVER. You knew all about the title when you first came in last +night and you deliberately led me on. + +CULVER. Oh! That! Ah well! One does what one can. You've laid many a +trap for me, my girl. You're still about ten up and two to play in the +trap game. + +MRS. CULVER. I've never laid a trap for you. + +CULVER. Fibster! Come here. (Mrs. Culver _hesitates_.) Come hither--and +be kissed. (_She_ _approaches submissively, and then, standing like a +marble statue, allows herself to be kissed_. Culver _assumes the +attitude of the triumphant magnanimous male_.) There! That's all right. + +MRS. CULVER (_having moved away; still very sweetly and coldly_). Can I +do anything else for you before I go to bed? + +CULVER (_ignoring the question; grandly and tolerantly_). Do you +suppose, my marble statue, that after all I've said at the Club about +the rascality of this Honours business, I could ever have appeared there +as a New Year Baronet? The thing's unthinkable. Why, I should have had +to resign and join another Club! + +MRS. CULVER (_calmly and severely_). So that's it, is it? I might have +known what was really at the bottom of it all. Your Club again! You have +to choose between your wife and your Club, and of course it's your wife +that must suffer. Naturally! + +CULVER. Go on! You'll be saying next that I've committed bigamy with my +Club. + +MRS. CULVER (_with youthful vivacity_). I'm an old woman-- + +CULVER (_flatteringly_). Yes, look at you! Hag! When I fell in love +with you your hair was still down. The marvel to me is that I ever let +you put it up. + +MRS. CULVER. I'm only an old woman now. You have had the best part of my +life. You might have given me great pleasure with this title. But no! +Your Club comes first. And what a child you are! As if there's one +single member of your Club who wouldn't envy you your baronetcy! +However, I've nothing more to say. (_Moving towards the door, back_.) Oh +yes, I have. (_Casually_.) I've decided to go away to-morrow and stay +with grandma for a long holiday. She needs me, and if I'm not to break +down entirely I must have a change. I've told Hildegarde +our--arrangements. The poor girl's terribly upset. Please don't disturb +me in the morning. I shall take the noon train. Good-night. + +CULVER. Hermione! + +MRS. CULVER (_returning a little from the direction of the door, +submissively_). Yes, Arthur. + +CULVER. If you keep on playing the martyr much longer there will be +bloodshed, and you'll know what martyrdom is. + +MRS. CULVER (_in a slightly relenting tone_). Arthur, you were always +conscientious. Your conscience is working. + +CULVER. I have no conscience. Never had. + +MRS. CULVER (_persuasively, and with much charm_). Yes you have, and +it's urging you to give way to your sensible little wife. You know +you're only bluffing. + +CULVER. Indeed I'm not. + +MRS. CULVER. Yes, you are. Mr. Tranto advised you to give way, and you +think such a lot of his opinion. + +CULVER. Who told you Tranto advised me to give way? + +MRS. CULVER. He did. + +CULVER. Damn him! + +MRS. CULVER (_soothingly_). Yes, yes. + +CULVER. No, no! + +MRS. CULVER. And your dear, indispensable Miss Starkey thinks the same. +(_She tries to kiss him_.) CULVER. No, no! (Mrs. Culver _succeeds in +kissing him_.) + +_Enter_ Miss Starkey. + +(_The other two spring apart. A short pause_.) + +CULVER. Which is the refusal? + +MISS STARKEY. This one. + +CULVER. Put it in the fire. (Miss Starkey _obeys. Both the women show +satisfaction in their different ways_.) Give me the acceptance. (_He +takes the letter of acceptance and reads it_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_while he is reading the letter_). Miss Starkey, you look +very pale. Have you had any dinner? + +MISS STARKEY. Not yet, madam. + +MRS. CULVER. You poor dear! (_She strokes_ Miss Starkey. _They both look +at the tyrannical male_.) I'll order something for you at once. + +MISS STARKEY. I shall have to go to the post first. + +CULVER (_glancing up_). I'll go to the post myself. I must have air, +air! Where's the envelope? (_Exit_ Miss Starkey _quickly, back_.) (Mrs. +Culver _gently takes the letter from her husband and reads it_. Culver +_drops into a chair_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_putting down the letter_). Darling! + +CULVER. I thought I was a brute? + +MRS. CULVER (_caressing and kissing him_). I do so love my brute, and I +am so happy. Darling! But you are a silly old darling, wasting all this +time. + +CULVER. Wasting all what time? + +MRS. CULVER. Why, the moment I came in again I could see you'd decided +to give way. (_With a gesture of delight_.) I must run and tell the +children. (_Exit, L_.) + +_Enter_ Miss Starkey _back_. + +MISS STARKEY. Here's the envelope. + +CULVER (_taking it_). Tell them to get me my hat and overcoat. + +MISS STARKEY. Yes, Sir Arthur. (Culver _starts_.) (_Exit_ Miss Starkey, +_back_.) + +CULVER (_as he puts the letter in the envelope; with an air of +discovery_). I suppose I _do_ like being called 'Sir Arthur.' + +_Enter_ Hildegard _and_ John _both disgusted, back_. + +JOHN (_to_ Hildegarde, _as they come in_). I told you last night he +couldn't control even the mater. However, I'll be even with her yet. + +CULVER. What do you mean, boy? + +JOHN. I mean I'll be even with the mater yet. You'll see. + +HILDEGARDE. Papa, you've behaved basely. Basely! What an example to us! +I intend to leave this house and live alone. + +CULVER. You ought to marry Mr. Sampson Straight. (Hildegarde _starts and +is silent_.) + +JOHN. Fancy me having to go back to school the son of a rotten baronet, +and with the frightful doom of being a rotten baronet myself. What price +the anti-hereditary-principle candidate! Dad, I hope you won't die just +yet--it would ruin my political career. Stay me with flagons! + +CULVER. Me too! + +CURTAIN. + + + + +ACT III + + + + +ACT III + + +_The next day, before lunch_. Hildegarde _and_ John _are together_. + +JOHN (_nervously impatient_). I wish she'd come. + +HILDEGARDE. She'll be here in a moment. She's fussing round dad. + +JOHN. Is he really ill? + +HILDEGARDE. Well of course. It came on in the night, after he'd had time +to think things over. Why? + +JOHN. I read in some paper about the Prime Minister having only a +_political_ chill. So I thought perhaps the pater--under the circs-- + +HILDEGARDE (_shaking her head_). You can't have political dyspepsia. +Can't fake the symptoms. Who is to begin this affair, you or me? + +JOHN. Depends. What line are you going on with her? + +HILDEGARDE. I'm going to treat her exactly as she treats me. I've just +thought of it. Only I shan't lose my temper. + +JOHN. Sugarsticks? + +HILDEGARDE. Yes. + +JOHN. You'll never be able to keep it up. + +HILDEGARDE. O yes I shall. Somehow I feel much more mature than I did +yesterday. + +JOHN. More mature? Stay me with flagons! I was always mature. If you +knew what rot I think school is...! Well, anyway, you can begin. + +HILDEGARDE. You're very polite to-day, Johnnie. + +JOHN. Don't mention it. My argument 'll be the best, and I want to keep +it for the end, that's all. + +HILDEGARDE. Thanks. But I bet you we shall both fail. + +JOHN. Well, if we do, I've still got something else waiting for her +ladyship. A regular startler, my child. + +HILDEGARDE. What is it? + +_Enter_ Mrs. Culver, _back_. + +JOHN (_to_ Hildegarde, _as_ Mrs. Culver _enters_). Wait and see. + +MRS. CULVER (_cheerful and affectionate, to_ John). So you've come in. +(_To_ Hildegarde.) You _are_ back early to-day! Well, my darlings, what +do you want me for? + +HILDEGARDE (_imitating her mothers manner_). Well, mamma darling, we +hate bothering you. We know you've got quite enough worries, without +having any more. But it's about this baronetcy business. (Mrs. Culver +_starts_.) Do be an angel and listen to us. + +MRS. CULVER (_with admirable self-control_). Of course, my pet. But you +know the matter is quite, quite settled. Your father and I settled it +together last night, and the letter of acceptance is in the hands of the +Government by this time. + +JOHN. It isn't, mater. It's here. (_Pulls the letter out of his +pocket_.) + +MRS. CULVER. John! What-- + +JOHN. Now, now, mater! Keep calm. This is really your own doing. Pater +wanted to go to the post himself, but it was raining a bit, and you're +always in such a fidget about his getting his feet wet you wouldn't let +him go, and so I went instead. + +HILDEGARDE. Yes, mummy darling, you must acknowledge that you were +putting temptation in Johnnie's way. + +JOHN. Soon as I got outside, I said to myself: 'I think the pater ought +to have a night to think over this affair. It's very important. And he +can easily send round an answer by hand in the morning.' So I didn't +post the letter. I should have told you earlier, but you weren't down +for breakfast, and I had to go out afterwards on urgent private +business. + +MRS. CULVER. But--but--(_Controlling herself, grieved, but kind_.) Your +father will be terribly angry. I daren't face him. + +JOHN (_only half-suppressing his amusement at the last remark_). Don't +let that worry you. I'll face him. He'll be delighted. He'll write +another letter, and quite a different one. + +MRS. CULVER (_getting firmer_). But don't I tell you, my dearest boy, +that the affair is settled, quite settled? + +JOHN. It isn't settled so long as I've got this letter, anyway. + +HILDEGARDE. Of course it isn't settled. Mother darling, we simply must +look the facts in the face. Fact one, the letter is here. Fact two, the +whole family is most frightfully upset. Dad's ill-- + +MRS. CULVER. That was the lobster. + +JOHN. It wasn't. + +MRS. CULVER. Yes, dear. Lobster always upsets him. + +JOHN. It didn't this time. + +MRS. CULVER. How do you know? + +JOHN. I know, because _I_ ate all his lobster. He shoved it over to me. +You couldn't see for the fruit-bowl. + +HILDEGARDE. No, mamma sweetest. It's this baronetcy business that's +knocked poor papa over. And it's knocked over Johnnie and me too. I'm +perfectly, perfectly sure you acted for the best, but don't you think +you persuaded father against his judgment? Not to speak of our judgment! + +MRS. CULVER. I've only one thought-- + +HILDEGARDE (_caressing and kissing +her mother_). I know! I know! Father's happiness. Our happiness. Mamma, +please don't imagine for a single instant that we don't realise that. +You're the most delicious darling of an old mater-- + +MRS. CULVER (_slightly suspicious_). Hildegarde, you're quite a +different girl to-day. + +HILDEGARDE (_nods_). I've aged in a single night. I've become ever so +serious. This baronetcy business has shown me that I've got +convictions--and deep convictions. I admit I'm a different girl to-day. +But then everything's different to-day. The whole house is different. +Johnnie's different. Papa's missed going to the office for the first +time in eight months. (_Very sweetly_.) Surely you must see, mamma, that +something ought to be done, and that you alone can do it. + +MRS. CULVER. What? What ought I to do? + +HILDEGARDE. Go upstairs and tell dad you've changed your mind about the +title, and advise him to write off instantly and refuse it. You know you +always twist him round your little finger. + +MRS. CULVER (_looking at her little finger_). I shouldn't dream of +trying to influence your father once he had decided. And he _has_ +decided. + +HILDEGARDE (_sweetly_). Mamma, you're most tremendously clever--far +cleverer than any of us--but I'm not sure if you understand the attitude +of the modern girl towards things that affect her convictions. + +MRS. CULVER (_sweetly_). Are you the modern girl. + +HILDEGARDE. Yes. + +MRS. CULVER. Well, I'm the ancient girl. And I can tell you this--you're +very like me, and we're both very like somebody else. + +HILDEGARDE. Who's that. + +MRS. CULVER. Eve. + +JOHN. Come, mater. Eve would never have learnt typewriting. She'd have +gone on the land. + +MRS. CULVER. John, your sister and I are not jesting. + +HILDEGARDE. I'm so glad you admit I'm serious, mamma. Because I +am--very. I don't want to threaten-- + +MRS. CULVER. Threaten, darling? + +HILDEGARDE (_firmly, but quite lightly and sweetly_). No, darling. +_Not_ to threaten. The mere idea of threatening is absurd. But it would +be extremely unfair to you not to tell you that unless you agree to +father refusing the title, I shall have to leave the house and live by +myself. I really shall. Of course I can easily earn my own living. I +quite see that you have principles. But I also have principles. If they +clash--naturally it's my place to retire. And I shall, mamma dearest. + +MRS. CULVER. Is that final? + +HILDEGARDE. Final, mummy darling. + +MRS. CULVER. Then, my dearest child, you must go. + +HILDEGARDE (_still sweetly_). Is that final? + +MRS. CULVER (_still sweetly_). Final, my poor pet. + +JOHN (_firmly_). Now let _me_ say a word. + +MRS. CULVER (_benignly_). And what have you got to say in the matter? +You've already been very naughty about that letter. Do try not to be +ridiculous. Give me the letter. This affair has nothing to do with you. +JOHN (_putting the letter in his pocket_). Nothing whatever to do with +me! Mater, you really are a bit too thick. If it was a knighthood, I +wouldn't care. You could have your blooming knighthood. Knighthoods do +come to an end. Baronetcies go on for ever. I've told the dad, and I'll +tell you, that _I will not have_ my political career ruined by any +baronetcy. And if you insist--may I respectfully inform you what I shall +do? May I respectfully inform you--may I? + +MRS. CULVER. John! + +JOHN. I shall chuck Siege and go into the Flying Corps. And that's flat. +If you really want to shorten my life, all you have to do is to stick to +that bally baronetcy. + +MRS. CULVER. Your father won't allow you to join the Flying Corps. + +JOHN. My father can't stop me. I know the mess is expensive, but the +pay's good, and I've got £150 of my own. Not a fortune! Not a fortune! +But enough, quite enough. _A short life and a merry one_. I went to see +Captain Skewes at the Automobile this morning. One of our old boys. He's +delighted. He gave me Lanchester's 'Aircraft in Warfare' to read. Here +it is. (_Picking up the book_.) Here it _is_! I shall be sitting up all +night to-night reading it. _A short life and a merry one_. + +MRS. CULVER. You don't mean it! + +JOHN. I absolutely do. + +MRS. CULVER (_after a pause_). John, you're trying to bully your mother. + +JOHN. Not in the least, mater. I'm merely telling you what will happen +if father accepts that piffling baronetcy. + +MRS. CULVER (_checking a tear; very sweetly_). Well, my pets, you make +life just a little difficult for me. I live only for you and your +father. I think first of your father, and then of you two. For myself, I +am perfectly indifferent. I consider all politics extremely silly. There +never were any in my family, nor in your father's. And to me it's most +extraordinary that your father should catch them so late in life. I +always supposed that after thirty people were immune. (_To_ John.) You, +I suppose, were bound to have them sooner or later, but that _Hilda_ +should go out of her way to contract them--well, it passes me. It passes +me. However, I've no more to say. Your father had made up his mind to +accept the title. You want him to refuse it. I hate to influence him +(Hildegarde _again hides a cynical smile_) but for your sakes I'll try +to persuade him to alter his decision and refuse it. + +JOHN (_taking her arm_). Come along then--now! I'll go with you to see +fair play. (_He opens the door, L, and_ Mrs. Culver _passes out. Then +stopping in the doorway, to_ Hildegarde) Who did the trick? I say--who +did the trick? + +HILDEGARDE (_nicely_). Pooh! You may be a prefect at school. But here +you're only mamma's wee lamb! (_She drops on to the sofa_.) + +JOHN (_singing triumphantly_). Stay--me--with fla--gons! (_Exit_ John, +_L_.) + +_Enter_ Tranto, _back, shown in by the_ Parlourmaid. + +TRANTO. How d'ye do, Miss Hilda. I'm in a high state of nerves. + +HILDEGARDE (_shaking hands weakly_). We all are. + +TRANTO (_ignoring what she says_). I've come specially to see you. + +HILDEGARDE. But how did you know I should be here--at this time? I'm +supposed to be at the Food Ministry till one o'clock? + +TRANTO. I called for you at the Ministry. + +HILDEGARDE (_leaning forward_). That's quite against the rules. The +rules are made for the moral protection of the women-clerks. + +TRANTO. They told me you'd left early. + +HILDEGARDE. Why did you call? + +TRANTO. Shall I be frank? + +HILDEGARDE. Are you ever? + +TRANTO. I wanted to walk home with you. + +HILDEGARDE. Are you getting frightened about that next article of mine? + +TRANTO. No. I've lost all interest in articles. + +HILDEGARDE. Even in my articles? + +TRANTO. Even in yours. I'm only interested in the writer of your +articles. (_Agitated_.) Miss Hilda, the hour is about to strike. + +HILDEGARDE. What hour? + +TRANTO. Listen, please. Let me explain. The situation is this. Instinct +has got hold of me. When I woke up this morning something inside me +said: 'You must call at the Ministry for that young woman and walk home +with her.' This idea seemed marvellously beautiful to me; it seemed one +of the most enchanting ideas that had ever entered the heart of man. I +thought of nothing else all the morning. When I reached the Ministry and +you'd gone, I felt as if I'd been shot. Then I rushed here. If you +hadn't been at home I don't know what I should have done. My fever has +been growing every moment. Providentially you _are_ here. I give you +fair warning that I'm utterly in the grip of an instinct which is +ridiculously unconventional and which will brook no delay. I repeat, the +hour is about to strike. + +HILDEGARDE (_rousing herself_). Before it actually strikes, I want to +ask a question. + +TRANTO. But that's just what _I_ want to do. + +HILDEGARDE. Please. One moment of your valuable time. + +TRANTO. The whole of my life. + +HILDEGARDE. Last night, why did you advise papa to give way to mamma and +accept the baronetcy? + +TRANTO. Did I? + +HILDEGARDE. It seems so. + +TRANTO. Well--er-- + +HILDEGARDE. You know it's quite against his principles, and against mine +and Johnnie's, not to speak of yours. + +TRANTO. The fact is, you yourself had given me such an account of your +mother's personality that I felt sure she'd win anyhow; and--and--for +reasons of my own, I wished to be on the winning side. No harm in that, +surely. And as regards principles, I have a theory about principles. +Your father was much struck by it when I told him. + +HILDEGARDE. Namely? + +TRANTO. There are no principles in married life. + +HILDEGARDE. Oh, indeed! Well, there may not be any principles in your +married life, but there most positively will be in mine, if I ever have +a married life. And let me tell you that you aren't on the winning side +after all--you're on the losing side. + +TRANTO. How? Has your-- + +HILDEGARDE. Johnnie and I have had a great interview with mamma, and +she's yielded. She's abandoned the baronetcy. In half an hour from now +the baronetcy will have been definitely and finally refused. + +TRANTO. Great Scott! + +HILDEGARDE. You're startled? + +TRANTO. No! After all, I might have foreseen that you'd come out on top. +The day before yesterday your modesty was making you say that your +mother could eat you. I, on the contrary, insisted that you could eat +your mother. Who was right? I ask: who was right? When it really comes +to the point--well, you have a serious talk with your mother, and she +gives in! + +HILDEGARDE (_gloomily_). No! _I_ didn't do it. I tried, and failed. Then +Johnnie tried, and did it without the slightest trouble. A schoolboy! +That's why I'm so upset. + +TRANTO (_shaking his head_). You musn't tell me that, Miss Hilda. Of +course it was you that did it. + +HILDEGARDE (_impatiently; standing up_). But I _do_ tell you. + +TRANTO. Sorry! Sorry! Do be merciful! My feelings about you at this very +moment are so, if I may use the term, unbridled-- + +HILDEGARDE (_with false +gentle calm_). And that's not all. I suppose you haven't by any chance +told father that I'm Sampson Straight? + +TRANTO. Certainly not. + +HILDEGARDE. You're sure? + +TRANTO. Absolutely. + +HILDEGARDE. Well, I'm sorry. + +TRANTO. Why? + +HILDEGARDE (_quietly sarcastic_). Because papa told me you did tell him. +Therefore father is a liar. I don't like being the daughter of a liar. I +hate liars. + +TRANTO. Aren't you rather cutting yourself off from mankind? + +HILDEGARDE (_going straight on_). For the last day or two father had +been giving me such queer little digs every now and then that I began to +suspect he knew who Sampson Straight was. So I asked him right out this +morning--he was in bed--and he had to acknowledge he did know and that +you told him. + +TRANTO. Well, I didn't exactly tell him. He sort of guessed, and +I-- + +HILDEGARDE (_calmly, relentlessly_). You told him. + +TRANTO. No. I merely admitted it. You think I ought to have denied it? + +HILDEGARDE. Of course you ought to have denied it. + +TRANTO. But it was true. + +HILDEGARDE. And if it was? + +TRANTO. If it was true, how could I deny it? You've just said you hate +liars. + +HILDEGARDE (_losing self-control_). Please don't be absurd. + +TRANTO (_a little nettled_). I apologise. + +HILDEGARDE. What for? + +TRANTO. For having put you in the wrong. It's such shocking bad +diplomacy for any man to put any woman in the wrong. + +HILDEGARDE (_angrily_). Man--woman! Man--woman! There you are! It's +always the same with you males. Sex! Sex! Sex! + +TRANTO (_quite conquering his annoyance; persuasively_). But I'm fatally +in love with you. HILDEGARDE. Well, of course there you have the +advantage of me. + +TRANTO. Don't you care a little-- + +HILDEGARDE (_letting herself go_). Why should I care? What have I done +to make you imagine I care? It's quite true that I've saved your +newspaper from an early grave. It was suffering from rickets, spinal +curvature, and softening of the brain; and I've performed a miraculous +cure on it with my articles. I'm Sampson Straight. But that's not enough +for you. You can't keep sentiment out of business. No man ever could. +You'd like Sampson Straight to wear blouses and bracelets for you, and +loll on sofas for you, and generally offer you the glad eye. It's an +insult. And then on the top of all, you go and give the whole show away +to papa, in spite of our understanding; and if papa hadn't been the +greatest dear in the world you might have got me into the most serious +difficulties. + +TRANTO (_equably, after a pause_), I don't think I'll ask myself to stay +for lunch. + +HILDEGARDE. Good morning. + +TRANTO (_near the door_). I suppose I'd better announce that he's died +very suddenly under mysterious circumstances? + +HILDEGARDE. Who? + +TRANTO. Sampson Straight. + +HILDEGARDE. And what about my new article, that you've got in hand? + +TRANTO. It can be a posthumous article, in a black border. + +HILDEGARDE. Indeed! And why shouldn't Sampson Straight transfer his +services to another paper? There are several who'd jump at him. + +TRANTO. I never thought of that. + +HILDEGARDE. Naturally! + +TRANTO. He shall live. + +(_A pause_. Tranto _bows, and exit, back_.) + +(Hildegarde _subsides once more on to the sofa_.) + +_Enter_ Culver, _in his velvet coat, L_. + +CULVER (_softly, with sprightliness_). Hello, Sampson! + +HILDEGARDE. Dad, please don't call me that. + +CULVER. Not when we're alone? Why? + +HILDEGARDE. I--I--Dad, I'm in a fearful state of nerves just now. Lost +my temper and all sorts of calamities. + +CULVER. Really! I'd no idea. I gathered that the interview between you +and your mother had passed quite smoothly. + +HILDEGARDE. Oh! _That!_ + +CULVER. What do you mean--'Oh! _That!_'? + +HILDEGARDE (_standing; in a new, less gloomy tone_). Papa, what are you +doing out of bed? You're very ill. + +CULVER. Well, I'd managed to dress before your mother and Johnnie came. +As soon as they imparted to me the glad tidings that baronetcies were +off I felt so well I decided to come down and thank you for your +successful efforts on behalf of the family well-being. I'm no longer +your father. I'm your brother. + +HILDEGARDE. It was Johnnie did it. + +CULVER. It wasn't--_I_ know. + +HILDEGARDE (_exasperated_). I say it _was!_ (_Apologetically_). So +sorry, dad. (_Kisses him_). Where are they, those two? (_Sits_). +CULVER. Mother and John? Don't know. I fancy somebody called as I came +down. + +HILDEGARDE. Called! Before lunch! Who was it? + +CULVER. Haven't the faintest. + +_Enter_ John, _back_. + +JOHN (_proudly_). I say, good people! New acquaintance of mine! Just +looked in. Met him at the Automobile this morning with Skewes. I was +sure you'd all give your heads to see the old chap, so I asked him to +lunch on the chance. Dashed if he didn't accept! You see we'd been +talking a bit about politics. He's the most celebrated man in London. I +doubt if there's a fellow I admire more in the whole world--or you +either. He's knocked the mater flat already. Between ourselves, I really +asked him because I thought he might influence her on this baronetcy +business. However, that's all off now. What are you staring at? + +CULVER. We're only bursting with curiosity to hear the name of this +paragon of yours. As a general rule I like to know beforehand whom I'm +going to lunch with in my own house. + +JOHN. It's Sampson Straight. + +HILDEGARDE (_springing up_). _Sampson Str_-- + +CULVER (_calmly_). Keep your nerve, Hilda. Keep your nerve. + +JOHN. I thought I wouldn't say anything till he'd actually arrived. He +mightn't have come at all. Then what a fool I should have looked if I'd +told you he _was_ coming! Tranto himself doesn't know him. Tranto +pooh-poohed the idea of me ever meeting him, Tranto did. Well, I've met +him, and he's here. I haven't let on to him that I know Tranto. I'm +going to bring them together and watch them both having the surprise of +their lives. + +CULVER. John, this is a great score for you. I admit I've never been +more interested in meeting anyone. Never! + +_Enter_ Parlourmaid, _back_. + +PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey, sir. + +CULVER (_cheerfully_). I'll see her soon. (_Pulling himself up suddenly; +in an alarmed, gloomy tone_.) No, no! I can't possibly see her. + + +PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey says there are several important letters, sir. + +CULVER. No, no! I'm not equal to it. + +HILDEGARDE (_confidentially_). What's wrong, dad? + +CULVER (_to_ Hildegarde). She'll give me notice the minute she knows she +can't call me Sir Arthur. (_Shudders_.) I quail. + +_Enter_ Mrs. Culver _and_ Sampson Straight, _back_. + +(_The_ Parlourmaid _holds the door for them, and then exit_.) + +MRS. CULVER. This is my husband. Arthur, dear--Mr. Sampson Straight. And +this is my little daughter. (Hilda _bows_, John _surveys the scene with +satisfaction_.) + +CULVER (_recovering his equipoise; shaking hands heartily_). Mr. +Straight. Delighted to meet you. I simply cannot tell you how unexpected +this pleasure is. + +STRAIGHT. You're too kind. + +CULVER (_gaily_). I doubt it. I doubt it. + +STRAIGHT. I ought to apologise for coming in like this. But I've been so +charmingly received by Mrs. Culver-- + +MRS. CULVER. You've been so charming about my boy, Mr. Straight. +STRAIGHT. I was so very greatly impressed by your son this morning at +the Club that I couldn't resist the opportunity he gave me of visiting +his home. What I say is: like parents, like child. I'm an old-fashioned +man. + +MRS. CULVER. No one would guess that from your articles in _The Echo_. +Of course they're frightfully clever, but you know I don't quite agree +with all your opinions. + +STRAIGHT. Neither do I. You see--there's always a difference between +what one thinks and what one has to write. + +MRS. CULVER. I'm so glad. (Culver _starts and looks round_.) What is it, +Arthur? + +CULVER. Nothing! I thought I heard the ice cracking. (Hildegarde _begins +to smile_.) + +STRAIGHT (_looking at the floor; simply_). Ice? + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur! + +STRAIGHT. It was still thawing when I came in. As I was saying, I'm an +old-fashioned man. And I'm a provincial--and proud of it. + +MRS. CULVER. But my dear Mr. Straight, really, if you'll excuse me, you +look as if you never left the pavement of Piccadilly. CULVER. Say the +windows of the Turf club, darling. + +STRAIGHT (_serenely_). No. I live very, very quietly on my little place, +and when I feel the need of contact with the great world I run over for +the afternoon to--St. Ives. + +MRS. CULVER. How remarkable! Then that explains how it is you're so +deliciously unspoilt. + +STRAIGHT. Do you mean my face? + +MRS. CULVER. I meant you don't seem at all to realise that you're a very +great celebrity in London; very great indeed. A lion of the first order. + +STRAIGHT (_simply_). Lion? + +CULVER. You're expected to roar, Mr. Straight. + +STRAIGHT. Roar? + +MRS. CULVER. It may interest you to know that my little daughter also +writes articles in _The Echo_. Yes, about war cookery. But of course you +wouldn't notice them. (Hildegarde _moves away_.) I'm afraid +(_apologetically_) your mere presence is making her just a wee bit +nervous. HILDEGARDE (_from a distance, striving to control herself_). +Oh, Mr. Sampson Straight. There's one question I've been longing to ask +you. I always ask it of literary lions--and tigers. + +STRAIGHT. Tigers? + +HILDEGARDE. Do you write best in the morning or do you burn the midnight +oil? + +STRAIGHT. Oil? + +MRS. CULVER. Do sit down, Mr. Straight. (_She goes imploringly to_ +Hildegarde, _who has lost control of herself and is getting a little +hysterical with mirth. Aside to_ Hildegarde.) Hilda! (John, _puzzled and +threatening, also approaches_ Hildegarde.) + +CULVER (_sitting down by_ Straight.) And so, although you prefer a +country life, the lure of London has been too strong for you in the end. + +STRAIGHT. I came to town on business. + +CULVER. Ah! + +STRAIGHT. The fact is, business of the utmost importance. Perhaps I may +be able to interest you in it. + +CULVER. Now we're getting hotter. + +STRAIGHT. Hotter? + +CULVER. Go on, go on, Mr. Straight. + +STRAIGHT. To tell you the truth-- + +CULVER. Always a wise thing to do. + +STRAIGHT. One of my reasons for accepting your son's kind invitation was +that I thought that conceivably you might be willing to help in a great +patriotic scheme of mine. Naturally you show surprise. + +CULVER. Do I? Then I'm expressing myself badly. I'm not in the least +surprised. It is the contrary that would have surprised me. + +STRAIGHT. We may possibly discuss it later. + +CULVER. Later? Why later? Why not at once? I'm full of curiosity. I hate +to let the grass grow under my feet. + +STRAIGHT (_looking at the floor_). Grass? (_With a faint mechanical +laugh_.) Ah yes, I see. Figure of speech. Well, I'm starting a little +limited liability syndicate. + +CULVER. Precisely what I thought. Yes? + +STRAIGHT. The End-the-war Syndicate. + +JOHN (_approaching_). But surely you aren't one of those pacifists, Mr. +Straight! You've always preached fighting it out to a finish. + +STRAIGHT. The object of my syndicate is certainly to fight to a finish, +but to finish in about a week--by means of my little syndicate. + +CULVER. Splendid! But there is one draw-back. New capital issues are +forbidden under the Defence of the Realm Act. + +STRAIGHT. Even when the object is to win the war? + +CULVER. My dear sir, the Treasury would never permit such a thing. + +STRAIGHT. Well, we needn't have a limited company. Perhaps after all it +would be better to keep it quite private. + +CULVER. Oh! It would. And what is the central idea of this charming +syndicate? + +STRAIGHT. The idea is--(_looking round cautiously_)--a new explosive. + +CULVER. Again, precisely what I thought. Your own invention? + +STRAIGHT. No. A friend of mine. It truly is the most marvellous explosive. + +CULVER. I suppose it bangs everything. + +STRAIGHT (_simply_). Oh, it does. A development of trinitrotoluol on new +lines. I needn't say that my interest in the affair is purely patriotic. + +CULVER. Of course. Of course. + +STRAIGHT. I can easily get all the capital I need. + +CULVER. Of course. Of course. + +STRAIGHT. But I'm not in close touch with the official world, and in a +matter of this kind official influence is absolutely essential to +success. Now you _are_ in touch with the official world. I shouldn't ask +you to subscribe, though if you cared to do so there would be no +objection. And I may say that the syndicate can't help making a +tremendous lot of money. When I tell you that the new explosive is +forty-seven times as powerful as trinitrotoluol itself-- + +CULVER. When you tell me that, Mr. Straight, I can only murmur the hope +that you haven't got any of it in your pocket. + +STRAIGHT (_simply_). Oh, no! Please don't be alarmed. But you see the +immense possibilities. You see how this explosive would end the war +practically at once. And you'll understand, of course, that although my +articles in _The Echo_ have apparently caused considerable commotion in +London, and given me a position which I am glad to be able to use for +the service of the Empire, my interest in mere journalism as such has +almost ceased since my friend asked me to be secretary and treasurer of +the syndicate. + +CULVER. And so you're the secretary _and_ treasurer? + +STRAIGHT. Yes. We don't want to have subscribers of less than £100 each. +If you cared to look into the matter--I know you're very busy, but a +mere glance-- + +CULVER. Just so--a mere glance. + +_Enter_ Tranto _excitedly_. + +HILDEGARDE (_nearer the door than the rest_). Again? + +TRANTO (_rather loudly and not specially to_ Hildegarde). Terrible news! +I've just heard and I rushed back to tell you. Sampson Straight has died +very suddenly in Cornwall. Bright's disease. He breathed his last in +his own potato patch. (_Aside to_ Hildegarde, _in response to a gesture +from her_) I'm awfully sorry. The poor fellow simply had to expire. + +MRS. CULVER (_to_ Tranto). Now this just shows how the most absurd +rumours _do_ get abroad! Here _is_ Mr. Sampson Straight. I'm _so_ glad +you've come, because you've always wanted to meet him in the flesh. + +TRANTO (_to_ Straight). Are you Sampson Straight? + +STRAIGHT. I am, sir. + +TRANTO. The Sampson Straight who lives in Cornwall? + +STRAIGHT. Just so. + +TRANTO. Impossible! + +STRAIGHT. Pardon me. One moment. I was told there was a danger of my +being inconvenienced in London by one of these military raids for +rounding up slackers, and as I happen to have a rather youthful +appearance, I took the precaution of bringing with me my +birth-certificate and registration card. (_Produces them_.) + +TRANTO (_glancing at the card_). And it's really you who write those +brilliant articles in _The Echo_? + +STRAIGHT. 'Brilliant'--I won't say. But I do write them. + +TRANTO. Well, this is the most remarkable instance of survival after +death that I ever came across. + +STRAIGHT. I beg your pardon. + +TRANTO. You're dead, my fine fellow. Your place isn't here. You ought to +be in the next world. You're a humbug. + +STRAIGHT (_to_ Mrs. Culver). I'm not quite sure that I understand. Will +you kindly introduce me? + +MRS. CULVER. I'm so sorry. This is Mr. Tranto, proprietor and editor of +_The Echo_--(_apologetically, with an uneasy smile_) a great humourist. + +STRAIGHT (_thunderstruck; aside_). Well, I'm damned! (_His whole +demeanour changes. Nevertheless, while tacitly admitting that he is +found out, he at once resumes his mild calmness. To_ Culver.) I've just +remembered an appointment of vital importance. I'm afraid our little +talk about the syndicate must be adjourned. + +CULVER. I feared you might have to hurry away. + +(Straight _bows as a preliminary to departure_.) + +(John, _deeply humiliated, averts his glance from everybody_.) + +TRANTO. Here! But you can't go off like this. + +STRAIGHT. Why? Have you anything against me? + +TRANTO. Nothing (_casually_) except that you're an impostor. + +STRAIGHT. I fail to see it. + +TRANTO. But haven't you just said that you write those articles in my +paper? + +STRAIGHT. Oh! _That_! Well, of course, if I'd known who you were I +shouldn't have dreamed of saying any such thing. I always try to suit my +talk to my company. + +TRANTO. This time you didn't quite bring it off. + +STRAIGHT. Perhaps I owe you some slight explanation (_looking round +blandly_). + +CULVER. Do you really think so? + +STRAIGHT. The explanation is simplicity itself. (_A sudden impulse_.) +Nothing but that. Put yourselves in my place. I come to London. I hear a +vast deal of chatter about some articles in a paper called _The Echo_ by +some one calling himself 'Sampson Straight.' I also hear that nobody in +London knows who Sampson Straight is. As I happen to _be_ Sampson +Straight, and as I have need of all possible personal prestige for the +success of my purely patriotic mission, it occurs to me--in a flash!--to +assert that I am the author of the famous articles.... Well, what more +natural? + +CULVER. What indeed? + +STRAIGHT (_to_ Tranto). And may I say that I'm the only genuine Sampson +Straight in the United Kingdom, and that in my opinion it was a gross +impertinence on the part of your contributor to steal my name? Why did +you let him do it? + +TRANTO (_beginning reflectively_). Now _I_ hit on that name--not my +contributor. It was when I was down in Cornwall. I caught sight of it in +an old yellow newspaper in an old yellow hotel, and it struck me at once +what a fine signature it would make at the bottom of a slashing article. +By the way, have you ever been in the dock? + +STRAIGHT. Dock? + +TRANTO. I only ask because I seem to remember I saw your splendid name +in a report of the local Assizes. + +STRAIGHT. Assizes? + +TRANTO. A, double s (_pause_) i-z-e-s. + +STRAIGHT. I can afford to be perfectly open. I was--at one period of my +career--in prison, but for a quite respectable crime. Bigamy--with +extenuating circumstances. + +MRS. CULVER (_greatly upset_). Dear, dear! + +STRAIGHT. It might happen to any man. + +CULVER (_looking at_ Mrs. Culver). So it might. + +STRAIGHT. Do you wish to detain me? + +TRANTO. I simply haven't the heart to do it. + +STRAIGHT. Then, ladies and gentlemen, I'll say good morning. + +HILDEGARDE (_stopping_ Straight _near the door as he departs with more +bows_). Good-bye! (_She holds out her hand with a smile_!) And good +luck! + +STRAIGHT (_taking her hand_). Madam, I thank you. You evidently +appreciate the fact that when one lives solely on one's wits, little +mishaps are _bound_ to occur from time to time, and that too much +importance ought not to be attached to them. This is only my third slip, +and I am fifty-five. + +(_Exit, back_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_to_ Hildegarde, _gently surprised_). Darling, surely you +need not have been quite so effusive! + +HILDEGARDE. You see, I thought I owed him something, (_with meaning and +effect_) as it was I who stole his name. + +MRS. CULVER (_utterly puzzled for a moment; then, when she understands, +rushing to_ Hildegarde _and embracing her_). Oh! My wonderful girl! + +JOHN (_feebly and still humiliated_). Stay me with flagons! + +HILDEGARDE (_to her mother_). How nice you are about it, mamma! + +MRS. CULVER. But I'm very proud, my pet. Of course I think you might +have let me into the secret-- + +CULVER. None of us were let into the secret, +Hermione--I mean until comparatively recent times. It was a matter +between Hilda's conscience and her editor. + +MRS. CULVER. Oh! I'm not complaining. I'm so relieved she didn't write +those dreadful cookery articles. + +HILDEGARDE. But do you mean to say you aren't frightfully shocked by my +advanced politics, mamma? + +MRS. CULVER. My child, how naïve you are, after all! A woman is never +shocked, though of course at times it may suit her to pretend to be. +Only men are capable of being shocked. As for your advanced politics, as +you call them, can't you see that it doesn't matter what you write so +long as you are admired by the best people. It isn't views that are +disreputable, it's the persons that hold them. + +CULVER. I hope that's why you so gracefully gave way over the baronetcy, +my dear. + +MRS. CULVER (_continuing to_ Hildegarde). There's just one thing I +should venture to suggest, and that is, that you cease at once to be a +typist and employ one yourself instead. It's most essential that you +should live up to your position. Oh! I'm very proud of you. + +HILDEGARDE. I don't quite know what my position is. According to the +latest news I'm dead. (_Challengingly to_ Tranto.) Mr. Tranto, you're +keeping rather quiet, nearly as quiet as John (John _changes his seat_), +but don't you think you owe me some explanation? Not more than a quarter +of an hour ago in this very room it was distinctly agreed between us +that you would not kill Sampson Straight, and now you rush back in a +sort of homicidal mania. + +MRS. CULVER. Oh! I'd no idea Mr. Tranto had called already this morning! + +HILDEGARDE. Yes. I told him all about everything, and we came to a +definite understanding. + +MRS. CULVER. Oh! + +TRANTO. I'm only too anxious to explain. I killed Sampson for the most +urgent of all possible reasons. The Government is thinking of giving him +a baronetcy? + +CULVER. Not _my_ baronetcy? + +TRANTO. Precisely. + +MRS. CULVER. But this is the most terrible thing I ever heard of. + +TRANTO. It is. I met one of my chaps in the street. He was coming here +to see me. (_To_ Culver.) Your answer was expected this morning. It +didn't arrive. Evidently your notions about titles had got abroad, and +the Government has decided to offer a title to Sampson Straight this +afternoon if you refuse. + +CULVER. But how delightfully stupid of the Government. + +TRANTO. On the contrary it was a really brilliant idea. Sampson Straight +is a great literary celebrity, and he'd look mighty well in the Honours +List. Literature's always a good card to play for Honours. It makes +people think that Cabinet Ministers are educated. + +HILDEGARDE. But I've spent half my time in attacking the Government! + +TRANTO. Do you suppose the Government doesn't know that? In creating you +a baronet (_gazes at her_) it would gain two advantages--it would prove +how broad-minded it is, and it would turn an enemy into a friend. + +HILDEGARDE. But surely the silly Government would make some enquiries +first! + +CULVER. Hilda, do remember what your mother said, and try to live up to +your position. This isn't the Government that makes enquiries. It's the +Government that gets things done. + +TRANTO. You perceive the extreme urgency of the crisis. I had to act +instantly. I did act. I slew the fellow on the spot, and his obituary +will be in my late extra. The danger was awful--greater even than I +realised at the moment, because I didn't know till I got back here that +there was a genuine and highly unscrupulous Sampson Straight floating +about. + +MRS. CULVER. Danger? What danger? + +TRANTO. Danger of the Government falling, dear lady. You see, it's like +this. Assuming that the Government offers a baronetcy to Sampson +Straight, and the offer becomes public property, as it infallibly would, +then there are three alternatives. Either the Government has singled out +for honour a person who doesn't exist at all; or it has sought to turn a +woman (_glancing at_ Hilda) into a male creature; or it is holding up to +public admiration an ex-convict. Choose which theory you like. In any +case the exposure would mean the immediate ruin of any Government. + +HILDEGARDE (_to_ Tranto). I always thought you _wanted_ the Government +to fall. + +CULVER. Good heavens, my gifted child! No enlightened and patriotic +person wants the Government to fall. All enlightened and patriotic +persons want the Government to be afraid of falling. There you have the +whole of war politics in a nut-shell. If the British Government fell the +effect on the Allied cause would be bad, and might be extremely bad. But +that's not the real explanation. The real explanation is that no one +wants the Government to fall because no one wants to step into the +Government's shoes. However, thanks to Tranto's masterly presence of +mind in afflicting Sampson with a disease that kills like prussic acid, +the Government can no longer give Sampson a title, and the danger to the +Government is therefore over. + +TRANTO. Over! I wish it was! Supposing the Government doesn't happen to +see my late extra in time! Supposing the offer of a baronetcy to Sampson +Straight goes forth! The mischief will be done. Worst of all, supposing +the only genuine Sampson Straight hears of it and accepts it! A +baronetcy given to a bigamist! No Government could possibly survive the +exposure. + +MRS. CULVER. Not even if its survival was necessary to the success of +the Allied cause? + +CULVER (_gloomily, shaking his head_). My dear, Tranto is right. This +great country has always insisted first of all, and before anything else +whatever, on the unsullied purity of the domestic life of its public +men. Let a baronetcy be given, or even offered, to a bigamist--and this +great country would not hesitate for one second, not one second. + +TRANTO. The danger still exists. And only one man in this world can +avert it. + +CULVER. You don't mean me, Tranto? + +TRANTO. I understand that you have neither accepted nor refused the +offer. You must accept it instantly. Instantly. + +(_A silence_. John _begins to creep towards the door, back, and_ +Hildegarde _towards the door, L_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_firmly_). John, where are you going? + +JOHN. Anywhere. + +MRS. CULVER. Have you still got that letter to Lord Woking in which +your father accepts the title? + +JOHN. Yes. + +MRS. CULVER. Come here. Let me see it. (_She inspects the envelope of +the letter and returns it to_ John.) Yes, that's right. Now listen to +me. Get a taxi at once and drive to Lord Woking's, and insist on seeing +Lord Woking, and give him that letter with your own hand. Do you +understand? (_Exit_ Hildegarde, _L_.) The stamp will be wasted, but +never mind. Fly! + +JOHN. It's a damned shame. (Mrs. Culver _smiles calmly_.) + +CULVER (_shaking_ John's _flaccid hand_). So it is. But let us remember, +my boy, that you and I are--are doing our bit. (_Pushes him violently +towards the door_.) Get along. (_Exit_ John, _back_.) + +TRANTO (_looking round_). Where's Hildegarde? + +MRS. CULVER. She went in there. + +TRANTO. I must just speak to her. + +(_Exit_ Tranto, _L_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_with a gesture towards the door, L_). There's something +between those two. + +CULVER. I doubt it. (_With a sigh_.) + +MRS. CULVER. What do you mean--you doubt it? + +CULVER. They're probably too close together for there to be anything +between them. + +MRS. CULVER (_shakes her head, smiling sceptically_). The new generation +has no romance. (_In a new tone_.) Arthur, kiss me. + +CULVER. I'm dashed if I do! + +MRS. CULVER. Then I'll kiss you! (_She gives him a long kiss_.) + +(_The lunch gong sounds during the embrace. Startled, they separate_.) + +CULVER. Food! + +MRS. CULVER (_with admiring enthusiasm_). You've behaved splendidly. + +CULVER. Yes, that's what you always say when you've won and I--haven't. +(_She kisses him again_.) + +_Enter the_ Parlourmaid, _back_. + +PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey is still waiting, sir. + +CULVER. Inexorable creature! I won't--I will not--(_suddenly +remembering that he has nothing to fear from_ Miss Starkey; _gaily_). +Yes, I'll see her. She must lunch with us. May she lunch with us, +Hermione? + +MRS. CULVER (_submissively_). Why, Arthur, _of course!