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diff --git a/old/pigon11.txt b/old/pigon11.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5347a62 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/pigon11.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3334 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext of The Pigeon (Play), by John Galsworthy +#26 in our series by John Galsworthy + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before distributing this or any other +Project Gutenberg file. + +We encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your +own disk, thereby keeping an electronic path open for future +readers. Please do not remove this. + +This header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to +view the etext. 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New Year's Day. + +ACT III. The First of April. + + + + +ACT I + + 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. + + +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---- + +WELLWYN. Come in, Vicar, and have some grog. + +BERTLEY. Not to-night, thanks! Christmas tomorrow! Great +temptation, though, this room! Goodnight, Wellwyn; good-night, Ann! + +ANN. [Coming from the fire towards the tea-table.] Good-night, +Canon Bertley. + + [He goes out, and WELLWYN, shutting the door after him, + approaches the fire.] + +ANN. [Sitting on the little stool, with her back to the fire, and +making tea.] Daddy! + +WELLWYN. My dear? + +ANN. You say you liked Professor Calway's lecture. Is it going to +do you any good, that's the question? + +WELLWYN. I--I hope so, Ann. + +ANN. I took you on purpose. Your charity's getting simply awful. +Those two this morning cleared out all my housekeeping money. + +WELLWYN. Um! Um! I quite understand your feeling. + +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. + +WELLWYN. My dear, I have--often. + +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. + +WELLWYN. My dear, when they--when they look at you? + +ANN. You know the house wants all sorts of things. Why do you speak +to them at all? + +WELLWYN. I don't--they speak to me. + + [He takes of his ulster and hangs it over the back of an + arm-chair.] + +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. + +WELLWYN. [Gazing at his hat.] Calway wears one. + +ANN. As if anyone would beg of Professor Calway. + +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. + +ANN. Has any one begged of you to-day? + +WELLWYN. [Doubtfully.] No--no. + +ANN. [After a long, severe look.] Will you have rum in your tea? + +WELLWYN. [Crestfallen.] Yes, my dear--a good deal. + +ANN. [Pouring out the rum, and handing him the glass.] Well, who +was it? + +WELLWYN. He didn't beg of me. [Losing himself in recollection.] +Interesting old creature, Ann--real type. Old cabman. + +ANN. Where? + +WELLWYN. Just on the Embankment. + +ANN. Of course! Daddy, you know the Embankment ones are always +rotters. + +WELLWYN. Yes, my dear; but this wasn't. + +ANN. Did you give him your card? + +WELLWYN. I--I--don't + +ANN. Did you, Daddy? + +WELLWYN. I'm rather afraid I may have! + +ANN. May have! It's simply immoral. + +WELLWYN. Well, the old fellow was so awfully human, Ann. Besides, I +didn't give him any money--hadn't got any. + +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? + +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? + +ANN. Daddy, you're hopeless. + +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. + +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. + +WELLWYN. Am I likely to? + +ANN. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if it isn't your only pair. +D'you know what I live in terror of? + + [WELLWYN gives her a queer and apprehensive look.] + +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? + +WELLWYN. No! + +ANN. Spiritually. + +WELLWYN. Oh! Ah! H'm! + +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! + +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. + +ANN. I think you ought to. + +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. + +ANN. Well, if you will love them up! + +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! + +ANN. [Moving towards the door into the house--impressively.] What +you don't see is that other people aren't a bit like you. + +WELLWYN. Well, thank God! + +ANN. It's so old-fashioned too! I'm going to bed--I just leave you +to your conscience. + +WELLWYN. Oh! + +ANN. [Opening the door-severely.] Good-night--[with a certain +weakening] you old--Daddy! + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. Bad lot. . . . Low type--no backbone, no stability! + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. Ah dear! Tt! Tt! Tt! + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. I can't, you know; it's impossible. + + [The girl says nothing, but looks at him with dark eyes.] + +WELLWYN. [Wincing.] Let's see--I don't know you--do I? + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. [Recoiling from the card.] Oh! Did I? Ah! When? + +MRS. MEGAN. You 'ad some vi'lets off of me larst spring. You give +me 'arf a crown. + + [A smile tries to visit her face.] + +WELLWYN. [Looking stealthily round.] Ah! Well, come in--just for a +minute--it's very cold--and tell us what it is. + + [She comes in stolidly, a Sphinx-like figure, with her pretty + tragic little face.] + +WELLWYN. I don't remember you. [Looking closer.] Yes, I do. Only-- +you weren't the same-were you? + +MRS. MEGAN. [Dully.] I seen trouble since. + +WELLWYN. Trouble! Have some tea? + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. [Handing her the tea.] Keeps the cold out! Drink it off! + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. Cure for all evils, um? + +MRS. MEGAN. It warms you. [She smiles.] + +WELLWYN. [Smiling back, and catching himself out.] Well! You know, +I oughtn't. + +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---- + +WELLWYN. [Gradually losing himself in his own nature.] Let me +see--corner of Flight Street, wasn't it? + +MRS. MEGAN. [With faint eagerness.] Yes, sir, an' I told you about +me vi'lets--it was a luvly spring-day. + +WELLWYN. Beautiful! Beautiful! Birds singing, and the trees, &c.! +We had quite a talk. You had a baby with you. + +MRS. MEGAN. Yes. I got married since then. + +WELLWYN. Oh! Ah! Yes! [Cheerfully.] And how's the baby? + +MRS. MEGAN. [Turning to stone.] I lost her. + +WELLWYN. Oh! poor--- Um! + +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. + +WELLWYN. [Looking at, her intently.] Things going badly? + +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. + +WELLWYN. Ho! Tt! Tt! [He looks into the basket.] Christmas, too! + +MRS. MEGAN. They're dead. + +WELLWYN. [Drawing in his breath.] Got a good husband? + +MRS. MEGAN. He plays cards. + +WELLWYN. Oh, Lord! And what are you doing out--with a cold like +that? [He taps his chest.] + +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'. + +WELLWYN. [Correcting a spasmodic dive into his pockets.] But who +buys flowers at this time of night? + + [MRS. MEGAN looks at him, and faintly smiles.] + +WELLWYN. [Rumpling his hair.] Saints above us! Here! Come to the +fire! + + [She follows him to the fire. He shuts the street door.] + +WELLWYN. Are your feet wet? [She nods.] Well, sit down here, and +take them off. That's right. + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. How old are you, my child? + +MRS. MEGAN. Nineteen, come Candlemas. + +WELLWYN. And what's your name? + +MRS. MEGAN. Guinevere. + +WELLWYN. What? Welsh? + +MRS. MEGAN. Yes--from Battersea. + +WELLWYN. And your husband? + +MRS. MEGAN. No. Irish, 'e is. Notting Dale, 'e comes from. + +WELLWYN. Roman Catholic? + +MRS. MEGAN. Yes. My 'usband's an atheist as well. + +WELLWYN. I see. [Abstractedly.] How jolly! And how old is he--this +young man of yours? + +MRS. MEGAN. 