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You may copy it, give it away or + re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included + with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + Title: The Foundations (Fourth Series Plays) + + Author: John Galsworthy + + Release Date: September 26, 2004 [EBook #2916] + Last Updated: October 28, 2012 + + Language: English + + Character set encoding: ASCII + + *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FOUNDATIONS *** + + Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <h2> + <i>GALSWORTHY'S PLAYS</i> + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + <i>Links to All Volumes</i> + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIRST SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2906/2906-h/2906-h.htm"><b>The + Silver Box</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2907/2907-h/2907-h.htm"><b>Joy</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2908/2908-h/2908-h.htm"><b>Strife</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SECOND SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2909/2909-h/2909-h.htm"><b>The + Eldest Son</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2910/2910-h/2910-h.htm"><b>Little + Dream</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2911/2911-h/2911-h.htm"><b>Justice</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE THIRD SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2912/2912-h/2912-h.htm"><b>The + Fugitive</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2913/2913-h/2913-h.htm"><b>The + Pigeon</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2914/2914-h/2914-h.htm"><b>The + Mob</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FOURTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2915/2915-h/2915-h.htm"><b>A + Bit O'Love</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2916/2916-h/2916-h.htm"><b>The + Foundations</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2917/2917-h/2917-h.htm"><b>The + Skin Game</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIFTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4764/4764-h/4764-h.htm"><b>A + Family Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4765/4765-h/4765-h.htm"><b>Loyalties</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4766/4766-h/4766-h.htm"><b>Windows</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SIXTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2918/2918-h/2918-h.htm"><b>The + First and Last</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2919/2919-h/2919-h.htm"><b>The + Little Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2920/2920-h/2920-h.htm"><b>Four + Short Plays</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + <i>PLAYS IN THE FOURTH SERIES</i> + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE FOUNDATIONS + </h1> + <h3> + (An Extravagant Play) + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By John Galsworthy + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> ACT I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> ACT II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ACT III </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> PERSONS OF THE PLAY + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LORD WILLIAM DROMONDY, M.P. + LADY WILLIAM DROMONDY + LITTLE ANNE + MISS STOKES + MR. POULDER + JAMES + HENRY + THOMAS + CHARLES + THE PRESS + LEMMY + OLD MRS. LEMMY + LITTLE AIDA + THE DUKE OF EXETER + + Some ANTI-SWEATERS; Some SWEATED WORKERS; and a CROWD + + SCENES + + SCENE I. The cellar at LORD WILLIAM DROMONDY'S in Park Lane. + + SCENE II. The room of old MRS. LEMMY in Bethnal Green. + + SCENE III. Ante-room of the hall at LORD WILLIAM DROMONDY'S + + The Action passes continuously between 8 and 10.30 of a + summer evening, some years after the Great War. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + ACT I + </h2> + <p> + LORD WILLIAM DROMONDY'S mansion in Park Lane. Eight o'clock of the + evening. LITTLE ANNE DROMONDY and the large footman, JAMES, gaunt and + grin, discovered in the wine cellar, by light of gas. JAMES, in plush + breeches, is selecting wine. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE: James, are you really James? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. No, my proper name's John. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Oh! [A pause] And is Charles's an improper name too? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. His proper name's Mark. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Then is Thomas Matthew? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Miss Anne, stand clear o' that bin. You'll put your foot through + one o' those 'ock bottles. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. No, but James—Henry might be Luke, really? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Now shut it, Miss Anne! + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Who gave you those names? Not your godfathers and godmothers? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Poulder. Butlers think they're the Almighty. [Gloomily] But his + name's Bartholomew. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Bartholomew Poulder? It's rather jolly. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. It's hidjeous. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Which do you like to be called—John or James? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. I don't give a darn. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. What is a darn? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. 'Tain't in the dictionary. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Do you like my name? Anne Dromondy? It's old, you know. But it's + funny, isn't it? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Indifferently] It'll pass. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. How many bottles have you got to pick out? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Thirty-four. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Are they all for the dinner, or for the people who come in to the + Anti-Sweating Meeting afterwards? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. All for the dinner. They give the Sweated—tea. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. All for the dinner? They'll drink too much, won't they? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. We've got to be on the safe side. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Will it be safer if they drink too much? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [JAMES pauses in the act of dusting a bottle to look at her, as if + suspecting irony.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + [Sniffing] Isn't the smell delicious here-like the taste of cherries when + they've gone bad—[She sniffs again] and mushrooms; and boot + blacking. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. That's the escape of gas. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Has the plumber's man been? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Yes. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Which one? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Little blighter I've never seen before. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. What is a little blighter? Can I see? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. He's just gone. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Straying] Oh!... James, are these really the foundations? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. You might 'arf say so. There's a lot under a woppin' big house like + this; you can't hardly get to the bottom of it. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Everything's built on something, isn't it? And what's THAT built + on? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Ask another. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. If you wanted to blow it up, though, you'd have to begin from + here, wouldn't you? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Who'd want to blow it up? + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. It would make a mess in Park Lane. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. I've seen a lot bigger messes than this'd make, out in the war. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Oh! but that's years ago! Was it like this in the trenches, + James? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Grimly] Ah! 'Cept that you couldn't lay your 'and on a bottle o' + port when you wanted one. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Do you, when you want it, here? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [On guard] I only suggest it's possible. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Perhaps Poulder does. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Icily] I say nothin' about that. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Oh! Do say something! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. I'm ashamed of you, Miss Anne, pumpin' me! + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Reproachfully] I'm not pumpin'! I only want to make Poulder jump + when I ask him. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Grinning] Try it on your own responsibility, then; don't bring me + in! + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Switching off] James, do you think there's going to be a bloody + revolution? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Shocked] I shouldn't use that word, at your age. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Why not? Daddy used it this morning to Mother. [Imitating] "The + country's in an awful state, darling; there's going to be a bloody + revolution, and we shall all be blown sky-high." Do you like Daddy? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Taken aback] Like Lord William? What do you think? We chaps would + ha' done anything for him out there in the war. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. He never says that he always says he'd have done anything for + you! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Well—that's the same thing. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. It isn't—it's the opposite. What is class hatred, James? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Wisely] Ah! A lot o' people thought when the war was over there'd + be no more o' that. [He sniggers] Used to amuse me to read in the papers + about the wonderful unity that was comin'. I could ha' told 'em different. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Why should people hate? I like everybody. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. You know such a lot o' people, don't you? + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Well, Daddy likes everybody, and Mother likes everybody, except + the people who don't like Daddy. I bar Miss Stokes, of course; but then, + who wouldn't? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [With a touch of philosophy] That's right—we all bars them + that tries to get something out of us. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Who do you bar, James? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Well—[Enjoying the luxury of thought]—Speaking + generally, I bar everybody that looks down their noses at me. Out there in + the trenches, there'd come a shell, and orf'd go some orficer's head, an' + I'd think: That might ha' been me—we're all equal in the sight o' + the stars. But when I got home again among the torfs, I says to meself: + Out there, ye know, you filled a hole as well as me; but here you've put + it on again, with mufti. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. James, are your breeches made of mufti? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Contemplating his legs with a certain contempt] Ah! Footmen were + to ha' been off; but Lord William was scared we wouldn't get jobs in the + rush. We're on his conscience, and it's on my conscience that I've been on + his long enough—so, now I've saved a bit, I'm goin' to take meself + orf it. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Oh! Are you going? Where? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Assembling the last bottles] Out o' Blighty! + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Is a little blighter a little Englishman? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Embarrassed] Well-'e can be. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE [Mining] James—we're quite safe down here, aren't we, in a + revolution? Only, we wouldn't have fun. Which would you rather—be + safe, or have fun? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Grimly] Well, I had my bit o' fun in the war. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. I like fun that happens when you're not looking. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Do you? You'd ha' been just suited. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. James, is there a future life? Miss Stokes says so. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. It's a belief, in the middle classes. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. What are the middle classes? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Anything from two 'undred a year to supertax. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Mother says they're terrible. Is Miss Stokes middle class? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Yes. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Then I expect they are terrible. She's awfully virtuous, though, + isn't she? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. 'Tisn't so much the bein' virtuous, as the lookin' it, that's + awful. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Are all the middle classes virtuous? Is Poulder? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Dubiously] Well. Ask him! + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Yes, I will. Look! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [From an empty bin on the ground level she picks up a lighted taper,—burnt + almost to the end.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JAMES. [Contemplating it] Careless! + </p> + <p> + L. Ate. Oh! And look! [She paints to a rounded metal object lying in the + bin, close to where the taper was] It's a bomb! + </p> + <p> + She is about to pick it up when JAMES takes her by the waist and puts her + aside. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Sternly] You stand back, there! I don't like the look o' that! + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [With intense interest] Is it really a bomb? What fun! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Go and fetch Poulder while I keep an eye on it. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [On tiptoe of excitement] If only I can make him jump! Oh, James! + we needn't put the light out, need we? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. No. Clear off and get him, and don't you come back. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Oh! but I must! I found it! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Cut along. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Shall we bring a bucket? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Yes. [ANNE flies off.] + </p> + <p> + [Gazing at the object] Near go! Thought I'd seen enough o'them to last my + time. That little gas blighter! He looked a rum 'un, too—one o' + these 'ere Bolshies. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [In the presence of this grim object the habits of the past are too much + for him. He sits on the ground, leaning against one of the bottle + baskets, keeping his eyes on the bomb, his large, lean, gorgeous body + spread, one elbow on his plush knee. Taking out an empty pipe, he places + it mechanically, bowl down, between his dips. There enter, behind him, + as from a communication trench, POULDER, in swallow-tails, with LITTLE + ANNE behind him.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Peering round him—ecstatic] Hurrah! Not gone off yet! It + can't—can it—while James is sitting on it? + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Very broad and stout, with square shoulders,—a large ruddy + face, and a small mouth] No noise, Miss.—James. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Hallo! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. What's all this? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Bomb! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Miss Anne, off you go, and don't you—— + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Come back again! I know! [She flies.] + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Extending his hand with the pipe in it] See! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Severely] You've been at it again! Look here, you're not in the + trenches now. Get up! What are your breeches goin' to be like? You might + break a bottle any moment! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Rising with a jerk to a sort of "Attention!"] Look here, you + starched antiquity, you and I and that bomb are here in the sight of the + stars. If you don't look out I'll stamp on it and blow us all to glory! + Drop your civilian swank! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Seeing red] Ho! Because you had the privilege of fightin' for + your country you still think you can put it on, do you? Take up your wine! + 'Pon my word, you fellers have got no nerve left! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [JAMES makes a sudden swoop, lifts the bomb and poises it in both hands. + POULDER recoils against a bin and gazes, at the object.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JAMES. Put up your hands! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. I defy you to make me ridiculous. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Fiercely] Up with 'em! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [POULDER'S hands go up in an uncontrollable spasm, which he subdues + almost instantly, pulling them down again.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JAMES. Very good. [He lowers the bomb.] + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Surprised] I never lifted 'em. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. You'd have made a first-class Boche, Poulder. Take the bomb + yourself; you're in charge of this section. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Pouting] It's no part of my duty to carry menial objects; if + you're afraid of it I'll send 'Enry. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Afraid! You 'Op o' me thumb! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [From the "communication trench" appears LITTLE ANNE, followed by a + thin, sharp, sallow-faced man of thirty-five or so, and another FOOTMAN, + carrying a wine-cooler.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. ANNE. I've brought the bucket, and the Press. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [In front of POULDER'S round eyes and mouth] Ah, major domo, I was + just taking the names of the Anti-Sweating dinner. [He catches sight of + the bomb in JAMES'S hand] By George! What A.1. irony! [He brings out a + note-book and writes] "Highest class dining to relieve distress of lowest + class-bombed by same!" Tipping! [He rubs his hands]. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Drawing himself up] Sir? This is present! [He indicates ANNE + with the flat of his hand.] + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. I found the bomb. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Absorbed] By Jove! This is a piece of luck! [He writes.] + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Observing him] This won't do—it won't do at all! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing-absorbed] "Beginning of the British Revolution!" + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [To JAMES] Put it in the cooler. 'Enry, 'old up the cooler. + Gently! Miss Anne, get be'ind the Press. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Grimly—holding the bomb above the cooler] It won't be the + Press that'll stop Miss Anne's goin' to 'Eaven if one o' this sort goes + off. Look out! I'm goin' to drop it. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [ALL recoil. HENRY puts the cooler down and backs away.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Dancing forward] Oh! Let me see! I missed all the war, you know! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [JAMES lowers the bomb into the cooler.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. [Regaining courage—to THE PRESS, who is scribbling in his + note-book] If you mention this before the police lay their hands on it, + it'll be contempt o' Court. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Struck] I say, major domo, don't call in the police! That's the + last resort. Let me do the Sherlocking for you. Who's been down here? + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. The plumber's man about the gas—-a little blighter we'd + never seen before. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Lives close by, in Royal Court Mews—No. 3. I had a word with + him before he came down. Lemmy his name is. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. "Lemmy!" [Noting the address] Right-o! + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Oh! Do let me come with you! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Barring the way] I've got to lay it all before Lord William. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Ah! What's he like? + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [With dignity] A gentleman, sir. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Then he won't want the police in. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Nor the Press, if I may go so far, as to say so. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. One to you! But I defy you to keep this from the Press, major domo: + This is the most significant thing that has happened in our time. Guy + Fawkes is nothing to it. The foundations of Society reeling! By George, + it's a second Bethlehem! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He writes.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. [To JAMES] Take up your wine and follow me. 'Enry, bring the + cooler. Miss Anne, precede us. [To THE PRESS] You defy me? Very well; I'm + goin' to lock you up here. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Uneasy] I say this is medieval. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He attempts to pass.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. [Barring the way] Not so! James, put him up in that empty 'ock + bin. We can't have dinner disturbed in any way. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Putting his hands on THE PRESS'S shoulders] Look here—go + quiet! I've had a grudge against you yellow newspaper boys ever since the + war—frothin' up your daily hate, an' makin' the Huns desperate. You + nearly took my life five hundred times out there. If you squeal, I'm gain' + to take yours once—and that'll be enough. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. That's awfully unjust. Im not yellow! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Well, you look it. Hup. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Little Lady-Anne, haven't you any authority with these fellows? + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Resisting Poulard's pressure] I won't go! I simply must see + James put him up! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Now, I warn you all plainly—there'll be a leader on this. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He tries to bolt but is seized by JAMES.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JAMES. [Ironically] Ho! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. My paper has the biggest influence + </p> + <p> + JAMES. That's the one! Git up in that 'ock bin, and mind your feet among + the claret. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. This is an outrage on the Press. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Then it'll wipe out one by the Press on the Public—an' leave + just a million over! Hup! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. 'Enry, give 'im an 'and. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE PRESS mounts, assisted by JAMES and HENRY.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Ecstatic] It's lovely! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Nervously] Mind the '87! Mind! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Mind your feet in Mr. Poulder's favourite wine! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A WOMAN'S voice is heard, as from the depths of a cave, calling "Anne! + Anne!"] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Aghast] Miss Stokes—I must hide! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She gets behind POULDER. The three Servants achieve dignified positions + in front of the bins. The voice comes nearer. THE PRESS sits dangling + his feet, grinning. MISS STOKES appears. She is woman of forty-five and + terribly good manners. Her greyish hair is rolled back off her forehead. + She is in a high evening dress, and in the dim light radiates a startled + composure.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MISS STOKES. Poulder, where is Miss Anne? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [ANNE lays hold of the backs of his legs.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. [Wincing] I am not in a position to inform you, Miss. + </p> + <p> + MISS S. They told me she was down here. And what is all this about a bomb? + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Lifting his hand in a calming manner] The crisis is past; we + have it in ice, Miss. 'Enry, show Miss Stokes! [HENRY indicates the + cooler.] + </p> + <p> + MISS S. Good gracious! Does Lord William know? + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Not at present, Miss. + </p> + <p> + MISS S. But he ought to, at once. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. We 'ave 'ad complications. + </p> + <p> + MISS S. [Catching sight of the legs of THE PRESS] Dear me! What are those? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Gloomily] The complications. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MISS STOKES pins up her glasses and stares at them.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. [Cheerfully] Miss Stokes, would you kindly tell Lord William I'm + here from the Press, and would like to speak to him? + </p> + <p> + MISS S. But—er—why are you up there? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. 'E got up out o' remorse, Miss. + </p> + <p> + MISS S. What do you mean, James? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Warmly] Miss Stokes, I appeal to you. Is it fair to attribute + responsibility to an unsigned journalist—for what he has to say? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Sepulchrally] Yes, when you've got 'im in a nice dark place. + </p> + <p> + MISS. S. James, be more respectful! We owe the Press a very great debt. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. I'm goin' to pay it, Miss. + </p> + <p> + MISS S. [At a loss] Poulder, this is really most—— + </p> + <p> + POULDER. I'm bound to keep the Press out of temptation, miss, till I've + laid it all before Lord William. 'Enry, take up the cooler. James, watch + 'im till we get clear, then bring on the rest of the wine and lock up. + Now, Miss. + </p> + <p> + MISS S. But where is Anne? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Miss Stokes, as a lady——! + </p> + <p> + MISS S. I shall go and fetch Lord William! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. We will all go, Miss. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Rushing out from behind his legs] No—me! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She eludes MISS STOKES and vanishes, followed by that distracted but + still well-mannered lady.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. [Looking at his watch] 'Enry, leave the cooler, and take up the + wine; tell Thomas to lay it out; get the champagne into ice, and 'ave + Charles 'andy in the 'all in case some literary bounder comes punctual. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [HENRY takes up the wine and goes.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. [Above his head] I say, let me down. This is a bit undignified, you + know. My paper's a great organ. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [After a moment's hesitation] Well—take 'im down, James; + he'll do some mischief among the bottles. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. 'Op off your base, and trust to me. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE PRESS slides off the bin's edge, is received by JAMES, and not + landed gently.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. [Contemplating him] The incident's closed; no ill-feeling, I + hope? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. No-o. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. That's right. [Clearing his throat] While we're waitin' for Lord + William—if you're interested in wine—[Philosophically] you can + read the history of the times in this cellar. Take 'ock: [He points to a + bin] Not a bottle gone. German product, of course. Now, that 'ock is 'sa + 'avin' the time of its life—maturin' grandly; got a wonderful + chance. About the time we're bringin' ourselves to drink it, we shall be + havin' the next great war. With luck that 'ock may lie there another + quarter of a century, and a sweet pretty wine it'll be. I only hope I may + be here to drink it. Ah! [He shakes his head]—but look at claret! + Times are hard on claret. We're givin' it an awful doin'. Now, there's a + Ponty Canny [He points to a bin] if we weren't so 'opelessly allied with + France, that wine would have a reasonable future. As it is—none! We + drink it up and up; not more than sixty dozen left. And where's its equal + to come from for a dinner wine—ah! I ask you? On the other hand, + port is steady; made in a little country, all but the cobwebs and the old + boot flavour; guaranteed by the British Nary; we may 'ope for the best + with port. Do you drink it? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. When I get the chance. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Ah! [Clears his throat] I've often wanted to ask: What do they + pay you—if it's not indelicate? + </p> + <p> + [THE PRESS shrugs his shoulders.] + </p> + <p> + Can you do it at the money? + </p> + <p> + [THE PRESS shakes his head.] Still—it's an easy life! I've regretted + sometimes that I didn't have a shot at it myself; influencin' other people + without disclosin' your identity—something very attractive about + that. [Lowering his voice] Between man and man, now-what do you think of + the situation of the country—these processions of the unemployed—the + Red Flag an' the Marsillaisy in the streets—all this talk about an + upheaval? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Well, speaking as a Socialist—— + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Astounded] Why; I thought your paper was Tory! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. So it is. That's nothing! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Open-mouthed] Dear me! [Pointing to the bomb] Do you really + think there's something in this? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Sepulchrally] 'Igh explosive. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Taking out his note-book] Too much, anyway, to let it drop. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A pleasant voice calls "Poulder! Hallo!".] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. [Forming a trumpet with his hand] Me Lord! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [As LORD WILLIAM appears, JAMES, overcome by reminiscences; salutes, and + is mechanically answered. LORD WILLIAM has "charm." His hair and + moustache are crisp and just beginning to grizzle. His bearing is free, + easy, and only faintly armoured. He will go far to meet you any day. He + is in full evening dress.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. [Cheerfully] I say, Poulder, what have you and James been doing to + the Press? Liberty of the Press—it isn't what it was, but there is a + limit. Where is he? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He turns to Jams between whom and himself there is still the + freemasonry of the trenches.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JAMES. [Pointing to POULDER] Be'ind the parapet, me Lord. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE PRESS mopes out from where he has involuntarily been. screened by + POULDER, who looks at JAMES severely. LORD WILLIAM hides a smile.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. Very glad to meet you, Lord William. My presence down here is quite + involuntary. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [With a charming smile] I know. The Press has to put its— er—to + go to the bottom of everything. Where's this bomb, Poulder? Ah! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He looks into the wine cooler.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. [Taking out his note-book] Could I have a word with you on the + crisis, before dinner, Lord William? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. It's time you and James were up, Poulder. [Indicating the cooler] + Look after this; tell Lady William I'll be there in a minute. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Very good, me Lord. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes, followed by JAMES carrying the cooler.] [As THE PRESS turns to + look after them, LORD WILLIAM catches sight of his back.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. I must apologise, sir. Can I brush you? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Dusting himself] Thanks; it's only behind. [He opens his + note-book] Now, Lord William, if you'd kindly outline your views on the + national situation; after such a narrow escape from death, I feel they + might have a moral effect. My paper, as you know, is concerned with—the + deeper aspect of things. By the way, what do you value your house and + collection at? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Twisting his little mustache] Really: I can't! Really! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Might I say a quarter of a million-lifted in two seconds and a + half-hundred thousand to the second. It brings it home, you know. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. No, no; dash it! No! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Disappointed] I see—not draw attention to your property in + the present excited state of public feeling? Well, suppose we approach it + from the viewpoint of the Anti-Sweating dinner. I have the list of guests—very + weighty! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Taken some lifting-wouldn't they? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Seriously] May I say that you designed the dinner to soften the + tension, at this crisis? You saw that case, I suppose, this morning, of + the woman dying of starvation in Bethnal Green? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Desperately] Yes-yes! I've been horribly affected. I always knew + this slump would come after the war, sooner or later. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "... had predicted slump." + </p> + <p> + LORD W. You see, I've been an Anti-Sweating man for years, and I thought + if only we could come together now.... + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Nodding] I see—I see! Get Society interested in the Sweated, + through the dinner. I have the menu here. [He produces it.] + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Good God, man—more than that! I want to show the people that + we stand side by side with them, as we did in the trenches. The whole + thing's too jolly awful. I lie awake over it. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He walks up and down.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. [Scribbling] One moment, please. I'll just get that down— + "Too jolly awful—lies awake over it. Was wearing a white waistcoat + with pearl buttons." [At a sign of resentment from his victim.] I want the + human touch, Lord William—it's everything in my paper. What do you + say about this attempt to bomb you? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Well, in a way I think it's d—-d natural + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Scribbling] "Lord William thought it d—-d natural." + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Overhearing] No, no; don't put that down. What I mean is, I + should like to get hold of those fellows that are singing the Marseillaise + about the streets—fellows that have been in the war— real + sports they are, you know—thorough good chaps at bottom—and + say to them: "Have a feeling heart, boys; put yourself in my position." I + don't believe a bit they'd want to bomb me then. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He walks up and down.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. [Scribbling and muttering] "The idea, of brotherhood—" D'you + mind my saying that? Word brotherhood—always effective—always—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He writes.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD E. [Bewildered] "Brotherhood!" Well, it's pure accident that I'm here + and they're there. All the same, I can't pretend to be starving. Can't go + out into Hyde Park and stand on a tub, can I? But if I could only show + them what I feel—they're such good chaps— poor devils. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. I quite appreciate! [He writes] "Camel and needle's eye." You were + at Eton and Oxford? Your constituency I know. Clubs? But I can get all + that. Is it your view that Christianity is on the up-grade, Lord William? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Dubious] What d'you mean by Christianity—loving—kindness + and that? Of course I think that dogma's got the knock. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He walks.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "Lord William thought dogma had got the knock." I should + like you just to develop your definition of Christianity. "Loving—kindness" + strikes rather a new note. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. New? What about the Sermon on the Mount? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "Refers to Sermon on Mount." I take it you don't belong + to any Church, Lord William? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Exasperated] Well, really—I've been baptised and that sort + of thing. But look here—— + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Oh! you can trust me—I shan't say anything that you'll + regret. Now, do you consider that a religious revival would help to quiet + the country? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Well, I think it would be a deuced, good thing if everybody were a + bit more kind. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Ah! [Musing] I feel that your views are strikingly original, Lord + William. If you could just open out on them a little more? How far would + you apply kindness in practice? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Can you apply it in theory? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. I believe it is done. But would you allow yourself to be blown up + with impunity? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Well, that's a bit extreme. But I quite sympathise with this chap. + Imagine yourself in his shoes. He sees a huge house, all these bottles; us + swilling them down; perhaps he's got a starving wife, or consumptive kids. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing and murmuring] Um-m! "Kids." + </p> + <p> + LORD W. He thinks: "But for the grace of God, there swill I. Why should + that blighter have everything and I nothing?" and all that. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "And all that." [Eagerly] Yes? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. And gradually—you see—this contrast—becomes an + obsession with him. "There's got to be an example made," he thinks; and—er— + he makes it, don't you know? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] Ye-es? And—when you're the example? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Well, you feel a bit blue, of course. But my point is that you + quite see it. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. From the other world. Do you believe in a future life, Lord + William? The public took a lot of interest in the question, if you + remember, at the time of the war. It might revive at any moment, if + there's to be a revolution. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. The wish is always father to the thought, isn't it? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Yes! But—er—doesn't the question of a future life + rather bear on your point about kindness? If there isn't one—why be + kind? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Well, I should say one oughtn't to be kind for any motive— + that's self-interest; but just because one feels it, don't you know. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing vigorously] That's very new—very new! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Simply] You chaps are wonderful. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Doubtfully] You mean we're—we're—— + </p> + <p> + LORD W. No, really. You have such a d—-d hard time. It must be + perfectly beastly to interview fellows like me. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Oh! Not at all, Lord William. Not at all. I assure you compared + with a literary man, it's—it's almost heavenly. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. You must have a wonderful knowledge of things. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Bridling a little] Well—I shouldn't say that. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. I don't see how you can avoid it. You turn your hands to + everything. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Modestly] Well—yes, Yes. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. I say: Is there really going to be a revolution, or are you making + it up, you Press? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. We don't know. We never know whether we come before the event, or + it comes before us. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. That's—very deep—very dip. D'you mind lending me your + note-book a moment. I'd like to stick that down. All right, I'll use the + other end. [THE PRESS hands it hypnotically.] + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Jotting] Thanks awfully. Now what's your real opinion of the + situation? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. As a man or a Press man? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Is there any difference? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Is there any connection? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Well, as a man. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. As a man, I think it's rotten. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Jotting] "Rotten." And as a pressman? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Smiling] Prime. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. What! Like a Stilton cheese. Ha, ha! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He is about to write.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. My stunt, Lord William. You said that. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He jots it on his cuff.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. But look here! Would you say that a strong press movement would + help to quiet the country? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Well, as you ask me, Lord William, I'll tell you. No newspapers for + a month would do the trick. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Jotting] By Jove! That's brilliant. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Yes, but I should starve. [He suddenly looks up, and his eyes, like + gimlets, bore their way into LORD WILLIAM'S pleasant, troubled face] Lord + William, you could do me a real kindness. Authorise me to go and interview + the fellow who left the bomb here; I've got his address. I promise you to + do it most discreetly. Fact is—well—I'm in low water. Since + the war we simply can't get sensation enough for the new taste. Now, if I + could have an article headed: "Bombed and Bomber"—sort of double + interview, you know, it'd very likely set me on my legs again. [Very + earnestly] Look! [He holds out his frayed wristbands.] + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Grasping his hand] My dear chap, certainly. Go and interview this + blighter, and then bring him round here. You can do that for one. I'd very + much like to see him, as a matter of fact. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Thanks awfully; I shall never forget it. Oh! might I have my + note-book? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LORD WILLIAM hands it back.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. And look here, if there's anything—when a fellow's fortunate + and another's not—— + </p> + <p> + [He puts his hand into his breast pocket.] + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Oh, thank you! But you see, I shall have to write you up a bit, + Lord William. The old aristocracy—you know what the public still + expects; if you were to lend me money, you might feel—— + </p> + <p> + LORD W. By Jove! Never should have dreamt—— + </p> + <p> + PRESS. No! But it wouldn't do. Have you a photograph of yourself. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Not on me. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Pity! By the way, has it occurred to you that there may be another + bomb on the premises? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Phew! I'll have a look. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He looks at his watch, and begins hurriedly searching the bins, bending + down and going on his knees. THE PRESS reverses the notebook again and + sketches him.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. [To himself] Ah! That'll do. "Lord William examines the foundations + of his house." + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A voice calls "Bill!" THE PRESS snaps the note-book to, and looks up. + There, where the "communication trench" runs in, stands a tall and + elegant woman in the extreme of evening dress.] [With presence of mind] + Lady William? You'll find Lord William —Oh! Have you a photograph + of him? + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY W. Not on me. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Eyeing her] Er—no—I suppose not—no. Excuse me! + [He sidles past her and is gone.] + </p> + <p> + LADY W. [With lifted eyebrows] Bill! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Emerging, dusting his knees] Hallo, Nell! I was just making sure + there wasn't another bomb. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Yes; that's why I came dawn: Who was that person? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Press. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. He looked awfully yellow. I hope you haven't been giving yourself + away. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Dubiously] Well, I don't know. They're like corkscrews. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. What did he ask you? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. What didn't he? + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Well, what did you tell him? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. That I'd been baptised—but he promised not to put it down. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Bill, you are absurd. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She gives a light tittle laugh.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. I don't remember anything else, except that it was quite natural + we should be bombed, don't you know. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Why, what harm have we done? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Been born, my dear. [Suddenly serious] I say, Nell, how am I to + tell what this fellow felt when he left that bomb here? + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Why do you want to? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Out there one used to know what one's men felt. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. [Staring] My dear boy, I really don't think you ought to see the + Press; it always upsets you. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Well! Why should you and I be going to eat ourselves silly to + improve the condition of the sweated, when—— + </p> + <p> + LADY W. [Calmly] When they're going to "improve" ours, if we don't look + out. We've got to get in first, Bill. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Gloomily] I know. It's all fear. That's it! Here we are, and here + we shall stay—as if there'd never been a war. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Well, thank heaven there's no "front" to a revolution. You and I + can go to glory together this time. Compact! Anything that's on, I'm to + abate in. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Well, in reason. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. No, in rhyme, too. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. I say, your dress! + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Yes, Poulder tried to stop me, but I wasn't going to have you + blown up without me. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. You duck. You do look stunning. Give us a kiss! + </p> + <p> + LADY W. [Starting back] Oh, Bill! Don't touch me—your hands! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Never mind, my mouth's clean. + </p> + <p> + They stand about a yard apart, and banding their faces towards each other, + kiss on the lips. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Appearing suddenly from the "communication trench," and + tip-toeing silently between them] Oh, Mum! You and Daddy ARE wasting time! + Dinner's ready, you know! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + CURTAIN + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT II + </h2> + <blockquote> + <p> + The single room of old MRS. LEMMY, in a small grey house in Bethnal + Green, the room of one cumbered by little save age, and the crockery + debris of the past. A bed, a cupboard, a coloured portrait of Queen + Victoria, and—of all things—a fiddle, hanging on the wall. + By the side of old MRS. LEMMY in her chair is a pile of corduroy + trousers, her day's sweated sewing, and a small table. She sits with her + back to the window, through which, in the last of the light, the + opposite side of the little grey street is visible under the evening + sky, where hangs one white cloud shaped like a horned beast. She is + still sewing, and her lips move. Being old, and lonely, she has that + habit of talking to herself, distressing to those who cannot overhear. + From the smack of her tongue she was once a West Country cottage woman; + from the look of her creased, parchmenty face, she was once a pretty + girl with black eyes, in which there is still much vitality. The door is + opened with difficulty and a little girl enters, carrying a pile of + unfinished corduroy trousers nearly as large as herself. She puts them + down against the wall, and advances. She is eleven or twelve years old; + large-eyed, dark haired, and sallow. Half a woman of this and half of + another world, except when as now, she is as irresponsible a bit of life + as a little flowering weed growing out of a wall. She stands looking at + MRS. LEMMY with dancing eyes. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. AIDA. I've brought yer to-morrer's trahsers. Y'nt yer finished wiv + to-dy's? I want to tyke 'em. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. No, me dear. Drat this last one—me old fengers! + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. I learnt some poytry to-dy—I did. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Well, I never! + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [Reciting with unction] + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + "Little lamb who myde thee? Dost thou know who myde thee, Gyve thee life + and byde thee feed By the stream and oer the mead; Gyve the clothing of + delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gyve thee such a tender + voice, Myking all the vyles rejoice. Little lamb who myde thee? Dost + thou know who myde thee?" + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. L. 'Tes wonderful what things they tache ya nowadays. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. When I grow up I'm goin' to 'ave a revolver an' shoot the people + that steals my jools. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Deary-me, wherever du yu get yore notions? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. An' I'm goin' to ride on as 'orse be'ind a man; an' I'm goin' to + ryce trynes in my motor car. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Dryly] Ah!—Yu'um gwine to be very busy, that's sartin. Can + you sew? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [With a Smile] Nao. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Don' they tache Yu that, there? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [Blending contempt and a lingering curiosity] Nao. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. 'Tes wonderful genteel. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. I can sing, though. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Let's 'ear yu, then. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [Shaking her head] I can ply the pianner. I can ply a tune. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Whose pianner? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Mrs. Brahn's when she's gone aht. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Well, yu are gettin' edjucation! Du they tache yu to love yore + neighbours? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [Ineffably] Nao. [Straying to the window] Mrs. Lemmy, what's the + moon? + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. The mune? Us used to zay 'twas made o' crame cheese. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. I can see it. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Ah! Don' yu never go wishin' for it, me dear. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. I daon't. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Folks as wish for the mune never du no gude. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [Craning out, brilliant] I'm goin' dahn in the street. I'll come + back for yer trahsers. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Well; go yu, then, and get a breath o' fresh air in yore chakes. + I'll sune 'a feneshed. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [Solemnly] I'm goin' to be a dancer, I am. + </p> + <p> + She rushes suddenly to the door, pulls it open, and is gone. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Looking after her, and talking to herself.] Ah! 'Er've a-got all + 'er troubles before 'er! "Little lamb, a made'ee?" [Cackling] 'Tes a funny + world, tu! [She sings to herself.] + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + "There is a green 'ill far away Without a city wall, Where our dear-Lord + was crucified, 'U died to save us all." The door is opened, and LEMMY + comes in; a little man with a stubble of dark moustache and spiky dark + hair; large, peculiar eyes he has, and a look of laying his ears back, a + look of doubting, of perversity with laughter up the sleeve, that grows + on those who have to do with gas and water. He shuts the door. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. L. Well, Bob, I 'aven't a-seen yu this tu weeks. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY comes up to his mother, and sits down on a stool, sets a tool-bag + between his knees, and speaks in a cockney voice. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. Well, old lydy o' leisure! Wot would y' 'ave for supper, if yer + could choose—salmon wivaht the tin, an' tipsy cyke? + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Shaking her head and smiling blandly] That's showy. Toad in the + 'ole I'd 'ave—and a glass o' port wine. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Providential. [He opens a tool-bag] Wot dyer think I've got yer? + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. I 'ope yu've a-got yureself a job, my son! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [With his peculiar smile] Yus, or I couldn't 'ave afforded yer + this. [He takes out a bottle] Not 'arf! This'll put the blood into yer. + Pork wine—once in the cellars of the gryte. We'll drink the ryyal + family in this. + </p> + <p> + [He apostrophises the portrait of Queen Victoria.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Ah! She was a praaper gude queen. I see 'er once, when 'er was + bein' burried. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Ryalties—I got nothin' to sy agynst 'em in this country. But + the STYTE 'as got to 'ave its pipes seen to. The 'ole show's goin' up pop. + Yer'll wyke up one o' these dyes, old lydy, and find yerself on the roof, + wiv nuffin' between yer an' the grahnd. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. I can't tell what yu'm talkin' about. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. We're goin' to 'ave a triumpherat in this country Liberty, + Equality, Fraternity; an' if yer arsk me, they won't be in power six + months before they've cut each other's throats. But I don't care—I + want to see the blood flow! (Dispassionately) I don' care 'oose blood it + is. I want to see it flow! + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Indulgently] Yu'm a funny boy, that's sartin. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Carving at the cork with a knife] This 'ere cork is like Sasiety—rotten; + it's old—old an' moulderin'. [He holds up a bit of cork on the point + of the knife] Crumblin' under the wax, it is. In goes the screw an' out + comes the cork. [With unction]—an' the blood flows. [Tipping the + bottle, he lets a drop fall into the middle of his hand, and licks it up. + Gazing with queer and doubting commiseration at has mother] Well, old + dear, wot shall we 'ave it aht of—the gold loving-cup, or—what? + 'Ave yer supper fust, though, or it'll go to yer 'ead! [He goes to the + cupboard and taken out a disk in which a little bread is sopped in a + little' milk] Cold pap! 'Ow can yer? 'Yn't yer got a kipper in the 'ouse? + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Admiring the bottle] Port wine! 'Tis a brave treat! I'll 'ave it + out of the "Present from Margitt," Bob. I tuk 'ee therr by excursion when + yu was six months. Yu 'ad a shrimp an' it choked yu praaperly. Yu was + always a squeamy little feller. I can't never think 'ow yu managed in the + war-time, makin' they shells. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY, who has brought to the table two mugs and blown the duet out of; + them, fills them with port, and hands one to his mother, who is eating + her bread and milk. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. Ah! Nothin' worried me, 'cept the want o' soap. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Cackling gently] So it du still, then! Luke at yore face. Yu + never was a clean boy, like Jim. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She puts out a thin finger and touches his cheek, whereon is a black + smudge.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. [Scrubbing his cheek with his sleeve.] All right! Y'see, I come + stryte 'ere, to get rid o' this. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He drinks.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. L. [Eating her bread and milk] Tes a pity yu'm not got a wife to + see't yu wash yureself. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Goggling] Wife! Not me—I daon't want ter myke no food for + pahder. Wot oh!—they said, time o' the war—ye're fightin' for + yer children's 'eritage. Well; wot's the 'eritage like, now we've got it? + Empty as a shell before yer put the 'igh explosive in. Wot's it like? + [Warming to his theme] Like a prophecy in the pypers—not a bit more + substantial. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Slightly hypnotised] How 'e du talk! The gas goes to yore 'ead, I + think! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. I did the gas to-dy in the cellars of an 'ouse where the wine was + mountains 'igh. A regiment couldn't 'a drunk it. Marble pillars in the + 'all, butler broad as an observytion balloon, an' four conscientious khaki + footmen. When the guns was roarin' the talk was all for no more o' them + glorious weeds-style an' luxury was orf. See wot it is naow. You've got a + bare crust in the cupboard 'ere, I works from 'and to mouth in a glutted + market—an' there they stand abaht agyne in their britches in the + 'oases o' the gryte. I was reg'lar overcome by it. I left a thing in that + cellar—I left a thing.... It'll be a bit ork'ard for me to-mower. + [Drinks from his mug.