_ (_To_ +Parlourmaid.) Miss Starkey can have Master John's place. Some lunch must +be kept warm for Master John. (_As the_ Parlourmaid _is leaving_.) One +moment--bring up some champagne, please. + +PARLOURMAID. Yes, Madam. + +(_Exit_ Parlourmaid.) + +CULVER. Come along, I'm hungry. (_Leading her towards the door. Then +stopping_.) I say.... Oh well, never mind. + +MRS. CULVER. But what? + +CULVER. You're a staggering woman, that's all. (_Exit_ Culver _and_ Mrs. +Culver, _back_.) + +_Enter_ Hildegarde _and_ Tranto. + +HILDEGARDE (_plaintively, as they enter_). I told you my nerves were all +upset, and yet you ran off before I--before I--and now it's lunch time! + +TRANTO (_facing her suddenly_). Hilda! I now give you my defence. (_He +kisses her_.) + +_Enter_ Culver, _back, in time to interrupt the embrace_. + +CULVER. Excuse me. My wife sent me to ask if you'd lunch, Tranto. I +gather that you _will_. + +CURTAIN. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Title, by Arnold Bennett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TITLE *** + +***** This file should be named 12687-8.txt or 12687-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/6/8/12687/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David McLachlan and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Title + A Comedy in Three Acts + +Author: Arnold Bennett + +Release Date: June 22, 2004 [EBook #12687] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TITLE *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David McLachlan and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + +</pre> + + + <hr class="full" /> + +<!-- Page 0 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page002" name="page002">[pg 2]</a> + </span> + + <br /> + +<!-- Page 1 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page003" name="page003">[pg 3]</a> + </span> + + <h1> + <i>The Title</i> + </h1> + + <br /> + + <h2>A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS</h2> + + <br /> + + <h3>BY</h3> + + <h2>ARNOLD BENNETT</h2> + + <br /> + + <center> + LONDON + <br /> + + CHATTO & WINDUS + <br /> + + MCMXVIII + </center> + + <br /> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 2 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page004" name="page004">[pg 4]</a> + </span> + + <h2>CHARACTERS</h2> + + <table> + <tr> + <td>MR. CULVER</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>MRS. CULVER</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>HILDEGARDE CULVER</td> + + <td>} their children</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>JOHN CULVER</td> + + <td>}</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>TRANTO</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>MISS STARKEY</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>SAMPSON STRAIGHT</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>PARLOURMAID</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 3 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page005" name="page005">[pg 5]</a> + </span> + + <h3> + <a href="#ACT_I">ACT I</a> + </h3> + + <p class="stagenote">An evening between Christmas and New Year, + before dinner.</p> + + <h3> + <a href="#ACT_II">ACT II</a> + </h3> + + <p class="stagenote">The next evening, after dinner.</p> + + <h3> + <a href="#ACT_III">ACT III</a> + </h3> + + <p class="stagenote">The next day, before lunch.</p> + + <p>The scene throughout is a sitting-room in the well-furnished + West End abode of the Culvers. There is a door, back. There is + also another door (L) leading to Mrs. Culver's boudoir and + elsewhere.</p> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 4 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page006" name="page006">[pg 6]</a> + </span> + + <br /> + +<!-- Page 5 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page007" name="page007">[pg 7]</a> + </span> + + <h2> + <a name='ACT_I'>ACT I</a> + </h2> + + <br /> + +<!-- Page 6 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page008" name="page008">[pg 8]</a> + </span> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 7 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page009" name="page009">[pg 9]</a> + </span> + + <h2>ACT I</h2> + + <br /> + + <p class="stagenote">Hildegarde + <i>is sitting at a desk, writing</i> + + . John, + <i>in a lounging attitude, is reading a newspaper</i> + + .</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Tranto, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Good evening.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>turning slightly in her seat and giving him her left hand, + the right still holding a pen</i> + + ). Good evening. Excuse me one moment.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. All right about my dining here to-night? (Hildegarde + + <i>nods</i> + + .) Larder equal to the strain?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Macaroni.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Splendid.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Beefsteak.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Great heavens! ( + <i>imitates sketchily the motions of cutting up a piece of + steak. Shaking hands with</i> + + John, + <i>who has risen</i> + + ). Well, John. How are things? Don't let me disturb you. Have a + cigarette.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 8 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page010" name="page010">[pg 10]</a> + </span> + + JOHN ( + <i>flattered</i> + + ). Thanks. ( + <i>As they light cigarettes</i> + + .) You're the first person here that's treated me like a human + being.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Oh!</p> + + <p>JOHN. Yes. They all treat me as if I was a schoolboy home + for the hols.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But you are, aren't you?</p> + + <p>JOHN. In a way, of course. But—well, don't you see + what I mean?</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>sympathetically</i> + + ). You mean that a schoolboy home for the hols isn't + necessarily something escaped out of the Zoo.</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>warming</i> + + ). That's it.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. In fact, what you mean is you're really an + individual very like the rest of us, subject, if I may say so, + to the common desires, weaknesses and prejudices of + humanity—and not a damned freak.</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>brightly</i> + + ). That's rather good, that is. If it's a question of the Zoo, + what I say is—what price home? Now, homes + <i>are</i> + + extraordinary if you like—I don't know whether you've + ever noticed it. School—you can understand school. But + home—! Strange things happen here while I'm away.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 9 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page011" name="page011">[pg 11]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Yes?</p> + + <p>JOHN. It was while I was away they appointed Dad a + controller. When I heard—I laughed. Dad a controller! + Why, he can't even control mother.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>without looking round</i> + + ). Oh yes he can.</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>pretending to start back</i> + + ). Stay me with flagons! ( + <i>Resuming to</i> + + Tranto.) And + <i>you're</i> + + something new here since the summer holidays.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I never looked at myself in that light. But I + suppose I + <i>am</i> + + rather new here.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Not quite new. But you've made a lot of progress + during the last term.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. That's comforting.</p> + + <p>JOHN. You understand what I mean. You were rather stiff and + prim in August—now you aren't a bit.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Just so. Well, I won't ask you what you think of + <i>me</i> + + , John—you might tell me—but what do you think of + my newspaper?</p> + + <p>JOHN. + <i>The Echo</i> + + ? I don't know what to think. You see, we don't read newspapers + much at school. Some of the masters do. And a few +<!-- Page 10 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page012" name="page012">[pg 12]</a> + </span> + + chaps in the Fifth—swank, of course. But speaking + generally we don't. Prefects don't. No time.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How strange! Aren't you interested in the war?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Interested in the war! Would you mind if I spoke + plainly?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I should love it.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Each time I come home I wonder more and more whether + you people in London have got the slightest notion what war + really is. Fact! At school, it's just because we + <i>are</i> + + interested in the war that we've no time for newspapers.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How's that?</p> + + <p>JOHN. How's that? Well, munition workshops—with + government inspectors tumbling all over us about once a week. + O.T.C. work. Field days. Cramming fellows for Sandhurst. Not to + mention female masters. 'Mistresses,' I ought to say, perhaps. + All these things take time.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I never thought of that.</p> + + <p>JOHN. No. People don't. However, I've decided to read + newspapers in future—it'll be part of my scheme. That's + why I was reading +<!-- Page 11 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page013" name="page013">[pg 13]</a> + </span> + + <i>The Echo</i> + + . Now, I should like to ask you something about this paper of + yours.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Yes.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Why do you let Hilda write those articles for you + about food economy stunts in the household?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well—( + <i>hesitating</i> + + )</p> + + <p>JOHN. Now, I look at things practically. When Hilda'd spent + all her dress allowance and got into debt besides, about a year + and a half ago, she suddenly remembered she wasn't doing much + to help the war, and so she went into the Food Ministry as a + typist at thirty-five shillings a week. Next she learnt typing. + Then she became an authority on everything. And now she's + concocting these food articles for you. Believe me, the girl + knows nothing whatever about cookery. She couldn't fry a + sausage for nuts. Once the mater insisted on her doing the + housekeeping—in the holidays, too! Stay me with + flagons!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>without looking round</i> + + ). Stay you with chocolates, you mean, Johnnie, dear.</p> + + <p>JOHN. There you are! Her thoughts fly instantly to + chocolates—and in the fourth year of the greatest war + that the world—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Etcetera, etcetera.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 12 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page014" name="page014">[pg 14]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Then do I gather that you don't entirely approve of + your sister's articles?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Tripe, I think. My fag could write better. I'll tell + you what I do approve of. I approve of that article to-day by + that chap Sampson Straight about titles and the shameful + traffic in honours, and the rot of the hereditary principle, + and all that sort of thing.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I'm glad. Delivers the goods, doesn't he, Mr. + Sampson Straight?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Well, + <i>I</i> + + think so. Who is he?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. One of my discoveries, John. He sent me in an + article about—let me see, when was it?—about eight + months ago. I at once perceived that in Mr. Sampson Straight I + had got on to a bit of all right. And I was not mistaken. He + has given London beans pretty regularly once a week ever + since.</p> + + <p>JOHN. He must have given the War Cabinet neuralgia this + afternoon, anyhow. I should like to meet him.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I'm afraid that's impossible.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Is it? Why?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, I haven't met him myself yet. He lives at a + quiet country place in Cornwall. +<!-- Page 13 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page015" name="page015">[pg 15]</a> + </span> + + Hermit, I believe. Hates any kind of publicity. Absolutely + refuses to be photographed.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Photographed! I should think not! But couldn't you get + him to come and lecture at school? We have frightful swells, + you know.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I expect you do. But he wouldn't come.</p> + + <p>JOHN. I wish he would. We had a debate the other Saturday + night on, Should the hereditary principle be abolished?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. And did you abolish it?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Did we abolish it? I should say we did. Eighty-five to + twenty-one. Some debate, believe + <i>me</i> + + !</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>looking round</i> + + ). Yes, but didn't you tell us once that in your Debating + Society the speakers always tossed for sides beforehand?</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>shrugging his shoulders. More confidentially to</i> + + Tranto). As I was saying, I'm going to read the papers in + future, as part of my scheme. And d'you know what the scheme + is? ( + <i>Impressively</i> + + .) I've decided to take up a political career.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Good!</p> + + <p>JOHN. Yes, it was during that hereditary principle debate + that I decided. It came over me +<!-- Page 14 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page016" name="page016">[pg 16]</a> + </span> + + all of a sudden while I was on the last lap of my speech and + the fellows were cheering. And so I want to understand first of + all the newspaper situation in London. There are one or two + things about it I + <i>don't</i> + + understand.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Not more? I can explain the newspaper situation to + you in ten words. You know I've got a lot of uncles. I daresay + I've got more uncles than anybody else in 'Who's Who.' Well, I + own + <i>The Echo</i> + + ,—inherited it from my father. My uncles own all the rest + of the press—( + <i>airily</i> + + ) with a few trifling exceptions. That's the London newspaper + situation. Quite simple, isn't it?</p> + + <p>JOHN. But of course + <i>The Echo</i> + + is up against all your uncles' papers—at least it seems + so.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Absolutely up against them. Tooth and nail. Daggers + drawn. No quarter. Death or victory.</p> + + <p>JOHN. But do you and your uncles speak to each other?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Best of friends.</p> + + <p>JOHN. But aren't two of your uncles lords?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Yes. Uncle Joe was made an earl not long + since—you may have heard of the fuss about it. Uncle + Sam's only a miserable baron yet. And Uncle Cuthbert is that + paltry insect—a baronet.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 15 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page017" name="page017">[pg 17]</a> + </span> + + JOHN. What did they get their titles for?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Ask me another.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Of course I don't want to be personal, but + <i>how</i> + + did they get them? Did they—er—buy them?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Don't know.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Haven't you ever asked them?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, John, you've got relatives yourself, and you + probably know there are some things that even the most + affectionate relatives + <i>don't</i> + + ask each other.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>rising from the desk and looking at John's feet</i> + + ). Yes, indeed! This very morning I unwisely asked Johnnie + whether his socks ever talked. Altercation followed. 'Some + debate, believe + <i>me</i> + + !'</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>rising; with scornful tranquillity</i> + + ). I'd better get ready for dinner. Besides, you two would + doubtless like to be alone together for a few precious + moments.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>sharply and self-consciously</i> + + ). What do you mean?</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>lightly</i> + + ). Nothing. I thought editor and contributor—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Oh! I see.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 16 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page018" name="page018">[pg 18]</a> + </span> + + JOHN ( + <i>stopping at door, and turning round</i> + + ). Do you mean to say your uncles won't be frightfully angry at + Mr. Sampson Straight's articles? Why, dash it, when he's + talking about traffic in honours, if he doesn't mean them who + does he mean?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. My dear friend, stuff like that's meat and drink to + my uncles. They put it down like chocolates.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Well my deliberate opinion is—it's a jolly + strange world. ( + <i>Exit quickly, back)</i> + + .</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>looking at</i> + + Hildegarde). So it is. Philosopher, John! Questions rather + pointed perhaps; but result in the discovery of new truths. By + the way, have I come too early?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>archly)</i> + + . How could you? But father's controlling the country half an + hour more than usual this evening, and I expect mamma was so + angry about it she forgot to telephone you that dinner's moved + accordingly. ( + <i>With piquancy and humour</i> + + .) I was rather surprised to hear when I got home from my + Ministry that you'd sent word you'd like to dine to-night.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Were you? Why?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Because last week when mamma + <i>asked</i> + + you for to-night, you said you had another engagement.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 17 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page019" name="page019">[pg 19]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Oh! I'd forgotten I'd told her that. Still, I really + had another engagement.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. The Countess of Blackfriars—you said.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Yes. Auntie Joe's. I've just sent her a telephone + message to say I'm ill and confined to the house.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Which house?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I didn't specify any particular house.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. And are you ill?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I am not.... To get back to the realm of fact, when + I read Sampson Straight's article about the degradation of + honours this afternoon—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Didn't you read it before you published it?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. No. I had to rush off and confront the Medical Board + at 9 a.m. I felt certain the article would be all right.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. And it wasn't all right.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>positively</i> + + ). Perfectly all right.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. You don't seem quite sure. Are we still in the + realm of fact, or are we slipping over the frontier?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 18 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page020" name="page020">[pg 20]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. The article was perfectly all right. It rattled off + from beginning to end like a machine-gun, and must have caused + enormous casualties. Only I thought Auntie Joe might be one of + the casualties. I thought it might put her out of action as a + hostess for a week or so. You see, for me to publish such an + onslaught on new titles in the afternoon, and then attempt to + dine with the latest countess the same night—and she my + own aunt—well, it might be regarded as a bit—thick. + So I'm confined to the house—this house as it + happens.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But you told John your people would take the + article like meat and drink.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. What if I did? John can't expect to discover the + whole truth about everything at one go. He's found out it's a + jolly strange world. That ought to satisfy him for to-day. + Besides, he only asked me about my uncles. He said nothing + about my uncles' wives. You know what women are—I mean + wives.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Oh, I do! Mother is a marvellous specimen.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I haven't told you the worst.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I hope no man ever will.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The worst is this. Auntie Joe actually thinks + <i>I</i> + + 'm Sampson Straight.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 19 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page021" name="page021">[pg 21]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. She doesn't!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. She does. She has an infinite capacity for belief. + The psychology of the thing is as follows. My governor died a + comparatively poor man. A couple of hundred thousand pounds, + more or less. Whereas Uncle Joe is worth five + millions—and Uncle Joe was going to adopt me, when Auntie + Joe butted in and married him. She used to arrange the flowers + for his first wife. Then she arranged + <i>his</i> + + flowers. Then she became a flower herself and he had to gather + her. Then she had twins, and my chances of inheriting that five + millions ( + <i>he imitates the noise of a slight explosion</i> + + ) short-circuited! Well, I didn't care a volt—not a volt! + I've got lots of uncles left who are quite capable of adopting + me. But I didn't really want to be adopted at all. To adopt me + was only part of Uncle Joe's political game. It was my + <i>Echo</i> + + that he was after adopting. But I'd sooner run my + <i>Echo</i> + + on my own than inherit Uncle Joe's controlling share in + twenty-five daily papers, seventy-one weekly papers, six + monthly magazines, and three independent advertising agencies. + I know I'm a poor man, but I'm quite ready to go on facing the + world bravely with my modest capital of a couple of hundred + thousand pounds. Only Auntie Joe can't understand that. She's + absolutely convinced that I have a terrific grudge against her + and her twins, and that in order to +<!-- Page 20 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page022" name="page022">[pg 22]</a> + </span> + + gratify that grudge I myself personally write articles against + all her most sacred ideals under the pseudonym of Sampson + Straight. I've pointed out to her that I'm a newspaper + proprietor, and no newspaper proprietor ever + <i>could</i> + + write. No use! She won't listen.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Then she thinks you're a liar.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Oh, not at all. Only a journalist. But you perceive + the widening rift in the family lute. ( + <i>A silence</i> + + .) Pardon this glimpse into the secret history of the week.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>formidably</i> + + ). Mr. Tranto, you and I are sitting on the edge of a + volcano.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. We are. I like it. Thrilling, and yet so warm and + cosy.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I used to like it once. But I don't think I like + it any more.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Now please don't let Auntie Joe worry you. She's my + cross, not yours.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Yes. But considered as a cross, your Auntie Joe + is nothing to my brother John, who quite justly calls his + sister's cookery stuff 'tripe.' It was a most ingenious + camouflage of yours to have me pretending to be the author of + that food economy 'tripe,' so as to cover my writing quite + different articles for + <i>The Echo</i> + + and +<!-- Page 21 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page023" name="page023">[pg 23]</a> + </span> + + your coming here to see me so often. Most ingenious. Worthy of + a newspaper proprietor. But why should I be saddled with + 'tripe' that isn't mine?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Why, indeed! Then you think we ought to encourage + the volcano with a lighted match—and run?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I'm ready if you are.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Oh! I'm ready. Secrecy was a great stunt at first. + Letting out the secret will be an even greater stunt now. It'll + make the finest newspaper story since the fearful fall of the + last Cabinet. Sampson Straight—equals Miss Hildegarde + Culver, the twenty-one year old daughter of the Controller of + Accounts! Typist in the Food Department, by day! Journalistic + genius by night! The terror of Ministers! Read by all London! + Raised the circulation of + <i>The Echo</i> + + two hundred per cent! Phenomenon unique in the annals of Fleet + Street! ( + <i>In a different tone, noticing</i> + + Hildegarde's + <i>face</i> + + ). Crude headlines, I admit, but that's what Uncle Joe has + brought us to. We have to compete with Uncle Joe....</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Of course I shall have to leave home.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Leave home!</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 22 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page024" name="page024">[pg 24]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. Yes, and live by myself in rooms.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But why?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I couldn't possibly stay here. Think how it + would compromise father with the War Cabinet if I did. It might + ruin him. And as accounts are everything in modern warfare, it + might lose the war. But that's nothing—it's mamma I'm + thinking of. Do you forget that Sampson Straight, being a young + woman of advanced ideas, has written about everything, + <i>everything</i> + + —yes, and several other subjects besides? For instance, + here's the article I was revising when you came in. ( + <i>Shows the title-page to</i> + + Tranto.)</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Splendid! You're the most courageous creature I ever + met.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Possibly. But not courageous enough to offer to + kiss mamma when I went to bed on the night that + <i>that (indicating the article</i> + + ) had appeared in print under my own name. You don't know + mamma.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But dash it! You could eat your mother!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Pardon me. The contrary is the fact. Mamma could + eat me.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 23 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page025" name="page025">[pg 25]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. But you're the illustrious Sampson Straight. There's + more intelligence in your little finger than there is in your + mother's whole body. See how you write.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Write! I only began to write as a relief from + mamma. I escaped secretly into articles like escaping into an + underground passage. But as for facing mamma in the open!... + Even father scarcely ever does that; and when he does, we hold + our breath, and the cook turns teetotal. It wouldn't be the + slightest use me trying to explain the situation logically to + mamma. She wouldn't understand. She's far too clever to + understand anything she doesn't like. Perhaps that's the secret + of her power. No, if the truth about Sampson Straight is to + come out I must leave home—quietly but firmly leave home. + And why not? I can keep myself in splendour on Sampson's + earnings. And the break is bound to come sooner or later. I + admit I didn't begin very seriously, but reading my own + articles has gradually made me serious. I feel I have a cause. + A cause may be inconvenient, but it's magnificent. It's like + champagne or high heels, and one must be prepared to suffer for + it.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Cause be hanged! Suffer be hanged! High heels be + hanged! Champagne—( + <i>stops</i> + + ). Miss Culver, if a disclosure means your leaving +<!-- Page 24 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page026" name="page026">[pg 26]</a> + </span> + + home I won't agree to any disclosure whatever. I + will—not—agree. We'll sit tight on the volcano.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But why won't you agree?</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>excited</i> + + ). Why won't I agree! Why won't I agree! Because I don't want + you to leave home. I know you're a born genius—a marvel, + a miracle, a prodigy, an incredible orchid, the most brilliant + journalist in London. I'm fully aware of all that. But I do not + and will not see you as a literary bachelor living with a cause + and holding receptions of serious people in chambers furnished + by Roger Fry. I like to think of you at home, here, in this + charming atmosphere, amid the delightful vicissitudes of family + existence, and—well, I like to think of you as a + woman.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>calmly and teasingly</i> + + ). Mr. Tranto, we are forgetting one thing.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. What's that?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. You're an editor, and I'm a contributor whom + you've never met.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Mrs. Culver ( + <i>L</i> + + ).</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Mr. Tranto, how are you? ( + <i>Shaking hands</i> + + .) I'm delighted to see you. So sorry I didn't warn you we dine + half an hour +<!-- Page 25 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page027" name="page027">[pg 27]</a> + </span> + + later—thanks to the scandalous way the Government + slave-drives my poor husband. Please do excuse me. ( + <i>She sits</i> + + ).</p> + + <p>TRANTO. On the contrary, it's I who should ask to be + excused—proposing myself like this at the last + moment.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. It was very nice of you to think of us. Come + and sit down here. ( + <i>Indicating a place by her side on the sofa</i> + + .) Now in my poor addled brain I had an idea you were engaged + for to-night at your aunt's, Lady Blackfriars'.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>sitting</i> + + ). Mrs. Culver, you forget nothing. I + <i>was</i> + + engaged for Auntie Joe's, but she's ill and she's put me + off.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Dear me! How very sudden!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Sudden?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I met Lady Blackfriars at tea late this + afternoon and it struck me how well she was looking.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Yes, she always looks particularly well just before + she's going to be ill. She's very brave, very brave.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. D'you mean in having twins? It was more than + brave of her; it was beautiful—both boys, too.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 26 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page028" name="page028">[pg 28]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>innocently</i> + + ). Budgeting for a long war.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>affectionately</i> + + ). My dear girl! Come here, darling, you haven't changed. + Excuse me, Mr. Tranto.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>approaching</i> + + ). I've been so busy. And I thought nobody was coming.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Is your father nobody? ( + <i>stroking and patting</i> + + Hildegarde's + <i>dress into order</i> + + ). What have you been so busy on?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Article for + <i>The Echo</i> + + . (Tranto, + <i>who has been holding the MS., indicates it</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I do wish you would let me see those cookery + articles of yours before they're printed.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>putting MS. in his pocket</i> + + ). I'm afraid that's quite against the rules. You see, in Fleet + Street—</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>very pleasantly</i> + + ). As you please. I don't pretend to be intellectual. But I + confess I'm just a wee bit disappointed in Hildegarde's cookery + articles. I'm a great believer in good cookery. I put it next + to the Christian religion—and far in front of mere + cleanliness. I've just been trying to read Professor + Metchnikoff's wonderful book on 'The Nature of Man.' It +<!-- Page 27 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page029" name="page029">[pg 29]</a> + </span> + + only confirms me in my lifelong belief that until the nature of + man is completely altered good cooking is the chief thing that + women ought to understand. Now I taught Hildegarde some cookery + myself. She was not what I should call a brilliant pupil, but + she did grasp the great eternal principles. And yet I find her + writing ( + <i>with charm and benevolence</i> + + ) stuff like her last article—'The Everlasting Boiled + Potato,' I think she called it. Hildegarde, it was really very + naughty of you to say what you said in that article. ( + <i>Drawing down</i> + + Hildegarde's + <i>head and kissing her</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Now why, Mrs. Culver? I thought it was so + clever.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. It may be clever to advocate fried potatoes and + chip potatoes and sauté potatoes as a change from the + everlasting boiled. I daresay it's what you call journalism. + But how can you fry potatoes without fat?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Ah! How?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. And where are you to obtain fat? + <i>I</i> + + can't obtain fat. I stand in queues for hours because my + servants won't—it's the latest form of + democracy—but + <i>I</i> + + can't obtain fat. I think the nearest fat is at + Stratford-on-Avon.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Stand in queues! Mrs. Culver, you make me feel very + guilty, plunging in at a +<!-- Page 28 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page030" name="page030">[pg 30]</a> + </span> + + moment's notice and demanding a whole dinner in a fatless + world. I shall eat nothing but dry bread.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. We never serve bread at lunch or dinner unless + it's specially asked for. But if soup, macaroni, eggs, and + jelly will keep you alive till breakfast—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But there's beefsteak, mamma—I've told Mr. + Tranto.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Only a little, and that's for your father. + Beefsteak's the one thing that keeps off his neuralgia, Mr. + Tranto. ( + <i>With apologetic persuasiveness</i> + + .) I'm sure you'll understand.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Dear lady, I've never had neuralgia in my life. + Macaroni, eggs, and jelly are my dream. I've always wanted to + feel like an invalid.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. And how did you get on with your Medical Board + this morning?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How marvellous of you to remember that I had a + Medical Board this morning! I believe I've found out your + secret, Mrs. Culver—you're undergoing a course of Pelman + with those sixty generals and forty admirals. Well, the Medical + Board have given me a new complaint. You'll be sorry to hear + that I'm deformed.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Not deformed!</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 29 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page031" name="page031">[pg 31]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Yes. It appears I'm flat-footed. ( + <i>Extending his leg</i> + + .) Have I ever told you that I had a dashing military career + extending over four months, three of which I spent in hospital + for a disease I hadn't got? Then I was discharged as unfit. + After a year they raked me in again. Since then I've been + boarded five times, and on the unimpeachable authority of + various R.A.M.C. Colonels I've been afflicted with valvular + disease of the heart, incipient tuberculosis, rickets, varicose + veins, diabetes—practically everything, except spotted + fever and leprosy. And now flat feet are added to all the rest. + Even the Russian collapse and the transfer of the entire German + army to the Western Front hasn't raised me higher than C 3.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. How annoying for you! You might have risen to + be a captain by this time.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>reflectively</i> + + ). No doubt, in a home unit. But if he'd gone to the Front he + would still have been a second lieutenant.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. My + <i>dear</i> + + !</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Whereas in fact I'm still one of those able-bodied + young shirkers in mufti that patriotic old gentlemen in clubs + are always writing to my uncles' papers about.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 30 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page032" name="page032">[pg 32]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. Please! please! ( + <i>A slight pause; pulling herself together; cheerfully</i> + + .) Let me see, you were going in for Siege Artillery, weren't + you?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Me! Siege Artillery. My original ambition was trench + mortars—not so noisy.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>simply</i> + + ). Oh! Then it must have been somebody else who was talking to + me about Siege Artillery. I understand it's very + scientific—all angles and degrees and wind-pressures and + things. John will soon be eighteen, and his father and I want + him to be really useful in the Army. We don't want him to be + thrown away. He has brains, and so we are thinking of Siege + Artillery for him.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>During this speech</i> + + John + <i>has entered, in evening dress</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>JOHN. Are you on Siege again, mater? The mater's keen on + Siege because she's heard somewhere it's the safest thing there + is.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. And if it does happen to be the + safest—what then?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I suppose you're all for the Flying Corps, John?</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>with condescension</i> + + ). Not specially. Since one of the old boys came and did + looping the +<!