'E'll be twenty soon. + +WELLWYN. Babes in the wood! Does he treat you badly? + +MRS. MEGAN. No. + +WELLWYN. Nor drink? + +MRS. MEGAN. No. He's not a bad one. Only he gets playin' +cards then 'e'll fly the kite. + +WELLWYN. I see. And when he's not flying it, what does he do? + +MRS. MEGAN. [Touching her basket.] Same as me. Other jobs tires 'im. + +WELLWYN. That's very nice! [He checks himself.] Well, what am I to +do with you? + +MRS. MEGAN. Of course, I could get me night's lodging if I like to +do--the same as some of them. + +WELLWYN. No! no! Never, my child! Never! + +MRS. MEGAN. It's easy that way. + +WELLWYN. Heavens! But your husband! Um? + +MRS. MEGAN. [With stoical vindictiveness.] He's after one I know of. + +WELLWYN. Tt! What a pickle! + +MRS. MEGAN. I'll 'ave to walk about the streets. + +WELLWYN. [To himself.] Now how can I? + + [MRS. MEGAN looks up and smiles at him, as if she had already + discovered that he is peculiar.] + +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. + + [The Girl gets up lingeringly, loth to leave the warmth. She + takes up her wet stockings.] + +MRS. MEGAN. Shall I put them on again? + +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! + + [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.] + +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! + + [The Girl, perfectly dumb, passes through with her basket--and + her shoes and stockings. WELLWYN hands her the candle, + blankets, and bath gown.] + +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! + + [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.] + +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. + +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---- + +WELLWYN. Um! And so you've come? + +FERRAND. It was time that I consolidated my fortunes, Monsieur. + +WELLWYN. And you--have---- + + [He stops embarrassed. FERRAND. [Shrugging his ragged + shoulders.] One is not yet Rothschild. + +WELLWYN. [Sympathetically.] No. [Yielding to memory.] We talked +philosophy. + +FERRAND. I have not yet changed my opinion. We other vagabonds, we +are exploited by the bourgeois. This is always my idea, Monsieur. + +WELLWYN. Yes--not quite the general view, perhaps! Well---- +[Heartily.] Come in! Very glad to see you again. + +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. + +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.] + +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. + +WELLWYN. [Delicately.] Yes; yes--I remember, you found it difficult +to stay long in any particular--yes. + +FERRAND. [Proudly.] In one little corner? No--Monsieur--never! +That is not in my character. I must see life. + +WELLWYN. Quite, quite! Have some cake? + + [He cuts cake.] + +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.] + +WELLWYN. Rather! [Handing his tobacco pouch.] Roll yourself one. + +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. + +WELLWYN. [Looking uneasily at the door into the house.] You think +so? Ah! + +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. + +WELLWYN. Oh! Indeed! + +FERRAND. You have not enough the Pharisee in your character. You do +not judge, and you are judged. + + [He stretches his limbs as if in pain.] + +WELLWYN. Are you in pain? + +FERRAND. I 'ave a little the rheumatism. + +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---- + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. [Speaking in a low voice, for the door is still open.] Can +you make these do for the moment? + +FERRAND. 'Je vous remercie', Monsieur. [Pointing to the screen.] +May I retire? + +WELLWYN. Yes, yes. + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. Good Lord! + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. Who's that? Who are you? + +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. + +WELLWYN. It's a little late, really. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +WELLWYN. Well, really, I---- + +TIMSON. To be froze to death--I mean--it's awkward. + +WELLWYN. [Puzzled and unhappy.] Well--come in a moment, and let's-- +think it out. Have some tea! + + [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.] + +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? + +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. + +WELLWYN. Too short! Ah! + + [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.] + +FERRAND. [Indicating TIMSON] Monsieur! + + [He makes the gesture of one drinking, and shakes his head.] + +WELLWYN. [Handing him the needle and cotton.] Um! Afraid so! + + [They approach TIMSON, who takes no notice.] + +FERRAND. [Gently.] It is an old cabby, is it not, Monsieur? 'Ceux +sont tous des buveurs'. + +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? + +TIMSON. [In a drowsy voice.] Thank 'ee-smoke pipe of 'baccer. Old +'orse--standin' abaht in th' cold. + + [He relapses into coma.] + +FERRAND. [With a click of his tongue.] 'Il est parti'. + +WELLWYN. [Doubtfully.] He hasn't really left a horse outside, do +you think? + +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. + +WELLWYN. Poor old buffer! + +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. + +WELLWYN. [Touching TIMSON's shoulder.] Drenched! + +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. + + [WELLWYN takes up ANN's long red cloak, and wraps it round the + old man.] + +TIMSON. [Faintly roused.] Tha's right. Put--the rug on th' old +'orse. + + [He makes a strange noise, and works his head and tongue.] + +WELLWYN. [Alarmed.] What's the matter with him? + +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. + +WELLWYN. But what's to be done with him? One can't turn him out in +this state. + +FERRAND. If you wish to leave him 'ere, Monsieur, have no fear. I +charge myself with him. + +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? + +FERRAND. But certainly, Monsieur. + +WELLWYN. [Still dubiously.] You--you're sure you've everything you +want? + +FERRAND. [Bowing.] 'Mais oui, Monsieur'. + +WELLWYN. I don't know what I can do by staying. + +FERRAND. There is nothing you can do, Monsieur. Have confidence in +me. + +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.] + +FERRAND. [Taking it.] I shall sleep in praying for you, Monsieur. + +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. + +FERRAND. 'Tres bien, Monsieur'. I comprehend. One must well be +regular in this life. + +WELLWYN. [With a start.] Lord! [He looks at the door of the +model's room.] I'd forgotten---- + +FERRAND. Can I undertake anything, Monsieur? + +WELLWYN. No, no! [He goes to the electric light switch by the outer +door.] You won't want this, will you? + +FERRAND. 'Merci, Monsieur'. + + [WELLWYN switches off the light.] + +FERRAND. 'Bon soir, Monsieur'! + +WELLWYN. The devil! Er--good-night! + + [He hesitates, rumples his hair, and passes rather suddenly + away.] + +FERRAND. [To himself.] Poor pigeon! [Looking long at old TIMSON] +'Espece de type anglais!' + + [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.] + +FERRAND. [Gently.] 'Pardon, Ma'moiselle'. + +MRS. MEGAN. [Springing to her feet.] Oh! + +FERRAND. All right, all right! We are brave gents! + +TIMSON. [Faintly roused.] 