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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..796040e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54698 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54698) diff --git a/old/54698-0.txt b/old/54698-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a51880b..0000000 --- a/old/54698-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3777 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Woodbarrow Farm, by Jerome K. Jerome - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Woodbarrow Farm - Play in Three Acts - -Author: Jerome K. Jerome - -Release Date: May 10, 2017 [EBook #54698] -Last Updated: September 3, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOODBARROW FARM *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -WOODBARROW FARM - -Play In Three Acts - -By Jerome K. Jerome - -Samuel French: London - -1904 - - - - -Piffin.............. - -Allen Rollitt....... - -Luke Cranbourne..... - -Mike Stratton....... - -Mr. Purtwee......... - -Hon. Tom Gussett.... - -Baron Von Schnorr... - -Richard Hanningford - -Ichabod............. - -Peters.............. - -Colonel Jack Dexter. - -Clara Dexter........ - -Mrs. Rollitt........ - -Rachael............. - -Deborah Deacon...... - - - - -SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY - -Act I - -Woodbarrow Farm, Exmoor - -Act II - -13a, St. James’ Mansions - -Act III - -Scene 1--Same as Act II., or Library at 13a, St. James’ Mansion - -Scene 2--Woodbarrow Farm - -Time: The Present - - -[Illustration: 0007] - -[Illustration: 0010] - -[Illustration: 0011] - - - - -WOODBARROW FARM - - - - -ACT I. - - -MUSIC TO OPEN ACT: OLD ENGLISH AIR - -SCENE: _Kitchen at Woodbarrow Farm. An ideal old farmhouse kitchen. From -the smoke-blackened ceiling beams hang huge sides of bacon, strings of -onions, and herbs, and poultry. Over the great fireplace are the guns, -and in profusion everywhere are the homely furnishings of a prosperous -farmhouse kitchen. A huge fire burns r. in old-fashioned fireplace, with -settle on each side. Door l.c. at back opening on corner of farmyard. -Latticed window looking out on yard to r. of door. Table r.c. piled with -linen waiting to be folded. Linen press l. Door l. below press. Settle -in front of press. Mrs. Rollitt at table r.c. discovered ironing. She -folds up clothes as she finishes with them, and crosses and places them -one by one in press l._ - -Mrs. R. Rachael! Rachael!! (Crossing l. then crosses to r. at back of -table r.c.) Ah, drat the girls--alius philandering about with the boys -when they’re wanted. Rachael! - -(Enter Rachael, she comes slowly forward to l.c.) - -Rach. Did you call, ma’am? - -Mrs. R. (At table.) Did I call? Why thee be getting deaf in thee old age -sure, Rachael. - -Rach. I was in the dairy, ma’am. - -Mrs. R. In the dairy! Well, and the dairy bean’t a mile off, be it? -I expect there wur Joe’s thick head ’twixt you and the sound of my -voice, warn’t there? - -Rach. No, ma’am. - -Mrs. R. Whose wur it, then? - -Rach. Ichabod’s, ma’am. I--I mean Mr. Ichabod was helping me, ma’am. - -Mrs. R. What at? (_Pause._) How often am I to tell ’ee I won’t have -that hulking scamp hanging about here after his work’s done. Do ’ee -understand? - -Rach. Yes, ma’am. - -Mrs. R. Here’s getting on for 8 o’clock, and thee master may be home -any minute as hungry as a hunter, poor lad, and noothing ready for his -supper. Get down the ham (_Rachael goes to fireplace r._), and bring me -in the frying-pan and I’ll do it myself. - -Rach. (_Turning to go._) Yes, ma’am. - -Mrs. R. And don’t be half-an-hour about it. Is Ichabod gone? - -Rach. Oh yes, ma’am. - -(_Mrs. R. turns to her work, Ichabod appears at door at hack, with a -trout in his hand. Rachael catching sight of him stops, and motions him -to go away._) - -Mrs. R. Ah, a good thing for un as he has, if I catch un here again -to-night, I’ll--(_Rachael makes sign to Ichabod who is up c. Mrs. R. -looks at Rachael_)--Lord help the lass, be she struck foolish? Bean’t -’ee agoing? - -Rach. Yes, ma’am. - -Mrs. R. Well then, do ut. Thee keeps on saying, “yes, ma’am,” “yes, -ma’am,” and there ’ee sticks. (_Drops eyes. Rachael makes sign to -Ichabod. Mrs. Rollitt catches her._) - -(_Ichabod does not understand Rachel, and tries to explain to her in -pantomime about the trout, which he holds up and points to. Mrs. Rollitt -follows Rachael’s eyes, and sees Ichabod. Rachael is struck dumb, and -Ichabod grins and pulls his hair._) - -Mrs. R. If thee don’t take theeself off pretty, soon, my boy, I’ll do -that for un. (_He makes no answer but continues pulling his hair and -grinning, making a few steps forward and still holding out the trout. -Mrs. Rollitt advances to him slowly._) - -Mrs. R. (_Comes c._) How often am I to tell ’ee I won’t have ’ee -loafing about here after thee work’s done, and thee mother waiting for -thee at home, thee good-for-nothing young--(_eyeing the trout_)--aye, -but he be a bonny un that. - -Ich. Thowt maybe he’d do for the measter’s supper, ma’am. He wur -a-having his own not half-an-hour agone, ma’am. - -Mrs. R. (_l. with fish in hand._) Her be a three pound un, Ichabod. - -Ich. As full as an egg, her be, just. Thee feel her, ma’am. - -Mrs. R. Ah, well, I won’t say but what thee art a thoughtful lad, -Ichabod, and it will be main good for thee measter’s supper. See there’s -a clear fire. (_Crosses r.Enter Deborah from staircase L._) Rachael, -and bring me the stew pan and we’ll boil un. - -Deb. No, don’t boil it, aunt. (_Takes fish from Mrs. R._) Let me fry it. -Allen alius likes ‘em best that way. (_Goes r. c. up stage._) - -Mrs. R. So un does, lass, so un does. Ah, thee knaw what the lad loikes, -thee shall fry it. (_Hands trout to Deb._) And I’ll finish the linen -while I’ve got my hand on it. (_At back of table r.c._) - -Deb. Allen will like that, I know. Where did you get it? - -Ich. (_Confused and grinning._) What, me, Miss? - -Deb. Not poached, I hope, Ichabod? - -Ich. (_Offended._) Poached, Miss? No, Miss, I wur trying to teach a fly -of mine to swim, that wur all, Miss, and when I took un from the water -there wur this thing hanging on to the end of un, and I couldn’t get ‘un -off. - -Mrs. R. (_At table r. c._) Thee’d best stop awhile now, Ichabod, and the -girls will gie un a bit sup. Thee mother will be main glad to be rid o’ -ye a bit, I take it. - -Ich. Thank ye, ma’am. Mother’s alius glad to be rid of me at supper -toime. (_To Deborah.) Gie me un, Miss, I’ll clean un for ye. (_Takes -fish from Deborah, goes down l. at back of settle.) - -Rach. Shall I cook un, Miss? - -Mrs. R. Na, na, thee bring the pan in here, Rachael, I woan’t trust the -master’s supper to ‘ee, while there’s a pair of breeches about the room. - -Rach. (_Crosses l. with a toss of her head.) I’m sure I don’t want ‘em -there at all. (_Picks up buckets near door l. down stage.) - -Mrs. R. Ah, thee wouldn’t ha’ the lad theer wi’out ‘em! Go and do as I -tell ‘ee. - -[Rachael hits Ichabod with bucket. Exeunt Rachael and Ichabod l. door -down stage.] - -Mrs. R. The lad will enjoy it all the more if thee cook it for un. Ah. -and he do enjoy his food too. It do me good to see un eat. - -Deb. He does you a lot of good that way, doesn’t he, aunt? - -Mes. R. (_Laughing.’_) Ah, yes, he be like his father wur before him, -a rare trencher man. Ah, but they’re better than those as doesn’t eat -much, but sits a-turning and a-smelling, and a-grumbling at everything -that’s set before them, for all the world like an overfed turkey cock -trying to eat potato peelings. Thee wean’t ha’ much trouble looking -arter un when I’m gone. - -Deb. (_Goes to fireplace R._) Oh, aunt, how naughty you are, always -talking of being “gone,” just as if you were an old woman. - -Mrs. R. No, no, lass, I bean’t talking of being gone now. I’ve many a -year before me yet, please God. But it must come sometime, thee knaws, -and I like to think that when it do there’ll be someone to gie the lad -his bit of food, and look arter un loike--and, Lord, a man do want a -power of looking arter to be sure. - -Deb. (_At fire R. making it up._) I think that’s why we love ‘em, aunt, -because they’re so helpless. - -Mrs. R. (_Cross to l._) Ah, maybe it is. There must be summut to account -for it. - -Deb. And I suppose they be like the poultry. They get fond of us because -we feed them. He does say I’ve got a good hand for cooking, aunt. - -Mrs. R. (_Cross to r._) Ah, yes, lass. It be a light hand for the -kitchen and a cool hand for the dairy. It will make a good hand for a -farmer’s wife. (_Takes Deborah’s hand at table R._) - -Deb. I don’t think Allen will want a farmer’s wife, aunt. - -Mrs. R. Lord, whose wife should a farmer want, then? - -Deb. (_Pokes fire r._) I don’t think Allen wants to be a farmer at all. -He says he wants to be a somebody, not a nobody. - -Mrs. R. Well, bean’t a farmer somebody? - -Deb. Somebody, aunt, but not a somebody. Allen wants to be in the world, -you know, aunt. - -Mrs. R. Well, and he be in the world sure, ain’t he? Sure I think I -ought to know. (_Cross to l._) - -Deb. No, not in the world he means, aunt. Not in the great world as they -call it. - -Mrs. R. Ah! he be in God’s world, that ought to be big enough for un. -(_Cross to r._) - -Deb. (_A little spitefully._) Yes, aunt, but it’s not select enough. -There’s all sorts of common people in God’s world. Allen wants to be -in the big world of lords and ladies and big folk up in London. He says -it’s being buried alive down here; that he wants to be among the stir -and bustle. - -Mrs. R. (_Cross to h., putting clothes in press._) Ah! that be only -his talk. The young uns be all alike. They run arter shadows like the -chickens do arter chaff. (_Cross l._) Why, I mind when I wur a lass, -I used to look in the glass and think I’d be a duchess. But the dook -didn’t come, so I just married thee uncle. The young ducks all fancies -as they’ll paddle off to the sea, But they live and dies in the old pond -arter all. (_Crosses to R._) - -Deb. (_Laughing._) And you think that your duck will live and die in the -Woodbarrow pond, aunt? (_Helps Mrs. Rollitt to fold._) - -Mrs. R. Ah, bless un, yes, the lads they fancy that any place is better -than the old home; but arter they’ve had a good look round, they know -that the old home’s better than any place else. He’ll flutter about a -bit maybe (_looks at Deborah_), but he’ll settle down in the nest ‘fore -long, and the children will be running about the house (_Deborah turns -away a little_) and making it untidy--Bless ‘em--afore I close my eyes. - -Deb. (_Demurely._) I wonder who he’ll marry. - -Mrs. R. Ah, I wonder now. (_Crosses to put linen in chest of drawers._) - -Deb. (_r. folding linen._) There’s Polly Steddles. He walked home -from church with her last Sunday. I think he’s a little sweet on Polly -Steddles, don’t you, aunt? - -(_Mrs. R. comes l. of table r._) - -Mrs. R. Ah, it bean’t much good being a little sweet on a girl that -size. It would take a power of sweetness to go round her. (_Crosses L. -with linen._). - -Deb. She’s big, but then men like big women, don’t they, aunt? - -Mrs. R. (_l._) Ah, some on ’em goes in for quantity, and some on ’em -goes in for quality. The little ones, they go in for size cause they -bean’t much of it themselves; and the big ones goes in for sense, cause -that be what they be most in need of. (_Goes R._) And Allen, he be’s -medium, so he can just please himself. - -Deb. And there’s Miss Dexter, that he drives over to Minehead so often. -(_Mrs. Rollitt goes l._) He thinks a lot of her, I know. - -Mrs. R. (_l._) What, Colonel Dexter’s darter, oop at Lucott’s Hill? Oh, -yes, her’d be a fine un to make the butter and cure the hams, her -would. Her be loike them umbrellas they be a selling at Peter’s for 1s. -11d.--only meant to be walked out wi’. (_Near press l._) - -Deb. Ah, but she’s so beautiful, aunt, and she’s a lady! (_Sighs._) - -Mrs. R. Ah! (_goes to table r. c._) there be a good many sorts o’ them. - -Deb. She is a lady, isn’t she, aunt? - -Mrs. R. Her’s got the clothes all right. (_Sits l. of table r. A -pause--goes up and pats Deborah’s cheek._) - -As if thee didn’t know the lad were in love with theeself. - -Deb. (_Tossing her head._) Sure an’ I don’t see how I should--he never -says anything. - -Mrs. R. Ah, the men bain’t much to say for their-selves, poor things. -Thee must go by what they does. Why, thee uncle kept company wi’ me for -three years, an’ un never said a word. The first year un only sot and -stared, and the second year un put un’s arm round my waist, and the -third year un kissed me, and then mother said it were time to put up the -banns, and her done it. - -Deb. (_Laughs._) Ah, the man that wants to marry me will have to ask me -ever and ever so many times and plead, oh, as if his life depended on it -(_tossing her head--at fire._) - -Mrs. R. Ah, the lad be shy, that be all. He be frightened ’o thee. - -Deb. (_Smiling._) Of me, aunt? - -Mrs. R. Ah, sure!--(_Laughs._)--I expect un be worrying hisself finely -for fear thee doan’t care for un, a fancying thee prefers Jim Harkabuck, -maybe. - -Deb. (_Demurely--goes up r. and gets l. of Mrs. Rollitt._) Jim -Harkabuck is a very nice fellow, and he does stare. (_Smiling, and going -to her aunt._) Do you think Allen really--really does--Aunt? (_Kneels to -Mrs. Rollitt, who turns her head away r. a little._) - -Mrs. R. (_Laughing, and shaking her off playfully. Pauses._) Does he! -Why beant he alius quarreling wi’ thee, and doan’t he eat twice as -much o’ anything if he knows thee cooked it--and besides--(_Pauses and -becomes absorbed in stockings._) - -Deb. Besides what, aunt? - -Mrs. R. Why didn’t I find un only the evening afore last when un didn’t -know I wur there. (_Laughing._) - -(_Enter Rachael l. door with fish in frying-pan.--Deborah rises._) - -Rach. (_Crossing r. and giving it to Deborah._) Shall I put it on, Miss? - -Deb. (_c. goes R. to fireplace._) No, I’ll see to it; Rachael, thank -you. - -Rach. I have put some butter in the pan, Miss. - -(_Exit Rachael l. down stage._) - -Deb. Yes, aunt. (_r. of table and seeing to fish with back to Mrs. -Rollitt._) You--you were saying how you came upon Allen the other -evening, aunt, when he didn’t know you were there, and he was doing -something. - -Mrs. R. Ah, yes, it wur Toosday, and he--not in love wi’ -’ee--(_laughing_)--why--(_taking up stocking and looking at hole._) -Ah, look at that now, blest if I can make out where the holes come from, -just. - -Deb. What was he doing, aunt? - -Mrs. R. Why there un wur wi’ your-- - -(_Enter Purtwee c.--who coughs._) - -Mrs. R. (_Turning, and seeing him as he stands in doorway._) What, Mr. -Purtwee! (_Deborah in despair goes to fire and cooks fish._) Well, ’ee -do surprise me! ’Ee be quite a stranger. Come in. Thee be just in time -for a bit of sup. - -Mr. P. (_Coming down l. c., puts hat on staircase rail._) I couldn’t -pass the place without looking in, I’ve just left the trap outside. -(_Shakes hands._) And how are we? - -Mrs. R. Oh, I be middlin’ well, thank ’ee, and how’s yerself? - -Mr. P. Oh, nicely enough, and--(_To Deborah crossing r._)--how’s Miss -Deborah Deacon? - -Deb. Very well, thank you, Mr. Purtwee. - -Mr. P. That’s all right--you look it, my dear (_Taking her hands._) Why -I declare she’s getting quite a woman! - -Mrs. R. Ah! she’s been that for some time. Her be thinking more about -getting a man now. (_Purtwee crosses to l. c. laughing._) - -Deb. Oh, aunt! - -Mrs. R. Did ’ee see the lad up town? - -Mr. P. What, Allen? - -Mrs. R. Ah, that be the only lad in the world I know. Did ’ee see un? -(_Goes up l._) - -Mr. P. Yes, I met him, and I wanted to have a chat with him. (_Mrs. -Rollitt is up l. near linen press._) But, Lord! There he was off to -Lucott’s Hill, and there was no holding him. (_Taking off his coat._) - -Deb. (_Who has been engaged in her cooking, at this suddenly stops, and -looks up._) What was he going up there for? - -Mr. P. (_Stopping and facing round._) What for? - -Deb. (_Excitedly, but quietly._) Who was he going to see up there? - -Mr. P. (_Laughing and folding coat._) Ah! who is it he always goes to -see up there? - -(_Deborah turns a little sick at this confirmation of her fears. -Purtwee, who is a sharp old fellow, notices the expression of her face -and the whole truth flashes across him. He pauses suddenly, looks hard -at her, then assuming an ordinary laughing tone, continues--Mrs. Rollitt -(up l.) is engaged with the linen, and does not notice this._) - -Mr. P. Why, the Walleys, of course. He and Jim seem to be inseparable of -late. - -Deb. Oh, yes, I know. I asked him to try and see if the Walleys would -part with one of their short-horns. - -Mr. P. Ah! that was it, then--yes, I remember that was it. (_Turns away -and looks back at Deborah, who has resumed her cooking--aside._) Poor -child! There’s trouble for her I fear. (_Throws coat over chair l._) - -Mrs. R. (_Comes c._) Well, what be going on up at Minehead? - -Mr. P. The same that is going on everywhere, Mrs. Rollitt--people lying -and slandering and evil-speaking; everybody thieving and cheating and -quarreling. (_Sits on table l._) - -Mrs. R. Well, I guess I could have told thee that. Haven’t thee any -real news to gie us. Tell us what one person’s be a-doing. Never mind -“everybody,” I don’t know him. - -Mr. P. Well, you see, Susan, a lawyer mustn’t gossip. (_Shakes finger._) - -(_Deborah crosses to linen press L., sets tablecloth and lays table r. -c. for meal._) - -Mrs. R. (_c._) Oh, hoity, toity! What be the use of being a lawyer and -knowing things if ’ee never tells a body a bit o’ news? And now I come -to think of it, I’ve got a bone to pick wi’ thee about that very thing. -Thee never told me old Hanningford wur agoing to die without leaving my -boy so much as a brass farthing. Do you think as how I’d ’a’ gone on -sending the old skinflint the best turkey in the yard every Christmas, -and the best goose come every Michaelmas, if I’d known as how he’d -hadn’t given us so much as the price as a suit o’ black, and Allen his -own cousin’s child. (_Crossing R._) - -A cousin is a cousin, even if it be a distant one. (_Sits l. of table -r._) - -Mr. P. Now, my dear Mrs. Rollitt, how could I tell he was going to die? - -Mrs. R. Thee knowed he wur going to die sometime, and thee knowed he -hadn’t left the boy anything, and thee might a’ dropped me a hint. “Mrs. -Rollitt,” thee might ha’ said, “thee’s only wasting good poultry on -a worthless man. The old sinner’s a going to die as hard-fisted and -ungrateful as he’s lived.” It would ’a’ been a neighbourly act o’ -thee! - -Mr. P. (_Laughing._) But I didn’t know he wasn’t going to leave you -anything. You see he died intestate. - -Mrs. R. In------ what? - -Mr. P. (_Rises._) Intestate. (_Deborah laughs a little._) Without -leaving a will; he left nobody anything. - -Mrs. R. (_Rising._) Well, then, where does the old fool’s money go to? - -Mr. P. Why, to his son, of course! (_Cross to r. near chair, fireplace -down stage._) - -Mrs. R. Ah, where be his son? - -Mr. P. (_Folding his knee in his hand and looking at her quietly._) On -the road from Texas to Devon. (_Sits r._) - -Mrs. R. What! Thee don’t mean to say thee’ve found un! (_Deborah gets -dish off dresser r. and puts it down in front of firm Mrs. R. in front -of table r., Mrs. R. and Deborah draw near interested._) - -Mr. P. That’s just exactly what I do mean. We traced him at last--found -him at Port Chadbourne black as a nigger and dressed as a red Indian. - -Mrs. R. What was he doing there--play-acting? - -Mr. P. No, cow-boy. (_Mrs. R. sits l. of table r._) - -Mrs. R. Lord love us all! and do un know? - -Mr. P. Yes, my agent saw him--went down to meet him as he came through -with a drove of cattle, gave him my letters and told him everything. - -Mrs. R. Has he written to you? - -Mr. P. No, didn’t know how to write--a sort of half savage he seems to -be, he and all his companions. He said he was going to give the boys a -three days’ drink, or as he expressed it, “paint the town red,” and then -start straight for home. - -Mrs. R. When do you expect him? - -Mr. P. Any day now; it was six weeks ago my agent saw him. He might walk -into my office to-morrow morning. - -Mrs. R. Lor! to think o’ it all. Him running away--driven away, as a -body might say, by ’is own father, when scarce more than a baby, and -now coming back to all this money. When do ’ee expect un? - -Mr. P. To-morrow--in six months time--never! - -Mrs. R. Never! (_Purtwee rises, crosses to l._) - -Mr. P. Perhaps never. - -Mrs. R. Why I thought thee said he’d started. - -Mr. P. Started, yes; but there’s a long road between that and arriving. -He may be dead and buried--drowned--murdered--for all we can tell. -They’re a rough lot where he’s coming from. (_Takes coat off settle L. -Feels for snuff box in pockets; rises; goes c._) - -Mrs. R. Well, thee’s picturing a nice fate for the lad. An’ who would -the money all go to if he were gone? - -Mr. P. Why the next o’ kin of course! He isn’t married. - -Mrs. R. And who be the next of kin? - -Mr. P. (_Dryly._) Oh! there’s no need to worry about that now. - -Mrs R. Well, I’d just like to know, that’s all. Would it be any of the -Leeds folk? - -Mr. P. Oh, I really can’t say! (_Gets snuff box, puts coat on settle -l._) I--I can’t say at all who it would be. (_Angrily, rather._) Why -there’s about a hundred different relations scattered all over the -country, and goodness knows who it might turn out to be. It isn’t a -matter to be considered yet at all. - -Mrs. R. Lord bless us all, don’t put theeself out, man. I didn’t know as -a body’s relations wur any secret--(_pauses_)--provided they be coom -by honestly. Doan’t tell us if ’ee doan’t want to. (_Turns away r. a -little._) - -Mr. P. No--no, Mrs. Rollitt! I’m not put out, only you see it’s always -a most complicated question a next of kin, especially in a case of this -kind where the man shunned all his relations. It might be someone in -Hong Kong; it might be someone here in Devonshire--(_Enter Allen c. -door._)--it might be,--(_he is l., taking handkerchief from his overcoat -pocket, and turning sees Allen in doorway and stops. Deborah puts on the -fish._) - -Allen. (_Coming down r. c._) Well mother! (_Kisses her._) - -Mrs. R. Why, my boy, wherever ha’ ye been to--I wur getting quite -anxious about ’ee! - -Allen. (_Taking off his hat and coat and throwing them down at back._) -Ah, I be a rare anxiety to ’ee, baint I, mother? (_To Mr. Purtwee._) -Mother alius fancies as I’ve been run off with by gypsies if I be out -more than an hour. (_Crossing and shaking hands with Mr. Purtwee._) And -how be Mr. Purtwee for the second time to-day? - -Mr. P. (_Laughing and shaking hands._) Ah! your mother’s a regular old -hen with one chick I expect. (_Sits l._) - -Allen. Never thee mind, mother, thee be quite right to be careful o’ me! -There baint another son like me in the whole country, be there? - -Deb. (_At fire._) To the credit of old Devon be it said. - -Allen. Halloa! (_Goes r. to Deborah._) - -Mrs. R. Ah! now that just serves thee right for laughing at thee old -mother. (_Crosses l. and sits knitting next to Purtwee._) - -Allen. Ah! that be the worst of letting the children stop oop arter -their proper toime, they allus gets so saucy. What have thee there? Lurd -bust me, I have got a vacuum inside o’ me. Poached eggs? - -Deb. No; poached trout. - -Mr. P. Eh! what’s that? - -Allen. Hulloa! Thee’ve done it now. Why, Mr. Purtwee be Lord Netherby’s -lawyer, and he’ll ha’ thee hanged in chains on Dunkery Beacon, sure as -fate. - -Deb. Ah, well, you see I didn’t poach him, I’m only frying him. There’s -no law against frying fish, is there? - -Allen. (_r.c._) Aye, well, us’ll forgive thee this time, if ee’ll -promise to do it again soon. Come and give us a kiss. - -Deb. Thee’ll kiss the frying-pan if you come any o’ your nonsense round -here. - -Allen. What! won’t thee, when I tell ’ee I’ve bought Jim Whalley’s -tan and cream shorthorn for ’ee? - -Deb. (_Pleased._) No! Have you? - -Allen. I bought her this afternoon, and I got her for--(_l.c., turning -to his mother_) I say, mother, our Deb’s bin and smoshed young Whalley. - -Mrs. R. Done what to un. - -Allen. Smoshed him. - -Deb. Why, I never touched him. - -Allen. Yes thee have, thee’ve smoshed un--that be the new Lunnun word; -made un in love wi’ thee. - -Mrs. R. It’s a funny way o’ doing it. - -Allen. I doan’t know how her done it, but her done it. Why he wanted £25 -for the cow at first, and when I told un her wur for Deb he looked as -stupid as an old cow unself and said I could have her for £20, and then -he asked me if she would like a calf. (_Goes R._) - -Deb. We could do with one. What did you say? - -Allen. (_Laughing._) I told un her’d better let the calf come down and -ask for unself. (_Laughs boisterously._) He never saw what I meant. -(_All laugh._) - -Deb. Oh, I expect he saw it all right. Jim Whalley is a very sharp -fellow; there was no need to insult him just because he’d done a kind -action. (_Warmly--turns away r. a little._) - -Allen. Oh, I wouldn’t ha’ said it if I’d known. I didn’t know thee was -in love wi’ him. - -Deb. (_Half laughing and half indignant._) Oh, don’t be silly, Allen, as -if I cared for Jim Whalley. - -Allen. I might ha’ guessed it too. Why, I expect that’s why thee wanted -the cow so as to have something about the place to remind thee o’ un. - -Deb. Oh, you great stupid! - -Allen. Why, look how you’re blushing. Look, look at her face, mother. -(_Goes to back of settle r. takes up looking-glass which is hanging on -settle r., brings it down and holds it before her._) Look at yourself! -(_she catches him a sound box on the ear. He puts his hand to his face, -and crossing puts back glass._) I didn’t know thee was so strong. That -all comes of those squab pies o’ yourn, mother, I told thee thee wur -putting too much meat in ‘em. - -Mrs. R. (_Laughing._) Ah, it’s thy sauce lad, not my meat, that’s done -it. (_Rises._) Thee’d better try and make thy peace, while me and Mr. -Purtwee has a look round the out-buildings. (_To Mr. Purtwee_) I’ve been -wanting to get hold of thee for a long time. Thee’s never given us so -much as a bit o’ paint for the last ten years, and the stable roof won’t -bear an owl on it. (_Goes up c. with Purtwee._) - -Allen, (_r. near settle._) Thee might show Mr. Purtwee the barn floor -while thee’s about it, mother. It be more like an earthquake than a -floor. - -Mrs. R. Oh, I be a going to show him more than he wants to see, don’t -thee worrit. (_Aside to Mr. Purtwee at door c._) Ah, they’d make a -pretty couple, wouldn’t they? - -Mr. P. (_Looking at them._) No, no, we must make ’em one. - -(_Exit Mrs. Rollitt and Mr. Purtwee c. door._) - -Allen. (_After a pause, r.c._) Well I’ve got thee the cow, anyhow, and -it’s a beauty. - -Deb. (_At tire in a tone of severe and offended dignity._) Thank you, -Mr. Rollitt, it is very kind of you. - -Allen. (_After a pause, with exaggerated politeness._) Don’t mention it, -Miss Deacon--quite a pleasure! - -(_Allen crosses to l., whistles--a pause--pretends to take off leggings. -Puts foot on settle._) - -Deb. Thee may bring me over the butter. - -Allen. (_Looking up._) Hulloa! come back again! Butter, certainly! -(_Takes it from chair off l. on staircase, crosses with it, and holds -it for Deborah while she takes some._) Jolly good butter this week; who -made it? Thee? - -Deb. (_Other side of plate._) Of course I did! I make all the butter -now, and the cream. - -Allen. What, wi’ them little hands. They don’t look big enough to do -anything but be kissed. - -Deb. (_Looking up and smiling._) They can do something else, can’t they? - -Allen. Ah! They be like the parson’s, not as soft as they looks. (_Puts -down butter on the table--pause--during which Deborah proceeds with her -cooking, and Allen stands watching her._) What a jolly little farmer’s -wife thee’d make. - -Deb. Yes; I only want the jolly little farmer. - -Allen. Ah, thee won’t find many of that sort about. Farming don’t pay -enough for a man to get jolly on, now-a-days. - -Deb. Oh, we have enough to eat and drink, and a little to spend on -foolishness. You want so much. - -Allen. (_Goes l._) Not more than what a many has. Not more than a little -bit of what this young Hanning-ford is coming back to--enough to let -a man see what the world’s like a bit, instead of being cooped oop all -one’s life, like an old cow, in one corner of it. - -Deb. But you can’t live all over it, and one corner must be much as good -as another. - -Allen. (_Crosses r._) Ah, thee don’t understand it, lass. Thee women -folk can stand day arter day the same, but we lads are restless wi’ it. -We feel as there’s summat big and stirring going on somewhere, and -we long to be among it--to be in the great world. It seems to call to -me--(_puts foot on settle L._)--to come to it, sometimes. I hear it of -a night when I’m watching the sheep on the hill fields. Maybe it’s only -the sea breaking on the rocks down by Glenthorn--or the wind among the -old oaks, but it sounds like a distant far-off voice--(_gets l. of table -R. with back to Deborah_)--calling to me, and it rings and echoes in -my ears, till I feel at times that I must start up then and there and -follow it. (_Deborah r. of table r. Allen l. of table r._) - -Deb. (_Very gravely, laying her hand on his arm._) Allen, lad, don’t you -remember reading one evening to us of the sirens, who in the old days -used to haunt the sea caves, and sing so sweetly that the sailors who -once paused to listen, were lured on and on till they were wrecked among -the cruel rocks? May not the voices that you hear be like the singing of -those sirens? - -Allen. Maybe, lass; but the sailors couldn’t help but follow when they -did hear it. (_Sits in chair l. of table R._) - -Deb. (_After a pause._) What be the matter, Allen? Thee used to be -contented enough. Now thee’s always talking about riches, and wanting to -go away from the dear old farm. Somethin’s come over thee, lad. (_Puts -hand on Allen’s shoulder._) - -Allen. No, I wur allus like an old crow--(_Deborah takes her hand -away_)--sitting on a fence, and looking at summat too far off to see. -But thee be right partly, lass. Summat has come over me, and made me -want what I can’t get more than ever now. - -Deb. (_Very kindly, r._) What be it? (_With elbows leaning on table, -R._) - -Allen. (_Rises, goes l. c._) Well, I be in love, lass. (_Still looking -away from her._) - -Deb. (_After a pause, during which she has smiled to herself with a -happy little sigh, and clasped her hands together in a sort of little -joyful ecstacy, unnoticed by Allen._) In love! - -Allen. I fancy it must be that. I think of her all day and I dream of -her all night, and I’m jolly miserable. (_At settle, R._) - -Deb. (_Demurely._) Have you any reason to suppose that she returns your -affection? - -Allen. I don’t know, her’s never said anything. - -Deb. Have you? - -Allen. Me! No, I haven’t said anything. - -Deb. Most extraordinary that she doesn’t propose. Have you given her any -encouragement? (_Leans against settle R._) - -Allen. Noa--I can’t say as I have, much. (_Goes r.c._) I’ve looked at -her, you know--soft like--and sighed. (_Does so._) But her’s mostly -been looking t’other way and an’t seen it, and as for saying anything to -her--well, I can talk to her all right about other things and joke and -laugh wi’ her, but the moment I goes to say I love her--it--it seems as -if I’d got a hot potato stuck in my throat. (_Speaking as if she -had, turns away to l. corner of r.table, back to Deborah. His manner -throughout this scene carries out the idea that it is Deborah he is in -love with._) - -Deb. (_After a pause, with a coquettish smile to herself._) - -I--I can’t do anything to help thee, I suppose? (_Goes and leans against -settle R._) - -Allen. Do thee think as her could care for a mere common farmer, -Deborah? - -Deb. (_Turning and looking at him earnestly--comes to front of table -R._) Well--I think if he were a good farmer, and pleaded very hard, I-- - -Allen. (_Delighted._) No, lass! Do ’ee really think a girl could? -(_Advancing to her._) - -Deb. (_Putting her hand to stop him with dignity._) A girl -might--though, of course, a superior sort of girl, such as she appears -to be, might think it presumption for--(_turns away r.puts hand on -corner of table R._) - -Allen. (_Depressed._) Yes--I’m afraid her would. (_Turns away l._) - -Deb. (_Eagerly turning around again._) Then, of course, she mightn’t. -You never can tell till you try. (_Goes to fireplace r. Fish is -changed._) - -Allen. (_Scratching his head._) Blest if I know how to go about it! I -say, Deb, you’ve been proposed to, how do they begin? - -Deb. (_Bending over fire._) Don’t thee think thee’d better tell me who -it is and let me ask her for thee? (_Looking slyly round, pauses._) Who -be her, Allen? - -Allen. (_Going up to window R.c._) Ah, I expect thee knows who her be! - -Deb. (_Beginning softly to creep toward him._) How should I when thee’s -never told me? What be her name? (_Close to him, his back is still -towards her and he doesn’t see her._) Eh? - -Allen. (_Without turning, looking out of the back window up R.c._) -Clara. (_Music cue._) - -(_Bus. Deb. stands still--for the first moment she hardly comprehends. -Then she understands, and stands staring straight before her with a wild -scared look--shivers, crosses back to fireplace on tip-toe and bends -down over it attending to the fish--after Deb. sobs Allen comes down -c.--music dies away._) - -Allen. (_Half turning round._) Colonel Dexter’s daughter, you know. -Thee’ve seen her. Her wur at the Barnstaple ball and I danced wi’ her -and thee said how beautiful her wur and that her dress was all made o’ -some’at or other, and you--(_he has gradually come close over to her -r._) What be the matter, Deb? - -Deb. (_In a changed, hard tone, bending more intently than ever over her -cooking._) Nothing--Nothing. - -Allen. (_Taking her hand._) Why, thee be quite cold, lass; be thee ill? - -Deb. (_Snatching her hand away._) No, no, there’s nothing the matter -with me. Don’t be so foolish, don’t don’t. - -Allen. (_Surprised._) I say, Deb, have I said anything I oughtn’t to? -I know I’m allus a-doing it. (_A pause--Allen stands looking at her, -troubled and bewildered--Deb. bends closer over the fire--then takes the -pan off the fire and with it in her hand turns to Allen smiling._) - -Deb. (_Gives dish to Allen._) Yes, thee have--talking to a cook at the -very moment the trout is on the turn. (_Puts trout on dish._) Serve thee -right if I’d spoilt it. - -Allen. Lor’, thee quite frightened me! (_Pauses._) Yes--I went up there -this afternoon. (_Deb. takes dish from Allen, puts it down in front of -fireplace._) - -Deb. (_Arranging fish._) Did you see her? - -Allen. Yes, I saw her. - -Deb. It doesn’t seem to have made thee any more cheerful. Did thee -quarrel. - -Allen. Us never got a chance. There wur a cousin or summat of the kind -hanging about all the time--just come over with some chap from America. -Can’t say as I like un much. - -Deb. Thee’d best summon up thy courage and speak quick or thee may lose -thy turn. (_Allen turns away L._) Go and tell aunt supper’s ready--be -quick, it’s all spoiling. - -Allen. (_Moving quickly towards door l. down stage._) Where shall I find -her? - -Deb. (_Sharply._) How should I know? - -Allen. (_Looks around surprised--sotto voce._) How the fire do draw out -a woman’s temper, to be sure. - -(_Exit Allen l., down stage._) - -Deb. (_Left alone stands r.a moment without speaking._) What right has -she to come down here and take him away? She doesn’t love him. Couldn’t -she have found enough fine gentlemen in London to amuse her? I don’t -believe she’s a good woman, and I hate her. (_Stamps her foot._) She -shan’t have him--she--(_bursts into quiet tears and, slipping down on -ground, buries her face in chair by fire--pause--after a few seconds -Luke Cranbourne appears in door c. front r., Mike Stratton behind him. -Luke pauses on threshold and coughs. Deb. hastily rises, trying to hide -her tears and stands r. Luke comes forward slowly, followed by Mike at -some distance._) - -Luke. (_After pause, coming forward r.c._) I--beg pardon--there was -nobody about. Are Mrs. Rollitt and Mr. Rollitt at home? - -Deb. Yes, they are at home. I will go and find them. (_Crosses to l._) -Who shall I say it is? - -Luke. (_r.c._) Ah, thank you very much, my dear. Would you say Mr. -Cranbourne--Mr. Luke Cranbourne and Mr. Richard Hanningford? - -Deb. (_Amazed._) Dick Hanningford! - -Luke. (_Smiling._) You know the name? - -Deb. Old Mr. Hanningford’s son? Why, we were only speaking of him -just this instant, and wondering when he’d come back. (_To Luke -hesitatingly._) Are--are you-- - -Luke. No--this is Mr. Hanningford. (_Turns to Mike, who stands awkward -and shy l.c. looking at the ground._) Did you know him? (_Laughs._) - -Deb. Oh, I’m Miss Deacon--Miss Deborah Deacon. We were school-fellows, -you know. (_Timidly approaching Mike with outstretched hand._) I am very -glad to see you Mr.