-- Page 31 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page033" name="page033">[pg 33]</a> + </span> + + loop stunts over the school the whole Fifth has gone mad on the + R.F.C. Most fellows are just like sheep. + <i>Somebody</i> + + in the Sixth has to be original. I want to fight as much as any + chap with wings across his chest, but I've got my private + career to think of too. If you ask me, the mater's had a + brain-wave for once.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Mr. Culver, + <i>back. He stands a moment at the door, surveying the + scene</i> + + . Mrs. Culver + <i>springs up, and</i> + + Tranto + <i>also rises, moving towards the door</i> + + .</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Arthur, have you come?</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>advancing a little</i> + + ). Apparently. Hello, Tranto, glad to see you. I wanted to. ( + <i>Shakes hands with</i> + + Tranto.)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. What's the matter, Arthur?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Everything.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>alarmed, but carefully coaxing</i> + + ). Why are you wearing your velvet coat? ( + <i>To</i> + + Tranto.) He always puts on his velvet coat instead of dressing + when something's gone wrong. ( + <i>To</i> + + Mr. Culver.) Have you got neuralgia again?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I don't think so.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But surely you must know! You look terribly + pale.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 32 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page034" name="page034">[pg 34]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. The effect of the velvet coat, my dear—nicely + calculated in advance.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>darting at him, holding him by the shoulders, and then + kissing him violently. With an intonation of affectionate + protest</i> + + ). Darling!</p> + + <p>JOHN. Oh! I say, mater, look here!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + Culver, + <i>still holding him</i> + + ). I'm very annoyed with you. It's perfectly absurd the way you + work. ( + <i>To</i> + + Tranto.) Do you know he was at the office all day Christmas Day + and all day Boxing Day? ( + <i>To</i> + + Culver.) You really must take a holiday.</p> + + <p>CULVER. But what about the war, darling?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>loosing him</i> + + ). Oh! You're always making the war an excuse. I know what I + shall do. I shall just go—</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes, darling, just go and suggest a short armistice + to the Germans while you take me to Brighton for a week's + fondling.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I shall just speak to Miss Starkey. Strange + that the wife, in order to influence the husband, should have + to appeal to ( + <i>disdainfully</i> + + ) the lady secretary! But so it is.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Hermione, I must beg you not to interfere between + Miss Starkey and me. Interference +<!-- Page 33 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page035" name="page035">[pg 35]</a> + </span> + + will upset Miss Starkey, and I cannot stand her being upset. I + depend upon her absolutely. First, Miss Starkey is the rock + upon which my official existence is built. She is a serious and + conscientious rock. She is hard and expects me to be hard. + Secondly, Miss Starkey is the cushion between me and the world. + She knows my tender spots, and protects them. Thirdly, Miss + Starkey is my rod—and I kiss it.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Arthur!... ( + <i>tries to be agreeable</i> + + ). But I really am vexed.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Well, I'm only hungry.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Parlourmaid.</p> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. Cook's compliments, madam, and dinner will be + twenty minutes late. ( + <i>Exit</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>A shocked silence</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>with an exhausted sigh</i> + + ). And yet I gave that cook one of my most captivating smiles + this morning.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>settling</i> + + Mr. Culver + <i>into a chair</i> + + ). She's done it simply because I told her to-night that + rationing is definitely coming in. Her reply was that the + kitchen would never stand it, whatever the Government said. She + was quite upset—and so she's gone and done something to + the dinner.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 34 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page036" name="page036">[pg 36]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Surely rather illogical of her, isn't it? Or have I + missed a link in the chain of reasoning?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I shall give her notice—after dinner.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Couldn't you leave it till after the holidays, + mother?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. And where shall you find another cook, + mamma?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. The first thing is to get rid of the present + one. Then we shall see.</p> + + <p>CULVER. My dear, you talk as if she was a prime minister. + Still, it might be a good plan to sack all the servants before + rationing comes in, and engage deaf-mutes.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Deaf-mutes!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Deaf-mutes. Then they wouldn't be worried by the + continual groaning of + <i>my</i> + + hunger, and I shouldn't hear any complaints about + <i>theirs</i> + + .</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + Hildegarde). My pet, you've time to change now. Do run and + change. You're so sombre.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I can't do it in twenty minutes.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Then put a bright shawl on—for papa's + sake.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 35 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page037" name="page037">[pg 37]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. I haven't got a bright shawl.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Then take mine. The one with the pink beads on + it. It's in my wardrobe—right-hand side.</p> + + <p>JOHN. That means it'll be on the left-hand side.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>Exit</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>back, with a look at Tranto, who opens the door for her</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>with sweet apprehensiveness</i> + + ). Now Arthur, I'm afraid after all you have something on your + mind.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I've got nothing on my stomach, anyway. ( + <i>Bracing himself</i> + + .) Yes, darling, it's true. I have got something on my mind. + Within the last hour I've had a fearful shock—</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I knew it!</p> + + <p>CULVER. And I need sustaining. I hadn't meant to say + anything until after dinner, but in view of cook's drastic + alterations in the time-table I may as well tell you ( + <i>looking round</i> + + ) at once.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. It's something about the Government again.</p> + + <p>CULVER. The Government has been in a very serious + situation.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 36 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page038" name="page038">[pg 38]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER ( + <i>alarmed</i> + + ). You mean they're going to ask you to resign?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I wish they would!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Arthur! Do please remember the country is at + war.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Is it? So it is. You see, my pet, I remember such a + lot of things. I remember that my brainy partner is counting + khaki trousers in the Army clothing department. I remember that + my other partner ought to be in a lunatic asylum, but isn't. I + remember that my business is going to the dogs at a muzzle + velocity of about five thousand feet a second. I remember that + from mere snobbishness I work for the Government without a + penny of salary, and that my sole reward is to be insulted and + libelled by high-brow novelists who write for the press. + Therefore you ought not to be startled if I secretly yearn to + resign. However, I shall not be asked to resign. I said that + the Government had been in a very serious situation. It was. + But it will soon recover.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. How soon?</p> + + <p>CULVER. On New Year's Day.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Then what's the fearful shock, dad?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Yes. Have you heard anything special?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 37 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page039" name="page039">[pg 39]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. No. But I've seen something special. I saw it less than + an hour ago. It was shown to me without the slightest warning, + and I admit it shook me. You can perceive for yourselves that + it shook me.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But what?</p> + + <p>CULVER. The New Year's Honours List—or rather a few + choice selections from the more sensational parts of it.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Hildegarde.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Arthur, + <i>what</i> + + do you mean? ( + <i>To</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>in despair</i> + + .) My chick, your father grows more and more puzzling every + day! How well that shawl suits you! You look quite a different + girl. But you've—( + <i>arranges the shawl on</i> + + Hildegarde) I really don't know what your father has on his + mind! I really don't!</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>impatient of this feminine manifestation</i> + + ). Oh, dad, go on. Go on! I want to get at the bottom of this + titles business. I'm hanged if I can understand it. What + strikes me as an unprejudiced observer is that titles are + supposed to be such a terrific honour, and yet the people who + deal them out scarcely ever keep any for themselves. Look at + Mr. Gladstone, for instance. He must have made about forty + earls and seven thousand baronets in his time. Now if I was a +<!-- Page 38 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page040" name="page040">[pg 40]</a> + </span> + + Prime Minister, and I believed in titles—which I jolly + well don't—I should make myself a duke right off; and I + should have several marquises and viscounts round me in the + Cabinet like a sort of bodyguard, and my private secretaries + would have to be knights. There'd be some logic in that + arrangement anyhow.</p> + + <p>CULVER. In view of your political career, John, will you + mind if I give you a brief lesson on elementary + politics—though you + <i>are</i> + + on your holidays?</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>easily</i> + + ). I'm game.</p> + + <p>CULVER. What is the first duty of modern Governments?</p> + + <p>JOHN. To govern.</p> + + <p>CULVER. My innocent boy. I thought better of you. I know + that you look on the venerable Mr. Tranto as a back number, and + I suspect that Mr. Tranto in his turn regards me as + prehistoric; and yet you are so behind the times as to imagine + that the first duty of modern Governments is to govern! My dear + Rip van Winkle, wake up. The first duty of a Government is to + live. It has no right to be a Government at all unless it is + convinced that if it fell the country would go to everlasting + smash. Hence its first duty is to survive. In order to survive + it must do three +<!-- Page 39 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page041" name="page041">[pg 41]</a> + </span> + + things—placate certain interests, influence votes, and + obtain secret funds. All these three things can be accomplished + by the ingenious institution of Honours. Only the simple-minded + believe that Honours are given to honour. Honours are given to + save the life of the Government. Hence the Honours List. + Examine the Honours List and you can instantly tell how the + Government feels in its inside. When the Honours List is full + of rascals, millionaires, and—er—chumps, you may be + quite sure that the Government is dangerously ill.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But that amounts to what we've been saying in + <i>The Echo</i> + + to-day.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes, I've read the + <i>The Echo</i> + + .</p> + + <p>JOHN. I thought you never had a free moment at the + office—always rushed to death—at least that's the + mater's theory.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I've read + <i>The Echo</i> + + , and my one surprise is that you're here to-night, Tranto.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Why?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I quite thought you'd have been shoved into the + Tower under the Defence of the Realm Act. Or Sampson Straight, + anyway. (Hildegarde + <i>starts</i> + + .) Your contributor has committed the unpardonable sin of + hitting the nail on +<!-- Page 40 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page042" name="page042">[pg 42]</a> + </span> + + the head. He might almost have seen an advance copy of the + Honours List.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. He hadn't. Nor had I. Who's in it?</p> + + <p>CULVER. You might ask who isn't in it. ( + <i>Taking a paper from his pocket</i> + + .) Well, Gentletie's in it. He gets a knighthood.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Never heard of him. Who is he?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Oh, yes, you've heard of him. (John + <i>glances at her severely</i> + + .) He's M.P. for some earthly paradise or other in the South + Riding.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Oh!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Perhaps I might read you something written by my + private secretary—he's one of these literary wags. You + see there's been a demand that the Government should state + clearly, in every case of an Honour, exactly what services the + Honour is given for. This ( + <i>taking paper from his pocket</i> + + ) is supposed to be the stuff sent round to the Press by the + Press Bureau. ( + <i>Reads</i> + + .) 'Mr. Gentletie has gradually made a solid reputation for + himself as the dullest man in the House of Commons. Whenever he + rises to his feet the House empties as if by magic. In cases of + inconvenience, when the Government wishes abruptly to close a + debate by counting out the House, it +<!-- Page 41 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page043" name="page043">[pg 43]</a> + </span> + + has invariably put up Mr. Gentletie to speak. The device has + never been known to fail. Nobody can doubt that Mr. Gentletie's + patriotic devotion to the Allied cause well merits the + knighthood which is now bestowed on him.'</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>astounded</i> + + .) Stay me with flagons!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. So that's that! And who else?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Another of your esteemed uncles.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, that's not very startling, seeing that my + uncle's chief daily organ is really a department of the + Government.</p> + + <p>JOHN. What I say is—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>simultaneously with</i> + + John). Wouldn't it be more correct—( + <i>continuing alone</i> + + ) wouldn't it be more correct to say that the Government is + really a department of your uncle's chief daily organ?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Hilda, old girl, I wish you wouldn't interrupt. + Cookery's your line.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Sorry, Johnnie. I see I was in danger of + becoming unsexed.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + John). Yes? You were about to say?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 42 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page044" name="page044">[pg 44]</a> + </span> + + JOHN. Oh, nothing.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + Tranto). Shall I read the passage on your uncle?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Don't trouble. Who's the next?</p> + + <p>CULVER. The next is—Ullivant, munitions manufacturer. + Let me see. ( + <i>Reads</i> + + .) By the simple means of saying that the cost price of shells + was eighteen shillings and ninepence each, whereas it was in + fact only ten shillings and ninepence, Mr. Joshua Ullivant has + made a fortune of two million pounds during the war. He has + given a hundred thousand to the Prince of Wales's Fund, a + hundred thousand to the Red Cross, and a hundred thousand to + the party funds. Total net profit on the war, one million seven + hundred thousand pounds, not counting the peerage which is now + bestowed upon him, and which it must be admitted is a just + reward for his remarkable business acumen.'</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Very agreeable fellow Ullivant is, nevertheless.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Oh, he is. They're most of them too damned agreeable + for anything. Another prominent name is Orlando Bush.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Ah!</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 43 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page045" name="page045">[pg 45]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. I've met his wife. She dances beautifully at + charity matinees.</p> + + <p>CULVER. No doubt. But apparently that's not the reason.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I know Orlando. I've just bought the serial rights + of his book.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Have you paid him?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. No.</p> + + <p>CULVER. How wise of you! ( + <i>Reads</i> + + ). 'Mr. Orlando Bush has written a historical sketch, with many + circumstantial details, of the political origins of the present + Government. For his forbearance in kindly consenting to withold + publication until the end of the war Mr. Bush receives a + well-earned'—</p> + + <p>TRANTO. What?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Knighthood.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Cheap! But what a sell for me!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Now, ladies and gentlemen, the last name with which + I will trouble you is that of Mr. James Brill.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Not Jimmy Brill!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Jimmy Brill.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 44 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page046" name="page046">[pg 46]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. But he's a—</p> + + <p>CULVER. Stop, my dear Tranto. No crude phrases, please. ( + <i>Reads</i> + + .) 'Mr. James Brill, to use the language of metaphor, possessed + a pistol, which pistol he held point blank at the head of the + Government. The Government has thought it wise to purchase Mr. + James Brill's pistol—'</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But he's a—</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>raising a hand</i> + + ). He is merely the man with the pistol, and in exchange for + the pistol he gets a baronetcy.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. A baronetcy!</p> + + <p>CULVER. His title and pistol will go rattling down the ages, + my dear Tranto, from generation to generation. For the moment + the fellow's name stinks, but only for the moment. In the + nostrils of his grandson (third baronet), it will have a most + sweet odour.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But all this is perfectly shocking.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Now I hope you comprehend my emotion, darling.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER But surely there are some + <i>nice</i> + + names on the List.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 45 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page047" name="page047">[pg 47]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Of course. There have to be some nice names, for the + sake of the psychological effect on the public mind on New + Year's Day. The public looks for a good name, or for a name it + can understand. It skims down the List till it sees one. Then + it says: 'Ah! That's not so bad!' Then it skims down further + till it sees another one, and it says again: 'Ah! That's not so + bad!' And so on. So that with about five or six decent names + you can produce the illusion that after all the List is really + rather good.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. The strange thing to me is that decent people + condescend to receive titles at all.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Bravo, Hildegarde! Yes, if it's so bad as you + make out, Arthur, why + <i>do</i> + + decent people take Honours?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I'll tell you. Decent people have wives, and their + wives lead them by the nose. That's why decent people take + Honours.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Well, I think it's monstrous!</p> + + <p>CULVER. So it is. I've been a Conservative all my life; I am + a Conservative. I swear I am. And yet, now when I look back, + I'm amazed at the things I used to do. Why, once I actually + voted against a candidate who stood for the reform of the House + of Lords. Seems incredible. This +<!-- Page 46 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page048" name="page048">[pg 48]</a> + </span> + + war is changing my ideas. ( + <i>Suddenly, after a slight pause</i> + + .) I'm dashed if I don't join the Labour party and ask Ramsay + Macdonald to lunch.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Parlourmaid, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. You are wanted on the telephone, madam.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Oh, Arthur! ( + <i>Pats him on the shoulder as she goes out</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>Exit</i> + + Mrs. Culver + <i>and</i> + + Parlourmaid, + <i>back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER. Hildegarde, go and see if you can hurry up + dinner.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. No one could.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Never mind, go and see. ( + <i>Exit</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>back</i> + + .) John, just take these keys, and get some cigars out of the + cabinet, you know, Partagas.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Oh! Is it a Partaga night? ( + <i>Exit, back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>watching the door close</i> + + ). Tranto, we are conspirators.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. You and I?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes. But we must have no secrets. Who wrote that + article in + <i>The Echo</i> + + ? Who is Sampson Straight?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 47 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page049" name="page049">[pg 49]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO ( + <i>temporising, lightly</i> + + ). You remind me of the man with the pistol.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Is it Hildegarde?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How did you guess?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Well; first, I knew my daughter couldn't be the + piffling lunatic who does your war cookery articles. Second, I + asked myself: What reason has she for pretending to be that + piffling lunatic? Third, I have an exceedingly high opinion of + my daughter's brains. Fourth, she gave a funny start just now + when I mentioned the idea of Sampson Straight going to the + Tower.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Perhaps I ought to explain—</p> + + <p>CULVER. No you oughn't. There's no time. I simply wanted a + bit of information. I've got it. Now I have a bit of + information for you. I've been offered a place in this + beautiful Honours List. Baronetcy! Me! I am put on the same + high plane as Mr. James Brill, the unspeakable. The formal + offer hasn't actually arrived—it's late; I expect the + letter'll be here in the morning—but I know for a fact + I'm in the List for a baronetcy.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, I congratulate you.</p> + + <p>CULVER. You'd better not.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 48 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page050" name="page050">[pg 50]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. You deserve more than a baronetcy. Your department has + been a striking success—one of the very few in the whole + length of Whitehall.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I know my department has been a success. But that's + not why I'm offered a baronetcy. Good heavens, I haven't even + spoken to any member of the War Cabinet yet. I've been trying + to for about a year, but in spite of powerful influences to + help me I've never been able to bring off a meeting with the + mandarins. No! I'm offered a baronetcy because I'm respectable; + I'm decent; and at the last moment they thought the List looked + a bit too thick—so they pushed me in. One of their + brilliant afterthoughts!... No damned merit about the thing, I + can tell you!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Do you mean you intend to refuse?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Do you mean you ever imagined that I should accept? + Me, in the same galley with Brill—who daren't go into his + own clubs—and Ullivant, and a few more pretty nearly as + bad! Of course, I shall refuse. Nothing on earth would induce + me to accept. Nothing! ( + <i>More calmly</i> + + .) Mind you, I don't blame the Government; probably the + Government can't help itself. Therefore the Government must be + helped; and sometimes the best way to help a fellow creature is + to bring him to his senses by catching him one across the + jaw.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 49 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page051" name="page051">[pg 51]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Why are you making a secret of it? The offer is surely + bound to come out.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Of course. I'm only making a secret of it for the + moment, while I prepare the domestic ground for my refusal.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. You wish me to understand—</p> + + <p>CULVER. You know what women are. ( + <i>With caution</i> + + .) I speak of the sex in general.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I see.</p> + + <p>CULVER. That's all right.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, if I mayn't congratulate you on the title, let + me congratulate you on your marvellous skill in this delicate + operation of preparing the domestic ground for your refusal of + the title. Your success is complete, absolute.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>sardonic</i> + + .) Complete? Absolute?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. You have—er—jockeyed + Mrs.—er—the sex into committing itself quite + definitely against titles. Hence I look on your position as + impregnable.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Good heavens, Tranto! How old are you?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Twenty-five.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 50 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page052" name="page052">[pg 52]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. A quarter of a century—and you haven't learnt + that no position is impregnable against—er—the sex! + You never know where the offensive will come, nor when, nor + how. The offensive is bound to be a surprise. You aren't + married. When you are you'll soon find out that being a husband + is a whole-time job. That's why so many husbands fail. They + can't give their entire attention to it. Tranto, my position + must be still further strengthened—during dinner. It + can't be strengthened too much. I've brought you into the + conspiracy because you're on the spot and I want you to play + up.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Certainly, sir.</p> + + <p>CULVER. The official letter + <i>might</i> + + come by to-night's post. If it does, a considerable amount of + histrionic skill will be needed.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Trust me for that.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Oh! I do! Indeed I fancy after all I'm fairly safe. + There's only one danger.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Yes?</p> + + <p>CULVER. My—I mean the sex, must hear of the offered + title from me first. If the news came to her indirectly + she'd—</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Mrs. Culver + <i>rapidly, back</i> + + .</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 51 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page053" name="page053">[pg 53]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER ( + <i>rushing to him</i> + + ). Darling! Dearest! What a tease you are! You needn't pretend + any longer. Lady Prockter has just whispered to me over the + telephone that you're to have a baronetcy. Of course she'd be + bound to know. She said I might tell you. I never + <i>dreamed</i> + + of a title. I'm so glad. Oh! But you + <i>are</i> + + a tease! ( + <i>Kisses him enthusiastically</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote">CURTAIN.</p> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 52 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page054" name="page054">[pg 54]</a> + </span> + + <br /> + +<!-- Page 52 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page055" name="page055">[pg 55]</a> + </span> + + <h2> + <a name='ACT_II'>ACT II</a> + </h2> + +<!-- Page 53 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page056" name="page056">[pg 56]</a> + </span> + + <br /> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 54 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page057" name="page057">[pg 57]</a> + </span> + + <h2>ACT II</h2> + + <br /> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>The next day after dinner</i> + + . Culver + <i>and</i> + + Parlourmaid.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>handing</i> + + Parlourmaid + <i>a letter</i> + + ). That's for the post. Is Miss Starkey here?</p> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. Yes, sir. She is waiting.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Ask her to be good enough to keep on waiting. She + may come in when I ring twice.</p> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. Yes, sir.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Mrs. Culver, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + Parlourmaid, + <i>stopping her as she goes out, dramatically</i> + + ). Give me that letter. ( + <i>She snatches the letter from the</i> + + Parlourmaid.) You can go. (Culver + <i>rises</i> + + .) ( + <i>Exit</i> + + Parlourmaid.)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I am determined to make a stand this time.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>soothingly</i> + + ). So I see, darling.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 55 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page058" name="page058">[pg 58]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. I have given way to you all my life. But I won't + give way now. This letter shall not go.</p> + + <p>CULVER. As you like, darling.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. No. ( + <i>She tears the envelope open, without having looked at it, + and throws the letter into the fire. In doing so she lets fall + a cheque</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>rising and picking up the cheque</i> + + ). I'll keep the cheque as a memento.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Cheque? What cheque?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Darling, once in the old, happy days—I think + it was last week—you and I were walking down Bond Street, + almost hand in hand, but not quite, and you saw a brooch in a + shop window. You simply had to have that brooch. I offered it + to you for a Christmas present. You are wearing it now, and + very well it suits you. This ( + <i>indicating the cheque</i> + + ) was to pay the bill.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Arthur!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Moral: Look before you burn. Miss Starkey will now + have to write a fresh letter.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Arthur! You must forgive me. I'm in a horrid + state of nerves, and you said you +<!-- Page 56 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page059" name="page059">[pg 59]</a> + </span> + + were positively going to write to Lord Woking to-night to + refuse the title.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I did say so.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>hopefully</i> + + ). But you haven't written?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I haven't.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. You don't know how relieved I am!</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>sitting down, drawing her to him, and setting her on his + knee</i> + + ). Infant! Cherub! Angel! Dove!... Devil! ( + <i>Caressing her</i> + + .) Are we friends?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. It kills me to quarrel with you. ( + <i>They kiss</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER. Darling, we are absurd.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I don't care.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Supposing that anyone came in and caught us!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Well, we're married.</p> + + <p>CULVER.—But it's so long since. Hildegarde's + twenty-one! John, seventeen!</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 57 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page060" name="page060">[pg 60]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. It seems to me like yesterday.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes, you're incurably a girl.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I'm not.</p> + + <p>CULVER. You are. And I'm a boy. I say we are absurd. We're + continually absurd. We were absurd all last evening when we + pretended before the others, with the most disastrous results, + that nothing was the matter. We were still more absurd when we + went to our twin beds and argued savagely with each other from + bed to bed until four o'clock this morning. Do you know that I + had exactly one hour and fifty-five minutes' sleep? ( + <i>Yawns</i> + + .) Do you know that owing to extreme exhaustion my behaviour at + my office to-day has practically lost the war? But the most + absurd thing of all was you trying to do the Roman matron + business at dinner to-night. Mind you, I adore you for being + absurd, but—</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>very endearingly, putting her hand on his mouth</i> + + ). Dearest, you needn't continue. I know you're wiser and + stronger than me in every way. But I love that. Most women + wouldn't; but I do. ( + <i>Kisses him</i> + + .) Oh! I'm so glad you've at last seen the force of my + arguments about the title.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 58 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page061" name="page061">[pg 61]</a> + </span> + + CULVER ( + <i>gently warning</i> + + ). Now, now! You're behaving like a journalist.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Like a journalist?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Journalists say a thing that they know isn't true, + in the hope that if they keep on saying it long enough it + <i>will</i> + + be true.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But you do see the force of my arguments!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Quite. But I also see the force of mine, and, as an + impartial judge, I'm bound to say that yours aren't in it with + mine.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Then you've refused the title after all?</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>ingratiatingly</i> + + ). No. I told you I hadn't. But I'm going to. I was just + thinking over the terms of the fatal letter to Lord Woking when + you came in. Starkey is now waiting for me to dictate it. You + see it positively must be posted to-night.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>springing from his knee</i> + + ). Arthur, you're playing with me!</p> + + <p>CULVER. No doubt. Like a mouse plays with a cat.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 59 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page062" name="page062">[pg 62]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. Surely it has occurred to you—</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>firmly, but very pleasantly</i> + + ). Stop! You had till four o'clock this morning to deliver all + your arguments. You aren't going to begin again. I understand + you've stayed in bed all day. Quite right! But if you stayed in + bed merely to think of fresh arguments while I've been slaving + away at the office for my country, I say you're taking an + unfair advantage of me, and I won't have it.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>with dignity</i> + + ). No. I haven't any fresh arguments; and if I had, I shouldn't + say what they were.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Oh! Why?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Because I can see it's useless to argue with a + man like you.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Now that's what I call better news from the + Front.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I was only going to say this. Surely it has + occurred to you that on patriotic grounds alone you oughtn't to + refuse the title. I quite agree that Honours have been + degraded. Quite! The thing surely is to try and make them + respectable again. And how are they ever to be respectable if + respectable men refuse them?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 60 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page063" name="page063">[pg 63]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. This looks to me suspiciously like an argument.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Not at all. It's simply a question.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Well, the answer is, I don't want Honours to be + respectable any more. Proverb: When fish has gone bad ten + thousand decent men can't take away the stink.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Now you're insulting your country. I know you + often pretend your country's the slackest place on earth, but + it's only pretence. You don't really think so. The truth is + that inside you you're positively conceited about your country. + You think it's the greatest country that ever was. And so it + is. And yet when your country offers you this honour you talk + about bad fish. I say it's an insult to Great Britain.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Great Britain hasn't offered me any title. The fact + is that there are a couple of shrewd fellows up a devil of a + tree in Whitehall, and they're waving a title at me in the hope + that I shall come and stand under the tree so that they can get + down by putting their dirty boots on my shoulders. Well, I'm + not going to be a ladder.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I wish you wouldn't try to be funny.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 61 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page064" name="page064">[pg 64]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. I'm not + <i>trying</i> + + to be funny. I + <i>am</i> + + being funny.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. You might be serious for once.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I am serious. Beneath this amusing and delightful + exterior, there is hidden the most serious, determined, + resolute, relentless, inexorable, immovable man that ever + breathed. And let me tell you something else, my + girl—something I haven't mentioned before because of my + nice feelings. What has this title affair got to do with you? + What the dickens has it got to do with you? The title isn't + offered as a reward for + <i>your</i> + + work; it's offered as a reward for + <i>my</i> + + work. + <i>You</i> + + aren't the Controller of Accounts, + <i>I</i> + + happen to be the Controller of Accounts. I have decided to + refuse the title, and I shall refuse it. + <i>Nothing will induce me to accept it</i> + + . Do I make myself clear, or ( + <i>smiling affectionately</i> + + ) am I lost in a mist of words?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>suddenly furious</i> + + ). You are a brute. You always were. You never think of anybody + but yourself. My life has been one long sacrifice, and you know + it perfectly well. Perfectly well! You talk about + <i>your</i> + + work. What about my work? Why! You'd be utterly useless without + me. You can't even look after your own collars. Could you go + down to your ridiculous +<!-- Page 62 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page065" name="page065">[pg 65]</a> + </span> + + office without a collar? I've done everything for you, + everything! And now! ( + <i>Weeping</i> + + ). I can't even be called 'my lady.' I only wanted to hear the + parlourmaid call me 'my lady.' It seems a simple enough + thing—</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>persuasively and softly, trying to seize her</i> + + ). You divine little snob!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>in a supreme, blazing outbreak escaping him</i> + + ). Let me alone! I told you at the start I should never give + way. And I never will. Never! If you send that letter of + refusal, do you know what I shall do? I shall go and see the + War Cabinet myself. I shall tell them you don't mean it. I'll + make the most horrible scandal.... When I think of the Duke of + Wellington—</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>surprised and alarmed</i> + + ). The Duke of Wellington?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>drawing herself up at the door, L</i> + + ). The Duke of Wellington didn't refuse a title! Hildegarde + shall sleep in our room, and you can have hers! ( + <i>Exit violently, L</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>intimidated, as she goes</i> + + ). Look here, hurricane! ( + <i>He rushes out after her</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Hildegarde + <i>and</i> + + Tranto, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 63 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page066" name="page066">[pg 66]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>seeing the room empty</i> + + ). Well, I thought I heard them.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>catching noise of high words from the boudoir</i> + + .) I fancy I + <i>do</i> + + hear them.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Perhaps we'd better go.