'Old up, there! + +FERRAND. Trust in me, Ma'moiselle! + + [MRS. MEGAN responds by drawing away.] + +FERRAND. [Gently.] We must be good comrades. This asylum--it is +better than a doss-'ouse. + + [He pushes the stool over towards her, and seats himself. + Somewhat reassured, MRS. MEGAN again sits down.] + +MRS. MEGAN. You frightened me. + +TIMSON. [Unexpectedly-in a drowsy tone.] Purple foreigners! + +FERRAND. Pay no attention, Ma'moiselle. He is a philosopher. + +MRS. MEGAN. Oh! I thought 'e was boozed. + + [They both look at TIMSON] + +FERRAND. It is the same-veree 'armless. + +MRS. MEGAN. What's that he's got on 'im? + +FERRAND. It is a coronation robe. Have no fear, Ma'moiselle. Veree +docile potentate. + +MRS. MEGAN. I wouldn't be afraid of him. [Challenging FERRAND.] I'm +afraid o' you. + +FERRAND. It is because you do not know me, Ma'moiselle. You are +wrong, it is always the unknown you should love. + +MRS. MEGAN. I don't like the way you-speaks to me. + +FERRAND. Ah! You are a Princess in disguise? + +MRS. MEGAN. No fear! + +FERRAND. No? What is it then you do to make face against the +necessities of life? A living? + +MRS. MEGAN. Sells flowers. + +FERRAND. [Rolling his eyes.] It is not a career. + +MRS. MEGAN. [With a touch of devilry.] You don't know what I do. + +FERRAND. Ma'moiselle, whatever you do is charming. + + [MRS. MEGAN looks at him, and slowly smiles.] + +MRS. MEGAN. You're a foreigner. + +FERRAND. It is true. + +MRS. MEGAN. What do you do for a livin'? + +FERRAND. I am an interpreter. + +MRS. MEGAN. You ain't very busy, are you? + +FERRAND. [With dignity.] At present I am resting. + +MRS. MEGAN. [Looking at him and smiling.] How did you and 'im come +here? + +FERRAND. Ma'moiselle, we would ask you the same question. + +MRS. MEGAN. The gentleman let me. 'E's funny. + +FERRAND. 'C'est un ange' [At MRS. MEGAN's blank stare he +interprets.] An angel! + +MRS. MEGAN. Me luck's out-that's why I come. + +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! + +TIMSON. [With a vague gesture--drowsily.] Kick the foreign beggars +out. + +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! + + [Though she does not in the least understand what he has said, + her expression changes to a sort of glee.] + +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! + + [He holds her hand, and turns it over between his own. + MRS. MEGAN remains stolid, half fascinated, half-reluctant.] + +TIMSON. [Flickering into consciousness.] Be'ave yourselves! Yer +crimson canary birds! + + [MRS. MEGAN would withdraw her hand, but cannot.] + +FERRAND. Pay no attention, Ma'moiselle. He is a Puritan. + + [TIMSON relapses into comatosity, upsetting his glass, which + falls with a crash.] + +MRS. MEGAN. Let go my hand, please! + +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? + +MRS. MEGAN. I dunno--lots, I thinks of. + +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! + + [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!"] + +TIMSON. [Stirring uneasily, and struggling to his feet.] All right! +I'm comin'! + +FERRAND. Have no fear, Madame! + + [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.] + +ANN. Look! + +WELLWYN. Yes, yes, my dear! It--it happened. + +ANN. [With a sort of groan.] Oh! Daddy! + + [In the renewed silence, the church clock ceases to chime.] + +FERRAND. [Softly, in his ironic voice.] HE is come, Monsieur! 'Appy +Christmas! Bon Noel! + + [There is a sudden chime of bells. The Stage is blotted dark.] + + + Curtain. + + + + +ACT II + +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. + +WELLWYN. Open your mouth. + + [MRS. MEGAN opens her mouth.] + +ANN. [In hat and coat, entering from the house.] Daddy! + + [WELLWYN goes to her; and, released from restraint, MRS. MEGAN + looks round at TIMSON and grimaces.] + +WELLWYN. Well, my dear? + + [They speak in low voices.] + +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.] + +WELLWYN. Oh! [He also looks at MRS. MEGAN.] + +ANN. And I met Sir Thomas Hoxton at church this morning, and spoke +to him about Timson. + +WELLWYN. Um! + + [They look at TIMSON. Then ANN goes back to the door, and + WELLWYN follows her.] + +ANN. [Turning.] I'm going round now, Daddy, to ask Professor Calway +what we're to do with that Ferrand. + +WELLWYN. Oh! One each! I wonder if they'll like it. + +ANN. They'll have to lump it. + + [She goes out into the house.] + +WELLWYN. [Back at his easel.] You can shut your mouth now. + + [MRS. MEGAN shuts her mouth, but opens it immediately to smile.] + +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! + + [MRS. MEGAN descends. Passing towards the door of the model's + room she stops, and stealthily looks at the picture.] + +TIMSON. Ah! Would yer! + +WELLWYN. [Wheeling round.] Want to have a look? Well--come on! + + [He takes her by the arm, and they stand before the canvas. + After a stolid moment, she giggles.] + +WELLWYN. Oh! You think so? + +MRS. MEGAN. [Who has lost her hoarseness.] It's not like my picture +that I had on the pier. + +WELLWYN. No-it wouldn't be. + +MRS. MEGAN. [Timidly.] If I had an 'at on, I'd look better. + +WELLWYN. With feathers? + +MRS. MEGAN. Yes. + +WELLWYN. Well, you can't! I don't like hats, and I don't like +feathers. + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. [To MRS. MEGAN, affecting not to notice.] How much do I owe +you? + +MRS. MEGAN. [A little surprised.] You paid me for to-day-all 'cept +a penny. + +WELLWYN. Well! Here it is. [He gives her a coin.] Go and get your +feet on! + +MRS. MEGAN. You've give me 'arf a crown. + +WELLWYN. Cut away now! + + [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.] + +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. + +WELLWYN. Would the horse, Timson? + +TIMSON. [Looking him up and down.] I knows of one that would just +suit yer. Reel 'orse, you'd like 'im. + +WELLWYN. [Shaking his head.] Afraid not, Timson! Awfully sorry, +though, to have nothing better for you than this, at present. + +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. + +WELLWYN. Terrible misfortune to a fellow, Timson. + +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'. + +WELLWYN. Indeed! + +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! + +WELLWYN. Oh! you know it. + +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. + +WELLWYN. Is there any necessity, Timson? + +TIMSON. Artful too. Full o' vice, I call'er. Where's 'er 'usband? + +WELLWYN. [Gravely.] Come, Timson! You wouldn't like her to---- + +TIMSON. [With dignity, so that the bottle in his pocket is plainly +visible.] I'm a man as always beared inspection. + +WELLWYN. [With a well-directed smile.] So I see. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +TIMSON. [Reluctantly.] It so 'appens, you advanced me to-day's +yesterday. + +WELLWYN. Then I suppose you want to-morrow's? + +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. + +WELLWYN. Quite so! + +TIMSON. It mounts up in the course o' the year. + +WELLWYN. It would. [Passing him a coin.] This is for an exceptional +purpose--Timson--see. Not---- + +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. + + [He makes a faint demonstration with the little brush, then puts + it, absent-mindedly, into his pocket.] + +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. + +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---- + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. What luck to-day? + +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. + +WELLWYN. [Contemplating him.] Let's see--I believe I've an old top +hat somewhere. + +FERRAND. Ah! Monsieur, 'merci', but that I could not. It is +scarcely in my character. + +WELLWYN. True! + +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. + +WELLWYN. I've noticed, there never is. + +FERRAND. I was thinking, Monsieur, that in aviation there might be a +career for me--but it seems one must be trained. + +WELLWYN. Afraid so, Ferrand. + +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. + +WELLWYN. I believe you, Ferrand. + + [The face of a young man appears at the window, unseen. + Suddenly ANN opens the door leading to the house.] + +ANN. Daddy--I want you. + +WELLWYN. [To FERRAND.] Excuse me a minute! + + [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.] + +FERRAND. La Valse! + + [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.] + +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. + +WELLWYN. [With a queer look.] Don't take it too seriously, +Ferrand. + +FERRAND. It is a masterpiece. + +WELLWYN. My daughter's just spoken to a friend, Professor Calway. +He'd like to meet you. Could you come back a little later? + +FERRAND. Certainly, Ma'moiselle. That will be an opening for me, I +trust. [He goes to the street door.] + +ANN. [Paying no attention to him.] Mrs. Megan, will you too come +back in half an hour? + +FERRAND. 'Tres bien, Ma'moiselle'! I will see that she does. We +will take a little promenade together. That will do us good. + + [He motions towards the door; MRS. MEGAN, all eyes, follows him + out.] + +ANN. Oh! Daddy, they are rotters. Couldn't you see they were +having the most high jinks? + +WELLWYN. [At his picture.] I seemed to have noticed something. + +ANN. [Preparing for tea.] They were kissing. + +WELLWYN. Tt! Tt! + +ANN. They're hopeless, all three--especially her. Wish I hadn't +given her my clothes now. + +WELLWYN. [Absorbed.] Something of wild-savage. + +ANN. Thank goodness it's the Vicar's business to see that married +people live together in his parish. + +WELLWYN. Oh! [Dubiously.] The Megans are Roman Catholic-Atheists, +Ann. + +ANN. [With heat.] Then they're all the more bound. [WELLWYN gives +a sudden and alarmed whistle.] + +ANN. What's the matter? + +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. + +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. + +WELLWYN. We'll hope not. + + [He turns back to his picture.] + +ANN. [At the cupboard.] Daddy! + +WELLWYN. Hi! + +ANN. There were three bottles. + +WELLWYN. Oh! + +ANN. Well! Now there aren't any. + +WELLWYN. [Abstracted.] That'll be Timson. + +ANN. [With real horror.] But it's awful! + +WELLWYN. It is, my dear. + +ANN. In seven days. To say nothing of the stealing. + +WELLWYN. [Vexed.] I blame myself-very much. Ought to have kept it +locked up. + +ANN. You ought to keep him locked up! + + [There is heard a mild but authoritative knock.] + +WELLWYN. Here's the Vicar! + +ANN. What are you going to do about the rum? + +WELLWYN. [Opening the door to CANON BERTLEY.] Come in, Vicar! +Happy New Year! + +BERTLEY. Same to you! Ah! Ann! I've got into touch with her +young husband--he's coming round. + +ANN. [Still a little out of her plate.] Thank Go---Moses! + +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. + +ANN. [To herself-gloomily.] That's not difficult. What would you +do, Canon Bertley, with a man who's been drinking father's rum? + +BERTLEY. Remove the temptation, of course. + +WELLWYN. He's done that. + +BERTLEY. Ah! Then--[WELLWYN and ANN hang on his words] then I +should--er + +ANN. [Abruptly.] Remove him. + +BERTLEY. Before I say that, Ann, I must certainly see the +individual. + +WELLWYN. [Pointing to the window.] There he is! + + [In the failing light TIMSON'S face is indeed to be seen + pressed against the window pane.] + +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.] + +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.] + +ANN. [In a deadly voice.] Nothing else? + + [TIMSON accords her a glassy stare.] + +WELLWYN. [Taking the brush hastily.] That'll do, Timson, thanks! + +TIMSON. As I am 'ere, can I do anything for yer? + +ANN. Yes, you can sweep out that little room. [She points to the +model's room.] There's a broom in there. + +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. + + [He passes out.] + +ANN. Old fraud! + +WELLWYN. "In" and "on." Mark my words, he'll restore the--bottles. + +BERTLEY. But, my dear WELLWYN, that is stealing. + +WELLWYN. We all have our discrepancies, Vicar. + +ANN. Daddy! Discrepancies! + +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. + +BERTLEY. No, no, we mustn't joke about it. [Gravely.] I do think +he should be spoken to. + +WELLWYN. Yes, but not by me. + +BERTLEY. Surely you're the proper person. + +WELLWYN. [Shaking his head.] It was my rum, Vicar. Look so +personal. + + [There sound a number of little tat-tat knocks.] + +WELLWYN. Isn't that the Professor's knock? + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. Come in, Professor! So awfully good of you! You know +Canon Bentley, I think? + +CALWAY. Ah! How d'you do? + +WELLWYN. Your opinion will be invaluable, Professor. + +ANN. Tea, Professor Calway? + + [They have assembled round the tea table.] + +CALWAY. Thank you; no tea; milk. + +WELLWYN. Rum? + + [He pours rum into CALWAY's milk.] + +CALWAY. A little-thanks! [Turning to ANN.] You were going to show +me some one you're trying to rescue, or something, I think. + +ANN. Oh! Yes. He'll be here directly--simply perfect rotter. + +CALWAY. [Smiling.] Really! Ah! I think you said he was a +congenital? + +WELLWYN. [With great interest.] What! + +ANN. [Low.] Daddy! [To CALWAY.] Yes; I--I think that's what you +call him. + +CALWAY. Not old? + +ANN. No; and quite healthy--a vagabond. + +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---- + +WELLWYN. Pure! Oh! pure! Professor. Awfully human. + +CALWAY. [With a smile of knowledge.] Quite! And--er---- + +ANN. [Breaking in.] Before he comes, there's another---- + +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. + +CALWAY. Really! Dipsomaniac? + +BERTLEY. Well--perhaps you could tell us--drink certainly changing +thine to mine. The Professor could see him, WELLWYN? + +ANN. [Rising.] Yes, do come and look at him, Professor CALWAY. +He's in there. + + [She points towards the model's room. CALWAY smiles + deprecatingly.] + +ANN. No, really; we needn't open the door. You can see him through +the glass. He's more than half---- + +CALWAY. Well, I hardly---- + +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. + + [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.] + +ANN. [Drawing up a chair.] Come on! + +CALWAY. Do you seriously wish me to? + +ANN. Rather! It's quite safe; he can't see you. + +CALWAY. But he might come out. + + [ANN puts her back against the door. CALWAY mounts the chair + dubiously, and raises his head cautiously, bending it more and + more downwards.] + +ANN. Well? + +CALWAY. He appears to be---sitting on the floor. + +WELLWYN. Yes, that's all right! + + [BERTLEY covers his lips.] + +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. + + [There come three loud knocks on the door. WELLWYN and ANN + exchange a glance of consternation.] + +ANN. Who's that? + +WELLWYN. It sounds like Sir Thomas. + +CALWAY. Sir Thomas Hoxton? + +WELLWYN. [Nodding.] Awfully sorry, Professor. You see, we---- + +CALWAY. Not at all. Only, I must decline to be involved in +argument with him, please. + +BERTLEY. He has experience. We might get his opinion, don't you +think? + +CALWAY. On a point of reform? A J.P.! + +BERTLEY. [Deprecating.] My dear Sir--we