--Mr. Hanningford. - -Mike. Thank you, Miss--I’m very pleased to see you. - -Luke. (_Sitting r._) I suppose you hardly recognize our friend? -(_Watches her intently without her noticing it. Mike has turned away -again, and looks down, flicking leg with cane._) - -Deb. (_Hesitating._) Um! (_Laughs._) Well, he’s certainly altered -since we used to go to school together. But yes--(_examining his -face_)--there’s something of the old face left, I think. - -Luke. We only arrived from America last night, traveling hard all the -time. Pretty nearly worked me to death. Dick has--(_with a yawn_)--but -there, I suppose I should have hurried up pretty smart myself if I’d -been coming home to a fortune. - -Deb. You are staying in the village then, I suppose? - -Luke. Yes, we’ve put up at Colonel Dexter’s--my uncle’s--slow place. -(_Laughing._) But better than the inn apparently. - -Deb. Oh. then you are the--Miss Dexter’s cousin that Allen--(_pauses -hesitating_)--was--was speaking of? - -Luke. Oh, the young fellow that was there this afternoon--was that -Allen? (_With a would-be playful laugh._) And who’s Allen, eh? - -Deb. (_A little stiffly._) Allen is Mr. Rollitt. - -Luke. Oh, I wish I’d known that this afternoon. Dick’s been dying to see -him and his mother all day. I wanted him to wait till the morning, but -he would come down to-night. - -Deb. Oh, I’m sure Allen and Aunt will both be delighted. (_Approaching -Mike, who still stands aside and looks down._) Won’t you be seated, -Mr. Hanningford? (_He makes no sign--hesitatingly._) Dick. (_Mike still -takes no notice. Luke has risen and crossed with assumed carelessness, -towards him and nozu from opposite side of him to Deborah gives him a -sharp kick. Mike starts and looks up._), - -Luke. (_Turning away carelessly._) Lost in reveries of old scenes, Dick, -eh? Miss Deacon is asking you if you won’t sit down. - -Mike. (_Sitting L.c._) Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss, I’m sure. Oh, thank -you, I will. - -Deb. (_Going._) I shan’t be a minute. They are only somewhere about the -yard. - -(_Exit Deborah c. door l. down stage. Luke goes to door, looks off, -closes door, then goes up to door c., looks off, then closes it. Comes -r. of Mike, who is l.c._) - -Luke. (_After waiting an instant, and making sure that no one is -about._) Try and keep some of your wits about you, Mike--if you don’t -mind. - -Mike. (_Sulkily._) I don’t see the darned good of this part of the -trick, so I tell you. - -Luke. I’m afraid we shall have a rough time if your memory doesn’t -improve. I’ve explained to you at least half-a-dozen times that it was -as a sort of trial canter that I wanted to come here. If anyone in -Devon can tell who is Dick Hanningford and who isn’t it will be these -Rollitts. If you pass here you pass anywhere. - -Mike. Well, it’s the very place I should have avoided, and for the same -reason. The old woman knew Dick Hanningford as well as she knows her own -son, and I’d rather avoid her. - -Luke, (_r._) You’re bound to meet her sooner or later. Better get -it over and know the worst--or the best. (_Turns away r. a little._) -Sixteen years make it a little difficult to tell a man, especially -between the age of nine and twenty-five, and you’re like him enough, and -always were. - -Mike. And suppose she gets asking questions--do I remember this, do I -remember that--you know what old women are. - -Luke. Well, you can’t be expected to remember all the details of your -pinafore days after all this time, and knocking about as you have been. -You know all that is necessary for you to know. You knew the old man, -and you were in the house, and you knew young Hanningford. Besides, you -needn’t recollect anything yourself. You recollect what other people -recollect, that’s all you’re wanted to do. - -Mike. (_Rising._) I hope we don’t make a mess of it! (_Turns L._) - -Luke. (_Crossing and laying his hand on Mike’s shoulder, turns him -to c._) We shan’t make a mess of it--don’t you. You know what it’s -for--£100,000 apiece. I’ve done my share of the job--you do yours. -(_Turns r.a little._) - -Mike. (_Turning round and facing him._) Are you sure you did your share? - -Luke, (_l._) What do you mean? (_Turns c._) - -Mike, (_r._) Are you sure he was dead? - -Luke. (_After pausing, during which they have looked steadily at each -other, turning away l._) Well, the bullet went in above his ear, -because I examined the wound: and his body went over a two hundred-foot -precipice--that I could also take an affidavit to--only I’d rather not. -(_Turning round and facing Mike again._) What makes you doubt it? - -Mike. I don’t know--nothing. The idea occurred to me, that’s all. -(_Turns l. a little._) - -Luke. Don’t you drink so much and you won’t have so many ideas. -(_After a pause, during which he seems troubled, shaking it oft with an -effort._) Have you got the letters with you? It will look well to take -them out casually while talking. (_Crosses R.; sits on table._) - -Mike. (_Who has crossed to L., taking them out of his breast pocket and -holding them in his hand._) Yes, here they are all right. Bah! (_With -a shudder._) I always see his face when I look on the darned -things--I--Mrs. R. (_Without, loudly._) Dick Hanningford--Dick -Hanningford, my boy! (_Mike drops suddenly in sitting posture on sofa L. -with a cry “Ah.” Luke works round at back and drops down l._) - -(_Enter Mrs. R., excitedly, followed at little distance by Allen and -Deborah from c. Allen and Deborah remain up. Rachel from door down l._) - -Mrs. R. (_Coming down towards Mike._) What, Dick, my boy, where be thee? -(_Sees Mike on sofa; making towards him._) Ah, there thee be--I thought -I’d know thee again though thee wur only in knickerbockers when I last -saw ’ee. Tain’t thy fault thy father wur a bit stingy. Come and gie us -a hug, lad. Lord love us--(_she is just in font of him, begins to speak -in a bewildered, hesitating manner, in tones gradually dying away to -an awed whisper, as she slowly step by step backs from him._) How--how -you’ve grown--Dick--Dick Hanningford--what--(_stands staring at him; a -strange awed silence prevails_). - -Deb. (_Advancing in a terrified voice._) Aunt. - -Mrs. R. (_Motioning her back with her arm, but not turning and speaking -in a quick, excited, loud tone._) Keep back, child, don’t come near. -(_Luke is near Mike down c._) - -Allen. (_Springing forward._) Mother! What’s the matter? - -Mrs. R. (_As before._) The man’s dead. - -Luke. (_r. stepping forward._) Dead! - -Mr. P. (_Who has entered c. followed by Ichabod and Rachel l. He goes -quietly up to Mike and lays his hand on his heart, and bends over him -earnestly, and it is a few seconds before he speaks._) Heart disease, I -suppose. (_At back of settee l. Gets r.c. of settle._) My letter in his -hand. (_Gets to back of settle._) It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any -good. (_Turns and feels Mike’s heart once again, then quietly turns away -to Allen. Comes c._) He stood between you and £200,000. You are now old -Hanningford’s heir! - -Allen. I! - -Mrs. R. Allen! - -Luke. (_To corpse of Mike--aside as he crosses to back._) Curse you! - - -MEDIUM CURTAIN. - - - - -ACT II. - -Scene: _Morning room in a handsome flat--a showily furnished -room--rather ostentatious and loud in its decoration and appointments. -Large table in bay window r.upper corner. Fire-place r.Doors at back -l.c. and two in l. wing. Small tables r.and L.. Easy chairs l. and R._ - -_Breakfast is laid on large table--it is a gorgeously laid meal--silver -and plate in profusion, and a great number of dishes--tea urn and coffee -urn--a boiling kettle--flowers and ferns in vases and stands. One, a -large wavy one, is at left edge of table close to Allen. The table in -short is crowded and showy to the last degree. A magnificent footman in -gorgeous livery is standing behind; and Mr. Piffin in solemn black waits -close to Allen’s chair, a dish in his hand. Allen is discovered sitting -l. of table, and eating his breakfast in a most melancholy fashion. He -looks intensely miserable and awed. The terrible solemnity of the -whole affair has depressed his spirits to their lowest ebb. He glances -nervously now and then as the meal proceeds, from the footman to the -valet, and vice versa, as they silently and with much ceremony walk -about and wait on him. The fern by his side keeps getting in his -way, tickling and irritating him, but he dare not move it. He eats -in silence, and when he does speak, does so in a humble, deprecating, -nervous manner. He is dressed in a loose morning costume. Music to open -Act._ - -Piff. (_Standing by Allen’s l. elbow c. Peters r. of table R._) May I -get you a little pâté de foie gras, sir? - -Allen. (_Looking round, and speaking in a hushed voice._) I beg pardon? - -Piff. A little pâté de foie gras, sir. - -Allen. Patty who? - -Piff. Goose’s liver, sir. I think you will like it. - -Allen. No, thanks; I never eats liver. It don’t agree with me. I will -have a bit o’ the bacon though. - -Piff. No, sir; it is not dressed that way, sir. I would get used to it -if I were you, sir. You will so often come across it. Peters, just pass -your master the pâté de foie gras. - -(_Peters goes to do so. Allen who has turned again towards his breakfast -is about to take up some gravy from his plate with his knife_). - -Piff. (_Checks him._) I wouldn’t lap up the gravy with my knife, sir. I -don’t think. It’s never done now in good society, sir. - -Allen. It--it’s the best part of it, you know, I alius thinks--the gravy - -Piff. Yes, it’s very tasty, sir. It’s unfortunate it’s so sloppy; and -you see, sir, eating it in that way does not show off the figure to -advantage. Peters, remove your master’s plate. - -(_Peters does so, placing it a few feet beyond Allen’s left hand. Allen -watches it with jealous eyes. Peters then holds the pâté de foie gras to -Allen. He slowly runs his eye up Peters with awe, and then looks at the -pâté de foie gras, then using one hand attempts to take it. Peters, -not moving a muscle, holds it tight. Allen seems surprised, and partly -rising, attempts to take it with both hands._) - -Piff. (_Coming to his rescue, cutting a piece, and putting it on his -plate._) Allow me, sir. Peters, the brown bread and butter. - -Pet. (_Looking for it._) It is not on the table, sir. - -Piff. No brown bread and butter; dear me, how remiss! - -(_Crosses l. and rings bell. Peters also crosses l.c. door, Allen looks -cautiously round and sees they are not watching him, and stealthily -reaches over and secures a knifeful of gravy. He is about having a -second and has the knife close to his mouth, when he becomes aware that -Piff has returned and is watching him. He tries to hide the knife out -of sight. Peters has returned with bread and butter._) - -Piff. (_Severely._) Peters, remove your master’s knife. Don’t you see -that it is in his way? - -(_Peters does so, and then holds the bread and butter to Allen, who -takes a thin slice, folds it up, and holds it in his left hand while -taking the pâté on a fork in his right. He puts first the pâté and then -the bread and butter into his mouth and swallows them._) - -Piff. I must apologize for serving you your breakfast in here, sir. Of -course, you will not have it in the drawing-room as a rule. - -Allen. No, a’ coorse not. No; us alius used to have it in the kitchen at -home. - -Piff. Yes, sir. Must have been very convenient. But I think I’ll get -you to put up with the breakfast parlour in future, sir--when the room’s -ready. Have you quite finished, sir? - -Allen. (_Humbly suggesting._) I think I’d like a little more o’ that -pie. (_Looking longingly at pie the other side of table._) You see, I -alius wur a hearty eater. (_Said as apology_). - -Piff. Yes, sir, I’m delighted to hear it, sir; but I wouldn’t eat any -more breakfast, sir. You will find it is considered correct among _bons -vivants_ to eat a very sparse dejeuner. My late lamented master, the -Count de Fizziani, never partook of anything but a cup of weak tea and a -little dry toast, and he was one of the oldest families in Europe. - -(_Allen rises, Peters bows as he does so, and Allen returns the bow and -comes dozen R._) - -Allen. Ah, I shouldn’t ’a’ thought as anyone could ‘a’ lived long on -that. (_He bows_). - -Piff. No necessity to bow, sir. - -Allen. He did it. (_Indicating Peters_). - -Piff. He’s paid for it. - -Allen. I allus seem to want a good feed myself in the morning. (_Takes -out an old clay pipe and prepares to fill it. Goes down r. and sits in -chair. Peters is clearing away the breakfast things_). - -Piff. Are you thinking of smoking, sir? - -Allen. Yes; I allus has a whiff or two arter breakfast. - -Piff. It’s very soothing, sir. My late lamented master, the Count de -Fizziani, used to follow precisely the same course. But I wouldn’t smoke -a pipe, sir. Pipes are going out in good society. (_Takes cigarette case -from pocket and offers it to Allen. Takes pipe from Allen and puts it on -corner of table R.c._) I have some cigarettes here, sir, which I think -you will like, sir. These are much more _comme il faut_, sir. This case -is a present from my late lamented master, the Count. - -(_Allen looks at them and gingerly takes one._) - -Allen. Which end? - -Piff. (_Lighting match._) Either end, sir. Allow me. (_Showing -matchbox._) Another little souvenir from my late master. He was always -acknowledging, if I may say so, my value to him. That sort of thing -is always done in good society now. (_Lights cigarette._) It is a full -flavored one, sir. (_Piffin takes Allen’s pipe from table r.c., crossing -with it to window r._) - -Allen. (_Watching him, anxiously._) Don’t hurt him. - -Piff. (_Turning round._) I was just going to put it outside on the -window-sill, sir. - -Allen. No, don’t put him there. We used to sit up together of a night -watching the sheep. I don’t like the thought of putting him outside the -window, now I’m a gentleman. Drop him in the pocket of that old shooting -coat o’ mine that thee won’t let me wear. They know each other. (_Sits -r.and smokes his cigarette. Piff. puts the pipe on table and returns -r.c._) - -Piff. (_Noticing that Allen is looking at his cigarette._) All right, -sir? (_r._) - -Allen. Yes--yes, thank you, Mr. Puffin-- - -Piff. Piffin, sir. - -Allen. I wur looking to see if it wur alight, that’s all. - -Piff. You will soon get to like them, sir. And whenever you are ready to -dress, sir-- - -Allen. (_Surprised._) Dress? Why, I be dressed, bain’t I? - -Piff. Oh, only for breakfast, you see, sir. I understood you were going -out walking, sir. - -Allen. Why can’t I walk in these? - -Piff. Oh, no, sir--all London would laugh at you. - -Allen. Lord! I should never a’ thought as they’d take so much notice. -(_Rising. Piff. crosses to l. near down stage door._) Ah, well, I’ll -dress. (_Crossing l._) I don’t want to upset London if I can help it. -I’ll dress. (_Exit l. Bows to Piffin as Piffin does so to him_). - -Piff. No necessity to bow, sir. (_Aside._) Ah, I’ve got a big job on -here! - -(_Exit Piffin, following Allen l. Piffin immediately returns, having -forgotten the pipe, which he takes. He is recrossing l. as enter Dexter -and Clara, c., preceded by Peters, who takes tray from table R.c. and -exits up L._) - -And I’ve got to live in the house with this. - -(_Dexter goes c., Clara r. at back._) - -Dex. (_Coming down._) Good-morning, Piffin, goodmorning. Having a quiet -whiff? - -Piff. Thank you, sir. My stomach does not permit my indulging in the -luxury of a cutty pipe. - -Dex. Is Mr. Rollitt about? - -Piff. He has just this minute gone upstairs to dress, sir. I will let -him know you are here, sir. - -Dex. No hurry--no hurry at all, Piffin. We are before our time. You are -not looking well, Piffin. - -Piff. Anxiety, sir. May be anxiety. You see Mr. Rollitt’s unacquaintance -with the manners of the _beaux esprits_ throws much responsibility on -myself. - -Dex. But you must be careful, Piffin. What would he do without you? - -Piff. (_Smiling._) Well, I’m afraid he would be a little up a tree, sir, -if I may be permitted a vulgarism. (_Moving to door l._) I will go and -acquaint him with your arrival, sir. (_Takes plate from table l., puts -pipe on it._) I’ll send him to you directly, sir. (_Smells pipe._) Shag! -(_Exit l.l._) - -Dex. Thank you, Mr. Piffin, thank you. (_Turning round._) Always be -affable with your inferiors--never know when you may want ‘em. - -Clara. (_By window, looking out._) Do you come across many of that sort? -(_Comes down r. of table R._) - -Dex. Ah, you beast--you vixen. I wonder you don’t cut yourself with that -tongue of yours. - -Clara. (_Turning round with a hard laugh. At fireplace R._) It must be -pretty sharp if it goes through your skin. - -Dex. Ah, you damned-- - -(_Enter Allen l. He has on slippers and a smoking coat_). - -Allen. (_Crossing._) Don’t ’ee look at us too closely. I bean’t -properly dressed yet. - -Clara. (_r.c. turns head away._) I don’t think we had better look at you -at all under those circumstances, Mr. Rollitt. (_Laughs._) - -Allen. (_Laughs._) Oh, I be covered up all right everywhere. I merely -meant as I wasn’t up to fashion plate standard. (_Crossing c._) And how -be Colonel Dexter? (_Shaking hands._) - -Dex. (_l._) Jolly, my boy--and how’s yourself? - -Allen, (_c._) Oh, I be spry enough. (_Crossing before him and shaking -hands with Clara, and keeping her hand._) I think us’ll have a pleasant -day. - -Clara, (_r. looking tenderly at him._) I’m sure we shall. (_Crosses to -sofa, stands at head of it._) - -Dex. Well, you young folks will, I know, and the old folks will be happy -looking on. (_Sitting, and taking Clara’s hand in his and fondling it. -Allen crosses r._) To see his little girl happy, that’s always happiness -enough for old Jack Dexter. - -Clara. (_Leaning over and kissing the top of his hand._) Silly old dad. - -Dex. (_Taking out his handkerchief and pretending to weep._) Ah, like -her mother--like her mother. - -Allen, (_r. c., laughs nervously._) Her--her mother must ha’ been rare -beautiful, mustn’t her? - -Dex. (_c. rising and taking Allen by the hand._) Thank you,--ah, Mr. -Rollitt, you have never known the blessing of a wife--(_Clara looks at -him_)--you do not understand the feelings of a widower. (_Weeping._) - -Allen. No--but--(_laughing_)--but--I hopes to one day; no--no--I don’t -mean that--I--(_confused_)--Have thee had breakfast? (_Clara sits on the -soft L._) - -Dex. Yes, thank you, Allen, my boy. - -Allen. (_Cheerfully._) Have another. - -Dex. No thanks, not to-day. - -Allen. What’s the matter? Off thee feed? - -Dex. No, my lad, but we old folks ain’t like you young country -ones--nothing at present thank you--(_pauses_)--to eat. - -Allen. Have summat to drink. (_Clara crosses l. Both men laugh, each in -his own distinctive way. Dex. turns l. and catches Clara’s face._) -There be some rare old whiskey in the library. Thee’ll find it on the -sideboard--(_Dex. goes up c._)--and it be more comfortable like in there -than here. I’ll just go and finish making myself beautiful. (_Crosses to -l._) - -Clara. Don’t be too long. (_Crossing and sitting L.c._) - -Allen. (_Laughing._) No, it oughtn’t to take me long to--(_Dex. has his -back to them, wine business at table r.c._)--do that, ought it? (_Goes -to l. door down stage. Laughs, and then low to Clara as he is going._) I -am not likely to stop upstairs long when I know thee’s downstairs. - -Clara. Go away, go away. - -(_Exit Allen down stage l. Bus. She kisses her hand._) - -Dex. And I suppose you will go and throw this chance away, like you have -every other. - -Clara. Well, what if I do? (_Rises, crosses it._) - -Dex. What if you do? What are we to live on? (_Goes to Clara l._) - -Clara. Gulls, I suppose--as we always have done. - -Dex. Yes, and is it pleasant living? Is it pleasant to have to slave -and trick for every dinner? Is it pleasant to be kicked--sooner or -later--out of every society one goes into? (_Coming close and speaking -low._) Was it pleasant to be buried for two years in that God-forsaken -hole by Exmoor, not daring to show our heads above ground for a moment? -You’ve got a fine chance of being respectable now. - -Clara. Too late, I’m afraid, though. - -Dex. (_r. c._) Too late? - -Clara. Yes--you see, papa, dear, you haven’t exactly brought me up -in that way, and I’m afraid I’m too old to learn now. I don’t think I -should be quite at home as the wife of a piously brought up young man -from the country. (_Leans back--laughs._) - -Dex. And so you’re going to let six thousand a year slip through your -fingers. It’s wicked--it’s wicked. - -Clara. (_Laughs--rises._) Well, it hasn’t slipped through my fingers -just at present, it is sticking to them pretty freely. (_Crosses to -R.--Dex is c.--toys with ring._) - -Dex. (_Goes to table r.c._) And how long do you think he will stand you -playing with him? - -Clara. Oh, a good long while yet. (_Goes up._) - -Dex. (_Puts hat on table r.c._) That’s just where you’re making a -mistake then. He’s not a fool. He’ll want an answer, “Yes,” or “No,” - soon, and what are you going to say then? - -Clara. (_Looking out of window._) No. (_Looking into fireplace r._) - -Dex. (_After a pause--violently._) Luke Cranbourne’s at the bottom -of this. What devil’s game is it that’s going on between you and him? -(_Loudly._) - -Clara. I do wish you wouldn’t drink when you’re coming out anywhere, it -always makes you so noisy. (_At glass._) - -Dex. (_Violently._) Take care, Clara--you seem to forget I’m your -father. - -Clara. (_Coldly._) The relationship was none of my seeking. -Whatever responsibility attaches to the unfortunate--(_moves near -Dex._)--occurrence is not mine. - -Dex. (_l. making movement as if to strike her._) Clara. - -Clara. (_Facing him with quiet contempt--a pause._) Put down your hands, -father. That period of my life is over. (_Crosses. Dex. steps back, then -throws himself into chair, leans his head on his arms, and bursts into -tears r.c._) - -Dex. (_Crying._) My own child hates me. - -Clara. (_Crossing and laying a hand on his shoulder gently._) I don’t -mean to be hard, father, but you can’t expect much love and duty from -me. Curses and blows were all you ever gave me as a child, and ever -since I became a woman you have merely hawked me about as your decoy. - -Dex. (_ Whimpering._) I only want you to do what’s for your own good. - -Clara. (_Turns away L._) Yes, but you must allow me to be the judge of -that--and come--you haven’t had much cause to grumble up to now. You’ve -been able to be drunk every night for the last three months. - -Dex. (_Rises c._) I ain’t been drunk. (_Takes hat off table r. c._) - -Clara. Not for you perhaps--(_goes l. a little_)--drunk in the ordinary -sense of the word--and I will get you something to-day if I can. - -Dex. (_Drying his eyes._) God bless you, Clara, you’re a good girl. Do -you think you’ll be able to get a twenty? - -Clara. You must leave it to me. I’ll get you as much as I can. - -Allen. (_Off l._) Thank you, Mr. Puffin. - -Piff. (_Off l._) Piffin, Piffin, sir. - -Clara. (_Moving away towards door--upper l._) Come into the next room -now. Here’s Allen coming back. - -Dex. (_As he follows her out._) Say you want to help a poor woman who’s -very ill, and has been ordered nourishing food and--(_gags._) - -(_Exeunt Clara and Dex. upper l._) - -(_Enter Allen and Piff. l. Allen is completely dressed in the height of -walking costume, and is evidently very uncomfortable. Enter Peters c. -Pet. puts photo case on table r. c. Exits down c. Allen has on hat and -coat, and Piff. is carrying his umbrella and gloves. Allen should be got -up in a slightly exaggerated masher style. He is smoking a cigarette._) - -Allen. I carn’t breathe, Mr. Puffin. - -Piff. Oh, you will soon get used to that, sir. And would you please to -remember my name is Piffin, sir? (_Taking his hand._) Why, surely these -are nines, sir, I think we could get them down to eight and a half, and -if I were you, sir, I would show a little more cuff, sir, it’s always -done in good society, sir; besides, it makes the hand look smaller; a -little cuff, sir, goes a long way in good society. - -Allen. Thank you, Mr. Piffin. (_Shakes his hand._) - -Piff. Thank you, sir, but I don’t think you ought to shake hands with -me, sir. And when you do shake hands with your friends, sir--allow me -(_takes Allen’s hand_) shake high, sir. (_Shakes his hand high._) You’ll -see it’s always done in good society, sir. Lord Carmichael’s man told me -he met you yesterday, sir. - -Allen. I--I don’t know him, do I? - -Piff. Oh, no, sir, but he knows you, sir, and he was rather complaining -of your walk, sir? - -Allen. Why, what’s it got to do with him? - -Piff. Well, sir, knowing as I’m your coach, sir, he meant it as a -friendly hint. You have rather a countrified walk, if you will forgive -me for saying so--a more _négligé_ style is adopted by the _savoir -vivre_ now, sir, and a more _insouciant_ manner of carrying the -umbrella. You walk too much in this way, sir. (_Taking up umbrella, -gags, and imitates._) - -Allen. Lord love us, do I walk like that? - -Piff. Just like that, sir. You see yourself, sir, what a very -_undestingué_ appearance it presents. The present fashionable style is -more like this, sir. (_Performing an exaggerated Piccadilly dawdle._) -See, sir--body a little forward--knees stiff--and a slight wobble, -sir--very slight. (_Handing Allen the umbrella._) Perhaps, sir, you -would take the umbrella and try it, sir. - -(_Allen attempts the business._) - -Piff. (_Criticising Allen’s practice. Allen crosses to R._) A little -more bend, sir--a little wobble, sir--umbrella held lightly between -the first and second fingers, sir, (_Allen goes l._) and if you could -manage--allow me, sir--. (_takes umbrella, shows him, and returns it_) -to swing it right round now and then, sir, it adds great _aplomb_. - -Allen. Great what? - -Piff. French, sir. - -Allen. (_Swings umbrella round awkwardly._) Like that? - -Piff. Not quite like that, sir. A little more airily, sir. - -Allen. (_Swinging it._) Does it ever put anybody’s eye out behind? - -Piff. I don’t think that point is considered of much importance in good -society, sir--that is much better, sir. (_Goes r.Allen l._) If you -would practice like that a little every day, sir, you would soon pick it -up, sir. A little more bend, sir, and--er--don’t forget the wobble. - -(_Exit l. down stage._) - -(_Allen goes on practicing to himself, making as much fun as possible, -consistent with comedy, out of the bus. As he is in the middle of it, -enter Mrs. R.and Deb. door c., the door being opened for them by Peters. -They stand c. staring aghast at Allen, who continues, unconscious of -their presence._) - -Allen. (_Gags._) Soon pick it up! Strikes me someone’ll have to pick me -up. It puts me in mind of one of our old turkey cocks. - -(_Mrs. R. and Deb. come down stage a little._) - -Allen. (_Bus. in r. corner of stage. Peters withdraws, grinning._) - -Deb. (_After a long pause, clapping her hands._) I know what it is, -aunt. It’s our Allen. - -Allen. (_Seeing them._) Mother! (_Comes down r.c. Deb. l. c._) - -Mrs. R. My boy! (_They rush into each other’s arms c. and Mrs. R. gives -him a huge hug--gets r.of Allen, Deb. l. Then he and Deb. have an -embrace, and then he and Mrs. R. for the second time._) - -Allen. (_In the middle of Mrs. R. second hug._) Hold hard! - -Mrs. R. (_Alarmed._) What’s the matter, lad? - -Allen. Summat’s gone. - -Mrs. R. What? - -Allen. I don’t know; summat behind. (_Drawing back r. and looking down -at himself._) Mother, you’ve spoilt me. - -Mrs. R. Ah, they used to tell me I allus did that, lad. (_Laughs._) - -Deb. (_After gazing in silent admiration at Allen._) Oh, aunt, isn’t it -lovely? Look at its hat! - -Mrs. R. (_Critically examining his clothes._) Ah--and there’s some good -stuff there, too. (_Moving away._) - -Deb. (_Going near and sniffing._) Oh, oh! Doesn’t it smell -nice--and--oh, look at its collar! (_Allen pleased--begins to plume -himself--Deb. begins to laugh._) - -Allen. What’s the matter with the collar--what are you laughing at? -(_Trying to look at his own collar. Debt’s laugh only grows, and Allen’s -indignation begins to rise._) - -Allen. What’s the matter--what are you laughing at? (_Deb. laughing more -and more, goes to walk round him. Turning round, so as to face her--his -collar prevents him turning his head, and he has to walk round._) What -are you up to? - -Deb. I want to see it all round. - -Allen. (_Very indignantly._) Well then, you can’t do it. I ain’t a show. -What are you laughing at? There’s nothing to laugh at. (_Mrs. R. laughs -first time._) It’s your ignorance, because you don’t understand things. -What are you laughing at? - -(_Mrs. R., who has hitherto sat R. looking on, now also begins to laugh, -and she and Deb. go on laughing more and more, Allen growing more and -more indignant._) - -Allen. I am surprised at you, mother. Deb. allus was a--(_the two women -only laugh louder, and Allen in spite of himself begins to laugh too; -afterwards he joins in heartily and all three laugh, after which they -have another hug. Bus._) - -Mrs. R. (_Exhausted._) Well, lad, and how dost thee like being a -gentleman? (_Sits r., Deb. sits l._) - -Allen, (_c. doubtfully._) Well, it’s got its drawbacks, mother. There’s -more work about it than you’d think for, you know,--but I think I shall -be all right, I’ve got a good man learning me. He wur teaching me to -walk this morning. That wus the Park stroll I wur practicing when you -come in; see, mother? (_Imitates stroll._) - -Mrs. R. Ah, well, us made a good man of ’ee down in Devon. I hopes -they don’t spoil ’ee, lad, in turning thee into a gentleman. - -Allen. Ah, no, mother. It’s only a polishing up the outside. I’m old -Exmoor oak--(_puts his hat and umbrella on table r. c._)--I hope, right -through, and they can’t hurt that. When did ’ee come up? (_Sits r. -c._) - -Mrs. R. Only yesterday, and us went to Mrs. Clouter’s and slept, and -then us come on here this morning. - -Allen. And how long can you stop? - -Mrs. R. Well, us must start off to-morrow, some time. - -Allen. To-morrow! Oh, nonsense, mother. - -Mrs. R. Nonsense! Why, bless the lad, thee wouldn’t have me away on -Saturday. Why, who’d pay the wages, and see to everything? - -Allen. Why, there’s Rogers there, ain’t there? - -Mrs. R. Ah, why thee might just as well leave the key of the stable in -charge o’ the old bay mare, as trust him to look arter anything, except -his own inside. - -Allen. (_After a pause._) Mother! (_Rises, goes to Mrs. R. r._) What do -ye want to go back at all for, and work and worry yourself to death? Let -me take a little house up here in London for thee and Deb, and then we -can all be together. - -Mrs. R. (_Aghast._) And leave the farm? - -Deb. (_Turning round._) Oh, Allen! - -Allen. Why not? You’ve worked hard enough, mother--give the farm up and -enjoy yourself. - -Mrs. R. Enjoy myself! Away from Woodbarrow - -Farm! Why, lad, thy father wur born there and brought me home there--and -he died there, and thee wur born there--and there be the pigs and the -poultry! (_Begins to cry._) - -Allen. (_Tenderly patting her._) All right, mother, all right. Us’ll -keep it on. - -Mrs. R. (_Wiping her eyes._) And thee might want to come back to it -theeself some day, lad. - -Allen. (_Laughing._) Why, thee don’t think I’m going to run through two -hundred thousand, do ye, mother? We Devonshire lads win fortunes, not -lose ‘em. (_Crossing c._) - -Mrs. R. Ah, no, lad. But thee knows the saying “Roses blossom for a day, -But stout old ivy’s green al-way.” Thee ain’t likely to lose the money, -if thee can help it, lad, but us all be in God’s hands, and I’ll be -easier in my mind if the farm’s there for thee to come home to. If -anything happens, thee knows the way across the Moor, and thee knows how -the latch goes, and me and the lass will be inside to welcome thee. - -Allen. (_Goes l. takes Deb.’s hand._) Ah, I know you will, mother, both -of you. - -Mrs. R. (_Music--piano._) Leastways I shall--and the lass until her gets -married, I suppose. (_Deb. goes up a little; gets r._) - -Allen. (_Surprised._) Until her gets married? (_Deb. goes to Mrs. R. r.; -tries to stop her speaking._) - -Mrs. R. (_Sharply._) Ah, the lads ain’t all fools. - -Allen. (_Evidently troubled._) I never seemed to think o’ Deb’s getting -married, somehow. - -Mrs. R. Well, other folks have. - -Allen. I can’t fancy the old farm wi’out Deb. Lord, how lonesome it -would be. - -Deb. (_Who has been trying to stop Mrs. R., has come down and stands by -her aunt, l._) Oh, it’s only aunt’s fun. (_Goes to Allen, l. c._) I’m -not going to get married. Sure the pigs and cows are worrit enough wi’ -their foolish ways. I don’t want any husband. - -Allen. Ah, thee will some day, o’ course, and when thee does we must -make thee comfortable, lass. (_Taking her hand._) Thee shalt ha’ the -best farm in all the country, and the best dairy, and the best stock. - -Deb. (_Little c._) Thank thee, Allen dear. (_Turns up stage._) - -Mrs. R. (_Rising; music dies away._) Well, lass, I suppose us had better -have a clean down and summat to eat, and then see about our bit o’ -shopping. - -Allen. Lord help us! (_Starting._) If I ain’t forgot all about ‘em. - -Mrs. R. All about whom? - -Allen. Why, Clara--Miss Dexter and her father--they be in the library -waiting for me. - -Deb. Oh, don’t let us keep you from them. (_A little spitefully._) - -Allen. Oh, I shan’t go out this morning, now. (_Gets hat and umbrella -from table r.c._) I shall get them to stop here instead, and us can -have a nice quiet day all together. (_Going towards door, lower l._) -Come on, mother. (_Crosses to c._) I’ve got a room fitted up a’purpose -for thee and Deb, with a roost just outside the window with a cock and -three hens in it, and he crows all night. - -(_Exeunt Allen, Deb., and Mrs. R. down stage._) - -(_Enter Baron von Schorr (1) and the Hon. Tom. Gus-sett (2), ushered in -by Peters c. (3). Enter Luke c., and Dexter u. l. (4), afterwards Clara -(5.) Baron goes down l., Gussett r., Luke r. c., Dexter l. c._) - -Dex. (_l._) Rollitt’s going out. You can’t see him. It’s no good your -coming here to try and fleece him this morning. I tell you he’s going -out. - -Luke. (_Coming down r.c._) Ah, we’ll wait and say good-bye to him, -Jack. - -Baron. (_l. c._) Ah, greedy Jack,--greedy Jack--you want de bird all -to yourself. Nein--nein, zhare and zhare alike. Herr Cranbourne have a -ving, Tom Gussett, he have de oder ving. You and your fair daughter have -de legs, and I vill have de breast. - -Clara. No, you shall have the bones after we’ve done with them. Make -’em into a stew--keep a German baron for a week. (_Others laugh._) - -Baron. Ah, Trickey, you here. (_Motioning towards Clara and her -father._) Ah, de early birds--de early birds. - -Clara. Yes, we have to be. (_Rises, and goes r.imitating him._) De -worms get up so early nowadays. (_Enter Allen lower l. Baron goes to -meet him. Guss. puts him away and he turns up c. Speaks