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But I want to speak to you—just for a + moment.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>moving uneasily</i> + + ). What about?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I don't know. Anything. It doesn't matter what ... I + don't hear them now.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>listening and hearing nothing; reassured</i> + + ). I should have thought you wouldn't have wanted to come here + any more for a long time.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Why?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. After the terrible experiences of last night, + during dinner and after dinner.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The general constraint?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. The general constraint.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The awkwardness? +<!-- Page 64 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page067" name="page067">[pg 67]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. The awkwardness.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The frightful silences and the forced + conversations?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>nods</i> + + ). Why + <i>did</i> + + you come?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I suppose you're still confined to this + house.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>in a new confidential tone</i> + + ). I wish you'd treat me as your father does.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But of course I will—</p> + + <p>TRANTO. That's fine. He treats me as an intimate friend.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But you must treat me as you treat papa.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>slightly dashed</i> + + ). I'll try. I might tell you that I had two very straight + talks with your father last night.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Two?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Yes; one before dinner, and the other just before I + left—when you'd gone to bed. He began them—both of + them.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 65 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page068" name="page068">[pg 68]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. Oh! So that you may be said to know the whole + situation.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Yes. Up to last thing last night, that is.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Since then it's developed on normal lines. What + do you think of it?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I adore your mother, but I think your father's quite + right.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Well, naturally! I take that for granted. I was + expecting something rather more original.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. You shall have it. I think that you and I are very + largely responsible for the situation. I think our joint + responsibility binds us inextricably together.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Mr. Tranto!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Certainly. There's no doubt in my mind that your + father was enormously influenced by Sampson Straight's article + on the Honours scandal. In fact he told me so. And seeing that + you wrote it and I published it—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>alarmed</i> + + ). You didn't tell him I'm Sampson Straight? +<!-- Page 66 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page069" name="page069">[pg 69]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Can you imagine me doing such a thing?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I hope not. Shall I tell you what + <i>I</i> + + think of the situation?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I wish you would.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I think such situations would never arise if + parents weren't so painfully unromantic. I'm not speaking + particularly of papa and mamma. I mean all parents. But take + mamma. She's absolutely matter-of-fact. And papa's nearly as + bad. Of course I know they're always calling each other by pet + names; but that's mere camouflage for their matter-of-factness. + Whereas if they both had in them a little of the real romance + of life—everything would be different. At the same time I + needn't say that in this affair that we're now in the middle + of—there's no question of ratiocination.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Of what?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Ratiocination. Reasoning. On either side.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Oh no!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. It's simply a question of mutual attitude, isn't + it? Now, if only—. But there! +<!-- Page 67 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page070" name="page070">[pg 70]</a> + </span> + + What's the use? Parents are like that, poor dears! They have + forgotten! ( + <i>With emphasis</i> + + .) They have forgotten—what makes life worth living.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. You mean, for instance, your mother never sits on + your father's knee.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>bravely, after hesitation</i> + + ). Yes! Crudely—that's what I do mean.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Miss Hildegarde, you are the most marvellous girl I + ever met. You are, really! You seem to combine all qualities. + It's amazing to me. I'm more and more astounded. Every time I + come here there's a fresh revelation. Now you mention romance. + I'm glad you mentioned it first. But I + <i>saw</i> + + it first. I saw it in your eyes the first time I ever met you. + Yes! Miss Hilda, do you see it in mine? Look. Look closely. ( + <i>Approaching her</i> + + .) Because it's there. I must tell you. I can't wait any + longer. ( + <i>Feeling for her hand, vainly</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>drawing back</i> + + ). Mr. Tranto, is this the way you treat father?</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Mr. Culver, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>quickly</i> + + ). Hilda, go to your mother. She's upstairs. +<!-- Page 68 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page071" name="page071">[pg 71]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. What am I to do?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I don't know. ( + <i>With meaning</i> + + .) Think what the sagacious Sampson Straight would do, and do + that.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">(Hildegarde + <i>gives a sharp look first at</i> + + Culver, + <i>and then at</i> + + Tranto, + <i>and exit, back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>turning to</i> + + Tranto). My dear fellow, the war is practically over.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Good heavens! There was nothing on the tape when I + left the Club.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Oh! I don't mean your war. I mean the twenty-two + years' war.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The twenty-two years' war?</p> + + <p>CULVER. My married life. Over! Finished! Napoo!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Do you know what you're saying?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Look here, Tranto. You and I don't belong to the + same generation. In fact, if I'd started early enough I might + have been your father. But we got so damned intimate last + night, and I'm in such a damned hole, and you're so damned + wise, that I feel I must talk to you. Not that it'll be any + use.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 69 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page072" name="page072">[pg 72]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. But what's the matter?</p> + + <p>CULVER. The matter is—keeping a woman in the + house.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Mr. Culver! You don't mean—</p> + + <p>CULVER. I mean my wife—of course. I've just had the + most ghastly rumpus with my wife. It was divided into two acts. + The first took place here, the second in the boudoir ( + <i>indicating boudoir</i> + + ). The second act was the shortest but the worst.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But what was it all about?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Now for heaven's sake don't ask silly questions. You + know perfectly well what it was about. It was about the + baronetcy. I have decided to refuse that baronetcy, and my wife + has refused to let me refuse it.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But what are her arguments?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I've implored you once not to ask silly questions. + 'What are her arguments' indeed! She hasn't got any arguments. + You know that. You're too wise not to know it. She merely wants + the title, that's all.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. And how did the second act end?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I don't quite remember.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 70 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page073" name="page073">[pg 73]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Let me suggest that you sit down. (Culver + <i>sits</i> + + .) Thanks. Now I've always gathered from my personal + observation, that you, if I may say so, are the top dog here + when it comes to the point—the crowned head, as it + were.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. At least, + it did last night, and I shall be greatly surprised if it + doesn't to-night.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Naturally. A crown isn't a night-cap. But you are + the top dog. In the last resort, what you say, goes. That is + so, isn't it? I only want to be clear.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes, I think that's pretty right.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, you have decided on public grounds, and as a + question of principle, to refuse the title. You intend to + refuse it.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I—I do.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Nobody can stop you from refusing it.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Nobody.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Mrs. Culver can't stop you from refusing it?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Certainly not. It concerns me alone.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 71 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page074" name="page074">[pg 74]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. Well, then, where is the difficulty? A rumpus—I + think you said. What of that? My dear Mr. Culver, believe me, I + have seen far more of marriage than you have. You're only a + married man. I'm a bachelor, and I've assisted at scores of + married lives. A rumpus is nothing. It passes—and leaves + the victor more firmly established than ever before.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>rising</i> + + ). Don't talk to me of rumpuses. I know all about rumpuses. + This one is an arch-rumpus. This one is like no other rumpus + that ever was. It's something new in my vast experience. I + shall win. I have won. But at what cost? ( + <i>With effect</i> + + .) The cost may be that I shall never kiss the enemy again. The + whole domestic future is in grave jeopardy.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Seriously?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Seriously.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Then you musn't win.</p> + + <p>CULVER. But what about my public duty? What about my + principles? I can't sacrifice my principles.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Why not?</p> + + <p>CULVER. I never have.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How old are you?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 72 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page075" name="page075">[pg 75]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Forty-four.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. And you've never sacrificed a principle?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Never.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Then it's high time you began. And you'd better + begin, before it's too late. Besides, there are no principles + in married life.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Tranto, you are remarkable. How did you find that + out?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I've often noticed it.</p> + + <p>CULVER. It's a profound truth. It throws a new light on the + entire situation.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. It does.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Then you deliberately advise me to give way about + the title?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I do.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Strange! ( + <i>Casually</i> + + .) I had thought of doing so, but I never dreamt you'd agree, + and I'd positively determined to act on your advice. You know, + you're taking an immense responsibility.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 73 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page076" name="page076">[pg 76]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. I can bear that. What I couldn't bear is any kind of + real trouble in this house.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Why? What's it got to do with you?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Nothing! Nothing! Only my abstract interest in the + institution of marriage.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>ringing the bell twice</i> + + ). Ah, well, after all, I'm not utterly beaten yet. I've quite + half an hour before post goes, and I shall fight to the last + ditch.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But hasn't Mrs. Culver retired?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. May I suggest that it would be mistaken tactics + to—er—run after her?</p> + + <p>CULVER. It would.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well then?</p> + + <p>CULVER. She will return.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How do you know?</p> + + <p>CULVER. She always does.... No, Tranto, I may yet get peace + on my own terms. You see I'm an accountant. No ordinary people, + accountants! +<!-- Page 74 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page077" name="page077">[pg 77]</a> + </span> + + For one thing they make their money by counting other people's. + I've known accountants do marvellous stunts.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Miss Starkey, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I'll leave you.</p> + + <p>CULVER. You'll find John somewhere about. I shan't be so + very long—I hope. Miss Starkey, kindly take down these + two letters. How much time have we before post goes?</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>Exit</i> + + Tranto, + <i>back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Forty minutes.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Excellent.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY ( + <i>indicating some papers which she has brought</i> + + ). These things ought to be attended to to-night.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Possibly. But they won't be.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. The Rosenberg matter is very urgent. He leaves + for Glasgow to-morrow.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I wish he'd leave for Berlin. I won't touch it + to-night. Please take down these two letters.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 75 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page078" name="page078">[pg 78]</a> + </span> + + MISS STARKEY. Then it will be necessary for you to be at the + office at 9.30 in the morning.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I decline to be at the office at 9.30 in the + morning.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. But I've an appointment for you. I was afraid + you wouldn't do anything to-night.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>resigned</i> + + ). Very well! Very well! Tell them to call me, and see cook + about breakfast. ( + <i>Beginning to dictate</i> + + .) 'My dear Lord Woking'—</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY ( + <i>sitting</i> + + ). Excuse me, is this letter about the title?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Then it ought to be an autograph letter. + That's the etiquette.</p> + + <p>CULVER. How do you know?</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. General knowledge.</p> + + <p>CULVER. In this case the rule will be broken. That's + flat.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Then I must imitate your handwriting.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Can you?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 76 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page079" name="page079">[pg 79]</a> + </span> + + MISS STARKEY. You ought to know, Mr. Culver—by this + time.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I don't know officially. However, have your own way. + Forge the whole thing, signature and all. I don't care. 'My + dear Lord Woking. Extreme pressure of—er—government + business has compelled me to leave till last thing to-night my + reply to your letter in which you are good enough to + communicate to me the offer of a baronetcy. I cannot adequately + express to you my sense of the honour in contemplation, but, + comma, for certain personal reasons with which I need not + trouble you, comma, I feel bound, with the greatest respect and + the greatest gratitude, to ask to be allowed to refuse. (Miss + Starkey + <i>shows emotion</i> + + .) I am sure I can rely on you to convey my decision to the + proper quarter with all your usual tact. Believe me, my dear + Lord Woking, Cordially yours.' ( + <i>To</i> + + Miss Starkey.) What in heaven's name is the matter with + you?</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Mr. Culver. I shall have to give you a month's + notice.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>staggered</i> + + ). Have—have you gone mad too?</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Not that I am aware of. But I must give a + month's notice—for certain personal reasons with which I + need not trouble you. +<!-- Page 77 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page080" name="page080">[pg 80]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Young woman, you know that you are absolutely + indispensable to me. You know that without you I should + practically cease to exist. I am quite open with you as to + that—and as to everything. You are acquainted with the + very depths of my character and the most horrible secrets of my + life. I conceal nothing from you, and I demand that you conceal + nothing from me. What are your reasons for giving me notice in + this manner?</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. My self respect would not allow me to remain + with a gentleman who had refused a title. Oh, Mr. Culver, to be + the private secretary to a baronet has been my life's dream. + And—and—I have just had the offer of a place where + a + <i>peerage</i> + + is in prospect. Still, I wouldn't have, taken even that if you + had not—if you had not—( + <i>controlling herself, coldly</i> + + ). Kindly accept my notice. I give it at once because I shall + have no time to lose for the peerage.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Miss Starkey, you drive me to the old, old + conclusion—all women are alike.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Then my leaving will cause you no + inconvenience, because you'll easily get another girl exactly + like me.</p> + + <p>CULVER. You are a heartless creature. ( + <i>In an ordinary voice</i> + + .) Did we finish the first letter? +<!-- Page 78 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page081" name="page081">[pg 81]</a> + </span> + + This is the second one. ( + <i>Dictates</i> + + .) 'My dear Lord Woking'—</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. But you've just given me that one.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>firmly</i> + + .) 'My dear Lord Woking.' Go on the same as the first one down + to 'I cannot adequately express to you my sense of the honour + in contemplation.' 'Full stop. I need hardly say that, in spite + of my feeling that I have done only too little to deserve it, I + accept it with the greatest pleasure and the greatest + gratitude. Believe me, etc.'</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. But—</p> + + <p>CULVER. Don't imagine that your giving me notice has + affected me in the slightest degree. It has not. I told you I + had two letters. I have not yet decided whether to accept or + refuse the title. ( + <i>Enter</i> + + Mrs. Culver, + <i>back</i> + + .) Go and copy both letters and bring them in to me in a + quarter of an hour, whether I ring or not. That will give you + plenty of time for post. Now—run! ( + <i>Exit</i> + + Miss Starkey, + <i>back</i> + + . Culver + <i>rises, clears his throat, and obviously braces himself for a + final effort of firmness</i> + + . Mrs. Culver + <i>calmly rearranges some flowers in a vase</i> + + .) Well, my dear, I was expecting you.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 79 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page082" name="page082">[pg 82]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER ( + <i>very sweetly</i> + + ), Arthur, I was wrong.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>startled</i> + + ). Good God! (Mrs. Culver + <i>bends down to examine the upholstery of a chair</i> + + . Culver + <i>gives a gesture, first of triumph, and then of + apprehension</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>looking straight at him</i> + + ). I say I was wrong.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>lightly, but uneasily</i> + + ). Oh no! Oh no!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Of course I don't mean wrong in my arguments + about the title. Not for a moment. I mean I was wrong not to + sacrifice my own point of view. I'm only a woman, and it's the + woman's place to submit. So I do submit. Naturally I shall + always be a true wife to you, but—</p> + + <p>CULVER. Now child, don't begin to talk like that. I don't + mind + <i>reading</i> + + novels, but I won't have raw lumps of them thrown + <i>at</i> + + me.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>with a gentle smile</i> + + ), I + <i>must</i> + + talk like this. I shall do everything I can to make you + comfortable, and I hope nobody, and especially not the poor + children, will notice any difference in our relations.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>advancing, with a sort of menace</i> + + ). But?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 80 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page083" name="page083">[pg 83]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. But things can never be the same again.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I knew the confounded phrase was coming. I knew it. + I've read it scores of times. ( + <i>Picking up the vase</i> + + .) Hermione, if you continue in that strain, I will dash this + vase into a thousand fragments.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>quietly taking the vase from him and putting it down</i> + + ). Arthur, I could have forgiven you everything. What do I + care—really—about a title? ( + <i>Falsely</i> + + .) I only care for your happiness. But I can't forgive you for + having laid a trap for me last night—and in front of the + children and a stranger too.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Laid a trap for you?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. You knew all about the title when you first + came in last night and you deliberately led me on.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Oh! That! Ah well! One does what one can. You've + laid many a trap for me, my girl. You're still about ten up and + two to play in the trap game.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I've never laid a trap for you.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Fibster! Come here. (Mrs. Culver + <i>hesitates</i> + + .) Come hither—and be kissed. ( + <i>She</i> + +<!-- Page 81 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page084" name="page084">[pg 84]</a> + </span> + + <i>approaches submissively, and then, standing like a marble + statue, allows herself to be kissed</i> + + . Culver + <i>assumes the attitude of the triumphant magnanimous male</i> + + .) There! That's all right.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>having moved away; still very sweetly and coldly</i> + + ). Can I do anything else for you before I go to bed?</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>ignoring the question; grandly and tolerantly</i> + + ). Do you suppose, my marble statue, that after all I've said + at the Club about the rascality of this Honours business, I + could ever have appeared there as a New Year Baronet? The + thing's unthinkable. Why, I should have had to resign and join + another Club!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>calmly and severely</i> + + ). So that's it, is it? I might have known what was really at + the bottom of it all. Your Club again! You have to choose + between your wife and your Club, and of course it's your wife + that must suffer. Naturally!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Go on! You'll be saying next that I've committed + bigamy with my Club.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>with youthful vivacity</i> + + ). I'm an old woman—</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 82 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page085" name="page085">[pg 85]</a> + </span> + + CULVER ( + <i>flatteringly</i> + + ). Yes, look at you! Hag! When I fell in love with you your + hair was still down. The marvel to me is that I ever let you + put it up.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I'm only an old woman now. You have had the + best part of my life. You might have given me great pleasure + with this title. But no! Your Club comes first. And what a + child you are! As if there's one single member of your Club who + wouldn't envy you your baronetcy! However, I've nothing more to + say. ( + <i>Moving towards the door, back</i> + + .) Oh yes, I have. ( + <i>Casually</i> + + .) I've decided to go away to-morrow and stay with grandma for + a long holiday. She needs me, and if I'm not to break down + entirely I must have a change. I've told Hildegarde + our—arrangements. The poor girl's terribly upset. Please + don't disturb me in the morning. I shall take the noon train. + Good-night.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Hermione!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>returning a little from the direction of the door, + submissively</i> + + ). Yes, Arthur.</p> + + <p>CULVER. If you keep on playing the martyr much longer there + will be bloodshed, and you'll know what martyrdom is.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 83 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page086" name="page086">[pg 86]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER ( + <i>in a slightly relenting tone</i> + + ). Arthur, you were always conscientious. Your conscience is + working.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I have no conscience. Never had.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>persuasively, and with much charm</i> + + ). Yes you have, and it's urging you to give way to your + sensible little wife. You know you're only bluffing.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Indeed I'm not.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Yes, you are. Mr. Tranto advised you to give + way, and you think such a lot of his opinion.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Who told you Tranto advised me to give way?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. He did.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Damn him!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>soothingly</i> + + ). Yes, yes.</p> + + <p>CULVER. No, no!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. And your dear, indispensable Miss Starkey + thinks the same. ( + <i>She tries to kiss him</i> + + .) +<!-- Page 84 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page087" name="page087">[pg 87]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. No, no! (Mrs. Culver + <i>succeeds in kissing him</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Miss Starkey.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>The other two spring apart. A short pause</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER. Which is the refusal?</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. This one.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Put it in the fire. (Miss Starkey + <i>obeys. Both the women show satisfaction in their different + ways</i> + + .) Give me the acceptance. ( + <i>He takes the letter of acceptance and reads it</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>while he is reading the letter</i> + + ). Miss Starkey, you look very pale. Have you had any + dinner?</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Not yet, madam.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. You poor dear! ( + <i>She strokes</i> + + Miss Starkey. + <i>They both look at the tyrannical male</i> + + .) I'll order something for you at once.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. I shall have to go to the post first.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>glancing up</i> + + ). I'll go to the post myself. I must have air, air! Where's + the envelope? ( + <i>Exit</i> + + Miss Starkey + <i>quickly, back</i> + + .) +<!-- Page 85 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page088" name="page088">[pg 88]</a> + </span> + + (Mrs. Culver + <i>gently takes the letter from her husband and reads it</i> + + . Culver + <i>drops into a chair</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>putting down the letter</i> + + ). Darling!</p> + + <p>CULVER. I thought I was a brute?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>caressing and kissing him</i> + + ). I do so love my brute, and I am so happy. Darling! But you + are a silly old darling, wasting all this time.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Wasting all what time?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Why, the moment I came in again I could see + you'd decided to give way. ( + <i>With a gesture of delight</i> + + .) I must run and tell the children. ( + <i>Exit, L</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Miss Starkey + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Here's the envelope.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>taking it</i> + + ). Tell them to get me my hat and overcoat.</p> + + <p>MISS STARKEY. Yes, Sir Arthur. (Culver + <i>starts</i> + + .) ( + <i>Exit</i> + + Miss Starkey, + <i>back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>as he puts the letter in the envelope; with an air of + discovery</i> + + ). I suppose I + <i>do</i> + + like being called 'Sir Arthur.'</p> + +<!-- Page 86 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page089" name="page089">[pg 89]</a> + </span> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Hildegard + <i>and</i> + + John + <i>both disgusted, back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>to</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>as they come in</i> + + ). I told you last night he couldn't control even the mater. + However, I'll be even with her yet.</p> + + <p>CULVER. What do you mean, boy?</p> + + <p>JOHN. I mean I'll be even with the mater yet. You'll + see.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Papa, you've behaved basely. Basely! What an + example to us! I intend to leave this house and live alone.</p> + + <p>CULVER. You ought to marry Mr. Sampson Straight. (Hildegarde + + <i>starts and is silent</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>JOHN. Fancy me having to go back to school the son of a + rotten baronet, and with the frightful doom of being a rotten + baronet myself. What price the anti-hereditary-principle + candidate! Dad, I hope you won't die just yet—it would + ruin my political career. Stay me with flagons!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Me too!</p> + + <p class="stagenote">CURTAIN.</p> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 87 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page090" name="page090">[pg 90]</a> + </span> + + <br /> + +<!-- Page 87 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page091" name="page091">[pg 91]</a> + </span> + + <h2> + <a name='ACT_III'>ACT III</a> + </h2> + + <br /> + +<!-- Page 88 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page092" name="page092">[pg 92]</a> + </span> + + <hr /> + +<!-- Page 89 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page093" name="page093">[pg 93]</a> + </span> + + <h2>ACT III</h2> + + <br /> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>The next day, before lunch</i> + + . Hildegarde + <i>and</i> + + John + <i>are together</i> + + .</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>nervously impatient</i> + + ). I wish she'd come.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. She'll be here in a moment. She's fussing round + dad.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Is he really ill?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Well of course. It came on in the night, after + he'd had time to think things over. Why?</p> + + <p>JOHN. I read in some paper about the Prime Minister having + only a + <i>political</i> + + chill. So I thought perhaps the pater—under the + circs—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>shaking her head</i> + + ). You can't have political dyspepsia. Can't fake the symptoms. + Who is to begin this affair, you or me?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Depends. What line are you going on with her?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 90 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page094" name="page094">[pg 94]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. I'm going to treat her exactly as she treats me. + I've just thought of it. Only I shan't lose my temper.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Sugarsticks?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Yes.</p> + + <p>JOHN. You'll never be able to keep it up.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. O yes I shall. Somehow I feel much more mature + than I did yesterday.</p> + + <p>JOHN. More mature? Stay me with flagons! I was always + mature. If you knew what rot I think school is...! Well, + anyway, you can begin.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. You're very polite to-day, Johnnie.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Don't mention it. My argument 'll be the best, and I + want to keep it for the end, that's all.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Thanks. But I bet you we shall both fail.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Well, if we do, I've still got something else waiting + for her ladyship. A regular startler, my child.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 91 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page095" name="page095">[pg 95]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. What is it?</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Mrs. Culver, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>to</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>as</i> + + Mrs. Culver + <i>enters</i> + + ). Wait and see.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>cheerful and affectionate, to</i> + + John). So you've come in. ( + <i>To</i> + + Hildegarde.) You + <i>are</i> + + back early to-day! Well, my darlings, what do you want me + for?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>imitating her mothers manner</i> + + ). Well, mamma darling, we hate bothering you. We know you've + got quite enough worries, without having any more. But it's + about this baronetcy business. (Mrs. Culver + <i>starts</i> + + .) Do be an angel and listen to us.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>with admirable self-control</i> + + ). Of course, my pet. But you know the matter is quite, quite + settled. Your father and I settled it together last night, and + the letter of acceptance is in the hands of the Government by + this time.</p> + + <p>JOHN. It isn't, mater. It's here. ( + <i>Pulls the letter out of his pocket</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. John! What—</p> + + <p>JOHN. Now, now, mater! Keep calm. This is really your own + doing. Pater wanted to go to +<!-- Page 92 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page096" name="page096">[pg 96]</a> + </span> + + the post himself, but it was raining a bit, and you're always + in such a fidget about his getting his feet wet you wouldn't + let him go, and so I went instead.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Yes, mummy darling, you must acknowledge that + you were putting temptation in Johnnie's way.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Soon as I got outside, I said to myself: 'I think the + pater ought to have a night to think over this affair. It's + very important. And he can easily send round an answer by hand + in the morning.' So I didn't post the letter. I should have + told you earlier, but you weren't down for breakfast, and I had + to go out afterwards on urgent private business.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But—but—( + <i>Controlling herself, grieved, but kind</i> + + .) Your father will be terribly angry. I daren't face him.</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>only half-suppressing his amusement at the last remark</i> + + ). Don't let that worry you. I'll face him. He'll be delighted. + He'll write another letter, and quite a different one.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>getting firmer</i> + + ). But don't I tell you, my dearest boy, that the affair is + settled, quite settled?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 93 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page097" name="page097">[pg 97]</a> + </span> + + JOHN. It isn't settled so long as I've got this letter, + anyway.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Of course it isn't settled. Mother darling, we + simply must look the facts in the face. Fact one, the letter is + here. Fact two, the whole family is most frightfully upset. + Dad's ill—</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. That was the lobster.</p> + + <p>JOHN. It wasn't.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Yes, dear. Lobster always upsets him.</p> + + <p>JOHN. It didn't this time.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. How do you know?</p> + + <p>JOHN. I know, because + <i>I</i> + + ate all his lobster. He shoved it over to me. You couldn't see + for the fruit-bowl.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. No, mamma sweetest. It's this baronetcy business + that's knocked poor papa over. And it's knocked over Johnnie + and me too. I'm perfectly, perfectly sure you acted for the + best, but don't you think you persuaded father against his + judgment? Not to speak of our judgment!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I've only one thought—</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 94 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page098" name="page098">[pg 98]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>caressing and kissing her mother</i> + + ). I know! I know! Father's happiness. Our happiness. Mamma, + please don't imagine for a single instant that we don't realise + that. You're the most delicious darling of an old + mater—</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>slightly suspicious</i> + + ). Hildegarde, you're quite a different girl to-day.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>nods</i> + + ). I've aged in a single night. I've become ever so serious. + This baronetcy business has shown me that I've got + convictions—and deep convictions. I admit I'm a different + girl to-day. But then everything's different to-day. The whole + house is different. Johnnie's different. Papa's missed going to + the office for the first time in eight months. ( + <i>Very sweetly</i> + + .) Surely you must see, mamma, that something ought to be done, + and that you alone can do it.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. What? What ought I to do?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Go upstairs and tell dad you've changed your + mind about the title, and advise him to write off instantly and + refuse it. You know you always twist him round your little + finger.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>looking at her little finger</i> + + ). I shouldn't dream of trying to influence your father once he + had decided. And he + <i>has</i> + + decided.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 95 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page099" name="page099">[pg 99]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>sweetly</i> + + ). Mamma, you're most tremendously clever—far cleverer + than any of us—but I'm not sure if you understand the + attitude of the modern girl towards things that affect her + convictions.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>sweetly</i> + + ). Are you the modern girl.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Yes.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Well, I'm the ancient girl. And I can tell you + this—you're very like me, and we're both very like + somebody else.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Who's that.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Eve.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Come, mater. Eve would never have learnt typewriting. + She'd have gone on the land.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. John, your sister and I are not jesting.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I'm so glad you admit I'm serious, mamma. + Because I am—very. I don't want to threaten—</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Threaten, darling?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 96 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page100" name="page100">[pg 100]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>firmly, but quite lightly and sweetly</i> + + ). No, darling. + <i>Not</i> + + to threaten. The mere idea of threatening is absurd. But it + would be extremely unfair to you not to tell you that unless + you agree to father refusing the title, I shall have to leave + the house and live by myself. I really shall. Of course I can + easily earn my own living. I quite see that you have + principles. But I also have principles. If they + clash—naturally it's my place to retire. And I shall, + mamma dearest.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Is that final?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Final, mummy darling.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Then, my dearest child, you must go.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>still sweetly</i> + + ). Is that final?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>still sweetly</i> + + ). Final, my poor pet.