needn't take it. + + [The three knocks resound with extraordinary fury.] + +ANN. You'd better open the door, Daddy. + + [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.] + +HOXTON. Afraid I didn't make myself heard. + +WELLWYN. So good of you to come, Sir Thomas. Canon Bertley! [They +greet.] Professor CALWAY you know, I think. + +HOXTON. [Ominously.] I do. + + [They almost greet. An awkward pause.] + +ANN. [Blurting it out.] That old cabman I told you of's been +drinking father's rum. + +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. + +CALWAY. I beg your pardon. There is no question here. + +HOXTON. [Abruptly.] Oh! Is he in the house? + +ANN. In there. + +HOXTON. Works for you, eh? + +WELLWYN. Er--yes. + +HOXTON. Let's have a look at him! + + [An embarrassed pause.] + +BERTLEY. Well--the fact is, Sir Thomas---- + +CALWAY. When last under observation---- + +ANN. He was sitting on the floor. + +WELLWYN. I don't want the old fellow to feel he's being made a show +of. Disgusting to be spied at, Ann. + +ANN. You can't, Daddy! He's drunk. + +HOXTON. Never mind, Miss WELLWYN. Hundreds of these fellows before +me in my time. [At CALWAY.] The only thing is a sharp lesson! + +CALWAY. I disagree. I've seen the man; what he requires is steady +control, and the bobbins treatment. + + [WELLWYN approaches them with fearful interest.] + +HOXTON. Not a bit of it! He wants one for his knob! Brace 'em up! +It's the only thing. + +BERTLEY. Personally, I think that if he were spoken to seriously + +CALWAY. I cannot walk arm in arm with a crab! + +HOXTON. [Approaching CALWAY.] I beg your pardon? + +CALWAY. [Moving back a little.] You're moving backwards, Sir +Thomas. I've told you before, convinced reactionaryism, in these +days---- + + [There comes a single knock on the street door.] + +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. + +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? + +CALWAY. [Pale with uncompleted statement, and gravitating +insensibly in the direction indicated.] The merest sense of +continuity--a simple instinct for order---- + +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---- + +CALWAY. If you'll listen to me a minute. + +HOXTON. I can show you in a mo---- + + [They vanish through the door.] + +WELLWYN. I was afraid of it. + +BERTLEY. The two points of view. Pleasant to see such keenness. +I may want you, WELLWYN. And Ann perhaps had better not be present. + +WELLWYN. [Relieved.] Quite so! My dear! + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. Is that Megan? + +MEGAN. Yus. + +WELLWYN. Come in. + + [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.] + +BERTLEY. [Kindly.] Now, my boy, how is it that you and your wife +are living apart like this? + +MEGAN. I dunno. + +BERTLEY. Well, if you don't, none of us are very likely to, are we? + +MEGAN. That's what I thought, as I was comin' along. + +WELLWYN. [Twinkling.] Have some tea, Megan? [Handing him the +glass.] What d'you think of her picture? 'Tisn't quite finished. + +MEGAN. [After scrutiny.] I seen her look like it--once. + +WELLWYN. Good! When was that? + +MEGAN. [Stoically.] When she 'ad the measles. + + [He drinks.] + +WELLWYN. [Ruminating.] I see--yes. I quite see feverish! + +BERTLEY. My dear WELLWYN, let me--[To, MEGAN.] Now, I hope you're +willing to come together again, and to maintain her? + +MEGAN. If she'll maintain me. + +BERTLEY. Oh! but--I see, you mean you're in the same line of +business? + +MEGAN. Yus. + +BERTLEY. And lean on each other. Quite so! + +MEGAN. I leans on 'er mostly--with 'er looks. + +BERTLEY. Indeed! Very interesting--that! + +MEGAN. Yus. Sometimes she'll take 'arf a crown off of a toff. [He +looks at WELLWYN.] + +WELLWYN. [Twinkling.] I apologise to you, Megan. + +MEGAN. [With a faint smile.] I could do with a bit more of it. + +BERTLEY. [Dubiously.] Yes! Yes! Now, my boy, I've heard you bet +on horses. + +MEGAN. No, I don't. + +BERTLEY. Play cards, then? Come! Don't be afraid to acknowledge +it. + +MEGAN. When I'm 'ard up--yus. + +BERTLEY. But don't you know that's ruination? + +MEGAN. Depends. Sometimes I wins a lot. + +BERTLEY. You know that's not at all what I mean. Come, promise me +to give it up. + +MEGAN. I dunno abaht that. + +BERTLEY. Now, there's a good fellow. Make a big effort and throw +the habit off! + +MEGAN. Comes over me--same as it might over you. + +BERTLEY. Over me! How do you mean, my boy? + +MEGAN. [With a look up.] To tork! + + [WELLWYN, turning to the picture, makes a funny little noise.] + +BERTLEY. [Maintaining his good humour.] A hit! But you forget, +you know, to talk's my business. It's not yours to gamble. + +MEGAN. You try sellin' flowers. If that ain't a--gamble + +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---- + +MEGAN. Never was. + +WELLWYN. [Turning from the picture.] The question is, Megan: Will +you take your wife home? She's a good little soul. + +MEGAN. She never let me know it. + + [There is a feeble knock on the door.] + +WELLWYN. Well, now come. Here she is! + + [He points to the door, and stands regarding MEGAN with his + friendly smile.] + +MEGAN. [With a gleam of responsiveness.] I might, perhaps, to +please you, sir. + +BERTLEY. [Appropriating the gesture.] Capital, I thought we should +get on in time. + +MEGAN. Yus. + + [WELLWYN opens the door. MRS. MEGAN and FERRAND are revealed. + They are about to enter, but catching sight of MEGAN, + hesitate.] + +BERTLEY. Come in! Come in! + + [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.] + +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. + + [MEGAN, turning towards his wife, makes her a gesture as if to + say: "Here! let's get out of this!"] + +BENTLEY. Yes, yes, you'll like to get home at once--I know. [He +holds up his hand mechanically.] + +TIMSON. I forbids the banns. + +BERTLEY, [Startled.] Gracious! + +TIMSON. [Extremely unsteady.] Just cause and impejiment. There 'e +stands. [He points to FERRAND.] The crimson foreigner! The mockin' +jay! + +WELLWYN. Timson! + +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! + +BERTLEY. Is this the rum--? + +TIMSON. [Struck by the word.] I'm a teetotaler. + +WELLWYN. Timson, Timson! + +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. + +BERTLEY. This is distressing. + +FERRAND. [Calmly.] On my honour, Monsieur! + + [TIMSON growls.] + +WELLWYN. Now, now, Timson! + +TIMSON. That's all right. You're a gen'leman, an' I'm a gen'leman, +but he ain't an' she ain't. + +WELLWYN. We shall not believe you. + +BERTLEY. No, no; we shall not believe you. + +TIMSON. [Heavily.] Very well, you doubts my word. Will it make +any difference, Guv'nor, if I speaks the truth? + +BERTLEY. No, certainly not--that is--of course, it will. + +TIMSON. Well, then, I see 'em plainer than I see [pointing at +BERTLEY] the two of you. + +WELLWYN. Be quiet, Timson! + +BERTLEY. Not even her husband believes you. + +MEGAN. [Suddenly.] Don't I! + +WELLWYN. Come, Megan, you can see the old fellow's in Paradise. + +BERTLEY. Do you credit such a--such an object? + + [He points at TIMSON, who seems falling asleep.] + +MEGAN. Naow! + + [Unseen by anybody, ANN has returned.] + +BERTLEY. Well, then, my boy? + +MEGAN. I seen 'em meself. + +BERTLEY. Gracious! But just now you were will---- + +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. + + [He jerks his chin at FERRAND, turns slowly on his heel, and + goes out into the street.] + + [There follows a profound silence.] + +ANN. What did I say, Daddy? Utter! All three. + + [Suddenly alive to her