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Placidly, feeling the warmth of the little she has drunk] What + thing? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Wot thing? Old lydy, ye're like a winkle afore yer opens 'er—I + never see anything so peaceful. 'Ow dyer manage it? + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Settin' 'ere and thenkin'. + </p> + <p> + LEA. Wot abaht? + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. We-el—Money, an' the works o' God. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Ah! So yer give me a thought sometimes. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Lofting her mug] Yu ought never to ha' spent yore money on this, + Bob! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. I thought that meself. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Last time I 'ad a glass o' port wine was the day yore brother Jim + went to Ameriky. [Smacking her lips] For a teetotal drink, it du warm 'ee! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Raising his mug] Well, 'ere's to the British revolution! 'Ere's to + the conflygrytion in the sky! + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Comfortably] So as to kape up therr, 'twon't du no 'arm. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY goes to the window and unhooks his fiddle; he stands with it + halfway to his shoulder. Suddenly he opens the window and leans out. A + confused murmur of voices is heard; and a snatch of the Marseillaise, + sung by a girl. Then the shuffling tramp of feet, and figures are + passing in the street. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. [Turning—excited] Wot'd I tell yer, old lydy? There it is + —there it is! + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Placidly] What is? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. The revolution. [He cranes out] They've got it on a barrer. + Cheerio! + </p> + <p> + VOICE. [Answering] Cheerio! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Leaning out] I sy—you 'yn't tykin' the body, are yer? + </p> + <p> + VOICE. Nao. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Did she die o' starvytion O.K.? + </p> + <p> + VOICE. She bloomin' well did; I know 'er brother. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Ah! That'll do us a bit o' good! + </p> + <p> + VOICE. Cheerio! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. So long! + </p> + <p> + VOICE. So long! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The girl's voice is heard again in the distance singing the + Marseillaise. The door is flung open and LITTLE AIDA comes running in + again.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. 'Allo, little Aida! + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. 'Allo, I been follerin' the corfin. It's better than an 'orse + dahn! + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. What coffin? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Why, 'er's wot died o' starvytion up the street. They're goin' to + tyke it to 'Yde Pawk, and 'oller. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Well, never yu mind wot they'm goin' to du: Yu wait an' take my + trousers like a gude gell. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She puts her mug aside and takes up her unfinished pair of trousers. + But the wine has entered her fingers, and strength to push the needle + through is lacking.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. [Tuning his fiddle] Wot'll yer 'ave, little Aida? "Dead March in + Saul" or "When the fields was white wiv dysies"? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [With a hop and a brilliant smile] Aoh yus! "When the fields"—— + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [With a gesture of despair] Deary me! I 'aven't a-got the + strength! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Leave 'em alone, old dear! No one'll be goin' aht wivaht trahsers + to-night 'cos yer leaves that one undone. Little Aida, fold 'em up! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LITTLE AIDA methodically folds the five finished pairs of trousers into + a pile. LEMMY begins playing. A smile comes on the face of MRS. L, who + is rubbing her fingers. LITTLE AIDA, trousers over arm, goes and stares + at LEMMY playing.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. [Stopping] Little Aida, one o' vese dyes yer'll myke an actress. I + can see it in yer fyce! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LITTLE AIDA looks at him wide-eyed.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. L. Don't 'ee putt things into 'er 'ead, Bob! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. 'Tyn't 'er 'ead, old lydy—it's lower. She wants feedin'— + feed 'er an' she'll rise. [He strikes into the "Machichi"] Look at 'er + naow. I tell yer there's a fortune in 'er. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LITTLE AIDA has put out her tongue.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. L. I'd saner there was a gude 'eart in 'er than any fortune. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [Hugging her pile of trousers] It's thirteen pence three + farthin's I've got to bring yer, an' a penny aht for me, mykes twelve + three farthin's: [With the same little hop and sudden smile] I'm goin' to + ride back on a bus, I am. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Well, you myke the most of it up there; it's the nearest you'll + ever git to 'eaven. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Don' yu discourage 'er, Bob; she'm a gude little thing, an't yu, + dear? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [Simply] Yus. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Not 'arf. Wot c'her do wiv yesterdy's penny? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Movies. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. An' the dy before? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Movies. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Wot'd I tell yer, old lydy—she's got vicious tystes, she'll + finish in the theayter yep Tyke my tip, little Aida; you put every penny + into yer foundytions, yer'll get on the boards quicker that wy. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Don' yu pay no 'eed to his talk. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. I daon't. + </p> + <p> + Ice. Would yer like a sip aht o' my mug? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [Brilliant] Yus. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Not at yore age, me dear, though it is teetotal. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LITTLE AIDA puts her head on one side, like a dog trying to + understand.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. Well, 'ave one o' my gum-drops. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Holds out a paper.] [LITTLE AIDA brilliant, takes a flat, dark + substance from it, and puts it in her mouth.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Give me a kiss, an' I'll give yer a penny. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LITTLE AIDA shakes her head, and leans out of window.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Movver, she daon't know the valyer of money. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Never mind 'im, me dear. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [Sucking the gum-drop—with difficulty] There's a taxi-cab + at the corner. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LITTLE AIDA runs to the door. A figure stands in the doorway; she skids + round him and out. THE PRESS comes in.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. [Dubiously] Wat-oh! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Mr. Lemmy? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. The syme. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. I'm from the Press. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Blimy. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. They told me at your place you wens very likely here. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Yus I left Downin' Street a bit early to-dy! [He twangs the + feddle-strings pompously.] + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Taking out his note-book and writing] "Fiddles while Rome is + burning!" Mr. Lemmy, it's my business at this very critical time to find + out what the nation's thinking. Now, as a representative working man— + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. That's me. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. You can help me. What are your views? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Putting down fiddle] Voos? Sit dahn! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE PRESS sits on the stool which LEMMY has vacated.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + The Press—my Muvver. Seventy-seven. She's a wonder; 'yn't yer, old + dear? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Very happy to make your acquaintance, Ma'am. [He writes] "Mrs. + Lemmy, one of the veterans of industry——" By the way, I've + jest passed a lot of people following a coffin. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Centre o' the cyclone—cyse o' starvytion; you 'ad 'er in the + pyper this mornin'. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Ah! yes! Tragic occurrence. [Looking at the trousers.] Hub of the + Sweated Industries just here. I especially want to get at the heart—— + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. 'Twasn't the 'eart, 'twas the stomach. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "Mrs. Lemmy goes straight to the point." + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Mister, is it my voos or Muvver's yer want? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Both. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. 'Cos if yer get Muvver's, yer won't 'ave time for mine. I tell yer + stryte [Confidentially] she's get a glawss a' port wine in 'er. Naow, mind + yer, I'm not anxious to be intervooed. On the other 'and, anyfink I might + 'eve to sy of valyer——There is a clawss o' politician that 'as + nuffn to sy—Aoh! an' daon't 'e sy it just! I dunno wot pyper yer + represent. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Smiling] Well, Mr. Lemmy, it has the biggest influ—— + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. They all 'as that; dylies, weeklies, evenin's, Sundyes; but it's of + no consequence—my voos are open and aboveboard. Naow, wot shall we + begin abaht? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Yourself, if you please. And I'd like you to know at once that my + paper wants the human note, the real heart-beat of things. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. I see; sensytion! Well; 'ere am I—a fustclawss plumber's. + assistant—in a job to-dy an' out tomorrer. There's a 'eart-beat in + that, I tell yer. 'Oo knows wot the mower 'as for me! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing]. "The great human issue—Mr. Lemmy touches it at + once." + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. I sy keep my nyme aht o' this; I don' go in fer self-advertisement. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "True working-man—modest as usual." + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. I daon't want to embarrass the Gover'ment. They're so ticklish ever + since they got the 'abit, war-time, o' mindin' wot people said. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Right-o! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. For instance, suppose there's goin' to be a revolution—— + [THE PRESS writes with energy.] 'Ow does it touch me? Like this: I my go + up—I cawn't come dahn; no more can Muvver. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Surprisingly] Us all goes down into the grave. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. "Mrs. Lemmy interjects the deeper note." + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Naow, the gryte—they can come dahn, but they cawn't go up! + See! Put two an' two together, an' that's 'ow it touches me. [He utters a + throaty laugh] 'Ave yer got that? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Quizzical] Not go up? What about bombs, Mr. Lemmy? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Dubious] Wot abaht 'em? I s'pose ye're on the comic pypers? 'Ave + yer noticed wot a weakness they 'ave for the 'orrible? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "A grim humour peeped out here and there through the + earnestness of his talk." + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He sketches LEMMY'S profile.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. We 'ad an explosion in my factory time o' the war, that would just + ha' done for you comics. [He meditates] Lord! They was after it too,—they + an' the Sundyes; but the Censor did 'em. Strike me, I could tell yer + things! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. That's what I want, Mr. Lemmy; tell me things! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Musing] It's a funny world, 'yn't it? 'Ow we did blow each other + up! [Getting up to admire] I sy, I shall be syfe there. That won't betry + me anonymiety. Why! I looks like the Prime Minister! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Rather hurt] You were going to tell me things. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Yus, an' they'll be the troof, too. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. I hope so; we don't—— + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Wot oh! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [A little confused.] We always try to verify—— + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Yer leave it at tryin', daon't yer? Never, mind, ye're a gryte + institootion. Blimy, yer do have jokes, wiv it, spinnin' rahnd on yer own + tyles, denyin' to-dy wot ye're goin' to print to-morrer. Ah, well! Ye're + like all of us below the line o' comfort—live dyngerously—ever' + dy yer last. That's wy I'm interested in the future. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Well now—the future. [Writing] "He prophesies." + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. It's syfer, 'yn't it? [He winks] No one never looks back on + prophecies. I remembers an editor spring o' 1916 stykin' his reputytion + the war'd be over in the follerin' October. Increased 'is circulytion + abaht 'arf a million by it. 1917 an' war still on—'ad 'is readers + gone back on 'im? Nao! They was increasin' like rabbits. Prophesy wot + people want to believe, an' ye're syfe. Naow, I'll styke my reputation on + somethin', you tyke it dahn word for word. This country's goin' to the + dawgs—Naow, 'ere's the sensytion—unless we gets a new + religion. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Ah! Now for it—yes? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. In one word: "Kindness." Daon't mistyke me, nao sickly sentiment + and nao patronizin'. Me as kind to the millionaire as 'im to me. [Fills + his mug and drinks.] + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Struck] That's queer! Kindness! [Writing] "Extremes meet. Bombed + and bomber breathing the same music." + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. But 'ere's the interestin' pynt. Can it be done wivaht blood? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "He doubts." + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. No dabt wotever. It cawn't! Blood-and-kindness! Spill the blood o' + them that aren't kind—an' there ye are! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. But pardon me, how are you to tell? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Blimy, they leaps to the heye! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Laying down-his note-book] I say, let me talk to you as man to man + for a moment. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Orl right. Give it a rest! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Your sentiments are familiar to me. I've got a friend on the Press + who's very keen on Christ and kindness; and wants to strangle the last + king with the—hamstrings of the last priest. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Greatly intrigued] Not 'arf! Does 'e? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Yes. But have you thought it out? Because he hasn't. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. The difficulty is—where to stop. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Where to begin. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Lawd! I could begin almost anywhere. Why, every month abaht, + there's a cove turns me aht of a job 'cos I daon't do just wot 'e likes. + They'd 'ave to go. I tell yer stryte—the Temple wants cleanin' up. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Ye-es. If I wrote what I thought, I should get the sack as quick as + you. D'you say that justifies me in shedding the blood of my boss? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. The yaller Press 'as got no blood—'as it? You shed their ile + an' vinegar—that's wot you've got to do. Stryte—do yer believe + in the noble mission o' the Press? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Enigmatically] Mr. Lemmy, I'm a Pressman. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Goggling] I see. Not much! [Gently jogging his mother's elbow] + Wyke up, old lydy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [For Mrs. LEMMY who has been sipping placidly at her port, is nodding. + The evening has drawn in. LEMMY strikes a match on his trousers and + lights a candle.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Blood an' kindness-that's what's wanted—'specially blood! The + 'istory o' me an' my family'll show yer that. Tyke my bruver Fred —crushed + by burycrats. Tyke Muvver 'erself. Talk o' the wrongs o' the people! I + tell yer the foundytions is rotten. [He empties the bottle into his + mother's mug] Daon't mind the mud at the bottom, old lydy—it's all + strengthenin'! You tell the Press, Muvver. She can talk abaht the pawst. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Taking up his note-book, and becoming, again his professional + self] Yes, Mrs. Lemmy? "Age and Youth—Past and Present—" + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Were yu talkin' about Fred? [The port has warmed her veins, the + colour in her eyes and cheeks has deepened] My son Fred was always a gude + boy—never did nothin' before 'e married. I can see Fred [She bends + forward a little in her chair, looking straight before her] acomin' in wi' + a pheasant 'e'd found—terrible 'e was at findin' pheasants. When + father died, an' yu was cumin', Bob, Fred 'e said to me: "Don't yu never + cry, Mother, I'll look after 'ee." An' so 'e did, till 'e married that day + six months an' take to the drink in sower. 'E wasn't never 'the same boy + again—not Fred. An' now 'e's in That. I can see poor Fred—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She slowly wipes a tear out of the corner of an eye with the back of + her finger.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. [Puzzled] In—That? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Sotto voce] Come orf it! Prison! 'S wot she calls it. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Cheerful] They say life's a vale o' sorrows. Well, so 'tes, but + don' du to let yureself thenk so. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. And so you came to London, Mrs. Lemmy? + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Same year as father died. With the four o' them—that's my + son Fred, an' my son Jim, an' my son Tom, an' Alice. Bob there, 'e was + born in London—an' a praaper time I 'ad of et. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "Her heroic struggles with poverty——" + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Worked in a laundry, I ded, at fifteen shellin's a week, an' + brought 'em all up on et till Alice 'ad the gallopin' consumption. I can + see poor Alice wi' the little red spots is 'er cheeks—-an' I not + knowin' wot to du wi' 'her—but I always kept up their buryin' money. + Funerals is very dear; Mr. Lemmy was six pound, ten. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. "High price of Mr. Lemmy." + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. I've a-got the money for when my time come; never touch et, no + matter 'ow things are. Better a little goin' short here below, an' enter + the kingdom of 'eaven independent: + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "Death before dishonour—heroine of the slums. + Dickens—Betty Higden." + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. No, sir. Mary Lemmy. I've seen a-many die, I 'ave; an' not one + grievin'. I often says to meself: [With a little laugh] "Me dear, when yu + go, yu go 'appy. Don' yu never fret about that," I says. An' so I will; + I'll go 'appy. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She stays quite still a moment, and behind her LEMMY draws one finger + across his face.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + [Smiling] "Yore old fengers'll 'ave a rest. Think o' that!" I says. + "'Twill be a brave change." I can see myself lyin' there an' duin' + nothin'. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Again a pause, while MRS. LEMMY sees herself doing nothing.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. Tell abaht Jim; old lydy. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. My son Jim 'ad a family o' seven in six years. "I don' know 'ow + 'tes, Mother," 'e used to say to me; "they just sim to come!" That was Jim—never + knu from day to day what was cumin'. "Therr's another of 'em dead," 'e + used to say, "'tes funny, tu" "Well," I used to say to 'im; "no wonder, + poor little things, livin' in they model dwellin's. Therr's no air for + 'em," I used to say. "Well," 'e used to say, "what can I du, Mother? Can't + afford to live in Park Lane:" An' 'e take an' went to Ameriky. [Her voice + for the first time is truly doleful] An' never came back. Fine feller. So + that's my four sons—One's dead, an' one's in—That, an' one's + in Ameriky, an' Bob 'ere, poor boy, 'e always was a talker. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LEMMY, who has re-seated himself in the window and taken up his fiddle, + twangs the strings.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. And now a few words about your work, Mrs. Lemmy? + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Well, I sews. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "Sews." Yes? + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Holding up her unfinished pair of trousers] I putt in the + button'oles, I stretches the flies, I lines the crutch, I putt on this + bindin', [She holds up the calico that binds the top] I sews on the + buttons, I press the seams—Tuppence three farthin's the pair. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Twopence three farthings a pair! Worse than a penny a line! + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. In a gude day I gets thru four pairs, but they'm gettin' plaguey + 'ard for my old fengers. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "A monumental figure, on whose labour is built the mighty + edifice of our industrialism." + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. I sy—that's good. Yer'll keep that, won't yet? + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. I finds me own cotton, tuppence three farthin's, and other + expension is a penny three farthin's. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. And are you an exception, Mrs. Lemmy? + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. What's that? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Wot price the uvvers, old lydy? Is there a lot of yer sewin' yer + fingers orf at tuppence 'ypenny the pair? + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. I can't tell yu that. I never sees nothin' in 'ere. I pays a penny + to that little gell to bring me a dozen pair an' fetch 'em back. Poor + little thing, she'm 'ardly strong enough to carry 'em. Feel! They'm very + 'eavy! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. On the conscience of Society! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. I sy put that dahn, won't yer? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Have things changed much since the war, Mrs. Lemmy? + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Cotton's a lot dearer. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. All round, I mean. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Aw! Yu don' never get no change, not in my profession. [She + oscillates the trousers] I've a-been in trousers fifteen year; ever since + I got to old for laundry. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "For fifteen years sewn trousers." What would a good week + be, Mrs. Lemmy? + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. 'Tes a very gude week, five shellin's. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [From the window] Bloomin' millionairess, Muvver. She's lookin' + forward to 'eaven, where vey don't wear no trahsers. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [With spirit] 'Tidn for me to zay whether they du. An' 'tes on'y + when I'm a bit low-sperrity-like as I wants to go therr. What I am + a-lukin' forward to, though, 'tes a day in the country. I've not a-had one + since before the war. A kind lady brought me in that bit of 'eather; 'tes + wonderful sweet stuff when the 'oney's in et. When I was a little gell I + used to zet in the 'eather gatherin' the whorts, an' me little mouth all + black wi' eatin' them. 'Twas in the 'eather I used to zet, Sundays, + courtin'. All flesh is grass— an' 'tesn't no bad thing—grass. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "The old paganism of the country." What is your view of + life, Mrs. Lemmy? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Suddenly] Wot is 'er voo of life? Shall I tell yer mine? Life's a + disease—a blinkin' oak-apple! Daon't myke no mistyke. An' 'umen + life's a yumourous disease; that's all the difference. Why— wot else + can it be? See the bloomin' promise an' the blighted performance—different + as a 'eadline to the noos inside. But yer couldn't myke Muvver see vat—not + if yer talked to 'er for a wok. Muvver still believes in fings. She's a + country gell; at a 'undred and fifty she'll be a country gell, won't yer, + old lydy? + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Well, 'tesn't never been 'ome to me in London. I lived in the + country forty year—I did my lovin' there; I burried father therr. + Therr bain't nothin' in life, yu know, but a bit o' lovin'— all said + an' done; bit o' lovin', with the wind, an' the stars out. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [In a loud apologetic whisper] She 'yn't often like this. I told + yer she'd got a glawss o' port in 'er. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. 'Tes a brave pleasure, is lovin'. I likes to zee et in young folk. + I likes to zee 'em kissin'; shows the 'eart in 'em. 'Tes the 'eart makes + the world go round; 'tesn't nothin' else, in my opinion. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "—sings the swan song of the heart."—— + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Overhearing] No, I never yeard a swan sing—never! But I + tell 'ee what I 'eve 'eard; the Bells singin' in th' orchard 'angin' up + the clothes to dry, an' the cuckoos callin' back to 'em. [Smiling] There's + a-many songs in the country-the 'eart is freelike in th' country! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Soto voce] Gi' me the Strand at ar' past nine. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "Town and country——" + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. 'Tidn't like that in London; one day's jest like another. Not but + what therr's a 'eap o' kind'eartedness 'ere. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Gloomily] Kind-'eartedness! I daon't fink "Boys an' Gells come out + to play." + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He plays the old tune on his fiddle.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. L. [Singing] "Boys an' Gells come out to play. The mune is shinin' + bright as day." [She laughs] I used to sing like a lark when I was a gell. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LITTLE AIDA enters.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. AIDA. There's 'undreds follerin' the corfin. 'Yn't you goin', Mr. Lemmy—it's + dahn your wy! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Dubiously] Well yus—I s'pose they'll miss me. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Aoh! Tyke me! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. What's this? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. The revolution in 'Yde Pawk. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Struck] In Hyde Park? The very thing. I'll take you down. My + taxi's waiting. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Yus; it's breathin' 'ard, at the corner. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Looking at his watch] Ah! and Mrs. Lemmy. There's an Anti-Sweating + Meeting going on at a house in Park Lane. We can get there in twenty + minutes if we shove along. I want you to tell them about the + trouser-making. You'll be a sensation! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [To himself] Sensytion! 'E cawn't keep orf it! + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. Anti-Sweat. Poor fellers! I 'ad one come to see we before the war, + an' they'm still goin' on? Wonderful, an't it? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Come, Mrs. Lemmy; drive in a taxi, beautiful moonlit night; and + they'll give you a splendid cup of tea. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Unmoved] Ah! I cudn't never du without my tea. There's not an + avenin' but I thinks to meself: Now, me dear, yu've a-got one more to + fennish, an' then yu'll 'eve yore cup o' tea. Thank you for callin', all + the same. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Better siccumb to the temptytion, old lydy; joyride wiv the Press; + marble floors, pillars o' gold; conscientious footmen; lovely lydies; + scuppers runnin' tea! An' the revolution goin' on across the wy. 'Eaven's + nuffink to Pawk Lyne. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Come along, Mrs. Lemmy! + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Seraphically] Thank yu,—I'm a-feelin' very comfortable. + 'Tes wonderful what a drop o' wine'll du for the stomach. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. A taxi-ride! + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Placidly] Ah! I know'em. They'm very busy things. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Muvver shuns notority. [Sotto voce to THE PRESS] But you watch me! + I'll rouse 'er. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He takes up his fiddle and sits on the window seat. Above the little + houses on the opposite side of the street, the moon has risen in the + dark blue sky, so that the cloud shaped like a beast seems leaping over + it. LEMMY plays the first notes of the Marseillaise. A black cat on the + window-sill outside looks in, hunching its back. LITTLE AIDA barks at + her. MRS. LEMMY struggles to her feet, sweeping the empty dish and spoon + to the floor in the effort.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + The dish ran awy wiv the spoon! That's right, old lydy! [He stops + playing.] + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. [Smiling, and moving her hands] I like a bit o' music. It du that + move 'ee. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Bravo, Mrs. Lemmy. Come on! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Come on, old dear! We'll be in time for the revolution yet. + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. 'Tes 'earin' the Old 'Undred again! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [To THE PRESS] She 'yn't been aht these two years. [To his mother, + who has put up her hands to her head] Nao, never mind yer 'at. [To THE + PRESS] She 'yn't got none! [Aloud] No West-End lydy wears anyfink at all + in the evenin'! + </p> + <p> + MRS. L. 'Ow'm I lukin', Bob? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. First-clawss; yer've got a colour fit to toast by. We'll show 'em + yer've got a kick in yer. [He takes her arm] Little Aida, ketch 'old o' + the sensytions. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He indicates the trousers THE PRESS takes MRS. LEMMY'S other arm.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. L. [With an excited little laugh] Quite like a gell! + </p> + <p> + And, smiling between her son and THE PRESS, she passes out; LITTLE AIDA, + with a fling of her heels and a wave of the trousers, follows. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + CURTAIN + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT III + </h2> + <blockquote> + <p> + An octagon ante-room of the hall at LORD WILLIAM DROMONDY'S. A shining + room lighted by gold candelabra, with gold-curtained pillars, through + which the shining hall and a little of the grand stairway are visible. A + small table with a gold-coloured cloth occupies the very centre of the + room, which has a polished parquet floor and high white walls. + Gold-coloured doors on the left. Opposite these doors a window with + gold-coloured curtains looks out on Park Lane. LADY WILLIAM standing + restlessly between the double doors and the arch which leads to the + hall. JAMES is stationary by the double doors, from behind which come + sounds of speech and applause. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. [Entering from the hall] His Grace the Duke of Exeter, my lady. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [His GRACE enters. He is old, and youthful, with a high colour and a + short rough white beard. LADY WILLIAM advances to meet him. POULDER + stands by.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY W. Oh! Father, you ARE late. + </p> + <p> + HIS G. Awful crowd in the streets, Nell. They've got a coffin— + couldn't get by. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Coin? Whose? + </p> + <p> + HIS G. The Government's I should think-no flowers, by request. I say, have + I got to speak? + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Oh! no, dear. + </p> + <p> + HIS G. H'm! That's unlucky. I've got it here. [He looks down his cuff] + Found something I said in 1914—just have done. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Oh! If you've got it—James, ask Lord William to come to me + for a moment. [JAMES vanishes through the door. To THE DUKE] Go in, + Grand-dad; they'll be so awfully pleased to see you. I'll tell Bill. + </p> + <p> + HIS G. Where's Anne? + </p> + <p> + LADY W. In bed, of course. + </p> + <p> + HIS G. I got her this—rather nice? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He has taken from his breast-pocket one of those street toy-men that + jump head over heels on your hand; he puts it through its paces.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY W. [Much interested] Oh! no, but how sweet! She'll simply love it. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. If I might suggest to Your Grace to take it in and operate it. + It's sweated, Your Grace. They-er-make them in those places. + </p> + <p> + HIS G. By Jove! D'you know the price, Poulder? + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Interrogatively] A penny, is it? Something paltry, Your Grace! + </p> + <p> + HIS G. Where's that woman who knows everything; Miss Munday? + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Oh! She'll be in there, somewhere. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [His GRACE moves on, and passes through the doors. The sound of applause + is heard.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. [Discreetly] would you care to see the bomb, my lady? + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Of course—first quiet moment. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. I'll bring it up, and have a watch put on it here, my lady. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LORD WILLIAM comes through the double doom followed by JAMES. POULDER + retires.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. Can't you come, Nell? + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Oh! Bill, your Dad wants to speak. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. The deuce he does—that's bad. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Yes, of course, but you must let him; he's found something he said + in 1914. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. I knew it. That's what they'll say. Standing stock still, while + hell's on the jump around us. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Never mind that; it'll please him; and he's got a lovely little + sweated toy that turns head over heels at one penny. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. H'm! Well, come on. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. No, I must wait for stragglers. There's sure to be an editor in a + hurry. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Announcing] Mis-ter Gold-rum! + </p> + <p> + LADY W. [Sotto voce] And there he is! [She advances to meet a thin, + straggling man in eyeglasses, who is smiling absently] How good of you! + </p> + <p> + MR. G. Thanks awfully. I just er—and then I'm afraid I must—er— + Things look very——Thanks——Thanks so much. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He straggles through the doors, and is enclosed by JAMES.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. Miss Mun-day. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. There! I thought she was in—She really is the most + unexpected woman! How do you do? How awfully sweet of you! + </p> + <p> + MISS M. [An elderly female schoolboy] How do you do? There's a spiffing + crowd. I believe things are really going Bolshy. How do you do, Lord + William? Have you got any of our people to show? I told one or two, in + case—they do so simply love an outing. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. There are three old chips in the lobby, my Lord. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. What? Oh! I say! Bring them in at once. Why—they're the hub + of the whole thing. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Going] Very good, my Lord. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. I am sorry. I'd no notion; and they're such dears always. + </p> + <p> + MISS M. I must tell you what one of them said to me. I'd told him not to + use such bad language to his wife. "Don't you worry, Ma!" he said, "I + expert you can do a bit of that yourself!" + </p> + <p> + LADY W. How awfully nice! It's SO like them. + </p> + <p> + MISS M. Yes. They're wonderful. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. I say, why do we always call them they? + </p> + <p> + LADY W. [Puzzled] Well, why not? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. THEY! + </p> + <p> + MISS M. [Struck] Quite right, Lord William! Quite right! Another species. + They! I must remember that. THEY! [She passes on.] + </p> + <p> + LADY W. [About to follow] Well, I don't see; aren't they? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Never mind, old girl; follow on. They'll come in with me. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MISS MUNDAY and LADY WILLIAM pass through the double doors.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. [Announcing] Some sweated workers, my Lord. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [There enter a tall, thin, oldish woman; a short, thin, very lame man, + her husband; and a stoutish middle-aged woman with a rolling eye and + gait, all very poorly dressed, with lined and heated faces.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. [Shaking hands] How d'you do! Delighted to see you all. It's + awfully good of you to have come. + </p> + <p> + LAME M. Mr. and Mrs. Tomson. We 'ad some trouble to find it. You see, I've + never been in these parts. We 'ad to come in the oven; and the bus-bloke + put us dahn wrong. Are you the proprietor? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Modestly] Yes, I—er— + </p> + <p> + LAME M. You've got a nice plyce. I says to the missis, I says: "'E's got a + nice plyce 'ere," I says; "there's room to turn rahnd." + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Yes—shall we—? + </p> + <p> + LAME M. An' Mrs. Annaway she says: "Shouldn't mind livin 'ere meself," she + says; "but it must cost'im a tidy penny," she says. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. It does—it does; much too tidy. Shall we—? + </p> + <p> + MRS. ANN. [Rolling her eye] I'm very pleased to 'ave come. I've often said + to 'em: "Any time you want me," I've said, "I'd be pleased to come." + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Not so pleased as we are to see you. + </p> + <p> + MRS. ANN. I'm sure you're very kind. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [From the double doors, through which he has received a message] + Wanted for your speech, my Lord. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Oh! God! Poulder, bring these ladies and gentleman in, and put + them where everybody can—where they can see everybody, don't you + know. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes out hurriedly through the double doors.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LAME M. Is 'e a lord? + </p> + <p> + POULDER. He is. Follow me. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He moves towards the doors, the three workers follow.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. ANN. [Stopping before JAMES] You 'yn't one, I suppose? [JAMES stirs + no muscle.] + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Now please. [He opens the doors. The Voice of LORD WILLIAM + speaking is heard] Pass in. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THE THREE WORKERS pass in, POULDER and JAMES follow them. The doors are + not closed, and through this aperture comes the voice of LORD WILLIAM, + punctuated and supported by decorous applause.] [LITTLE ANNE runs in, + and listens at the window to the confused and distant murmurs of a + crowd.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VOICE OF LORD W. We propose to move for a further advance in the + chain-making and—er—er—match-box industries. [Applause.] + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LITTLE ANNE runs across to the door, to listen.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + [On rising voice] I would conclude with some general remarks. Ladies and + gentlemen, the great natural, but—er—artificial expansion + which trade experienced the first years after the war has— er—collapsed. + These are hard times. We who are fortunate feel more than ever—er—responsible—[He + stammers, loses the thread of his thoughts.]—[Applause]—er—responsible—[The + thread still eludes him]—er—— + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Poignantly] Oh, Daddy! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Desperately] In fact—er—you know how—er—responsible + we feel. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Hooray! [Applause.] + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [There float in through the windows the hoarse and distant sounds of the + Marseillaise, as sung by London voices.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. There is a feeling in the air—that I for one should say + deliberately was—er—a feeling in the air—er—a + feeling in the air—— + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Agonised] Oh, Daddy! Stop! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Jane enters, and closes the door behind him. JAMES. Look here! 'Ave I + got to report you to Miss Stokes?] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. ANNE. No-o-o! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Well, I'm goin' to. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Oh, James, be a friend to me! I've seen nothing yet. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. No; but you've eaten a good bit, on the stairs. What price that + Peach Melba? + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. I can't go to bed till I've digested it can I? There's such a + lovely crowd in the street! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Lovely? Ho! + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Wheedling] James, you couldn't tell Miss Stokes! It isn't in + you, is it? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Grinning] That's right. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. So-I'll just get under here. [She gets under the table] Do I + show? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Stooping] Not 'arf! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [POULDER enters from the hall.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. What are you doin' there? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Between him and the table—raising himself] Thinkin'. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [POULDER purses his mouth to repress his feedings.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. My orders are to fetch the bomb up here for Lady William to + inspect. Take care no more writers stray in. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. How shall I know 'em? + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Well—either very bald or very hairy. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Right-o! [He goes.] + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [POULDER, with his back to the table, busies himself with the set of his + collar.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. [Addressing an imaginary audience—in a low but important + voice] The—ah—situation is seerious. It is up to us of the—ah— + leisured classes—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The face of LITTLE ANNE is poked out close to his legs, and tilts + upwards in wonder towards the bow of his waistcoat.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + to—ah—keep the people down. The olla polloi are clamourin'—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Miss STOKES appears from the hall, between the pillars.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Miss S. Poulder! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Making a volte face towards the table] Miss? + </p> + <p> + MISS S. Where is Anne? + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Vexed at the disturbance of his speech] Excuse me, Miss— + to keep track of Miss Anne is fortunately no part of my dooties. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Miss S. She really is naughty.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. She is. If she was mine, I'd spank her. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The smiling face of LITTLE ANNE becomes visible again close to his + legs.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MISS S. Not a nice word. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. No; but a pleasant haction. Miss Anne's the limit. In fact, Lord + and Lady William are much too kind 'earted all round. Take these sweated + workers; that class o' people are quite 'opeless. Treatin' them as your + equals, shakin 'ands with 'em, givin 'em tea— it only puffs 'em out. + Leave it to the Church, I say. + </p> + <p> + MISS S. The Church is too busy, Poulder. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Ah! That "Purity an' Future o' the Race Campaign." I'll tell you + what I thinks the danger o' that, Miss. So much purity that there won't be + a future race. [Expanding] Purity of 'eart's an excellent thing, no doubt, + but there's a want of nature about it. Same with this Anti-Sweating. + Unless you're anxious to come down, you must not put the lower classes up. + </p> + <p> + MISS S. I don't agree with you at all, Poulder. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Ah! You want it both ways, Miss. I should imagine you're a + Liberal. + </p> + <p> + MISS S. [Horrified] Oh, no! I certainly am not. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Well, I judged from your takin' cocoa. Funny thing that, about + cocoa-how it still runs through the Liberal Party! It's virtuous, I + suppose. Wine, beer, tea, coffee-all of 'em vices. But cocoa you might + drink a gallon a day and annoy no one but yourself! There's a lot o' deep + things in life, Miss! + </p> + <p> + Miss S. Quite so. But I must find Anne. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She recedes. ] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. [Suavely] Well, I wish you every success; and I hope you'll spank + her. This modern education—there's no fruitiness in it. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [From under the table] Poulder, are you virtuous? + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Jumping] Good Ged! + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. D'you mind my asking? I promised James I would. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Miss Anne, come out! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The four footmen appear in the hall, HENRY carrying the wine cooler.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JAMES. Form fours-by your right-quick march! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They enter, marching down right of table.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Right incline—Mark time! Left turn! 'Alt! 'Enry, set the bomb! Stand + easy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [HENRY places the wine cooler on the table and covers it with a blue + embroidered Chinese mat, which has occupied the centre of the + tablecloth.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. Ah! You will 'ave your game! Thomas, take the door there! James, + the 'all! Admit titles an' bishops. No literary or Labour people. Charles + and 'Enry, 'op it and 'ang about! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [CHARLES and HENRY go out, the other too move to their stations.] + [POULDER, stands by the table looking at the covered bomb. The hoarse + and distant sounds of the Marseillaise float in again from Park Lane.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + [Moved by some deep feeling] And this house an 'orspital in the war! I ask + you—what was the good of all our sacrifices for the country? No town + 'ouse for four seasons—rustygettin' in the shires, not a soul but + two boys under me. Lord William at the front, Lady William at the back. + And all for this! [He points sadly at the cooler] It comes of meddlin' on + the Continent. I had my prognostications at the time. [To JAMES] You + remember my sayin' to you just before you joined up: "Mark my words—we + shall see eight per cent. for our money before this is over!" + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Sepulchrally] I see the eight per cent., but not the money. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Hark at that! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The sounds of the Marseillaise grow louder. He shakes his head.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + I'd read the Riot Act. They'll be lootin' this house next! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. We'll put up a fight over your body: "Bartholomew Poulder, faithful + unto death!" Have you insured your life? + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Against a revolution? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Act o' God! Why not? + </p> + <p> + POULDER. It's not an act o' God. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. It is; and I sympathise with it. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. You—what? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. I do—only—hands off the gov'nor. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Oh! Really! Well, that's something. I'm glad to see you stand + behind him, at all events. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. I stand in front of 'im when the scrap begins! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Do you insinuate that my heart's not in the right place? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Well, look at it! It's been creepin' down ever since I knew you. + Talk of your sacrifices in the war—they put you on your honour, and + you got stout on it. Rations—not 'arf. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Staring at him] For independence, I've never seen your equal, + James. You might be an Australian. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Suavely] Keep a civil tongue, or I'll throw you to the crowd! [He + comes forward to the table] Shall I tell you why I favour the gov'nor? + Because, with all his pomp, he's a gentleman, as much as I am. Never asks + you to do what he wouldn't do himself. What's more, he never comes it over + you. If you get drunk, or—well, you understand me, Poulder—he'll + just say: "Yes, yes; I know, James!" till he makes you feel he's done it + himself. [Sinking his voice mysteriously] I've had experience with him, in + the war and out. Why he didn't even hate the Huns, not as he ought. I tell + you he's no Christian. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Well, for irreverence——! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Obstinately] And he'll never be. He's got too soft a heart. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Beneath the table-shrilly] Hurrah! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Jumping] Come out, Miss Anne! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Let 'er alone! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. In there, under the bomb? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Contemptuously] Silly ass! You should take 'em lying down! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Look here, James! I can't go on in this revolutionary spirit; + either you or I resign. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Crisis in the Cabinet! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. I give you your marchin' orders. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Ineffably] What's that you give me? + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Thomas, remove James! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THOMAS grins.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Who, with open mouth, has crept out to see the fun] Oh! Do + remove James, Thomas! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Go on, Thomas. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THOMAS takes one step towards JAMES, who lays a hand on the Chinese mat + covering the bomb.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JAMES. [Grimly] If I lose control of meself. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Clapping her hands] Oh! James! Do lose control! Then I shall see + it go off! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [To POULDER] Well, I'll merely empty the pail over you! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. This is not becomin'! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He walks out into the hall.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JAMES. Another strategic victory! What a Boche he'd have made. As you + were, Tommy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THOMAS returns to the door. The sound of prolonged applause cornea from + within.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + That's a bishop. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Why? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. By the way he's drawin'. It's the fine fightin' spirit in 'em. They + were the backbone o' the war. I see there's a bit o' the old stuff left in + you, Tommy. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Scrutinizing the widely—grinning THOM] Where? Is it in his + mouth? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. You've still got a sense of your superiors. Didn't you notice how + you moved to Poulder's orders, me boy; an' when he was gone, to mine? + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [To THOMAS] March! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The grinning THOMAS remains immovable.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + He doesn't, James! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Look here, Miss Anne—your lights ought to be out before ten. + Close in, Tommy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He and THOMAS move towards her.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Dodging] Oh, no! Oh, no! Look! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The footmen stop and turn. There between the pillars, stands LITTLE + AIDA with the trousers, her face brilliant With surprise.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JAMES. Good Lord! What's this? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Seeing L. ANNE, LITTLE AIDA approaches, fascinated, and the two + children sniff at each other as it were like two little dogs walking + round and round.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Suddenly] My name's Anne; what's yours? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Aida. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Are you lost? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Nao. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Are those trousers? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Yus. + </p> + <p> + L. Arms. Whose? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Mrs. Lemmy's. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Does she wear them? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LITTLE AIDA smiles brilliantly.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. AIDA. Nao. She sews 'em. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Touching the trousers] They are hard. James's are much softer; + aren't they, James? [JAMES deigns no reply] What shall we do? Would you + like to see my bedroom? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [With a hop] Aoh, yus! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. No. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Why not? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Have some sense of what's fittin'. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Why isn't it fittin'? [To LITTLE AIDA] Do you like me? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Yus-s. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. So do I. Come on! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She takes LITTLE AIDA'S hand.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JAMES. [Between the pillars] Tommy, ketch 'em! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THOMAS retains them by the skirts.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Feigning indifference] All right, then! [To LITTLE AIDA] Have + you ever seen a bomb? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Nao. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Going to the table and lifting a corner of the cover] Look! + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [Looking] What's it for? + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. To blow up this house. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. I daon't fink! + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Why not? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. It's a beautiful big 'Ouse. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. That's why. Isn't it, James? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. You give the fing to me; I'll blow up our 'ouse—it's an + ugly little 'ouse. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE [Struck] Let's all blow up our own; then we can start fair. Daddy + would like that. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Yus. [Suddenly brilliant] I've 'ad a ride in a taxi, an' we're + goin' 'ome in it agyne! + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Were you sick? + </p> + <p> + LITTLE AIDA. [Brilliant] Nao. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE I was; when I first went in one, but I was quite young then. + James, could you get her a Peche Melba? There was one. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. No. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Have you seen the revolution? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Wot's that? + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. It's made of people. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. I've seen the corfin, it's myde o' wood. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Do you hate the rich? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [Ineffably] Nao. I hates the poor. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Why? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. 