</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>firmly</i> + + ). Now let + <i>me</i> + + say a word.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>benignly</i> + + ). And what have you got to say in the matter? You've already + been very naughty about that letter. Do try not to be + ridiculous. Give me the letter. This affair has nothing to do + with you. +<!-- Page 97 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page101" name="page101">[pg 101]</a> + </span> + + JOHN ( + <i>putting the letter in his pocket</i> + + ). Nothing whatever to do with me! Mater, you really are a bit + too thick. If it was a knighthood, I wouldn't care. You could + have your blooming knighthood. Knighthoods do come to an end. + Baronetcies go on for ever. I've told the dad, and I'll tell + you, that + <i>I will not have</i> + + my political career ruined by any baronetcy. And if you + insist—may I respectfully inform you what I shall do? May + I respectfully inform you—may I?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. John!</p> + + <p>JOHN. I shall chuck Siege and go into the Flying Corps. And + that's flat. If you really want to shorten my life, all you + have to do is to stick to that bally baronetcy.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Your father won't allow you to join the Flying + Corps.</p> + + <p>JOHN. My father can't stop me. I know the mess is expensive, + but the pay's good, and I've got £150 of my own. Not a + fortune! Not a fortune! But enough, quite enough. + <i>A short life and a merry one</i> + + . I went to see Captain Skewes at the Automobile this morning. + One of our old boys. He's delighted. He gave me Lanchester's + 'Aircraft in Warfare' to read. Here it is. ( + <i>Picking up the book</i> + + .) Here it + <i>is</i> + + ! I shall be sitting up +<!-- Page 98 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page102" name="page102">[pg 102]</a> + </span> + + all night to-night reading it. + <i>A short life and a merry one</i> + + .</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. You don't mean it!</p> + + <p>JOHN. I absolutely do.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>after a pause</i> + + ). John, you're trying to bully your mother.</p> + + <p>JOHN. Not in the least, mater. I'm merely telling you what + will happen if father accepts that piffling baronetcy.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>checking a tear; very sweetly</i> + + ). Well, my pets, you make life just a little difficult for me. + I live only for you and your father. I think first of your + father, and then of you two. For myself, I am perfectly + indifferent. I consider all politics extremely silly. There + never were any in my family, nor in your father's. And to me + it's most extraordinary that your father should catch them so + late in life. I always supposed that after thirty people were + immune. ( + <i>To</i> + + John.) You, I suppose, were bound to have them sooner or later, + but that + <i>Hilda</i> + + should go out of her way to contract them—well, it passes + me. It passes me. However, I've no more to say. Your father had + made up his mind to accept the title. You want him to refuse + it. I hate to influence him +<!-- Page 99 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page103" name="page103">[pg 103]</a> + </span> + + (Hildegarde + <i>again hides a cynical smile</i> + + ) but for your sakes I'll try to persuade him to alter his + decision and refuse it.</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>taking her arm</i> + + ). Come along then—now! I'll go with you to see fair + play. ( + <i>He opens the door, L, and</i> + + Mrs. Culver + <i>passes out. Then stopping in the doorway, to</i> + + Hildegarde) Who did the trick? I say—who did the + trick?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>nicely</i> + + ). Pooh! You may be a prefect at school. But here you're only + mamma's wee lamb! ( + <i>She drops on to the sofa</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>singing triumphantly</i> + + ). Stay—me—with fla—gons! ( + <i>Exit</i> + + John, + <i>L</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Tranto, + <i>back, shown in by the</i> + + Parlourmaid.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How d'ye do, Miss Hilda. I'm in a high state of + nerves.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>shaking hands weakly</i> + + ). We all are.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>ignoring what she says</i> + + ). I've come specially to see you.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But how did you know I should be here—at + this time? I'm supposed to be at the Food Ministry till one + o'clock?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 100 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page104" name="page104">[pg 104]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO. I called for you at the Ministry.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>leaning forward</i> + + ). That's quite against the rules. The rules are made for the + moral protection of the women-clerks.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. They told me you'd left early.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Why did you call?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Shall I be frank?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Are you ever?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I wanted to walk home with you.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Are you getting frightened about that next + article of mine?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. No. I've lost all interest in articles.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Even in my articles?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Even in yours. I'm only interested in the writer of + your articles. ( + <i>Agitated</i> + + .) Miss Hilda, the hour is about to strike.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. What hour?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Listen, please. Let me explain. The situation is + this. Instinct has got hold of me. When I woke up this morning + something inside +<!-- Page 101 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page105" name="page105">[pg 105]</a> + </span> + + me said: 'You must call at the Ministry for that young woman + and walk home with her.' This idea seemed marvellously + beautiful to me; it seemed one of the most enchanting ideas + that had ever entered the heart of man. I thought of nothing + else all the morning. When I reached the Ministry and you'd + gone, I felt as if I'd been shot. Then I rushed here. If you + hadn't been at home I don't know what I should have done. My + fever has been growing every moment. Providentially you + <i>are</i> + + here. I give you fair warning that I'm utterly in the grip of + an instinct which is ridiculously unconventional and which will + brook no delay. I repeat, the hour is about to strike.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>rousing herself</i> + + ). Before it actually strikes, I want to ask a question.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But that's just what + <i>I</i> + + want to do.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Please. One moment of your valuable time.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The whole of my life.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Last night, why did you advise papa to give way + to mamma and accept the baronetcy?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Did I?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 102 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page106" name="page106">[pg 106]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. It seems so.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well—er—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. You know it's quite against his principles, and + against mine and Johnnie's, not to speak of yours.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The fact is, you yourself had given me such an + account of your mother's personality that I felt sure she'd win + anyhow; and—and—for reasons of my own, I wished to + be on the winning side. No harm in that, surely. And as regards + principles, I have a theory about principles. Your father was + much struck by it when I told him.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Namely?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. There are no principles in married life.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Oh, indeed! Well, there may not be any + principles in your married life, but there most positively will + be in mine, if I ever have a married life. And let me tell you + that you aren't on the winning side after all—you're on + the losing side.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. How? Has your—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Johnnie and I have had a great interview with + mamma, and she's yielded. She's +<!-- Page 103 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page107" name="page107">[pg 107]</a> + </span> + + abandoned the baronetcy. In half an hour from now the baronetcy + will have been definitely and finally refused.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Great Scott!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. You're startled?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. No! After all, I might have foreseen that you'd come + out on top. The day before yesterday your modesty was making + you say that your mother could eat you. I, on the contrary, + insisted that you could eat your mother. Who was right? I ask: + who was right? When it really comes to the point—well, + you have a serious talk with your mother, and she gives in!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>gloomily</i> + + ). No! + <i>I</i> + + didn't do it. I tried, and failed. Then Johnnie tried, and did + it without the slightest trouble. A schoolboy! That's why I'm + so upset.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>shaking his head</i> + + ). You musn't tell me that, Miss Hilda. Of course it was you + that did it.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>impatiently; standing up</i> + + ). But I + <i>do</i> + + tell you.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Sorry! Sorry! Do be merciful! My feelings about you + at this very moment are so, if I may use the term, + unbridled—</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 104 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page108" name="page108">[pg 108]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>with false gentle calm</i> + + ). And that's not all. I suppose you haven't by any chance told + father that I'm Sampson Straight?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Certainly not.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. You're sure?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Absolutely.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Well, I'm sorry.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Why?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>quietly sarcastic</i> + + ). Because papa told me you did tell him. Therefore father is a + liar. I don't like being the daughter of a liar. I hate + liars.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Aren't you rather cutting yourself off from + mankind?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>going straight on</i> + + ). For the last day or two father had been giving me such queer + little digs every now and then that I began to suspect he knew + who Sampson Straight was. So I asked him right out this + morning—he was in bed—and he had to acknowledge he + did know and that you told him.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, I didn't exactly tell him. He sort of guessed, + and I—</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 105 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page109" name="page109">[pg 109]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>calmly, relentlessly</i> + + ). You told him.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. No. I merely admitted it. You think I ought to have + denied it?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Of course you ought to have denied it.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But it was true.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. And if it was?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. If it was true, how could I deny it? You've just + said you hate liars.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>losing self-control</i> + + ). Please don't be absurd.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>a little nettled</i> + + ). I apologise.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. What for?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. For having put you in the wrong. It's such shocking + bad diplomacy for any man to put any woman in the wrong.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>angrily</i> + + ). Man—woman! Man—woman! There you are! It's always + the same with you males. Sex! Sex! Sex!</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>quite conquering his annoyance; persuasively</i> + + ). But I'm fatally in love with you. +<!-- Page 106 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page110" name="page110">[pg 110]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. Well, of course there you have the advantage of + me.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Don't you care a little—</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>letting herself go</i> + + ). Why should I care? What have I done to make you imagine I + care? It's quite true that I've saved your newspaper from an + early grave. It was suffering from rickets, spinal curvature, + and softening of the brain; and I've performed a miraculous + cure on it with my articles. I'm Sampson Straight. But that's + not enough for you. You can't keep sentiment out of business. + No man ever could. You'd like Sampson Straight to wear blouses + and bracelets for you, and loll on sofas for you, and generally + offer you the glad eye. It's an insult. And then on the top of + all, you go and give the whole show away to papa, in spite of + our understanding; and if papa hadn't been the greatest dear in + the world you might have got me into the most serious + difficulties.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>equably, after a pause</i> + + ), I don't think I'll ask myself to stay for lunch.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Good morning.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>near the door</i> + + ). I suppose I'd better announce that he's died very suddenly + under mysterious circumstances?</p> +<!-- Page 107 --> + <p><span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page111" name="page111">[pg 111]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. Who?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Sampson Straight.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. And what about my new article, that you've got + in hand?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. It can be a posthumous article, in a black + border.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Indeed! And why shouldn't Sampson Straight + transfer his services to another paper? There are several who'd + jump at him.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I never thought of that.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Naturally!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. He shall live.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>A pause</i> + + . Tranto + <i>bows, and exit, back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote">(Hildegarde + <i>subsides once more on to the sofa</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Culver, + <i>in his velvet coat, L</i> + + .</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>softly, with sprightliness</i> + + ). Hello, Sampson!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Dad, please don't call me that.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Not when we're alone? Why?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 108 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page112" name="page112">[pg 112]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. I—I—Dad, I'm in a fearful state of + nerves just now. Lost my temper and all sorts of + calamities.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Really! I'd no idea. I gathered that the interview + between you and your mother had passed quite smoothly.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Oh! + <i>That!</i> + </p> + + <p>CULVER. What do you mean—'Oh! + <i>That!</i> + + '?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>standing; in a new, less gloomy tone</i> + + ). Papa, what are you doing out of bed? You're very ill.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Well, I'd managed to dress before your mother and + Johnnie came. As soon as they imparted to me the glad tidings + that baronetcies were off I felt so well I decided to come down + and thank you for your successful efforts on behalf of the + family well-being. I'm no longer your father. I'm your + brother.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. It was Johnnie did it.</p> + + <p>CULVER. It wasn't— + <i>I</i> + + know.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>exasperated</i> + + ). I say it + <i>was!</i> + + ( + <i>Apologetically</i> + + ). So sorry, dad. ( + <i>Kisses him</i> + + ). Where are they, those two? ( + <i>Sits</i> + + ). +<!-- Page 109 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page113" name="page113">[pg 113]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Mother and John? Don't know. I fancy somebody called as + I came down.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Called! Before lunch! Who was it?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Haven't the faintest.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + John, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>proudly</i> + + ). I say, good people! New acquaintance of mine! Just looked + in. Met him at the Automobile this morning with Skewes. I was + sure you'd all give your heads to see the old chap, so I asked + him to lunch on the chance. Dashed if he didn't accept! You see + we'd been talking a bit about politics. He's the most + celebrated man in London. I doubt if there's a fellow I admire + more in the whole world—or you either. He's knocked the + mater flat already. Between ourselves, I really asked him + because I thought he might influence her on this baronetcy + business. However, that's all off now. What are you staring + at?</p> + + <p>CULVER. We're only bursting with curiosity to hear the name + of this paragon of yours. As a general rule I like to know + beforehand whom I'm going to lunch with in my own house.</p> + + <p>JOHN. It's Sampson Straight.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 110 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page114" name="page114">[pg 114]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>springing up</i> + + ). + <i>Sampson Str</i> + + —</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>calmly</i> + + ). Keep your nerve, Hilda. Keep your nerve.</p> + + <p>JOHN. I thought I wouldn't say anything till he'd actually + arrived. He mightn't have come at all. Then what a fool I + should have looked if I'd told you he + <i>was</i> + + coming! Tranto himself doesn't know him. Tranto pooh-poohed the + idea of me ever meeting him, Tranto did. Well, I've met him, + and he's here. I haven't let on to him that I know Tranto. I'm + going to bring them together and watch them both having the + surprise of their lives.</p> + + <p>CULVER. John, this is a great score for you. I admit I've + never been more interested in meeting anyone. Never!</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Parlourmaid, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey, sir.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>cheerfully</i> + + ). I'll see her soon. ( + <i>Pulling himself up suddenly; in an alarmed, gloomy tone</i> + + .) No, no! I can't possibly see her.</p> + + <br /> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey says there are several important + letters, sir.</p> + + <p>CULVER. No, no! I'm not equal to it.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 111 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page115" name="page115">[pg 115]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>confidentially</i> + + ). What's wrong, dad?</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + Hildegarde). She'll give me notice the minute she knows she + can't call me Sir Arthur. ( + <i>Shudders</i> + + .) I quail.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Mrs. Culver + <i>and</i> + + Sampson Straight, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>The</i> + + Parlourmaid + <i>holds the door for them, and then exit</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. This is my husband. Arthur, dear—Mr. + Sampson Straight. And this is my little daughter. (Hilda + <i>bows</i> + + , John + <i>surveys the scene with satisfaction</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>recovering his equipoise; shaking hands heartily</i> + + ). Mr. Straight. Delighted to meet you. I simply cannot tell + you how unexpected this pleasure is.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. You're too kind.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>gaily</i> + + ). I doubt it. I doubt it.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. I ought to apologise for coming in like this. But + I've been so charmingly received by Mrs. Culver—</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. You've been so charming about my boy, Mr. + Straight. +<!-- Page 112 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page116" name="page116">[pg 116]</a> + </span> + + STRAIGHT. I was so very greatly impressed by your son this + morning at the Club that I couldn't resist the opportunity he + gave me of visiting his home. What I say is: like parents, like + child. I'm an old-fashioned man.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. No one would guess that from your articles in + <i>The Echo</i> + + . Of course they're frightfully clever, but you know I don't + quite agree with all your opinions.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Neither do I. You see—there's always a + difference between what one thinks and what one has to + write.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I'm so glad. (Culver + <i>starts and looks round</i> + + .) What is it, Arthur?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Nothing! I thought I heard the ice cracking. + (Hildegarde + <i>begins to smile</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>looking at the floor; simply</i> + + ). Ice?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Arthur!</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. It was still thawing when I came in. As I was + saying, I'm an old-fashioned man. And I'm a + provincial—and proud of it.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But my dear Mr. Straight, really, if you'll + excuse me, you look as if you never left the pavement of + Piccadilly. +<!-- Page 113 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page117" name="page117">[pg 117]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Say the windows of the Turf club, darling.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>serenely</i> + + ). No. I live very, very quietly on my little place, and when I + feel the need of contact with the great world I run over for + the afternoon to—St. Ives.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. How remarkable! Then that explains how it is + you're so deliciously unspoilt.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Do you mean my face?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I meant you don't seem at all to realise that + you're a very great celebrity in London; very great indeed. A + lion of the first order.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>simply</i> + + ). Lion?</p> + + <p>CULVER. You're expected to roar, Mr. Straight.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Roar?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. It may interest you to know that my little + daughter also writes articles in + <i>The Echo</i> + + . Yes, about war cookery. But of course you wouldn't notice + them. (Hildegarde + <i>moves away</i> + + .) I'm afraid ( + <i>apologetically</i> + + ) your mere presence is making her just a wee bit nervous. +<!-- Page 114 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page118" name="page118">[pg 118]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE ( + <i>from a distance, striving to control herself</i> + + ). Oh, Mr. Sampson Straight. There's one question I've been + longing to ask you. I always ask it of literary lions—and + tigers.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Tigers?</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Do you write best in the morning or do you burn + the midnight oil?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Oil?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Do sit down, Mr. Straight. ( + <i>She goes imploringly to</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>who has lost control of herself and is getting a little + hysterical with mirth. Aside to</i> + + Hildegarde.) Hilda! (John, + <i>puzzled and threatening, also approaches</i> + + Hildegarde.)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>sitting down by</i> + + Straight.) And so, although you prefer a country life, the lure + of London has been too strong for you in the end.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. I came to town on business.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Ah!</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. The fact is, business of the utmost importance. + Perhaps I may be able to interest you in it.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Now we're getting hotter.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 115 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page119" name="page119">[pg 119]</a> + </span> + + STRAIGHT. Hotter?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Go on, go on, Mr. Straight.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. To tell you the truth—</p> + + <p>CULVER. Always a wise thing to do.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. One of my reasons for accepting your son's kind + invitation was that I thought that conceivably you might be + willing to help in a great patriotic scheme of mine. Naturally + you show surprise.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Do I? Then I'm expressing myself badly. I'm not in + the least surprised. It is the contrary that would have + surprised me.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. We may possibly discuss it later.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Later? Why later? Why not at once? I'm full of + curiosity. I hate to let the grass grow under my feet.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>looking at the floor</i> + + ). Grass? ( + <i>With a faint mechanical laugh</i> + + .) Ah yes, I see. Figure of speech. Well, I'm starting a little + limited liability syndicate.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Precisely what I thought. Yes?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. The End-the-war Syndicate.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 116 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page120" name="page120">[pg 120]</a> + </span> + + JOHN ( + <i>approaching</i> + + ). But surely you aren't one of those pacifists, Mr. Straight! + You've always preached fighting it out to a finish.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. The object of my syndicate is certainly to fight + to a finish, but to finish in about a week—by means of my + little syndicate.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Splendid! But there is one draw-back. New capital + issues are forbidden under the Defence of the Realm Act.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Even when the object is to win the war?</p> + + <p>CULVER. My dear sir, the Treasury would never permit such a + thing.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Well, we needn't have a limited company. Perhaps + after all it would be better to keep it quite private.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Oh! It would. And what is the central idea of this + charming syndicate?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. The idea is—( + <i>looking round cautiously</i> + + )—a new explosive.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Again, precisely what I thought. Your own + invention?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 117 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page121" name="page121">[pg 121]</a> + </span> + + STRAIGHT. No. A friend of mine. It truly is the most marvellous + explosive.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I suppose it bangs everything.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>simply</i> + + ). Oh, it does. A development of trinitrotoluol on new lines. I + needn't say that my interest in the affair is purely + patriotic.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Of course. Of course.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. I can easily get all the capital I need.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Of course. Of course.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. But I'm not in close touch with the official + world, and in a matter of this kind official influence is + absolutely essential to success. Now you + <i>are</i> + + in touch with the official world. I shouldn't ask you to + subscribe, though if you cared to do so there would be no + objection. And I may say that the syndicate can't help making a + tremendous lot of money. When I tell you that the new explosive + is forty-seven times as powerful as trinitrotoluol + itself—</p> + + <p>CULVER. When you tell me that, Mr. Straight, I can only + murmur the hope that you haven't got any of it in your + pocket.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 118 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page122" name="page122">[pg 122]</a> + </span> + + STRAIGHT ( + <i>simply</i> + + ). Oh, no! Please don't be alarmed. But you see the immense + possibilities. You see how this explosive would end the war + practically at once. And you'll understand, of course, that + although my articles in + <i>The Echo</i> + + have apparently caused considerable commotion in London, and + given me a position which I am glad to be able to use for the + service of the Empire, my interest in mere journalism as such + has almost ceased since my friend asked me to be secretary and + treasurer of the syndicate.</p> + + <p>CULVER. And so you're the secretary + <i>and</i> + + treasurer?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Yes. We don't want to have subscribers of less + than £100 each. If you cared to look into the + matter—I know you're very busy, but a mere + glance—</p> + + <p>CULVER. Just so—a mere glance.</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Tranto + <i>excitedly</i> + + .</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>nearer the door than the rest</i> + + ). Again?</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>rather loudly and not specially to</i> + + Hildegarde). Terrible news! I've just heard and I rushed back + to tell you. Sampson Straight has died very suddenly in + Cornwall. Bright's disease. +<!-- Page 119 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page123" name="page123">[pg 123]</a> + </span> + + He breathed his last in his own potato patch. ( + <i>Aside to</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>in response to a gesture from her</i> + + ) I'm awfully sorry. The poor fellow simply had to expire.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + Tranto). Now this just shows how the most absurd rumours + <i>do</i> + + get abroad! Here + <i>is</i> + + Mr. Sampson Straight. I'm + <i>so</i> + + glad you've come, because you've always wanted to meet him in + the flesh.</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>to</i> + + Straight). Are you Sampson Straight?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. I am, sir.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The Sampson Straight who lives in Cornwall?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Just so.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Impossible!</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Pardon me. One moment. I was told there was a + danger of my being inconvenienced in London by one of these + military raids for rounding up slackers, and as I happen to + have a rather youthful appearance, I took the precaution of + bringing with me my birth-certificate and registration card. ( + <i>Produces them</i> + + .)</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 120 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page124" name="page124">[pg 124]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO ( + <i>glancing at the card</i> + + ). And it's really you who write those brilliant articles in + <i>The Echo</i> + + ?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. 'Brilliant'—I won't say. But I do write + them.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Well, this is the most remarkable instance of + survival after death that I ever came across.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. I beg your pardon.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. You're dead, my fine fellow. Your place isn't here. + You ought to be in the next world. You're a humbug.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>to</i> + + Mrs. Culver). I'm not quite sure that I understand. Will you + kindly introduce me?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. I'm so sorry. This is Mr. Tranto, proprietor + and editor of + <i>The Echo</i> + + —( + <i>apologetically, with an uneasy smile</i> + + ) a great humourist.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>thunderstruck; aside</i> + + ). Well, I'm damned! ( + <i>His whole demeanour changes. Nevertheless, while tacitly + admitting that he is found out, he at once resumes his mild + calmness. To</i> + + Culver.) I've just remembered an appointment of vital + importance. I'm afraid our little talk about the syndicate must + be adjourned.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 121 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page125" name="page125">[pg 125]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. I feared you might have to hurry away.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">(Straight + <i>bows as a preliminary to departure</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote">(John, + <i>deeply humiliated, averts his glance from everybody</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Here! But you can't go off like this.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Why? Have you anything against me?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Nothing ( + <i>casually</i> + + ) except that you're an impostor.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. I fail to see it.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. But haven't you just said that you write those + articles in my paper?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Oh! + <i>That</i> + + ! Well, of course, if I'd known who you were I shouldn't have + dreamed of saying any such thing. I always try to suit my talk + to my company.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. This time you didn't quite bring it off.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Perhaps I owe you some slight explanation ( + <i>looking round blandly</i> + + ).</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 122 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page126" name="page126">[pg 126]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Do you really think so?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. The explanation is simplicity itself. ( + <i>A sudden impulse</i> + + .) Nothing but that. Put yourselves in my place. I come to + London. I hear a vast deal of chatter about some articles in a + paper called + <i>The Echo</i> + + by some one calling himself 'Sampson Straight.' I also hear + that nobody in London knows who Sampson Straight is. As I + happen to + <i>be</i> + + Sampson Straight, and as I have need of all possible personal + prestige for the success of my purely patriotic mission, it + occurs to me—in a flash!—to assert that I am the + author of the famous articles.... Well, what more natural?</p> + + <p>CULVER. What indeed?</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT ( + <i>to</i> + + Tranto). And may I say that I'm the only genuine Sampson + Straight in the United Kingdom, and that in my opinion it was a + gross impertinence on the part of your contributor to steal my + name? Why did you let him do it?</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>beginning reflectively</i> + + ). Now + <i>I</i> + + hit on that name—not my contributor. It was when I was + down in Cornwall. I caught sight of it in an old yellow + newspaper in an old yellow hotel, and it struck me at once what + a fine signature it would make at the bottom of a slashing + article. By the way, have you ever been in the dock?</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 123 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page127" name="page127">[pg 127]</a> + </span> + + STRAIGHT. Dock?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I only ask because I seem to remember I saw your + splendid name in a report of the local Assizes.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Assizes?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. A, double s ( + <i>pause</i> + + ) i-z-e-s.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. I can afford to be perfectly open. I was—at + one period of my career—in prison, but for a quite + respectable crime. Bigamy—with extenuating + circumstances.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>greatly upset</i> + + ). Dear, dear!</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. It might happen to any man.</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>looking at</i> + + Mrs. Culver). So it might.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Do you wish to detain me?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I simply haven't the heart to do it.</p> + + <p>STRAIGHT. Then, ladies and gentlemen, I'll say good + morning.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>stopping</i> + + Straight + <i>near the door as he departs with more bows</i> + + ). Good-bye! ( + <i>She holds out her hand with a smile</i> + + !) And good luck!</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 124 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page128" name="page128">[pg 128]</a> + </span> + + STRAIGHT ( + <i>taking her hand</i> + + ). Madam, I thank you. You evidently appreciate the fact that + when one lives solely on one's wits, little mishaps are + <i>bound</i> + + to occur from time to time, and that too much importance ought + not to be attached to them. This is only my third slip, and I + am fifty-five.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>Exit, back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>to</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>gently surprised</i> + + ). Darling, surely you need not have been quite so + effusive!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. You see, I thought I owed him something, ( + <i>with meaning and effect</i> + + ) as it was I who stole his name.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>utterly puzzled for a moment; then, when she understands, + rushing to</i> + + Hildegarde + <i>and embracing her</i> + + ). Oh! My wonderful girl!</p> + + <p>JOHN ( + <i>feebly and still humiliated</i> + + ). Stay me with flagons!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>to her mother</i> + + ). How nice you are about it, mamma!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But I'm very proud, my pet. Of course I think + you might have let me into the secret—</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 125 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page129" name="page129">[pg 129]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. None of us were let into the secret, Hermione—I + mean until comparatively recent times. It was a matter between + Hilda's conscience and her editor.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Oh! I'm not complaining. I'm so relieved she + didn't write those dreadful cookery articles.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But do you mean to say you aren't frightfully + shocked by my advanced politics, mamma?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. My child, how naïve you are, after all! A + woman is never shocked, though of course at times it may suit + her to pretend to be. Only men are capable of being shocked. As + for your advanced politics, as you call them, can't you see + that it doesn't matter what you write so long as you are + admired by the best people. It isn't views that are + disreputable, it's the persons that hold them.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I hope that's why you so gracefully gave way over + the baronetcy, my dear.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>continuing to</i> + + Hildegarde). There's just one thing I should venture to + suggest, and that is, that you cease at once to be a typist and + employ one yourself instead. It's most essential +<!-- Page 126 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page130" name="page130">[pg 130]</a> + </span> + + that you should live up to your position. Oh! I'm very proud of + you.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. I don't quite know what my position is. + According to the latest news I'm dead. ( + <i>Challengingly to</i> + + Tranto.) Mr. Tranto, you're keeping rather quiet, nearly as + quiet as John (John + <i>changes his seat</i> + + ), but don't you think you owe me some explanation? Not more + than a quarter of an hour ago in this very room it was + distinctly agreed between us that you would not kill Sampson + Straight, and now you rush back in a sort of homicidal + mania.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Oh! I'd no idea Mr. Tranto had called already + this morning!</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. Yes. I told him all about everything, and we + came to a definite understanding.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Oh!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I'm only too anxious to explain. I killed Sampson + for the most urgent of all possible reasons. The Government is + thinking of giving him a baronetcy?</p> + + <p>CULVER. Not + <i>my</i> + + baronetcy?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Precisely.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 127 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page131" name="page131">[pg 131]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. But this is the most terrible thing I ever heard + of.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. It is. I met one of my chaps in the street. He was + coming here to see me. ( + <i>To</i> + + Culver.) Your answer was expected this morning. It didn't + arrive. Evidently your notions about titles had got abroad, and + the Government has decided to offer a title to Sampson Straight + this afternoon if you refuse.