presence, they all turn.] + +TIMSON. [Waking up and looking round him.] Well, p'raps I'd better +go. + + [Assisted by WELLWYN he lurches gingerly off the dais towards + the door, which WELLWYN holds open for him.] + +TIMSON. [Mechanically.] Where to, sir? + + [Receiving no answer he passes out, touching his hat; and the + door is closed.] + +WELLWYN. Ann! + + [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.] + +BERTLEY. Young people, this is very dreadful. [MRS. MEGAN lowers +her arm a little, and looks at him over it.] Very sad! + +MRS. MEGAN. [Dropping her arm.] Megan's no better than what I am. + +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? + +FERRAND. Believe me, Monsieur, I greatly regret. + +BERTLEY. I'm glad to hear it. + +FERRAND. If I had foreseen this disaster. + +BERTLEY. Is that your only reason for regret? + +FERRAND. [With a little bow.] Any reason that you wish, Monsieur. +I will do my possible. + +MRS. MEGAN. I could get an unfurnished room if [she slides her eyes +round at WELLWYN] I 'ad the money to furnish it. + +BERTLEY. But suppose I can induce your husband to forgive you, and +take you back? + +MRS. MEGAN. [Shaking her head.] 'E'd 'it me. + +BERTLEY. I said to forgive. + +MRS. MEGAN. That wouldn't make no difference. [With a flash at +BERTLEY.] An' I ain't forgiven him! + +BERTLEY. That is sinful. + +MRS. MEGAN. I'm a Catholic. + +BERTLEY. My good child, what difference does that make? + +FERRAND. Monsieur, if I might interpret for her. + + [BERTLEY silences him with a gesture. MRS. MEGAN.] + + [Sliding her eyes towards WELLWYN.] If I 'ad the money to buy + some fresh stock.] + +BERTLEY. Yes; yes; never mind the money. What I want to find in +you both, is repentance. + +MRS. MEGAN. [With a flash up at him.] I can't get me livin' off of +repentin'. + +BERTLEY. Now, now! Never say what you know to be wrong. + +FERRAND. Monsieur, her soul is very simple. + +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. + +FERRAND. Certainly, Monsieur. We have no serious intentions. + +BERTLEY. All the more shame to you, then! + +FERRAND. Monsieur, I see perfectly your point of view. It is very +natural. [He bows and is silent.] + +MRS. MEGAN. I don't want'im hurt'cos o' me. Megan'll get his mates +to belt him--bein' foreign like he is. + +BERTLEY. Yes, never mind that. It's you I'm thinking of. + +MRS. MEGAN. I'd sooner they'd hit me. + +WELLWYN. [Suddenly.] Well said, my child! + +MRS. MEGAN. 'Twasn't his fault. + +FERRAND. [Without irony--to WELLWYN.] I cannot accept that +Monsieur. The blame--it is all mine. + +ANN. [Entering suddenly from the house.] Daddy, they're having an +awful----! + + [The voices of PROFESSOR CALWAY and SIR THOMAS HOXTON are + distinctly heard.] + +CALWAY. The question is a much wider one, Sir Thomas. + +HOXTON. As wide as you like, you'll never---- + + [WELLWYN pushes ANN back into the house and closes the door + behind her. The voices are still faintly heard arguing on the + threshold.] + +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. + +FERRAND. [Suavely.] Do you desire my company, Monsieur? + + [BERTLEY, with a prohibitive gesture of his hand, shepherds the + reluctant MRS. MEGAN into the model's room.] + +WELLWYN. [Sorrowfully.] You shouldn't have done this, Ferrand. It +wasn't the square thing. + +FERRAND. [With dignity.] Monsieur, I feel that I am in the wrong. +It was stronger than me. + + [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.] + +HOXTON. No, Sir, I repeat, if the country once commits itself to +your views of reform, it's as good as doomed. + +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---- + +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. + +CALWAY. [Swiftly.] You, sir, with your "devil take the hindmost," +have never even seen him. + + [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.] + +HOXTON. [Struggling to his knees.] Damnation! + +CALWAY. [Sitting.] How simultaneous! + + [WELLWYN and FERRAND approach hastily.] + +FERRAND. [Pointing to TIMSON.] Monsieur, it was true, it seems. +They had lost sight of the individual. + + [A Policeman has appeared under the street lamp. He picks up + HOXTON'S hat.] + +CONSTABLE. Anything wrong, sir? + +HOXTON. [Recovering his feet.] Wrong? Great Scott! Constable! +Why do you let things lie about in the street like this? Look here, +Wellyn! + + [They all scrutinize TIMSON.] + +WELLWYN. It's only the old fellow whose reform you were discussing. + +HOXTON. How did he come here? + +CONSTABLE. Drunk, sir. [Ascertaining TIMSON to be in the street.] +Just off the premises, by good luck. Come along, father. + +TIMSON. [Assisted to his feet-drowsily.] Cert'nly, by no means; +take my arm. + + [They move from the doorway. HOXTON and CALWAY re-enter, and + go towards the fire.] + +ANN. [Entering from the house.] What's happened? + +CALWAY. Might we have a brush? + +HOXTON. [Testily.] Let it dry! + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. [Turning from the door, where he has stood looking after +the receding TIMSON.] Poor old Timson! + +FERRAND. [Softly.] Must be philosopher, Monsieur! They will but +run him in a little. + + [From the model's room MRS. MEGAN has come out, shepherded by + CANON BERTLEY.] + +BERTLEY. Let's see, your Christian name is----. + +MRS. MEGAN. Guinevere. + +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. + +ANN. [Handing CANON BERTLEY the brush, and turning to MRS. MEGAN.] +Come on! + + [She leads into the house, and MRS. MEGAN follows Stolidly.] + +BERTLEY. [Brushing CALWAY'S back.] Have you fallen? + +CALWAY. Yes. + +BERTLEY. Dear me! How was that? + +HOXTON. That old ruffian drunk on the doorstep. Hope they'll give +him a sharp dose! These rag-tags! + + [He looks round, and his angry eyes light by chance on FERRAND.] + +FERRAND. [With his eyes on HOXTON--softly.] Monsieur, something +tells me it is time I took the road again. + +WELLWYN. [Fumbling out a sovereign.] Take this, then! + +FERRAND. [Refusing the coin.] Non, Monsieur. To abuse 'ospitality +is not in my character. + +BERTLEY. We must not despair of anyone. + +HOXTON. Who talked of despairing? Treat him, as I say, and you'll +see! + +CALWAY. The interest of the State---- + +HOXTON. The interest of the individual citizen sir---- + +BERTLEY. Come! A little of both, a little of both! + + [They resume their brushing.] + +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! + + [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.] + +HOXTON. My theory----! + +CALWAY. My theory----! + +BERTLEY. My theory----! + + [They stop surprised. WELLWYN makes a gesture of discomfort, + as they speak again with still more unanimity.] + +HOXTON. My----! CALWAY. My----! BERTLEY. My----! + + [They stop in greater surprise. The stage is blotted dark.] + + + Curtain. + + + + +ACT III + +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. + +CHIEF H'MAN. [Stopping, and standing in the attitude of +expectation.] We've about pinched this little lot, sir. Shall we +take the--reservoir? + + [He indicates the samovar.] + +WELLWYN. Ah! [Abstractedly feeling in his pockets, and finding +coins.] Thanks--thanks--heavy work, I'm afraid. + +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.] + +WELLWYN. Ah! do. + + [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.] + +BERTLEY. WELLWYN! [WELLWYN turns and rises.] It's ages since I +saw you. No idea you were moving. This is very dreadful. + +WELLWYN. Yes, Ann found this--too exposed. That tall house in +Flight Street--we're going