to Dex._) - -Allen. Hullo! Unexpected pleasure! - -(_Luke comes forward and greets Allen c._) - -Guss. (_r._) Haven’t seen you for an age, dear boy. - -Allen. No. (_Goes to Luke r._) I’ve been keeping pretty respectable of -late--I--I mean, you know, I haven’t been going out much. - -Luke, (_l._) Tom and I are going over to Paris for the Vincennes -meeting, and we’ve come to see if you will join. - -Guss. (_l. of Allen r._) Yes, do come; then we can show you about Paris -a bit, you know. - -Luke. Ah, yes, and we shall be able to get you into one or two things -in the betting line if you are with us. We can introduce you to some -friends of ours. - -Allen. Ah, it be very kind of thee, I’m sure. - -(_They go on talking r._) - -Baron. (_Aside to the Dexters, back of Clara._) I say, Jack, my boy, how -long have you been Colonel? I did not know you vas a militaire. - -Clara. Papa joined the Salvation Army about the same time that you were -raised to the German Peerage. Don’t talk so loud, my dear Baron. - -Baron. Gut, gut. - -(_Luke sits down stage r. with back to audience, looking at betting -book._) - -Guss. (_To Allen r._) Of course we shall take care of your interests as -if it was for ourselves. - -Baron. (_Comes and puts arm in Allen’s._) Of course they vill take care -ob your interests for themselves. Come here. (_Goes l._) You know I have -been tinking about you so much ob late. Ja! - -Allen. Ah, very kind of thee, I’m sure. - -Baron, (_l._) Ja, I say to myself, my fren Rollitt--I always call you my -fren--my fren Rollitt, I say, he is a gut fellow--he has money--all -he vants is family. (_Guss. goes to Dex. l. c._) He must marry family. -(_Dex. goes c. and tries to hear conversation--Baron notices it and -crosses to r.with Allen._) Now, Miss Dexter, she is a nice girl--ach, -such a nice girl--but she has no family. - -Allen. No--not yet. (_Luke gets near fireplace R._) - -Baron, (_r. Seeing it after a while._) Ah, nein, nein--I do not mean vat -you mean--I mean family de oder vay--backvards--dead uns. - -Allen. Oh! - -Baron. Ja. Now, dere is my niece, look at her family! Look at her -ancestors--all barons--German barons! And she is such a nice girl--so -beaudiful--so plump--ach, I will indroduce her to you. She vill mash -you--so much. She-- - -(_Enter Mrs. R., Deb. behind her, lower l. door. Seeing the room full -she stands by door hesitatingly._) - -Guss. (_Coming down and interrupting, with a sneering laugh._) Your -nurse, Rollitt, I think. (_Comes c. Luke goes to fireplace R._) - -Allen. (_Turns and sees them, and then goes towards them._) Yes, Mr. -Gussett--the best nurse a man can have--my mother. - -(_Guss. confused, but soon recovers himself and laughs it off. Col. D., -Luke, and Clara come forward to greet Mrs. R. and Deb. l. c., and the -customary ceremony, etc., is gone through--all speaking together._) - -Clara. (_Smiling pleasantly, shakes hands with Mrs. R._) Good-morning, -Mrs. Rollitt. You are looking so well and jolly. How are you, my dear? -(_To Deb. Between these two the greeting is really strained and awkward, -although outwardly pleasant enough. Clara kisses Deb., but Deb. seems -to shrink--she turns away. Clara notices this, and follows Deb. as she -turns away up c., with a meaning look. While it has been going on the -greeting between Mrs. R. and Luke has taken place--Mrs. R. down l._) - -Allen. (_Finishing his introduction of Mrs. R. and Baron._) The Baron -von Schnorr--Mrs. Rollitt, my mother. - -Baron. Your mudder--Oh, impossible. (_Goes l. c._) - -Mrs. R. (_Huffy._) I beg your pardon, Mr. Snort. - -Baron. Ach, ja, you are laughing at me--not your mudder. - -(_Clara walks round at back, drops down r. near Luke._) - -Mrs. R. (_Very indignant._) Yes--his mother. Don’t you cast any of your -nasty foreign insinuations upon me. I’m his lawful married mother, and -his father was his father, and a better man never lived, as anyone in -Exmoor-- - -Allen. (_Soothing her._) It’s all right, mother, the Baron only means -it complimentary. Thee’st supposed to look too young to be anybody’s -mother. He has to take (_Clara sits r._) thee for my sister. -(_Laughing--goes up l. c. with Dex._) - -Baron. Ja--I take you for his sister. Ach, you English ladies, you never -seem to get more old--you only get more round, more--more jolly. - -Mrs. R. (_Still indignant._) Ah--foolishness. (_Ruffling her dress and -sitting very stiff l. on sofa._) - -Baron. (_Sitting on sofa beside her._) It must be de climate keep you -so moist. (_Drawing closer._) I knew a man, he lives in your Manchester, -and--(_goes on talking to Mrs. R. but is not heard._) - -(_Allen goes up and joins Col. Dex. up l. c. and Clara. After a little -while Col. Dex. appropriates him, leaving Clara a little to r.of them -unnoticed. Guss. continues talking to Deb. Deb. evidently bored and -anxious to get away. Guss. trying to be very agreeable. At this point -when all the others are occupied, Luke r. beckons Clara to him and she -crosses. Their conversation is in eager undertone and they watch to see -that no one is noticing them._) - -Luke. Have you got him to join yet? - -Clara. No--he kicks against it. - -Luke. If his name isn’t down in the list of directors before Monday I -shall be arrested. - -Clara. Can’t you get away? - -Luke. No, I’m watched night and day. If he joins, the company will float -and it will be all right. - -Clara. I shall be seeing him alone this morning. I will try again. - -Luke. And keep to plain gold and diamonds for presents. Those fallal -things (_touching her bracelet_) are no good. Don’t fetch ten per cent, -of their value. - -Deb. (_Part of the conversation between herself and Guss. Abstractedly, -her attention being fixed on Luke and Clara._) Ha, ha! that was very -funny. - -(_Guss. r. with Deb. looks at her in amazement._) - -Luke. (_Down r._) There’s that milkmaid watching us--don’t look around, -answer as though I had been proposing to you--that will account for our -talking together. (_In a louder but still undertone._) Is there no hope -for me? - -Clara. (_Down r.--smiling._) None, Luke--please don’t refer to the -subject again. I like you--respect you--will be a sister to you--but -love-- - -Luke. (_Grinning._) Yes, it’s that Rollitt that you love. (_Deb., -followed by Guss., has moved away to window._) - -Clara. Mr. Cranbourne, you have no right-- - -Luke. (_Who has been watching Deb._) Chuck it up, it’s all right, she’s -gone to the window. - -Clara. I don’t suppose we’ve deceived her very much, she’s a sharp -little minx. Get these men away. - -(_Clara takes up book, and standing, toys with it up r. front of r.c. -table._) - -Baron. (_Finishing._) She never leave her bed for eighteen years--she -take dree dozes--den she get up and go for a dree mile walk. - -Mrs. R. (_Rising._) Lor! It must have been quite a change for her. - -Baron. (_Rising._) Ja. It vas a miragle. (_Turning and seeing Luke -beside him._) Ha, my dear boy, ready? - -Luke. (_Crosses to Baron._) Ready and off. - -Allen. (_Coming down c. followed by Dex._) Oh, are you three going? - -(_Baron goes c._) - -Luke. Yes, I know you’ll be glad to be rid of us. (_Laughing._) - -Allen. Well, I have (_looking at watch_) one or two little things to do -this morning. - -(_Baron goes up c._) - -Dex. Well, look here, Allen, I’m just going to have a quiet weed in the -smoking room till you’re ready. See? - -Allen. Oh, it be a billiard room now, thee know. - -Luke. Oh. have you had a table put up? - -Clara. (_Who has just crossed over and joined the group l. to Mrs. R. -who is just about quitting the room by door l. lower._) Do you allow -your little boy to play billiards, Mrs. Rollitt? I don’t think I should -if I had charge of him. (_Playfully._) - -Mrs. R. Oh, the more he’s up to every sort o’ game that’s played the -better for him, to my thinking. - -(_Exit Mrs. R. l._) - -Allen. (_Laughing._) Oh, it keeps me at home out of mischief, like. -(_Moves to upper door L._) Come and have a look at it. (_Goes up c._) - -Baron. (_As they go._) Ach, billiards iz a beaudiful game. (_Aside to -Luke._) But you cannot vin much at id, id take so dam long. - -(_Exeunt all but Guss. and Deb. [l.]--all talking as they go. Guss. and -Deb. near fireplace._) - -Deb. (_r._) Well, I’m afraid, Mr. Gussett, I must really go now. (_Goes -down stage. Guss. goes l. c. and stops her._) - -Guss. (_Getting between her and the door l. to which she is backing._) -Oh, no, don’t go. Do you know, I shall really think you are trying to -avoid me. - -Deb. (_Retreating behind table--Guss. takes a step._) Oh, not at all. - -Guss. (_c. gets l. of r. c. table._) Ah, so pleasant to hear you say so. -You know, Miss Deacon, I so want you to like me. - -Deb. Yes, well--I do very much, only I can’t stop to do it now, because -you see aunt wants me. (_Moves c. up stage. Guss. stops her. Bus. of -Deb. trying to get away and of Guss. cutting her off and trying to get -near her; is kept up throughout the scene._) - -Guss. Ah, but your aunt sees so much of you and I can see so little. - -Deb. (_Laughing, walks l. c. up stage. Guss. at head of sofa._) I’m -afraid there’s not very much more of me to see. I must go really, -because we have got to do some shopping this morning. - -Guss. Ah, let me come with you? - -Deb. Oh, no, I won’t tax your kindness. I know you men hate shopping, -and we are going into drapers’ and dressmakers’ and all sorts of -dreadful places, (_c._) - -Guss. Ah, they will not be dreadful if you are there, Miss Deacon. - -Deb. And aunt always takes such a long time shopping. (_Goes up c._) -Never can make up her mind, and I’m worse still, and--(_makes movement, -Guss. moves behind settle and stops her down l._) - -Guss. Ah, the longer you take, the better I shall like it. I shall enjoy -coming, I assure you. - -Deb. (_Getting more and more cross, comes r.c._) Well you know I really -don’t think you will; and really, Mr. Gussett--(_turns r.a little._) - -Guss. (_Interrupting._) Ah, I know better. No, I quite insist upon -coming. - -Deb. (_With calm, suppressed temper._) Ah, all right, Mr. Gussett, you -shall. (_Crossing l. meets Mrs. R. just entering l._) Aunt, I want you. -(_Turning her round again._) - -Mrs. R. (_l._) Why, whatever’s the-- - -Deb. I’ll tell you, come along. - -(_Exeunt Mrs. R. and Deb. l._) - -Guss. (_r. turns and arranges his moustache in glass over chimney_). -Might do worse, Gussy, my boy. (_Turns round again._) She’s not a bad -little thing, lick her into shape a bit. - -(_Enter Luke, upper l._) - -Luke. (_Crossing to table and taking up his hat._) Coming? - -Guss. No, dear boy. (_Laughing._) Got a little job on. - -Luke. Oh, on the war-path? - -Guss. Yes--well, I may as well keep it in hand--Chawbacon will make her -good for a thousand or two, I expect--if nothing better turns up. - -Luke. Ah--wish you luck--she’ll be a good match for you, I think, Gussy. - -(_Exit Luke c._) - -(_Enter Mrs. R. and Deb. lower door l. Both are wearing old-fashioned -big country shawls, and big bonnets. Deb. evidently has on one of her -aunt’s. Their dress altogether is as extravagant as comedy will permit, -and has evidently been hastily put on. Deb. also carries a big country -hand-basket covered with a cloth, the neck of a bottle sticking -prominently out, and a huge gamp. Deb. smothering her laughter_). - -Deb. (_Crossing r.c._) We are quite ready, Mr. Gussett - -Mrs. R. Yes, we are quite ready. - -Guss. (_Who has regarded them with a horrified stare._) Ah, yes, if you -will wait a minute I think I will call a cab. - -Deb. Oh, we’d rather walk, thank you--you would rather walk, wouldn’t -you, aunt? - -Mrs. R. Oh, I’ve made up my mind for a walk. - -Deb. Yes, we would both rather walk. Will you give your arm to aunty, -Mr. Gussett? (_Guss. crosses to c._) And be very careful of her at the -crossings, because she’s rather nervous, and so am I. - -Deb. (_r.c. handing the basket to Guss._) You won’t mind carrying the -basket, will you, Mr. Gussett, because it’s so heavy? (_He takes it -bewildered and helpless._) - -(_As Guss., Deb. and Mrs. R. reach door c., enter Allen and Clara l. -upper e._) - -Allen. Hulloa! Where be thee off to? - -Deb. Down Regent street, and up--Piccadilly, I think you call it. -Good-bye. - -(_Exeunt Mrs. R., Deb. and Guss. c._) - -Clara. (_Comes l. laughing._) I should like to be there to see the Hon. -Tom Gussett at the crossings. - -Allen. (_Half amused, half cross._) Ah, her be a madcap, her be, that -girl. What makes thee so anxious that I should join the company? - -Clara. (_Sitting l. on sofa, Allen stands by her, behind sofa, leaning -over._) Why, don’t you see, poor papa could be secretary if you joined. -They would let you nominate him, and we should be so glad to be earning -something--(_very low_)--and we are so poor. (_Laying her hand on him._) -Do join, Allen, for my sake. - -Allen. (_Yielding--back of sofa._) Ah, thee don’t know how hard thee -makes it for me to say no. - -Clara. Then don’t say it--it would make me so happy. (_Looking up at -him._) - -Allen. It would? - -Clara. (_Laying her hand as if unwittingly on his._) - -And I should think you--(_drooping her head._) Ah! I’d better not say -what I should think you. - -Allen. Ah, well, lass, if you wish it, I will then. - -Clara. You will really? - -Allen. Yes--if it will make thee happy I will. And now let’s talk about -yourself. (_Sits l. next to Clara._) Thee is the company I most wants to -join. How have thee been getting on? - -Clara. (_Looking down._) Oh, dear! - -Allen. What does “Oh dear” mean? - -Clara. “Oh, dear” means very bad. Debts. (_With assumed bewilderment._) -Awful! - -Allen. (_Smiling._) What sort of debts? - -Clara. Oh, all sorts--tradespeople, you know, and all that, and then I -thought I could win a little by betting--(_Allen rises_)--and put it all -right--and I’ve been and lost. Oh dear! - -Allen. (_Vexed, goes c._) I should ha’ thought there wur enough fools -among us men trying to win money that way. - -Clara. I am naughty, I know--but papa leaves everything to me, and I get -so frightened when I see the debts mounting up and nothing to meet them, -and I’ve no one to advise me. (_Crosses l._) - -Allen. (_After a pause, rises, goes to Clara--kindly._) I didn’t mean -to speak unkind, lass. I’m full of old-fashioned notions about women, I -suppose. I like ’em to be women--not mere men in petticoats. How much -does thee owe? - -Clara. Oh, heaps! (_Handing him pocket-book._) Look. (_Allen crosses to -R. and sits at table._) And I haven’t any money. (_Rising and looking -over his shoulder R., as he examines the book._) Do you think they’ll -put me in prison? - -Allen. (_Turns--laughing._) Thee ought to be taken in charge by -somebody, that’s certain. (_Allen rises, puts some notes from his -pocket-book into hers, and hands it back to her._) I owe your father -a little over one or two bets. I can take it off that and give him the -rest, like. (_Crosses to l._) - -Clara. (_Takes book and lays it on the table--the notes drop out on to -the table._) You are good, Allen, really. (_Puts book on table R.--half -to herself._) I wish sometimes that you weren’t--that you were more like -other men I have met. (_Turning away r._) - -Allen. Why, would thee like me better? - -Clara. No, but I should like myself better. - -Allen. What do thee mean, lass? - -Clara. Nothing. I’m not used to your sort of men. (_Goes to fireplace, -then up R., throwing off her seriousness and turning towards him._) You -are like the knight, Allen, out of some old legend that comes and slays -the dragon and sets the frightened princess free from all her trouble. -(_Laughing._) - -Allen. (_Goes to table r. Clara r.c. at top of table._) When art thee -going to gie me the right to be thy knight always? - -Clara..(_Sits at table playfully._) Ah, the gallant knights are apt -to turn into grim jailers--(_comes l. of r. table_)--when they get the -princess into their own castles. - -Allen. Can’t thee believe me, Clara? Trust me, lass--I’m only a rough -country chap to be asking a beautiful lady like thee to be my wife. But -if I can’t gie thee anything very showy on the outside, it will make me -the more eager alius to keep a loving heart for thee within. - -Clara. Oh, no. (_Sits in chair l. of table._) A lover on his knees is so -much nicer than a lover on your arm. You are so nice, Allen, as you are, -you can’t think. I really couldn’t bring myself to risk a change. - -Allen, (_c._) It would be a change for thee, Clara--(_leans on table at -back of Clara, puts hand on Clara’s chair_)--from a rough and troubled -road to one where every stone wur smoothed away from your path---where -every thorn wur held back as you passed--where, instead of care for -the day and dread for the morrow, thee would feel that a strong arm wur -round thee--that a loving hand wur working out thy life for thee. Cannot -thee risk the change, Clara? - -Clara. (_Rises, Allen takes her right hand, turns away R._) Ah, I -suppose there are such lives for some women. It must be very good when -you are tired. (_Facing round to L.c._) And you, Allen--women do not -always seem so charming after marriage as they did before. It might be a -risk for you. - -Allen. To have the sweetest, noblest woman in the world to be my wife? -I’ll risk that. (_Laughs, comes c._) - -Clara. (_Turning away again to R., Allen l.c._) Ah, you boys, you think -all women are angels. - -Allen. So they are--a good woman is an angel. - -Clara. (_At Are, facing round and looking at him._) How do you know I am -good? (_Very low and serious. Allen drops down c. A pause. He looks in -surprise and inquiry at her, not knowing what to answer._) - -Clara. Hadn’t you better make sure, Allen? (_Laughing._) What do you -know of my past--of even my present--of whence I came--what I am? -(_Laughs._) Suppose, Allen, suppose I were only an adventuress. -(_Takes a step._) A woman with the blood of sharpers and thieves in her -veins--whose nursery was the gambling house--whose school was the Café -and the Boulevards--a woman who earned her daily bread by shamelessness -and cunning--a woman whose past would ever follow like a shadow the -footsteps of her life--whose future must ever be a darker shadow still. -Ah, Allen, take care. Cupid ties a bandage over men’s eyes. Hymen, when -it is too late, plucks it off. Hadn’t you better lift a corner off the -handkerchief, Allen, while we are yet upon the step without, lest beside -your hearth, when the door has shut us in, you cast it loose, to find -I am a stain upon your name--a shadow in your home--a blight upon your -life? (_Laughing._) Allen, take care--take care. (_Crosses to l. Allen -moves up a trifle._) - -Allen. (_Recovering from the bewilderment with which he has heard her._) -Ah, it’s well for thee that it is thee, and not anyone else that talks -like this about ’ee. - -Clara. Ah, but Allen, try and find out a little more about me; it’s just -a whim of mine--I want to feel sure that you know me--just to please me. - -Allen. If I couldn’t trust thee--(_takes her hand_)--lass, I shouldn’t -love thee. - -Clara. (_Crosses to R.c. Allen follows._) Ah, you are a dear good -fellow, Allen, and I won’t tease you any more. And you will join the -company, won’t you? And then you shall get me that dear little diamond -bracelet that we looked at--do you remember it?--and you shall put it -on yourself. (_Allen by her side r. All this is said with every trick of -fascination at her command, and now she playfully holds up her arm, from -which the loose sleeve falls back, close to his face._) On that. (_He -drops on his knees and kisses her arm_). - -(_Enter Deb. c._) - -Clara. (_Snatches her arm away._) Deborah! (_Allen rises._) - -Allen. (_Turning and seeing her, goes to fireplace R._) Hullo, thee’s -back soon. - -Deb. Yes, aunt met Mrs. Clouter just outside, so I pleaded a headache -and left them. (_Throwing off bonnet and shawl on chair and coming -down._) Don’t you think Col. Dexter would like a game of billiards, -Allen? - -Allen. No, he’s all right--he’s smoking. (_Crosses l._) - -Deb. Oh, I’m sure he’d like a game (_Clara motions Allen away_), and I -want to have a chat with Miss Dexter. We shan’t see each other after -this morning for goodness knows how long. - -Allen. (_Moving away l._) Ah, I understand now. (_Goes up stage l._) -I’ll go, and you can tell each other about your new frocks. - -(_Exit Allen l., Clara goes c., Deb. l.c. and Clara look at each -other._) - -Deb. (_After a pause._) I came back to see you, Miss Dexter, before you -left. - -Clara. (_Coldly._) It was very good of you. - -Deb. I want to know whether you are playing the fool with Allen, or -whether you mean to marry him. - -Clara. I have heard of that sort of question being put to a gentleman -under certain circumstances. (_Crosses to L._) - -Deb. It is put to the person who is supposed to be acting -dishonorably--I put it to you. - -Clara. I am afraid I have been mixing things up. I was under the -impression that it was the stout lady, your aunt, that was Mr. Rollitt’s -mother. - -Deb. You are very smart, Miss Dexter, and I am not, but this is no -game--it is earnest. - -Clara. Then I would suggest to you that your cousin is quite capable of -taking care of himself. - -Deb. Yes, against a man; but not against the woman he loves and trusts. -It is his love that enables you to deceive him. - -Clara. (_Crossing to R.--sits on chair near table r._) You seem to have -made up your mind, my dear child, that I am deceiving him. - -Deb. (_l.c._) I know that he has asked you to become his wife, and I -know that although you have let him think it is all right, you have -never given him a real answer. I know that you accept his attentions, -his invitations, his presents. (_Noticing the book and notes on the -table, points to them._) And all the while you are having whispered -interviews and secret meetings with another man. - -Clara. (_Coolly counting notes._) If you are thinking of the -conversation you were trying to listen to just now-- - -Deb. That is only the latest of many such I have noticed. They began -three months ago, down in Devonshire. I come to London and find the same -thing going on. - -Clara. (_Sneering._)’ You really ought to have been a detective, the -force might have been some use then. - -Deb. I’m not blind. (_Goes c._) Allen is. But that is not all. These -things might be explained by themselves--suspicious though they are--but -just now, going downstairs, I picked up a purse. (_Pausing and looking -at Clara, who, however, makes no sign._) It is your purse. (_Throws it -into Clara’s lap._) I opened it to see whom it belonged to--and inside -it is a wedding ring. Is your name Dexter or Cranbourne? - -Clara. (_Rising._) I really must decline to answer any questions of -yours. You are so exceedingly rude. (_Crosses up behind table R.c._) - -Deb. You need not answer me. Answer Allen. Tell him that you will be -his wife--or that you cannot. (_Clara takes no notice._) Do you refuse? -(_Crossing l._) - -Clara. I refuse to be dictated to. - -Deb. Then I shall communicate my suspicions to Allen. - -Clara. (_Turning fiercely._) Do so. Tell him--(_walks round table to -back of Deb. c._)--that you believe that I am the wife of another man, -and am playing a shameful part with him merely to sponge on him. That -I am fondling him with the one hand only the better to pick his pocket -with the other. Tell him that you believe he is surrounded by a gang of -adventurers and thieves, of which I am the willing decoy. Tell him your -suspicions, and I will tell him that they are the poisonous concoctions -of a jealous woman--of a woman who loves him herself--(_laughs_)--and -seeks to win him from her more favored rival, by lies and trickery. -(_Goes dozen r._) - -Deb. (_Quietly._) You shall answer him for all that, or he shall know -the reason why you dare not. (_Crosses L., and calls._) Allen! Allen! - -(_Enter Allen l. up stage_). - -Deb. (_l. c._) Allen, is Miss Dexter engaged to be married to you or -not? - -Allen, (_l._) Well. (_Laughs._) Blest if I could tell ‘ee that, Deb. -That be the very thing I ha’ been trying to find out myself. Bain’t it, -Clara? Only her be such a tease. (_All said laughingly._) - -Deb. (_Sharply._) You mean you have never been able to get a plain -answer, yes or no? - -Allen. Gently, lass. Thee be mistaking this for some business of thine. - -Deb. Allen, we’ve been like brother and sister all our lives, and your -happiness is my happiness. I have my reasons--very strong reasons--for -asking you to ask Miss Dexter now, before me, whether she will be your -wife. - -Allen. I can’t say I thank thee, Deb, for interfering in a matter that -don’t concern thee. (_To Clara, crossing to her._) I hope, Clara, you -don’t think as I have any hand in this, but as things stand now, it will -perhaps be best (_advancing_) if I do ask thee. Will thee be my wife? - -Clara. (_Crosses down. Very quietly and deliberately._) Yes! (_Stepping -forward and, putting her hand in Allen’s, c. A pause. She then, glancing -first at Deb., draws Allen slowly to her, and they kiss. They cross r._) - -Allen. I think now, Deb, that Miss Dexter has a right to know thy -“reasons.” - -Deb. They were mistaken ones, Allen. Please forgive me, both of you. - -(_Exit Deb. l._) - -Allen. (_Bewildered--looks after Deb._) What does it all mean? - -Clara. I will tell you some time. Never mind now. - -Allen. Ah, well, us oughtn’t to be angry with her, anyhow, for what -her’s done. (_Takes Clara’s hand in his._) Ought us? (_Draws her to him -and kisses her forehead_). - -Clara. (_Disengaging herself gently._) I am going to tell papa. I am so -happy. (_Crosses l., looking back to him laughingly._) - -(_Exit Clara l. up stage_). - -Allen, (_c. after a pause._) Everything I want in the whole wide world, -and three months ago--(_Breaks off and pauses his hand over his eyes._) -I wonder if I shall wake up in a minute in the old farm and find that -the £200,000 and Clara have only been dreams. (_Rousing himself._) Ah, -no, it be real enough. (_Looks round._) Ah, they call Fortune a fickle -jade, but her’s been a firm friend to me. I’ll drink thee a bumper, -Fortune lass. (_Turns to table r., On which are wine and glasses, and -pours out a glassful._) I don’t know how much a bumper is, but I expects -it’s about a glassful, and thee shall ha’ it. (_Takes glass in his right -hand, and raises it._) Here’s thy jolly good health, my lass. To Lady -Fortune! - -(_Enter Peters c. upper door, with card on salver._) - -Allen. (_Lowers glass untouched._) What’s the matter? - -Peters. (_Coming forward and presenting salver._) A gentleman to see -you, sir. - -Allen. (_Takes card, but does not look at it._) He’ll have to be quick -about it then. Send un up. (_Footman seems to hesitate. Sharply._) Send -un up. Send un up. - -(_Exit Peters c._) - -Another of my swell friends, I suppose; they seem to be swarming -this--(_r. c. glances at card, his hand holding the glass sinks lower -and lower, he gazes round bewilderingly._) - -(_Enter Richard Hanningford c._) - -(_Reads card in amazed tone._) Richard Hanningford, I saw him lying dead -before my own eyes three months ago! Hann. (_At door, raising hat._) I -beg your pardon! (_The glass in Allen’s hand overturns_). - - -MEDIUM CURTAIN. - - - - -ACT III. - -Scene I. The library at Allen’s Chambers. Fire l. Doors r.and c. Table -L.c. Big easy chair l. by fire. Peters discovered l. c. arranging and -cutting papers on table and whistling. - -(_Enter Piffin r. Music to open._) - -Piff. Have you seen my cub about? - -Peters. (_Without looking up._) No, Foxey, I ain’t. Didn’t know as you -had had one. - -Piff. (_c._) You know who I mean--your master. Peters. (_Going to door -c._) Not far off from where yours is I suppose. - -(_Exit Peters c._) - -Piff. Um! The master has been getting impertinent to me of late, so the -servants seem to be following suit. (_Shrugging his shoulders._) I shall -throw this job up when I’ve made another hundred or two. I wonder how -much longer he’s going to keep me waiting. - -(_Exit Piff. c._) - -(_Enter Allen r. creeping in cautiously in a mysterious and watchful -manner. He has a huge pewter pot in one hand and a large church-warden -clay pipe alight in the other. He looks round stealthily, listens, then -crosses nervously and sits l. in easy chair. He stretches himself out -as luxuriously as his tight clothes will allow--especially the collar. -Takes a long pull at the pot and long puffs at the pipe. In the middle -of each pull, grunts “good” in evident enjoyment._) - -Allen. (_Chuckling in a deep undertone. Crosses to c. and sits._) -Ah-h-h, I’ve done un this time. He’s waiting upstairs to curl my hair. -(_Chuckling again._) Told un I’d come up when (_grandly_) I’d finished -conducting my correspondence. (_Chuckles, pulls at pipe, and takes a -deep draught._) First time I’ve ever enjoyed myself since I came into my -property. (_Breaks out into some country ale-house sort of song, sings, -warming as he goes on with great gusto._) - -(_Enter Piffin c., unseen by Allen. Piff. comes down and stands c. -looking on. Allen finishes song and then buries his face in the pot. -As his eyes emerge over the brim he catches sight of Piff. He remains -looking at him for a while and then slowly puts the pot on the table._) - -Allen. What do thee want? Didn’t I tell ’ee I wur going to conduct my -correspondence, and that I didn’t want to be disturbed? - -Piff. (_Goes up table._) I beg pardon, sir, but I thought maybe you had -completed your correspondence, especially as there was only one letter -this morning, and that was a circular about coals. - -Allen. Oh, did you. Well, I ain’t you see. I’m going to write a lot of -original correspondence this morning, and I’m collecting my thoughts. -(_Goes on smoking sulkily._) - -Piff. Yes, sir--certainly, sir--but might I be allowed to suggest, sir, -that a pot of ale and a clay pipe are hardly the _dolce far niente_ of a -_grand seigneur_. - -Allen. Hardly the what of my which? Look here, don’t you be so spry at -calling me them jaw-breaking foreign names, because I don’t like it. -It wur only yesterday you alluded to me as a _bo-mo_, and last week -you said I ought to be in the _hot tongs_. I didn’t say anything at the -time, but you drop it. - -Piff. I referred to you as belonging to the _beau monde_, sir, and I -may have said your position was now among the _haut ton_. We always talk -like that in good society, sir. Both expressions were flattering, very -flattering. - -Allen. Ah, maybe they wur and maybe they wurn’t. Next time, you call -it me in English, and then I can judge for myself. And don’t worrit me -to-day at all. I’ve got a trying morning before me, and I’m going to -have a little quiet enjoyment to set myself up before it begins. - -Piff. Might I suggest, then, sir, that a cigarette and a little absinthe -would be more _de rigueur?