</p> + + <p>CULVER. But how delightfully stupid of the Government.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. On the contrary it was a really brilliant idea. + Sampson Straight is a great literary celebrity, and he'd look + mighty well in the Honours List. Literature's always a good + card to play for Honours. It makes people think that Cabinet + Ministers are educated.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE. But I've spent half my time in attacking the + Government!</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Do you suppose the Government doesn't know that? In + creating you a baronet ( + <i>gazes at her</i> + + ) it would gain two advantages—it would prove how + broad-minded it is, and it would turn an enemy into a + friend.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 128 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page132" name="page132">[pg 132]</a> + </span> + + HILDEGARDE. But surely the silly Government would make some + enquiries first!</p> + + <p>CULVER. Hilda, do remember what your mother said, and try to + live up to your position. This isn't the Government that makes + enquiries. It's the Government that gets things done.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. You perceive the extreme urgency of the crisis. I + had to act instantly. I did act. I slew the fellow on the spot, + and his obituary will be in my late extra. The danger was + awful—greater even than I realised at the moment, because + I didn't know till I got back here that there was a genuine and + highly unscrupulous Sampson Straight floating about.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Danger? What danger?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Danger of the Government falling, dear lady. You + see, it's like this. Assuming that the Government offers a + baronetcy to Sampson Straight, and the offer becomes public + property, as it infallibly would, then there are three + alternatives. Either the Government has singled out for honour + a person who doesn't exist at all; or it has sought to turn a + woman ( + <i>glancing at</i> + + Hilda) into a male creature; or it is holding up to public + admiration an ex-convict. Choose which +<!-- Page 129 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page133" name="page133">[pg 133]</a> + </span> + + theory you like. In any case the exposure would mean the + immediate ruin of any Government.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>to</i> + + Tranto). I always thought you + <i>wanted</i> + + the Government to fall.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Good heavens, my gifted child! No enlightened and + patriotic person wants the Government to fall. All enlightened + and patriotic persons want the Government to be afraid of + falling. There you have the whole of war politics in a + nut-shell. If the British Government fell the effect on the + Allied cause would be bad, and might be extremely bad. But + that's not the real explanation. The real explanation is that + no one wants the Government to fall because no one wants to + step into the Government's shoes. However, thanks to Tranto's + masterly presence of mind in afflicting Sampson with a disease + that kills like prussic acid, the Government can no longer give + Sampson a title, and the danger to the Government is therefore + over.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. Over! I wish it was! Supposing the Government + doesn't happen to see my late extra in time! Supposing the + offer of a baronetcy to Sampson Straight goes forth! The + mischief will be done. Worst of all, supposing the only genuine + Sampson Straight hears of it and accepts +<!-- Page 130 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page134" name="page134">[pg 134]</a> + </span> + + it! A baronetcy given to a bigamist! No Government could + possibly survive the exposure.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Not even if its survival was necessary to the + success of the Allied cause?</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>gloomily, shaking his head</i> + + ). My dear, Tranto is right. This great country has always + insisted first of all, and before anything else whatever, on + the unsullied purity of the domestic life of its public men. + Let a baronetcy be given, or even offered, to a + bigamist—and this great country would not hesitate for + one second, not one second.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. The danger still exists. And only one man in this + world can avert it.</p> + + <p>CULVER. You don't mean me, Tranto?</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I understand that you have neither accepted nor + refused the offer. You must accept it instantly. Instantly.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>A silence</i> + + . John + <i>begins to creep towards the door, back, and</i> + + Hildegarde + <i>towards the door, L</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>firmly</i> + + ). John, where are you going?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Anywhere.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 131 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page135" name="page135">[pg 135]</a> + </span> + + MRS. CULVER. Have you still got that letter to Lord Woking in + which your father accepts the title?</p> + + <p>JOHN. Yes.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Come here. Let me see it. ( + <i>She inspects the envelope of the letter and returns it + to</i> + + John.) Yes, that's right. Now listen to me. Get a taxi at once + and drive to Lord Woking's, and insist on seeing Lord Woking, + and give him that letter with your own hand. Do you understand? + ( + <i>Exit</i> + + Hildegarde, + <i>L</i> + + .) The stamp will be wasted, but never mind. Fly!</p> + + <p>JOHN. It's a damned shame. (Mrs. Culver + <i>smiles calmly</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER ( + <i>shaking</i> + + John's + <i>flaccid hand</i> + + ). So it is. But let us remember, my boy, that you and I + are—are doing our bit. ( + <i>Pushes him violently towards the door</i> + + .) Get along. ( + <i>Exit</i> + + John, + <i>back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>TRANTO ( + <i>looking round</i> + + ). Where's Hildegarde?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. She went in there.</p> + + <p>TRANTO. I must just speak to her.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>Exit</i> + + Tranto, + <i>L</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>with a gesture towards the door, L</i> + + ). There's something between those two.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 132 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page136" name="page136">[pg 136]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. I doubt it. ( + <i>With a sigh</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. What do you mean—you doubt it?</p> + + <p>CULVER. They're probably too close together for there to be + anything between them.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>shakes her head, smiling sceptically</i> + + ). The new generation has no romance. ( + <i>In a new tone</i> + + .) Arthur, kiss me.</p> + + <p>CULVER. I'm dashed if I do!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. Then I'll kiss you! ( + <i>She gives him a long kiss</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>The lunch gong sounds during the embrace. Startled, they + separate</i> + + .)</p> + + <p>CULVER. Food!</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>with admiring enthusiasm</i> + + ). You've behaved splendidly.</p> + + <p>CULVER. Yes, that's what you always say when you've won and + I—haven't. ( + <i>She kisses him again</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter the</i> + + Parlourmaid, + <i>back</i> + + .</p> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey is still waiting, sir.</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 133 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page137" name="page137">[pg 137]</a> + </span> + + CULVER. Inexorable creature! I won't—I will not—( + <i>suddenly remembering that he has nothing to fear from</i> + + Miss Starkey; + <i>gaily</i> + + ). Yes, I'll see her. She must lunch with us. May she lunch + with us, Hermione?</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER ( + <i>submissively</i> + + ). Why, Arthur, + <i>of course!</i> + + ( + <i>To</i> + + Parlourmaid.) Miss Starkey can have Master John's place. Some + lunch must be kept warm for Master John. ( + <i>As the</i> + + Parlourmaid + <i>is leaving</i> + + .) One moment—bring up some champagne, please.</p> + + <p>PARLOURMAID. Yes, Madam.</p> + + <p class="stagenote">( + <i>Exit</i> + + Parlourmaid.)</p> + + <p>CULVER. Come along, I'm hungry. ( + <i>Leading her towards the door. Then stopping</i> + + .) I say.... Oh well, never mind.</p> + + <p>MRS. CULVER. But what?</p> + + <p>CULVER. You're a staggering woman, that's all. ( + <i>Exit</i> + + Culver + <i>and</i> + + Mrs. Culver, + <i>back</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Hildegarde + <i>and</i> + + Tranto.</p> + + <p>HILDEGARDE ( + <i>plaintively, as they enter</i> + + ). I told you my nerves were all upset, and yet you ran off + before I—before I—and now it's lunch time!</p> + + <p> +<!-- Page 134 --> + <span class="pagenum"> + <a id="page138" name="page138">[pg 138]</a> + </span> + + TRANTO ( + <i>facing her suddenly</i> + + ). Hilda! I now give you my defence. ( + <i>He kisses her</i> + + .)</p> + + <p class="stagenote"> + <i>Enter</i> + + Culver, + <i>back, in time to interrupt the embrace</i> + + .</p> + + <p>CULVER. Excuse me. My wife sent me to ask if you'd lunch, + Tranto. I gather that you + <i>will</i> + + .</p> + + <p class="stagenote">CURTAIN.</p> + + <hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Title, by Arnold Bennett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TITLE *** + +***** This file should be named 12687-h.htm or 12687-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/6/8/12687/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David McLachlan and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + + </body> +</html> + diff --git a/old/12687.txt b/old/12687.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0205568 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12687.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3611 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Title, by Arnold Bennett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Title + A Comedy in Three Acts + +Author: Arnold Bennett + +Release Date: June 22, 2004 [EBook #12687] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TITLE *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David McLachlan and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + +_The Title_ + + +A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS + + +BY +ARNOLD BENNETT + + +LONDON +CHATTO & WINDUS +MCMXVIII + + + + +CHARACTERS + +MR. CULVER +MRS. CULVER +HILDEGARDE CULVER } their children +JOHN CULVER } +TRANTO +MISS STARKEY +SAMPSON STRAIGHT +PARLOURMAID + + + + +ACT I + +An evening between Christmas and New Year, before dinner. + + +ACT II + +The next evening, after dinner. + + +ACT III + +The next day, before lunch. + + +The scene throughout is a sitting-room in the well-furnished West End +abode of the Culvers. There is a door, back. There is also another door +(L) leading to Mrs. Culver's boudoir and elsewhere. + + + + +ACT I + + + + +ACT I + + +Hildegarde _is sitting at a desk, writing_. John, _in a lounging +attitude, is reading a newspaper_. + +_Enter_ Tranto, _back_. + +TRANTO. Good evening. + +HILDEGARDE (_turning slightly in her seat and giving him her left hand, +the right still holding a pen_). Good evening. Excuse me one moment. + +TRANTO. All right about my dining here to-night? (Hildegarde _nods_.) +Larder equal to the strain? + +HILDEGARDE. Macaroni. + +TRANTO. Splendid. + +HILDEGARDE. Beefsteak. + +TRANTO. Great heavens! (_imitates sketchily the motions of cutting up a +piece of steak. Shaking hands with_ John, _who has risen_). Well, John. +How are things? Don't let me disturb you. Have a cigarette. + +JOHN (_flattered_). Thanks. (_As they light cigarettes_.) You're the +first person here that's treated me like a human being. + +TRANTO. Oh! + +JOHN. Yes. They all treat me as if I was a schoolboy home for the hols. + +TRANTO. But you are, aren't you? + +JOHN. In a way, of course. But--well, don't you see what I mean? + +TRANTO (_sympathetically_). You mean that a schoolboy home for the hols +isn't necessarily something escaped out of the Zoo. + +JOHN (_warming_). That's it. + +TRANTO. In fact, what you mean is you're really an individual very like +the rest of us, subject, if I may say so, to the common desires, +weaknesses and prejudices of humanity--and not a damned freak. + +JOHN (_brightly_). That's rather good, that is. If it's a question of +the Zoo, what I say is--what price home? Now, homes _are_ extraordinary +if you like--I don't know whether you've ever noticed it. School--you +can understand school. But home--! Strange things happen here while I'm +away. + +TRANTO. Yes? + +JOHN. It was while I was away they appointed Dad a controller. When I +heard--I laughed. Dad a controller! Why, he can't even control mother. + +HILDEGARDE (_without looking round_). Oh yes he can. + +JOHN (_pretending to start back_). Stay me with flagons! (_Resuming to_ +Tranto.) And _you're_ something new here since the summer holidays. + +TRANTO. I never looked at myself in that light. But I suppose I _am_ +rather new here. + +JOHN. Not quite new. But you've made a lot of progress during the last +term. + +TRANTO. That's comforting. + +JOHN. You understand what I mean. You were rather stiff and prim in +August--now you aren't a bit. + +TRANTO. Just so. Well, I won't ask you what you think of _me_, John--you +might tell me--but what do you think of my newspaper? + +JOHN. _The Echo_? I don't know what to think. You see, we don't read +newspapers much at school. Some of the masters do. And a few chaps in +the Fifth--swank, of course. But speaking generally we don't. Prefects +don't. No time. + +TRANTO. How strange! Aren't you interested in the war? + +JOHN. Interested in the war! Would you mind if I spoke plainly? + +TRANTO. I should love it. + +JOHN. Each time I come home I wonder more and more whether you people in +London have got the slightest notion what war really is. Fact! At +school, it's just because we _are_ interested in the war that we've no +time for newspapers. + +TRANTO. How's that? + +JOHN. How's that? Well, munition workshops--with government inspectors +tumbling all over us about once a week. O.T.C. work. Field days. +Cramming fellows for Sandhurst. Not to mention female masters. +'Mistresses,' I ought to say, perhaps. All these things take time. + +TRANTO. I never thought of that. + +JOHN. No. People don't. However, I've decided to read newspapers in +future--it'll be part of my scheme. That's why I was reading _The +Echo_. Now, I should like to ask you something about this paper of +yours. + +TRANTO. Yes. + +JOHN. Why do you let Hilda write those articles for you about food +economy stunts in the household? + +TRANTO. Well--(_hesitating_) + +JOHN. Now, I look at things practically. When Hilda'd spent all her +dress allowance and got into debt besides, about a year and a half ago, +she suddenly remembered she wasn't doing much to help the war, and so +she went into the Food Ministry as a typist at thirty-five shillings a +week. Next she learnt typing. Then she became an authority on +everything. And now she's concocting these food articles for you. +Believe me, the girl knows nothing whatever about cookery. She couldn't +fry a sausage for nuts. Once the mater insisted on her doing the +housekeeping--in the holidays, too! Stay me with flagons! + +HILDEGARDE (_without looking round_). Stay you with chocolates, you +mean, Johnnie, dear. + +JOHN. There you are! Her thoughts fly instantly to chocolates--and in +the fourth year of the greatest war that the world-- + +HILDEGARDE. Etcetera, etcetera. + +TRANTO. Then do I gather that you don't entirely approve of your +sister's articles? + +JOHN. Tripe, I think. My fag could write better. I'll tell you what I do +approve of. I approve of that article to-day by that chap Sampson +Straight about titles and the shameful traffic in honours, and the rot +of the hereditary principle, and all that sort of thing. + +TRANTO. I'm glad. Delivers the goods, doesn't he, Mr. Sampson Straight? + +JOHN. Well, _I_ think so. Who is he? + +TRANTO. One of my discoveries, John. He sent me in an article about--let +me see, when was it?--about eight months ago. I at once perceived that +in Mr. Sampson Straight I had got on to a bit of all right. And I was +not mistaken. He has given London beans pretty regularly once a week +ever since. + +JOHN. He must have given the War Cabinet neuralgia this afternoon, +anyhow. I should like to meet him. + +TRANTO. I'm afraid that's impossible. + +JOHN. Is it? Why? + +TRANTO. Well, I haven't met him myself yet. He lives at a quiet country +place in Cornwall. Hermit, I believe. Hates any kind of publicity. +Absolutely refuses to be photographed. + +JOHN. Photographed! I should think not! But couldn't you get him to come +and lecture at school? We have frightful swells, you know. + +TRANTO. I expect you do. But he wouldn't come. + +JOHN. I wish he would. We had a debate the other Saturday night on, +Should the hereditary principle be abolished? + +TRANTO. And did you abolish it? + +JOHN. Did we abolish it? I should say we did. Eighty-five to twenty-one. +Some debate, believe _me_! + +HILDEGARDE (_looking round_). Yes, but didn't you tell us once that in +your Debating Society the speakers always tossed for sides beforehand? + +JOHN (_shrugging his shoulders. More confidentially to_ Tranto). As I +was saying, I'm going to read the papers in future, as part of my +scheme. And d'you know what the scheme is? (_Impressively_.) I've +decided to take up a political career. + +TRANTO. Good! + +JOHN. Yes, it was during that hereditary principle debate that I +decided. It came over me all of a sudden while I was on the last lap of +my speech and the fellows were cheering. And so I want to understand +first of all the newspaper situation in London. There are one or two +things about it I _don't_ understand. + +TRANTO. Not more? I can explain the newspaper situation to you in ten +words. You know I've got a lot of uncles. I daresay I've got more uncles +than anybody else in 'Who's Who.' Well, I own _The Echo_,--inherited it +from my father. My uncles own all the rest of the press--(_airily_) with +a few trifling exceptions. That's the London newspaper situation. Quite +simple, isn't it? + +JOHN. But of course _The Echo_ is up against all your uncles' papers--at +least it seems so. + +TRANTO. Absolutely up against them. Tooth and nail. Daggers drawn. No +quarter. Death or victory. + +JOHN. But do you and your uncles speak to each other? + +TRANTO. Best of friends. + +JOHN. But aren't two of your uncles lords? + +TRANTO. Yes. Uncle Joe was made an earl not long since--you may have +heard of the fuss about it. Uncle Sam's only a miserable baron yet. And +Uncle Cuthbert is that paltry insect--a baronet. + +JOHN. What did they get their titles for? + +TRANTO. Ask me another. + +JOHN. Of course I don't want to be personal, but _how_ did they get +them? Did they--er--buy them? + +TRANTO. Don't know. + +JOHN. Haven't you ever asked them? + +TRANTO. Well, John, you've got relatives yourself, and you probably know +there are some things that even the most affectionate relatives _don't_ +ask each other. + +HILDEGARDE (_rising from the desk and looking at John's feet_). Yes, +indeed! This very morning I unwisely asked Johnnie whether his socks +ever talked. Altercation followed. 'Some debate, believe _me_!' + +JOHN (_rising; with scornful tranquillity_). I'd better get ready for +dinner. Besides, you two would doubtless like to be alone together for a +few precious moments. + +HILDEGARDE (_sharply and self-consciously_). What do you mean? + +JOHN (_lightly_). Nothing. I thought editor and contributor-- + +HILDEGARDE. Oh! I see. + +JOHN (_stopping at door, and turning round_). Do you mean to say your +uncles won't be frightfully angry at Mr. Sampson Straight's articles? +Why, dash it, when he's talking about traffic in honours, if he doesn't +mean them who does he mean? + +TRANTO. My dear friend, stuff like that's meat and drink to my uncles. +They put it down like chocolates. + +JOHN. Well my deliberate opinion is--it's a jolly strange world. (_Exit +quickly, back)_. + +TRANTO (_looking at_ Hildegarde). So it is. Philosopher, John! Questions +rather pointed perhaps; but result in the discovery of new truths. By +the way, have I come too early? + +HILDEGARDE (_archly)_. How could you? But father's controlling the +country half an hour more than usual this evening, and I expect mamma +was so angry about it she forgot to telephone you that dinner's moved +accordingly. (_With piquancy and humour_.) I was rather surprised to +hear when I got home from my Ministry that you'd sent word you'd like to +dine to-night. + +TRANTO. Were you? Why? + +HILDEGARDE. Because last week when mamma _asked_ you for to-night, you +said you had another engagement. + +TRANTO. Oh! I'd forgotten I'd told her that. Still, I really had +another engagement. + +HILDEGARDE. The Countess of Blackfriars--you said. + +TRANTO. Yes. Auntie Joe's. I've just sent her a telephone message to say +I'm ill and confined to the house. + +HILDEGARDE. Which house? + +TRANTO. I didn't specify any particular house. + +HILDEGARDE. And are you ill? + +TRANTO. I am not.... To get back to the realm of fact, when I read +Sampson Straight's article about the degradation of honours this +afternoon-- + +HILDEGARDE. Didn't you read it before you published it? + +TRANTO. No. I had to rush off and confront the Medical Board at 9 a.m. I +felt certain the article would be all right. + +HILDEGARDE. And it wasn't all right. + +TRANTO (_positively_). Perfectly all right. + +HILDEGARDE. You don't seem quite sure. Are we still in the realm of +fact, or are we slipping over the frontier? + +TRANTO. The article was perfectly all right. It rattled off from +beginning to end like a machine-gun, and must have caused enormous +casualties. Only I thought Auntie Joe might be one of the casualties. I +thought it might put her out of action as a hostess for a week or so. +You see, for me to publish such an onslaught on new titles in the +afternoon, and then attempt to dine with the latest countess the same +night--and she my own aunt--well, it might be regarded as a bit--thick. +So I'm confined to the house--this house as it happens. + +HILDEGARDE. But you told John your people would take the article like +meat and drink. + +TRANTO. What if I did? John can't expect to discover the whole truth +about everything at one go. He's found out it's a jolly strange world. +That ought to satisfy him for to-day. Besides, he only asked me about my +uncles. He said nothing about my uncles' wives. You know what women +are--I mean wives. + +HILDEGARDE. Oh, I do! Mother is a marvellous specimen. + +TRANTO. I haven't told you the worst. + +HILDEGARDE. I hope no man ever will. + +TRANTO. The worst is this. Auntie Joe actually thinks _I_'m Sampson +Straight. + +HILDEGARDE. She doesn't! + +TRANTO. She does. She has an infinite capacity for belief. The +psychology of the thing is as follows. My governor died a comparatively +poor man. A couple of hundred thousand pounds, more or less. Whereas +Uncle Joe is worth five millions--and Uncle Joe was going to adopt me, +when Auntie Joe butted in and married him. She used to arrange the +flowers for his first wife. Then she arranged _his_ flowers. Then she +became a flower herself and he had to gather her. Then she had twins, +and my chances of inheriting that five millions (_he imitates the noise +of a slight explosion_) short-circuited! Well, I didn't care a volt--not +a volt! I've got lots of uncles left who are quite capable of adopting +me. But I didn't really want to be adopted at all. To adopt me was only +part of Uncle Joe's political game. It was my _Echo_ that he was after +adopting. But I'd sooner run my _Echo_ on my own than inherit Uncle +Joe's controlling share in twenty-five daily papers, seventy-one weekly +papers, six monthly magazines, and three independent advertising +agencies. I know I'm a poor man, but I'm quite ready to go on facing the +world bravely with my modest capital of a couple of hundred thousand +pounds. Only Auntie Joe can't understand that. She's absolutely +convinced that I have a terrific grudge against her and her twins, and +that in order to gratify that grudge I myself personally write articles +against all her most sacred ideals under the pseudonym of Sampson +Straight. I've pointed out to her that I'm a newspaper proprietor, and +no newspaper proprietor ever _could_ write. No use! She won't listen. + +HILDEGARDE. Then she thinks you're a liar. + +TRANTO. Oh, not at all. Only a journalist. But you perceive the widening +rift in the family lute. (_A silence_.) Pardon this glimpse into the +secret history of the week. + +HILDEGARDE (_formidably_). Mr. Tranto, you and I are sitting on the edge +of a volcano. + +TRANTO. We are. I like it. Thrilling, and yet so warm and cosy. + +HILDEGARDE. I used to like it once. But I don't think I like it any +more. + +TRANTO. Now please don't let Auntie Joe worry you. She's my cross, not +yours. + +HILDEGARDE. Yes. But considered as a cross, your Auntie Joe is nothing +to my brother John, who quite justly calls his sister's cookery stuff +'tripe.' It was a most ingenious camouflage of yours to have me +pretending to be the author of that food economy 'tripe,' so as to cover +my writing quite different articles for _The Echo_ and your coming here +to see me so often. Most ingenious. Worthy of a newspaper proprietor. +But why should I be saddled with 'tripe' that isn't mine? + +TRANTO. Why, indeed! Then you think we ought to encourage the volcano +with a lighted match--and run? + +HILDEGARDE. I'm ready if you are. + +TRANTO. Oh! I'm ready. Secrecy was a great stunt at first. Letting out +the secret will be an even greater stunt now. It'll make the finest +newspaper story since the fearful fall of the last Cabinet. Sampson +Straight--equals Miss Hildegarde Culver, the twenty-one year old +daughter of the Controller of Accounts! Typist in the Food Department, +by day! Journalistic genius by night! The terror of Ministers! Read by +all London! Raised the circulation of _The Echo_ two hundred per cent! +Phenomenon unique in the annals of Fleet Street! (_In a different tone, +noticing_ Hildegarde's _face_). Crude headlines, I admit, but that's +what Uncle Joe has brought us to. We have to compete with Uncle Joe.... + +HILDEGARDE. Of course I shall have to leave home. + +TRANTO. Leave home! + +HILDEGARDE. Yes, and live by myself in rooms. + +TRANTO. But why? + +HILDEGARDE. I couldn't possibly stay here. Think how it would compromise +father with the War Cabinet if I did. It might ruin him. And as accounts +are everything in modern warfare, it might lose the war. But that's +nothing--it's mamma I'm thinking of. Do you forget that Sampson +Straight, being a young woman of advanced ideas, has written about +everything, _everything_--yes, and several other subjects besides? For +instance, here's the article I was revising when you came in. (_Shows +the title-page to_ Tranto.) + +TRANTO. Splendid! You're the most courageous creature I ever met. + +HILDEGARDE. Possibly. But not courageous enough to offer to kiss mamma +when I went to bed on the night that _that (indicating the article_) had +appeared in print under my own name. You don't know mamma. + +TRANTO. But dash it! You could eat your mother! + +HILDEGARDE. Pardon me. The contrary is the fact. Mamma could eat me. + +TRANTO. But you're the illustrious Sampson Straight. There's more +intelligence in your little finger than there is in your mother's whole +body. See how you write. + +HILDEGARDE. Write! I only began to write as a relief from mamma. I +escaped secretly into articles like escaping into an underground +passage. But as for facing mamma in the open!... Even father scarcely +ever does that; and when he does, we hold our breath, and the cook turns +teetotal. It wouldn't be the slightest use me trying to explain the +situation logically to mamma. She wouldn't understand. She's far too +clever to understand anything she doesn't like. Perhaps that's the +secret of her power. No, if the truth about Sampson Straight is to come +out I must leave home--quietly but firmly leave home. And why not? I can +keep myself in splendour on Sampson's earnings. And the break is bound +to come sooner or later. I admit I didn't begin very seriously, but +reading my own articles has gradually made me serious. I feel I have a +cause. A cause may be inconvenient, but it's magnificent. It's like +champagne or high heels, and one must be prepared to suffer for it. + +TRANTO. Cause be hanged! Suffer be hanged! High heels be hanged! +Champagne--(_stops_). Miss Culver, if a disclosure means your leaving +home I won't agree to any disclosure whatever. I will--not--agree. +We'll sit tight on the volcano. + +HILDEGARDE. But why won't you agree? + +TRANTO (_excited_). Why won't I agree! Why won't I agree! Because I +don't want you to leave home. I know you're a born genius--a marvel, a +miracle, a prodigy, an incredible orchid, the most brilliant journalist +in London. I'm fully aware of all that. But I do not and will not see +you as a literary bachelor living with a cause and holding receptions of +serious people in chambers furnished by Roger Fry. I like to think of +you at home, here, in this charming atmosphere, amid the delightful +vicissitudes of family existence, and--well, I like to think of you as a +woman. + +HILDEGARDE (_calmly and teasingly_). Mr. Tranto, we are forgetting one +thing. + +TRANTO. What's that? + +HILDEGARDE. You're an editor, and I'm a contributor whom you've never +met. + +_Enter_ Mrs. Culver (_L_). + +MRS. CULVER. Mr. Tranto, how are you? (_Shaking hands_.) I'm delighted +to see you. So sorry I didn't warn you we dine half an hour +later--thanks to the scandalous way the Government slave-drives my poor +husband. Please do excuse me. (_She sits_). + +TRANTO. On the contrary, it's I who should ask to be excused--proposing +myself like this at the last moment. + +MRS. CULVER. It was very nice of you to think of us. Come and sit down +here. (_Indicating a place by her side on the sofa_.) Now in my poor +addled brain I had an idea you were engaged for to-night at your aunt's, +Lady Blackfriars'. + +TRANTO (_sitting_). Mrs. Culver, you forget nothing. I _was_ engaged for +Auntie Joe's, but she's ill and she's put me off. + +MRS. CULVER. Dear me! How very sudden! + +TRANTO. Sudden? + +MRS. CULVER. I met Lady Blackfriars at tea late this afternoon and it +struck me how well she was looking. + +TRANTO. Yes, she always looks particularly well just before she's going +to be ill. She's very brave, very brave. + +MRS. CULVER. D'you mean in having twins? It was more than brave of her; +it was beautiful--both boys, too. + +HILDEGARDE (_innocently_). Budgeting for a long war. + +MRS. CULVER (_affectionately_). My dear girl! Come here, darling, you +haven't changed. Excuse me, Mr. Tranto. + +HILDEGARDE (_approaching_). I've been so busy. And I thought nobody was +coming. + +MRS. CULVER. Is your father nobody? (_stroking and patting_ Hildegarde's +_dress into order_). What have you been so busy on? + +HILDEGARDE. Article for _The Echo_. (Tranto, _who has been holding the +MS., indicates it_.) + +MRS. CULVER. I do wish you would let me see those cookery articles of +yours before they're printed. + +TRANTO (_putting MS. in his pocket_). I'm afraid that's quite against +the rules. You see, in Fleet Street-- + +MRS. CULVER (_very pleasantly_). As you please. I don't pretend to be +intellectual. But I confess I'm just a wee bit disappointed in +Hildegarde's cookery articles. I'm a great believer in good cookery. I +put it next to the Christian religion--and far in front of mere +cleanliness. I've just been trying to read Professor Metchnikoff's +wonderful book on 'The Nature of Man.' It only confirms me in my +lifelong belief that until the nature of man is completely altered good +cooking is the chief thing that women ought to understand. Now I taught +Hildegarde some cookery myself. She was not what I should call a +brilliant pupil, but she did grasp the great eternal principles. And yet +I find her writing (_with charm and benevolence_) stuff like her last +article--'The Everlasting Boiled Potato,' I think she called it. +Hildegarde, it was really very naughty of you to say what you said in +that article. (_Drawing down_ Hildegarde's _head and kissing her_.) + +TRANTO. Now why, Mrs. Culver? I thought it was so clever. + +MRS. CULVER. It may be clever to advocate fried potatoes and chip +potatoes and saute potatoes as a change from the everlasting boiled. I +daresay it's what you call journalism. But how can you fry potatoes +without fat? + +TRANTO. Ah! How? + +MRS. CULVER. And where are you to obtain fat? _I_ can't obtain fat. I +stand in queues for hours because my servants won't--it's the latest +form of democracy--but _I_ can't obtain fat. I think the nearest fat is +at Stratford-on-Avon. + +TRANTO. Stand in queues! Mrs. Culver, you make me feel very guilty, +plunging in at a moment's notice and demanding a whole dinner in a +fatless world. I shall eat nothing but dry bread. + +MRS. CULVER. We never serve bread at lunch or dinner unless it's +specially asked for. But if soup, macaroni, eggs, and jelly will keep +you alive till breakfast-- + +HILDEGARDE. But there's beefsteak, mamma--I've told Mr. Tranto. + +MRS. CULVER. Only a little, and that's for your father. Beefsteak's the +one thing that keeps off his neuralgia, Mr. Tranto. (_With apologetic +persuasiveness_.) I'm sure you'll understand. + +TRANTO. Dear lady, I've never had neuralgia in my life. Macaroni, eggs, +and jelly are my dream. I've always wanted to feel like an invalid. + +MRS. CULVER. And how did you get on with your Medical Board this +morning? + +TRANTO. How marvellous of you to remember that I had a Medical Board +this morning! I believe I've found out your secret, Mrs. Culver--you're +undergoing a course of Pelman with those sixty generals and forty +admirals. Well, the Medical Board have given me a new complaint. You'll +be sorry to hear that I'm deformed. + +MRS. CULVER. Not deformed! + +TRANTO. Yes. It appears I'm flat-footed. (_Extending his leg_.) Have I +ever told you that I had a dashing military career extending over four +months, three of which I spent in hospital for a disease I hadn't got? +Then I was discharged as unfit. After a year they raked me in again. +Since then I've been boarded five times, and on the unimpeachable +authority of various R.A.M.C. Colonels I've been afflicted with valvular +disease of the heart, incipient tuberculosis, rickets, varicose veins, +diabetes--practically everything, except spotted fever and leprosy. And +now flat feet are added to all the rest. Even the Russian collapse and +the transfer of the entire German army to the Western Front hasn't +raised me higher than C 3. + +MRS. CULVER. How annoying for you! You might have risen to be a captain +by this time. + +HILDEGARDE (_reflectively_). No doubt, in a home unit. But if he'd gone +to the Front he would still have been a second lieutenant. + +MRS. CULVER. My _dear_! + +TRANTO. Whereas in fact I'm still one of those able-bodied young +shirkers in mufti that patriotic old gentlemen in clubs are always +writing to my uncles' papers about. + +MRS. CULVER. Please! please! (_A slight pause; pulling herself +together; cheerfully_.) Let me see, you were going in for Siege +Artillery, weren't you? + +TRANTO. Me! Siege Artillery. My original ambition was trench +mortars--not so noisy. + +MRS. CULVER (_simply_). Oh! Then it must have been somebody else who was +talking to me about Siege Artillery. I understand it's very +scientific--all angles and degrees and wind-pressures and things. John +will soon be eighteen, and his father and I want him to be really useful +in the Army. We don't want him to be thrown away. He has brains, and so +we are thinking of Siege Artillery for him. + +(_During this speech_ John _has entered, in evening dress_.) + +JOHN. Are you on Siege again, mater? The mater's keen on Siege because +she's heard somewhere it's the safest thing there is. + +MRS. CULVER. And if it does happen to be the safest--what then? + +TRANTO. I suppose you're all for the Flying Corps, John? + +JOHN (_with condescension_). Not specially. Since one of the old boys +came and did looping the loop stunts over the school the whole Fifth +has gone mad on the R.F.C. Most fellows are just like sheep. _Somebody_ +in the Sixth has to be original. I want to fight as much as any chap +with wings across his chest, but I've got my private career to think of +too. If you ask me, the mater's had a brain-wave for once. + +_Enter_ Mr. Culver, _back. He stands a moment at the door, surveying the +scene_. Mrs. Culver _springs up, and_ Tranto _also rises, moving towards +the door_. + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur, have you come? + +CULVER (_advancing a little_). Apparently. Hello, Tranto, glad to see +you. I wanted to. (_Shakes hands with_ Tranto.) + +MRS. CULVER. What's the matter, Arthur? + +CULVER. Everything. + +MRS. CULVER (_alarmed, but carefully coaxing_). Why are you wearing your +velvet coat? (_To_ Tranto.) He always puts on his velvet coat instead of +dressing when something's gone wrong. (_To_ Mr. Culver.) Have you got +neuralgia again? + +CULVER. I don't think so. + +MRS. CULVER. But surely you must know! You look terribly pale. + +CULVER. The effect of the velvet coat, my dear--nicely calculated in +advance. + +MRS. CULVER (_darting at him, holding him by the shoulders, and then +kissing him violently. With an intonation of affectionate protest_). +Darling! + +JOHN. Oh! I say, mater, look here! + +MRS. CULVER (_to_ Culver, _still holding him_). I'm very annoyed with +you. It's perfectly absurd the way you work. (_To_ Tranto.) Do you know +he was at the office all day Christmas Day and all day Boxing Day? (_To_ +Culver.) You really must take a holiday. + +CULVER. But what about the war, darling? + +MRS. CULVER (_loosing him_). Oh! You're always making the war an excuse. +I know what I shall do. I shall just go-- + +CULVER. Yes, darling, just go and suggest a short armistice to the +Germans while you take me to Brighton for a week's fondling. + +MRS. CULVER. I shall just speak to Miss Starkey. Strange that the wife, +in order to influence the husband, should have to appeal to +(_disdainfully_) the lady secretary! But so it is. + +CULVER. Hermione, I must beg you not to interfere between Miss Starkey +and me. Interference will upset Miss Starkey, and I cannot stand her +being upset. I depend upon her absolutely. First, Miss Starkey is the +rock upon which my official existence is built. She is a serious and +conscientious rock. She is hard and expects me to be hard. Secondly, +Miss Starkey is the cushion between me and the world. She knows my +tender spots, and protects them. Thirdly, Miss Starkey is my rod--and I +kiss it. + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur!... (_tries to be agreeable_). But I really am +vexed. + +CULVER. Well, I'm only hungry. + +_Enter_ Parlourmaid. + +PARLOURMAID. Cook's compliments, madam, and dinner will be twenty +minutes late. (_Exit_.) + +(_A shocked silence_.) + +CULVER (_with an exhausted sigh_). And yet I gave that cook one of my +most captivating smiles this morning. + +MRS. CULVER (_settling_ Mr. Culver _into a chair_). She's done it simply +because I told her to-night that rationing is definitely coming in. Her +reply was that the kitchen would never stand it, whatever the Government +said. She was quite upset--and so she's gone and done something to the +dinner. + +CULVER. Surely rather illogical of her, isn't it? Or have I missed a +link in the chain of reasoning? + +MRS. CULVER. I shall give her notice--after dinner. + +JOHN. Couldn't you leave it till after the holidays, mother? + +HILDEGARDE. And where shall you find another cook, mamma? + +MRS. CULVER. The first thing is to get rid of the present one. Then we +shall see. + +CULVER. My dear, you talk as if she was a prime minister. Still, it +might be a good plan to sack all the servants before rationing comes in, +and engage deaf-mutes. + +MRS. CULVER. Deaf-mutes! + +CULVER. Deaf-mutes. Then they wouldn't be worried by the continual +groaning of _my_ hunger, and I shouldn't hear any complaints about +_theirs_. + +MRS. CULVER (_to_ Hildegarde). My pet, you've time to change now. Do run +and change. You're so sombre. + +HILDEGARDE. I can't do it in twenty minutes. + +MRS. CULVER. Then put a bright shawl on--for papa's sake. + +HILDEGARDE. I haven't got a bright shawl. + +MRS. CULVER. Then take mine. The one with the pink beads on it. It's in +my wardrobe--right-hand side. + +JOHN. That means it'll be on the left-hand side. + +(_Exit_ Hildegarde, _back, with a look at Tranto, who opens the door for +her_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_with sweet apprehensiveness_). Now Arthur, I'm afraid +after all you have something on your mind. + +CULVER. I've got nothing on my stomach, anyway. (_Bracing himself_.) +Yes, darling, it's true. I have got something on my mind. Within the +last hour I've had a fearful shock-- + +MRS. CULVER. I knew it! + +CULVER. And I need sustaining. I hadn't meant to say anything until +after dinner, but in view of cook's drastic alterations in the +time-table I may as well tell you (_looking round_) at once. + +MRS. CULVER. It's something about the Government again. + +CULVER. The Government has been in a very serious situation. + +MRS. CULVER (_alarmed_). You mean they're going to ask you to resign? + +CULVER. I wish they would! + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur! Do please remember the country is at war. + +CULVER. Is it? So it is. You see, my pet, I remember such a lot of +things. I remember that my brainy partner is counting khaki trousers in +the Army clothing department. I remember that my other partner ought to +be in a lunatic asylum, but isn't. I remember that my business is going +to the dogs at a muzzle velocity of about five thousand feet a second. I +remember that from mere snobbishness I work for the Government without a +penny of salary, and that my sole reward is to be insulted and libelled +by high-brow novelists who write for the press. Therefore you ought not +to be startled if I secretly yearn to resign. However, I shall not be +asked to resign. I said that the Government had been in a very serious +situation. It was. But it will soon recover. + +MRS. CULVER. How soon? + +CULVER. On New Year's Day. + +JOHN. Then what's the fearful shock, dad? + +MRS. CULVER. Yes. Have you heard anything special? + +CULVER. No. But I've seen something special. I saw it less than an hour +ago. It was shown to me without the slightest warning, and I admit it +shook me. You can perceive for yourselves that it shook me. + +MRS. CULVER. But what? + +CULVER. The New Year's Honours List--or rather a few choice selections +from the more sensational parts of it. + +_Enter_ Hildegarde. + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur, _what_ do you mean? (_To_ Hildegarde, _in +despair_.) My chick, your father grows more and more puzzling every day! +How well that shawl suits you! You look quite a different girl. But +you've--(_arranges the shawl on_ Hildegarde) I really don't know what +your father has on his mind! I really don't! + +JOHN (_impatient of this feminine manifestation_). Oh, dad, go on. Go +on! I want to get at the bottom of this titles business. I'm hanged if I +can understand it. What strikes me as an unprejudiced observer is that +titles are supposed to be such a terrific honour, and yet the people who +deal them out scarcely ever keep any for themselves. Look at Mr. +Gladstone, for instance. He must have made about forty earls and seven +thousand baronets in his time. Now if I was a Prime Minister, and I +believed in titles--which I jolly well don't--I should make myself a +duke right off; and I should have several marquises and viscounts round +me in the Cabinet like a sort of bodyguard, and my private secretaries +would have to be knights. There'd be some logic in that arrangement +anyhow. + +CULVER. In view of your political career, John, will you mind if I give +you a brief lesson on elementary politics--though you _are_ on your +holidays? + +JOHN (_easily_). I'm game. + +CULVER. What is the first duty of modern Governments? + +JOHN. To govern. + +CULVER. My innocent boy. I thought better of you. I know that you look +on the venerable Mr. Tranto as a back number, and I suspect that Mr. +Tranto in his turn regards me as prehistoric; and yet you are so behind +the times as to imagine that the first duty of modern Governments is to +govern! My dear Rip van Winkle, wake up. The first duty of a Government +is to live. It has no right to be a Government at all unless it is +convinced that if it fell the country would go to everlasting smash. +Hence its first duty is to survive. In order to survive it must do three +things--placate certain interests, influence votes, and obtain secret +funds. All these three things can be accomplished by the ingenious +institution of Honours. Only the simple-minded believe that Honours are +given to honour. Honours are given to save the life of the Government. +Hence the Honours List. Examine the Honours List and you can instantly +tell how the Government feels in its inside. When the Honours List is +full of rascals, millionaires, and--er--chumps, you may be quite sure +that the Government is dangerously ill. + +TRANTO. But that amounts to what we've been saying in _The Echo_ to-day. + +CULVER. Yes, I've read the _The Echo_. + +JOHN. I thought you never had a free moment at the office--always rushed +to death--at least that's the mater's theory. + +CULVER. I've read _The Echo_, and my one surprise is that you're here +to-night, Tranto. + +TRANTO. Why? + +CULVER. I quite thought you'd have been shoved into the Tower under the +Defence of the Realm Act. Or Sampson Straight, anyway. (Hildegarde +_starts_.) Your contributor has committed the unpardonable sin of +hitting the nail on the head. He might almost have seen an advance copy +of the Honours List. + +TRANTO. He hadn't. Nor had I. Who's in it? + +CULVER. You might ask who isn't in it. (_Taking a paper from his +pocket_.) Well, Gentletie's in it. He gets a knighthood. + +TRANTO. Never heard of him. Who is he? + +HILDEGARDE. Oh, yes, you've heard of him. (John _glances at her +severely_.) He's M.P. for some earthly paradise or other in the South +Riding. + +TRANTO. Oh! + +CULVER. Perhaps I might read you something written by my private +secretary--he's one of these literary wags. You see there's been a +demand that the Government should state clearly, in every case of an +Honour, exactly what services the Honour is given for. This (_taking +paper from his pocket_) is supposed to be the stuff sent round to the +Press by the Press Bureau. (_Reads_.) 