there. Seventh floor. + +BERTLEY. Lift? + + [WELLWYN shakes his head.] + +BERTLEY. Dear me! No lift? Fine view, no doubt. [WELLWYN nods.] +You'll be greatly missed. + +WELLWYN. So Ann thinks. Vicar, what's become of that little +flower-seller I was painting at Christmas? You took her into +service. + +BERTLEY. Not we--exactly! Some dear friends of ours. Painful +subject! + +WELLWYN. Oh! + +BERTLEY. Yes. She got the footman into trouble. + +WELLWYN. Did she, now? + +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! + +WELLWYN. I thought I saw her last night. You can't tell me her +address, I suppose? + +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. + + [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.] + +BERTLEY. Ah! Ann. I was telling your father of that poor little +Mrs. Megan. + +ANN. Is she dead? + +BERTLEY. Worse I fear. By the way--what became of her accomplice? + +ANN. We haven't seen him since. [She looks searchingly at +WELLWYN.] At least--have you--Daddy? + +WELLWYN. [Rather hurt.] No, my dear; I have not. + +BERTLEY. And the--old gentleman who drank the rum? + +ANN. He got fourteen days. It was the fifth time. + +BERTLEY. Dear me! + +ANN. When he came out he got more drunk than ever. Rather a score +for Professor Calway, wasn't it? + +BERTLEY. I remember. He and Sir Thomas took a kindly interest in +the old fellow. + +ANN. Yes, they fell over him. The Professor got him into an +Institution. + +BERTLEY. Indeed! + +ANN. He was perfectly sober all the time he was there. + +WELLWYN. My dear, they only allow them milk. + +ANN. Well, anyway, he was reformed. + +WELLWYN. Ye-yes! + +ANN. [Terribly.] Daddy! You've been seeing him! + +WELLWYN. [With dignity.] My dear, I have not. + +ANN. How do you know, then? + +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. + +ANN. Why? + +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. + +BERTLEY. Do you mean he deliberately sat down, with the +intention--of--er? + +WELLWYN. Said he was tired of life, but they didn't believe him. + +ANN. Rather a score for Sir Thomas! I suppose he'd told the +Professor? What did he say? + +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. + +BERTLEY. [Shocked.] Did he really! + +[He has not yet caught WELLWYN' s glance.] + +WELLWYN. And Sir Thomas agreed. Historic occasion. And you, Vicar +H'm! + + [BERTLEY winces.] + +ANN. [To herself.] Well, there isn't. + +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.] + +ANN. [Who has eyed the card askance.] Daddy, have you told those +other two where we're going? + +WELLWYN. Which other two, my dear? + +ANN. The Professor and Sir Thomas. + +WELLWYN. Well, Ann, naturally I---- + +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---- + + [She jumps off again. ] + +WELLWYN. [To himself.] Seventh floor! I felt there was something. + +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. + +WELLWYN. Oh! Yes, yes. [Uneasily.] Good sorts they look, those +fellows! + +ANN. [Scrutinising him.] What have you done? + +WELLWYN. Nothing, my dear, really----! + +ANN. What? + +WELLWYN. I--I rather think I may have tipped them twice. + +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---- + +WELLWYN. Don't rub it in, Ann! + +ANN. [Giving him a sudden hug--then going to the door--with a sort +of triumph.] Deeds, not words, Daddy! + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. [To himself.] Bad lot--low type! No method! No theory! + + [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.] + +FERRAND. [Advancing.] Enchanted to see you, Monsieur. [He looks +round the empty room.] You are leaving? + +WELLWYN. [Nodding--then taking the young man's hand.] How goes it? + +FERRAND. [Displaying himself, simply.] As you see, Monsieur. I +have done of my best. It still flies from me. + +WELLWYN. [Sadly--as if against his will.] Ferrand, it will always +fly. + + [The young foreigner shivers suddenly from head to foot; then + controls himself with a great effort.] + +FERRAND. Don't say that, Monsieur! It is too much the echo of my +heart. + +WELLWYN. Forgive me! I didn't mean to pain you. + +FERRAND. [Drawing nearer the fire.] That old cabby, Monsieur, you +remember--they tell me, he nearly succeeded to gain happiness the +other day. + + [WELLWYN nods.] + +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. + +WELLWYN. [Startled.] How did you know that? + + [There is silence.] + +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. + + [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.] + +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. + +WELLWYN. Yes, Ferrand; Life is sweet. + +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. + +WELLWYN. Yes, yes--I was afraid of it, at the time. + + [MRS. MEGAN turns silently, and slips away.] + +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. + +WELLWYN. Even for you, it seems. + +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. + +WELLWYN. They mean well. + +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.] + +WELLWYN. We're our own enemies, Ferrand. I can afford it--you +can't. Quite true! + +FERRAND. [Earnestly.] Monsieur, do you know this? You are the +sole being that can do us good--we hopeless ones. + +WELLWYN. [Shaking his head.] Not a bit of it; I'm hopeless too. + +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. + +WELLWYN. Don't be so bitter. Think of all the work they do! + +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. + +WELLWYN. [With agitation.] But that, you know--we can't do--now +can we? + +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! + + [WELLWYN hands him a tobacco pouch; and he rolls a cigarette + with his yellow-Stained fingers.] + +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. + +WELLWYN. [Quietly.] Go on, go on. [There is silence.] + +FERRAND. [Suddenly.] Monsieur! Are you really English? The +English are so civilised. + +WELLWYN. And am I not? + +FERRAND. You treat me like a brother. + + [WELLWYN has turned towards the street door at a sound of feet, + and the clamour of voices.] + +TIMSON. [From the street.] Take her in 'ere. I knows 'im. + + [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.] + +FERRAND. [Starting forward.] Monsieur, it is that little girl! + +WELLWYN. What's happened? Constable! What's happened! + + [The CONSTABLE and LOAFER have laid the body down on the dais; + with WELLWYN and FERRAND they stand bending over her.] + +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. + +WELLWYN. [Feeling her heart.] I don't feel anything. + +FERRAND. [In a voice sharpened by emotion.] Let me try, Monsieur. + +CONSTABLE. [Touching his arm.] You keep off, my lad. + +WELLWYN. No, constable--let him. He's her friend. + +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! + + [He slowly moves them back, and at last shepherds them through + the door and shuts it on them, TIMSON being last.] + +FERRAND. The rum! + + [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.] + +FERRAND. Her soul is still away, Monsieur! + + [WELLWYN, seizing the decanter, pours into it tea and boiling + water.] + +CONSTABLE. It's never drownin', sir--her head was hardly under; I +was on to her like knife. + +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! + +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. + +WELLWYN. [Applying the decanter to her dips.] Poor little thing! +I'll try this hot tea. + +FERRAND. [Whispering.] 'La mort--le grand ami!' + +WELLWYN. Look! Look at her! She's coming round! + + [A faint tremor passes over MRS. MEGAN's body. He again + applies the hot drink to her mouth. She stirs and gulps.] + +CONSTABLE. [With intense relief.] That's brave! Good lass! +She'll pick up now, sir. + + [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.] + +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. + + [MRS. MEGAN drinks from the decanter.] + +FERRAND. [Rising.] Bring her to the fire, Monsieur. + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. Feeling better, my child? + +MRS. MEGAN. Yes. + +WELLWYN. That's good. That's good. Now, how was it? Um? + +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. + +WELLWYN. Ah, yes I know. + +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. + +WELLWYN. Have you been having such a bad time of it? + +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.] + +WELLWYN. There, there! Shivery? Like to walk up and down a +little? + + [They begin walking together up and down.] + +WELLWYN. Beastly when your head goes under? + +MRS. MEGAN. Yes. It frightened me. I thought I wouldn't come up +again. + +WELLWYN. I know--sort of world without end, wasn't it? What did +you think of, um? + +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'. + + [Her mouth quivers, her face puckers, she gives a choke and a + little sob.] + +WELLWYN. [Stopping and stroking her.] There, there--there! + + [For a moment her face is buried in his sleeve, then she + recovers herself.] + +MRS. MEGAN. Then 'e got hold o' me, an' pulled me out. + +WELLWYN. Ah! what a comfort--um? + +MRS. MEGAN. Yes. The water got into me mouth. + + [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. + +WELLWYN. My dear child! Don't think such things! As if anyone +would----! + +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. + +WELLWYN. Too cooped-up? + +MRS. MEGAN. Yes. No life at all, it wasn't--not after sellin' +flowers, I'd rather be doin' what I am. + +WELLWYN. Ah! Well-it's all over, now! How d'you feel--eh? +Better? + +MRS. MEGAN. Yes. I feels all right now. + + [She sits up again on the little stool before the fire.] + +WELLWYN. No shivers, and no aches; quite comfy? + +MRS. MEGAN. Yes. + +WELLWYN. That's a blessing. All well, now, Constable--thank you! + +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? + +MRS. MEGAN. [Shrinking a little.] Yes. + +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. + +WELLWYN. Oh! don't bother about that--I'll send round for my +daughter--we'll manage for her here. + +CONSTABLE. Very kind of you, I'm sure, sir. But [with +embarrassment] she seems all right. She'll get every attention at +the station. + +WELLWYN. But I assure you, we don't mind at all; we'll take the +greatest care of her. + +CONSTABLE. [Still more embarrassed.] Well, sir, of course, I'm +thinkin' of--I'm afraid I can't depart from the usual course. + +WELLWYN. [Sharply.] What! But-oh! No! No! That'll be all right, +Constable! That'll be all right! I assure you. + +CONSTABLE. [With more decision.] I'll have to charge her, sir. + +WELLWYN. Good God! You don't mean to say the poor little thing has +got to be---- + +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. + +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! + + [The CONSTABLE shakes his head.] + +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---- + +FERRAND. Monsieur, it is the first of April. + +CONSTABLE. [With a sharp glance at him.] Can't neglect me duty, +sir; that's impossible. + +WELLWYN. Look here! She--slipped. She's been telling me. Come, +Constable, there's a good fellow. May be the making of her, this. + +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? + + [WELLWYN raises his hat, and plunges his fingers through and + through his hair.] + +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. + +CONSTABLE. Come, sir, come! Be a man! + + [Throughout all this MRS. MEGAN has sat stolidly before the + fire, but as FERRAND suddenly steps forward she looks up at + him.] + +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. + + [MRS. MEGAN rises, and looks at him dazedly.] + +CONSTABLE. [Coming forward, and taking her by the hand.] That's my +good lass. Come along! We won't hurt you. + +MRS. MEGAN. I don't want to go. They'll stare at me. + +CONSTABLE. [Comforting.] Not they! I'll see to that. + +WELLWYN. [Very upset.] Take her in a cab, Constable, if you must- +-for God's sake! [He pulls out a shilling.] Here! + +CONSTABLE. [Taking the shilling.] I will, sir, certainly. Don't +think I want to---- + +WELLWYN. No, no, I know. You're a good sort. + +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. + +MRS. MEGAN. [Trying to free herself from the policeman's cloak.] I +want to take this off. It looks so funny. + + [As she speaks the door is opened by ANN; behind whom is dimly + seen the form of old TIMSON, still heading the curious + persons.] + +ANN. [Looking from one to the other in amazement.] What is it? +What's happened? Daddy! + +FERRAND. [Out of the silence.] It is nothing, Ma'moiselle! She +has failed to drown herself. They run her in a little. + +WELLWYN. Lend her your jacket, my dear; she'll catch her death. + + [ANN, feeling MRS. MEGAN's arm, strips of her jacket, and helps + her into it without a word.] + +CONSTABLE. [Donning his cloak.] Thank you. Miss--very good of +you, I'm sure. + +MRS. MEGAN. [Mazed.] It's warm! + + [She gives them all a last half-smiling look, and Passes with + the CONSTABLE through the doorway.] + +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. + + [He looks at ANN, who is standing with her eyes fixed on her + father. WELLWYN has taken from his pocket a visiting card.] + +WELLWYN. [To FERRAND.] Here quick; take this, run after her! When +they've done with her tell her to come to us. + +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'! + + [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.] + +TIMSON. [In a croaky voice.] Sir! + +WELLWYN. What--you, Timson? + +TIMSON. On me larst legs, sir. 'Ere! You can see 'em for yerself! +Shawn't trouble yer long.... + +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. + +TIMSON. [Taking the card.] Yer new address! You are a gen'leman. +[He lurches slowly away.] + + [ANN shuts the street door and sets her back against it. The + rumble of the approaching van is heard outside. It ceases.] + +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. + +WELLWYN. [With a blank stare.] Six? + +ANN. [Staring round the naked room.] What was the good of this? + +WELLWYN. [Following her eyes---very gravely.] Ann! It is stronger +than me. + + [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.] + +CHIEF HUMBLE-MAN. [In an attitude of expectation.] This is the +larst of it, sir. + +WELLWYN. Oh! Ah! yes! + + [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.] + +WELLWYN. You can finish the decanter. + + [He goes out in haste.] + +CHIEF HUMBLE-MAN. [Clinking the coins.] Third time of arskin'! +April fool! Not 'arf! Good old pigeon! + +SECOND HUMBLE-MAN. 'Uman being, I call 'im. + +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. + +SECOND HUMBLE-MAN. Ditto to that! This is a bit of orl right! +[Raising his glass.] Good luck! + +THIRD HUMBLE-MAN. Same 'ere! + +[Simultaneously they place their lips smartly against the liquor, +and at once let fall their faces and their glasses.] + +CHIEF HUMBLE-MAN. [With great solemnity.] Crikey! Bill! Tea! +.....'E's got us! + + [The stage is blotted dark.] + + +Curtain. + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of THE PIGEON (Play) +by John Galsworthy. + |