_ My late lamented master the Count de -Fizziani invariably took a little absinthe after breakfast and found -great benefit from it. - -Allen. Yes, I know. I tried your friend’s cough mixture before, you -know. Old ale’s good enough for me. - -Piff. But, sir-- - -Allen. Don’t you worrit. I’ve been a gentleman for a month; I think I -might have a morning off. - -Piff. Very well, sir. Just as you please, of course, sir; but I’ve my -character to consider, sir--and--and--I am not accustomed to the service -of gentlemen with pothouse proclivities. - -Allen. (_Sotto voce._) Oh, go and hang yourself. - -Piff. (_Up c._) That’s never done now, sir, in good society. My late -lamented master, the Count de Fizziani-- - -Allen. (_Springing up, working Piff. round, from table l. to desk r._) -Oh, you go to your late lamented master, the fizzing Count, and tell him -to--I have had eno’ of him and I’ve had eno’ of you. Blest if I’ve had a -happy moment since you came into the house. You’ve dressed me up like a -tailor’s dummy, and curled my hair like a Sunday school kid; you’ve made -me talk like a man in a play, and walk like a monkey on stilts. Thee’ve -chivied me about from morning till night, and thee’ve rammed that old -lamented corpse of yours down my throat every two minutes of the day. -I’ve put up wi’ it all for a long while because I thought thee meant -well, and wur a-trying to make me into a gentleman, but blest if I think -thee knows much more about the genuine article than I does, and I’m -going to go it in my own way now. Look here. (_Takes off his tie and -collar and throws them down and jumps on them, pulls off his coat and -throws it in a corner, nifties his hair, unbuttons and throws back his -waistcoat, kicks off his boots, and throws himself into easy chair, -sticks his feet on table, takes long pull from the pot, slams it on -table> again, and commences to smoke his pipe vigorously, looking -defiantly at Piff._) That’s the sort o’ man I’m going to be now. (_Sits -l._) - -Piff. (_Who has stood aghast, moving off._) Very well, sir; then I have -only to say that I wash my hands of you entirely. (_Pause._) You can’t -make a gentleman out of a pig’s ear. (_Sneeringly_). - -Allen. (_Puffing quietly at pipe._) No, it ain’t the usual method. - -Piff. (_By door c. muttering to himself, but meant to be heard by -Allen._) Only what I might have expected from mixing myself up with such -canaille. (_Pauses. Allen takes no notice._) Pray understand, sir, I -give you a week’s warning on the spot. My late master, the-- - -Allen. (_Springing up and throwing book at him. Piff. exits r._) Yes. -(_Piff. again appears hurriedly at door r. and cries, “Upstart bumpkin,” - and exit quickly._) I’ll give ’ee my toe on the spot if I hear any -more of--(_reseats himself, with a grunt of disgust; a pause, during -which he smokes._) He is right, I wurn’t meant for a gentleman after -all. Some of us was built for gaiters, and some on us for patent leather -shoes, and I be one of the gaiter sort--all my tastes are low. I doan’t -like claret and I doan’t like cigarettes. I’m uncomfortable in a -collar (_picking his up and fixing it_) and I prefer shove-ha’penny to -billiards. (_Sighs, continues dreamily._) Ah, I’d gie a trifle to be -going to spend this evening at the Dunkery Arms a-halping to sing a -chorus with old Joe Steddles and young Jem Whalley and Jack Clouter. Ah, -he’d got a fine voice, had old Jack Clouter. Never heard a man sing so -loud in all my life. Lord, I shall never forget her’s doing “Rock me -to sleep, mother,” round at the lodge, and a waking up mother Hammond’s -three kids just as her’d got un all off to sleep. Lord, how her let us -have it. (_Laughing._) Ah, us went home early that night. (_Chuckling._) -They coned back wi’ me, old Jack and Jim, and Deb made us a veal pasty -for supper. (_Smiling._) Ah, her do make good-- - -(_Enter Peters, followed by Purtwee, door c., says, “Mr. Purtwee,” takes -P.’s hat and exit. Allen rises and commences to pick up his various -articles of apparel and re fix them while talking to Purt._) - -Purt. (_Coming forward._) Well, my boy. - -Allen. Ah, it does me good to see thee again. - -Purt. How are you? - -Allen. (_Shakes hands._) Oh, I be all right outside. (_Rises, crosses -to L._) Bean’t very spry inside, so I tell ’ee. (_Explanatory of his -dressing arrangements._) Just been having a quiet smoke, you know. - -Purt. (_With a smile._) And do you always undress to smoke? - -Allen. (_Laughing._) No--but I has to now when I want to sit down -comfortable. (_Continues to dress--brings wine down to table._) Have a -glass of wine. I’m glad thee’ve come, I wur afraid from thy letter that -thee wouldn’t. - -Purt. (_Sits in arm-chair l._) Well, it’s a very informal proceeding I’m -bound to say--not at all professional. - -Allen. Perhaps not, but it’s simple and straightforward like and maybe -that’s as good. Have ’ee read the papers I sent thee? - -Purt. Yes--most carefully--and they certainly make the story appear -very plausible--very plausible, indeed. Have you said anything to your -mother? - -Allen. No--no, I thought I wouldn’t say a word to anybody until I was -sure one way or t’other. (_Sits L._) - -Purt. Quite right--quite right. What sort of a man was he? - -Allen. Blest if I could tell ’ee--I wur that taken aback I couldn’t -tell ’ee what it wur, but thee’ll see him for theeself in a minute. I -told Father Christmas to send him straight up when he comes. - -Purt. (_Looking at his watch._) Well, if he’s an impostor, he’ll hardly -venture to come to a meeting of this kind. - -(_Enter Peters announcing Richard Hanningford, door at back._) - -Pet. Mr. Richard Hanningford. - -(_Exit Peters._) - -Hann. Morning, gentlemen. (_Allen goes r.c. Hann. goes c._) - -Allen. Good-morning. (_Motioning to Purt., who is l._) Mr. Purtwee, the -gentleman I spoke of. - -Hann. Good-morning, (_c. and then coming r.sits L.c._) Guess I’m not a -particularly welcome visitor here. - -Allen, (_r._) Well, I owns as I’ve come across folks as I’ve felt more -at home wi’. (_Allen sits R._) But I suppose we’ve got to get used to -’ee. - -Purt. Well now, gentlemen, we’ve come for business and must not -waste time. Mr. Rollitt has told you who I am, and if you are Richard -Hanningford I shall be only too anxious for you to have your rights. -But then, my dear sir, I shall want to be very sure that you are Richard -Hanningford. - -Hann. That’s right and square. I’ve got to prove it, I know, and I don’t -say that it will be an easy job. - -Purt. At present you see we have nothing but your bare word for it. You -say this man who called himself Richard Hanningford and who died at Mrs. -Rollitt’s was an impostor. - -Hann. And a damned scoundrel. - -Purt. Quite so, if he were not Richard Hanningford, he must have been. -But then if he were Richard Hanningford-- - -Hann. Why then, I am the damned scoundrel. - -Purt. Well--I wasn’t going to say that--but one of you must be the right -Hanningford--and the other the wrong one--and if we made a mistake three -months ago we don’t want to make another now. - -Allen, (_r._) You see it ain’t so much the money I care about. There was -a time that I thought it would be a grand thing to be rich, but now -I’ve tried it, danged if I see so much fun in it as I thought there -wur. (_Rises._) It ain’t only that: it’s the girl I love--if I lose the -money, I loses her. I can’t expect her to have me wi’out it. She’s a -lady--I’m only a country bumpkin and I know it. With this money I can -win her and make her life happy--even if she doesn’t much care for me. -If I were sure you were Dick Hanningford, I’d gie it up. But I ain’t -sure and I’m going to fight--that’s plain. (_Turns and crosses r. Sits -R.c._) - -Hann. (_Coes to Allen r.c._) Plain and sensible, and I don’t like you -any the less for it; but I am Dick Hanningford, and the money’s mine, -and I’m going to have a good fight to get it. (_Coes l. puts foot on -chair._) - -Purt. (_After a pause._) You say this man who tried to--and, as he -thought, did--murder you--had been a friend of yours. - -Hann. (_Fiercely--takes foot off chair._) He’d been my chum for over two -years--the cur--and knew everything about me--I saved his life when the -gang were going to hang him--he shared my diggings when we were in the -mining lay, and he had half my blanket every night when we were with the -cattle. And I trusted him--the skunk. - -Purt. What was his name? - -Hann. Cassidy--Dan Cassidy. (_Sits again._) - -Purt. And then he murdered you--or tried to as you say--took your papers -from you, and came over here to impersonate you? - -Hann. I suppose so. - -Allen. He was uncommonly like you, too. - -Hann. Like me! Not at all! - -Purt. Oh, yes, my dear sir, I never saw him alive, but his features were -yours one for one. - -Hann. Dan Cassidy was no more like me than I’m like a colored angel out -of a picture book. - -(_Purt. and Allen exchange glances._) - -Allen. Well, all I know is, that if the man who called himself Richard -Hanningford, and who fell down dead in my mother’s kitchen three months -ago was standing beside you now, nobody would know which wur you and -which wur him. . - -Hann. (_Rising._) I don’t know that man! (_All rise and look at one -another._) - -(_Enter Peters c._) - -Purt. (_Pause._) Then what has become of Dan Cassidy? . . - -Peters. Mr. Luke Cranbourne is downstairs, sir, and would like to see -you. - -Allen. Oh, bother Luke Cranbourne--tell him I’m out. - -Peters. Yes, sir. (_Going. As he is by door._) - -Allen. Stop! (_Peters turns._) Ask Mr. Cranbourne to come back in a -quarter of an hour. (_Looks at watch._) - -Peters. Yes, sir. (_Exit c._) - -Allen. What sort of a man was Dan Cassidy? - -Hann. A pale, dark-eyed man with a long black beard. - -Allen. Would you know him again without the black beard, and under -another name? - -Hann. (_Fiercely._) Know him! Will you bring me face to face with him? - -Allen. Maybe I will. - -Hann. (_c._) See here! I’ve lived among a set that like to wipe off a -score, no matter what the price. You put that man into my hands so that -justice may be done on him, and we share the old man’s money between us. -(_Crosses R._) - -Allen. Is that a bargain? - -Purt. You don’t suspect--(_goes to r.of l. table._) - -Allen. (_Crosses to Purt. Hann. goes R._) Yes I do. He’s been no friend -of mine. Is it a bargain? - -Hann. Yes. Without Dan Cassidy my case might be hard to prove. With him -it would be easy. £100,000 and my revenge are good enough for me. You -give me that. (_Goes to extreme R._) - -(_Enter Dexter from door c. He draws back on seeing strangers, and -stands r.c._) - -Dex. Beg pardon, my dear boy. Found the door open (_Allen goes up c. -to Dex._) and took the liberty of an old friend to walk in. Thought I -should find you alone. - -Allen. (_Crosses up c._) Shall be in a minute, Colonel, if you will -excuse me. (_Draws the two men together near fireplace, Allen nearest, -Purt. next, Hann. r._) Can thee play billiards? - -Hann. I can, but I don’t crave for them at this particular moment. - -Allen. You’ll just have time to play fifty up afore the man as I takes -to be Dan Cassidy is here. - -Purt. How will you let us know? - -Allen. (_Looks round thinking, then catches sight of glasses on table l.; -takes one up and holds it over hearth._) Keep thee, ears open, and -when thee hears this glass fall and break, open the door and come in. -(_All go up c. speaking low._) - -(_Exit Purt. and Hann. Dex. goes L._) - -Allen. (_Returning c._) Well, Colonel Dexter, what do thee want? Glad to -see thee, thee know. - -Dex. (_l.c._) Nothing, dear boy--nothing for myself. I have only brought -a letter from my little girl, and am to take back an answer. (_Produces -letter and hands to Allen._) I’m only Cupid to you young folks. Ha! Hat -Only Cupid. - -Allen. Ah, they usen’t to wrap ’em up so much when I wur young. -(_Crosses R., opens and reads letter._) - -Dex. (_Who is very much wrapped and buttoned up, laughs with much -ostentation._) Ha! Ha! Very good, very good. We really must bring you -out more, Allen. Ha! Ha! Ha! - -Allen. (_Who has sat r.in front of desk, reading._) “My darling -Popsy-wopsy.” (_Looks up puzzled and round at Dex. Aside._) That ain’t -Clara’s usual style. (_Reads._) “I am so terribly sorry to worry my own -darling boy, but I am in such fearful trouble--I want £100 to pay some -debts owing to a wicked man having cheated us. Would my own darling lend -it to his broken-hearted little blossom, and don’t say anything to me -afterwards until I pay you back, as I shall be so ashamed of it. I send -papa with this. He knows nothing about it, so please don’t tell him--he -is so proud.--(_Allen looks at Dex., who turns away and tries to assume -airy unconsciousness_)--and would be so angry with me, but you are the -only friend I have. Oh, my darling, do let me have the money or I shall -go mad. A million, million kisses to my own sweet, precious lubby-dubby -from his ever loving little birdie, Clara.” (_Dex. sits c._) “P. -S.--Please don’t cross the cheque.” - -(_Takes cheque-book from desk and begins to write._) Was Clara ill when -she wrote this? - -Dex. (_Who is sitting at table L.c. having wine._) No, my dear boy--oh, -no. - -Allen. Oh, because the writing seems a bit shaky like, and the letter so -funny--thought maybe she wur a bit queer. - -Dex. (_Confused._) Oh--ah--yes. She was a little queer--very shaky -indeed--and she seemed very much worried, too, she wouldn’t tell me what -about. She tries to keep all her trouble away from her old father, dear -child. (_Enter Clara unseen by either._) Ah, I know how anxiously she’s -waiting for me now. “Come back soon, dear, dear papa,” she said--“and -bring it with you.” (_Crying r.c._) - -(_Allen having put the cheque in an envelope rises and crosses and holds -it to Dex. Clara steps forward and takes it._) - -Clara. Thank you! (_c. of the two men._) - -Allen. Miss Dexter! - -Dex. Clara! - -Clara. This letter is addressed to me, I believe. (_Opens it and takes -out cheque, which she returns to Allen._) It’s very kind of you, Mr. -Rollitt, but I do not require it. - -Allen, (_r._) Didn’t thee write for it? (_Showing letter to her._) Isn’t -this thy letter? - -Clara. (_Looking at it._) It is the first time I have seen it. It has -the appearance of having been written by someone who was drunk over -night--possibly my father--imitating other people’s handwriting is one -of the few things at which he has attained eminence. (_Looks at Dex._) - -Dex. Clara, my dear! - -Clara. And perhaps it will be better, Mr. Rollitt, for me to take this -opportunity of ending our relationship by telling you that I am already -married. (_Crosses l._) - -Allen. (_Starts hack._) Married! - -Dex. (_c. frantic and jumping about and screaming and hissing the words -out._) She ain’t. It’s a lie. Don’t believe her. She ain’t. She ain’t. -(_Goes c. Clara to l._) It’s only a trick to try your love. Ah, you -hussy! It’s all been planned. This is all part of it. She ain’t married. -We planned it to test your love for her. Ah, you beast! I’ll strangle -you. I’ll murder you. She’s only trying it on to see what you say. It’s -a trick. Don’t believe her. Don’t believe her. - -Clara. And have been for the last three years. - -Dex. (_As before._) No, she ain’t been, Mr. Rollitt. It’s a lie--it’s -a lie. It’s a lie. She says it to spite her old father. Ah you devil, -you-- - -Allen. Silence! - -Dex. (_Cowed, but continuing in nervous undertone._) She’s not married. -I’m her father. - -Allen. (_Pointing to door c._) And leave the room--afore I forget thee -art an old man. (_Turns him r.Backs Dex. up to c. door._) - -Dex. (_Slinks out muttering._) She ain’t married! It’s a lie. It’s a -lie. (_Repeats_.) - -(_Exit Dex. c._) - -Allen. (_Turning to Clara._) What does it all mean? - -Clara. (_Defiantly._) That I’ve been playing with you only for the -sake of sponging on you. And to get money out of you for my father and -husband--I haven’t had much myself--and that at last I’m grown tired of -it. (_Crosses R._) - -Allen. (_l.c. after a pause._) Thee might have had all the money thee -wanted, lass, wi’out deceiving me. - -Clara. (_Falling on her knees before him._) Forgive me, Allen, you -don’t know what my life has been. Dragged up among thieves and sharpers, -taught to trick and lie before I could speak plainly, I have never -know what truth and honor meant except as a dim longing. All the -humanity--all the womanhood--has been dried out of me till I am only the -thing you see me--a vulture--a human beast of prey. Ah, Allen, thank -God for your sake that I am married and that you have escaped me--forget -me--it is the only thing you can do. You can never hate me as I loathe -myself--you can never despise me as I shudder at my own life. - -Allen. (_Puts his hand to his own forehead _) Poor lass! Poor lass! - -Clara. (_Takes’ Allen’s hand, left._) You are the only man that has been -good to me, and I have brought you only pain and shame. - -Allen. (_Raising her._) Ah, never mind that, lass. Thee didn’t mean to -do it. Come! I be more sorry for thee than for myself. I could see what -sort of life thee had got around thee, and I wanted to take thee away -from it all. I can do so little for thee now. (_Both at cabinet, Allen -r._) - -Clara. You have taught me, Allen, that there are good men in the world; -forgive me for having taught you that there are bad women. (_Clara -crosses in front of Allen to r.door._) - -Allen. Not bad, Clara. I guess thee’s been more sinned against than -sinning. Thy life has been very dark and thee’s stumbled here and there. -God grant that it may grow brighter for thee one day. - -Clara, (_l._) Ah, Allen, don’t keep speaking kindly to me. Don’t think -kindly of me. Despise me--I can bear that--I am used to it. (_Sits at -cabinet._) - -Allen. (_r.c. next to Clara._) No, lass, I can’t do that. I shall alius -think kindly of thee. I’ve loved thee too well to change now--because I -knows thy lot’s harder than I thought it wur. - -Clara. (_Turns and looks at Allen._) Try not to think of me at all, -Allen--I am not worth it--forget me. There is one who loves you better -than I could ever do, and who is good and pure. (_Rises._) You men never -see the love that is under your feet--you reach only for what is beyond -you. Go back to her, Allen. She will make you a better wife than I could -ever have done. (_Allen at back of Clara up stage R._) - -Allen. (_After a pause._) Who--who is this man--your husband? - -Clara. Luke Cranbourne! (_She does not look at Allen._) - -Allen. Luke Cranbourne! (_Looks nervously at door c. and then at -clock--then crosses to door and stands near it. He assumes to do this -naturally and not to let Clara notice his anxiety._) - -Clara. We were married secretly before he left for America. Not even my -father knew it until a day or two ago. - -Allen. And do you care for him? (_Allen at door c._) - -Clara. With such love as a woman can feel without respect. He was the -first that I can remember ever speaking a kind word to me. He is the -only human being I have to cling to--and he is good to me in his way. -(_Looks up at Allen._) I don’t expect we shall ever see each other -again. For your sake, I wish we had never met--for myself, my life will -always seem a bit brighter for the love that an honest man once had for -me. - -Allen. (_Taking her hand in his._) Good-bye--if ever thee wants a -friend, Allen Rollitt, Woodbarrow Farm, Exmoor, will find him. (_Kissing -her on the forehead._) God bless thee, Clara! - -Clara. Good-bye! (_She goes without a word r.After a few seconds enter -Luke c. announced by Pet._) - -Luke. (_Coming down._) How de do, dear boy? (_Shaking hands. Allen -does so listlessly and almost unconsciously._) I wanted to see you -particularly this morning, before I went to the city. I’ve come across -something that will just double your fortune. Here. (_Laying papers on -table l. and taking up and pouring out a glass of wine._) You do have -such capital wine, Rollitt, I really must help myself to a glass. It is -a splendid scheme. - -Allen, (_r.c._) Very like, but we won’t discuss it now. (_Taking notes -from his pocket-book._) I want thee to leave by the noon train for the -Continent. - -Luke. (_Turns round, face to audience, glass in left hand._) What’s up? - -Allen. (_Crosses l. c., hands him the notes._) Thy wife can join thee -there afterwards. (_Luke starts and looks hard at Allen._) And thee can -get away to Australia, or somewhere in that direction. - -Luke. (_Defiantly._) And why, pray? - -Allen. Because there is a man in the next room who be more anxious to -see thee than thee may be to see him. - -Luke. What man? - -Allen. Richard Hanningford. - -(_Luke lets fall the glass._) - -Allen. Good God! Thee’ve given the signal to call him in! Quick! (_Luke -rushes in terror to door at back._) Not that way. (_Luke bewildered and -helpless with fright, turns wildly about like a hunted thing not knowing -which way to fly. Is about to make for other door, when handle of door -at back is heard to move._) Too late--keep where thee art. - -Luke. (_Clinging to Allen’s arm._) Save me! (_Allen thrusts him behind -door at c. as it opens and enter Hann. and Purt. following. Allen goes -r. Hann. comes down and stands c. Purt. remains near door and is about -to close it._) - -Allen. (_Who has moved down to r.c., nervously, with effort to appear -calm and careless._) Leave the door, Mr. Purtwee, leave the door. - -Purt. Wide open? (_Surprised._) - -Allen. Yes, yes, it’s fearfully hot in here! (_Wiping his brow._) - -Hann. (_Looking at him suspiciously._) I don’t find it so. I think we’ll -have it shut over this job. (_Turns to door._) - -Allen. (_Eagerly._) No, no! Don’t shut it--don’t shut it. - -Hann. Why not? (_Looks hard at Allen._) - -Allen. Why--why--don’t I tell you. It’s so close--so-- - -(_Hann. crosses, goes to door c. and locks it, then returns, eyeing -Allen sternly. Luke has crept behind the curtain, which hangs like a -pillar by the side of the door. Allen watches with intense suspense._) - -Hann. (_c._) Well--you gave the signal! - -(_Allen r.c. a little to front of Hann. He keeps in front of Hann. -all through the scene until Luke has got away and prevents his turning -round--he is very excited but tries to appear careless--the result being -a slightly hysterical manner. When Luke comes from behind the curtain -and while he is crossing Allen catches Hann. by the lapels of his coat -and holds and works him round so that his back is to Luke. He grows -more and more eager and intense until Luke is off, when he gradually -subsides into a quieter manner, but not too suddenly. At Hann’s hint -that he has had too much brandy, he catches at the idea to cover his -excitement, to account for his conduct._) - -Allen. Yes, my dear fellow--but--but--I wur going to explain to thee--it -wurn’t the signal--it wur an accident. I dropped the glass by accident. -Thee see I had just had a glass of brandy. - -Hann. More than one glass, cousin? - -Allen. (_Laughs loudly._) Ha! ha! Perhaps it wur two. (_First movement -of Luke._) (_At this point Luke creeps from behind curtain, Purt. sees -him and is about to make an exclamation, when Allen, covering his action -by assumed drunkenness, lunges half round and catches Purt. on his -shoulder, clutching it tightly with his left hand while holding Hann. -with his right--laughing boisterously all the time. Purt. understands -and remains silent. Allen grows more and more excited. Laughs._) Well, -now, look’ee here. - -Hanningford. Cousin Dick--my long lost--(_laughs as before and slaps him -on the shoulder. Hann. impatient half turns round--Allen seises his coat -with both hands and keeps him round._) No--no--look thee here, Cousin -Dick. Now you say this Cassidy, this creeping, crawling, lying cur, Dan -Cassidy, tried to murder thee--(_Hann. again seems as though he would -turn round_)--and these papers--these papers that you sent me. Well, -I sent ’em on to Purtwee. Ah, he’s a sharp one. (_Door clicks after -Luke’s exit._) Purtwee, he’ll know who’s who. He’ll put us right. Won’t -’ee, Purtwee, old friend? Won’t ’ee--won’t ’ee? - -(_He slaps Purt. on back, laughing boisterously and half staggering -forward into Purt.’s arms. Luke has got away by door r., and from now -Allen’s excitement gradually subsides, and an air of exhaustion follows. -Sits l.c._) - -Hann. (_c._) Say! Are you drunk or playing the fool? Where’s this man -Cassidy? - -Allen. (_Pause._) I don’t know. - -Hann. Isn’t he coming here? - -Allen. No! - -Hann. (_Angrily._) Didn’t you lead me to believe-- - -Allen. That you should be brought face to face wi’ him? Yes--but I’ve -changed my mind since then. - -Hann. (_After a pause._) I understand: it was only a trick to give you -time to get him out of the way. You thought that without him I should -not be able to prove my case. I thought I was dealing with an honest man -and a friend, and I offered to share the money with you. (_With tierce -anger._) - -Allen. (_Fiercely, rising._) And I tell you to take the whole of it! -(_A pause--Hann. steps back and stares at him._) I have learnt enough -within the last few minutes to believe that you are the man you say you -are, and if so, take it all. You offered me £100,000 to give thee -Dan Cassidy, I offer thee £200,000 to let him go his way in peace. -(_Pause._) Come, you may find it hard to prove thee art Hanningford -afore the law. Prove it to me and Mr. Purtwee, and give me thy hand on -it that thee’ll never seek to find Dan Cassidy or harm him, and thee art -old Hanningford’s heir, and I, Allen Rollitt, farmer and yeoman. - -Hann. (_After a pause._) Your secrets are your own, cousin. I’d dearly -have loved to have my revenge upon the hound, but if Dan Cassidy is -worth £100,000 to you, you can have him--I shouldn’t have thought he -was. - -Allen. He goes free, so far as you are concerned, for ever? - -Hann. For ever. - -Allen. Right, Dick Hanningford! (_They grasp hands._) And now we’ll -say good-bye for to-day if you don’t mind. Mr. Purtwee will see thee -to-morrow, and arrange things. I’d like to be quiet a bit just now. - -Hann. You’ve had a rough morning, cousin, and I guess the kindest thing -I can do is to take myself off. Good-bye. (_Shakes hands._) Good-bye, -Mr. Purtwee. - -Purt. Good-bye, Mr. Hanningford; I will write to you to-morrow. - -Hann. (_Goes to door c._) No hurry. Good-bye. - -(_Exit c._) - -Purt. Well, I can’t understand you, my boy. It’s really a very Quixotic -thing to do. Why shouldn’t the man suffer for his crime? - -Allen, (_l._) Because he can’t suffer without bringing suffering to them -as I’d rather spare--because he’s the husband of the woman I have been -calling Clara Dexter. - -Purt. (_Astonished._) You don’t say that, lad! When did you learn it? - -Allen. About five minutes ago. (_Crosses to r.; leans on chair._) - -Purt. (_After a pause._) Hanningford said true; it’s been a rough -morning for you. (_Going up to Allen and laying his hand on his -shoulder._) Would you rather that I stopped with you a bit, lad, or left -you alone? - -Allen. Leave me alone, old friend. (_Purt. goes to c. door._) I shall be -off soon. - -Purt. (_At door c._) Where are you going to? - -Allen. I’m going back to Woodbarrow Farm. I’ve had eno’ of the big -world. I’ve had enough of fine folks and their ways. I’m going back to -my own people--I’m going back to see the faces of them as I know loves -me, to feel the hands of them as I know thinks well of me--I’m going -back home. - -(_Purt. exit R., Allen stands l. by fire, stage darkens, and scene -changes. Slow tableau. Music plays till change of scene and through -Scene 2._) - -Scene 2. Same as Act i. Time, evening, fire burning brightly, and lamp -lit on table, where supper is laid. Deb. discovered by fire, attending -to cooking operations; Mrs. R. by fire, laying supper. - -Mrs. R. Be it done, lass? - -Deb. (_Who is kneeling down, looking into oven._) Yes, aunt, just to a -turn. - -Mrs. R. (_Crossing and looking over Deb’s shoulder._) Ah, that be just -right. Thee’s a good cook, lass. (_Crossing back to table._) Ah, how un -used to like a veal pasty. (_Sighs._) - -Deb. It’s a bad thing going to bed, though, ain’t it, aunt? - -Mrs. R. Ah, anything be bad for them as ain’t got no stomachs, and -underdone bricks be all right for them as has. (_Gets dishes from -dresser; lays table._) Besides, we bain’t going to bed yet. Us’ll sit -and have a chat after supper. - -Deb. It seems so lonely of an evening here now. (_Looking into fire._) - -Mrs. R. (_In front of table r.c._) So it do, lass. (_Crossing L._) -Ah, the lads bean’t so big to look at, but they leaves a rare space -behind ’em when they goes away. - -Deb. (_After a pause, still gazing dreamily into fire._) I wonder if -he’ll ever come back. - -Mrs. R. Aye, aye; he’ll come back, never fear. - -Deb. (_Turns._) What, to stop? - -Mrs. R. (_l. sits on settle._) Ah, to stop. - -Deb. What makes you think so, aunt? - -Mrs. R. I dunno. It’s never seemed real to me, any on it. I’m awaiting -every day to hear un lift the latch and walk in to find as it had all -been a dream. So I alius lays for three (_l._) - -(_Enter Allen c. He is dressed much as in Act 1. He shuts the door and -stands by it._) - -Allen. Well, mother, (_c._) - -Mrs. R. (_l. staring at him._) Allen, lad! (_Bewildered, not grasping -it. Deb. having risen, stands with the hot pie that she has that moment -taken from the oven, transfixed R._) - -Allen. (_At door c._) I’ve come home, you see, to stop--for good. Are -thee glad to see me, mother? - -Mrs. R. (_l._) Come home! To stop! For good! Ah! (_Rushes across with a -cry of joy and hugs him up c._) I said he would--I said he would--I said -he would. My boy! My boy! (_After a pause._) And--and all the money, -and--and Miss Dexter? - -Allen. (_Taking off his hat and throwing it down at hack._) Shadows, -mother, that have passed away, out of my life, for ever. I’ll tell -thee all about it later on, never mind to-night. Let’s think only about -ourselves. (_Going to Deb. r._) Are thee glad to see me? - -(_Mrs. R. pushes them together from behind r. Deb. still with pie in her -hands, puts her face up. Allen bends and kisses it. Mrs. R. catches the -two in her arms, and embraces both at once, laughing. Deb. holds pie out -at arm’s length to save it._) - -Allen. Mind the pie, mother. - -Mrs. R. (_Still embracing them._) Are thee hungry, lad? - -Allen. Rather. - -Mrs. R. Bless un, and thee’ve come back just in time for supper, as thee -alius used to. (_Laughs, sits up stage, top of table._) Can thee eat -veal pasty? - -Allen. Can I eat veal--(_taking off overcoat and throwing it on chair r. -c._) Let me get at un, that’s all. - -Mrs. R. Poor boy! Come and sit ’ee down. (_Pushing him in chair l. of -table._) Where be the potatoes, Deb.? - -Deb. (_Bewildered, turns round and round._) I don’t know. (_Laughs._) - -Mrs. R. Well, have a look in the saucepan, then. (_Sits back of table -r. c. Allen l. Deb. r._) Thee won’t find ‘em by turning round and -round. Now come lad, and get a bit inside thee. Us’ll do the talking -afterwards. - -(_Deb. potters about between fire and table in a bewildered manner. She -brings potatoes, and puts them in front of Allen._) - -Allen. Ah, it do smell lovely, don’t it? (_Sniffing at pie._) - -Mrs. R. Never thee mind smelling it, thee taste it. Lud, how thin thee -art looking, lad. (_To Deb. who is almost doing so._) Don’t pour the -beer into the pie, child, and look where thee’s put the potatoes! -(_Takes jug away from her._) - -Deb. (_Sitting down, laughing._) I don’t know what I’m doing. (_Takes -saucepan off table._) - -Mrs. R. Well, us can see that. - -Allen. And how’s everything been going on? How’s the colt? - -Mrs. R. Kicked Parsons clean into the ditch yestermorning, the little -dear! (_All are now seated._) - -Allen. No, did un? (_Laughs._) - -Deb. One of the guinea hens is dead, the little one of all. - -Allen. What, the one as used to squint? - -Deb. Yes, Parsons left his shot on the pigstye wall, and she ate two -ounces. Oh, and you remember Jim? - -Allen. What, the bantam? - -Deb. Yes. He’s given his own father such a licking, and won’t let him -come near the yard. - -Allen. (_Laughing heartily._) Plucky little beggar! Serve the old ‘un -right. He wur always a bully. Now, mother--(_about to hand her the -pie._) Why, mother, thee art crying! - -Mrs. R. (_Crying._) No, I ain’t. Go on with thee supper, lad. - -Allen. (_Looking at Deb._) And--why, here be Deb. crying too! - -(_The two women laugh through their tears. Allen joins them as curtain -descends._) - -Mrs. R. It’s wi’ joy, lad; it’s wi’ joy! - - -SLOW CURTAIN. - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Woodbarrow Farm, by Jerome K. Jerome - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOODBARROW FARM *** - -***** This file should be named 54698-0.txt or 54698-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/6/9/54698/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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Jerome</title> - <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" /> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:20%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Woodbarrow Farm, by Jerome K. Jerome - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Woodbarrow Farm - Play in Three Acts - -Author: Jerome K. Jerome - -Release Date: May 10, 2017 [EBook #54698] -Last Updated: September 3, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOODBARROW FARM *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - WOODBARROW FARM - </h1> - <h3> - Play In Three Acts - </h3> - <h2> - By Jerome K. Jerome - </h2> - <h4> - Samuel French: London - </h4> - <h3> - 1904 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - - -<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> -<h5> - <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - -<p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - -<div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0010.jpg" alt="0010 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> -<h5> - <a href="images/0010.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - -<p> - <br /><br /> - </p> -<hr /> -<p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - - - - - <p> - Piffin......... - </p> - <p> - Allen Rollitt....... - </p> - <p> - Luke Cranbourne..... - </p> - <p> - Mike Stratton....... - </p> - <p> - Mr. Purtwee......... - </p> - <p> - Hon. Tom Gussett.... - </p> - <p> - Baron Von Schnorr... - </p> - <p> - Richard Hanningford - </p> - <p> - Ichabod............. - </p> - <p> - Peters............. - </p> - <p> - Colonel Jack Dexter. - </p> - <p> - Clara Dexter........ - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Rollitt........ - </p> - <p> - Rachael............. - </p> - <p> - Deborah Deacon...... - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> WOODBARROW FARM </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ACT I. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ACT II. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ACT III. </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY - </h2> - <p> - Act I - </p> - <p> - Woodbarrow Farm, Exmoor - </p> - <p> - Act II - </p> - <p> - 13a, St. James’ Mansions - </p> - <p> - Act III - </p> - <p> - Scene 1—Same as Act II., or Library at 13a, St. James’ Mansion - </p> - <p> - Scene 2—Woodbarrow Farm - </p> - <p> - Time: The Present - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - WOODBARROW FARM - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT I. - </h2> - <h3> - MUSIC TO OPEN ACT: OLD ENGLISH AIR - </h3> - <p> - SCENE: <i>Kitchen at Woodbarrow Farm. An ideal old farmhouse kitchen. From - the smoke-blackened ceiling beams hang huge sides of bacon, strings of - onions, and herbs, and poultry. Over the great fireplace are the guns, and - in profusion everywhere are the homely furnishings of a prosperous - farmhouse kitchen. A huge fire burns r. in old-fashioned fireplace, with - settle on each side. Door l.c. at back opening on corner of farmyard. - Latticed window looking out on yard to r. of door. Table r.c. piled with - linen waiting to be folded. Linen press l. Door l. below press. Settle in - front of press. Mrs. Rollitt at table r.c. discovered ironing. She folds - up clothes as she finishes with them, and crosses and places them one by - one in press l.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Rachael! Rachael!! (Crossing l. then crosses to r. at back - of table r.c.) Ah, drat the girls—alius philandering about with the - boys when they’re wanted. Rachael! - </p> - <p> - (Enter Rachael, she comes slowly forward to l.c.) - </p> - <p> - <b>RACH.</b> Did you call, ma’am? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (At table.) Did I call? Why thee be getting deaf in thee - old age sure, Rachael. - </p> - <p> - <b>RACH.</b> I was in the dairy, ma’am. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> In the dairy! Well, and the dairy bean’t a mile off, be it? - I expect there wur Joe’s thick head ’twixt you and the sound of my - voice, warn’t there? - </p> -<p> -<b>RACH.</b> No, ma’am. -</p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Whose wur it, then? - </p> - <p> - <b>RACH.</b> Ichabod’s, ma’am. I—I mean Mr. Ichabod was helping me, - ma’am. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> What at? (<i>Pause.</i>) How often am I to tell ’ee - I won’t have that hulking scamp hanging about here after his work’s done. - Do ’ee understand? - </p> - <p> - <b>RACH.</b> Yes, ma’am. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Here’s getting on for 8 o’clock, and thee master may be - home any minute as hungry as a hunter, poor lad, and noothing ready for - his supper. Get down the ham (<i>Rachael goes to fireplace r.</i>), and - bring me in the frying-pan and I’ll do it myself. - </p> - <p> - <b>RACH.</b> (<i>Turning to go.</i>) Yes, ma’am. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> And don’t be half-an-hour about it. Is Ichabod gone? - </p> - <p> - <b>RACH.</b> Oh yes, ma’am. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. R. turns to her work, Ichabod appears at door at hack, with a - trout in his hand. Rachael catching sight of him stops, and motions him to - go away.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, a good thing for un as he has, if I catch un here again - to-night, I’ll—(<i>Rachael makes sign to Ichabod who is up c. Mrs. - R. looks at Rachael</i>)—Lord help the lass, be she struck foolish? - Bean’t ’ee agoing? - </p> -<p> -<b>RACH</b>. Yes, ma’am. -</p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Well then, do ut. Thee keeps on saying, “yes, ma’am,” “yes, - ma’am,” and there ’ee sticks. (<i>Drops eyes. Rachael makes sign to - Ichabod. Mrs. Rollitt catches her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Ichabod does not understand Rachel, and tries to explain to her in - pantomime about the trout, which he holds up and points to. Mrs. Rollitt - follows Rachael’s eyes, and sees Ichabod. Rachael is struck dumb, and - Ichabod grins and pulls his hair.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> If thee don’t take theeself off pretty, soon, my boy, I’ll - do that for un. (<i>He makes no answer but continues pulling his hair and - grinning, making a few steps forward and still holding out the trout. Mrs. - Rollitt advances to him slowly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Comes c.</i>) How often am I to tell ’ee I won’t - have ’ee loafing about here after thee work’s done, and thee mother - waiting for thee at home, thee good-for-nothing young—(<i>eyeing the - trout</i>)—aye, but he be a bonny un that. - </p> - <p> - <b>ICH.</b> Thowt maybe he’d do for the measter’s supper, ma’am. He wur - a-having his own not half-an-hour agone, ma’am. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>l. with fish in hand.</i>) Her be a three pound un, - Ichabod. - </p> - <p> - <b>ICH.</b> As full as an egg, her be, just. Thee feel her, ma’am. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, well, I won’t say but what thee art a thoughtful lad, - Ichabod, and it will be main good for thee measter’s supper. See there’s a - clear fire. (<i>Crosses r.Enter Deborah from staircase L.</i>) Rachael, - and bring me the stew pan and we’ll boil un. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> No, don’t boil it, aunt. (<i>Takes fish from Mrs. R.</i>) Let - me fry it. Allen alius likes ‘em best that way. (<i>Goes r. c. up stage.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> So un does, lass, so un does. Ah, thee knaw what the lad - loikes, thee shall fry it. (<i>Hands trout to Deb.</i>) And I’ll finish - the linen while I’ve got my hand on it. (<i>At back of table r.c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Allen will like that, I know. Where did you get it? - </p> - <p> - <b>ICH.</b> (<i>Confused and grinning.</i>) What, me, Miss? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Not poached, I hope, Ichabod? - </p> - <p> - <b>ICH.</b> (<i>Offended.</i>) Poached, Miss? No, Miss, I wur trying to - teach a fly of mine to swim, that wur all, Miss, and when I took un from - the water there wur this thing hanging on to the end of un, and I couldn’t - get ‘un off. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>At table r. c.</i>) Thee’d best stop awhile now, - Ichabod, and the girls will gie un a bit sup. Thee mother will be main - glad to be rid o’ ye a bit, I take it. - </p> - <p> - <b>ICH.</b> Thank ye, ma’am. Mother’s alius glad to be rid of me at supper - toime. (<i>To Deborah.) Gie me un, Miss, I’ll clean un for ye. (</i>Takes - fish from Deborah, goes down l. at back of settle.) - </p> - <p> - <b>RACH.</b> Shall I cook un, Miss? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Na, na, thee bring the pan in here, Rachael, I woan’t trust - the master’s supper to ‘ee, while there’s a pair of breeches about the - room. - </p> - <p> - <b>RACH.</b> (<i>Crosses l. with a toss of her head.) I’m sure I don’t - want ‘em there at all. (</i>Picks up buckets near door l. down stage.) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, thee wouldn’t ha’ the lad theer wi’out ‘em! Go and do - as I tell ‘ee. - </p> - <p> - [Rachael hits Ichabod with bucket. Exeunt Rachael and Ichabod l. door down - stage.] - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b><b>MRS. R.</b> The lad will enjoy it all the more if thee - cook it for un. Ah. and he do enjoy his food too. It do me good to see un - eat. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> He does you a lot of good that way, doesn’t he, aunt? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Laughing.‘</i>) Ah, yes, he be like his father wur - before him, a rare trencher man. Ah, but they’re better than those as - doesn’t eat much, but sits a-turning and a-smelling, and a-grumbling at - everything that’s set before them, for all the world like an overfed - turkey cock trying to eat potato peelings. Thee wean’t ha’ much trouble - looking arter un when I’m gone. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Goes to fireplace R.</i>) Oh, aunt, how naughty you are, - always talking of being “gone,” just as if you were an old woman. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> No, no, lass, I bean’t talking of being gone now. I’ve many - a year before me yet, please God. But it must come sometime, thee knaws, - and I like to think that when it do there’ll be someone to gie the lad his - bit of food, and look arter un loike—and, Lord, a man do want a - power of looking arter to be sure. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>At fire R. making it up.</i>) I think that’s why we love - ‘em, aunt, because they’re so helpless. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Cross to l.</i>) Ah, maybe it is. There must be summut - to account for it. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> And I suppose they be like the poultry. They get fond of us - because we feed them. He does say I’ve got a good hand for cooking, aunt. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Cross to r.</i>) Ah, yes, lass. It be a light hand for - the kitchen and a cool hand for the dairy. It will make a good hand for a - farmer’s wife. (<i>Takes Deborah’s hand at table R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> I don’t think Allen will want a farmer’s wife, aunt. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Lord, whose wife should a farmer want, then? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Pokes fire r.</i>) I don’t think Allen wants to be a - farmer at all. He says he wants to be a somebody, not a nobody. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, bean’t a farmer somebody? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Somebody, aunt, but not a somebody. Allen wants to be in the - world, you know, aunt. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, and he be in the world sure, ain’t he? Sure I think I - ought to know. (<i>Cross to l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> No, not in the world he means, aunt. Not in the great world as - they call it. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah! he be in God’s world, that ought to be big enough for - un. (<i>Cross to r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>A little spitefully.</i>) Yes, aunt, but it’s not select - enough. There’s all sorts of common people in God’s world. Allen wants to - be in the big world of lords and ladies and big folk up in London. He says - it’s being buried alive down here; that he wants to be among the stir and - bustle. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Cross to h., putting clothes in press.</i>) Ah! that be - only his talk. The young uns be all alike. They run arter shadows like the - chickens do arter chaff. (<i>Cross l.</i>) Why, I mind when I wur a lass, - I used to look in the glass and think I’d be a duchess. But the dook - didn’t come, so I just married thee uncle. The young ducks all fancies as - they’ll paddle off to the sea, But they live and dies in the old pond - arter all. (<i>Crosses to R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) And you think that your duck will live and - die in the Woodbarrow pond, aunt? (<i>Helps Mrs. Rollitt to fold.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, bless un, yes, the lads they fancy that any place is - better than the old home; but arter they’ve had a good look round, they - know that the old home’s better than any place else. He’ll flutter about a - bit maybe (<i>looks at Deborah</i>), but he’ll settle down in the nest - ‘fore long, and the children will be running about the house (<i>Deborah - turns away a little</i>) and making it untidy—Bless ‘em—afore - I close my eyes. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Demurely.</i>) I wonder who he’ll marry. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, I wonder now. (<i>Crosses to put linen in chest of - drawers.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>r. folding linen.</i>) There’s Polly Steddles. He walked - home from church with her last Sunday. I think he’s a little sweet on - Polly Steddles, don’t you, aunt? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. R. comes l. of table r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, it bean’t much good being a little sweet on a girl that - size. It would take a power of sweetness to go round her. (<i>Crosses L. - with linen.</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> She’s big, but then men like big women, don’t they, aunt? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Ah, some on ’em goes in for quantity, - and some on ’em goes in for quality. The little ones, they go in - for size cause they bean’t much of it themselves; and the big ones goes in - for sense, cause that be what they be most in need of. (<i>Goes R.</i>) - And Allen, he be’s medium, so he can just please himself. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> And there’s Miss Dexter, that he drives over to Minehead so - often. (<i>Mrs. Rollitt goes l.</i>) He thinks a lot of her, I know. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>l.</i>) What, Colonel Dexter’s darter, oop at Lucott’s - Hill? Oh, yes, her’d be a fine un to make the butter and cure the hams, - her would. Her be loike them umbrellas they be a selling at Peter’s for - 1s. 11d.—only meant to be walked out wi’. (<i>Near press l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Ah, but she’s so beautiful, aunt, and she’s a lady! (<i>Sighs.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah! (<i>goes to table r. c.</i>) there be a good many sorts - o’ them. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> She is a lady, isn’t she, aunt? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Her’s got the clothes all right. (<i>Sits l. of table r. A - pause—goes up and pats Deborah’s cheek.</i>) - </p> - <p> - As if thee didn’t know the lad were in love with theeself. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Tossing her head.</i>) Sure an’ I don’t see how I should—he - never says anything. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, the men bain’t much to say for their-selves, poor - things. Thee must go by what they does. Why, thee uncle kept company wi’ - me for three years, an’ un never said a word. The first year un only sot - and stared, and the second year un put un’s arm round my waist, and the - third year un kissed me, and then mother said it were time to put up the - banns, and her done it. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Laughs.</i>) Ah, the man that wants to marry me will have - to ask me ever and ever so many times and plead, oh, as if his life - depended on it (<i>tossing her head—at fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, the lad be shy, that be all. He be frightened ’o - thee. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Smiling.</i>) Of me, aunt? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, sure!—(<i>Laughs.</i>)—I expect un be - worrying hisself finely for fear thee doan’t care for un, a fancying thee - prefers Jim Harkabuck, maybe. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Demurely—goes up r. and gets l. of Mrs. Rollitt.</i>) - Jim Harkabuck is a very nice fellow, and he does stare. (<i>Smiling, and - going to her aunt.</i>) Do you think Allen really—really does—Aunt? - (<i>Kneels to Mrs. Rollitt, who turns her head away r. a little.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Laughing, and shaking her off playfully. Pauses.</i>) - Does he! Why beant he alius quarreling wi’ thee, and doan’t he eat twice - as much o’ anything if he knows thee cooked it—and besides—(<i>Pauses - and becomes absorbed in stockings.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Besides what, aunt? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Why didn’t I find un only the evening afore last when un - didn’t know I wur there. (<i>Laughing.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Rachael l. door with fish in frying-pan.—Deborah rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>RACH.</b> (<i>Crossing r. and giving it to Deborah.</i>) Shall I put it - on, Miss? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>c. goes R. to fireplace.</i>) No, I’ll see to it; Rachael, - thank you. - </p> - <p> - <b>RACH.</b> I have put some butter in the pan, Miss. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Rachael l. down stage.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Yes, aunt. (<i>r. of table and seeing to fish with back to - Mrs. Rollitt.</i>) You—you were saying how you came upon Allen the - other evening, aunt, when he didn’t know you were there, and he was doing - something. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, yes, it wur Toosday, and he—not in love wi’ ’ee—(<i>laughing</i>)—why—(<i>taking - up stocking and looking at hole.</i>) Ah, look at that now, blest if I can - make out where the holes come from, just. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> What was he doing, aunt? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Why there un wur wi’ your— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Purtwee c.—who coughs.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Turning, and seeing him as he stands in doorway.</i>) - What, Mr. Purtwee! (<i>Deborah in despair goes to fire and cooks fish.</i>) - Well, ’ee do surprise me! ’Ee be quite a stranger. Come in. - Thee be just in time for a bit of sup. - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Coming down l. c., puts hat on staircase rail.</i>) I - couldn’t pass the place without looking in, I’ve just left the trap - outside. (<i>Shakes hands.</i>) And how are we? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Oh, I be middlin’ well, thank ’ee, and how’s - yerself? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> Oh, nicely enough, and—(<i>To Deborah crossing r.</i>)—how’s - Miss Deborah Deacon? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Very well, thank you, Mr. Purtwee. - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> That’s all right—you look it, my dear (<i>Taking her - hands.</i>) Why I declare she’s getting quite a woman! - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah! she’s been that for some time. Her be thinking more - about getting a man now. (<i>Purtwee crosses to l. c. laughing.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Oh, aunt! - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Did ’ee see the lad up town? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> What, Allen? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, that be the only lad in the world I know. Did ’ee - see un? (<i>Goes up l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> Yes, I met him, and I wanted to have a chat with him. (<i>Mrs. - Rollitt is up l. near linen press.</i>) But, Lord! There he was off to - Lucott’s Hill, and there was no holding him. (<i>Taking off his coat.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Who has been engaged in her cooking, at this suddenly - stops, and looks up.</i>) What was he going up there for? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Stopping and facing round.</i>) What for? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Excitedly, but quietly.</i>) Who was he going to see up - there? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Laughing and folding coat.</i>) Ah! who is it he always - goes to see up there? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Deborah turns a little sick at this confirmation of her fears. - Purtwee, who is a sharp old fellow, notices the expression of her face and - the whole truth flashes across him. He pauses suddenly, looks hard at her, - then assuming an ordinary laughing tone, continues—Mrs. Rollitt (up - l.) is engaged with the linen, and does not notice this.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> Why, the Walleys, of course. He and Jim seem to be - inseparable of late. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Oh, yes, I know. I asked him to try and see if the Walleys - would part with one of their short-horns. - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> Ah! that was it, then—yes, I remember that was it. (<i>Turns - away and looks back at Deborah, who has resumed her cooking—aside.</i>) - Poor child! There’s trouble for her I fear. (<i>Throws coat over chair l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Comes c.</i>) Well, what be going on up at Minehead? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> The same that is going on everywhere, Mrs. Rollitt—people - lying and slandering and evil-speaking; everybody thieving and cheating - and quarreling. (<i>Sits on table l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, I guess I could have told thee that. Haven’t thee any - real news to gie us. Tell us what one person’s be a-doing. Never mind - “everybody,” I don’t know him. - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> Well, you see, Susan, a lawyer mustn’t gossip. (<i>Shakes - finger.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Deborah crosses to linen press L., sets tablecloth and lays table r. - c. for meal.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>c.</i>) Oh, hoity, toity! What be the use of being a - lawyer and knowing things if ’ee never tells a body a bit o’ news? - And now I come to think of it, I’ve got a bone to pick wi’ thee about that - very thing. Thee never told me old Hanningford wur agoing to die without - leaving my boy so much as a brass farthing. Do you think as how I’d ’a’ - gone on sending the old skinflint the best turkey in the yard every - Christmas, and the best goose come every Michaelmas, if I’d known as how - he’d hadn’t given us so much as the price as a suit o’ black, and Allen - his own cousin’s child. (<i>Crossing R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - A cousin is a cousin, even if it be a distant one. (<i>Sits l. of table r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> Now, my dear Mrs. Rollitt, how could I tell he was going to - die? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Thee knowed he wur going to die sometime, and thee knowed - he hadn’t left the boy anything, and thee might a’ dropped me a hint. - “Mrs. Rollitt,” thee might ha’ said, “thee’s only wasting good poultry on - a worthless man. The old sinner’s a going to die as hard-fisted and - ungrateful as he’s lived.” It would ’a’ been a neighbourly act o’ - thee! - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) But I didn’t know he wasn’t going to - leave you anything. You see he died intestate. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> In——— what? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Rises.</i>) Intestate. (<i>Deborah laughs a little.</i>) - Without leaving a will; he left nobody anything. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Rising.</i>) Well, then, where does the old fool’s - money go to? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> Why, to his son, of course! (<i>Cross to r. near chair, - fireplace down stage.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, where be his son? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Folding his knee in his hand and looking at her quietly.</i>) - On the road from Texas to Devon. (<i>Sits r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> What! Thee don’t mean to say thee’ve found un! (<i>Deborah - gets dish off dresser r. and puts it down in front of firm Mrs. R. in - front of table r., Mrs. R. and Deborah draw near interested.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> That’s just exactly what I do mean. We traced him at last—found - him at Port Chadbourne black as a nigger and dressed as a red Indian. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> What was he doing there—play-acting? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> No, cow-boy. (<i>Mrs. R. sits l. of table r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Lord love us all! and do un know? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> Yes, my agent saw him—went down to meet him as he came - through with a drove of cattle, gave him my letters and told him - everything. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Has he written to you? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> No, didn’t know how to write—a sort of half savage he - seems to be, he and all his companions. He said he was going to give the - boys a three days’ drink, or as he expressed it, “paint the town red,” and - then start straight for home. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> When do you expect him? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> Any day now; it was six weeks ago my agent saw him. He might - walk into my office to-morrow morning. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Lor! to think o’ it all. Him running away—driven - away, as a body might say, by ’is own father, when scarce more than - a baby, and now coming back to all this money. When do ’ee expect - un? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> To-morrow—in six months time—never! - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Never! (<i>Purtwee rises, crosses to l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> Perhaps never. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Why I thought thee said he’d started. - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> Started, yes; but there’s a long road between that and - arriving. He may be dead and buried—drowned—murdered—for - all we can tell. They’re a rough lot where he’s coming from. (<i>Takes - coat off settle L. Feels for snuff box in pockets; rises; goes c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, thee’s picturing a nice fate for the lad. An’ who - would the money all go to if he were gone? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> Why the next o’ kin of course! He isn’t married. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> And who be the next of kin? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Dryly.</i>) Oh! there’s no need to worry about that now. - </p> - <p> - Mrs R. Well, I’d just like to know, that’s all. Would it be any of the - Leeds folk? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> Oh, I really can’t say! (<i>Gets snuff box, puts coat on - settle l.</i>) I—I can’t say at all who it would be. (<i>Angrily, - rather.</i>) Why there’s about a hundred different relations scattered all - over the country, and goodness knows who it might turn out to be. It isn’t - a matter to be considered yet at all. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Lord bless us all, don’t put theeself out, man. I didn’t - know as a body’s relations wur any secret—(<i>pauses</i>)—provided - they be coom by honestly. Doan’t tell us if ’ee doan’t want to. (<i>Turns - away r. a little.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> No—no, Mrs. Rollitt! I’m not put out, only you see - it’s always a most complicated question a next of kin, especially in a - case of this kind where the man shunned all his relations. It might be - someone in Hong Kong; it might be someone here in Devonshire—(<i>Enter - Allen c. door.</i>)—it might be,—(<i>he is l., taking - handkerchief from his overcoat pocket, and turning sees Allen in doorway - and stops. Deborah puts on the fish.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Coming down r. c.</i>) Well mother! (<i>Kisses her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Why, my boy, wherever ha’ ye been to—I wur getting - quite anxious about ’ee! - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Taking off his hat and coat and throwing them down at - back.</i>) Ah, I be a rare anxiety to ’ee, baint I, mother? (<i>To - Mr. Purtwee.</i>) Mother alius fancies as I’ve been run off with by - gypsies if I be out more than an hour. (<i>Crossing and shaking hands with - Mr. Purtwee.</i>) And how be Mr. Purtwee for the second time to-day? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Laughing and shaking hands.</i>) Ah! your mother’s a - regular old hen with one chick I expect. (<i>Sits l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Never thee mind, mother, thee be quite right to be careful - o’ me! There baint another son like me in the whole country, be there? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>At fire.</i>) To the credit of old Devon be it said. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Halloa! (<i>Goes r. to Deborah.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah! now that just serves thee right for laughing at thee - old mother. (<i>Crosses l. and sits knitting next to Purtwee.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah! that be the worst of letting the children stop oop arter - their proper toime, they allus gets so saucy. What have thee there? Lurd - bust me, I have got a vacuum inside o’ me. Poached eggs? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> No; poached trout. - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> Eh! what’s that? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Hulloa! Thee’ve done it now. Why, Mr. Purtwee be Lord - Netherby’s lawyer, and he’ll ha’ thee hanged in chains on Dunkery Beacon, - sure as fate. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Ah, well, you see I didn’t poach him, I’m only frying him. - There’s no law against frying fish, is there? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r.c.</i>) Aye, well, us’ll forgive thee this time, if - ee’ll promise to do it again soon. Come and give us a kiss. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Thee’ll kiss the frying-pan if you come any o’ your nonsense - round here. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> What! won’t thee, when I tell ’ee I’ve bought Jim - Whalley’s tan and cream shorthorn for ’ee? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Pleased.</i>) No! Have you? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I bought her this afternoon, and I got her for—(<i>l.c., - turning to his mother</i>) I say, mother, our Deb’s bin and smoshed young - Whalley. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Done what to un. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Smoshed him. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Why, I never touched him. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes thee have, thee’ve smoshed un—that be the new - Lunnun word; made un in love wi’ thee. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> It’s a funny way o’ doing it. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I doan’t know how her done it, but her done it. Why he - wanted £25 for the cow at first, and when I told un her wur for Deb he - looked as stupid as an old cow unself and said I could have her for £20, - and then he asked me if she would like a calf. (<i>Goes R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> We could do with one. What did you say? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) I told un her’d better let the calf come - down and ask for unself. (<i>Laughs boisterously.</i>) He never saw what I - meant. (<i>All laugh.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Oh, I expect he saw it all right. Jim Whalley is a very sharp - fellow; there was no need to insult him just because he’d done a kind - action. (<i>Warmly—turns away r. a little.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Oh, I wouldn’t ha’ said it if I’d known. I didn’t know thee - was in love wi’ him. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Half laughing and half indignant.</i>) Oh, don’t be silly, - Allen, as if I cared for Jim Whalley. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I might ha’ guessed it too. Why, I expect that’s why thee - wanted the cow so as to have something about the place to remind thee o’ - un. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Oh, you great stupid! - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Why, look how you’re blushing. Look, look at her face, - mother. (<i>Goes to back of settle r. takes up looking-glass which is - hanging on settle r., brings it down and holds it before her.</i>) Look at - yourself! (<i>she catches him a sound box on the ear. He puts his hand to - his face, and crossing puts back glass.</i>) I didn’t know thee was so - strong. That all comes of those squab pies o’ yourn, mother, I told thee - thee wur putting too much meat in ‘em. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) Ah, it’s thy sauce lad, not my meat, - that’s done it. (<i>Rises.</i>) Thee’d better try and make thy peace, - while me and Mr. Purtwee has a look round the out-buildings. (<i>To Mr. - Purtwee</i>) I’ve been wanting to get hold of thee for a long time. Thee’s - never given us so much as a bit o’ paint for the last ten years, and the - stable roof won’t bear an owl on it. (<i>Goes up c. with Purtwee.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r. near settle.</i>) Thee might show Mr. Purtwee the - barn floor while thee’s about it, mother. It be more like an earthquake - than a floor. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Oh, I be a going to show him more than he wants to see, - don’t thee worrit. (<i>Aside to Mr. Purtwee at door c.</i>) Ah, they’d - make a pretty couple, wouldn’t they? - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Looking at them.</i>) No, no, we must make ’em - one. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Mrs. Rollitt and Mr. Purtwee c. door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>After a pause, r.c.</i>) Well I’ve got thee the cow, - anyhow, and it’s a beauty. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>At tire in a tone of severe and offended dignity.</i>) - Thank you, Mr. Rollitt, it is very kind of you. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>After a pause, with exaggerated politeness.</i>) Don’t - mention it, Miss Deacon—quite a pleasure! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Allen crosses to l., whistles—a pause—pretends to take off - leggings. Puts foot on settle.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Thee may bring me over the butter. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Looking up.</i>) Hulloa! come back again! Butter, - certainly! (<i>Takes it from chair off l. on staircase, crosses with it, - and holds it for Deborah while she takes some.</i>) Jolly good butter this - week; who made it? Thee? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Other side of plate.</i>) Of course I did! I make all the - butter now, and the cream. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> What, wi’ them little hands. They don’t look big enough to - do anything but be kissed. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Looking up and smiling.</i>) They can do something else, - can’t they? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah! They be like the parson’s, not as soft as they looks. (<i>Puts - down butter on the table—pause—during which Deborah proceeds - with her cooking, and Allen stands watching her.</i>) What a jolly little - farmer’s wife thee’d make. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Yes; I only want the jolly little farmer. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, thee won’t find many of that sort about. Farming don’t - pay enough for a man to get jolly on, now-a-days. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Oh, we have enough to eat and drink, and a little to spend on - foolishness. You want so much. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Goes l.</i>) Not more than what a many has. Not more - than a little bit of what this young Hanning-ford is coming back to—enough - to let a man see what the world’s like a bit, instead of being cooped oop - all one’s life, like an old cow, in one corner of it. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> But you can’t live all over it, and one corner must be much as - good as another. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Crosses r.</i>) Ah, thee don’t understand it, lass. Thee - women folk can stand day arter day the same, but we lads are restless wi’ - it. We feel as there’s summat big and stirring going on somewhere, and we - long to be among it—to be in the great world. It seems to call to me—(<i>puts - foot on settle L.</i>)—to come to it, sometimes. I hear it of a - night when I’m watching the sheep on the hill fields. Maybe it’s only the - sea breaking on the rocks down by Glenthorn—or the wind among the - old oaks, but it sounds like a distant far-off voice—(<i>gets l. of - table R. with back to Deborah</i>)—calling to me, and it rings and - echoes in my ears, till I feel at times that I must start up then and - there and follow it. (<i>Deborah r. of table r. Allen l. of table r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Very gravely, laying her hand on his arm.</i>) Allen, lad, - don’t you remember reading one evening to us of the sirens, who in the old - days used to haunt the sea caves, and sing so sweetly that the sailors who - once paused to listen, were lured on and on till they were wrecked among - the cruel rocks? May not the voices that you hear be like the singing of - those sirens? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Maybe, lass; but the sailors couldn’t help but follow when - they did hear it. (<i>Sits in chair l. of table R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) What be the matter, Allen? Thee used - to be contented enough. Now thee’s always talking about riches, and - wanting to go away from the dear old farm. Somethin’s come over thee, lad. - (<i>Puts hand on Allen’s shoulder.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> No, I wur allus like an old crow—(<i>Deborah takes her - hand away</i>)—sitting on a fence, and looking at summat too far off - to see. But thee be right partly, lass. Summat has come over me, and made - me want what I can’t get more than ever now. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Very kindly, r.</i>) What be it? (<i>With elbows leaning - on table, R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Rises, goes l. c.</i>) Well, I be in love, lass. (<i>Still - looking away from her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>After a pause, during which she has smiled to herself with - a happy little sigh, and clasped her hands together in a sort of little - joyful ecstacy, unnoticed by Allen.</i>) In love! - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I fancy it must be that. I think of her all day and I dream - of her all night, and I’m jolly miserable. (<i>At settle, R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Demurely.</i>) Have you any reason to suppose that she - returns your affection? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I don’t know, her’s never said anything. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Have you? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Me! No, I haven’t said anything. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Most extraordinary that she doesn’t propose. Have you given - her any encouragement? (<i>Leans against settle R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Noa—I can’t say as I have, much. (<i>Goes r.c.</i>) - I’ve looked at her, you know—soft like—and sighed. (<i>Does - so.</i>) But her’s mostly been looking t’other way and an’t seen it, and - as for saying anything to her—well, I can talk to her all right - about other things and joke and laugh wi’ her, but the moment I goes to - say I love her—it—it seems as if I’d got a hot potato stuck in - my throat. (<i>Speaking as if she had, turns away to l. corner of r.table, - back to Deborah. His manner throughout this scene carries out the idea - that it is Deborah he is in love with.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>After a pause, with a coquettish smile to herself.</i>) - </p> - <p> - I—I can’t do anything to help thee, I suppose? (<i>Goes and leans - against settle R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Do thee think as her could care for a mere common farmer, - Deborah? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Turning and looking at him earnestly—comes to front - of table R.</i>) Well—I think if he were a good farmer, and pleaded - very hard, I— - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Delighted.</i>) No, lass! Do ’ee really think a - girl could? (<i>Advancing to her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Putting her hand to stop him with dignity.</i>) A girl - might—though, of course, a superior sort of girl, such as she - appears to be, might think it presumption for—(<i>turns away r.puts - hand on corner of table R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Depressed.</i>) Yes—I’m afraid her would. (<i>Turns - away l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Eagerly turning around again.</i>) Then, of course, she - mightn’t. You never can tell till you try. (<i>Goes to fireplace r. Fish - is changed.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Scratching his head.</i>) Blest if I know how to go - about it! I say, Deb, you’ve been proposed to, how do they begin? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Bending over fire.</i>) Don’t thee think thee’d better - tell me who it is and let me ask her for thee? (<i>Looking slyly round, - pauses.</i>) Who be her, Allen? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Going up to window R.c.</i>) Ah, I expect thee knows who - her be! - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Beginning softly to creep toward him.</i>) How should I - when thee’s never told me? What be her name? (<i>Close to him, his back is - still towards her and he doesn’t see her.</i>) Eh? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Without turning, looking out of the back window up R.c.</i>) - Clara. (<i>Music cue.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Bus. Deb. stands still—for the first moment she hardly - comprehends. Then she understands, and stands staring straight before her - with a wild scared look—shivers, crosses back to fireplace on - tip-toe and bends down over it attending to the fish—after Deb. sobs - Allen comes down c.