'Cos they 'yn't got nuffin'. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. I love the poor. They're such dears. + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. [Shaking her head with a broad smile] Nao. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Why not? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. I'd tyke and lose the lot, I would. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Where? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. In the water. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Like puppies? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Yus. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Why? + </p> + <p> + L. AIDA. Then I'd be shut of 'em. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Puzzled] Oh! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The voice of THE PRESS is heard in the hall. "Where's the little + girl?"] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JAMES. That's you. Come 'ere! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He puts a hand behind LITTLE AIDA'S back and propels her towards the + hall. THE PRESS enters with old MRS. LEMMY.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. Oh! Here she is, major domo. I'm going to take this old lady to the + meeting; they want her on the platform. Look after our friend, Mr. Lemmy + here; Lord William wants to see him presently. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [In an awed whisper] James, it's the little blighter! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She dives again under the table. LEMMY enters.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. 'Ere! 'Arf a mo'! Yer said yer'd drop me at my plyce. Well, I tell + yer candid—this 'yn't my plyce. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. That's all right, Mr. Lemmy. [He grins] They'll make you + wonderfully comfortable, won't you, major domo? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He passes on through the room, to the door, ushering old MRS. LEMMY and + LITTLE AIDA.] [POULDER blocks LEMMY'S way, with CHARLES and HENRY behind + him.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. James, watch it; I'll report. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He moves away, following THE PRESS through the door. JAMES between + table and window. THOMAS has gone to the door. HENRY and CHARLES remain + at the entrances to the hall. LEMMY looks dubiously around, his cockney + assurrance gradually returns.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. I think I knows the gas 'ere. This is where I came to-dy, 'yn't it? + Excuse my hesitytion—these little 'ouses IS so much the syme. + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Gloomily] They are! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Looking at the four immovable footmen, till he concentrates on + JAMES] Ah! I 'ad a word wiv you, 'adn't I? You're the four conscientious + ones wot's wyin' on your gov'nor's chest. 'Twas you I spoke to, wasn't it? + [His eyes travel over them again] Ye're so monotonous. Well, ye're busy + now, I see. I won't wyste yer time. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He turns towards the hall, but CHARLES and HENRY bar the way in + silence.] [Skidding a little, and regarding the four immovables once + more] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + I never see such pytient men? Compared wiv yer, mountains is restless. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes to the table. JAMES watches him. ANNE barks from underneath.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + [Skidding again] Why! There's a dawg under there. [Noting the grin on + THOMAS'S face] Glad it amooses yer. Yer want it, daon't yer, wiv a fyce + like that? Is this a ply wivaht words? 'Ave I got into the movies by + mistyke? Turn aht, an' let's 'ave six penn'orth o' darkness. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [From beneath the cable] No, no! Not dark! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Musingly] The dawg talks anywy. Come aht, Fido! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LITTLE ANNE emerges, and regards him with burning curiosity.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + I sy: Is this the lytest fashion o' receivin' guests? + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Mother always wants people to feel at home. What shall we do? + Would you like to hear the speeches? Thomas, open the door a little, do! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. 'Umour 'er a couple o' inches, Tommy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THOMAS draws the door back stealthily an inch or so.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. ANNE. [After applying her eye-in a loud whisper] There's the old lady. + Daddy's looking at her trousers. Listen! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [For MRS. LEMMY'S voice is floating faintly through: "I putt in the + buttonholes, I stretches the flies; I 'ems the bottoms; I lines the + crutch; I putt on this bindin'; I sews on the buttons; I presses the + seams—Tuppence three farthin's the pair."] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. [In a hoarse whisper] That's it, old lydy: give it 'em! + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Listen! + </p> + <p> + VOICE OF LORD W. We are indebted to our friends the Press for giving us + the pleasure—er—pleasure of hearing from her own lips—the + pleasure—— + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Oh! Daddy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [THOMAS abruptly closes the doors.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. [To ANNE] Now yer've done it. See wot comes o' bein' impytient. We + was just gettin' to the marrer. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. What can we do for you now? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Pointing to ANNE, and addressing JAMES] Wot is this one, anywy? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. [Sepulchrally] Daughter o' the house. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Is she insured agynst 'er own curiosity? + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Why? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. As I daon't believe in a life beyond the gryve, I might be tempted + to send yer there. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. What is the gryve? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Where little gells goes to. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Oh, when? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Pretending to look at a match, which is not there] Well, I dunno + if I've got time to finish yer this minute. Sy to-mower at. 'arf past. + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Half past what? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Despairingly] 'Arf past wot! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The sound of applause is heard.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JAMES. That's 'is Grace. 'E's gettin' wickets, too. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [POULDER entering from the door.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. Lord William is slippin' in. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He makes a cabalistic sign with his head. Jeers crosses to the door. + LEMMY looks dubiously at POULDER.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. [Suddenly—as to himself] Wot oh! I am the portly one! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Severely] Any such allusion aggeravates your offence. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Oh, ah! Look 'ere, it was a corked bottle. Now, tyke care, tyke + care, 'aughty! Daon't curl yer lip! I shall myke a clean breast o' my + betryal when the time comes! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [There is a alight movement of the door. ANNE makes a dive towards the + table but is arrested by POULDER grasping her waistband. LORD WILLIAM + slips in, followed by THE PRESS, on whom JAMES and THOMAS close the door + too soon.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + HALF OF THE PRESS. [Indignantly] Look out! + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Do you want him in or out, me Lord? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. I sy, you've divided the Press; 'e was unanimous. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The FOOTMEN let THE PRESS through.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. [To THE PRESS] I'm so sorry. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Would yer like me to see to 'is gas? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. So you're my friend of the cellars? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Uneasy] I daon't deny it. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [POULDER begins removing LITTLE ANNE.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. ANNE. Let me stay, Daddy; I haven't seen anything yet! If I go, I shall + only have to come down again when they loot the house. Listen! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The hoarse strains of the Marseillaise are again heard from the + distance.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. [Blandly] Take her up, Poulder! + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Well, I'm coming down again—and next time I shan't have any + clothes on, you know. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They vanish between the pillars. LORD WILLIAM makes a sign of + dismissal. The FOOTMAN file out.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. [Admiringly] Luv'ly pyces! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Pleasantly] Now then; let's have our talk, Mr.—— + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Lemmy. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Who has slipped his note-book out] "Bombed and Bomber face to face——" + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Uneasy] I didn't come 'ere agyne on me own, yer know. The Press + betryed me. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Is that old lady your mother? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. The syme. I tell yer stryte, it was for 'er I took that old bottle + o' port. It was orful old. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Ah! Port? Probably the '83. Hope you both enjoyed it. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. So far-yus. Muvver'll suffer a bit tomower, I expect. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. I should like to do something for your mother, if you'll allow me. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Oh! I'll allow yer. But I dunno wot she'll sy. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. I can see she's a fine independent old lady! But suppose you were + to pay her ten bob a week, and keep my name out of it? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Well, that's one wy o' YOU doin' somefink, 'yn't it? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. I giving you the money, of course. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "Lord William, with kingly generosity——" + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Drawing attention to THE PRESS with his thumb] I sy— I + daon't mind, meself—if you daon't—— + </p> + <p> + LORD W. He won't write anything to annoy me. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. This is the big thing, Lord William; it'll get the public bang in + the throat. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Confidentially] Bit dyngerous, 'yn't it? trustin' the Press? Their + right 'ands never knows wot their left 'ands is writin'. [To THE PRESS] + 'Yn't that true, speakin' as a man? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. Mr. Lemmy, even the Press is capable of gratitude. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Is it? I should ha' thought it was too important for a little thing + like that. [To LORD WILLIAM] But ye're quite right; we couldn't do wivaht + the Press—there wouldn't be no distress, no coffin, no revolution—'cos + nobody'd know nuffin' abaht it. Why! There wouldn't be no life at all on + Earf in these dyes, wivaht the Press! It's them wot says: "Let there be + Light—an' there is Light." + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Umm! That's rather a new thought to me. [Writes on his cuff.] + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. But abaht Muvver, I'll tell yer 'ow we can arrynge. You send 'er + the ten bob a week wivaht syin' anyfink, an' she'll fink it comes from + Gawd or the Gover'ment yer cawn't tell one from t'other in Befnal Green. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. All right; we'll' do that. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Will yer reely? I'd like to shyke yer 'and. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LORD WILLIAM puts out his hand, which LEMMY grasps.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "The heartbeat of humanity was in that grasp between the + son of toil and the son of leisure." + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Already ashamed of his emotion] 'Ere, 'arf a mo'! Which is which? + Daon't forget I'm aht o' wori; Lord William, if that's 'is nyme, is workin + 'ard at 'is Anti-Sweats! Wish I could get a job like vat—jist suit + me! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. That hits hard, Mr. Lemmy. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Daon't worry! Yer cawn't 'elp bein' born in the purple! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Ah! Tell me, what would you do in my place? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Why—as the nobleman said in 'is well-known wy: "Sit in me + Club winder an' watch it ryne on the dam people!" That's if I was a + average nobleman! If I was a bit more noble, I might be tempted to come + the kind'earted on twenty thou' a year. Some prefers yachts, or ryce + 'orses. But philanthropy on the 'ole is syfer, in these dyes. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. So you think one takes to it as a sort of insurance, Mr. Lemmy? Is + that quite fair? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Well, we've all got a weakness towards bein' kind, somewhere abaht + us. But the moment wealf comes in, we 'yn't wot I call single-'earted. If + yer went into the foundytions of your wealf—would yer feel like + 'avin' any? It all comes from uvver people's 'ard, unpleasant lybour—it's + all built on Muvver as yer might sy. An' if yer daon't get rid o' some of + it in bein' kind—yer daon't feel syfe nor comfy. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Twisting his moustache] Your philosophy is very pessimistic. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Well, I calls meself an optimist; I sees the worst of everyfink. + Never disappynted, can afford to 'ave me smile under the blackest sky. + When deaf is squeezin' of me windpipe, I shall 'ave a laugh in it! Fact + is, if yer've 'ad to do wiv gas an' water pipes, yer can fyce anyfing. + [The distant Marseillaise blares up] 'Ark at the revolution! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Rather desperately] I know—hunger and all the rest of it! + And here am I, a rich man, and don't know what the deuce to do. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Well, I'll tell yer. Throw yer cellars open, an' while the populyce + is gettin' drunk, sell all yer 'ave an' go an' live in Ireland; they've + got the millennium chronic over there. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LORD WILLIAM utters a short, vexed laugh, and begins to walk about.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + That's speakin' as a practical man. Speakin' as a synt "Bruvvers, all I + 'ave is yours. To-morrer I'm goin' dahn to the Lybour Exchynge to git put + on the wytin' list, syme as you!" + </p> + <p> + LORD W. But, d—-it, man, there we should be, all together! Would + that help? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Nao; but it'd syve a lot o' blood. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LORD WILLIAM stops abruptly, and looks first at LEMMY, then at the + cooler, still cohered with the Chinese mat.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Yer thought the Englishman could be taught to shed blood wiv syfety. Not + 'im! Once yer git 'im into an 'abit, yer cawn't git 'im out of it agyne. + 'E'll go on sheddin' blood mechanical—Conservative by nyture. An' 'e + won't myke nuffin' o' yours. Not even the Press wiv 'is 'oneyed words'll + sty 'is 'and. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. And what do you suggest we could have done, to avoid trouble? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Warming to his theme] I'll tell yer. If all you wealfy nobs wiv + kepitel 'ad come it kind from the start after the war yer'd never 'a been + 'earin' the Marseillaisy naow. Lord! 'Ow you did talk abaht Unity and a + noo spirit in the Country. Noo spirit! Why, soon as ever there was no + dynger from outside, yer stawted to myke it inside, wiv an iron'and. Naow, + you've been in the war an' it's given yer a feelin' 'eart; but most of the + nobs wiv kepitel was too old or too important to fight. They weren't born + agyne. So naow that bad times is come, we're 'owlin' for their blood. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. I quite agree; I quite agree. I've often said much the same thing. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Voice cryin' in the wilderness—I daon't sy we was yngels— + there was faults on bofe sides. [He looks at THE PRESS] The Press could + ha' helped yer a lot. Shall I tell yer wot the Press did? "It's vital," + said the Press, "that the country should be united, or it will never + recover." Nao strikes, nao 'omen nature, nao nuffink. Kepitel an' Lybour + like the Siamese twins. And, fust dispute that come along, the Press orfs + wiv its coat an' goes at it bald'eaded. An' wot abaht since? Sich a riot + o' nymes called, in Press—and Pawlyement. Unpatriotic an' outrygeous + demands o' lybour. Blood-suckin' tyranny o' Kepitel; thieves an' dawgs an + 'owlin Jackybines—gents throwin' books at each other; all the + resources of edjucytion exhausted! If I'd bin Prime Minister I'd 'ave 'ad + the Press's gas cut 'orf at the meter. Puffect liberty, of course, nao + Censorship; just sy wot yer like—an' never be 'eard of no more. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Turning suddenly to THE PRESS, who has been scribbling in pace with + this harangue, and now has developed a touch of writer's cramp.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Why! 'Is 'end's out o' breath! Fink o' vet! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Great tribute to your eloquence, Mr. Lemmy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A sudden stir of applause and scraping of chairs is heard; the meeting + is evidently breaking up. LADY WILLIAM comes in, followed by MRS. LEMMY + with her trousers, and LITTLE AIDA. LEMMY stares fixedly at this sudden, + radiant apparition. His gaze becomes as that of a rabbit regarding a + snake. And suddenly he puts up his hand and wipes his brow.] [LADY + WILLIAM, going to the table, lifts one end of the Chinese mat, and looks + at LEMMY. Then she turns to LORD WILLIAM.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY W. Bill! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [To his mother—in a hoarse whisper] She calls 'im Bill. 'Ow! + 'Yn't she IT? + </p> + <p> + LADY W. [Apart] Have you—spoken to him? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LORD WILLIAM shakes his head.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Not? What have you been saying, then? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Nothing, he's talked all the time. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. [Very low] What a little caution! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Steady, old girl! He's got his eye on you! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LADY WILLIAM looks at LEMMY, whose eyes are still fixed on her.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY W. [With resolution] Well, I'm going to tackle him. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She moves towards LEMMY, who again wipes his brow, and wrings out his + hand.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. LEMMY. Don't 'ee du that, Bob. Yu must forgive'im, Ma'am; it's 'is + admiration. 'E was always one for the ladies, and he'm not used to seein' + so much of 'em. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Don't you think you owe us an explanation? + </p> + <p> + MRS. LEMMY. Speak up, Bob. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [But LEMMY only shifts his feet.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + My gudeness! 'E've a-lost 'is tongue. I never knu that 'appen to 'e + before. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Trying to break the embarrassment] No ill-feeling, you know, + Lemmy. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [But LEMMY still only rolls his eyes.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LADY W. Don't you think it was rather—inconsiderate of you? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Muvver, tyke me aht, I'm feelin' fynte! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Spurts of the Marseillaise and the mutter of the crowd have been coming + nearer; and suddenly a knocking is heard. POULDER and JAMES appear + between the pillars.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + POULDER. The populace, me Lord! + </p> + <p> + LADY W. What! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Where've you put 'em, Poulder? + </p> + <p> + POULDER. They've put theirselves in the portico, me Lord. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Suddenly wiping his brow] Phew! I say, this is awful, Nell! Two + speeches in one evening. Nothing else for it, I suppose. Open the window, + Poulder! + </p> + <p> + POULDER. [Crossing to the window] We are prepared for any sacrifice, me + Lord. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He opens the window.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing furiously] "Lady William stood like a statue at bay." + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Got one of those lozenges on you, Nell? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [But LADY WILLIAM has almost nothing on her.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. [Producing a paper from his pocket] 'Ave one o' my gum drops? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He passes it to LORD WILLIAM.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. [Unable to refuse, takes a large, flat gum drop from the paper, + and looks at it in embarrassment.] Ah! thanks! Thanks awfully! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LEMMY turns to LITTLE AIDA, and puts a gum drop in her mouth. A burst + of murmurs from the crowd.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JAMES. [Towering above the wine cooler] If they get saucy, me Lord, I can + always give 'em their own back. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Steady, James; steady! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He puts the gum drop absently in his mouth, and turns up to the open + window.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VOICE. [Outside] 'Ere they are—the bally plutocrats. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Voices in chorus: "Bread! Bread!"] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. Poulder, go and tell the chef to send out anything there is in the + house—nicely, as if it came from nowhere in particular. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Very good, me Lord. [Sotto voce] Any wine? If I might suggest—German—'ock? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. What you like. + </p> + <p> + POULDER. Very good, me Lord. [He goes.] + </p> + <p> + LORD W. I say, dash it, Nell, my teeth are stuck! [He works his finger in + his mouth.] + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Take it out, darling. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Taking out the gum drop and looking at it] What the deuce did I + put it in for? + </p> + <p> + PRESS. ['Writing] "With inimitable coolness Lord William prepared to + address the crowd." + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Voices in chorea: "Bread! Bread!"] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. Stand by to prompt, old girl. Now for it. This ghastly gum drop! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LORD WILLIAM takes it from his agitated hand, and flips it through the + window.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VOICE. Dahn with the aristo——[Chokes.] + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Oh! Bill——oh! It's gone into a mouth! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Good God! + </p> + <p> + VOICE. Wet's this? Throwin' things? Mind aht, or we'll smash yer winders! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [As the voices in chorus chant: "Bread! Bread!" LITTLE ANNE, + night-gowned, darts in from the hall. She is followed by MISS STOKES. + They stand listening.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. [To the Crowd] My friends, you've come to the wrong shop. There's + nobody in London more sympathetic with you. [The crowd laughs hoarsely.] + [Whispering] Look out, old girl; they can see your shoulders. [LORD + WILLIAM moves back a step.] If I were a speaker, I could make you feel—— + </p> + <p> + VOICE. Look at his white weskit! Blood-suckers—fattened on the + people! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [JAMES dives his hand at the wine cooler.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. I've always said the Government ought to take immediate steps—— + </p> + <p> + VOICE. To shoot us dahn. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. Not a bit. To relieve the—er—— + </p> + <p> + LADY W. [Prompting] Distress. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Distress, and ensure—er—ensure + </p> + <p> + LADY W. [Prompting] Quiet. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [To her] No, no. To ensure—ensure—— + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Agonized] Oh, Daddy! + </p> + <p> + VOICE. 'E wants to syve 'is dirty great 'ouse. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Roused] D——if I do! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Rude and hoarse laughter from the crowd.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JAMES. [With fury] Me Lord, let me blow 'em to glory! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He raises the cooler and advances towards the window.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. [Turning sharply on him] Drop it, James; drop it! + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [Jumping] No, no; don't drop it! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [JAMES retires crestfallen to the table, where he replaces the cooler.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. [Catching hold of his bit] Look here, I must have fought alongside + some of you fellows in the war. Weren't we jolly well like brothers? + </p> + <p> + A VOICE. Not so much bloomin' "Kamerad"; hand over yer 'Ouse. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. I was born with this beastly great house, and money, and goodness + knows what other entanglements—a wife and family—— + </p> + <p> + VOICE. Born with a wife and family! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Jeers and laughter.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. I feel we're all in the same boat, and I want to pull my weight. + If you can show me the way, I'll take it fast enough. + </p> + <p> + A DEEP VOICE. Step dahn then, an' we'll step up. + </p> + <p> + ANOTHER VOICE. 'Ear, 'Ear! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A fierce little cheer.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. [To LADY WILLIAM—in despair] By George! I can't get in + anywhere! + </p> + <p> + LADY W. [Calmly] Then shut the window, Bill. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Who has been moving towards them slowly] Lemme sy a word to 'em. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [All stare at him. LEMMY approaches the window, followed by LITTLE AIDA. + POULDER re-enters with the three other footmen.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + [At the window] Cheerio! Cockies! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The silence of surprise falls on the crowd.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + I'm one of yer. Gas an' water I am. Got more grievances an' out of + employment than any of yer. I want to see their blood flow, syme as you. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. [writing] "Born orator—ready cockney wit—saves + situation." + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Wot I sy is: Dahn wiv the country, dahn wiv everyfing. Begin agyne + from the foundytions. [Nodding his head back at the room] But we've got to + keep one or two o' these 'ere under glawss, to show our future + generytions. An' this one is 'armless. His pipes is sahnd, 'is 'eart is + good; 'is 'ead is not strong. Is 'ouse will myke a charmin' palace o' + varieties where our children can come an' see 'ow they did it in the good + old dyes. Yer never see rich waxworks as 'is butler and 'is four + conscientious khaki footmen. Why—wot dyer think 'e 'as 'em for—fear + they might be out o'-works like you an' me. Nao! Keep this one; 'e's a + Flower. 'Arf a mo'! I'll show yer my Muvver. Come 'ere, old lydy; and + bring yer trahsers. [MRS. LEMMY comes forward to the window] Tell abaht + yer speech to the meetin'. + </p> + <p> + MRS. LEMMY. [Bridling] Oh dear! Well, I cam' in with me trousers, an' they + putt me up on the pedestory at once, so I tole 'em. [Holding up the + trousers] "I putt in the button'oles, I stretches the flies; I lines the + crutch; I putt on this bindin', I presses the seams—Tuppence three + farthin's a pair." + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A groan from tote crowd, ] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. [Showing her off] Seventy-seven! Wot's 'er income? Twelve bob a + week; seven from the Gover'ment an' five from the sweat of 'er brow. Look + at 'er! 'Yn't she a tight old dear to keep it goin'! No workus for 'er, + nao fear! The gryve rather! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Murmurs from the crowd, at Whom MRS. LEMMY is blandly smiling.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + You cawn't git below 'er—impossible! She's the foundytions of the + country—an' rocky 'yn't the word for 'em. Worked 'ard all 'er life, + brought up a family and buried 'em on it. Twelve bob a week, an' given + when 'er fingers goes, which is very near. Well, naow, this torf 'ere + comes to me an' says: "I'd like to do somefin' for yer muvver. 'Ow's ten + bob a week?" 'e says. Naobody arst 'im—quite on 'is own. That's the + sort 'e is. [Sinking his voice confidentially] Sorft. You bring yer + muvvers 'ere, 'e'll do the syme for them. I giv yer the 'int. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. [From the crowd] What's 'is nyme? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. They calls 'im Bill. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. Bill What? + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Dromondy. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Anne! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Dromedary 'is nyme is. + </p> + <p> + VOICE. [From the crowd] Three cheers for Bill Dromedary. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. I sy, there's veal an' 'am, an' pork wine at the back for them as + wants it; I 'eard the word passed. An' look 'ere, if yer want a flag for + the revolution, tyke muvver's trahsers an' tie 'em to the corfin. Yer + cawn't 'ave no more inspirin' banner. Ketch! [He throws the trousers out] + Give Bill a double-barrel fast, to show there's no ill-feelin'. Ip, 'ip! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The crowd cheers, then slowly passes away, singing at a hoarse version + of the Marseillaise, till all that is heard is a faint murmuring and a + distant barrel-organ playing the same tune.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. [Writing] "And far up in the clear summer air the larks were + singing." + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Passing his heard over his hair, and blinking his eyes] James! + Ready? + </p> + <p> + JAMES. Me Lord! + </p> + <p> + L. ANNE. Daddy! + </p> + <p> + LADY W. [Taking his arm] Bill! It's all right, old man—all right! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. [Blinking] Those infernal larks! Thought we were on the Somme + again! Ah! Mr. Lemmy, [Still rather dreamy] no end obliged to you; you're + so decent. Now, why did you want to blow us up before dinner? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Blow yer up? [Passing his hand over his hair in travesty] "Is it a + dream? Then wykin' would be pyne." + </p> + <p> + MRS. LEMMY. Bo-ob! Not so saucy, my boy! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Blow yet up? Wot abaht it? + </p> + <p> + LADY W. [Indicating the bomb] This, Mr. Lemmy! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LEMMY looks at it, and his eyes roll and goggle.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LORD W. Come, all's forgiven! But why did you? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Orl right! I'm goin' to tyke it awy; it'd a-been a bit ork'ard for + me. I'll want it to-mower. + </p> + <p> + LORD W. What! To leave somewhere else? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. 'Yus, of course! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. No, no; dash it! Tell us what's it filled with? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Filled wiv? Nuffin'. Wot did yet expect? Toof-pahder? It's got a + bit o' my lead soldered on to it. That's why it's 'eavy! + </p> + <p> + LORD W. But what is it? + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Wot is it? [His eyes are fearfully fixed on LADY WILLIAM] I fought + everybody knew 'em. + </p> + <p> + LADY W. Mr. Lemmy, you must clear this up, please. + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [TO LORD WILLIAM, With his eyes still held On LADY WILLIAM— + mysteriously] Wiv lydies present? 'Adn't I better tell the Press? + </p> + <p> + LORD W. All right; tell someone—anyone! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [LEMMY goes down to THE PRESS, who is reading over his last note. + Everyone watches and listens with the utmost discretion, while he + whispers into the ear of THE PRESS; who shakes his head violently.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. No, no; it's too horrible. It destroys my whole—— + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. Well, I tell yer it is. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Whispers again violently.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + PRESS. No, no; I can't have it. All my article! All my article! It can't + be—no—— + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. I never see sick an obstinate thick-head! Yer 'yn't worvy of yet + tryde. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He whispers still more violently and makes cabalistic signs.] [LADY + WILLIAM lifts the bomb from the cooler into the sight of all. LORD + WILLIAM, seeing it for the first time in full light, bends double in + silent laughter, and whispers to his wife. LADY WILLIAM drops the bomb + and gives way too. Hearing the sound, LEMMY turns, and his goggling eyes + pan them all in review. LORD and LADY WILLIAM in fits of laughter, + LITTLE ANNE stamping her feet, for MISS STOKES, red, but composed, has + her hands placed firmly over her pupil's eyes and ears; LITTLE AIDA + smiling brilliantly, MRS. LEMMY blandly in sympathy, neither knowing + why; the FOUR FOOTMAN in a row, smothering little explosions. POULDER, + extremely grave and red, THE PRESS perfectly haggard, gnawing at his + nails.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. [Turning to THE PRESS] Blimy! It amooses 'em, all but the genteel + ones. Cheer oh! Press! Yer can always myke somefin' out o' nufun'? It's + not the fust thing as 'as existed in yer imaginytion only. + </p> + <p> + PRESS. No, d—-it; I'll keep it a bomb! + </p> + <p> + LEMMY. [Soothingly] Ah! Keep the sensytion. Wot's the troof compared wiv + that? Come on, Muvver! Come on, Little Aida! Time we was goin' dahn to + 'Earf. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes up to the table, and still skidding a little at LADY WILLIAM, + takes the late bomb from the cooler, placing it under his arm.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. LEMMY. Gude naight, sir; gude naight, ma'am; thank yu for my cup o' + tea, an' all yore kindness. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She shakes hands with LORD and LADY WILLIAM, drops the curtsey of her + youth before Mr. POULDER, and goes out followed by LITTLE AIDA, who is + looking back at LITTLE ANNE.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + LEMMY. [Turning suddenly] Aoh! An' jist one frog! Next time yer build an + 'ouse, daon't forget—it's the foundytions as bears the wyte. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [With a wink that gives way, to a last fascinated look at LADY WILLIAM, + he passes out. All gaze after them, except THE PRESS, who is tragically + consulting his spiflicated notes.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + L. ANNE. [Breaking away from Miss STOKES and rushing forward] Oh! Mum! + what was it? + </p> + <p> + CURTAIN <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + <i>GALSWORTHY'S PLAYS</i> + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC_"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + <i>Links to All Volumes</i> + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIRST SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2906/2906-h/2906-h.htm"><b>The + Silver Box</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2907/2907-h/2907-h.htm"><b>Joy</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2908/2908-h/2908-h.htm"><b>Strife</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SECOND SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2909/2909-h/2909-h.htm"><b>The + Eldest Son</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2910/2910-h/2910-h.htm"><b>Little + Dream</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2911/2911-h/2911-h.htm"><b>Justice</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE THIRD SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2912/2912-h/2912-h.htm"><b>The + Fugitive</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2913/2913-h/2913-h.htm"><b>The + Pigeon</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2914/2914-h/2914-h.htm"><b>The + Mob</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FOURTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2915/2915-h/2915-h.htm"><b>A + Bit O'Love</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2916/2916-h/2916-h.htm"><b>The + Foundations</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2917/2917-h/2917-h.htm"><b>The + Skin Game</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIFTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4764/4764-h/4764-h.htm"><b>A + Family Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4765/4765-h/4765-h.htm"><b>Loyalties</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4766/4766-h/4766-h.htm"><b>Windows</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SIXTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2918/2918-h/2918-h.htm"><b>The + First and Last</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2919/2919-h/2919-h.htm"><b>The + Little Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2920/2920-h/2920-h.htm"><b>Four + Short Plays</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + + End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Foundations (Fourth Series Plays) + by John Galsworthy + + *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FOUNDATIONS *** + + ***** This file should be named 2916-h.htm or 2916-h.zip ***** + This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/1/2916/ + + Produced by David Widger + + Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions + will be renamed. + + Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no + one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation + (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without + permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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