'Mr. Gentletie has gradually made +a solid reputation for himself as the dullest man in the House of +Commons. Whenever he rises to his feet the House empties as if by magic. +In cases of inconvenience, when the Government wishes abruptly to close +a debate by counting out the House, it has invariably put up Mr. +Gentletie to speak. The device has never been known to fail. Nobody can +doubt that Mr. Gentletie's patriotic devotion to the Allied cause well +merits the knighthood which is now bestowed on him.' + +JOHN (_astounded_.) Stay me with flagons! + +TRANTO. So that's that! And who else? + +CULVER. Another of your esteemed uncles. + +TRANTO. Well, that's not very startling, seeing that my uncle's chief +daily organ is really a department of the Government. + +JOHN. What I say is-- + +HILDEGARDE (_simultaneously with_ John). Wouldn't it be more +correct--(_continuing alone_) wouldn't it be more correct to say that +the Government is really a department of your uncle's chief daily organ? + +JOHN. Hilda, old girl, I wish you wouldn't interrupt. Cookery's your +line. + +HILDEGARDE. Sorry, Johnnie. I see I was in danger of becoming unsexed. + +CULVER (_to_ John). Yes? You were about to say? + +JOHN. Oh, nothing. + +CULVER (_to_ Tranto). Shall I read the passage on your uncle? + +TRANTO. Don't trouble. Who's the next? + +CULVER. The next is--Ullivant, munitions manufacturer. Let me see. +(_Reads_.) By the simple means of saying that the cost price of shells +was eighteen shillings and ninepence each, whereas it was in fact only +ten shillings and ninepence, Mr. Joshua Ullivant has made a fortune of +two million pounds during the war. He has given a hundred thousand to +the Prince of Wales's Fund, a hundred thousand to the Red Cross, and a +hundred thousand to the party funds. Total net profit on the war, one +million seven hundred thousand pounds, not counting the peerage which is +now bestowed upon him, and which it must be admitted is a just reward +for his remarkable business acumen.' + +TRANTO. Very agreeable fellow Ullivant is, nevertheless. + +CULVER. Oh, he is. They're most of them too damned agreeable for +anything. Another prominent name is Orlando Bush. + +TRANTO. Ah! + +MRS. CULVER. I've met his wife. She dances beautifully at charity +matinees. + +CULVER. No doubt. But apparently that's not the reason. + +TRANTO. I know Orlando. I've just bought the serial rights of his book. + +CULVER. Have you paid him? + +TRANTO. No. + +CULVER. How wise of you! (_Reads_). 'Mr. Orlando Bush has written a +historical sketch, with many circumstantial details, of the political +origins of the present Government. For his forbearance in kindly +consenting to withold publication until the end of the war Mr. Bush +receives a well-earned'-- + +TRANTO. What? + +CULVER. Knighthood. + +TRANTO. Cheap! But what a sell for me! + +CULVER. Now, ladies and gentlemen, the last name with which I will +trouble you is that of Mr. James Brill. + +TRANTO. Not Jimmy Brill! + +CULVER. Jimmy Brill. + +TRANTO. But he's a-- + +CULVER. Stop, my dear Tranto. No crude phrases, please. (_Reads_.) 'Mr. +James Brill, to use the language of metaphor, possessed a pistol, which +pistol he held point blank at the head of the Government. The Government +has thought it wise to purchase Mr. James Brill's pistol--' + +TRANTO. But he's a-- + +CULVER (_raising a hand_). He is merely the man with the pistol, and in +exchange for the pistol he gets a baronetcy. + +TRANTO. A baronetcy! + +CULVER. His title and pistol will go rattling down the ages, my dear +Tranto, from generation to generation. For the moment the fellow's name +stinks, but only for the moment. In the nostrils of his grandson (third +baronet), it will have a most sweet odour. + +MRS. CULVER. But all this is perfectly shocking. + +CULVER. Now I hope you comprehend my emotion, darling. + +MRS. CULVER But surely there are some _nice_ names on the List. + +CULVER. Of course. There have to be some nice names, for the sake of the +psychological effect on the public mind on New Year's Day. The public +looks for a good name, or for a name it can understand. It skims down +the List till it sees one. Then it says: 'Ah! That's not so bad!' Then +it skims down further till it sees another one, and it says again: 'Ah! +That's not so bad!' And so on. So that with about five or six decent +names you can produce the illusion that after all the List is really +rather good. + +HILDEGARDE. The strange thing to me is that decent people condescend to +receive titles at all. + +MRS. CULVER. Bravo, Hildegarde! Yes, if it's so bad as you make out, +Arthur, why _do_ decent people take Honours? + +CULVER. I'll tell you. Decent people have wives, and their wives lead +them by the nose. That's why decent people take Honours. + +MRS. CULVER. Well, I think it's monstrous! + +CULVER. So it is. I've been a Conservative all my life; I am a +Conservative. I swear I am. And yet, now when I look back, I'm amazed at +the things I used to do. Why, once I actually voted against a candidate +who stood for the reform of the House of Lords. Seems incredible. This +war is changing my ideas. (_Suddenly, after a slight pause_.) I'm +dashed if I don't join the Labour party and ask Ramsay Macdonald to +lunch. + +_Enter_ Parlourmaid, _back_. + +PARLOURMAID. You are wanted on the telephone, madam. + +MRS. CULVER. Oh, Arthur! (_Pats him on the shoulder as she goes out_.) + +(_Exit_ Mrs. Culver _and_ Parlourmaid, _back_.) + +CULVER. Hildegarde, go and see if you can hurry up dinner. + +HILDEGARDE. No one could. + +CULVER. Never mind, go and see. (_Exit_ Hildegarde, _back_.) John, just +take these keys, and get some cigars out of the cabinet, you know, +Partagas. + +JOHN. Oh! Is it a Partaga night? (_Exit, back_.) + +CULVER (_watching the door close_). Tranto, we are conspirators. + +TRANTO. You and I? + +CULVER. Yes. But we must have no secrets. Who wrote that article in _The +Echo_? Who is Sampson Straight? + +TRANTO (_temporising, lightly_). You remind me of the man with the +pistol. + +CULVER. Is it Hildegarde? + +TRANTO. How did you guess? + +CULVER. Well; first, I knew my daughter couldn't be the piffling lunatic +who does your war cookery articles. Second, I asked myself: What reason +has she for pretending to be that piffling lunatic? Third, I have an +exceedingly high opinion of my daughter's brains. Fourth, she gave a +funny start just now when I mentioned the idea of Sampson Straight going +to the Tower. + +TRANTO. Perhaps I ought to explain-- + +CULVER. No you oughn't. There's no time. I simply wanted a bit of +information. I've got it. Now I have a bit of information for you. I've +been offered a place in this beautiful Honours List. Baronetcy! Me! I am +put on the same high plane as Mr. James Brill, the unspeakable. The +formal offer hasn't actually arrived--it's late; I expect the letter'll +be here in the morning--but I know for a fact I'm in the List for a +baronetcy. + +TRANTO. Well, I congratulate you. + +CULVER. You'd better not. + +TRANTO. You deserve more than a baronetcy. Your department has been a +striking success--one of the very few in the whole length of Whitehall. + +CULVER. I know my department has been a success. But that's not why I'm +offered a baronetcy. Good heavens, I haven't even spoken to any member +of the War Cabinet yet. I've been trying to for about a year, but in +spite of powerful influences to help me I've never been able to bring +off a meeting with the mandarins. No! I'm offered a baronetcy because +I'm respectable; I'm decent; and at the last moment they thought the +List looked a bit too thick--so they pushed me in. One of their +brilliant afterthoughts!... No damned merit about the thing, I can tell +you! + +TRANTO. Do you mean you intend to refuse? + +CULVER. Do you mean you ever imagined that I should accept? Me, in the +same galley with Brill--who daren't go into his own clubs--and Ullivant, +and a few more pretty nearly as bad! Of course, I shall refuse. Nothing +on earth would induce me to accept. Nothing! (_More calmly_.) Mind you, +I don't blame the Government; probably the Government can't help itself. +Therefore the Government must be helped; and sometimes the best way to +help a fellow creature is to bring him to his senses by catching him one +across the jaw. + +TRANTO. Why are you making a secret of it? The offer is surely bound to +come out. + +CULVER. Of course. I'm only making a secret of it for the moment, while +I prepare the domestic ground for my refusal. + +TRANTO. You wish me to understand-- + +CULVER. You know what women are. (_With caution_.) I speak of the sex in +general. + +TRANTO. I see. + +CULVER. That's all right. + +TRANTO. Well, if I mayn't congratulate you on the title, let me +congratulate you on your marvellous skill in this delicate operation of +preparing the domestic ground for your refusal of the title. Your +success is complete, absolute. + +CULVER (_sardonic_.) Complete? Absolute? + +TRANTO. You have--er--jockeyed Mrs.--er--the sex into committing itself +quite definitely against titles. Hence I look on your position as +impregnable. + +CULVER. Good heavens, Tranto! How old are you? + +TRANTO. Twenty-five. + +CULVER. A quarter of a century--and you haven't learnt that no position +is impregnable against--er--the sex! You never know where the offensive +will come, nor when, nor how. The offensive is bound to be a surprise. +You aren't married. When you are you'll soon find out that being a +husband is a whole-time job. That's why so many husbands fail. They +can't give their entire attention to it. Tranto, my position must be +still further strengthened--during dinner. It can't be strengthened too +much. I've brought you into the conspiracy because you're on the spot +and I want you to play up. + +TRANTO. Certainly, sir. + +CULVER. The official letter _might_ come by to-night's post. If it does, +a considerable amount of histrionic skill will be needed. + +TRANTO. Trust me for that. + +CULVER. Oh! I do! Indeed I fancy after all I'm fairly safe. There's only +one danger. + +TRANTO. Yes? + +CULVER. My--I mean the sex, must hear of the offered title from me +first. If the news came to her indirectly she'd-- + +_Enter_ Mrs. Culver _rapidly, back_. + +MRS. CULVER (_rushing to him_). Darling! Dearest! What a tease you are! +You needn't pretend any longer. Lady Prockter has just whispered to me +over the telephone that you're to have a baronetcy. Of course she'd be +bound to know. She said I might tell you. I never _dreamed_ of a title. +I'm so glad. Oh! But you _are_ a tease! (_Kisses him enthusiastically_.) + +CURTAIN. + + + + +ACT II + + + + +ACT II + + +_The next day after dinner_. Culver _and_ Parlourmaid. + +CULVER (_handing_ Parlourmaid _a letter_). That's for the post. Is Miss +Starkey here? + +PARLOURMAID. Yes, sir. She is waiting. + +CULVER. Ask her to be good enough to keep on waiting. She may come in +when I ring twice. + +PARLOURMAID. Yes, sir. + +_Enter_ Mrs. Culver, _back_. + +MRS. CULVER (_to_ Parlourmaid, _stopping her as she goes out, +dramatically_). Give me that letter. (_She snatches the letter from the_ +Parlourmaid.) You can go. (Culver _rises_.) (_Exit_ Parlourmaid.) + +MRS. CULVER. I am determined to make a stand this time. + +CULVER (_soothingly_). So I see, darling. + +MRS. CULVER. I have given way to you all my life. But I won't give way +now. This letter shall not go. + +CULVER. As you like, darling. + +MRS. CULVER. No. (_She tears the envelope open, without having looked at +it, and throws the letter into the fire. In doing so she lets fall a +cheque_.) + +CULVER (_rising and picking up the cheque_). I'll keep the cheque as a +memento. + +MRS. CULVER. Cheque? What cheque? + +CULVER. Darling, once in the old, happy days--I think it was last +week--you and I were walking down Bond Street, almost hand in hand, but +not quite, and you saw a brooch in a shop window. You simply had to have +that brooch. I offered it to you for a Christmas present. You are +wearing it now, and very well it suits you. This (_indicating the +cheque_) was to pay the bill. + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur! + +CULVER. Moral: Look before you burn. Miss Starkey will now have to write +a fresh letter. + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur! You must forgive me. I'm in a horrid state of +nerves, and you said you were positively going to write to Lord Woking +to-night to refuse the title. + +CULVER. I did say so. + +MRS. CULVER (_hopefully_). But you haven't written? + +CULVER. I haven't. + +MRS. CULVER. You don't know how relieved I am! + +CULVER (_sitting down, drawing her to him, and setting her on his +knee_). Infant! Cherub! Angel! Dove!... Devil! (_Caressing her_.) Are we +friends? + +MRS. CULVER. It kills me to quarrel with you. (_They kiss_.) + +CULVER. Darling, we are absurd. + +MRS. CULVER. I don't care. + +CULVER. Supposing that anyone came in and caught us! + +MRS. CULVER. Well, we're married. + +CULVER.--But it's so long since. Hildegarde's twenty-one! John, +seventeen! + +MRS. CULVER. It seems to me like yesterday. + +CULVER. Yes, you're incurably a girl. + +MRS. CULVER. I'm not. + +CULVER. You are. And I'm a boy. I say we are absurd. We're continually +absurd. We were absurd all last evening when we pretended before the +others, with the most disastrous results, that nothing was the matter. +We were still more absurd when we went to our twin beds and argued +savagely with each other from bed to bed until four o'clock this +morning. Do you know that I had exactly one hour and fifty-five minutes' +sleep? (_Yawns_.) Do you know that owing to extreme exhaustion my +behaviour at my office to-day has practically lost the war? But the most +absurd thing of all was you trying to do the Roman matron business at +dinner to-night. Mind you, I adore you for being absurd, but-- + +MRS. CULVER (_very endearingly, putting her hand on his mouth_). +Dearest, you needn't continue. I know you're wiser and stronger than me +in every way. But I love that. Most women wouldn't; but I do. (_Kisses +him_.) Oh! I'm so glad you've at last seen the force of my arguments +about the title. + +CULVER (_gently warning_). Now, now! You're behaving like a journalist. + +MRS. CULVER. Like a journalist? + +CULVER. Journalists say a thing that they know isn't true, in the hope +that if they keep on saying it long enough it _will_ be true. + +MRS. CULVER. But you do see the force of my arguments! + +CULVER. Quite. But I also see the force of mine, and, as an impartial +judge, I'm bound to say that yours aren't in it with mine. + +MRS. CULVER. Then you've refused the title after all? + +CULVER (_ingratiatingly_). No. I told you I hadn't. But I'm going to. I +was just thinking over the terms of the fatal letter to Lord Woking when +you came in. Starkey is now waiting for me to dictate it. You see it +positively must be posted to-night. + +MRS. CULVER (_springing from his knee_). Arthur, you're playing with me! + +CULVER. No doubt. Like a mouse plays with a cat. + +MRS. CULVER. Surely it has occurred to you-- + +CULVER (_firmly, but very pleasantly_). Stop! You had till four o'clock +this morning to deliver all your arguments. You aren't going to begin +again. I understand you've stayed in bed all day. Quite right! But if +you stayed in bed merely to think of fresh arguments while I've been +slaving away at the office for my country, I say you're taking an unfair +advantage of me, and I won't have it. + +MRS. CULVER (_with dignity_). No. I haven't any fresh arguments; and if +I had, I shouldn't say what they were. + +CULVER. Oh! Why? + +MRS. CULVER. Because I can see it's useless to argue with a man like +you. + +CULVER. Now that's what I call better news from the Front. + +MRS. CULVER. I was only going to say this. Surely it has occurred to you +that on patriotic grounds alone you oughtn't to refuse the title. I +quite agree that Honours have been degraded. Quite! The thing surely is +to try and make them respectable again. And how are they ever to be +respectable if respectable men refuse them? + +CULVER. This looks to me suspiciously like an argument. + +MRS. CULVER. Not at all. It's simply a question. + +CULVER. Well, the answer is, I don't want Honours to be respectable any +more. Proverb: When fish has gone bad ten thousand decent men can't take +away the stink. + +MRS. CULVER. Now you're insulting your country. I know you often pretend +your country's the slackest place on earth, but it's only pretence. You +don't really think so. The truth is that inside you you're positively +conceited about your country. You think it's the greatest country that +ever was. And so it is. And yet when your country offers you this honour +you talk about bad fish. I say it's an insult to Great Britain. + +CULVER. Great Britain hasn't offered me any title. The fact is that +there are a couple of shrewd fellows up a devil of a tree in Whitehall, +and they're waving a title at me in the hope that I shall come and stand +under the tree so that they can get down by putting their dirty boots on +my shoulders. Well, I'm not going to be a ladder. + +MRS. CULVER. I wish you wouldn't try to be funny. + +CULVER. I'm not _trying_ to be funny. I _am_ being funny. + +MRS. CULVER. You might be serious for once. + +CULVER. I am serious. Beneath this amusing and delightful exterior, +there is hidden the most serious, determined, resolute, relentless, +inexorable, immovable man that ever breathed. And let me tell you +something else, my girl--something I haven't mentioned before because of +my nice feelings. What has this title affair got to do with you? What +the dickens has it got to do with you? The title isn't offered as a +reward for _your_ work; it's offered as a reward for _my_ work. _You_ +aren't the Controller of Accounts, _I_ happen to be the Controller of +Accounts. I have decided to refuse the title, and I shall refuse it. +_Nothing will induce me to accept it_. Do I make myself clear, or +(_smiling affectionately_) am I lost in a mist of words? + +MRS. CULVER (_suddenly furious_). You are a brute. You always were. You +never think of anybody but yourself. My life has been one long +sacrifice, and you know it perfectly well. Perfectly well! You talk +about _your_ work. What about my work? Why! You'd be utterly useless +without me. You can't even look after your own collars. Could you go +down to your ridiculous office without a collar? I've done everything +for you, everything! And now! (_Weeping_). I can't even be called 'my +lady.' I only wanted to hear the parlourmaid call me 'my lady.' It seems +a simple enough thing-- + +CULVER (_persuasively and softly, trying to seize her_). You divine +little snob! + +MRS. CULVER (_in a supreme, blazing outbreak escaping him_). Let me +alone! I told you at the start I should never give way. And I never +will. Never! If you send that letter of refusal, do you know what I +shall do? I shall go and see the War Cabinet myself. I shall tell them +you don't mean it. I'll make the most horrible scandal.... When I think +of the Duke of Wellington-- + +CULVER (_surprised and alarmed_). The Duke of Wellington? + +MRS. CULVER (_drawing herself up at the door, L_). The Duke of +Wellington didn't refuse a title! Hildegarde shall sleep in our room, +and you can have hers! (_Exit violently, L_.) + +CULVER (_intimidated, as she goes_). Look here, hurricane! (_He rushes +out after her_.) + +_Enter_ Hildegarde _and_ Tranto, _back_. + +HILDEGARDE (_seeing the room empty_). Well, I thought I heard them. + +TRANTO (_catching noise of high words from the boudoir_.) I fancy I _do_ +hear them. + +HILDEGARDE. Perhaps we'd better go. + +TRANTO. But I want to speak to you--just for a moment. + +HILDEGARDE (_moving uneasily_). What about? + +TRANTO. I don't know. Anything. It doesn't matter what ... I don't hear +them now. + +HILDEGARDE (_listening and hearing nothing; reassured_). I should have +thought you wouldn't have wanted to come here any more for a long time. + +TRANTO. Why? + +HILDEGARDE. After the terrible experiences of last night, during dinner +and after dinner. + +TRANTO. The general constraint? + +HILDEGARDE. The general constraint. + +TRANTO. The awkwardness? HILDEGARDE. The awkwardness. + +TRANTO. The frightful silences and the forced conversations? + +HILDEGARDE (_nods_). Why _did_ you come? + +TRANTO. Well-- + +HILDEGARDE. I suppose you're still confined to this house. + +TRANTO (_in a new confidential tone_). I wish you'd treat me as your +father does. + +HILDEGARDE. But of course I will-- + +TRANTO. That's fine. He treats me as an intimate friend. + +HILDEGARDE. But you must treat me as you treat papa. + +TRANTO (_slightly dashed_). I'll try. I might tell you that I had two +very straight talks with your father last night. + +HILDEGARDE. Two? + +TRANTO. Yes; one before dinner, and the other just before I left--when +you'd gone to bed. He began them--both of them. + +HILDEGARDE. Oh! So that you may be said to know the whole situation. + +TRANTO. Yes. Up to last thing last night, that is. + +HILDEGARDE. Since then it's developed on normal lines. What do you think +of it? + +TRANTO. I adore your mother, but I think your father's quite right. + +HILDEGARDE. Well, naturally! I take that for granted. I was expecting +something rather more original. + +TRANTO. You shall have it. I think that you and I are very largely +responsible for the situation. I think our joint responsibility binds us +inextricably together. + +HILDEGARDE. Mr. Tranto! + +TRANTO. Certainly. There's no doubt in my mind that your father was +enormously influenced by Sampson Straight's article on the Honours +scandal. In fact he told me so. And seeing that you wrote it and I +published it-- + +HILDEGARDE (_alarmed_). You didn't tell him I'm Sampson Straight? +TRANTO. Can you imagine me doing such a thing? + +HILDEGARDE. I hope not. Shall I tell you what _I_ think of the +situation? + +TRANTO. I wish you would. + +HILDEGARDE. I think such situations would never arise if parents weren't +so painfully unromantic. I'm not speaking particularly of papa and +mamma. I mean all parents. But take mamma. She's absolutely +matter-of-fact. And papa's nearly as bad. Of course I know they're +always calling each other by pet names; but that's mere camouflage for +their matter-of-factness. Whereas if they both had in them a little of +the real romance of life--everything would be different. At the same +time I needn't say that in this affair that we're now in the middle +of--there's no question of ratiocination. + +TRANTO. Of what? + +HILDEGARDE. Ratiocination. Reasoning. On either side. + +TRANTO. Oh no! + +HILDEGARDE. It's simply a question of mutual attitude, isn't it? Now, if +only--. But there! What's the use? Parents are like that, poor dears! +They have forgotten! (_With emphasis_.) They have forgotten--what makes +life worth living. + +TRANTO. You mean, for instance, your mother never sits on your father's +knee. + +HILDEGARDE (_bravely, after hesitation_). Yes! Crudely--that's what I do +mean. + +TRANTO. Miss Hildegarde, you are the most marvellous girl I ever met. +You are, really! You seem to combine all qualities. It's amazing to me. +I'm more and more astounded. Every time I come here there's a fresh +revelation. Now you mention romance. I'm glad you mentioned it first. +But I _saw_ it first. I saw it in your eyes the first time I ever met +you. Yes! Miss Hilda, do you see it in mine? Look. Look closely. +(_Approaching her_.) Because it's there. I must tell you. I can't wait +any longer. (_Feeling for her hand, vainly_.) + +HILDEGARDE (_drawing back_). Mr. Tranto, is this the way you treat +father? + +_Enter_ Mr. Culver, _back_. + +CULVER (_quickly_). Hilda, go to your mother. She's upstairs. +HILDEGARDE. What am I to do? + +CULVER. I don't know. (_With meaning_.) Think what the sagacious Sampson +Straight would do, and do that. + +(Hildegarde _gives a sharp look first at_ Culver, _and then at_ Tranto, +_and exit, back_.) + +CULVER (_turning to_ Tranto). My dear fellow, the war is practically +over. + +TRANTO. Good heavens! There was nothing on the tape when I left the +Club. + +CULVER. Oh! I don't mean your war. I mean the twenty-two years' war. + +TRANTO. The twenty-two years' war? + +CULVER. My married life. Over! Finished! Napoo! + +TRANTO. Do you know what you're saying? + +CULVER. Look here, Tranto. You and I don't belong to the same +generation. In fact, if I'd started early enough I might have been your +father. But we got so damned intimate last night, and I'm in such a +damned hole, and you're so damned wise, that I feel I must talk to you. +Not that it'll be any use. + +TRANTO. But what's the matter? + +CULVER. The matter is--keeping a woman in the house. + +TRANTO. Mr. Culver! You don't mean-- + +CULVER. I mean my wife--of course. I've just had the most ghastly rumpus +with my wife. It was divided into two acts. The first took place here, +the second in the boudoir (_indicating boudoir_). The second act was the +shortest but the worst. + +TRANTO. But what was it all about? + +CULVER. Now for heaven's sake don't ask silly questions. You know +perfectly well what it was about. It was about the baronetcy. I have +decided to refuse that baronetcy, and my wife has refused to let me +refuse it. + +TRANTO. But what are her arguments? + +CULVER. I've implored you once not to ask silly questions. 'What are her +arguments' indeed! She hasn't got any arguments. You know that. You're +too wise not to know it. She merely wants the title, that's all. + +TRANTO. And how did the second act end? + +CULVER. I don't quite remember. + +TRANTO. Let me suggest that you sit down. (Culver _sits_.) Thanks. Now +I've always gathered from my personal observation, that you, if I may +say so, are the top dog here when it comes to the point--the crowned +head, as it were. + +CULVER. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. At least, it did last +night, and I shall be greatly surprised if it doesn't to-night. + +TRANTO. Naturally. A crown isn't a night-cap. But you are the top dog. +In the last resort, what you say, goes. That is so, isn't it? I only +want to be clear. + +CULVER. Yes, I think that's pretty right. + +TRANTO. Well, you have decided on public grounds, and as a question of +principle, to refuse the title. You intend to refuse it. + +CULVER. I--I do. + +TRANTO. Nobody can stop you from refusing it. + +CULVER. Nobody. + +TRANTO. Mrs. Culver can't stop you from refusing it? + +CULVER. Certainly not. It concerns me alone. + +TRANTO. Well, then, where is the difficulty? A rumpus--I think you +said. What of that? My dear Mr. Culver, believe me, I have seen far more +of marriage than you have. You're only a married man. I'm a bachelor, +and I've assisted at scores of married lives. A rumpus is nothing. It +passes--and leaves the victor more firmly established than ever before. + +CULVER (_rising_). Don't talk to me of rumpuses. I know all about +rumpuses. This one is an arch-rumpus. This one is like no other rumpus +that ever was. It's something new in my vast experience. I shall win. I +have won. But at what cost? (_With effect_.) The cost may be that I +shall never kiss the enemy again. The whole domestic future is in grave +jeopardy. + +TRANTO. Seriously? + +CULVER. Seriously. + +TRANTO. Then you musn't win. + +CULVER. But what about my public duty? What about my principles? I can't +sacrifice my principles. + +TRANTO. Why not? + +CULVER. I never have. + +TRANTO. How old are you? + +CULVER. Forty-four. + +TRANTO. And you've never sacrificed a principle? + +CULVER. Never. + +TRANTO. Then it's high time you began. And you'd better begin, before +it's too late. Besides, there are no principles in married life. + +CULVER. Tranto, you are remarkable. How did you find that out? + +TRANTO. I've often noticed it. + +CULVER. It's a profound truth. It throws a new light on the entire +situation. + +TRANTO. It does. + +CULVER. Then you deliberately advise me to give way about the title? + +TRANTO. I do. + +CULVER. Strange! (_Casually_.) I had thought of doing so, but I never +dreamt you'd agree, and I'd positively determined to act on your advice. +You know, you're taking an immense responsibility. + +TRANTO. I can bear that. What I couldn't bear is any kind of real +trouble in this house. + +CULVER. Why? What's it got to do with you? + +TRANTO. Nothing! Nothing! Only my abstract interest in the institution +of marriage. + +CULVER (_ringing the bell twice_). Ah, well, after all, I'm not utterly +beaten yet. I've quite half an hour before post goes, and I shall fight +to the last ditch. + +TRANTO. But hasn't Mrs. Culver retired? + +CULVER. Yes. + +TRANTO. May I suggest that it would be mistaken tactics to--er--run +after her? + +CULVER. It would. + +TRANTO. Well then? + +CULVER. She will return. + +TRANTO. How do you know? + +CULVER. She always does.... No, Tranto, I may yet get peace on my own +terms. You see I'm an accountant. No ordinary people, accountants! For +one thing they make their money by counting other people's. I've known +accountants do marvellous stunts. + +_Enter_ Miss Starkey, _back_. + +TRANTO. I'll leave you. + +CULVER. You'll find John somewhere about. I shan't be so very long--I +hope. Miss Starkey, kindly take down these two letters. How much time +have we before post goes? + +(_Exit_ Tranto, _back_.) + +MISS STARKEY. Forty minutes. + +CULVER. Excellent. + +MISS STARKEY (_indicating some papers which she has brought_). These +things ought to be attended to to-night. + +CULVER. Possibly. But they won't be. + +MISS STARKEY. The Rosenberg matter is very urgent. He leaves for Glasgow +to-morrow. + +CULVER. I wish he'd leave for Berlin. I won't touch it to-night. Please +take down these two letters. + +MISS STARKEY. Then it will be necessary for you to be at the office at +9.30 in the morning. + +CULVER. I decline to be at the office at 9.30 in the morning. + +MISS STARKEY. But I've an appointment for you. I was afraid you wouldn't +do anything to-night. + +CULVER (_resigned_). Very well! Very well! Tell them to call me, and see +cook about breakfast. (_Beginning to dictate_.) 'My dear Lord Woking'-- + +MISS STARKEY (_sitting_). Excuse me, is this letter about the title? + +CULVER. Yes. + +MISS STARKEY. Then it ought to be an autograph letter. That's the +etiquette. + +CULVER. How do you know? + +MISS STARKEY. General knowledge. + +CULVER. In this case the rule will be broken. That's flat. + +MISS STARKEY. Then I must imitate your handwriting. + +CULVER. Can you? + +MISS STARKEY. You ought to know, Mr. Culver--by this time. + +CULVER. I don't know officially. However, have your own way. Forge the +whole thing, signature and all. I don't care. 'My dear Lord Woking. +Extreme pressure of--er--government business has compelled me to leave +till last thing to-night my reply to your letter in which you are good +enough to communicate to me the offer of a baronetcy. I cannot +adequately express to you my sense of the honour in contemplation, but, +comma, for certain personal reasons with which I need not trouble you, +comma, I feel bound, with the greatest respect and the greatest +gratitude, to ask to be allowed to refuse. (Miss Starkey _shows +emotion_.) I am sure I can rely on you to convey my decision to the +proper quarter with all your usual tact. Believe me, my dear Lord +Woking, Cordially yours.' (_To_ Miss Starkey.) What in heaven's name is +the matter with you? + +MISS STARKEY. Mr. Culver. I shall have to give you a month's notice. + +CULVER (_staggered_). Have--have you gone mad too? + +MISS STARKEY. Not that I am aware of. But I must give a month's +notice--for certain personal reasons with which I need not trouble you. +CULVER. Young woman, you know that you are absolutely indispensable to +me. You know that without you I should practically cease to exist. I am +quite open with you as to that--and as to everything. You are acquainted +with the very depths of my character and the most horrible secrets of my +life. I conceal nothing from you, and I demand that you conceal nothing +from me. What are your reasons for giving me notice in this manner? + +MISS STARKEY. My self respect would not allow me to remain with a +gentleman who had refused a title. Oh, Mr. Culver, to be the private +secretary to a baronet has been my life's dream. And--and--I have just +had the offer of a place where a _peerage_ is in prospect. Still, I +wouldn't have, taken even that if you had not--if you had +not--(_controlling herself, coldly_). Kindly accept my notice. I give it +at once because I shall have no time to lose for the peerage. + +CULVER. Miss Starkey, you drive me to the old, old conclusion--all women +are alike. + +MISS STARKEY. Then my leaving will cause you no inconvenience, because +you'll easily get another girl exactly like me. + +CULVER. You are a heartless creature. (_In an ordinary voice_.) Did we +finish the first letter? This is the second one. (_Dictates_.) 'My dear +Lord Woking'-- + +MISS STARKEY. But you've just given me that one. + +CULVER (_firmly_.) 'My dear Lord Woking.' Go on the same as the first +one down to 'I cannot adequately express to you my sense of the honour +in contemplation.' 'Full stop. I need hardly say that, in spite of my +feeling that I have done only too little to deserve it, I accept it with +the greatest pleasure and the greatest gratitude. Believe me, etc.' + +MISS STARKEY. But-- + +CULVER. Don't imagine that your giving me notice has affected me in the +slightest degree. It has not. I told you I had two letters. I have not +yet decided whether to accept or refuse the title. (_Enter_ Mrs. Culver, +_back_.) Go and copy both letters and bring them in to me in a quarter +of an hour, whether I ring or not. That will give you plenty of time for +post. Now--run! (_Exit_ Miss Starkey, _back_. Culver _rises, clears his +throat, and obviously braces himself for a final effort of firmness_. +Mrs. Culver _calmly rearranges some flowers in a vase_.) Well, my dear, +I was expecting you. + +MRS. CULVER (_very sweetly_), Arthur, I was wrong. + +CULVER (_startled_). Good God! (Mrs. Culver _bends down to examine the +upholstery of a chair_. Culver _gives a gesture, first of triumph, and +then of apprehension_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_looking straight at him_). I say I was wrong. + +CULVER (_lightly, but uneasily_). Oh no! Oh no! + +MRS. CULVER. Of course I don't mean wrong in my arguments about the +title. Not for a moment. I mean I was wrong not to sacrifice my own +point of view. I'm only a woman, and it's the woman's place to submit. +So I do submit. Naturally I shall always be a true wife to you, but-- + +CULVER. Now child, don't begin to talk like that. I don't mind _reading_ +novels, but I won't have raw lumps of them thrown _at_ me. + +MRS. CULVER (_with a gentle smile_), I _must_ talk like this. I shall do +everything I can to make you comfortable, and I hope nobody, and +especially not the poor children, will notice any difference in our +relations. + +CULVER (_advancing, with a sort of menace_). But? + +MRS. CULVER. But things can never be the same again. + +CULVER. I knew the confounded phrase was coming. I knew it. I've read it +scores of times. (_Picking up the vase_.) Hermione, if you continue in +that strain, I will dash this vase into a thousand fragments. + +MRS. CULVER (_quietly taking the vase from him and putting it down_). +Arthur, I could have forgiven you everything. What do I +care--really--about a title? (_Falsely_.) I only care for your +happiness. But I can't forgive you for having laid a trap for me last +night--and in front of the children and a stranger too. + +CULVER. Laid a trap for you? + +MRS. CULVER. You knew all about the title when you first came in last +night and you deliberately led me on. + +CULVER. Oh! That! Ah well! One does what one can. You've laid many a +trap for me, my girl. You're still about ten up and two to play in the +trap game. + +MRS. CULVER. I've never laid a trap for you. + +CULVER. Fibster! Come here. (Mrs. Culver _hesitates_.) Come hither--and +be kissed. (_She_ _approaches submissively, and then, standing like a +marble statue, allows herself to be kissed_. Culver _assumes the +attitude of the triumphant magnanimous male_.) There! That's all right. + +MRS. CULVER (_having moved away; still very sweetly and coldly_). Can I +do anything else for you before I go to bed? + +CULVER (_ignoring the question; grandly and tolerantly_). Do you +suppose, my marble statue, that after all I've said at the Club about +the rascality of this Honours business, I could ever have appeared there +as a New Year Baronet? The thing's unthinkable. Why, I should have had +to resign and join another Club! + +MRS. CULVER (_calmly and severely_). So that's it, is it? I might have +known what was really at the bottom of it all. Your Club again! You have +to choose between your wife and your Club, and of course it's your wife +that must suffer. Naturally! + +CULVER. Go on! You'll be saying next that I've committed bigamy with my +Club. + +MRS. CULVER (_with youthful vivacity_). I'm an old woman-- + +CULVER (_flatteringly_). Yes, look at you! Hag! When I fell in love +with you your hair was still down. The marvel to me is that I ever let +you put it up. + +MRS. CULVER. I'm only an old woman now. You have had the best part of my +life. You might have given me great pleasure with this title. But no! +Your Club comes first. And what a child you are! As if there's one +single member of your Club who wouldn't envy you your baronetcy! +However, I've nothing more to say. (_Moving towards the door, back_.) Oh +yes, I have. (_Casually_.) I've decided to go away to-morrow and stay +with grandma for a long holiday. She needs me, and if I'm not to break +down entirely I must have a change. I've told Hildegarde +our--arrangements. The poor girl's terribly upset. Please don't disturb +me in the morning. I shall take the noon train. Good-night. + +CULVER. Hermione! + +MRS. CULVER (_returning a little from the direction of the door, +submissively_). Yes, Arthur. + +CULVER. If you keep on playing the martyr much longer there will be +bloodshed, and you'll know what martyrdom is. + +MRS. CULVER (_in a slightly relenting tone_). Arthur, you were always +conscientious. Your conscience is working. + +CULVER. I have no conscience. Never had. + +MRS. CULVER (_persuasively, and with much charm_). Yes you have, and +it's urging you to give way to your sensible little wife. You know +you're only bluffing. + +CULVER. Indeed I'm not. + +MRS. CULVER. Yes, you are. Mr. Tranto advised you to give way, and you +think such a lot of his opinion. + +CULVER. Who told you Tranto advised me to give way? + +MRS. CULVER. He did. + +CULVER. Damn him! + +MRS. CULVER (_soothingly_). Yes, yes. + +CULVER. No, no! + +MRS. CULVER. And your dear, indispensable Miss Starkey thinks the same. +(_She tries to kiss him_.) CULVER. No, no! (Mrs. Culver _succeeds in +kissing him_.) + +_Enter_ Miss Starkey. + +(_The other two spring apart. A short pause_.) + +CULVER. Which is the refusal? + +MISS STARKEY. This one. + +CULVER. Put it in the fire. (Miss Starkey _obeys. Both the women show +satisfaction in their different ways_.) Give me the acceptance. (_He +takes the letter of acceptance and reads it_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_while he is reading the letter_). Miss Starkey, you look +very pale. Have you had any dinner? + +MISS STARKEY. Not yet, madam. + +MRS. CULVER. You poor dear! (_She strokes_ Miss Starkey. _They both look +at the tyrannical male_.) I'll order something for you at once. + +MISS STARKEY. I shall have to go to the post first. + +CULVER (_glancing up_). I'll go to the post myself. I must have air, +air! Where's the envelope? (_Exit_ Miss Starkey _quickly, back_.) (Mrs. +Culver _gently takes the letter from her husband and reads it_. Culver +_drops into a chair_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_putting down the letter_). Darling! + +CULVER. I thought I was a brute? + +MRS. CULVER (_caressing and kissing him_). I do so love my brute, and I +am so happy. Darling! But you are a silly old darling, wasting all this +time. + +CULVER. Wasting all what time? + +MRS. CULVER. Why, the moment I came in again I could see you'd decided +to give way. (_With a gesture of delight_.) I must run and tell the +children. (_Exit, L_.) + +_Enter_ Miss Starkey _back_. + +MISS STARKEY. Here's the envelope. + +CULVER (_taking it_). Tell them to get me my hat and overcoat. + +MISS STARKEY. Yes, Sir Arthur. (Culver _starts_.) (_Exit_ Miss Starkey, +_back_.) + +CULVER (_as he puts the letter in the envelope; with an air of +discovery_). I suppose I _do_ like being called 'Sir Arthur.' + +_Enter_ Hildegard _and_ John _both disgusted, back_. + +JOHN (_to_ Hildegarde, _as they come in_). I told you last night he +couldn't control even the mater. However, I'll be even with her yet. + +CULVER. What do you mean, boy? + +JOHN. I mean I'll be even with the mater yet. You'll see. + +HILDEGARDE. Papa, you've behaved basely. Basely! What an example to us! +I intend to leave this house and live alone. + +CULVER. You ought to marry Mr. Sampson Straight. (Hildegarde _starts and +is silent_.) + +JOHN. Fancy me having to go back to school the son of a rotten baronet, +and with the frightful doom of being a rotten baronet myself. What price +the anti-hereditary-principle candidate! Dad, I hope you won't die just +yet--it would ruin my political career. Stay me with flagons! + +CULVER. Me too! + +CURTAIN. + + + + +ACT III + + + + +ACT III + + +_The next day, before lunch_. Hildegarde _and_ John _are together_. + +JOHN (_nervously impatient_). I wish she'd come. + +HILDEGARDE. She'll be here in a moment. She's fussing round dad. + +JOHN. Is he really ill? + +HILDEGARDE. Well of course. It came on in the night, after he'd had time +to think things over. Why? + +JOHN. I read in some paper about the Prime Minister having only a +_political_ chill. So I thought perhaps the pater--under the circs-- + +HILDEGARDE (_shaking her head_). You can't have political dyspepsia. +Can't fake the symptoms. Who is to begin this affair, you or me? + +JOHN. Depends. What line are you going on with her? + +HILDEGARDE. I'm going to treat her exactly as she treats me. I've just +thought of it. Only I shan't lose my temper. + +JOHN. Sugarsticks? + +HILDEGARDE. Yes. + +JOHN. You'll never be able to keep it up. + +HILDEGARDE. O yes I shall. Somehow I feel much more mature than I did +yesterday. + +JOHN. More mature? Stay me with flagons! I was always mature. If you +knew what rot I think school is...! Well, anyway, you can begin. + +HILDEGARDE. You're very polite to-day, Johnnie. + +JOHN. Don't mention it. My argument 'll be the best, and I want to keep +it for the end, that's all. + +HILDEGARDE. Thanks. But I bet you we shall both fail. + +JOHN. Well, if we do, I've still got something else waiting for her +ladyship. A regular startler, my child. + +HILDEGARDE. What is it? + +_Enter_ Mrs. Culver, _back_. + +JOHN (_to_ Hildegarde, _as_ Mrs. Culver _enters_). Wait and see. + +MRS. CULVER (_cheerful and affectionate, to_ John). So you've come in. +(_To_ Hildegarde.) You _are_ back early to-day! Well, my darlings, what +do you want me for? + +HILDEGARDE (_imitating her mothers manner_). Well, mamma darling, we +hate bothering you. We know you've got quite enough worries, without +having any more. But it's about this baronetcy business. (Mrs. Culver +_starts_.) Do be an angel and listen to us. + +MRS. CULVER (_with admirable self-control_). Of course, my pet. But you +know the matter is quite, quite settled. Your father and I settled it +together last night, and the letter of acceptance is in the hands of the +Government by this time. + +JOHN. It isn't, mater. It's here. (_Pulls the letter out of his +pocket_.) + +MRS. CULVER. John! What-- + +JOHN. Now, now, mater! Keep calm. This is really your own doing. Pater +wanted to go to the post himself, but it was raining a bit, and you're +always in such a fidget about his getting his feet wet you wouldn't let +him go, and so I went instead. + +HILDEGARDE. Yes, mummy darling, you must acknowledge that you were +putting temptation in Johnnie's way. + +JOHN. Soon as I got outside, I said to myself: 'I think the pater ought +to have a night to think over this affair. It's very important. And he +can easily send round an answer by hand in the morning.' So I didn't +post the letter. I should have told you earlier, but you weren't down +for breakfast, and I had to go out afterwards on urgent private +business. + +MRS. CULVER. But--but--(_Controlling herself, grieved, but kind_.) Your +father will be terribly angry. I daren't face him. + +JOHN (_only half-suppressing his amusement at the last remark_). Don't +let that worry you. I'll face him. He'll be delighted. He'll write +another letter, and quite a different one. + +MRS. CULVER (_getting firmer_). But don't I tell you, my dearest boy, +that the affair is settled, quite settled? + +JOHN. It isn't settled so long as I've got this letter, anyway. + +HILDEGARDE. Of course it isn't settled. Mother darling, we simply must +look the facts in the face. Fact one, the letter is here. Fact two, the +whole family is most frightfully upset. Dad's ill-- + +MRS. CULVER. That was the lobster. + +JOHN. It wasn't. + +MRS. CULVER. Yes, dear. Lobster always upsets him. + +JOHN. It didn't this time. + +MRS. CULVER. How do you know? + +JOHN. I know, because _I_ ate all his lobster. He shoved it over to me. +You couldn't see for the fruit-bowl. + +HILDEGARDE. No, mamma sweetest. It's this baronetcy business that's +knocked poor papa over. And it's knocked over Johnnie and me too. I'm +perfectly, perfectly sure you acted for the best, but don't you think +you persuaded father against his judgment? Not to speak of our judgment! + +MRS. CULVER. I've only one thought-- + +HILDEGARDE (_caressing and kissing +her mother_). I know! I know! Father's happiness. Our happiness. Mamma, +please don't imagine for a single instant that we don't realise that. +You're the most delicious darling of an old mater-- + +MRS. CULVER (_slightly suspicious_). Hildegarde, you're quite a +different girl to-day. + +HILDEGARDE (_nods_). I've aged in a single night. I've become ever so +serious. This baronetcy business has shown me that I've got +convictions--and deep convictions. I admit I'm a different girl to-day. +But then everything's different to-day. The whole house is different. +Johnnie's different. Papa's missed going to the office for the first +time in eight months. (_Very sweetly_.) Surely you must see, mamma, that +something ought to be done, and that you alone can do it. + +MRS. CULVER. What? What ought I to do? + +HILDEGARDE. Go upstairs and tell dad you've changed your mind about the +title, and advise him to write off instantly and refuse it. You know you +always twist him round your little finger. + +MRS. CULVER (_looking at her little finger_). I shouldn't dream of +trying to influence your father once he had decided. And he _has_ +decided. + +HILDEGARDE (_sweetly_). Mamma, you're most tremendously clever--far +cleverer than any of us--but I'm not sure if you understand the attitude +of the modern girl towards things that affect her convictions. + +MRS. CULVER (_sweetly_). Are you the modern girl. + +HILDEGARDE. Yes. + +MRS. CULVER. Well, I'm the ancient girl. And I can tell you this--you're +very like me, and we're both very like somebody else. + +HILDEGARDE. Who's that. + +MRS. CULVER. Eve. + +JOHN. Come, mater. Eve would never have learnt typewriting. She'd have +gone on the land. + +MRS. CULVER. John, your sister and I are not jesting. + +HILDEGARDE. I'm so glad you admit I'm serious, mamma. Because I +am--very. I don't want to threaten-- + +MRS. CULVER. Threaten, darling? + +HILDEGARDE (_firmly, but quite lightly and sweetly_). No, darling. +_Not_ to threaten. The mere idea of threatening is absurd. But it would +be extremely unfair to you not to tell you that unless you agree to +father refusing the title, I shall have to leave the house and live by +myself. I really shall. Of course I can easily earn my own living. I +quite see that you have principles. But I also have principles. If they +clash--naturally it's my place to retire. And I shall, mamma dearest. + +MRS. CULVER. Is that final? + +HILDEGARDE. Final, mummy darling. + +MRS. CULVER. Then, my dearest child, you must go. + +HILDEGARDE (_still sweetly_). Is that final? + +MRS. CULVER (_still sweetly_). Final, my poor pet. + +JOHN (_firmly_). Now let _me_ say a word. + +MRS. CULVER (_benignly_). And what have you got to say in the matter? +You've already been very naughty about that letter. Do try not to be +ridiculous. Give me the letter. This affair has nothing to do with you. +JOHN (_putting the letter in his pocket_). Nothing whatever to do with +me! Mater, you really are a bit too thick. If it was a knighthood, I +wouldn't care. You could have your blooming knighthood. Knighthoods do +come to an end. Baronetcies go on for ever. I've told the dad, and I'll +tell you, that _I will not have_ my political career ruined by any +baronetcy. And if you insist--may I respectfully inform you what I shall +do? May I respectfully inform you--may I? + +MRS. CULVER. John! + +JOHN. I shall chuck Siege and go into the Flying Corps. And that's flat. +If you really want to shorten my life, all you have to do is to stick to +that bally baronetcy. + +MRS. CULVER. Your father won't allow you to join the Flying Corps. + +JOHN. My father can't stop me. I know the mess is expensive, but the +pay's good, and I've got L150 of my own. Not a fortune! Not a fortune! +But enough, quite enough. _A short life and a merry one_. I went to see +Captain Skewes at the Automobile this morning. One of our old boys. He's +delighted. He gave me Lanchester's 'Aircraft in Warfare' to read. Here +it is. (_Picking up the book_.) Here it _is_! I shall be sitting up all +night to-night reading it. _A short life and a merry one_. + +MRS. CULVER. You don't mean it! + +JOHN. I absolutely do. + +MRS. CULVER (_after a pause_). John, you're trying to bully your mother. + +JOHN. Not in the least, mater. I'm merely telling you what will happen +if father accepts that piffling baronetcy. + +MRS. CULVER (_checking a tear; very sweetly_). Well, my pets, you make +life just a little difficult for me. I live only for you and your +father. I think first of your father, and then of you two. For myself, I +am perfectly indifferent. I consider all politics extremely silly. There +never were any in my family, nor in your father's. And to me it's most +extraordinary that your father should catch them so late in life. I +always supposed that after thirty people were immune. (_To_ John.) You, +I suppose, were bound to have them sooner or later, but that _Hilda_ +should go out of her way to contract them--well, it passes me. It passes +me. However, I've no more to say. Your father had made up his mind to +accept the title. You want him to refuse it. I hate to influence him +(Hildegarde _again hides a cynical smile_) but for your sakes I'll try +to persuade him to alter his decision and refuse it. + +JOHN (_taking her arm_). Come along then--now! I'll go with you to see +fair play. (_He opens the door, L, and_ Mrs. Culver _passes out. Then +stopping in the doorway, to_ Hildegarde) Who did the trick? I say--who +did the trick? + +HILDEGARDE (_nicely_). Pooh! You may be a prefect at school. But here +you're only mamma's wee lamb! (_She drops on to the sofa_.) + +JOHN (_singing triumphantly_). Stay--me--with fla--gons! (_Exit_ John, +_L_.) + +_Enter_ Tranto, _back, shown in by the_ Parlourmaid. + +TRANTO. How d'ye do, Miss Hilda. I'm in a high state of nerves. + +HILDEGARDE (_shaking hands weakly_). We all are. + +TRANTO (_ignoring what she says_). I've come specially to see you. + +HILDEGARDE. But how did you know I should be here--at this time? I'm +supposed to be at the Food Ministry till one o'clock? + +TRANTO. I called for you at the Ministry. + +HILDEGARDE (_leaning forward_). That's quite against the rules. The +rules are made for the moral protection of the women-clerks. + +TRANTO. They told me you'd left early. + +HILDEGARDE. Why did you call? + +TRANTO. Shall I be frank? + +HILDEGARDE. Are you ever? + +TRANTO. I wanted to walk home with you. + +HILDEGARDE. Are you getting frightened about that next article of mine? + +TRANTO. No. I've lost all interest in articles. + +HILDEGARDE. Even in my articles? + +TRANTO. Even in yours. I'm only interested in the writer of your +articles. (_Agitated_.) Miss Hilda, the hour is about to strike. + +HILDEGARDE. What hour? + +TRANTO. Listen, please. Let me explain. The situation is this. Instinct +has got hold of me. When I woke up this morning something inside me +said: 'You must call at the Ministry for that young woman and walk home +with her.' This idea seemed marvellously beautiful to me; it seemed one +of the most enchanting ideas that had ever entered the heart of man. I +thought of nothing else all the morning. When I reached the Ministry and +you'd gone, I felt as if I'd been shot. Then I rushed here. If you +hadn't been at home I don't know what I should have done. My fever has +been growing every moment. Providentially you _are_ here. I give you +fair warning that I'm utterly in the grip of an instinct which is +ridiculously unconventional and which will brook no delay. I repeat, the +hour is about to strike. + +HILDEGARDE (_rousing herself_). Before it actually strikes, I want to +ask a question. + +TRANTO. But that's just what _I_ want to do. + +HILDEGARDE. Please. One moment of your valuable time. + +TRANTO. The whole of my life. + +HILDEGARDE. Last night, why did you advise papa to give way to mamma and +accept the baronetcy? + +TRANTO. Did I? + +HILDEGARDE. It seems so. + +TRANTO. Well--er-- + +HILDEGARDE. You know it's quite against his principles, and against mine +and Johnnie's, not to speak of yours. + +TRANTO. The fact is, you yourself had given me such an account of your +mother's personality that I felt sure she'd win anyhow; and--and--for +reasons of my own, I wished to be on the winning side. No harm in that, +surely. And as regards principles, I have a theory about principles. +Your father was much struck by it when I told him. + +HILDEGARDE. Namely? + +TRANTO. There are no principles in married life. + +HILDEGARDE. Oh, indeed! Well, there may not be any principles in your +married life, but there most positively will be in mine, if I ever have +a married life. And let me tell you that you aren't on the winning side +after all--you're on the losing side. + +TRANTO. How? Has your-- + +HILDEGARDE. Johnnie and I have had a great interview with mamma, and +she's yielded. She's abandoned the baronetcy. In half an hour from now +the baronetcy will have been definitely and finally refused. + +TRANTO. Great Scott! + +HILDEGARDE. You're startled? + +TRANTO. No! After all, I might have foreseen that you'd come out on top. +The day before yesterday your modesty was making you say that your +mother could eat you. I, on the contrary, insisted that you could eat +your mother. Who was right? I ask: who was right? When it really comes +to the point--well, you have a serious talk with your mother, and she +gives in! + +HILDEGARDE (_gloomily_). No! _I_ didn't do it. I tried, and failed. Then +Johnnie tried, and did it without the slightest trouble. A schoolboy! +That's why I'm so upset. + +TRANTO (_shaking his head_). You musn't tell me that, Miss Hilda. Of +course it was you that did it. + +HILDEGARDE (_impatiently; standing up_). But I _do_ tell you. + +TRANTO. Sorry! Sorry! Do be merciful! My feelings about you at this very +moment are so, if I may use the term, unbridled-- + +HILDEGARDE (_with false +gentle calm_). And that's not all. I suppose you haven't by any chance +told father that I'm Sampson Straight? + +TRANTO. Certainly not. + +HILDEGARDE. You're sure? + +TRANTO. Absolutely. + +HILDEGARDE. Well, I'm sorry. + +TRANTO. Why? + +HILDEGARDE (_quietly sarcastic_). Because papa told me you did tell him. +Therefore father is a liar. I don't like being the daughter of a liar. I +hate liars. + +TRANTO. Aren't you rather cutting yourself off from mankind? + +HILDEGARDE (_going straight on_). For the last day or two father had +been giving me such queer little digs every now and then that I began to +suspect he knew who Sampson Straight was. So I asked him right out this +morning--he was in bed--and he had to acknowledge he did know and that +you told him. + +TRANTO. Well, I didn't exactly tell him. He sort of guessed, and +I-- + +HILDEGARDE (_calmly, relentlessly_). You told him. + +TRANTO. No. I merely admitted it. You think I ought to have denied it? + +HILDEGARDE. Of course you ought to have denied it. + +TRANTO. But it was true. + +HILDEGARDE. And if it was? + +TRANTO. If it was true, how could I deny it? You've just said you hate +liars. + +HILDEGARDE (_losing self-control_). Please don't be absurd. + +TRANTO (_a little nettled_). I apologise. + +HILDEGARDE. What for? + +TRANTO. For having put you in the wrong. It's such shocking bad +diplomacy for any man to put any woman in the wrong. + +HILDEGARDE (_angrily_). Man--woman! Man--woman! There you are! It's +always the same with you males. Sex! Sex! Sex! + +TRANTO (_quite conquering his annoyance; persuasively_). But I'm fatally +in love with you. HILDEGARDE. Well, of course there you have the +advantage of me. + +TRANTO. Don't you care a little-- + +HILDEGARDE (_letting herself go_). Why should I care? What have I done +to make you imagine I care? It's quite true that I've saved your +newspaper from an early grave. It was suffering from rickets, spinal +curvature, and softening of the brain; and I've performed a miraculous +cure on it with my articles. I'm Sampson Straight. But that's not enough +for you. You can't keep sentiment out of business. No man ever could. +You'd like Sampson Straight to wear blouses and bracelets for you, and +loll on sofas for you, and generally offer you the glad eye. It's an +insult. And then on the top of all, you go and give the whole show away +to papa, in spite of our understanding; and if papa hadn't been the +greatest dear in the world you might have got me into the most serious +difficulties. + +TRANTO (_equably, after a pause_), I don't think I'll ask myself to stay +for lunch. + +HILDEGARDE. Good morning. + +TRANTO (_near the door_). I suppose I'd better announce that he's died +very suddenly under mysterious circumstances? + +HILDEGARDE. Who? + +TRANTO. Sampson Straight. + +HILDEGARDE. And what about my new article, that you've got in hand? + +TRANTO. It can be a posthumous article, in a black border. + +HILDEGARDE. Indeed! And why shouldn't Sampson Straight transfer his +services to another paper? There are several who'd jump at him. + +TRANTO. I never thought of that. + +HILDEGARDE. Naturally! + +TRANTO. He shall live. + +(_A pause_. Tranto _bows, and exit, back_.) + +(Hildegarde _subsides once more on to the sofa_.) + +_Enter_ Culver, _in his velvet coat, L_. + +CULVER (_softly, with sprightliness_). Hello, Sampson! + +HILDEGARDE. Dad, please don't call me that. + +CULVER. Not when we're alone? Why? + +HILDEGARDE. I--I--Dad, I'm in a fearful state of nerves just now. Lost +my temper and all sorts of calamities. + +CULVER. Really! I'd no idea. I gathered that the interview between you +and your mother had passed quite smoothly. + +HILDEGARDE. Oh! _That!_ + +CULVER. What do you mean--'Oh! _That!_'? + +HILDEGARDE (_standing; in a new, less gloomy tone_). Papa, what are you +doing out of bed? You're very ill. + +CULVER. Well, I'd managed to dress before your mother and Johnnie came. +As soon as they imparted to me the glad tidings that baronetcies were +off I felt so well I decided to come down and thank you for your +successful efforts on behalf of the family well-being. I'm no longer +your father. I'm your brother. + +HILDEGARDE. It was Johnnie did it. + +CULVER. It wasn't--_I_ know. + +HILDEGARDE (_exasperated_). I say it _was!_ (_Apologetically_). So +sorry, dad. (_Kisses him_). Where are they, those two? (_Sits_). +CULVER. Mother and John? Don't know. I fancy somebody called as I came +down. + +HILDEGARDE. Called! Before lunch! Who was it? + +CULVER. Haven't the faintest. + +_Enter_ John, _back_. + +JOHN (_proudly_). I say, good people! New acquaintance of mine! Just +looked in. Met him at the Automobile this morning with Skewes. I was +sure you'd all give your heads to see the old chap, so I asked him to +lunch on the chance. Dashed if he didn't accept! You see we'd been +talking a bit about politics. He's the most celebrated man in London. I +doubt if there's a fellow I admire more in the whole world--or you +either. He's knocked the mater flat already. Between ourselves, I really +asked him because I thought he might influence her on this baronetcy +business. However, that's all off now. What are you staring at? + +CULVER. We're only bursting with curiosity to hear the name of this +paragon of yours. As a general rule I like to know beforehand whom I'm +going to lunch with in my own house. + +JOHN. It's Sampson Straight. + +HILDEGARDE (_springing up_). _Sampson Str_-- + +CULVER (_calmly_). Keep your nerve, Hilda. Keep your nerve. + +JOHN. I thought I wouldn't say anything till he'd actually arrived. He +mightn't have come at all. Then what a fool I should have looked if I'd +told you he _was_ coming! Tranto himself doesn't know him. Tranto +pooh-poohed the idea of me ever meeting him, Tranto did. Well, I've met +him, and he's here. I haven't let on to him that I know Tranto. I'm +going to bring them together and watch them both having the surprise of +their lives. + +CULVER. John, this is a great score for you. I admit I've never been +more interested in meeting anyone. Never! + +_Enter_ Parlourmaid, _back_. + +PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey, sir. + +CULVER (_cheerfully_). I'll see her soon. (_Pulling himself up suddenly; +in an alarmed, gloomy tone_.) No, no! I can't possibly see her. + + +PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey says there are several important letters, sir. + +CULVER. No, no! I'm not equal to it. + +HILDEGARDE (_confidentially_). What's wrong, dad? + +CULVER (_to_ Hildegarde). She'll give me notice the minute she knows she +can't call me Sir Arthur. (_Shudders_.) I quail. + +_Enter_ Mrs. Culver _and_ Sampson Straight, _back_. + +(_The_ Parlourmaid _holds the door for them, and then exit_.) + +MRS. CULVER. This is my husband. Arthur, dear--Mr. Sampson Straight. And +this is my little daughter. (Hilda _bows_, John _surveys the scene with +satisfaction_.) + +CULVER (_recovering his equipoise; shaking hands heartily_). Mr. +Straight. Delighted to meet you. I simply cannot tell you how unexpected +this pleasure is. + +STRAIGHT. You're too kind. + +CULVER (_gaily_). I doubt it. I doubt it. + +STRAIGHT. I ought to apologise for coming in like this. But I've been so +charmingly received by Mrs. Culver-- + +MRS. CULVER. You've been so charming about my boy, Mr. Straight. +STRAIGHT. I was so very greatly impressed by your son this morning at +the Club that I couldn't resist the opportunity he gave me of visiting +his home. What I say is: like parents, like child. I'm an old-fashioned +man. + +MRS. CULVER. No one would guess that from your articles in _The Echo_. +Of course they're frightfully clever, but you know I don't quite agree +with all your opinions. + +STRAIGHT. Neither do I. You see--there's always a difference between +what one thinks and what one has to write. + +MRS. CULVER. I'm so glad. (Culver _starts and looks round_.) What is it, +Arthur? + +CULVER. Nothing! I thought I heard the ice cracking. (Hildegarde _begins +to smile_.) + +STRAIGHT (_looking at the floor; simply_). Ice? + +MRS. CULVER. Arthur! + +STRAIGHT. It was still thawing when I came in. As I was saying, I'm an +old-fashioned man. And I'm a provincial--and proud of it. + +MRS. CULVER. But my dear Mr. Straight, really, if you'll excuse me, you +look as if you never left the pavement of Piccadilly. CULVER. Say the +windows of the Turf club, darling. + +STRAIGHT (_serenely_). No. I live very, very quietly on my little place, +and when I feel the need of contact with the great world I run over for +the afternoon to--St. Ives. + +MRS. CULVER. How remarkable! Then that explains how it is you're so +deliciously unspoilt. + +STRAIGHT. Do you mean my face? + +MRS. CULVER. I meant you don't seem at all to realise that you're a very +great celebrity in London; very great indeed. A lion of the first order. + +STRAIGHT (_simply_). Lion? + +CULVER. You're expected to roar, Mr. Straight. + +STRAIGHT. Roar? + +MRS. CULVER. It may interest you to know that my little daughter also +writes articles in _The Echo_. Yes, about war cookery. But of course you +wouldn't notice them. (Hildegarde _moves away_.) I'm afraid +(_apologetically_) your mere presence is making her just a wee bit +nervous. HILDEGARDE (_from a distance, striving to control herself_). +Oh, Mr. Sampson Straight. There's one question I've been longing to ask +you. I always ask it of literary lions--and tigers. + +STRAIGHT. Tigers? + +HILDEGARDE. Do you write best in the morning or do you burn the midnight +oil? + +STRAIGHT. Oil? + +MRS. CULVER. Do sit down, Mr. Straight. (_She goes imploringly to_ +Hildegarde, _who has lost control of herself and is getting a little +hysterical with mirth. Aside to_ Hildegarde.) Hilda! (John, _puzzled and +threatening, also approaches_ Hildegarde.) + +CULVER (_sitting down by_ Straight.) And so, although you prefer a +country life, the lure of London has been too strong for you in the end. + +STRAIGHT. I came to town on business. + +CULVER. Ah! + +STRAIGHT. The fact is, business of the utmost importance. Perhaps I may +be able to interest you in it. + +CULVER. Now we're getting hotter. + +STRAIGHT. Hotter? + +CULVER. Go on, go on, Mr. Straight. + +STRAIGHT. To tell you the truth-- + +CULVER. Always a wise thing to do. + +STRAIGHT. One of my reasons for accepting your son's kind invitation was +that I thought that conceivably you might be willing to help in a great +patriotic scheme of mine. Naturally you show surprise. + +CULVER. Do I? Then I'm expressing myself badly. I'm not in the least +surprised. It is the contrary that would have surprised me. + +STRAIGHT. We may possibly discuss it later. + +CULVER. Later? Why later? Why not at once? I'm full of curiosity. I hate +to let the grass grow under my feet. + +STRAIGHT (_looking at the floor_). Grass? (_With a faint mechanical +laugh_.) Ah yes, I see. Figure of speech. Well, I'm starting a little +limited liability syndicate. + +CULVER. Precisely what I thought. Yes? + +STRAIGHT. The End-the-war Syndicate. + +JOHN (_approaching_). But surely you aren't one of those pacifists, Mr. +Straight! You've always preached fighting it out to a finish. + +STRAIGHT. The object of my syndicate is certainly to fight to a finish, +but to finish in about a week--by means of my little syndicate. + +CULVER. Splendid! But there is one draw-back. New capital issues are +forbidden under the Defence of the Realm Act. + +STRAIGHT. Even when the object is to win the war? + +CULVER. My dear sir, the Treasury would never permit such a thing. + +STRAIGHT. Well, we needn't have a limited company. Perhaps after all it +would be better to keep it quite private. + +CULVER. Oh! It would. And what is the central idea of this charming +syndicate? + +STRAIGHT. The idea is--(_looking round cautiously_)--a new explosive. + +CULVER. Again, precisely what I thought. Your own invention? + +STRAIGHT. No. A friend of mine. It truly is the most marvellous explosive. + +CULVER. I suppose it bangs everything. + +STRAIGHT (_simply_). Oh, it does. A development of trinitrotoluol on new +lines. I needn't say that my interest in the affair is purely patriotic. + +CULVER. Of course. Of course. + +STRAIGHT. I can easily get all the capital I need. + +CULVER. Of course. Of course. + +STRAIGHT. But I'm not in close touch with the official world, and in a +matter of this kind official influence is absolutely essential to +success. Now you _are_ in touch with the official world. I shouldn't ask +you to subscribe, though if you cared to do so there would be no +objection. And I may say that the syndicate can't help making a +tremendous lot of money. When I tell you that the new explosive is +forty-seven times as powerful as trinitrotoluol itself-- + +CULVER. When you tell me that, Mr. Straight, I can only murmur the hope +that you haven't got any of it in your pocket. + +STRAIGHT (_simply_). Oh, no! Please don't be alarmed. But you see the +immense possibilities. You see how this explosive would end the war +practically at once. And you'll understand, of course, that although my +articles in _The Echo_ have apparently caused considerable commotion in +London, and given me a position which I am glad to be able to use for +the service of the Empire, my interest in mere journalism as such has +almost ceased since my friend asked me to be secretary and treasurer of +the syndicate. + +CULVER. And so you're the secretary _and_ treasurer? + +STRAIGHT. Yes. We don't want to have subscribers of less than L100 each. +If you cared to look into the matter--I know you're very busy, but a +mere glance-- + +CULVER. Just so--a mere glance. + +_Enter_ Tranto _excitedly_. + +HILDEGARDE (_nearer the door than the rest_). Again? + +TRANTO (_rather loudly and not specially to_ Hildegarde). Terrible news! +I've just heard and I rushed back to tell you. Sampson Straight has died +very suddenly in Cornwall. Bright's disease. He breathed his last in +his own potato patch. (_Aside to_ Hildegarde, _in response to a gesture +from her_) I'm awfully sorry. The poor fellow simply had to expire. + +MRS. CULVER (_to_ Tranto). Now this just shows how the most absurd +rumours _do_ get abroad! Here _is_ Mr. Sampson Straight. I'm _so_ glad +you've come, because you've always wanted to meet him in the flesh. + +TRANTO (_to_ Straight). Are you Sampson Straight? + +STRAIGHT. I am, sir. + +TRANTO. The Sampson Straight who lives in Cornwall? + +STRAIGHT. Just so. + +TRANTO. Impossible! + +STRAIGHT. Pardon me. One moment. I was told there was a danger of my +being inconvenienced in London by one of these military raids for +rounding up slackers, and as I happen to have a rather youthful +appearance, I took the precaution of bringing with me my +birth-certificate and registration card. (_Produces them_.) + +TRANTO (_glancing at the card_). And it's really you who write those +brilliant articles in _The Echo_? + +STRAIGHT. 'Brilliant'--I won't say. But I do write them. + +TRANTO. Well, this is the most remarkable instance of survival after +death that I ever came across. + +STRAIGHT. I beg your pardon. + +TRANTO. You're dead, my fine fellow. Your place isn't here. You ought to +be in the next world. You're a humbug. + +STRAIGHT (_to_ Mrs. Culver). I'm not quite sure that I understand. Will +you kindly introduce me? + +MRS. CULVER. I'm so sorry. This is Mr. Tranto, proprietor and editor of +_The Echo_--(_apologetically, with an uneasy smile_) a great humourist. + +STRAIGHT (_thunderstruck; aside_). Well, I'm damned! (_His whole +demeanour changes. Nevertheless, while tacitly admitting that he is +found out, he at once resumes his mild calmness. To_ Culver.) I've just +remembered an appointment of vital importance. I'm afraid our little +talk about the syndicate must be adjourned. + +CULVER. I feared you might have to hurry away. + +(Straight _bows as a preliminary to departure_.) + +(John, _deeply humiliated, averts his glance from everybody_.) + +TRANTO. Here! But you can't go off like this. + +STRAIGHT. Why? Have you anything against me? + +TRANTO. Nothing (_casually_) except that you're an impostor. + +STRAIGHT. I fail to see it. + +TRANTO. But haven't you just said that you write those articles in my +paper? + +STRAIGHT. Oh! _That_! Well, of course, if I'd known who you were I +shouldn't have dreamed of saying any such thing. I always try to suit my +talk to my company. + +TRANTO. This time you didn't quite bring it off. + +STRAIGHT. Perhaps I owe you some slight explanation (_looking round +blandly_). + +CULVER. Do you really think so? + +STRAIGHT. The explanation is simplicity itself. (_A sudden impulse_.) +Nothing but that. Put yourselves in my place. I come to London. I hear a +vast deal of chatter about some articles in a paper called _The Echo_ by +some one calling himself 'Sampson Straight.' I also hear that nobody in +London knows who Sampson Straight is. As I happen to _be_ Sampson +Straight, and as I have need of all possible personal prestige for the +success of my purely patriotic mission, it occurs to me--in a flash!--to +assert that I am the author of the famous articles.... Well, what more +natural? + +CULVER. What indeed? + +STRAIGHT (_to_ Tranto). And may I say that I'm the only genuine Sampson +Straight in the United Kingdom, and that in my opinion it was a gross +impertinence on the part of your contributor to steal my name? Why did +you let him do it? + +TRANTO (_beginning reflectively_). Now _I_ hit on that name--not my +contributor. It was when I was down in Cornwall. I caught sight of it in +an old yellow newspaper in an old yellow hotel, and it struck me at once +what a fine signature it would make at the bottom of a slashing article. +By the way, have you ever been in the dock? + +STRAIGHT. Dock? + +TRANTO. I only ask because I seem to remember I saw your splendid name +in a report of the local Assizes. + +STRAIGHT. Assizes? + +TRANTO. A, double s (_pause_) i-z-e-s. + +STRAIGHT. I can afford to be perfectly open. I was--at one period of my +career--in prison, but for a quite respectable crime. Bigamy--with +extenuating circumstances. + +MRS. CULVER (_greatly upset_). Dear, dear! + +STRAIGHT. It might happen to any man. + +CULVER (_looking at_ Mrs. Culver). So it might. + +STRAIGHT. Do you wish to detain me? + +TRANTO. I simply haven't the heart to do it. + +STRAIGHT. Then, ladies and gentlemen, I'll say good morning. + +HILDEGARDE (_stopping_ Straight _near the door as he departs with more +bows_). Good-bye! (_She holds out her hand with a smile_!) And good +luck! + +STRAIGHT (_taking her hand_). Madam, I thank you. You evidently +appreciate the fact that when one lives solely on one's wits, little +mishaps are _bound_ to occur from time to time, and that too much +importance ought not to be attached to them. This is only my third slip, +and I am fifty-five. + +(_Exit, back_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_to_ Hildegarde, _gently surprised_). Darling, surely you +need not have been quite so effusive! + +HILDEGARDE. You see, I thought I owed him something, (_with meaning and +effect_) as it was I who stole his name. + +MRS. CULVER (_utterly puzzled for a moment; then, when she understands, +rushing to_ Hildegarde _and embracing her_). Oh! My wonderful girl! + +JOHN (_feebly and still humiliated_). Stay me with flagons! + +HILDEGARDE (_to her mother_). How nice you are about it, mamma! + +MRS. CULVER. But I'm very proud, my pet. Of course I think you might +have let me into the secret-- + +CULVER. None of us were let into the secret, +Hermione--I mean until comparatively recent times. It was a matter +between Hilda's conscience and her editor. + +MRS. CULVER. Oh! I'm not complaining. I'm so relieved she didn't write +those dreadful cookery articles. + +HILDEGARDE. But do you mean to say you aren't frightfully shocked by my +advanced politics, mamma? + +MRS. CULVER. My child, how naive you are, after all! A woman is never +shocked, though of course at times it may suit her to pretend to be. +Only men are capable of being shocked. As for your advanced politics, as +you call them, can't you see that it doesn't matter what you write so +long as you are admired by the best people. It isn't views that are +disreputable, it's the persons that hold them. + +CULVER. I hope that's why you so gracefully gave way over the baronetcy, +my dear. + +MRS. CULVER (_continuing to_ Hildegarde). There's just one thing I +should venture to suggest, and that is, that you cease at once to be a +typist and employ one yourself instead. It's most essential that you +should live up to your position. Oh! I'm very proud of you. + +HILDEGARDE. I don't quite know what my position is. According to the +latest news I'm dead. (_Challengingly to_ Tranto.) Mr. Tranto, you're +keeping rather quiet, nearly as quiet as John (John _changes his seat_), +but don't you think you owe me some explanation? Not more than a quarter +of an hour ago in this very room it was distinctly agreed between us +that you would not kill Sampson Straight, and now you rush back in a +sort of homicidal mania. + +MRS. CULVER. Oh! I'd no idea Mr. Tranto had called already this morning! + +HILDEGARDE. Yes. I told him all about everything, and we came to a +definite understanding. + +MRS. CULVER. Oh! + +TRANTO. I'm only too anxious to explain. I killed Sampson for the most +urgent of all possible reasons. The Government is thinking of giving him +a baronetcy? + +CULVER. Not _my_ baronetcy? + +TRANTO. Precisely. + +MRS. CULVER. But this is the most terrible thing I ever heard of. + +TRANTO. It is. I met one of my chaps in the street. He was coming here +to see me. (_To_ Culver.) Your answer was expected this morning. It +didn't arrive. Evidently your notions about titles had got abroad, and +the Government has decided to offer a title to Sampson Straight this +afternoon if you refuse. + +CULVER. But how delightfully stupid of the Government. + +TRANTO. On the contrary it was a really brilliant idea. Sampson Straight +is a great literary celebrity, and he'd look mighty well in the Honours +List. Literature's always a good card to play for Honours. It makes +people think that Cabinet Ministers are educated. + +HILDEGARDE. But I've spent half my time in attacking the Government! + +TRANTO. Do you suppose the Government doesn't know that? In creating you +a baronet (_gazes at her_) it would gain two advantages--it would prove +how broad-minded it is, and it would turn an enemy into a friend. + +HILDEGARDE. But surely the silly Government would make some enquiries +first! + +CULVER. Hilda, do remember what your mother said, and try to live up to +your position. This isn't the Government that makes enquiries. It's the +Government that gets things done. + +TRANTO. You perceive the extreme urgency of the crisis. I had to act +instantly. I did act. I slew the fellow on the spot, and his obituary +will be in my late extra. The danger was awful--greater even than I +realised at the moment, because I didn't know till I got back here that +there was a genuine and highly unscrupulous Sampson Straight floating +about. + +MRS. CULVER. Danger? What danger? + +TRANTO. Danger of the Government falling, dear lady. You see, it's like +this. Assuming that the Government offers a baronetcy to Sampson +Straight, and the offer becomes public property, as it infallibly would, +then there are three alternatives. Either the Government has singled out +for honour a person who doesn't exist at all; or it has sought to turn a +woman (_glancing at_ Hilda) into a male creature; or it is holding up to +public admiration an ex-convict. Choose which theory you like. In any +case the exposure would mean the immediate ruin of any Government. + +HILDEGARDE (_to_ Tranto). I always thought you _wanted_ the Government +to fall. + +CULVER. Good heavens, my gifted child! No enlightened and patriotic +person wants the Government to fall. All enlightened and patriotic +persons want the Government to be afraid of falling. There you have the +whole of war politics in a nut-shell. If the British Government fell the +effect on the Allied cause would be bad, and might be extremely bad. But +that's not the real explanation. The real explanation is that no one +wants the Government to fall because no one wants to step into the +Government's shoes. However, thanks to Tranto's masterly presence of +mind in afflicting Sampson with a disease that kills like prussic acid, +the Government can no longer give Sampson a title, and the danger to the +Government is therefore over. + +TRANTO. Over! I wish it was! Supposing the Government doesn't happen to +see my late extra in time! Supposing the offer of a baronetcy to Sampson +Straight goes forth! The mischief will be done. Worst of all, supposing +the only genuine Sampson Straight hears of it and accepts it! A +baronetcy given to a bigamist! No Government could possibly survive the +exposure. + +MRS. CULVER. Not even if its survival was necessary to the success of +the Allied cause? + +CULVER (_gloomily, shaking his head_). My dear, Tranto is right. This +great country has always insisted first of all, and before anything else +whatever, on the unsullied purity of the domestic life of its public +men. Let a baronetcy be given, or even offered, to a bigamist--and this +great country would not hesitate for one second, not one second. + +TRANTO. The danger still exists. And only one man in this world can +avert it. + +CULVER. You don't mean me, Tranto? + +TRANTO. I understand that you have neither accepted nor refused the +offer. You must accept it instantly. Instantly. + +(_A silence_. John _begins to creep towards the door, back, and_ +Hildegarde _towards the door, L_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_firmly_). John, where are you going? + +JOHN. Anywhere. + +MRS. CULVER. Have you still got that letter to Lord Woking in which +your father accepts the title? + +JOHN. Yes. + +MRS. CULVER. Come here. Let me see it. (_She inspects the envelope of +the letter and returns it to_ John.) Yes, that's right. Now listen to +me. Get a taxi at once and drive to Lord Woking's, and insist on seeing +Lord Woking, and give him that letter with your own hand. Do you +understand? (_Exit_ Hildegarde, _L_.) The stamp will be wasted, but +never mind. Fly! + +JOHN. It's a damned shame. (Mrs. Culver _smiles calmly_.) + +CULVER (_shaking_ John's _flaccid hand_). So it is. But let us remember, +my boy, that you and I are--are doing our bit. (_Pushes him violently +towards the door_.) Get along. (_Exit_ John, _back_.) + +TRANTO (_looking round_). Where's Hildegarde? + +MRS. CULVER. She went in there. + +TRANTO. I must just speak to her. + +(_Exit_ Tranto, _L_.) + +MRS. CULVER (_with a gesture towards the door, L_). There's something +between those two. + +CULVER. I doubt it. (_With a sigh_.) + +MRS. CULVER. What do you mean--you doubt it? + +CULVER. They're probably too close together for there to be anything +between them. + +MRS. CULVER (_shakes her head, smiling sceptically_). The new generation +has no romance. (_In a new tone_.) Arthur, kiss me. + +CULVER. I'm dashed if I do! + +MRS. CULVER. Then I'll kiss you! (_She gives him a long kiss_.) + +(_The lunch gong sounds during the embrace. Startled, they separate_.) + +CULVER. Food! + +MRS. CULVER (_with admiring enthusiasm_). You've behaved splendidly. + +CULVER. Yes, that's what you always say when you've won and I--haven't. +(_She kisses him again_.) + +_Enter the_ Parlourmaid, _back_. + +PARLOURMAID. Miss Starkey is still waiting, sir. + +CULVER. Inexorable creature! I won't--I will not--(_suddenly +remembering that he has nothing to fear from_ Miss Starkey; _gaily_). +Yes, I'll see her. She must lunch with us. May she lunch with us, +Hermione? + +MRS. CULVER (_submissively_). Why, Arthur, _of course!_ (_To_ +Parlourmaid.) Miss Starkey can have Master John's place. Some lunch must +be kept warm for Master John. (_As the_ Parlourmaid _is leaving_.) One +moment--bring up some champagne, please. + +PARLOURMAID. Yes, Madam. + +(_Exit_ Parlourmaid.) + +CULVER. Come along, I'm hungry. (_Leading her towards the door. Then +stopping_.) I say.... Oh well, never mind. + +MRS. CULVER. But what? + +CULVER. You're a staggering woman, that's all. (_Exit_ Culver _and_ Mrs. +Culver, _back_.) + +_Enter_ Hildegarde _and_ Tranto. + +HILDEGARDE (_plaintively, as they enter_). I told you my nerves were all +upset, and yet you ran off before I--before I--and now it's lunch time! + +TRANTO (_facing her suddenly_). Hilda! I now give you my defence. (_He +kisses her_.) + +_Enter_ Culver, _back, in time to interrupt the embrace_. + +CULVER. Excuse me. My wife sent me to ask if you'd lunch, Tranto. I +gather that you _will_. + +CURTAIN. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Title, by Arnold Bennett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TITLE *** + +***** This file should be named 12687.txt or 12687.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/6/8/12687/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David McLachlan and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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