—music dies away.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Half turning round.</i>) Colonel Dexter’s daughter, you - know. Thee’ve seen her. Her wur at the Barnstaple ball and I danced wi’ - her and thee said how beautiful her wur and that her dress was all made o’ - some’at or other, and you—(<i>he has gradually come close over to - her r.</i>) What be the matter, Deb? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>In a changed, hard tone, bending more intently than ever - over her cooking.</i>) Nothing—Nothing. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Taking her hand.</i>) Why, thee be quite cold, lass; be - thee ill? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Snatching her hand away.</i>) No, no, there’s nothing the - matter with me. Don’t be so foolish, don’t don’t. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Surprised.</i>) I say, Deb, have I said anything I - oughtn’t to? I know I’m allus a-doing it. (<i>A pause—Allen stands - looking at her, troubled and bewildered—Deb. bends closer over the - fire—then takes the pan off the fire and with it in her hand turns - to Allen smiling.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Gives dish to Allen.</i>) Yes, thee have—talking to - a cook at the very moment the trout is on the turn. (<i>Puts trout on - dish.</i>) Serve thee right if I’d spoilt it. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Lor’, thee quite frightened me! (<i>Pauses.</i>) Yes—I - went up there this afternoon. (<i>Deb. takes dish from Allen, puts it down - in front of fireplace.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Arranging fish.</i>) Did you see her? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes, I saw her. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> It doesn’t seem to have made thee any more cheerful. Did thee - quarrel. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Us never got a chance. There wur a cousin or summat of the - kind hanging about all the time—just come over with some chap from - America. Can’t say as I like un much. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Thee’d best summon up thy courage and speak quick or thee may - lose thy turn. (<i>Allen turns away L.</i>) Go and tell aunt supper’s - ready—be quick, it’s all spoiling. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Moving quickly towards door l. down stage.</i>) Where - shall I find her? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Sharply.</i>) How should I know? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Looks around surprised—sotto voce.</i>) How the - fire do draw out a woman’s temper, to be sure. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Allen l., down stage.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Left alone stands r.a moment without speaking.</i>) What - right has she to come down here and take him away? She doesn’t love him. - Couldn’t she have found enough fine gentlemen in London to amuse her? I - don’t believe she’s a good woman, and I hate her. (<i>Stamps her foot.</i>) - She shan’t have him—she—(<i>bursts into quiet tears and, - slipping down on ground, buries her face in chair by fire—pause—after - a few seconds Luke Cranbourne appears in door c. front r., Mike Stratton - behind him. Luke pauses on threshold and coughs. Deb. hastily rises, - trying to hide her tears and stands r. Luke comes forward slowly, followed - by Mike at some distance.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>After pause, coming forward r.c.</i>) I—beg pardon—there - was nobody about. Are Mrs. Rollitt and Mr. Rollitt at home? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Yes, they are at home. I will go and find them. (<i>Crosses to - l.</i>) Who shall I say it is? - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>r.c.</i>) Ah, thank you very much, my dear. Would you say - Mr. Cranbourne—Mr. Luke Cranbourne and Mr. Richard Hanningford? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Amazed.</i>) Dick Hanningford! - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Smiling.</i>) You know the name? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Old Mr. Hanningford’s son? Why, we were only speaking of him - just this instant, and wondering when he’d come back. (<i>To Luke - hesitatingly.</i>) Are—are you— - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> No—this is Mr. Hanningford. (<i>Turns to Mike, who - stands awkward and shy l.c. looking at the ground.</i>) Did you know him? - (<i>Laughs.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Oh, I’m Miss Deacon—Miss Deborah Deacon. We were - school-fellows, you know. (<i>Timidly approaching Mike with outstretched - hand.</i>) I am very glad to see you Mr.—Mr. Hanningford. - </p> - <p> - <b>MIKE.</b> Thank you, Miss—I’m very pleased to see you. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Sitting r.</i>) I suppose you hardly recognize our - friend? (<i>Watches her intently without her noticing it. Mike has turned - away again, and looks down, flicking leg with cane.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Hesitating.</i>) Um! (<i>Laughs.</i>) Well, he’s certainly - altered since we used to go to school together. But yes—(<i>examining - his face</i>)—there’s something of the old face left, I think. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> We only arrived from America last night, traveling hard all - the time. Pretty nearly worked me to death. Dick has—(<i>with a yawn</i>)—but - there, I suppose I should have hurried up pretty smart myself if I’d been - coming home to a fortune. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> You are staying in the village then, I suppose? - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> Yes, we’ve put up at Colonel Dexter’s—my uncle’s—slow - place. (<i>Laughing.</i>) But better than the inn apparently. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Oh. then you are the—Miss Dexter’s cousin that Allen—(<i>pauses - hesitating</i>)—was—was speaking of? - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> Oh, the young fellow that was there this afternoon—was - that Allen? (<i>With a would-be playful laugh.</i>) And who’s Allen, eh? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>A little stiffly.</i>) Allen is Mr. Rollitt. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> Oh, I wish I’d known that this afternoon. Dick’s been dying - to see him and his mother all day. I wanted him to wait till the morning, - but he would come down to-night. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Oh, I’m sure Allen and Aunt will both be delighted. (<i>Approaching - Mike, who still stands aside and looks down.</i>) Won’t you be seated, Mr. - Hanningford? (<i>He makes no sign—hesitatingly.</i>) Dick. (<i>Mike - still takes no notice. Luke has risen and crossed with assumed - carelessness, towards him and nozu from opposite side of him to Deborah - gives him a sharp kick. Mike starts and looks up.</i>), - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Turning away carelessly.</i>) Lost in reveries of old - scenes, Dick, eh? Miss Deacon is asking you if you won’t sit down. - </p> - <p> - <b>MIKE.</b> (<i>Sitting L.c.</i>) Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss, I’m sure. - Oh, thank you, I will. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Going.</i>) I shan’t be a minute. They are only somewhere - about the yard. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Deborah c. door l. down stage. Luke goes to door, looks off, - closes door, then goes up to door c., looks off, then closes it. Comes r. - of Mike, who is l.c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>After waiting an instant, and making sure that no one is - about.</i>) Try and keep some of your wits about you, Mike—if you - don’t mind. - </p> - <p> - <b>MIKE.</b> (<i>Sulkily.</i>) I don’t see the darned good of this part of - the trick, so I tell you. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> I’m afraid we shall have a rough time if your memory doesn’t - improve. I’ve explained to you at least half-a-dozen times that it was as - a sort of trial canter that I wanted to come here. If anyone in Devon can - tell who is Dick Hanningford and who isn’t it will be these Rollitts. If - you pass here you pass anywhere. - </p> - <p> - <b>MIKE.</b> Well, it’s the very place I should have avoided, and for the - same reason. The old woman knew Dick Hanningford as well as she knows her - own son, and I’d rather avoid her. - </p> - <p> - Luke, (<i>r.</i>) You’re bound to meet her sooner or later. Better get it - over and know the worst—or the best. (<i>Turns away r. a little.</i>) - Sixteen years make it a little difficult to tell a man, especially between - the age of nine and twenty-five, and you’re like him enough, and always - were. - </p> - <p> - <b>MIKE.</b> And suppose she gets asking questions—do I remember - this, do I remember that—you know what old women are. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> Well, you can’t be expected to remember all the details of - your pinafore days after all this time, and knocking about as you have - been. You know all that is necessary for you to know. You knew the old - man, and you were in the house, and you knew young Hanningford. Besides, - you needn’t recollect anything yourself. You recollect what other people - recollect, that’s all you’re wanted to do. - </p> - <p> - <b>MIKE.</b> (<i>Rising.</i>) I hope we don’t make a mess of it! (<i>Turns - L.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Crossing and laying his hand on Mike’s shoulder, turns - him to c.</i>) We shan’t make a mess of it—don’t you. You know what - it’s for—£100,000 apiece. I’ve done my share of the job—you do - yours. (<i>Turns r.a little.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MIKE.</b> (<i>Turning round and facing him.</i>) Are you sure you did - your share? - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>l.</i>) What do you mean? (<i>Turns c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MIKE.</b> (<i>r.</i>) Are you sure he was dead? - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>After pausing, during which they have looked steadily at - each other, turning away l.</i>) Well, the bullet went in above his ear, - because I examined the wound: and his body went over a two hundred-foot - precipice—that I could also take an affidavit to—only I’d - rather not. (<i>Turning round and facing Mike again.</i>) What makes you - doubt it? - </p> - <p> - <b>MIKE.</b> I don’t know—nothing. The idea occurred to me, that’s - all. (<i>Turns l. a little.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> Don’t you drink so much and you won’t have so many ideas. (<i>After - a pause, during which he seems troubled, shaking it oft with an effort.</i>) - Have you got the letters with you? It will look well to take them out - casually while talking. (<i>Crosses R.; sits on table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MIKE.</b> (<i>Who has crossed to L., taking them out of his breast - pocket and holding them in his hand.</i>) Yes, here they are all right. - Bah! (<i>With a shudder.</i>) I always see his face when I look on the - darned things—I—Mrs. R. (<i>Without, loudly.</i>) Dick - Hanningford—Dick Hanningford, my boy! (<i>Mike drops suddenly in - sitting posture on sofa L. with a cry “Ah.” Luke works round at back and - drops down l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Mrs. R., excitedly, followed at little distance by Allen and - Deborah from c. Allen and Deborah remain up. Rachel from door down l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Coming down towards Mike.</i>) What, Dick, my boy, - where be thee? (<i>Sees Mike on sofa; making towards him.</i>) Ah, there - thee be—I thought I’d know thee again though thee wur only in - knickerbockers when I last saw ’ee. Tain’t thy fault thy father wur - a bit stingy. Come and gie us a hug, lad. Lord love us—(<i>she is - just in font of him, begins to speak in a bewildered, hesitating manner, - in tones gradually dying away to an awed whisper, as she slowly step by - step backs from him.</i>) How—how you’ve grown—Dick—Dick - Hanningford—what—(<i>stands staring at him; a strange awed - silence prevails</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Advancing in a terrified voice.</i>) Aunt. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Motioning her back with her arm, but not turning and - speaking in a quick, excited, loud tone.</i>) Keep back, child, don’t come - near. (<i>Luke is near Mike down c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Springing forward.</i>) Mother! What’s the matter? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>As before.</i>) The man’s dead. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>r. stepping forward.</i>) Dead! - </p> - <p> - <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Who has entered c. followed by Ichabod and Rachel l. He - goes quietly up to Mike and lays his hand on his heart, and bends over him - earnestly, and it is a few seconds before he speaks.</i>) Heart disease, I - suppose. (<i>At back of settee l. Gets r.c. of settle.</i>) My letter in - his hand. (<i>Gets to back of settle.</i>) It’s an ill wind that blows - nobody any good. (<i>Turns and feels Mike’s heart once again, then quietly - turns away to Allen. Comes c.</i>) He stood between you and £200,000. You - are now old Hanningford’s heir! - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I! - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Allen! - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>To corpse of Mike—aside as he crosses to back.</i>) - Curse you! - </p> - <h3> - MEDIUM CURTAIN. - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT II. - </h2> - <p> - Scene: <i>Morning room in a handsome flat—a showily furnished room—rather - ostentatious and loud in its decoration and appointments. Large table in - bay window r.upper corner. Fire-place r.Doors at back l.c. and two in l. - wing. Small tables r.and L.. Easy chairs l. and R.</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>Breakfast is laid on large table—it is a gorgeously laid meal—silver - and plate in profusion, and a great number of dishes—tea urn and - coffee urn—a boiling kettle—flowers and ferns in vases and - stands. One, a large wavy one, is at left edge of table close to Allen. - The table in short is crowded and showy to the last degree. A magnificent - footman in gorgeous livery is standing behind; and Mr. Piffin in solemn - black waits close to Allen’s chair, a dish in his hand. Allen is - discovered sitting l. of table, and eating his breakfast in a most - melancholy fashion. He looks intensely miserable and awed. The terrible - solemnity of the whole affair has depressed his spirits to their lowest - ebb. He glances nervously now and then as the meal proceeds, from the - footman to the valet, and vice versa, as they silently and with much - ceremony walk about and wait on him. The fern by his side keeps getting in - his way, tickling and irritating him, but he dare not move it. He eats in - silence, and when he does speak, does so in a humble, deprecating, nervous - manner. He is dressed in a loose morning costume. Music to open Act.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Standing by Allen’s l. elbow c. Peters r. of table R.</i>) - May I get you a little pâté de foie gras, sir? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Looking round, and speaking in a hushed voice.</i>) I - beg pardon? - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> A little pâté de foie gras, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Patty who? - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Goose’s liver, sir. I think you will like it. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> No, thanks; I never eats liver. It don’t agree with me. I - will have a bit o’ the bacon though. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> No, sir; it is not dressed that way, sir. I would get used to - it if I were you, sir. You will so often come across it. Peters, just pass - your master the pâté de foie gras. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Peters goes to do so. Allen who has turned again towards his breakfast - is about to take up some gravy from his plate with his knife</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Checks him.</i>) I wouldn’t lap up the gravy with my - knife, sir. I don’t think. It’s never done now in good society, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> It—it’s the best part of it, you know, I alius thinks—the - gravy - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Yes, it’s very tasty, sir. It’s unfortunate it’s so sloppy; - and you see, sir, eating it in that way does not show off the figure to - advantage. Peters, remove your master’s plate. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Peters does so, placing it a few feet beyond Allen’s left hand. Allen - watches it with jealous eyes. Peters then holds the pâté de foie gras to - Allen. He slowly runs his eye up Peters with awe, and then looks at the - pâté de foie gras, then using one hand attempts to take it. Peters, not - moving a muscle, holds it tight. Allen seems surprised, and partly rising, - attempts to take it with both hands.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Coming to his rescue, cutting a piece, and putting it on - his plate.</i>) Allow me, sir. Peters, the brown bread and butter. - </p> - <p> - <b>PET.</b> (<i>Looking for it.</i>) It is not on the table, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> No brown bread and butter; dear me, how remiss! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Crosses l. and rings bell. Peters also crosses l.c. door, Allen looks - cautiously round and sees they are not watching him, and stealthily - reaches over and secures a knifeful of gravy. He is about having a second - and has the knife close to his mouth, when he becomes aware that Piff has - returned and is watching him. He tries to hide the knife out of sight. - Peters has returned with bread and butter.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Severely.</i>) Peters, remove your master’s knife. Don’t - you see that it is in his way? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Peters does so, and then holds the bread and butter to Allen, who - takes a thin slice, folds it up, and holds it in his left hand while - taking the pâté on a fork in his right. He puts first the pâté and then - the bread and butter into his mouth and swallows them.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> I must apologize for serving you your breakfast in here, sir. - Of course, you will not have it in the drawing-room as a rule. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> No, a’ coorse not. No; us alius used to have it in the - kitchen at home. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Yes, sir. Must have been very convenient. But I think I’ll - get you to put up with the breakfast parlour in future, sir—when the - room’s ready. Have you quite finished, sir? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Humbly suggesting.</i>) I think I’d like a little more - o’ that pie. (<i>Looking longingly at pie the other side of table.</i>) - You see, I alius wur a hearty eater. (<i>Said as apology</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Yes, sir, I’m delighted to hear it, sir; but I wouldn’t eat - any more breakfast, sir. You will find it is considered correct among <i>bons - vivants</i> to eat a very sparse dejeuner. My late lamented master, the - Count de Fizziani, never partook of anything but a cup of weak tea and a - little dry toast, and he was one of the oldest families in Europe. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Allen rises, Peters bows as he does so, and Allen returns the bow and - comes dozen R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, I shouldn’t ’a’ thought as anyone could ‘a’ lived - long on that. (<i>He bows</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> No necessity to bow, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> He did it. (<i>Indicating Peters</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> He’s paid for it. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I allus seem to want a good feed myself in the morning. (<i>Takes - out an old clay pipe and prepares to fill it. Goes down r. and sits in - chair. Peters is clearing away the breakfast things</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Are you thinking of smoking, sir? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes; I allus has a whiff or two arter breakfast. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> It’s very soothing, sir. My late lamented master, the Count - de Fizziani, used to follow precisely the same course. But I wouldn’t - smoke a pipe, sir. Pipes are going out in good society. (<i>Takes - cigarette case from pocket and offers it to Allen. Takes pipe from Allen - and puts it on corner of table R.c.</i>) I have some cigarettes here, sir, - which I think you will like, sir. These are much more <i>comme il faut</i>, - sir. This case is a present from my late lamented master, the Count. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Allen looks at them and gingerly takes one.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Which end? - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Lighting match.</i>) Either end, sir. Allow me. (<i>Showing - matchbox.</i>) Another little souvenir from my late master. He was always - acknowledging, if I may say so, my value to him. That sort of thing is - always done in good society now. (<i>Lights cigarette.</i>) It is a full - flavored one, sir. (<i>Piffin takes Allen’s pipe from table r.c., crossing - with it to window r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Watching him, anxiously.</i>) Don’t hurt him. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Turning round.</i>) I was just going to put it outside on - the window-sill, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> No, don’t put him there. We used to sit up together of a - night watching the sheep. I don’t like the thought of putting him outside - the window, now I’m a gentleman. Drop him in the pocket of that old - shooting coat o’ mine that thee won’t let me wear. They know each other. (<i>Sits - r.and smokes his cigarette. Piff. puts the pipe on table and returns r.c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Noticing that Allen is looking at his cigarette.</i>) All - right, sir? (<i>r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes—yes, thank you, Mr. Puffin— - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Piffin, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I wur looking to see if it wur alight, that’s all. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> You will soon get to like them, sir. And whenever you are - ready to dress, sir— - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Surprised.</i>) Dress? Why, I be dressed, bain’t I? - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Oh, only for breakfast, you see, sir. I understood you were - going out walking, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Why can’t I walk in these? - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Oh, no, sir—all London would laugh at you. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Lord! I should never a’ thought as they’d take so much - notice. (<i>Rising. Piff. crosses to l. near down stage door.</i>) Ah, - well, I’ll dress. (<i>Crossing l.</i>) I don’t want to upset London if I - can help it. I’ll dress. (<i>Exit l. Bows to Piffin as Piffin does so to - him</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> No necessity to bow, sir. (<i>Aside.</i>) Ah, I’ve got a big - job on here! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Piffin, following Allen l. Piffin immediately returns, having - forgotten the pipe, which he takes. He is recrossing l. as enter Dexter - and Clara, c., preceded by Peters, who takes tray from table R.c. and - exits up L.</i>) - </p> - <p> - And I’ve got to live in the house with this. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Dexter goes c., Clara r. at back.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Coming down.</i>) Good-morning, Piffin, goodmorning. - Having a quiet whiff? - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Thank you, sir. My stomach does not permit my indulging in - the luxury of a cutty pipe. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> Is Mr. Rollitt about? - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> He has just this minute gone upstairs to dress, sir. I will - let him know you are here, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> No hurry—no hurry at all, Piffin. We are before our - time. You are not looking well, Piffin. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Anxiety, sir. May be anxiety. You see Mr. Rollitt’s - unacquaintance with the manners of the <i>beaux esprits</i> throws much - responsibility on myself. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> But you must be careful, Piffin. What would he do without you? - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Smiling.</i>) Well, I’m afraid he would be a little up a - tree, sir, if I may be permitted a vulgarism. (<i>Moving to door l.</i>) I - will go and acquaint him with your arrival, sir. (<i>Takes plate from - table l., puts pipe on it.</i>) I’ll send him to you directly, sir. (<i>Smells - pipe.</i>) Shag! (<i>Exit l.l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> Thank you, Mr. Piffin, thank you. (<i>Turning round.</i>) - Always be affable with your inferiors—never know when you may want - ‘em. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>By window, looking out.</i>) Do you come across many of - that sort? (<i>Comes down r. of table R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> Ah, you beast—you vixen. I wonder you don’t cut yourself - with that tongue of yours. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Turning round with a hard laugh. At fireplace R.</i>) It - must be pretty sharp if it goes through your skin. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> Ah, you damned— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Allen l. He has on slippers and a smoking coat</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Crossing.</i>) Don’t ’ee look at us too closely. - I bean’t properly dressed yet. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>r.c. turns head away.</i>) I don’t think we had better - look at you at all under those circumstances, Mr. Rollitt. (<i>Laughs.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughs.</i>) Oh, I be covered up all right everywhere. I - merely meant as I wasn’t up to fashion plate standard. (<i>Crossing c.</i>) - And how be Colonel Dexter? (<i>Shaking hands.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Jolly, my boy—and how’s yourself? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>c.</i>) Oh, I be spry enough. (<i>Crossing before him - and shaking hands with Clara, and keeping her hand.</i>) I think us’ll - have a pleasant day. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>r. looking tenderly at him.</i>) I’m sure we shall. (<i>Crosses - to sofa, stands at head of it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> Well, you young folks will, I know, and the old folks will be - happy looking on. (<i>Sitting, and taking Clara’s hand in his and fondling - it. Allen crosses r.</i>) To see his little girl happy, that’s always - happiness enough for old Jack Dexter. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Leaning over and kissing the top of his hand.</i>) Silly - old dad. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Taking out his handkerchief and pretending to weep.</i>) - Ah, like her mother—like her mother. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r. c., laughs nervously.</i>) Her—her mother must - ha’ been rare beautiful, mustn’t her? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>c. rising and taking Allen by the hand.</i>) Thank you,—ah, - Mr. Rollitt, you have never known the blessing of a wife—(<i>Clara - looks at him</i>)—you do not understand the feelings of a widower. (<i>Weeping.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> No—but—(<i>laughing</i>)—but—I hopes - to one day; no—no—I don’t mean that—I—(<i>confused</i>)—Have - thee had breakfast? (<i>Clara sits on the soft L.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> Yes, thank you, Allen, my boy. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Cheerfully.</i>) Have another. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> No thanks, not to-day. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> What’s the matter? Off thee feed? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> No, my lad, but we old folks ain’t like you young country ones—nothing - at present thank you—(<i>pauses</i>)—to eat. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Have summat to drink. (<i>Clara crosses l. Both men laugh, - each in his own distinctive way. Dex. turns l. and catches Clara’s face.</i>) - There be some rare old whiskey in the library. Thee’ll find it on the - sideboard—(<i>Dex. goes up c.</i>)—and it be more comfortable - like in there than here. I’ll just go and finish making myself beautiful. - (<i>Crosses to l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Don’t be too long. (<i>Crossing and sitting L.c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) No, it oughtn’t to take me long to—(<i>Dex. - has his back to them, wine business at table r.c.</i>)—do that, - ought it? (<i>Goes to l. door down stage. Laughs, and then low to Clara as - he is going.</i>) I am not likely to stop upstairs long when I know thee’s - downstairs. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Go away, go away. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Allen down stage l. Bus. She kisses her hand.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> And I suppose you will go and throw this chance away, like you - have every other. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Well, what if I do? (<i>Rises, crosses it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> What if you do? What are we to live on? (<i>Goes to Clara l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Gulls, I suppose—as we always have done. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> Yes, and is it pleasant living? Is it pleasant to have to - slave and trick for every dinner? Is it pleasant to be kicked—sooner - or later—out of every society one goes into? (<i>Coming close and - speaking low.</i>) Was it pleasant to be buried for two years in that - God-forsaken hole by Exmoor, not daring to show our heads above ground for - a moment? You’ve got a fine chance of being respectable now. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Too late, I’m afraid, though. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>r. c.</i>) Too late? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Yes—you see, papa, dear, you haven’t exactly brought - me up in that way, and I’m afraid I’m too old to learn now. I don’t think - I should be quite at home as the wife of a piously brought up young man - from the country. (<i>Leans back—laughs.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> And so you’re going to let six thousand a year slip through - your fingers. It’s wicked—it’s wicked. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Laughs—rises.</i>) Well, it hasn’t slipped through - my fingers just at present, it is sticking to them pretty freely. (<i>Crosses - to R.—Dex is c.—toys with ring.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Goes to table r.c.</i>) And how long do you think he will - stand you playing with him? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Oh, a good long while yet. (<i>Goes up.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Puts hat on table r.c.</i>) That’s just where you’re - making a mistake then. He’s not a fool. He’ll want an answer, “Yes,” or - “No,” soon, and what are you going to say then? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Looking out of window.</i>) No. (<i>Looking into - fireplace r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>After a pause—violently.</i>) Luke Cranbourne’s at - the bottom of this. What devil’s game is it that’s going on between you - and him? (<i>Loudly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> I do wish you wouldn’t drink when you’re coming out - anywhere, it always makes you so noisy. (<i>At glass.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Violently.</i>) Take care, Clara—you seem to forget - I’m your father. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Coldly.</i>) The relationship was none of my seeking. - Whatever responsibility attaches to the unfortunate—(<i>moves near - Dex.</i>)—occurrence is not mine. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>l. making movement as if to strike her.</i>) Clara. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Facing him with quiet contempt—a pause.</i>) Put - down your hands, father. That period of my life is over. (<i>Crosses. Dex. - steps back, then throws himself into chair, leans his head on his arms, - and bursts into tears r.c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Crying.</i>) My own child hates me. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Crossing and laying a hand on his shoulder gently.</i>) - I don’t mean to be hard, father, but you can’t expect much love and duty - from me. Curses and blows were all you ever gave me as a child, and ever - since I became a woman you have merely hawked me about as your decoy. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i> Whimpering.</i>) I only want you to do what’s for your - own good. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Turns away L.</i>) Yes, but you must allow me to be the - judge of that—and come—you haven’t had much cause to grumble - up to now. You’ve been able to be drunk every night for the last three - months. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Rises c.</i>) I ain’t been drunk. (<i>Takes hat off table - r. c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Not for you perhaps—(<i>goes l. a little</i>)—drunk - in the ordinary sense of the word—and I will get you something - to-day if I can. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Drying his eyes.</i>) God bless you, Clara, you’re a good - girl. Do you think you’ll be able to get a twenty? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> You must leave it to me. I’ll get you as much as I can. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Off l.</i>) Thank you, Mr. Puffin. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Off l.</i>) Piffin, Piffin, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Moving away towards door—upper l.</i>) Come into - the next room now. Here’s Allen coming back. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>As he follows her out.</i>) Say you want to help a poor - woman who’s very ill, and has been ordered nourishing food and—(<i>gags.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Clara and Dex. upper l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Allen and Piff. l. Allen is completely dressed in the height of - walking costume, and is evidently very uncomfortable. Enter Peters c. Pet. - puts photo case on table r. c. Exits down c. Allen has on hat and coat, - and Piff. is carrying his umbrella and gloves. Allen should be got up in a - slightly exaggerated masher style. He is smoking a cigarette.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I carn’t breathe, Mr. Puffin. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Oh, you will soon get used to that, sir. And would you please - to remember my name is Piffin, sir? (<i>Taking his hand.</i>) Why, surely - these are nines, sir, I think we could get them down to eight and a half, - and if I were you, sir, I would show a little more cuff, sir, it’s always - done in good society, sir; besides, it makes the hand look smaller; a - little cuff, sir, goes a long way in good society. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Thank you, Mr. Piffin. (<i>Shakes his hand.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Thank you, sir, but I don’t think you ought to shake hands - with me, sir. And when you do shake hands with your friends, sir—allow - me (<i>takes Allen’s hand</i>) shake high, sir. (<i>Shakes his hand high.</i>) - You’ll see it’s always done in good society, sir. Lord Carmichael’s man - told me he met you yesterday, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I—I don’t know him, do I? - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Oh, no, sir, but he knows you, sir, and he was rather - complaining of your walk, sir? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Why, what’s it got to do with him? - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Well, sir, knowing as I’m your coach, sir, he meant it as a - friendly hint. You have rather a countrified walk, if you will forgive me - for saying so—a more <i>négligé</i> style is adopted by the <i>savoir - vivre</i> now, sir, and a more <i>insouciant</i> manner of carrying the - umbrella. You walk too much in this way, sir. (<i>Taking up umbrella, - gags, and imitates.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Lord love us, do I walk like that? - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Just like that, sir. You see yourself, sir, what a very <i>undestingué</i> - appearance it presents. The present fashionable style is more like this, - sir. (<i>Performing an exaggerated Piccadilly dawdle.</i>) See, sir—body - a little forward—knees stiff—and a slight wobble, sir—very - slight. (<i>Handing Allen the umbrella.</i>) Perhaps, sir, you would take - the umbrella and try it, sir. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Allen attempts the business.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Criticising Allen’s practice. Allen crosses to R.</i>) A - little more bend, sir—a little wobble, sir—umbrella held - lightly between the first and second fingers, sir, (<i>Allen goes l.</i>) - and if you could manage—allow me, sir—. (<i>takes umbrella, - shows him, and returns it</i>) to swing it right round now and then, sir, - it adds great <i>aplomb</i>. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Great what? - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> French, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Swings umbrella round awkwardly.</i>) Like that? - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Not quite like that, sir. A little more airily, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Swinging it.</i>) Does it ever put anybody’s eye out - behind? - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> I don’t think that point is considered of much importance in - good society, sir—that is much better, sir. (<i>Goes r.Allen l.</i>) - If you would practice like that a little every day, sir, you would soon - pick it up, sir. A little more bend, sir, and—er—don’t forget - the wobble. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit l. down stage.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Allen goes on practicing to himself, making as much fun as possible, - consistent with comedy, out of the bus. As he is in the middle of it, - enter Mrs. R.and Deb. door c., the door being opened for them by Peters. - They stand c. staring aghast at Allen, who continues, unconscious of their - presence.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Gags.</i>) Soon pick it up! Strikes me someone’ll have - to pick me up. It puts me in mind of one of our old turkey cocks. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. R. and Deb. come down stage a little.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Bus. in r. corner of stage. Peters withdraws, grinning.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>After a long pause, clapping her hands.</i>) I know what - it is, aunt. It’s our Allen. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Seeing them.</i>) Mother! (<i>Comes down r.c. Deb. l. c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> My boy! (<i>They rush into each other’s arms c. and Mrs. R. - gives him a huge hug—gets r.of Allen, Deb. l. Then he and Deb. have - an embrace, and then he and Mrs. R. for the second time.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>In the middle of Mrs. R. second hug.</i>) Hold hard! - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Alarmed.</i>) What’s the matter, lad? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Summat’s gone. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> What? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I don’t know; summat behind. (<i>Drawing back r. and looking - down at himself.</i>) Mother, you’ve spoilt me. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, they used to tell me I allus did that, lad. (<i>Laughs.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>After gazing in silent admiration at Allen.</i>) Oh, aunt, - isn’t it lovely? Look at its hat! - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Critically examining his clothes.</i>) Ah—and - there’s some good stuff there, too. (<i>Moving away.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Going near and sniffing.</i>) Oh, oh! Doesn’t it smell - nice—and—oh, look at its collar! (<i>Allen pleased—begins - to plume himself—Deb. begins to laugh.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> What’s the matter with the collar—what are you - laughing at? (<i>Trying to look at his own collar. Debt’s laugh only - grows, and Allen’s indignation begins to rise.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> What’s the matter—what are you laughing at? (<i>Deb. - laughing more and more, goes to walk round him. Turning round, so as to - face her—his collar prevents him turning his head, and he has to - walk round.</i>) What are you up to? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> I want to see it all round. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Very indignantly.</i>) Well then, you can’t do it. I - ain’t a show. What are you laughing at? There’s nothing to laugh at. (<i>Mrs. - R. laughs first time.</i>) It’s your ignorance, because you don’t - understand things. What are you laughing at? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. R., who has hitherto sat R. looking on, now also begins to laugh, - and she and Deb. go on laughing more and more, Allen growing more and more - indignant.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I am surprised at you, mother. Deb. allus was a—(<i>the - two women only laugh louder, and Allen in spite of himself begins to laugh - too; afterwards he joins in heartily and all three laugh, after which they - have another hug. Bus.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Exhausted.</i>) Well, lad, and how dost thee like being - a gentleman? (<i>Sits r., Deb. sits l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>c. doubtfully.</i>) Well, it’s got its drawbacks, - mother. There’s more work about it than you’d think for, you know,—but - I think I shall be all right, I’ve got a good man learning me. He wur - teaching me to walk this morning. That wus the Park stroll I wur - practicing when you come in; see, mother? (<i>Imitates stroll.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, well, us made a good man of ’ee down in Devon. I - hopes they don’t spoil ’ee, lad, in turning thee into a gentleman. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, no, mother. It’s only a polishing up the outside. I’m - old Exmoor oak—(<i>puts his hat and umbrella on table r. c.</i>)—I - hope, right through, and they can’t hurt that. When did ’ee come - up? (<i>Sits r. c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Only yesterday, and us went to Mrs. Clouter’s and slept, - and then us come on here this morning. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> And how long can you stop? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, us must start off to-morrow, some time. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> To-morrow! Oh, nonsense, mother. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Nonsense! Why, bless the lad, thee wouldn’t have me away on - Saturday. Why, who’d pay the wages, and see to everything? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Why, there’s Rogers there, ain’t there? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, why thee might just as well leave the key of the stable - in charge o’ the old bay mare, as trust him to look arter anything, except - his own inside. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) Mother! (<i>Rises, goes to Mrs. R. - r.</i>) What do ye want to go back at all for, and work and worry yourself - to death? Let me take a little house up here in London for thee and Deb, - and then we can all be together. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Aghast.</i>) And leave the farm? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Turning round.</i>) Oh, Allen! - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Why not? You’ve worked hard enough, mother—give the - farm up and enjoy yourself. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Enjoy myself! Away from Woodbarrow - </p> - <p> - Farm! Why, lad, thy father wur born there and brought me home there—and - he died there, and thee wur born there—and there be the pigs and the - poultry! (<i>Begins to cry.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Tenderly patting her.</i>) All right, mother, all right. - Us’ll keep it on. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Wiping her eyes.</i>) And thee might want to come back - to it theeself some day, lad. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) Why, thee don’t think I’m going to run - through two hundred thousand, do ye, mother? We Devonshire lads win - fortunes, not lose ‘em. (<i>Crossing c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, no, lad. But thee knows the saying “Roses blossom for a - day, But stout old ivy’s green al-way.” Thee ain’t likely to lose the - money, if thee can help it, lad, but us all be in God’s hands, and I’ll be - easier in my mind if the farm’s there for thee to come home to. If - anything happens, thee knows the way across the Moor, and thee knows how - the latch goes, and me and the lass will be inside to welcome thee. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Goes l. takes Deb.‘s hand.</i>) Ah, I know you will, - mother, both of you. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Music—piano.</i>) Leastways I shall—and the - lass until her gets married, I suppose. (<i>Deb. goes up a little; gets r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Surprised.</i>) Until her gets married? (<i>Deb. goes to - Mrs. R. r.; tries to stop her speaking.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Sharply.</i>) Ah, the lads ain’t all fools. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Evidently troubled.</i>) I never seemed to think o’ - Deb’s getting married, somehow. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, other folks have. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I can’t fancy the old farm wi’out Deb. Lord, how lonesome it - would be. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Who has been trying to stop Mrs. R., has come down and - stands by her aunt, l.</i>) Oh, it’s only aunt’s fun. (<i>Goes to Allen, - l. c.</i>) I’m not going to get married. Sure the pigs and cows are worrit - enough wi’ their foolish ways. I don’t want any husband. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, thee will some day, o’ course, and when thee does we - must make thee comfortable, lass. (<i>Taking her hand.</i>) Thee shalt ha’ - the best farm in all the country, and the best dairy, and the best stock. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Little c.</i>) Thank thee, Allen dear. (<i>Turns up stage.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Rising; music dies away.</i>) Well, lass, I suppose us - had better have a clean down and summat to eat, and then see about our bit - o’ shopping. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Lord help us! (<i>Starting.</i>) If I ain’t forgot all about - ‘em. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> All about whom? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Why, Clara—Miss Dexter and her father—they be in - the library waiting for me. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Oh, don’t let us keep you from them. (<i>A little spitefully.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Oh, I shan’t go out this morning, now. (<i>Gets hat and - umbrella from table r.c.</i>) I shall get them to stop here instead, and - us can have a nice quiet day all together. (<i>Going towards door, lower - l.</i>) Come on, mother. (<i>Crosses to c.</i>) I’ve got a room fitted up - a’purpose for thee and Deb, with a roost just outside the window with a - cock and three hens in it, and he crows all night. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Allen, Deb., and Mrs. R. down stage.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Baron von Schorr (1) and the Hon. Tom. Gus-sett (2), ushered in - by Peters c. (3). Enter Luke c., and Dexter u. l. (4), afterwards Clara - (5.) Baron goes down l., Gussett r., Luke r. c., Dexter l. c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Rollitt’s going out. You can’t see him. It’s no - good your coming here to try and fleece him this morning. I tell you he’s - going out. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Coming down r.c.</i>) Ah, we’ll wait and say good-bye to - him, Jack. - </p> - <p> - <b>BARON.</b> (<i>l. c.</i>) Ah, greedy Jack,—greedy Jack—you - want de bird all to yourself. Nein—nein, zhare and zhare alike. Herr - Cranbourne have a ving, Tom Gussett, he have de oder ving. You and your - fair daughter have de legs, and I vill have de breast. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> No, you shall have the bones after we’ve done with them. - Make ’em into a stew—keep a German baron for a week. (<i>Others - laugh.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>BARON.</b> Ah, Trickey, you here. (<i>Motioning towards Clara and her - father.</i>) Ah, de early birds—de early birds. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Yes, we have to be. (<i>Rises, and goes r.imitating him.</i>) - De worms get up so early nowadays. (<i>Enter Allen lower l. Baron goes to - meet him. Guss. puts him away and he turns up c. Speaks to Dex.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Hullo! Unexpected pleasure! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Luke comes forward and greets Allen c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>r.</i>) Haven’t seen you for an age, dear boy. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> No. (<i>Goes to Luke r.</i>) I’ve been keeping pretty - respectable of late—I—I mean, you know, I haven’t been going - out much. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Tom and I are going over to Paris for the - Vincennes meeting, and we’ve come to see if you will join. - </p> - <p> - <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>l. of Allen r.</i>) Yes, do come; then we can show you - about Paris a bit, you know. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> Ah, yes, and we shall be able to get you into one or two - things in the betting line if you are with us. We can introduce you to - some friends of ours. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, it be very kind of thee, I’m sure. - </p> - <p> - (<i>They go on talking r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>BARON.</b> (<i>Aside to the Dexters, back of Clara.</i>) I say, Jack, - my boy, how long have you been Colonel? I did not know you vas a - militaire. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Papa joined the Salvation Army about the same time that you - were raised to the German Peerage. Don’t talk so loud, my dear Baron. - </p> - <p> - <b>BARON.</b> Gut, gut. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Luke sits down stage r. with back to audience, looking at betting - book.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>To Allen r.</i>) Of course we shall take care of your - interests as if it was for ourselves. - </p> - <p> - <b>BARON.</b> (<i>Comes and puts arm in Allen’s.</i>) Of course they vill - take care ob your interests for themselves. Come here. (<i>Goes l.</i>) - You know I have been tinking about you so much ob late. Ja! - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, very kind of thee, I’m sure. - </p> - <p> - <b>BARON.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Ja, I say to myself, my fren Rollitt—I - always call you my fren—my fren Rollitt, I say, he is a gut fellow—he - has money—all he vants is family. (<i>Guss. goes to Dex. l. c.</i>) - He must marry family. (<i>Dex. goes c. and tries to hear conversation—Baron - notices it and crosses to r.with Allen.</i>) Now, Miss Dexter, she is a - nice girl—ach, such a nice girl—but she has no family. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> No—not yet. (<i>Luke gets near fireplace R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>BARON.</b> (<i>r. Seeing it after a while.</i>) Ah, nein, nein—I - do not mean vat you mean—I mean family de oder vay—backvards—dead - uns. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Oh! - </p> - <p> - <b>BARON.</b> Ja. Now, dere is my niece, look at her family! Look at her - ancestors—all barons—German barons! And she is such a nice - girl—so beaudiful—so plump—ach, I will indroduce her to - you. She vill mash you—so much. She— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Mrs. R., Deb. behind her, lower l. door. Seeing the room full - she stands by door hesitatingly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>Coming down and interrupting, with a sneering laugh.</i>) - Your nurse, Rollitt, I think. (<i>Comes c. Luke goes to fireplace R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Turns and sees them, and then goes towards them.</i>) - Yes, Mr. Gussett—the best nurse a man can have—my mother. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Guss. confused, but soon recovers himself and laughs it off. Col. D., - Luke, and Clara come forward to greet Mrs. R. and Deb. l. c., and the - customary ceremony, etc., is gone through—all speaking together.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Smiling pleasantly, shakes hands with Mrs. R.</i>) - Good-morning, Mrs. Rollitt. You are looking so well and jolly. How are - you, my dear? (<i>To Deb. Between these two the greeting is really - strained and awkward, although outwardly pleasant enough. Clara kisses - Deb., but Deb. seems to shrink—she turns away. Clara notices this, - and follows Deb. as she turns away up c., with a meaning look. While it - has been going on the greeting between Mrs. R. and Luke has taken place—Mrs. - R. down l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Finishing his introduction of Mrs. R. and Baron.</i>) - The Baron von Schnorr—Mrs. Rollitt, my mother. - </p> - <p> - <b>BARON.</b> Your mudder—Oh, impossible. (<i>Goes l. c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Huffy.</i>) I beg your pardon, Mr. Snort. - </p> - <p> - <b>BARON.</b> Ach, ja, you are laughing at me—not your mudder. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Clara walks round at back, drops down r. near Luke.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Very indignant.</i>) Yes—his mother. Don’t you - cast any of your nasty foreign insinuations upon me. I’m his lawful - married mother, and his father was his father, and a better man never - lived, as anyone in Exmoor— - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Soothing her.</i>) It’s all right, mother, the Baron - only means it complimentary. Thee’st supposed to look too young to be - anybody’s mother. He has to take (<i>Clara sits r.</i>) thee for my - sister. (<i>Laughing—goes up l. c. with Dex.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>BARON.</b> Ja—I take you for his sister. Ach, you English ladies, - you never seem to get more old—you only get more round, more—more - jolly. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Still indignant.</i>) Ah—foolishness. (<i>Ruffling - her dress and sitting very stiff l. on sofa.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>BARON.</b> (<i>Sitting on sofa beside her.</i>) It must be de climate - keep you so moist. (<i>Drawing closer.</i>) I knew a man, he lives in your - Manchester, and—(<i>goes on talking to Mrs. R. but is not heard.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Allen goes up and joins Col. Dex. up l. c. and Clara. After a little - while Col. Dex. appropriates him, leaving Clara a little to r.of them - unnoticed. Guss. continues talking to Deb. Deb. evidently bored and - anxious to get away. Guss. trying to be very agreeable. At this point when - all the others are occupied, Luke r. beckons Clara to him and she crosses. - Their conversation is in eager undertone and they watch to see that no one - is noticing them.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> Have you got him to join yet? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> No—he kicks against it. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> If his name isn’t down in the list of directors before Monday - I shall be arrested. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Can’t you get away? - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> No, I’m watched night and day. If he joins, the company will - float and it will be all right. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> I shall be seeing him alone this morning. I will try again. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> And keep to plain gold and diamonds for presents. Those - fallal things (<i>touching her bracelet</i>) are no good. Don’t fetch ten - per cent, of their value. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Part of the conversation between herself and Guss. - Abstractedly, her attention being fixed on Luke and Clara.</i>) Ha, ha! - that was very funny. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Guss. r. with Deb. looks at her in amazement.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Down r.</i>) There’s that milkmaid watching us—don’t - look around, answer as though I had been proposing to you—that will - account for our talking together. (<i>In a louder but still undertone.</i>) - Is there no hope for me? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Down r.—smiling.</i>) None, Luke—please - don’t refer to the subject again. I like you—respect you—will - be a sister to you—but love— - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Grinning.</i>) Yes, it’s that Rollitt that you love. (<i>Deb., - followed by Guss., has moved away to window.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Mr. Cranbourne, you have no right— - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Who has been watching Deb.</i>) Chuck it up, it’s all - right, she’s gone to the window. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> I don’t suppose we’ve deceived her very much, she’s a sharp - little minx. Get these men away. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Clara takes up book, and standing, toys with it up r. front of r.c. - table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>BARON.</b> (<i>Finishing.</i>) She never leave her bed for eighteen - years—she take dree dozes—den she get up and go for a dree - mile walk. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Rising.</i>) Lor! It must have been quite a change for - her. - </p> - <p> - <b>BARON.</b> (<i>Rising.</i>) Ja. It vas a miragle. (<i>Turning and - seeing Luke beside him.</i>) Ha, my dear boy, ready? - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Crosses to Baron.</i>) Ready and off. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Coming down c. followed by Dex.</i>) Oh, are you three - going? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Baron goes c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> Yes, I know you’ll be glad to be rid of us. (<i>Laughing.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Well, I have (<i>looking at watch</i>) one or two little - things to do this morning. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Baron goes up c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> Well, look here, Allen, I’m just going to have a quiet weed in - the smoking room till you’re ready. See? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Oh, it be a billiard room now, thee know. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> Oh. have you had a table put up? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Who has just crossed over and joined the group l. to - Mrs. R. who is just about quitting the room by door l. lower.</i>) Do you - allow your little boy to play billiards, Mrs. Rollitt? I don’t think I - should if I had charge of him. (<i>Playfully.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Oh, the more he’s up to every sort o’ game that’s played - the better for him, to my thinking. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Mrs. R. l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) Oh, it keeps me at home out of mischief, - like. (<i>Moves to upper door L.</i>) Come and have a look at it. (<i>Goes - up c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>BARON.</b> (<i>As they go.</i>) Ach, billiards iz a beaudiful game. (<i>Aside - to Luke.</i>) But you cannot vin much at id, id take so dam long. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt all but Guss. and Deb. [l.]—all talking as they go. Guss. - and Deb. near fireplace.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>r.</i>) Well, I’m afraid, Mr. Gussett, I must really go - now. (<i>Goes down stage. Guss. goes l. c. and stops her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>Getting between her and the door l. to which she is - backing.</i>) Oh, no, don’t go. Do you know, I shall really think you are - trying to avoid me. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Retreating behind table—Guss. takes a step.</i>) Oh, - not at all. - </p> - <p> - <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>c. gets l. of r. c. table.</i>) Ah, so pleasant to hear - you say so. You know, Miss Deacon, I so want you to like me. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Yes, well—I do very much, only I can’t stop to do it - now, because you see aunt wants me. (<i>Moves c. up stage. Guss. stops - her. Bus. of Deb. trying to get away and of Guss. cutting her off and - trying to get near her; is kept up throughout the scene.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>GUSS.</b> Ah, but your aunt sees so much of you and I can see so - little. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Laughing, walks l. c. up stage. Guss. at head of sofa.</i>) - I’m afraid there’s not very much more of me to see. I must go really, - because we have got to do some shopping this morning. - </p> - <p> - <b>GUSS.</b> Ah, let me come with you? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Oh, no, I won’t tax your kindness. I know you men hate - shopping, and we are going into drapers’ and dressmakers’ and all sorts of - dreadful places, (<i>c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>GUSS.</b> Ah, they will not be dreadful if you are there, Miss Deacon. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> And aunt always takes such a long time shopping. (<i>Goes up - c.</i>) Never can make up her mind, and I’m worse still, and—(<i>makes - movement, Guss. moves behind settle and stops her down l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>GUSS.</b> Ah, the longer you take, the better I shall like it. I shall - enjoy coming, I assure you. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Getting more and more cross, comes r.c.</i>) Well you know - I really don’t think you will; and really, Mr. Gussett—(<i>turns r.a - little.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>Interrupting.</i>) Ah, I know better. No, I quite insist - upon coming. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>With calm, suppressed temper.</i>) Ah, all right, Mr. - Gussett, you shall. (<i>Crossing l. meets Mrs. R. just entering l.</i>) - Aunt, I want you. (<i>Turning her round again.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Why, whatever’s the— - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> I’ll tell you, come along. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Mrs. R. and Deb. l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>r. turns and arranges his moustache in glass over chimney</i>). - Might do worse, Gussy, my boy. (<i>Turns round again.</i>) She’s not a bad - little thing, lick her into shape a bit. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Luke, upper l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Crossing to table and taking up his hat.</i>) Coming? - </p> - <p> - <b>GUSS.</b> No, dear boy. (<i>Laughing.</i>) Got a little job on. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> Oh, on the war-path? - </p> - <p> - <b>GUSS.</b> Yes—well, I may as well keep it in hand—Chawbacon - will make her good for a thousand or two, I expect—if nothing better - turns up. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> Ah—wish you luck—she’ll be a good match for you, - I think, Gussy. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Luke c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Mrs. R. and Deb. lower door l. Both are wearing old-fashioned - big country shawls, and big bonnets. Deb. evidently has on one of her - aunt’s. Their dress altogether is as extravagant as comedy will permit, - and has evidently been hastily put on. Deb. also carries a big country - hand-basket covered with a cloth, the neck of a bottle sticking - prominently out, and a huge gamp. Deb. smothering her laughter</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Crossing r.c.</i>) We are quite ready, Mr. Gussett - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Yes, we are quite ready. - </p> - <p> - <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>Who has regarded them with a horrified stare.</i>) Ah, - yes, if you will wait a minute I think I will call a cab. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Oh, we’d rather walk, thank you—you would rather walk, - wouldn’t you, aunt? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Oh, I’ve made up my mind for a walk. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Yes, we would both rather walk. Will you give your arm to - aunty, Mr. Gussett? (<i>Guss. crosses to c.</i>) And be very careful of - her at the crossings, because she’s rather nervous, and so am I. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>r.c. handing the basket to Guss.</i>) You won’t mind - carrying the basket, will you, Mr. Gussett, because it’s so heavy? (<i>He - takes it bewildered and helpless.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>As Guss., Deb. and Mrs. R. reach door c., enter Allen and Clara l. - upper e.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Hulloa! Where be thee off to? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Down Regent street, and up—Piccadilly, I think you call - it. Good-bye. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Mrs. R., Deb. and Guss. c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Comes l. laughing.</i>) I should like to be there to see - the Hon. Tom Gussett at the crossings. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Half amused, half cross.</i>) Ah, her be a madcap, her - be, that girl. What makes thee so anxious that I should join the company? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Sitting l. on sofa, Allen stands by her, behind sofa, - leaning over.</i>) Why, don’t you see, poor papa could be secretary if you - joined. They would let you nominate him, and we should be so glad to be - earning something—(<i>very low</i>)—and we are so poor. (<i>Laying - her hand on him.</i>) Do join, Allen, for my sake. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Yielding—back of sofa.</i>) Ah, thee don’t know - how hard thee makes it for me to say no. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Then don’t say it—it would make me so happy. (<i>Looking - up at him.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> It would? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Laying her hand as if unwittingly on his.</i>) - </p> - <p> - And I should think you—(<i>drooping her head.</i>) Ah! I’d better - not say what I should think you. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, well, lass, if you wish it, I will then. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> You will really? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes—if it will make thee happy I will. And now let’s - talk about yourself. (<i>Sits l. next to Clara.</i>) Thee is the company I - most wants to join. How have thee been getting on? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Looking down.</i>) Oh, dear! - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> What does “Oh dear” mean? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> “Oh, dear” means very bad. Debts. (<i>With assumed - bewilderment.</i>) Awful! - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Smiling.</i>) What sort of debts? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Oh, all sorts—tradespeople, you know, and all that, - and then I thought I could win a little by betting—(<i>Allen rises</i>)—and - put it all right—and I’ve been and lost. Oh dear! - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Vexed, goes c.</i>) I should ha’ thought there wur - enough fools among us men trying to win money that way. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> I am naughty, I know—but papa leaves everything to me, - and I get so frightened when I see the debts mounting up and nothing to - meet them, and I’ve no one to advise me. (<i>Crosses l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>After a pause, rises, goes to Clara—kindly.</i>) I - didn’t mean to speak unkind, lass. I’m full of old-fashioned notions about - women, I suppose. I like ’em to be women—not mere men in - petticoats. How much does thee owe? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Oh, heaps! (<i>Handing him pocket-book.</i>) Look. (<i>Allen - crosses to R. and sits at table.</i>) And I haven’t any money. (<i>Rising - and looking over his shoulder R., as he examines the book.</i>) Do you - think they’ll put me in prison? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Turns—laughing.</i>) Thee ought to be taken in - charge by somebody, that’s certain. (<i>Allen rises, puts some notes from - his pocket-book into hers, and hands it back to her.</i>) I owe your - father a little over one or two bets. I can take it off that and give him - the rest, like. (<i>Crosses to l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Takes book and lays it on the table—the notes drop - out on to the table.</i>) You are good, Allen, really. (<i>Puts book on - table R.—half to herself.</i>) I wish sometimes that you weren’t—that - you were more like other men I have met. (<i>Turning away r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Why, would thee like me better? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> No, but I should like myself better. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> What do thee mean, lass? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Nothing. I’m not used to your sort of men. (<i>Goes to - fireplace, then up R., throwing off her seriousness and turning towards - him.</i>) You are like the knight, Allen, out of some old legend that - comes and slays the dragon and sets the frightened princess free from all - her trouble. (<i>Laughing.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Goes to table r. Clara r.c. at top of table.</i>) When - art thee going to gie me the right to be thy knight always? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b>.(<i>Sits at table playfully.</i>) Ah, the gallant knights - are apt to turn into grim jailers—(<i>comes l. of r. table</i>)—when - they get the princess into their own castles. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Can’t thee believe me, Clara? Trust me, lass—I’m only - a rough country chap to be asking a beautiful lady like thee to be my - wife. But if I can’t gie thee anything very showy on the outside, it will - make me the more eager alius to keep a loving heart for thee within. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Oh, no. (<i>Sits in chair l. of table.</i>) A lover on his - knees is so much nicer than a lover on your arm. You are so nice, Allen, - as you are, you can’t think. I really couldn’t bring myself to risk a - change. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>c.</i>) It would be a change for thee, Clara—(<i>leans - on table at back of Clara, puts hand on Clara’s chair</i>)—from a - rough and troubled road to one where every stone wur smoothed away from - your path—-where every thorn wur held back as you passed—where, - instead of care for the day and dread for the morrow, thee would feel that - a strong arm wur round thee—that a loving hand wur working out thy - life for thee. Cannot thee risk the change, Clara? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Rises, Allen takes her right hand, turns away R.</i>) - Ah, I suppose there are such lives for some women. It must be very good - when you are tired. (<i>Facing round to L.c.</i>) And you, Allen—women - do not always seem so charming after marriage as they did before. It might - be a risk for you. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> To have the sweetest, noblest woman in the world to be my - wife? I’ll risk that. (<i>Laughs, comes c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Turning away again to R., Allen l.c.</i>) Ah, you boys, - you think all women are angels. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> So they are—a good woman is an angel. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>At Are, facing round and looking at him.</i>) How do you - know I am good? (<i>Very low and serious. Allen drops down c. A pause. He - looks in surprise and inquiry at her, not knowing what to answer.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Hadn’t you better make sure, Allen? (<i>Laughing.</i>) What - do you know of my past—of even my present—of whence I came—what - I am? (<i>Laughs.</i>) Suppose, Allen, suppose I were only an adventuress. - (<i>Takes a step.</i>) A woman with the blood of sharpers and thieves in - her veins—whose nursery was the gambling house—whose school - was the Café and the Boulevards—a woman who earned her daily bread - by shamelessness and cunning—a woman whose past would ever follow - like a shadow the footsteps of her life—whose future must ever be a - darker shadow still. Ah, Allen, take care. Cupid ties a bandage over men’s - eyes. Hymen, when it is too late, plucks it off. Hadn’t you better lift a - corner off the handkerchief, Allen, while we are yet upon the step - without, lest beside your hearth, when the door has shut us in, you cast - it loose, to find I am a stain upon your name—a shadow in your home—a - blight upon your life? (<i>Laughing.</i>) Allen, take care—take - care. (<i>Crosses to l. Allen moves up a trifle.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Recovering from the bewilderment with which he has heard - her.</i>) Ah, it’s well for thee that it is thee, and not anyone else that - talks like this about ’ee. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Ah, but Allen, try and find out a little more about me; it’s - just a whim of mine—I want to feel sure that you know me—just - to please me. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> If I couldn’t trust thee—(<i>takes her hand</i>)—lass, - I shouldn’t love thee. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Crosses to R.c. Allen follows.</i>) Ah, you are a dear - good fellow, Allen, and I won’t tease you any more. And you will join the - company, won’t you? And then you shall get me that dear little diamond - bracelet that we looked at—do you remember it?—and you shall - put it on yourself. (<i>Allen by her side r. All this is said with every - trick of fascination at her command, and now she playfully holds up her - arm, from which the loose sleeve falls back, close to his face.</i>) On - that. (<i>He drops on his knees and kisses her arm</i>). - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Deb. c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Snatches her arm away.</i>) Deborah! (<i>Allen rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Turning and seeing her, goes to fireplace R.</i>) Hullo, - thee’s back soon. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Yes, aunt met Mrs. Clouter just outside, so I pleaded a - headache and left them. (<i>Throwing off bonnet and shawl on chair and - coming down.</i>) Don’t you think Col. Dexter would like a game of - billiards, Allen? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> No, he’s all right—he’s smoking. (<i>Crosses l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Oh, I’m sure he’d like a game (<i>Clara motions Allen away</i>), - and I want to have a chat with Miss Dexter. We shan’t see each other after - this morning for goodness knows how long. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Moving away l.</i>) Ah, I understand now. (<i>Goes up - stage l.</i>) I’ll go, and you can tell each other about your new frocks. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Allen l., Clara goes c., Deb. l.c. and Clara look at each other.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) I came back to see you, Miss Dexter, - before you left. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Coldly.</i>) It was very good of you. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> I want to know whether you are playing the fool with Allen, or - whether you mean to marry him. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> I have heard of that sort of question being put to a - gentleman under certain circumstances. (<i>Crosses to L.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> It is put to the person who is supposed to be acting - dishonorably—I put it to you. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> I am afraid I have been mixing things up. I was under the - impression that it was the stout lady, your aunt, that was Mr. Rollitt’s - mother. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> You are very smart, Miss Dexter, and I am not, but this is no - game—it is earnest. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Then I would suggest to you that your cousin is quite - capable of taking care of himself. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Yes, against a man; but not against the woman he loves and - trusts. It is his love that enables you to deceive him. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Crossing to R.—sits on chair near table r.</i>) - You seem to have made up your mind, my dear child, that I am deceiving - him. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>l.c.</i>) I know that he has asked you to become his wife, - and I know that although you have let him think it is all right, you have - never given him a real answer. I know that you accept his attentions, his - invitations, his presents. (<i>Noticing the book and notes on the table, - points to them.</i>) And all the while you are having whispered interviews - and secret meetings with another man. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Coolly counting notes.</i>) If you are thinking of the - conversation you were trying to listen to just now— - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> That is only the latest of many such I have noticed. They - began three months ago, down in Devonshire. I come to London and find the - same thing going on. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Sneering.</i>)’ You really ought to have been a - detective, the force might have been some use then. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> I’m not blind. (<i>Goes c.</i>) Allen is. But that is not all. - These things might be explained by themselves—suspicious though they - are—but just now, going downstairs, I picked up a purse. (<i>Pausing - and looking at Clara, who, however, makes no sign.</i>) It is your purse. - (<i>Throws it into Clara’s lap.</i>) I opened it to see whom it belonged - to—and inside it is a wedding ring. Is your name Dexter or - Cranbourne? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Rising.</i>) I really must decline to answer any - questions of yours. You are so exceedingly rude. (<i>Crosses up behind - table R.c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> You need not answer me. Answer Allen. Tell him that you will - be his wife—or that you cannot. (<i>Clara takes no notice.</i>) Do - you refuse? (<i>Crossing l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> I refuse to be dictated to. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Then I shall communicate my suspicions to Allen. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Turning fiercely.</i>) Do so. Tell him—(<i>walks - round table to back of Deb. c.</i>)—that you believe that I am the - wife of another man, and am playing a shameful part with him merely to - sponge on him. That I am fondling him with the one hand only the better to - pick his pocket with the other. Tell him that you believe he is surrounded - by a gang of adventurers and thieves, of which I am the willing decoy. - Tell him your suspicions, and I will tell him that they are the poisonous - concoctions of a jealous woman—of a woman who loves him herself—(<i>laughs</i>)—and - seeks to win him from her more favored rival, by lies and trickery. (<i>Goes - dozen r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Quietly.</i>) You shall answer him for all that, or he - shall know the reason why you dare not. (<i>Crosses L., and calls.</i>) - Allen! Allen! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Allen l. up stage</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>l. c.</i>) Allen, is Miss Dexter engaged to be married to - you or not? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Well. (<i>Laughs.</i>) Blest if I could tell ‘ee - that, Deb. That be the very thing I ha’ been trying to find out myself. - Bain’t it, Clara? Only her be such a tease. (<i>All said laughingly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Sharply.</i>) You mean you have never been able to get a - plain answer, yes or no? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Gently, lass. Thee be mistaking this for some business of - thine. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Allen, we’ve been like brother and sister all our lives, and - your happiness is my happiness. I have my reasons—very strong - reasons—for asking you to ask Miss Dexter now, before me, whether - she will be your wife. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I can’t say I thank thee, Deb, for interfering in a matter - that don’t concern thee. (<i>To Clara, crossing to her.</i>) I hope, - Clara, you don’t think as I have any hand in this, but as things stand - now, it will perhaps be best (<i>advancing</i>) if I do ask thee. Will - thee be my wife? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Crosses down. Very quietly and deliberately.</i>) Yes! (<i>Stepping - forward and, putting her hand in Allen’s, c. A pause. She then, glancing - first at Deb., draws Allen slowly to her, and they kiss. They cross r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I think now, Deb, that Miss Dexter has a right to know thy - “reasons.” - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> They were mistaken ones, Allen. Please forgive me, both of - you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Deb. l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Bewildered—looks after Deb.</i>) What does it all - mean? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> I will tell you some time. Never mind now. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, well, us oughtn’t to be angry with her, anyhow, for what - her’s done. (<i>Takes Clara’s hand in his.</i>) Ought us? (<i>Draws her to - him and kisses her forehead</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Disengaging herself gently.</i>) I am going to tell - papa. I am so happy. (<i>Crosses l., looking back to him laughingly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Clara l. up stage</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>c. after a pause.</i>) Everything I want in the whole - wide world, and three months ago—(<i>Breaks off and pauses his hand - over his eyes.</i>) I wonder if I shall wake up in a minute in the old - farm and find that the £200,000 and Clara have only been dreams. (<i>Rousing - himself.</i>) Ah, no, it be real enough. (<i>Looks round.</i>) Ah, they - call Fortune a fickle jade, but her’s been a firm friend to me. I’ll drink - thee a bumper, Fortune lass. (<i>Turns to table r., On which are wine and - glasses, and pours out a glassful.</i>) I don’t know how much a bumper is, - but I expects it’s about a glassful, and thee shall ha’ it. (<i>Takes - glass in his right hand, and raises it.</i>) Here’s thy jolly good health, - my lass. To Lady Fortune! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Peters c. upper door, with card on salver.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Lowers glass untouched.</i>) What’s the matter? - </p> - <p> - <b>PETERS.</b> (<i>Coming forward and presenting salver.</i>) A gentleman - to see you, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Takes card, but does not look at it.</i>) He’ll have to - be quick about it then. Send un up. (<i>Footman seems to hesitate. - Sharply.</i>) Send un up. Send un up. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Peters c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Another of my swell friends, I suppose; they seem to be swarming this—(<i>r. - c. glances at card, his hand holding the glass sinks lower and lower, he - gazes round bewilderingly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Richard Hanningford c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Reads card in amazed tone.</i>) Richard Hanningford, I saw him lying - dead before my own eyes three months ago! Hann. (<i>At door, raising hat.</i>) - I beg your pardon! (<i>The glass in Allen’s hand overturns</i>). - </p> - <h3> - MEDIUM CURTAIN. - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT III. - </h2> - <p> - Scene I. The library at Allen’s Chambers. Fire l. Doors r.and c. Table - L.c. Big easy chair l. by fire. Peters discovered l. c. arranging and - cutting papers on table and whistling. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Piffin r. Music to open.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Have you seen my cub about? - </p> - <p> - <b>PETERS.</b> (<i>Without looking up.</i>) No, Foxey, I ain’t. Didn’t - know as you had had one. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>c.</i>) You know who I mean—your master. Peters. (<i>Going - to door c.</i>) Not far off from where yours is I suppose. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Peters c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Um! The master has been getting impertinent to me of late, so - the servants seem to be following suit. (<i>Shrugging his shoulders.</i>) - I shall throw this job up when I’ve made another hundred or two. I wonder - how much longer he’s going to keep me waiting. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Piff. c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Allen r. creeping in cautiously in a mysterious and watchful - manner. He has a huge pewter pot in one hand and a large church-warden - clay pipe alight in the other. He looks round stealthily, listens, then - crosses nervously and sits l. in easy chair. He stretches himself out as - luxuriously as his tight clothes will allow—especially the collar. - Takes a long pull at the pot and long puffs at the pipe. In the middle of - each pull, grunts “good” in evident enjoyment.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Chuckling in a deep undertone. Crosses to c. and sits.</i>) - Ah-h-h, I’ve done un this time. He’s waiting upstairs to curl my hair. (<i>Chuckling - again.</i>) Told un I’d come up when (<i>grandly</i>) I’d finished - conducting my correspondence. (<i>Chuckles, pulls at pipe, and takes a - deep draught.</i>) First time I’ve ever enjoyed myself since I came into - my property. (<i>Breaks out into some country ale-house sort of song, - sings, warming as he goes on with great gusto.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Piffin c., unseen by Allen. Piff. comes down and stands c. - looking on. Allen finishes song and then buries his face in the pot. As - his eyes emerge over the brim he catches sight of Piff. He remains looking - at him for a while and then slowly puts the pot on the table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> What do thee want? Didn’t I tell ’ee I wur going to - conduct my correspondence, and that I didn’t want to be disturbed? - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Goes up table.</i>) I beg pardon, sir, but I thought - maybe you had completed your correspondence, especially as there was only - one letter this morning, and that was a circular about coals. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Oh, did you. Well, I ain’t you see. I’m going to write a lot - of original correspondence this morning, and I’m collecting my thoughts. (<i>Goes - on smoking sulkily.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Yes, sir—certainly, sir—but might I be allowed to - suggest, sir, that a pot of ale and a clay pipe are hardly the <i>dolce - far niente</i> of a <i>grand seigneur</i>. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Hardly the what of my which? Look here, don’t you be so spry - at calling me them jaw-breaking foreign names, because I don’t like it. It - wur only yesterday you alluded to me as a <i>bo-mo</i>, and last week you - said I ought to be in the <i>hot tongs</i>. I didn’t say anything at the - time, but you drop it. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> I referred to you as belonging to the <i>beau monde</i>, sir, - and I may have said your position was now among the <i>haut ton</i>. We - always talk like that in good society, sir. Both expressions were - flattering, very flattering. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, maybe they wur and maybe they wurn’t. Next time, you - call it me in English, and then I can judge for myself. And don’t worrit - me to-day at all. I’ve got a trying morning before me, and I’m going to - have a little quiet enjoyment to set myself up before it begins. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Might I suggest, then, sir, that a cigarette and a little - absinthe would be more <i>de rigueur?</i> My late lamented master the - Count de Fizziani invariably took a little absinthe after breakfast and - found great benefit from it. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes, I know. I tried your friend’s cough mixture before, you - know. Old ale’s good enough for me. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> But, sir— - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Don’t you worrit. I’ve been a gentleman for a month; I think - I might have a morning off. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> Very well, sir. Just as you please, of course, sir; but I’ve - my character to consider, sir—and—and—I am not - accustomed to the service of gentlemen with pothouse proclivities. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Sotto voce.</i>) Oh, go and hang yourself. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Up c.</i>) That’s never done now, sir, in good society. - My late lamented master, the Count de Fizziani— - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Springing up, working Piff. round, from table l. to desk - r.</i>) Oh, you go to your late lamented master, the fizzing Count, and - tell him to—I have had eno’ of him and I’ve had eno’ of you. Blest - if I’ve had a happy moment since you came into the house. You’ve dressed - me up like a tailor’s dummy, and curled my hair like a Sunday school kid; - you’ve made me talk like a man in a play, and walk like a monkey on - stilts. Thee’ve chivied me about from morning till night, and thee’ve - rammed that old lamented corpse of yours down my throat every two minutes - of the day. I’ve put up wi’ it all for a long while because I thought thee - meant well, and wur a-trying to make me into a gentleman, but blest if I - think thee knows much more about the genuine article than I does, and I’m - going to go it in my own way now. Look here. (<i>Takes off his tie and - collar and throws them down and jumps on them, pulls off his coat and - throws it in a corner, nifties his hair, unbuttons and throws back his - waistcoat, kicks off his boots, and throws himself into easy chair, sticks - his feet on table, takes long pull from the pot, slams it on table> again, - and commences to smoke his pipe vigorously, looking defiantly at Piff.</i>) - That’s the sort o’ man I’m going to be now. (<i>Sits l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Who has stood aghast, moving off.</i>) Very well, sir; - then I have only to say that I wash my hands of you entirely. (<i>Pause.</i>) - You can’t make a gentleman out of a pig’s ear. (<i>Sneeringly</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Puffing quietly at pipe.</i>) No, it ain’t the usual - method. - </p> - <p> - <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>By door c. muttering to himself, but meant to be heard by - Allen.</i>) Only what I might have expected from mixing myself up with - such canaille. (<i>Pauses. Allen takes no notice.</i>) Pray understand, - sir, I give you a week’s warning on the spot. My late master, the— - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Springing up and throwing book at him. Piff. exits r.</i>) - Yes. (<i>Piff. again appears hurriedly at door r. and cries, “Upstart - bumpkin,” and exit quickly.</i>) I’ll give ’ee my toe on the spot - if I hear any more of—(<i>reseats himself, with a grunt of disgust; - a pause, during which he smokes.</i>) He is right, I wurn’t meant for a - gentleman after all. Some of us was built for gaiters, and some on us for - patent leather shoes, and I be one of the gaiter sort—all my tastes - are low. I doan’t like claret and I doan’t like cigarettes. I’m - uncomfortable in a collar (<i>picking his up and fixing it</i>) and I - prefer shove-ha’penny to billiards. (<i>Sighs, continues dreamily.</i>) - Ah, I’d gie a trifle to be going to spend this evening at the Dunkery Arms - a-halping to sing a chorus with old Joe Steddles and young Jem Whalley and - Jack Clouter. Ah, he’d got a fine voice, had old Jack Clouter. Never heard - a man sing so loud in all my life. Lord, I shall never forget her’s doing - “Rock me to sleep, mother,” round at the lodge, and a waking up mother - Hammond’s three kids just as her’d got un all off to sleep. Lord, how her - let us have it. (<i>Laughing.</i>) Ah, us went home early that night. (<i>Chuckling.</i>) - They comed back wi’ me, old Jack and Jim, and Deb made us a veal pasty for - supper. (<i>Smiling.</i>) Ah, her do make good— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Peters, followed by Purtwee, door c., says, “Mr. Purtwee,” takes - P.‘s hat and exit. Allen rises and commences to pick up his various - articles of apparel and re fix them while talking to Purt.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> (<i>Coming forward.</i>) Well, my boy. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, it does me good to see thee again. - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> How are you? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Shakes hands.</i>) Oh, I be all right outside. (<i>Rises, - crosses to L.</i>) Bean’t very spry inside, so I tell ’ee. (<i>Explanatory - of his dressing arrangements.</i>) Just been having a quiet smoke, you - know. - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> (<i>With a smile.</i>) And do you always undress to smoke? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) No—but I has to now when I want to - sit down comfortable. (<i>Continues to dress—brings wine down to - table.</i>) Have a glass of wine. I’m glad thee’ve come, I wur afraid from - thy letter that thee wouldn’t. - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> (<i>Sits in arm-chair l.</i>) Well, it’s a very informal - proceeding I’m bound to say—not at all professional. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Perhaps not, but it’s simple and straightforward like and - maybe that’s as good. Have ’ee read the papers I sent thee? - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> Yes—most carefully—and they certainly make the - story appear very plausible—very plausible, indeed. Have you said - anything to your mother? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> No—no, I thought I wouldn’t say a word to anybody - until I was sure one way or t’other. (<i>Sits L.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> Quite right—quite right. What sort of a man was he? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Blest if I could tell ’ee—I wur that taken - aback I couldn’t tell ’ee what it wur, but thee’ll see him for - theeself in a minute. I told Father Christmas to send him straight up when - he comes. - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> (<i>Looking at his watch.</i>) Well, if he’s an impostor, - he’ll hardly venture to come to a meeting of this kind. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Peters announcing Richard Hanningford, door at back.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PET.</b> Mr. Richard Hanningford. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Peters.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> Morning, gentlemen. (<i>Allen goes r.c. Hann. goes c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Good-morning. (<i>Motioning to Purt., who is l.</i>) Mr. - Purtwee, the gentleman I spoke of. - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> Good-morning, (<i>c. and then coming r.sits L.c.</i>) Guess - I’m not a particularly welcome visitor here. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r.</i>) Well, I owns as I’ve come across folks as I’ve - felt more at home wi’. (<i>Allen sits R.</i>) But I suppose we’ve got to - get used to ’ee. - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> Well now, gentlemen, we’ve come for business and must not - waste time. Mr. Rollitt has told you who I am, and if you are Richard - Hanningford I shall be only too anxious for you to have your rights. But - then, my dear sir, I shall want to be very sure that you are Richard - Hanningford. - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> That’s right and square. I’ve got to prove it, I know, and I - don’t say that it will be an easy job. - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> At present you see we have nothing but your bare word for it. - You say this man who called himself Richard Hanningford and who died at - Mrs. Rollitt’s was an impostor. - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> And a damned scoundrel. - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> Quite so, if he were not Richard Hanningford, he must have - been. But then if he were Richard Hanningford— - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> Why then, I am the damned scoundrel. - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> Well—I wasn’t going to say that—but one of you - must be the right Hanningford—and the other the wrong one—and - if we made a mistake three months ago we don’t want to make another now. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r.</i>) You see it ain’t so much the money I care about. - There was a time that I thought it would be a grand thing to be rich, but - now I’ve tried it, danged if I see so much fun in it as I thought there - wur. (<i>Rises.</i>) It ain’t only that: it’s the girl I love—if I - lose the money, I loses her. I can’t expect her to have me wi’out it. - She’s a lady—I’m only a country bumpkin and I know it. With this - money I can win her and make her life happy—even if she doesn’t much - care for me. If I were sure you were Dick Hanningford, I’d gie it up. But - I ain’t sure and I’m going to fight—that’s plain. (<i>Turns and - crosses r. Sits R.c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> (<i>Coes to Allen r.c.</i>) Plain and sensible, and I don’t - like you any the less for it; but I am Dick Hanningford, and the money’s - mine, and I’m going to have a good fight to get it. (<i>Coes l. puts foot - on chair.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) You say this man who tried to—and, - as he thought, did—murder you—had been a friend of yours. - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> (<i>Fiercely—takes foot off chair.</i>) He’d been my - chum for over two years—the cur—and knew everything about me—I - saved his life when the gang were going to hang him—he shared my - diggings when we were in the mining lay, and he had half my blanket every - night when we were with the cattle. And I trusted him—the skunk. - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> What was his name? - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> Cassidy—Dan Cassidy. (<i>Sits again.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> And then he murdered you—or tried to as you say—took - your papers from you, and came over here to impersonate you? - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> I suppose so. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> He was uncommonly like you, too. - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> Like me! Not at all! - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> Oh, yes, my dear sir, I never saw him alive, but his features - were yours one for one. - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> Dan Cassidy was no more like me than I’m like a colored angel - out of a picture book. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Purt. and Allen exchange glances.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Well, all I know is, that if the man who called himself - Richard Hanningford, and who fell down dead in my mother’s kitchen three - months ago was standing beside you now, nobody would know which wur you - and which wur him. . - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> (<i>Rising.</i>) I don’t know that man! (<i>All rise and look - at one another.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Peters c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> (<i>Pause.</i>) Then what has become of Dan Cassidy? - </p> - <p> - <b>PETERS.</b> Mr. Luke Cranbourne is downstairs, sir, and would like to - see you. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Oh, bother Luke Cranbourne—tell him I’m out. - </p> - <p> - <b>PETERS.</b> Yes, sir. (<i>Going. As he is by door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Stop! (<i>Peters turns.</i>) Ask Mr. Cranbourne to come back - in a quarter of an hour. (<i>Looks at watch.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PETERS.</b> Yes, sir. (<i>Exit c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> What sort of a man was Dan Cassidy? - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> A pale, dark-eyed man with a long black beard. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Would you know him again without the black beard, and under - another name? - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> (<i>Fiercely.</i>) Know him! Will you bring me face to face - with him? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Maybe I will. - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> (<i>c.</i>) See here! I’ve lived among a set that like to - wipe off a score, no matter what the price. You put that man into my hands - so that justice may be done on him, and we share the old man’s money - between us. (<i>Crosses R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Is that a bargain? - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> You don’t suspect—(<i>goes to r.of l. table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Crosses to Purt. Hann. goes R.</i>) Yes I do. He’s been - no friend of mine. Is it a bargain? - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> Yes. Without Dan Cassidy my case might be hard to prove. With - him it would be easy. £100,000 and my revenge are good enough for me. You - give me that. (<i>Goes to extreme R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Dexter from door c. He draws back on seeing strangers, and - stands r.c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> Beg pardon, my dear boy. Found the door open (<i>Allen goes up - c. to Dex.</i>) and took the liberty of an old friend to walk in. Thought - I should find you alone. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Crosses up c.</i>) Shall be in a minute, Colonel, if you - will excuse me. (<i>Draws the two men together near fireplace, Allen - nearest, Purt. next, Hann. r.</i>) Can thee play billiards? - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> I can, but I don’t crave for them at this particular moment. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> You’ll just have time to play fifty up afore the man as I - takes to be Dan Cassidy is here. - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> How will you let us know? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Looks round thinking, then catches sight of glasses on - table l.; takes one up and holds it over hearth.</i>) Keep thee, ears - open, and when thee hears this glass fall and break, open the door and - come in. (<i>All go up c. speaking low.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Purt. and Hann. Dex. goes L.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Returning c.</i>) Well, Colonel Dexter, what do thee - want? Glad to see thee, thee know. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>l.c.</i>) Nothing, dear boy—nothing for myself. I - have only brought a letter from my little girl, and am to take back an - answer. (<i>Produces letter and hands to Allen.</i>) I’m only Cupid to you - young folks. Ha! Hat Only Cupid. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, they usen’t to wrap ’em up so much when I wur - young. (<i>Crosses R., opens and reads letter.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Who is very much wrapped and buttoned up, laughs with much - ostentation.</i>) Ha! Ha! Very good, very good. We really must bring you - out more, Allen. Ha! Ha! Ha! - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Who has sat r.in front of desk, reading.</i>) “My - darling Popsy-wopsy.” (<i>Looks up puzzled and round at Dex. Aside.</i>) - That ain’t Clara’s usual style. (<i>Reads.</i>) “I am so terribly sorry to - worry my own darling boy, but I am in such fearful trouble—I want - £100 to pay some debts owing to a wicked man having cheated us. