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diff --git a/2913-h/2913-h.htm b/2913-h/2913-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..63168a4 --- /dev/null +++ b/2913-h/2913-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4847 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Third Series Plays, THE PIGEON by John Galsworthy + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Project Gutenberg's The Pigeon (Third Series Plays), by John Galsworthy + + 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 Pigeon (Third Series Plays) + + Author: John Galsworthy + + + Release Date: September 26, 2004 [EBook #2913] + Last Updated: October 28, 2012 + + Language: English + + Character set encoding: ASCII + + *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PIGEON (THIRD SERIES PLAYS) *** + + Produced by David Widger +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + <i>GALSWORTHY'S PLAYS</i> + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + <i>Links to All Volumes</i> + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIRST SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2906/2906-h/2906-h.htm"><b>The + Silver Box</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2907/2907-h/2907-h.htm"><b>Joy</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2908/2908-h/2908-h.htm"><b>Strife</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SECOND SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2909/2909-h/2909-h.htm"><b>The + Eldest Son</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2910/2910-h/2910-h.htm"><b>Little + Dream</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2911/2911-h/2911-h.htm"><b>Justice</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE THIRD SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2912/2912-h/2912-h.htm"><b>The + Fugitive</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2913/2913-h/2913-h.htm"><b>The + Pigeon</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2914/2914-h/2914-h.htm"><b>The + Mob</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FOURTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2915/2915-h/2915-h.htm"><b>A + Bit O'Love</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2916/2916-h/2916-h.htm"><b>The + Foundations</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2917/2917-h/2917-h.htm"><b>The + Skin Game</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIFTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4764/4764-h/4764-h.htm"><b>A + Family Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4765/4765-h/4765-h.htm"><b>Loyalties</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4766/4766-h/4766-h.htm"><b>Windows</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SIXTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2918/2918-h/2918-h.htm"><b>The + First and Last</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2919/2919-h/2919-h.htm"><b>The + Little Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2920/2920-h/2920-h.htm"><b>Four + Short Plays</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + <i>GALSWORTHY PLAYS—SERIES 3</i> + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE PIGEON + </h1> + <h3> + A Fantasy in Three Acts + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By John Galsworthy + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> ACT I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> ACT II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ACT III </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> PERSONS OF THE PLAY + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + CHRISTOPHER WELLWYN, an artist + ANN, his daughter + GUINEVERE MEGAN, a flower-seller + RORY MEGAN, her husband + FERRAND, an alien + TIMSON, once a cabman + EDWARD BERTLEY, a Canon + ALFRED CALWAY, a Professor + SIR THOMAS HOXTON, a Justice of the Peace + Also a police constable, three humble-men, and some curious persons +</pre> + <p> + The action passes in Wellwyn's Studio, and the street outside. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ACT I. Christmas Eve. + + ACT II. New Year's Day. + + ACT III. The First of April. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + ACT I + </h2> + <blockquote> + <p> + It is the night of Christmas Eve, the SCENE is a Studio, flush with the + street, having a skylight darkened by a fall of snow. There is no one in + the room, the walls of which are whitewashed, above a floor of bare dark + boards. A fire is cheerfully burning. On a model's platform stands an + easel and canvas. There are busts and pictures; a screen, a little + stool, two arm. chairs, and a long old-fashioned settle under the + window. A door in one wall leads to the house, a door in the opposite + wall to the model's dressing-room, and the street door is in the centre + of the wall between. On a low table a Russian samovar is hissing, and + beside it on a tray stands a teapot, with glasses, lemon, sugar, and a + decanter of rum. Through a huge uncurtained window close to the street + door the snowy lamplit street can be seen, and beyond it the river and a + night of stars. The sound of a latchkey turned in the lock of the street + door, and ANN WELLWYN enters, a girl of seventeen, with hair tied in a + ribbon and covered by a scarf. Leaving the door open, she turns up the + electric light and goes to the fire. She throws of her scarf and long + red cloak. She is dressed in a high evening frock of some soft white + material. Her movements are quick and substantial. Her face, full of no + nonsense, is decided and sincere, with deep-set eyes, and a capable, + well-shaped forehead. Shredding of her gloves she warms her hands. In + the doorway appear the figures of two men. The first is rather short and + slight, with a soft short beard, bright soft eyes, and a crumply face. + Under his squash hat his hair is rather plentiful and rather grey. He + wears an old brown ulster and woollen gloves, and is puffing at a + hand-made cigarette. He is ANN'S father, WELLWYN, the artist. His + companion is a well-wrapped clergyman of medium height and stoutish + build, with a pleasant, rosy face, rather shining eyes, and rather + chubby clean-shaped lips; in appearance, indeed, a grown-up boy. He is + the Vicar of the parish—CANON BERTLEY. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BERTLEY. My dear Wellwyn, the whole question of reform is full of + difficulty. When you have two men like Professor Calway and Sir Thomas + Hoxton taking diametrically opposite points of view, as we've seen + to-night, I confess, I—— + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Come in, Vicar, and have some grog. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Not to-night, thanks! Christmas tomorrow! Great temptation, + though, this room! Goodnight, Wellwyn; good-night, Ann! + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Coming from the fire towards the tea-table.] Good-night, Canon + Bertley. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes out, and WELLWYN, shutting the door after him, approaches the + fire.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. [Sitting on the little stool, with her back to the fire, and making + tea.] Daddy! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. My dear? + </p> + <p> + ANN. You say you liked Professor Calway's lecture. Is it going to do you + any good, that's the question? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. I—I hope so, Ann. + </p> + <p> + ANN. I took you on purpose. Your charity's getting simply awful. Those two + this morning cleared out all my housekeeping money. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Um! Um! I quite understand your feeling. + </p> + <p> + ANN. They both had your card, so I couldn't refuse—didn't know what + you'd said to them. Why don't you make it a rule never to give your card + to anyone except really decent people, and—picture dealers, of + course. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. My dear, I have—often. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Then why don't you keep it? It's a frightful habit. You are naughty, + Daddy. One of these days you'll get yourself into most fearful + complications. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. My dear, when they—when they look at you? + </p> + <p> + ANN. You know the house wants all sorts of things. Why do you speak to + them at all? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. I don't—they speak to me. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He takes of his ulster and hangs it over the back of an arm-chair.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. They see you coming. Anybody can see you coming, Daddy. That's why + you ought to be so careful. I shall make you wear a hard hat. Those + squashy hats of yours are hopelessly inefficient. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Gazing at his hat.] Calway wears one. + </p> + <p> + ANN. As if anyone would beg of Professor Calway. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Well-perhaps not. You know, Ann, I admire that fellow. Wonderful + power of-of-theory! How a man can be so absolutely tidy in his mind! It's + most exciting. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Has any one begged of you to-day? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Doubtfully.] No—no. + </p> + <p> + ANN. [After a long, severe look.] Will you have rum in your tea? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Crestfallen.] Yes, my dear—a good deal. + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Pouring out the rum, and handing him the glass.] Well, who was it? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. He didn't beg of me. [Losing himself in recollection.] + Interesting old creature, Ann—real type. Old cabman. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Where? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Just on the Embankment. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Of course! Daddy, you know the Embankment ones are always rotters. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Yes, my dear; but this wasn't. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Did you give him your card? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. I—I—don't + </p> + <p> + ANN. Did you, Daddy? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. I'm rather afraid I may have! + </p> + <p> + ANN. May have! It's simply immoral. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Well, the old fellow was so awfully human, Ann. Besides, I didn't + give him any money—hadn't got any. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Look here, Daddy! Did you ever ask anybody for anything? You know you + never did, you'd starve first. So would anybody decent. Then, why won't + you see that people who beg are rotters? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. But, my dear, we're not all the same. They wouldn't do it if it + wasn't natural to them. One likes to be friendly. What's the use of being + alive if one isn't? + </p> + <p> + ANN. Daddy, you're hopeless. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. But, look here, Ann, the whole thing's so jolly complicated. + According to Calway, we're to give the State all we can spare, to make the + undeserving deserving. He's a Professor; he ought to know. But old + Hoxton's always dinning it into me that we ought to support private + organisations for helping the deserving, and damn the undeserving. Well, + that's just the opposite. And he's a J.P. Tremendous experience. And the + Vicar seems to be for a little bit of both. Well, what the devil——? + My trouble is, whichever I'm with, he always converts me. [Ruefully.] And + there's no fun in any of them. + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Rising.] Oh! Daddy, you are so—don't you know that you're the + despair of all social reformers? [She envelops him.] There's a tear in the + left knee of your trousers. You're not to wear them again. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Am I likely to? + </p> + <p> + ANN. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if it isn't your only pair. D'you know + what I live in terror of? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN gives her a queer and apprehensive look.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. That you'll take them off some day, and give them away in the street. + Have you got any money? [She feels in his coat, and he his trousers—they + find nothing.] Do you know that your pockets are one enormous hole? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. No! + </p> + <p> + ANN. Spiritually. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! Ah! H'm! + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Severely.] Now, look here, Daddy! [She takes him by his lapels.] + Don't imagine that it isn't the most disgusting luxury on your part to go + on giving away things as you do! You know what you really are, I suppose—a + sickly sentimentalist! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Breaking away from her, disturbed.] It isn't sentiment. It's + simply that they seem to me so—so—jolly. If I'm to give up + feeling sort of—nice in here [he touches his chest] about people—it + doesn't matter who they are—then I don't know what I'm to do. I + shall have to sit with my head in a bag. + </p> + <p> + ANN. I think you ought to. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. I suppose they see I like them—then they tell me things. + After that, of course you can't help doing what you can. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Well, if you will love them up! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. My dear, I don't want to. It isn't them especially—why, I + feel it even with old Calway sometimes. It's only Providence that he + doesn't want anything of me—except to make me like himself—confound + him! + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Moving towards the door into the house—impressively.] What you + don't see is that other people aren't a bit like you. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Well, thank God! + </p> + <p> + ANN. It's so old-fashioned too! I'm going to bed—I just leave you to + your conscience. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Opening the door-severely.] Good-night—[with a certain + weakening] you old—Daddy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She jumps at him, gives him a hug, and goes out.] [WELLWYN stands + perfectly still. He first gazes up at the skylight, then down at the + floor. Slowly he begins to shake his head, and mutter, as he moves + towards the fire.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Bad lot.... Low type—no backbone, no stability! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [There comes a fluttering knock on the outer door. As the sound slowly + enters his consciousness, he begins to wince, as though he knew, but + would not admit its significance. Then he sits down, covering his ears. + The knocking does not cease. WELLWYN drops first one, then both hands, + rises, and begins to sidle towards the door. The knocking becomes + louder.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Ah dear! Tt! Tt! Tt! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [After a look in the direction of ANN's disappearance, he opens the + street door a very little way. By the light of the lamp there can be + seen a young girl in dark clothes, huddled in a shawl to which the snow + is clinging. She has on her arm a basket covered with a bit of sacking.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. I can't, you know; it's impossible. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The girl says nothing, but looks at him with dark eyes.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Wincing.] Let's see—I don't know you—do I? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The girl, speaking in a soft, hoarse voice, with a faint accent of + reproach: "Mrs. Megan—you give me this—-" She holds out a + dirty visiting card.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Recoiling from the card.] Oh! Did I? Ah! When? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. You 'ad some vi'lets off of me larst spring. You give me 'arf + a crown. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A smile tries to visit her face.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Looking stealthily round.] Ah! Well, come in—just for a + minute—it's very cold—and tell us what it is. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She comes in stolidly, a Sphinx-like figure, with her pretty tragic + little face.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. I don't remember you. [Looking closer.] Yes, I do. Only— + you weren't the same-were you? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Dully.] I seen trouble since. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Trouble! Have some tea? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He looks anxiously at the door into the house, then goes quickly to the + table, and pours out a glass of tea, putting rum into it.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Handing her the tea.] Keeps the cold out! Drink it off! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. MEGAN drinks it of, chokes a little, and almost immediately seems + to get a size larger. WELLWYN watches her with his head held on one + side, and a smile broadening on his face.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Cure for all evils, um? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. It warms you. [She smiles.] + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Smiling back, and catching himself out.] Well! You know, I + oughtn't. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Conscious of the disruption of his personality, and + withdrawing into her tragic abyss.] I wouldn't 'a come, but you told me if + I wanted an 'and—— + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Gradually losing himself in his own nature.] Let me see—corner + of Flight Street, wasn't it? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [With faint eagerness.] Yes, sir, an' I told you about me + vi'lets—it was a luvly spring-day. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Beautiful! Beautiful! Birds singing, and the trees, &c.! We + had quite a talk. You had a baby with you. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Yes. I got married since then. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! Ah! Yes! [Cheerfully.] And how's the baby? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Turning to stone.] I lost her. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! poor—- Um! + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Impassive.] You said something abaht makin' a picture of me. + [With faint eagerness.] So I thought I might come, in case you'd + forgotten. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Looking at, her intently.] Things going badly? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Stripping the sacking off her basket.] I keep 'em covered up, + but the cold gets to 'em. Thruppence—that's all I've took. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Ho! Tt! Tt! [He looks into the basket.] Christmas, too! + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. They're dead. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Drawing in his breath.] Got a good husband? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. He plays cards. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh, Lord! And what are you doing out—with a cold like that? + [He taps his chest.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. We was sold up this morning—he's gone off with 'is + mates. Haven't took enough yet for a night's lodgin'. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Correcting a spasmodic dive into his pockets.] But who buys + flowers at this time of night? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. MEGAN looks at him, and faintly smiles.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Rumpling his hair.] Saints above us! Here! Come to the fire! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She follows him to the fire. He shuts the street door.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Are your feet wet? [She nods.] Well, sit down here, and take them + off. That's right. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She sits on the stool. And after a slow look up at him, which has in it + a deeper knowledge than belongs of right to her years, begins taking off + her shoes and stockings. WELLWYN goes to the door into the house, opens + it, and listens with a sort of stealthy casualness. He returns + whistling, but not out loud. The girl has finished taking off her + stockings, and turned her bare toes to the flames. She shuffles them + back under her skirt.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. How old are you, my child? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Nineteen, come Candlemas. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. And what's your name? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Guinevere. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. What? Welsh? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Yes—from Battersea. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. And your husband? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. No. Irish, 'e is. Notting Dale, 'e comes from. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Roman Catholic? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Yes. My 'usband's an atheist as well. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. I see. [Abstractedly.] How jolly! And how old is he—this + young man of yours? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. 'E'll be twenty soon. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Babes in the wood! Does he treat you badly? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. No. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Nor drink? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. No. He's not a bad one. Only he gets playin' cards then 'e'll + fly the kite. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. I see. And when he's not flying it, what does he do? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Touching her basket.] Same as me. Other jobs tires 'im. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. That's very nice! [He checks himself.] Well, what am I to do with + you? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Of course, I could get me night's lodging if I like to do—the + same as some of them. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. No! no! Never, my child! Never! + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. It's easy that way. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Heavens! But your husband! Um? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [With stoical vindictiveness.] He's after one I know of. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Tt! What a pickle! + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. I'll 'ave to walk about the streets. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [To himself.] Now how can I? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. MEGAN looks up and smiles at him, as if she had already discovered + that he is peculiar.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. You see, the fact is, I mustn't give you anything—because + —well, for one thing I haven't got it. There are other reasons, but + that's the—real one. But, now, there's a little room where my models + dress. I wonder if you could sleep there. Come, and see. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The Girl gets up lingeringly, loth to leave the warmth. She takes up + her wet stockings.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Shall I put them on again? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. No, no; there's a nice warm pair of slippers. [Seeing the steam + rising from her.] Why, you're wet all over. Here, wait a little! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He crosses to the door into the house, and after stealthy listening, + steps through. The Girl, like a cat, steals back to the warmth of the + fire. WELLWYN returns with a candle, a canary-coloured bath gown, and + two blankets.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Now then! [He precedes her towards the door of the model's room.] + Hsssh! [He opens the door and holds up the candle to show her the room.] + Will it do? There's a couch. You'll find some washing things. Make + yourself quite at home. See! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The Girl, perfectly dumb, passes through with her basket—and her + shoes and stockings. WELLWYN hands her the candle, blankets, and bath + gown.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Have a good sleep, child! Forget that you're alive! [He closes + the door, mournfully.] Done it again! [He goes to the table, cuts a large + slice of cake, knocks on the door, and hands it in.] Chow-chow! [Then, as + he walks away, he sights the opposite door.] Well—damn it, what + could I have done? Not a farthing on me! [He goes to the street door to + shut it, but first opens it wide to confirm himself in his hospitality.] + Night like this! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A sputter of snow is blown in his face. A voice says: "Monsieur, + pardon!" WELLWYN recoils spasmodically. A figure moves from the + lamp-post to the doorway. He is seen to be young and to have ragged + clothes. He speaks again: "You do not remember me, Monsieur? My name is + Ferrand—it was in Paris, in the Champs-Elysees—by the + fountain.... When you came to the door, Monsieur—I am not made of + iron.... Tenez, here is your card I have never lost it." He holds out to + WELLWYN an old and dirty wing card. As inch by inch he has advanced into + the doorway, the light from within falls on him, a tall gaunt young + pagan with fair hair and reddish golden stubble of beard, a long + ironical nose a little to one side, and large, grey, rather prominent + eyes. There is a certain grace in his figure and movements; his clothes + are nearly dropping off him.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Yielding to a pleasant memory.] Ah! yes. By the fountain. I was + sitting there, and you came and ate a roll, and drank the water. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [With faint eagerness.] My breakfast. I was in poverty— + veree bad off. You gave me ten francs. I thought I had a little the right + [WELLWYN makes a movement of disconcertion] seeing you said that if I came + to England—— + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Um! And so you've come? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. It was time that I consolidated my fortunes, Monsieur. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. And you—have—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He stops embarrassed.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [Shrugging his ragged shoulders.] One is not yet Rothschild. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Sympathetically.] No. [Yielding to memory.] We talked + philosophy. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. I have not yet changed my opinion. We other vagabonds, we are + exploited by the bourgeois. This is always my idea, Monsieur. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Yes—not quite the general view, perhaps! Well—— + [Heartily.] Come in! Very glad to see you again. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Brushing his arms over his eyes.] Pardon, Monsieur—your + goodness—I am a little weak. [He opens his coat, and shows a belt + drawn very tight over his ragged shirt.] I tighten him one hole for each + meal, during two days now. That gives you courage. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [With cooing sounds, pouring out tea, and adding rum.] Have some + of this. It'll buck you up. [He watches the young man drink.] + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Becoming a size larger.] Sometimes I think that I will never + succeed to dominate my life, Monsieur—though I have no vices, except + that I guard always the aspiration to achieve success. But I will not roll + myself under the machine of existence to gain a nothing every day. I must + find with what to fly a little. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Delicately.] Yes; yes—I remember, you found it difficult + to stay long in any particular—yes. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Proudly.] In one little corner? No—Monsieur—never! + That is not in my character. I must see life. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Quite, quite! Have some cake? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He cuts cake.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. In your country they say you cannot eat the cake and have it. But + one must always try, Monsieur; one must never be content. [Refusing the + cake.] 'Grand merci', but for the moment I have no stomach—I have + lost my stomach now for two days. If I could smoke, Monsieur! [He makes + the gesture of smoking.] + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Rather! [Handing his tobacco pouch.] Roll yourself one. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Rapidly rolling a cigarette.] If I had not found you, Monsieur—I + would have been a little hole in the river to-night— I was so + discouraged. [He inhales and puffs a long luxurious whif of smoke. Very + bitterly.] Life! [He disperses the puff of smoke with his finger, and + stares before him.] And to think that in a few minutes HE will be born! + Monsieur! [He gazes intently at WELLWYN.] The world would reproach you for + your goodness to me. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Looking uneasily at the door into the house.] You think so? Ah! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Monsieur, if HE himself were on earth now, there would be a + little heap of gentlemen writing to the journals every day to call Him + sloppee sentimentalist! And what is veree funny, these gentlemen they + would all be most strong Christians. [He regards WELLWYN deeply.] But that + will not trouble you, Monsieur; I saw well from the first that you are no + Christian. You have so kind a face. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! Indeed! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. You have not enough the Pharisee in your character. You do not + judge, and you are judged. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He stretches his limbs as if in pain.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Are you in pain? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. I 'ave a little the rheumatism. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Wet through, of course! [Glancing towards the house.] Wait a bit! + I wonder if you'd like these trousers; they've—er—they're not + quite—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He passes through the door into the house. FERRAND stands at the fire, + with his limbs spread as it were to embrace it, smoking with + abandonment. WELLWYN returns stealthily, dressed in a Jaeger + dressing-gown, and bearing a pair of drawers, his trousers, a pair of + slippers, and a sweater.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Speaking in a low voice, for the door is still open.] Can you + make these do for the moment? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. 'Je vous remercie', Monsieur. [Pointing to the screen.] May I + retire? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Yes, yes. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [FERRAND goes behind the screen. WELLWYN closes the door into the house, + then goes to the window to draw the curtains. He suddenly recoils and + stands petrified with doubt.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Good Lord! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [There is the sound of tapping on glass. Against the window-pane is + pressed the face of a man. WELLWYN motions to him to go away. He does + not go, but continues tapping. WELLWYN opens the door. There enters a + square old man, with a red, pendulous jawed, shaking face under a snow + besprinkled bowler hat. He is holding out a visiting card with tremulous + hand.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Who's that? Who are you? + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [In a thick, hoarse, shaking voice.] 'Appy to see you, sir; we 'ad + a talk this morning. Timson—I give you me name. You invited of me, + if ye remember. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. It's a little late, really. + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. Well, ye see, I never expected to 'ave to call on yer. I was + 'itched up all right when I spoke to yer this mornin', but bein' + Christmas, things 'ave took a turn with me to-day. [He speaks with + increasing thickness.] I'm reg'lar disgusted—not got the price of a + bed abaht me. Thought you wouldn't like me to be delicate—not at my + age. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [With a mechanical and distracted dive of his hands into his + pockets.] The fact is, it so happens I haven't a copper on me. + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Evidently taking this for professional refusal.] Wouldn't arsk + you if I could 'elp it. 'Ad to do with 'orses all me life. It's this 'ere + cold I'm frightened of. I'm afraid I'll go to sleep. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Well, really, I—— + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. To be froze to death—I mean—it's awkward. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Puzzled and unhappy.] Well—come in a moment, and let's— + think it out. Have some tea! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He pours out the remains of the tea, and finding there is not very + much, adds rum rather liberally. TIMSON, who walks a little wide at the + knees, steadying his gait, has followed.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TIMSON. [Receiving the drink.] Yer 'ealth. 'Ere's—soberiety! [He + applies the drink to his lips with shaking hand. Agreeably surprised.] + Blimey! Thish yer tea's foreign, ain't it? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Reappearing from behind the screen in his new clothes of which + the trousers stop too soon.] With a needle, Monsieur, I would soon have + with what to make face against the world. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Too short! Ah! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes to the dais on which stands ANN's workbasket, and takes from it + a needle and cotton.] [While he is so engaged FERRAND is sizing up old + TIMSON, as one dog will another. The old man, glass in hand, seems to + have lapsed into coma.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [Indicating TIMSON] Monsieur! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He makes the gesture of one drinking, and shakes his head.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Handing him the needle and cotton.] Um! Afraid so! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They approach TIMSON, who takes no notice.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [Gently.] It is an old cabby, is it not, Monsieur? 'Ceux sont + tous des buveurs'. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Concerned at the old man's stupefaction.] Now, my old friend, + sit down a moment. [They manoeuvre TIMSON to the settle.] Will you smoke? + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [In a drowsy voice.] Thank 'ee-smoke pipe of 'baccer. Old 'orse—standin' + abaht in th' cold. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He relapses into coma.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [With a click of his tongue.] 'Il est parti'. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Doubtfully.] He hasn't really left a horse outside, do you + think? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Non, non, Monsieur—no 'orse. He is dreaming. I know very + well that state of him—that catches you sometimes. It is the warmth + sudden on the stomach. He will speak no more sense to-night. At the most, + drink, and fly a little in his past. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Poor old buffer! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Touching, is it not, Monsieur? There are many brave gents among + the old cabbies—they have philosophy—that comes from 'orses, + and from sitting still. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Touching TIMSON's shoulder.] Drenched! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. That will do 'im no 'arm, Monsieur-no 'arm at all. He is well wet + inside, remember—it is Christmas to-morrow. Put him a rug, if you + will, he will soon steam. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN takes up ANN's long red cloak, and wraps it round the old man.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TIMSON. [Faintly roused.] Tha's right. Put—the rug on th' old 'orse. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He makes a strange noise, and works his head and tongue.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Alarmed.] What's the matter with him? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. It is nothing, Monsieur; for the moment he thinks 'imself a + 'orse. 'Il joue "cache-cache,"' 'ide and seek, with what you call— + 'is bitt. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. But what's to be done with him? One can't turn him out in this + state. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. If you wish to leave him 'ere, Monsieur, have no fear. I charge + myself with him. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! [Dubiously.] You—er—I really don't know, I—hadn't + contemplated—You think you could manage if I—if I went to bed? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. But certainly, Monsieur. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Still dubiously.] You—you're sure you've everything you + want? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Bowing.] 'Mais oui, Monsieur'. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. I don't know what I can do by staying. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. There is nothing you can do, Monsieur. Have confidence in me. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Well-keep the fire up quietly—very quietly. You'd better + take this coat of mine, too. You'll find it precious cold, I expect, about + three o'clock. [He hands FERRAND his Ulster.] + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Taking it.] I shall sleep in praying for you, Monsieur. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Ah! Yes! Thanks! Well-good-night! By the way, I shall be down + rather early. Have to think of my household a bit, you know. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. 'Tres bien, Monsieur'. I comprehend. One must well be regular in + this life. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [With a start.] Lord! [He looks at the door of the model's room.] + I'd forgotten—— + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Can I undertake anything, Monsieur? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. No, no! [He goes to the electric light switch by the outer door.] + You won't want this, will you? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. 'Merci, Monsieur'. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN switches off the light.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. 'Bon soir, Monsieur'! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. The devil! Er—good-night! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He hesitates, rumples his hair, and passes rather suddenly away.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [To himself.] Poor pigeon! [Looking long at old TIMSON] 'Espece + de type anglais!' + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He sits down in the firelight, curls up a foot on his knee, and taking + out a knife, rips the stitching of a turned-up end of trouser, pinches + the cloth double, and puts in the preliminary stitch of a new hem—all + with the swiftness of one well-accustomed. Then, as if hearing a sound + behind him, he gets up quickly and slips behind the screen. MRS. MEGAN, + attracted by the cessation of voices, has opened the door, and is + creeping from the model's room towards the fire. She has almost reached + it before she takes in the torpid crimson figure of old TIMSON. She + halts and puts her hand to her chest—a queer figure in the + firelight, garbed in the canary-coloured bath gown and rabbit's-wool + slippers, her black matted hair straggling down on her neck. Having + quite digested the fact that the old man is in a sort of stupor, MRS. + MEGAN goes close to the fire, and sits on the little stool, smiling + sideways at old TIMSON. FERRAND, coming quietly up behind, examines her + from above, drooping his long nose as if enquiring with it as to her + condition in life; then he steps back a yard or two.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [Gently.] 'Pardon, Ma'moiselle'. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Springing to her feet.] Oh! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. All right, all right! We are brave gents! + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Faintly roused.] 'Old up, there! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Trust in me, Ma'moiselle! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. MEGAN responds by drawing away.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [Gently.] We must be good comrades. This asylum—it is + better than a doss-'ouse. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He pushes the stool over towards her, and seats himself. Somewhat + reassured, MRS. MEGAN again sits down.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. You frightened me. + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Unexpectedly-in a drowsy tone.] Purple foreigners! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Pay no attention, Ma'moiselle. He is a philosopher. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Oh! I thought 'e was boozed. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They both look at TIMSON] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. It is the same-veree 'armless. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. What's that he's got on 'im? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. It is a coronation robe. Have no fear, Ma'moiselle. Veree docile + potentate. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. I wouldn't be afraid of him. [Challenging FERRAND.] I'm afraid + o' you. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. It is because you do not know me, Ma'moiselle. You are wrong, it + is always the unknown you should love. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. I don't like the way you-speaks to me. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Ah! You are a Princess in disguise? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. No fear! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. No? What is it then you do to make face against the necessities + of life? A living? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Sells flowers. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Rolling his eyes.] It is not a career. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [With a touch of devilry.] You don't know what I do. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Ma'moiselle, whatever you do is charming. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. MEGAN looks at him, and slowly smiles.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. You're a foreigner. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. It is true. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. What do you do for a livin'? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. I am an interpreter. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. You ain't very busy, are you? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [With dignity.] At present I am resting. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Looking at him and smiling.] How did you and 'im come here? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Ma'moiselle, we would ask you the same question. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. The gentleman let me. 'E's funny. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. 'C'est un ange' [At MRS. MEGAN's blank stare he interprets.] An + angel! + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Me luck's out-that's why I come. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Rising.] Ah! Ma'moiselle! Luck! There is the little God who + dominates us all. Look at this old! [He points to TIMSON.] He is finished. + In his day that old would be doing good business. He could afford himself—[He + maker a sign of drinking.]—Then come the motor cars. All goes—he + has nothing left, only 'is 'abits of a 'cocher'! Luck! + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [With a vague gesture—drowsily.] Kick the foreign beggars + out. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. A real Englishman.... And look at me! My father was merchant of + ostrich feathers in Brussels. If I had been content to go in his business, + I would 'ave been rich. But I was born to roll—"rolling stone" to + voyage is stronger than myself. Luck!... And you, Ma'moiselle, shall I + tell your fortune? [He looks in her face.] You were born for 'la joie de + vivre'—to drink the wines of life. 'Et vous voila'! Luck! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Though she does not in the least understand what he has said, her + expression changes to a sort of glee.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. Yes. You were born loving pleasure. Is it not? You see, you + cannot say, No. All of us, we have our fates. Give me your hand. [He + kneels down and takes her hand.] In each of us there is that against which + we cannot struggle. Yes, yes! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He holds her hand, and turns it over between his own. MRS. MEGAN + remains stolid, half fascinated, half-reluctant.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TIMSON. [Flickering into consciousness.] Be'ave yourselves! Yer crimson + canary birds! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. MEGAN would withdraw her hand, but cannot.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. Pay no attention, Ma'moiselle. He is a Puritan. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [TIMSON relapses into comatosity, upsetting his glass, which falls with + a crash.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Let go my hand, please! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Relinquishing it, and staring into the fore gravely.] There is + one thing I have never done—'urt a woman—that is hardly in my + character. [Then, drawing a little closer, he looks into her face.] Tell + me, Ma'moiselle, what is it you think of all day long? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. I dunno—lots, I thinks of. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Shall I tell you? [Her eyes remain fixed on his, the strangeness + of him preventing her from telling him to "get along." He goes on in his + ironic voice.] It is of the streets—the lights— the faces—it + is of all which moves, and is warm—it is of colour—it is [he + brings his face quite close to hers] of Love. That is for you what the + road is for me. That is for you what the rum is for that old—[He + jerks his thumb back at TIMSON. Then bending swiftly forward to the girl.] + See! I kiss you—Ah! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He draws her forward off the stool. There is a little struggle, then + she resigns her lips. The little stool, overturned, falls with a + clatter. They spring up, and move apart. The door opens and ANN enters + from the house in a blue dressing-gown, with her hair loose, and a + candle held high above her head. Taking in the strange half-circle round + the stove, she recoils. Then, standing her ground, calls in a voice + sharpened by fright: "Daddy—Daddy!"] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TIMSON. [Stirring uneasily, and struggling to his feet.] All right! I'm + comin'! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Have no fear, Madame! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [In the silence that follows, a clock begins loudly striking twelve. ANN + remains, as if carved in atone, her eyes fastened on the strangers. + There is the sound of someone falling downstairs, and WELLWYN appears, + also holding a candle above his head.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. Look! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Yes, yes, my dear! It—it happened. + </p> + <p> + ANN. [With a sort of groan.] Oh! Daddy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [In the renewed silence, the church clock ceases to chime.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [Softly, in his ironic voice.] HE is come, Monsieur! 'Appy + Christmas! Bon Noel! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [There is a sudden chime of bells. The Stage is blotted dark.] Curtain. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT II + </h2> + <p> + It is four o'clock in the afternoon of New Year's Day. On the raised dais + MRS. MEGAN is standing, in her rags; with bare feet and ankles, her dark + hair as if blown about, her lips parted, holding out a dishevelled bunch + of violets. Before his easel, WELLWYN is painting her. Behind him, at a + table between the cupboard and the door to the model's room, TIMSON is + washing brushes, with the movements of one employed upon relief works. The + samovar is hissing on the table by the stove, the tea things are set out. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Open your mouth. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. MEGAN opens her mouth.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. [In hat and coat, entering from the house.] Daddy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN goes to her; and, released from restraint, MRS. MEGAN looks + round at TIMSON and grimaces.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Well, my dear? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They speak in low voices.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. [Holding out a note.] This note from Canon Bentley. He's going to + bring her husband here this afternoon. [She looks at MRS. MEGAN.] + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! [He also looks at MRS. MEGAN.] + </p> + <p> + ANN. And I met Sir Thomas Hoxton at church this morning, and spoke to him + about Timson. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Um! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They look at TIMSON. Then ANN goes back to the door, and WELLWYN + follows her.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. [Turning.] I'm going round now, Daddy, to ask Professor Calway what + we're to do with that Ferrand. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! One each! I wonder if they'll like it. + </p> + <p> + ANN. They'll have to lump it. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She goes out into the house.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Back at his easel.] You can shut your mouth now. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. MEGAN shuts her mouth, but opens it immediately to smile.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Spasmodically.] Ah! Now that's what I want. [He dabs furiously + at the canvas. Then standing back, runs his hands through his hair and + turns a painter's glance towards the skylight.] Dash! Light's gone! Off + you get, child—don't tempt me! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. MEGAN descends. Passing towards the door of the model's room she + stops, and stealthily looks at the picture.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TIMSON. Ah! Would yer! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Wheeling round.] Want to have a look? Well—come on! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He takes her by the arm, and they stand before the canvas. After a + stolid moment, she giggles.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! You think so? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Who has lost her hoarseness.] It's not like my picture that I + had on the pier. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. No-it wouldn't be. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Timidly.] If I had an 'at on, I'd look better. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. With feathers? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Yes. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Well, you can't! I don't like hats, and I don't like feathers. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. MEGAN timidly tugs his sleeve. TIMSON, screened as he thinks by + the picture, has drawn from his bulky pocket a bottle and is taking a + stealthy swig.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [To MRS. MEGAN, affecting not to notice.] How much do I owe you? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [A little surprised.] You paid me for to-day-all 'cept a + penny. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Well! Here it is. [He gives her a coin.] Go and get your feet on! + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. You've give me 'arf a crown. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Cut away now! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. MEGAN, smiling at the coin, goes towards the model's room. She + looks back at WELLWYN, as if to draw his eyes to her, but he is gazing + at the picture; then, catching old TIMSON'S sour glance, she grimaces at + him, kicking up her feet with a little squeal. But when WELLWYN turns to + the sound, she is demurely passing through the doorway.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TIMSON. [In his voice of dubious sobriety.] I've finished these yer + brushes, sir. It's not a man's work. I've been thinkin' if you'd keep an + 'orse, I could give yer satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Would the horse, Timson? + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Looking him up and down.] I knows of one that would just suit + yer. Reel 'orse, you'd like 'im. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Shaking his head.] Afraid not, Timson! Awfully sorry, though, to + have nothing better for you than this, at present. + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Faintly waving the brushes.] Of course, if you can't afford it, I + don't press you—it's only that I feel I'm not doing meself justice. + [Confidentially.] There's just one thing, sir; I can't bear to see a + gen'leman imposed on. That foreigner—'e's not the sort to 'ave about + the place. Talk? Oh! ah! But 'e'll never do any good with 'imself. He's a + alien. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Terrible misfortune to a fellow, Timson. + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. Don't you believe it, sir; it's his fault I says to the young lady + yesterday: Miss Ann, your father's a gen'leman [with a sudden accent of + hoarse sincerity], and so you are—I don't mind sayin' it—but, + I said, he's too easy-goin'. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Indeed! + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. Well, see that girl now! [He shakes his head.] I never did believe + in goin' behind a person's back—I'm an Englishman—but + [lowering his voice] she's a bad hat, sir. Why, look at the street she + comes from! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! you know it. + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. Lived there meself larst three years. See the difference a few + days' corn's made in her. She's that saucy you can't touch 'er head. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Is there any necessity, Timson? + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. Artful too. Full o' vice, I call'er. Where's 'er 'usband? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Gravely.] Come, Timson! You wouldn't like her to—— + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [With dignity, so that the bottle in his pocket is plainly + visible.] I'm a man as always beared inspection. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [With a well-directed smile.] So I see. + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Curving himself round the bottle.] It's not for me to say nothing—but + I can tell a gen'leman as quick as ever I can tell an 'orse. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Painting.] I find it safest to assume that every man is a + gentleman, and every woman a lady. Saves no end of self-contempt. Give me + the little brush. + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Handing him the brush—after a considerable introspective + pause.] Would yer like me to stay and wash it for yer again? [With great + resolution.] I will—I'll do it for you—never grudged workin' + for a gen'leman. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [With sincerity.] Thank you, Timson—very good of you, I'm + sure. [He hands him back the brush.] Just lend us a hand with this. + [Assisted by TIMSON he pushes back the dais.] Let's see! What do I owe + you? + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Reluctantly.] It so 'appens, you advanced me to-day's yesterday. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Then I suppose you want to-morrow's? + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. Well, I 'ad to spend it, lookin' for a permanent job. When you've + got to do with 'orses, you can't neglect the publics, or you might as well + be dead. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Quite so! + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. It mounts up in the course o' the year. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. It would. [Passing him a coin.] This is for an exceptional + purpose—Timson—see. Not—— + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Touching his forehead.] Certainly, sir. I quite understand. I'm + not that sort, as I think I've proved to yer, comin' here regular day + after day, all the week. There's one thing, I ought to warn you perhaps—I + might 'ave to give this job up any day. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He makes a faint demonstration with the little brush, then puts it, + absent-mindedly, into his pocket.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Gravely.] I'd never stand in the way of your bettering yourself, + Timson. And, by the way, my daughter spoke to a friend about you to-day. I + think something may come of it. + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. Oh! Oh! She did! Well, it might do me a bit o' good. [He makes for + the outer door, but stops.] That foreigner! 'E sticks in my gizzard. It's + not as if there wasn't plenty o' pigeons for 'im to pluck in 'is own + Gawd-forsaken country. Reg-lar jay, that's what I calls 'im. I could tell + yer something—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He has opened the door, and suddenly sees that FERRAND himself is + standing there. Sticking out his lower lip, TIMSON gives a roll of his + jaw and lurches forth into the street. Owing to a slight miscalculation, + his face and raised arms are plainly visible through the window, as he + fortifies himself from his battle against the cold. FERRAND, having + closed the door, stands with his thumb acting as pointer towards this + spectacle. He is now remarkably dressed in an artist's squashy green + hat, a frock coat too small for him, a bright blue tie of knitted silk, + the grey trousers that were torn, well-worn brown boots, and a tan + waistcoat.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. What luck to-day? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [With a shrug.] Again I have beaten all London, Monsieur —not + one bite. [Contemplating himself.] I think perhaps, that, for the + bourgeoisie, there is a little too much colour in my costume. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Contemplating him.] Let's see—I believe I've an old top + hat somewhere. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Ah! Monsieur, 'merci', but that I could not. It is scarcely in my + character. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. True! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. I have been to merchants of wine, of tabac, to hotels, to + Leicester Square. I have been to a Society for spreading Christian + knowledge—I thought there I would have a chance perhaps as + interpreter. 'Toujours meme chose', we regret, we have no situation for + you—same thing everywhere. It seems there is nothing doing in this + town. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. I've noticed, there never is. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. I was thinking, Monsieur, that in aviation there might be a + career for me—but it seems one must be trained. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Afraid so, Ferrand. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Approaching the picture.] Ah! You are always working at this. + You will have something of very good there, Monsieur. You wish to fix the + type of wild savage existing ever amongst our high civilisation. 'C'est + tres chic ca'! [WELLWYN manifests the quiet delight of an English artist + actually understood.] In the figures of these good citizens, to whom she + offers her flower, you would give the idea of all the cage doors open to + catch and make tame the wild bird, that will surely die within. 'Tres + gentil'! Believe me, Monsieur, you have there the greatest comedy of life! + How anxious are the tame birds to do the wild birds good. [His voice + changes.] For the wild birds it is not funny. There is in some human + souls, Monsieur, what cannot be made tame. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. I believe you, Ferrand. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The face of a young man appears at the window, unseen. Suddenly ANN + opens the door leading to the house.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. Daddy—I want you. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [To FERRAND.] Excuse me a minute! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes to his daughter, and they pass out. FERRAND remains at the + picture. MRS. MEGAN dressed in some of ANN's discarded garments, has + come out of the model's room. She steals up behind FERRAND like a cat, + reaches an arm up, and curls it round his mouth. He turns, and tries to + seize her; she disingenuously slips away. He follows. The chase circles + the tea table. He catches her, lifts her up, swings round with her, so + that her feet fly out; kisses her bent-back face, and sets her down. She + stands there smiling. The face at the window darkens.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. La Valse! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He takes her with both hands by the waist, she puts her hands against + his shoulders to push him of—and suddenly they are whirling. As + they whirl, they bob together once or twice, and kiss. Then, with a + warning motion towards the door, she wrenches herself free, and stops + beside the picture, trying desperately to appear demure. WELLWYN and ANN + have entered. The face has vanished.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [Pointing to the picture.] One does not comprehend all this, + Monsieur, without well studying. I was in train to interpret for + Ma'moiselle the chiaroscuro. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [With a queer look.] Don't take it too seriously, Ferrand. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. It is a masterpiece. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. My daughter's just spoken to a friend, Professor Calway. He'd + like to meet you. Could you come back a little later? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Certainly, Ma'moiselle. That will be an opening for me, I trust. + [He goes to the street door.] + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Paying no attention to him.] Mrs. Megan, will you too come back in + half an hour? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. 'Tres bien, Ma'moiselle'! I will see that she does. We will take + a little promenade together. That will do us good. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He motions towards the door; MRS. MEGAN, all eyes, follows him out.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. Oh! Daddy, they are rotters. Couldn't you see they were having the + most high jinks? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [At his picture.] I seemed to have noticed something. + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Preparing for tea.] They were kissing. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Tt! Tt! + </p> + <p> + ANN. They're hopeless, all three—especially her. Wish I hadn't given + her my clothes now. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Absorbed.] Something of wild-savage. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Thank goodness it's the Vicar's business to see that married people + live together in his parish. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! [Dubiously.] The Megans are Roman Catholic-Atheists, Ann. + </p> + <p> + ANN. [With heat.] Then they're all the more bound. [WELLWYN gives a sudden + and alarmed whistle.] + </p> + <p> + ANN. What's the matter? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Didn't you say you spoke to Sir Thomas, too. Suppose he comes in + while the Professor's here. They're cat and dog. + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Blankly.] Oh! [As WELLWYN strikes a match.] The samovar is lighted. + [Taking up the nearly empty decanter of rum and going to the cupboard.] + It's all right. He won't. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. We'll hope not. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He turns back to his picture.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. [At the cupboard.] Daddy! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Hi! + </p> + <p> + ANN. There were three bottles. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! + </p> + <p> + ANN. Well! Now there aren't any. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Abstracted.] That'll be Timson. + </p> + <p> + ANN. [With real horror.] But it's awful! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. It is, my dear. + </p> + <p> + ANN. In seven days. To say nothing of the stealing. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Vexed.] I blame myself-very much. Ought to have kept it locked + up. + </p> + <p> + ANN. You ought to keep him locked up! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [There is heard a mild but authoritative knock.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Here's the Vicar! + </p> + <p> + ANN. What are you going to do about the rum? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Opening the door to CANON BERTLEY.] Come in, Vicar! Happy New + Year! + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Same to you! Ah! Ann! I've got into touch with her young husband—he's + coming round. + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Still a little out of her plate.] Thank Go—-Moses! + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. [Faintly surprised.] From what I hear he's not really a bad + youth. Afraid he bets on horses. The great thing, WELLWYN, with those poor + fellows is to put your finger on the weak spot. + </p> + <p> + ANN. [To herself-gloomily.] That's not difficult. What would you do, Canon + Bertley, with a man who's been drinking father's rum? + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Remove the temptation, of course. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. He's done that. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Ah! Then—[WELLWYN and ANN hang on his words] then I should—er— + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Abruptly.] Remove him. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Before I say that, Ann, I must certainly see the individual. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Pointing to the window.] There he is! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [In the failing light TIMSON'S face is indeed to be seen pressed against + the window pane.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. Daddy, I do wish you'd have thick glass put in. It's so disgusting to + be spied at! [WELLWYN going quickly to the door, has opened it.] What do + you want? [TIMSON enters with dignity. He is fuddled.] + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Slowly.] Arskin' yer pardon-thought it me duty to come back-found + thish yer little brishel on me. [He produces the little paint brush.] + </p> + <p> + ANN. [In a deadly voice.] Nothing else? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [TIMSON accords her a glassy stare.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Taking the brush hastily.] That'll do, Timson, thanks! + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. As I am 'ere, can I do anything for yer? + </p> + <p> + ANN. Yes, you can sweep out that little room. [She points to the model's + room.] There's a broom in there. + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Disagreeably surprised.] Certainly; never make bones about a + little extra—never 'ave in all me life. Do it at onsh, I will. [He + moves across to the model's room at that peculiar broad gait so perfectly + adjusted to his habits.] You quite understand me —couldn't bear to + 'ave anything on me that wasn't mine. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He passes out.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. Old fraud! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. "In" and "on." Mark my words, he'll restore the—bottles. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. But, my dear WELLWYN, that is stealing. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. We all have our discrepancies, Vicar. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Daddy! Discrepancies! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Well, Ann, my theory is that as regards solids Timson's an + Individualist, but as regards liquids he's a Socialist... or 'vice versa', + according to taste. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. No, no, we mustn't joke about it. [Gravely.] I do think he should + be spoken to. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Yes, but not by me. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Surely you're the proper person. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Shaking his head.] It was my rum, Vicar. Look so personal. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [There sound a number of little tat-tat knocks.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Isn't that the Professor's knock? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [While Ann sits down to make tea, he goes to the door and opens it. + There, dressed in an ulster, stands a thin, clean-shaved man, with a + little hollow sucked into either cheek, who, taking off a grey squash + hat, discloses a majestically bald forehead, which completely dominates + all that comes below it.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Come in, Professor! So awfully good of you! You know Canon + Bentley, I think? + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. Ah! How d'you do? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Your opinion will be invaluable, Professor. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Tea, Professor Calway? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They have assembled round the tea table.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CALWAY. Thank you; no tea; milk. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Rum? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He pours rum into CALWAY's milk.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CALWAY. A little-thanks! [Turning to ANN.] You were going to show me some + one you're trying to rescue, or something, I think. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Oh! Yes. He'll be here directly—simply perfect rotter. + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. [Smiling.] Really! Ah! I think you said he was a congenital? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [With great interest.] What! + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Low.] Daddy! [To CALWAY.] Yes; I—I think that's what you call + him. + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. Not old? + </p> + <p> + ANN. No; and quite healthy—a vagabond. + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. [Sipping.] I see! Yes. Is it, do you think chronic unemployment + with a vagrant tendency? Or would it be nearer the mark to say: Vagrancy—— + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Pure! Oh! pure! Professor. Awfully human. + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. [With a smile of knowledge.] Quite! And—er—— + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Breaking in.] Before he comes, there's another—— + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. [Blandly.] Yes, when you came in, we were discussing what should + be done with a man who drinks rum—[CALWAY pauses in the act of + drinking]—that doesn't belong to him. + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. Really! Dipsomaniac? + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Well—perhaps you could tell us—drink certainly + changing thine to mine. The Professor could see him, WELLWYN? + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Rising.] Yes, do come and look at him, Professor CALWAY. He's in + there. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She points towards the model's room. CALWAY smiles deprecatingly.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. No, really; we needn't open the door. You can see him through the + glass. He's more than half—— + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. Well, I hardly—— + </p> + <p> + ANN. Oh! Do! Come on, Professor CALWAY! We must know what to do with him. + [CALWAY rises.] You can stand on a chair. It's all science. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She draws CALWAY to the model's room, which is lighted by a glass panel + in the top of the high door. CANON BERTLEY also rises and stands + watching. WELLWYN hovers, torn between respect for science and dislike + of espionage.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. [Drawing up a chair.] Come on! + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. Do you seriously wish me to? + </p> + <p> + ANN. Rather! It's quite safe; he can't see you. + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. But he might come out. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [ANN puts her back against the door. CALWAY mounts the chair dubiously, + and raises his head cautiously, bending it more and more downwards.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. Well? + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. He appears to be—-sitting on the floor. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Yes, that's all right! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [BERTLEY covers his lips.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CALWAY. [To ANN—descending.] By the look of his face, as far as one + can see it, I should say there was a leaning towards mania. I know the + treatment. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [There come three loud knocks on the door. WELLWYN and ANN exchange a + glance of consternation.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. Who's that? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. It sounds like Sir Thomas. + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. Sir Thomas Hoxton? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Nodding.] Awfully sorry, Professor. You see, we—— + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. Not at all. Only, I must decline to be involved in argument with + him, please. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. He has experience. We might get his opinion, don't you think? + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. On a point of reform? A J.P.! + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. [Deprecating.] My dear Sir—we needn't take it. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The three knocks resound with extraordinary fury.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. You'd better open the door, Daddy. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN opens the door. SIR, THOMAS HOXTON is disclosed in a fur + overcoat and top hat. His square, well-coloured face is remarkable for a + massive jaw, dominating all that comes above it. His Voice is resolute.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HOXTON. Afraid I didn't make myself heard. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. So good of you to come, Sir Thomas. Canon Bertley! [They greet.] + Professor CALWAY you know, I think. + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. [Ominously.] I do. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They almost greet. An awkward pause.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. [Blurting it out.] That old cabman I told you of's been drinking + father's rum. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. We were just discussing what's to be done with him, Sir Thomas. + One wants to do the very best, of course. The question of reform is always + delicate. + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. I beg your pardon. There is no question here. + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. [Abruptly.] Oh! Is he in the house? + </p> + <p> + ANN. In there. + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. Works for you, eh? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Er—yes. + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. Let's have a look at him! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [An embarrassed pause.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BERTLEY. Well—the fact is, Sir Thomas—— + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. When last under observation—— + </p> + <p> + ANN. He was sitting on the floor. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. I don't want the old fellow to feel he's being made a show of. + Disgusting to be spied at, Ann. + </p> + <p> + ANN. You can't, Daddy! He's drunk. + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. Never mind, Miss WELLWYN. Hundreds of these fellows before me in + my time. [At CALWAY.] The only thing is a sharp lesson! + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. I disagree. I've seen the man; what he requires is steady control, + and the bobbins treatment. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN approaches them with fearful interest.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HOXTON. Not a bit of it! He wants one for his knob! Brace 'em up! It's the + only thing. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Personally, I think that if he were spoken to seriously + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. I cannot walk arm in arm with a crab! + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. [Approaching CALWAY.] I beg your pardon? + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. [Moving back a little.] You're moving backwards, Sir Thomas. I've + told you before, convinced reactionaryism, in these days—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [There comes a single knock on the street door.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BERTLEY. [Looking at his watch.] D'you know, I'm rather afraid this may be + our young husband, WELLWYN. I told him half-past four. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! Ah! Yes. [Going towards the two reformers.] Shall we go into + the house, Professor, and settle the question quietly while the Vicar sees + a young man? + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. [Pale with uncompleted statement, and gravitating insensibly in + the direction indicated.] The merest sense of continuity—a simple + instinct for order—— + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. [Following.] The only way to get order, sir, is to bring the + disorderly up with a round turn. [CALWAY turns to him in the doorway.] You + people without practical experience—— + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. If you'll listen to me a minute. + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. I can show you in a mo—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They vanish through the door.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. I was afraid of it. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. The two points of view. Pleasant to see such keenness. I may want + you, WELLWYN. And Ann perhaps had better not be present. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Relieved.] Quite so! My dear! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [ANN goes reluctantly. WELLWYN opens the street door. The lamp outside + has just been lighted, and, by its gleam, is seen the figure of RORY + MEGAN, thin, pale, youthful. ANN turning at the door into the house + gives him a long, inquisitive look, then goes.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Is that Megan? + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. Yus. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Come in. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MEGAN comes in. There follows an awkward silence, during which WELLWYN + turns up the light, then goes to the tea table and pours out a glass of + tea and rum.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BERTLEY. [Kindly.] Now, my boy, how is it that you and your wife are + living apart like this? + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. I dunno. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Well, if you don't, none of us are very likely to, are we? + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. That's what I thought, as I was comin' along. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Twinkling.] Have some tea, Megan? [Handing him the glass.] What + d'you think of her picture? 'Tisn't quite finished. + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. [After scrutiny.] I seen her look like it—once. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Good! When was that? + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. [Stoically.] When she 'ad the measles. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He drinks.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Ruminating.] I see—yes. I quite see feverish! + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. My dear WELLWYN, let me—[To, MEGAN.] Now, I hope you're + willing to come together again, and to maintain her? + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. If she'll maintain me. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Oh! but—I see, you mean you're in the same line of + business? + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. Yus. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. And lean on each other. Quite so! + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. I leans on 'er mostly—with 'er looks. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Indeed! Very interesting—that! + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. Yus. Sometimes she'll take 'arf a crown off of a toff. [He looks at + WELLWYN.] + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Twinkling.] I apologise to you, Megan. + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. [With a faint smile.] I could do with a bit more of it. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. [Dubiously.] Yes! Yes! Now, my boy, I've heard you bet on horses. + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. No, I don't. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Play cards, then? Come! Don't be afraid to acknowledge it. + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. When I'm 'ard up—yus. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. But don't you know that's ruination? + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. Depends. Sometimes I wins a lot. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. You know that's not at all what I mean. Come, promise me to give + it up. + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. I dunno abaht that. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Now, there's a good fellow. Make a big effort and throw the habit + off! + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. Comes over me—same as it might over you. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Over me! How do you mean, my boy? + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. [With a look up.] To tork! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN, turning to the picture, makes a funny little noise.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BERTLEY. [Maintaining his good humour.] A hit! But you forget, you know, + to talk's my business. It's not yours to gamble. + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. You try sellin' flowers. If that ain't a—gamble + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. I'm afraid we're wandering a little from the point. Husband and + wife should be together. You were brought up to that. Your father and + mother—— + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. Never was. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Turning from the picture.] The question is, Megan: Will you take + your wife home? She's a good little soul. + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. She never let me know it. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [There is a feeble knock on the door.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Well, now come. Here she is! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He points to the door, and stands regarding MEGAN with his friendly + smile.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MEGAN. [With a gleam of responsiveness.] I might, perhaps, to please you, + sir. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. [Appropriating the gesture.] Capital, I thought we should get on + in time. + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. Yus. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN opens the door. MRS. MEGAN and FERRAND are revealed. They are + about to enter, but catching sight of MEGAN, hesitate.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BERTLEY. Come in! Come in! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. MEGAN enters stolidly. FERRAND, following, stands apart with an + air of extreme detachment. MEGAN, after a quick glance at them both, + remains unmoved. No one has noticed that the door of the model's room + has been opened, and that the unsteady figure of old TIMSON is standing + there.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BERTLEY. [A little awkward in the presence of FERRAND—to the + MEGANS.] This begins a new chapter. We won't improve the occasion. No + need. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MEGAN, turning towards his wife, makes her a gesture as if to say: + "Here! let's get out of this!"] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BENTLEY. Yes, yes, you'll like to get home at once—I know. [He holds + up his hand mechanically.] + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. I forbids the banns. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY, [Startled.] Gracious! + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Extremely unsteady.] Just cause and impejiment. There 'e stands. + [He points to FERRAND.] The crimson foreigner! The mockin' jay! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Timson! + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. You're a gen'leman—I'm aweer o' that but I must speak the + truth—[he waves his hand] an' shame the devil! + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Is this the rum—? + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Struck by the word.] I'm a teetotaler. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Timson, Timson! + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. Seein' as there's ladies present, I won't be conspicuous. [Moving + away, and making for the door, he strikes against the dais, and mounts + upon it.] But what I do say, is: He's no better than 'er and she's worse. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. This is distressing. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Calmly.] On my honour, Monsieur! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [TIMSON growls.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Now, now, Timson! + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. That's all right. You're a gen'leman, an' I'm a gen'leman, but he + ain't an' she ain't. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. We shall not believe you. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. No, no; we shall not believe you. + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Heavily.] Very well, you doubts my word. Will it make any + difference, Guv'nor, if I speaks the truth? + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. No, certainly not—that is—of course, it will. + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. Well, then, I see 'em plainer than I see [pointing at BERTLEY] the + two of you. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Be quiet, Timson! + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Not even her husband believes you. + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. [Suddenly.] Don't I! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Come, Megan, you can see the old fellow's in Paradise. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Do you credit such a—such an object? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He points at TIMSON, who seems falling asleep.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MEGAN. Naow! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Unseen by anybody, ANN has returned.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BERTLEY. Well, then, my boy? + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. I seen 'em meself. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Gracious! But just now you were will—— + </p> + <p> + MEGAN. [Sardonically.] There wasn't nothing against me honour, then. Now + you've took it away between you, cumin' aht with it like this. I don't + want no more of 'er, and I'll want a good deal more of 'im; as 'e'll soon + find. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He jerks his chin at FERRAND, turns slowly on his heel, and goes out + into the street.] [There follows a profound silence.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. What did I say, Daddy? Utter! All three. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Suddenly alive to her presence, they all turn.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TIMSON. [Waking up and looking round him.] Well, p'raps I'd better go. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Assisted by WELLWYN he lurches gingerly off the dais towards the door, + which WELLWYN holds open for him.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TIMSON. [Mechanically.] Where to, sir? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Receiving no answer he passes out, touching his hat; and the door is + closed.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Ann! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [ANN goes back whence she came.] [BERTLEY, steadily regarding MRS. + MEGAN, who has put her arm up in front of her face, beckons to FERRAND, + and the young man comes gravely forward.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BERTLEY. Young people, this is very dreadful. [MRS. MEGAN lowers her arm a + little, and looks at him over it.] Very sad! + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Dropping her arm.] Megan's no better than what I am. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Come, come! Here's your home broken up! [MRS. MEGAN Smiles. + Shaking his head gravely.] Surely-surely-you mustn't smile. [MRS. MEGAN + becomes tragic.] That's better. Now, what is to be done? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Believe me, Monsieur, I greatly regret. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. I'm glad to hear it. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. If I had foreseen this disaster. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Is that your only reason for regret? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [With a little bow.] Any reason that you wish, Monsieur. I will + do my possible. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. I could get an unfurnished room if [she slides her eyes round + at WELLWYN] I 'ad the money to furnish it. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. But suppose I can induce your husband to forgive you, and take + you back? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Shaking her head.] 'E'd 'it me. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. I said to forgive. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. That wouldn't make no difference. [With a flash at BERTLEY.] + An' I ain't forgiven him! + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. That is sinful. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. I'm a Catholic. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. My good child, what difference does that make? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Monsieur, if I might interpret for her. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [BERTLEY silences him with a gesture.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Sliding her eyes towards WELLWYN.] If I 'ad the money to buy + some fresh stock. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Yes; yes; never mind the money. What I want to find in you both, + is repentance. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [With a flash up at him.] I can't get me livin' off of + repentin'. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Now, now! Never say what you know to be wrong. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Monsieur, her soul is very simple. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. [Severely.] I do not know, sir, that we shall get any great + assistance from your views. In fact, one thing is clear to me, she must + discontinue your acquaintanceship at once. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Certainly, Monsieur. We have no serious intentions. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. All the more shame to you, then! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Monsieur, I see perfectly your point of view. It is very natural. + [He bows and is silent.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. I don't want'im hurt'cos o' me. Megan'll get his mates to belt + him—bein' foreign like he is. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Yes, never mind that. It's you I'm thinking of. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. I'd sooner they'd hit me. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Suddenly.] Well said, my child! + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. 'Twasn't his fault. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Without irony—to WELLWYN.] I cannot accept that Monsieur. + The blame—it is all mine. + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Entering suddenly from the house.] Daddy, they're having an awful——! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The voices of PROFESSOR CALWAY and SIR THOMAS HOXTON are distinctly + heard.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CALWAY. The question is a much wider one, Sir Thomas. + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. As wide as you like, you'll never—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN pushes ANN back into the house and closes the door behind her. + The voices are still faintly heard arguing on the threshold.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BERTLEY. Let me go in here a minute, Wellyn. I must finish speaking to + her. [He motions MRS. MEGAN towards the model's room.] We can't leave the + matter thus. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Suavely.] Do you desire my company, Monsieur? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [BERTLEY, with a prohibitive gesture of his hand, shepherds the + reluctant MRS. MEGAN into the model's room.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Sorrowfully.] You shouldn't have done this, Ferrand. It wasn't + the square thing. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [With dignity.] Monsieur, I feel that I am in the wrong. It was + stronger than me. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [As he speaks, SIR THOMAS HOXTON and PROFESSOR CALWAY enter from the + house. In the dim light, and the full cry of argument, they do not + notice the figures at the fire. SIR THOMAS HOXTON leads towards the + street door.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HOXTON. No, Sir, I repeat, if the country once commits itself to your + views of reform, it's as good as doomed. + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. I seem to have heard that before, Sir Thomas. And let me say at + once that your hitty-missy cart-load of bricks regime—— + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. Is a deuced sight better, sir, than your grand-motherly methods. + What the old fellow wants is a shock! With all this socialistic + molly-coddling, you're losing sight of the individual. + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. [Swiftly.] You, sir, with your "devil take the hindmost," have + never even seen him. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [SIR THOMAS HOXTON, throwing back a gesture of disgust, steps out into + the night, and falls heavily PROFESSOR CALWAY, hastening to his rescue, + falls more heavily still.] [TIMSON, momentarily roused from slumber on + the doorstep, sits up.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HOXTON. [Struggling to his knees.] Damnation! + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. [Sitting.] How simultaneous! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN and FERRAND approach hastily.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [Pointing to TIMSON.] Monsieur, it was true, it seems. They had + lost sight of the individual. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A Policeman has appeared under the street lamp. He picks up HOXTON'S + hat.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CONSTABLE. Anything wrong, sir? + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. [Recovering his feet.] Wrong? Great Scott! Constable! Why do you + let things lie about in the street like this? Look here, Wellyn! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They all scrutinize TIMSON.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. It's only the old fellow whose reform you were discussing. + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. How did he come here? + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. Drunk, sir. [Ascertaining TIMSON to be in the street.] Just off + the premises, by good luck. Come along, father. + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Assisted to his feet-drowsily.] Cert'nly, by no means; take my + arm. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They move from the doorway. HOXTON and CALWAY re-enter, and go towards + the fire.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. [Entering from the house.] What's happened? + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. Might we have a brush? + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. [Testily.] Let it dry! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He moves to the fire and stands before it. PROFESSOR CALWAY following + stands a little behind him. ANN returning begins to brush the + PROFESSOR's sleeve.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Turning from the door, where he has stood looking after the + receding TIMSON.] Poor old Timson! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Softly.] Must be philosopher, Monsieur! They will but run him in + a little. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [From the model's room MRS. MEGAN has come out, shepherded by CANON + BERTLEY.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BERTLEY. Let's see, your Christian name is——. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Guinevere. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Oh! Ah! Ah! Ann, take Gui—take our little friend into the + study a minute: I am going to put her into service. We shall make a new + woman of her, yet. + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Handing CANON BERTLEY the brush, and turning to MRS. MEGAN.] Come + on! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She leads into the house, and MRS. MEGAN follows Stolidly.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BERTLEY. [Brushing CALWAY'S back.] Have you fallen? + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. Yes. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Dear me! How was that? + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. That old ruffian drunk on the doorstep. Hope they'll give him a + sharp dose! These rag-tags! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He looks round, and his angry eyes light by chance on FERRAND.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [With his eyes on HOXTON—softly.] Monsieur, something tells + me it is time I took the road again. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Fumbling out a sovereign.] Take this, then! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Refusing the coin.] Non, Monsieur. To abuse 'ospitality is not + in my character. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. We must not despair of anyone. + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. Who talked of despairing? Treat him, as I say, and you'll see! + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. The interest of the State—— + </p> + <p> + HOXTON. The interest of the individual citizen sir—— + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Come! A little of both, a little of both! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They resume their brushing.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. You are now debarrassed of us three, Monsieur. I leave you + instead—these sirs. [He points.] 'Au revoir, Monsieur'! [Motioning + towards the fire.] 'Appy New Year! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He slips quietly out. WELLWYN, turning, contemplates the three + reformers. They are all now brushing away, scratching each other's + backs, and gravely hissing. As he approaches them, they speak with a + certain unanimity.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HOXTON. My theory——! + </p> + <p> + CALWAY. My theory——! + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. My theory——! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They stop surprised. WELLWYN makes a gesture of discomfort, as they + speak again with still more unanimity.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HOXTON. My——! CALWAY. My——! BERTLEY. My——! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They stop in greater surprise. The stage is blotted dark.] Curtain. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT III + </h2> + <p> + It is the first of April—a white spring day of gleams and driving + showers. The street door of WELLWYN's studio stands wide open, and, past + it, in the street, the wind is whirling bits of straw and paper bags. + Through the door can be seen the butt end of a stationary furniture van + with its flap let down. To this van three humble-men in shirt sleeves and + aprons, are carrying out the contents of the studio. The hissing samovar, + the tea-pot, the sugar, and the nearly empty decanter of rum stand on the + low round table in the fast-being-gutted room. WELLWYN in his ulster and + soft hat, is squatting on the little stool in front of the blazing fire, + staring into it, and smoking a hand-made cigarette. He has a moulting air. + Behind him the humble-men pass, embracing busts and other articles of + vertu. + </p> + <p> + CHIEF H'MAN. [Stopping, and standing in the attitude of expectation.] + We've about pinched this little lot, sir. Shall we take the—reservoir? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He indicates the samovar.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Ah! [Abstractedly feeling in his pockets, and finding coins.] + Thanks—thanks—heavy work, I'm afraid. + </p> + <p> + H'MAN. [Receiving the coins—a little surprised and a good deal + pleased.] Thank'ee, sir. Much obliged, I'm sure. We'll 'ave to come back + for this. [He gives the dais a vigorous push with his foot.] Not a + fixture, as I understand. Perhaps you'd like us to leave these 'ere for a + bit. [He indicates the tea things.] + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Ah! do. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The humble-men go out. There is the sound of horses being started, and + the butt end of the van disappears. WELLWYN stays on his stool, smoking + and brooding over the fare. The open doorway is darkened by a figure. + CANON BERTLEY is standing there.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BERTLEY. WELLWYN! [WELLWYN turns and rises.] It's ages since I saw you. No + idea you were moving. This is very dreadful. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Yes, Ann found this—too exposed. That tall house in Flight + Street—we're going there. Seventh floor. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Lift? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN shakes his head.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BERTLEY. Dear me! No lift? Fine view, no doubt. [WELLWYN nods.] You'll be + greatly missed. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. So Ann thinks. Vicar, what's become of that little flower-seller + I was painting at Christmas? You took her into service. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Not we—exactly! Some dear friends of ours. Painful subject! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Yes. She got the footman into trouble. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Did she, now? + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Disappointing. I consulted with CALWAY, and he advised me to try + a certain institution. We got her safely in—excellent place; but, + d'you know, she broke out three weeks ago. And since— I've heard [he + holds his hands up] hopeless, I'm afraid—quite! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. I thought I saw her last night. You can't tell me her address, I + suppose? + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. [Shaking his head.] The husband too has quite passed out of my + ken. He betted on horses, you remember. I'm sometimes tempted to believe + there's nothing for some of these poor folk but to pray for death. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [ANN has entered from the house. Her hair hangs from under a knitted + cap. She wears a white wool jersey, and a loose silk scarf.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BERTLEY. Ah! Ann. I was telling your father of that poor little Mrs. + Megan. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Is she dead? + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Worse I fear. By the way—what became of her accomplice? + </p> + <p> + ANN. We haven't seen him since. [She looks searchingly at WELLWYN.] At + least—have you—Daddy? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Rather hurt.] No, my dear; I have not. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. And the—old gentleman who drank the rum? + </p> + <p> + ANN. He got fourteen days. It was the fifth time. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Dear me! + </p> + <p> + ANN. When he came out he got more drunk than ever. Rather a score for + Professor Calway, wasn't it? + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. I remember. He and Sir Thomas took a kindly interest in the old + fellow. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Yes, they fell over him. The Professor got him into an Institution. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Indeed! + </p> + <p> + ANN. He was perfectly sober all the time he was there. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. My dear, they only allow them milk. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Well, anyway, he was reformed. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Ye-yes! + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Terribly.] Daddy! You've been seeing him! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [With dignity.] My dear, I have not. + </p> + <p> + ANN. How do you know, then? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Came across Sir Thomas on the Embankment yesterday; told me old + Timso—had been had up again for sitting down in front of a brewer's + dray. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Why? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Well, you see, as soon as he came out of the what d'you call 'em, + he got drunk for a week, and it left him in low spirits. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. Do you mean he deliberately sat down, with the intention—of—er? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Said he was tired of life, but they didn't believe him. + </p> + <p> + ANN. Rather a score for Sir Thomas! I suppose he'd told the Professor? + What did he say? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Well, the Professor said [with a quick glance at BERTLEY] he felt + there was nothing for some of these poor devils but a lethal chamber. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. [Shocked.] Did he really! + </p> + <p> + [He has not yet caught WELLWYN' s glance.] + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. And Sir Thomas agreed. Historic occasion. And you, Vicar H'm! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [BERTLEY winces.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. [To herself.] Well, there isn't. + </p> + <p> + BERTLEY. And yet! Some good in the old fellow, no doubt, if one could put + one's finger on it. [Preparing to go.] You'll let us know, then, when + you're settled. What was the address? [WELLWYN takes out and hands him a + card.] Ah! yes. Good-bye, Ann. Good-bye, Wellyn. [The wind blows his hat + along the street.] What a wind! [He goes, pursuing.] + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Who has eyed the card askance.] Daddy, have you told those other two + where we're going? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Which other two, my dear? + </p> + <p> + ANN. The Professor and Sir Thomas. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Well, Ann, naturally I—— + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Jumping on to the dais with disgust.] Oh, dear! When I'm trying to + get you away from all this atmosphere. I don't so much mind the Vicar + knowing, because he's got a weak heart—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She jumps off again. ] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [To himself.] Seventh floor! I felt there was something. + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Preparing to go.] I'm going round now. But you must stay here till + the van comes back. And don't forget you tipped the men after the first + load. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! Yes, yes. [Uneasily.] Good sorts they look, those fellows! + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Scrutinising him.] What have you done? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Nothing, my dear, really——! + </p> + <p> + ANN. What? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. I—I rather think I may have tipped them twice. + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Drily.] Daddy! If it is the first of April, it's not necessary to + make a fool of oneself. That's the last time you ever do these ridiculous + things. [WELLWYN eyes her askance.] I'm going to see that you spend your + money on yourself. You needn't look at me like that! I mean to. As soon as + I've got you away from here, and all—these—— + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Don't rub it in, Ann! + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Giving him a sudden hug—then going to the door—with a + sort of triumph.] Deeds, not words, Daddy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She goes out, and the wind catching her scarf blows it out beneath her + firm young chin. WELLWYN returning to the fire, stands brooding, and + gazing at his extinct cigarette.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [To himself.] Bad lot—low type! No method! No theory! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [In the open doorway appear FERRAND and MRS. MEGAN. They stand, unseen, + looking at him. FERRAND is more ragged, if possible, than on Christmas + Eve. His chin and cheeks are clothed in a reddish golden beard. MRS. + MEGAN's dress is not so woe-begone, but her face is white, her eyes + dark-circled. They whisper. She slips back into the shadow of the + doorway. WELLWYN turns at the sound, and stares at FERRAND in + amazement.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [Advancing.] Enchanted to see you, Monsieur. [He looks round the + empty room.] You are leaving? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Nodding—then taking the young man's hand.] How goes it? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Displaying himself, simply.] As you see, Monsieur. I have done + of my best. It still flies from me. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Sadly—as if against his will.] Ferrand, it will always + fly. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The young foreigner shivers suddenly from head to foot; then controls + himself with a great effort.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. Don't say that, Monsieur! It is too much the echo of my heart. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Forgive me! I didn't mean to pain you. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Drawing nearer the fire.] That old cabby, Monsieur, you remember—they + tell me, he nearly succeeded to gain happiness the other day. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN nods.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. And those Sirs, so interested in him, with their theories? He has + worn them out? [WELLWYN nods.] That goes without saying. And now they wish + for him the lethal chamber. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Startled.] How did you know that? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [There is silence.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [Staring into the fire.] Monsieur, while I was on the road this + time I fell ill of a fever. It seemed to me in my illness that I saw the + truth—how I was wasting in this world—I would never be good + for any one—nor any one for me—all would go by, and I never of + it—fame, and fortune, and peace, even the necessities of life, ever + mocking me. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He draws closer to the fire, spreading his fingers to the flame. And + while he is speaking, through the doorway MRS. MEGAN creeps in to + listen.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [Speaking on into the fire.] And I saw, Monsieur, so plain, that + I should be vagabond all my days, and my days short, I dying in the end + the death of a dog. I saw it all in my fever— clear as that flame—there + was nothing for us others, but the herb of death. [WELLWYN takes his arm + and presses it.] And so, Monsieur, I wished to die. I told no one of my + fever. I lay out on the ground—it was verree cold. But they would + not let me die on the roads of their parishes—they took me to an + Institution, Monsieur, I looked in their eyes while I lay there, and I saw + more clear than the blue heaven that they thought it best that I should + die, although they would not let me. Then Monsieur, naturally my spirit + rose, and I said: "So much the worse for you. I will live a little more." + One is made like that! Life is sweet, Monsieur. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Yes, Ferrand; Life is sweet. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. That little girl you had here, Monsieur [WELLWYN nods.] in her + too there is something of wild-savage. She must have joy of life. I have + seen her since I came back. She has embraced the life of joy. It is not + quite the same thing. [He lowers his voice.] She is lost, Monsieur, as a + stone that sinks in water. I can see, if she cannot. [As WELLWYN makes a + movement of distress.] Oh! I am not to blame for that, Monsieur. It had + well begun before I knew her. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Yes, yes—I was afraid of it, at the time. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. MEGAN turns silently, and slips away.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FEERRAND. I do my best for her, Monsieur, but look at me! Besides, I am + not good for her—it is not good for simple souls to be with those + who see things clear. For the great part of mankind, to see anything—is + fatal. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Even for you, it seems. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. No, Monsieur. To be so near to death has done me good; I shall + not lack courage any more till the wind blows on my grave. Since I saw + you, Monsieur, I have been in three Institutions. They are palaces. One + may eat upon the floor—though it is true—for Kings—they + eat too much of skilly there. One little thing they lack—those + palaces. It is understanding of the 'uman heart. In them tame birds pluck + wild birds naked. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. They mean well. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Ah! Monsieur, I am loafer, waster—what you like—for + all that [bitterly] poverty is my only crime. If I were rich, should I not + be simply veree original, 'ighly respected, with soul above commerce, + travelling to see the world? And that young girl, would she not be "that + charming ladee," "veree chic, you know!" And the old Tims—good + old-fashioned gentleman—drinking his liquor well. Eh! bien—what + are we now? Dark beasts, despised by all. That is life, Monsieur. [He + stares into the fire.] + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. We're our own enemies, Ferrand. I can afford it—you can't. + Quite true! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Earnestly.] Monsieur, do you know this? You are the sole being + that can do us good—we hopeless ones. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Shaking his head.] Not a bit of it; I'm hopeless too. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Eagerly.] Monsieur, it is just that. You understand. When we are + with you we feel something—here—[he touches his heart.] If I + had one prayer to make, it would be, Good God, give me to understand! + Those sirs, with their theories, they can clean our skins and chain our + 'abits—that soothes for them the aesthetic sense; it gives them too + their good little importance. But our spirits they cannot touch, for they + nevare understand. Without that, Monsieur, all is dry as a parched skin of + orange. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Don't be so bitter. Think of all the work they do! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Monsieur, of their industry I say nothing. They do a good work + while they attend with their theories to the sick and the tame old, and + the good unfortunate deserving. Above all to the little children. But, + Monsieur, when all is done, there are always us hopeless ones. What can + they do with me, Monsieur, with that girl, or with that old man? Ah! + Monsieur, we, too, 'ave our qualities, we others—it wants you + courage to undertake a career like mine, or like that young girl's. We + wild ones—we know a thousand times more of life than ever will those + sirs. They waste their time trying to make rooks white. Be kind to us if + you will, or let us alone like Mees Ann, but do not try to change our + skins. Leave us to live, or leave us to die when we like in the free air. + If you do not wish of us, you have but to shut your pockets and—your + doors—we shall die the faster. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [With agitation.] But that, you know—we can't do—now + can we? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. If you cannot, how is it our fault? The harm we do to others—is + it so much? If I am criminal, dangerous—shut me up! I would not pity + myself—nevare. But we in whom something moves— like that + flame, Monsieur, that cannot keep still—we others—we are not + many—that must have motion in our lives, do not let them make us + prisoners, with their theories, because we are not like them—it is + life itself they would enclose! [He draws up his tattered figure, then + bending over the fire again.] I ask your pardon; I am talking. If I could + smoke, Monsieur! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN hands him a tobacco pouch; and he rolls a cigarette with his + yellow-Stained fingers.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. The good God made me so that I would rather walk a whole month of + nights, hungry, with the stars, than sit one single day making round + business on an office stool! It is not to my advantage. I cannot help it + that I am a vagabond. What would you have? It is stronger than me. [He + looks suddenly at WELLWYN.] Monsieur, I say to you things I have never + said. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Quietly.] Go on, go on. [There is silence.] + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Suddenly.] Monsieur! Are you really English? The English are so + civilised. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. And am I not? + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. You treat me like a brother. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN has turned towards the street door at a sound of feet, and the + clamour of voices.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TIMSON. [From the street.] Take her in 'ere. I knows 'im. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Through the open doorway come a POLICE CONSTABLE and a LOAFER, bearing + between them the limp white faced form of MRS. MEGAN, hatless and with + drowned hair, enveloped in the policeman's waterproof. Some curious + persons bring up the rear, jostling in the doorway, among whom is TIMSON + carrying in his hands the policeman's dripping waterproof leg pieces.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [Starting forward.] Monsieur, it is that little girl! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. What's happened? Constable! What's happened! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The CONSTABLE and LOAFER have laid the body down on the dais; with + WELLWYN and FERRAND they stand bending over her.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CONSTABLE. 'Tempted sooicide, sir; but she hadn't been in the water 'arf a + minute when I got hold of her. [He bends lower.] Can't understand her + collapsin' like this. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Feeling her heart.] I don't feel anything. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [In a voice sharpened by emotion.] Let me try, Monsieur. + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. [Touching his arm.] You keep off, my lad. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. No, constable—let him. He's her friend. + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. [Releasing FERRAND—to the LOAFER.] Here you! Cut off for + a doctor-sharp now! [He pushes back the curious persons.] Now then, stand + away there, please—we can't have you round the body. Keep back—Clear + out, now! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He slowly moves them back, and at last shepherds them through the door + and shuts it on them, TIMSON being last.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. The rum! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN fetches the decanter. With the little there is left FERRAND + chafes the girl's hands and forehead, and pours some between her lips. + But there is no response from the inert body.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. Her soul is still away, Monsieur! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN, seizing the decanter, pours into it tea and boiling water.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CONSTABLE. It's never drownin', sir—her head was hardly under; I was + on to her like knife. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Rubbing her feet.] She has not yet her philosophy, Monsieur; at + the beginning they often try. If she is dead! [In a voice of awed + rapture.] What fortune! + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. [With puzzled sadness.] True enough, sir—that! We'd just + begun to know 'er. If she 'as been taken—her best friends couldn't + wish 'er better. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Applying the decanter to her dips.] Poor little thing! I'll try + this hot tea. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Whispering.] 'La mort—le grand ami!' + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Look! Look at her! She's coming round! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A faint tremor passes over MRS. MEGAN's body. He again applies the hot + drink to her mouth. She stirs and gulps.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CONSTABLE. [With intense relief.] That's brave! Good lass! She'll pick up + now, sir. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Then, seeing that TIMSON and the curious persons have again opened the + door, he drives them out, and stands with his back against it. MRS. + MEGAN comes to herself.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Sitting on the dais and supporting her—as if to a child.] + There you are, my dear. There, there—better now! That's right. Drink + a little more of this tea. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. MEGAN drinks from the decanter.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. [Rising.] Bring her to the fire, Monsieur. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They take her to the fire and seat her on the little stool. From the + moment of her restored animation FERRAND has resumed his air of cynical + detachment, and now stands apart with arms folded, watching.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Feeling better, my child? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Yes. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. That's good. That's good. Now, how was it? Um? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. I dunno. [She shivers.] I was standin' here just now when you + was talkin', and when I heard 'im, it cam' over me to do it—like. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Ah, yes I know. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. I didn't seem no good to meself nor any one. But when I got in + the water, I didn't want to any more. It was cold in there. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Have you been having such a bad time of it? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Yes. And listenin' to him upset me. [She signs with her head + at FERRAND.] I feel better now I've been in the water. [She smiles and + shivers.] + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. There, there! Shivery? Like to walk up and down a little? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They begin walking together up and down.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Beastly when your head goes under? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Yes. It frightened me. I thought I wouldn't come up again. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. I know—sort of world without end, wasn't it? What did you + think of, um? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. I wished I 'adn't jumped—an' I thought of my baby— + that died—and—[in a rather surprised voice] and I thought of + d-dancin'. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Her mouth quivers, her face puckers, she gives a choke and a little + sob.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Stopping and stroking her.] There, there—there! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [For a moment her face is buried in his sleeve, then she recovers + herself.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Then 'e got hold o' me, an' pulled me out. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Ah! what a comfort—um? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Yes. The water got into me mouth. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They walk again.] I wouldn't have gone to do it but for him. [She looks + towards FERRAND.] His talk made me feel all funny, as if people wanted + me to. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. My dear child! Don't think such things! As if anyone would——! + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Stolidly.] I thought they did. They used to look at me so + sometimes, where I was before I ran away—I couldn't stop there, you + know. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Too cooped-up? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Yes. No life at all, it wasn't—not after sellin' + flowers, I'd rather be doin' what I am. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Ah! Well-it's all over, now! How d'you feel—eh? Better? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Yes. I feels all right now. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She sits up again on the little stool before the fire.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. No shivers, and no aches; quite comfy? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. Yes. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. That's a blessing. All well, now, Constable—thank you! + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. [Who has remained discreetly apart at the door-cordially.] + First rate, sir! That's capital! [He approaches and scrutinises MRS. + MEGAN.] Right as rain, eh, my girl? + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Shrinking a little.] Yes. + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. That's fine. Then I think perhaps, for 'er sake, sir, the + sooner we move on and get her a change o' clothin', the better. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! don't bother about that—I'll send round for my daughter—we'll + manage for her here. + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. Very kind of you, I'm sure, sir. But [with embarrassment] she + seems all right. She'll get every attention at the station. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. But I assure you, we don't mind at all; we'll take the greatest + care of her. + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. [Still more embarrassed.] Well, sir, of course, I'm thinkin' of—I'm + afraid I can't depart from the usual course. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Sharply.] What! But-oh! No! No! That'll be all right, Constable! + That'll be all right! I assure you. + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. [With more decision.] I'll have to charge her, sir. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Good God! You don't mean to say the poor little thing has got to + be—— + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. [Consulting with him.] Well, sir, we can't get over the facts, + can we? There it is! You know what sooicide amounts to— it's an + awkward job. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Calming himself with an effort.] But look here, Constable, as a + reasonable man—This poor wretched little girl—you know what + that life means better than anyone! Why! It's to her credit to try and + jump out of it! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The CONSTABLE shakes his head.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. You said yourself her best friends couldn't wish her better! + [Dropping his voice still more.] Everybody feels it! The Vicar was here a + few minutes ago saying the very same thing—the Vicar, Constable! + [The CONSTABLE shakes his head.] Ah! now, look here, I know something of + her. Nothing can be done with her. We all admit it. Don't you see? Well, + then hang it—you needn't go and make fools of us all by—— + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. Monsieur, it is the first of April. + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. [With a sharp glance at him.] Can't neglect me duty, sir; + that's impossible. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Look here! She—slipped. She's been telling me. Come, + Constable, there's a good fellow. May be the making of her, this. + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. I quite appreciate your good 'eart, sir, an' you make it very + 'ard for me—but, come now! I put it to you as a gentleman, would you + go back on yer duty if you was me? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [WELLWYN raises his hat, and plunges his fingers through and through his + hair.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. Well! God in heaven! Of all the d—-d topsy—turvy—! + Not a soul in the world wants her alive—and now she's to be + prosecuted for trying to be where everyone wishes her. + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. Come, sir, come! Be a man! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Throughout all this MRS. MEGAN has sat stolidly before the fire, but as + FERRAND suddenly steps forward she looks up at him.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. Do not grieve, Monsieur! This will give her courage. There is + nothing that gives more courage than to see the irony of things. [He + touches MRS. MEGAN'S shoulder.] Go, my child; it will do you good. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. MEGAN rises, and looks at him dazedly.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CONSTABLE. [Coming forward, and taking her by the hand.] That's my good + lass. Come along! We won't hurt you. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. I don't want to go. They'll stare at me. + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. [Comforting.] Not they! I'll see to that. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Very upset.] Take her in a cab, Constable, if you must —for + God's sake! [He pulls out a shilling.] Here! + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. [Taking the shilling.] I will, sir, certainly. Don't think I + want to—— + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. No, no, I know. You're a good sort. + </p> + <p> + CONSTABLE. [Comfortable.] Don't you take on, sir. It's her first try; they + won't be hard on 'er. Like as not only bind 'er over in her own recogs. + not to do it again. Come, my dear. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Trying to free herself from the policeman's cloak.] I want to + take this off. It looks so funny. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [As she speaks the door is opened by ANN; behind whom is dimly seen the + form of old TIMSON, still heading the curious persons.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. [Looking from one to the other in amazement.] What is it? What's + happened? Daddy! + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Out of the silence.] It is nothing, Ma'moiselle! She has failed + to drown herself. They run her in a little. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Lend her your jacket, my dear; she'll catch her death. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [ANN, feeling MRS. MEGAN's arm, strips of her jacket, and helps her into + it without a word.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CONSTABLE. [Donning his cloak.] Thank you. Miss—very good of you, + I'm sure. + </p> + <p> + MRS. MEGAN. [Mazed.] It's warm! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She gives them all a last half-smiling look, and Passes with the + CONSTABLE through the doorway.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FERRAND. That makes the third of us, Monsieur. We are not in luck. To wish + us dead, it seems, is easier than to let us die. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He looks at ANN, who is standing with her eyes fixed on her father. + WELLWYN has taken from his pocket a visiting card.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. [To FERRAND.] Here quick; take this, run after her! When they've + done with her tell her to come to us. + </p> + <p> + FERRAND. [Taking the card, and reading the address.] "No. 7, Haven House, + Flight Street!" Rely on me, Monsieur—I will bring her myself to call + on you. 'Au revoir, mon bon Monsieur'! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He bends over WELLWYN's hand; then, with a bow to ANN goes out; his + tattered figure can be seen through the window, passing in the wind. + WELLWYN turns back to the fire. The figure of TIMSON advances into the + doorway, no longer holding in either hand a waterproof leg-piece.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TIMSON. [In a croaky voice.] Sir! + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. What—you, Timson? + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. On me larst legs, sir. 'Ere! You can see 'em for yerself! Shawn't + trouble yer long.... + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [After a long and desperate stare.] Not now—TIMSON not now! + Take this! [He takes out another card, and hands it to TIMSON] Some other + time. + </p> + <p> + TIMSON. [Taking the card.] Yer new address! You are a gen'leman. [He + lurches slowly away.] + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [ANN shuts the street door and sets her back against it. The rumble of + the approaching van is heard outside. It ceases.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + ANN. [In a fateful voice.] Daddy! [They stare at each other.] Do you know + what you've done? Given your card to those six rotters. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [With a blank stare.] Six? + </p> + <p> + ANN. [Staring round the naked room.] What was the good of this? + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. [Following her eyes—-very gravely.] Ann! It is stronger + than me. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Without a word ANN opens the door, and walks straight out. With a heavy + sigh, WELLWYN sinks down on the little stool before the fire. The three + humble-men come in.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CHIEF HUMBLE-MAN. [In an attitude of expectation.] This is the larst of + it, sir. + </p> + <p> + WELLWYN. Oh! Ah! yes! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He gives them money; then something seems to strike him, and he + exhibits certain signs of vexation. Suddenly he recovers, looks from one + to the other, and then at the tea things. A faint smile comes on his + face.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WELLWYN. You can finish the decanter. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes out in haste.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CHIEF HUMBLE-MAN. [Clinking the coins.] Third time of arskin'! April fool! + Not 'arf! Good old pigeon! + </p> + <p> + SECOND HUMBLE-MAN. 'Uman being, I call 'im. + </p> + <p> + CHIEF HUMBLE-MAN. [Taking the three glasses from the last packing-case, + and pouring very equally into them.] That's right. Tell you wot, I'd never + 'a touched this unless 'e'd told me to, I wouldn't—not with 'im. + </p> + <p> + SECOND HUMBLE-MAN. Ditto to that! This is a bit of orl right! [Raising his + glass.] Good luck! + </p> + <p> + THIRD HUMBLE-MAN. Same 'ere! + </p> + <p> + [Simultaneously they place their lips smartly against the liquor, and at + once let fall their faces and their glasses.] + </p> + <p> + CHIEF HUMBLE-MAN. [With great solemnity.] Crikey! Bill! Tea! .....'E's got + us! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The stage is blotted dark.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + <p> + THE END <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + <i>GALSWORTHY'S PLAYS</i> + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC_"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + <i>Links to All Volumes</i> + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIRST SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2906/2906-h/2906-h.htm"><b>The + Silver Box</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2907/2907-h/2907-h.htm"><b>Joy</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2908/2908-h/2908-h.htm"><b>Strife</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SECOND SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2909/2909-h/2909-h.htm"><b>The + Eldest Son</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2910/2910-h/2910-h.htm"><b>Little + Dream</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2911/2911-h/2911-h.htm"><b>Justice</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE THIRD SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2912/2912-h/2912-h.htm"><b>The + Fugitive</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2913/2913-h/2913-h.htm"><b>The + Pigeon</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2914/2914-h/2914-h.htm"><b>The + Mob</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FOURTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2915/2915-h/2915-h.htm"><b>A + Bit O'Love</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2916/2916-h/2916-h.htm"><b>The + Foundations</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2917/2917-h/2917-h.htm"><b>The + Skin Game</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIFTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4764/4764-h/4764-h.htm"><b>A + Family Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4765/4765-h/4765-h.htm"><b>Loyalties</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4766/4766-h/4766-h.htm"><b>Windows</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SIXTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2918/2918-h/2918-h.htm"><b>The + First and Last</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2919/2919-h/2919-h.htm"><b>The + Little Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2920/2920-h/2920-h.htm"><b>Four + Short Plays</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + End of Project Gutenberg's The Pigeon (Third Series Plays), by John Galsworthy + + *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PIGEON (THIRD SERIES PLAYS) *** + + ***** This file should be named 2913-h.htm or 2913-h.zip ***** + This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/1/2913/ + + Produced by David Widger + + 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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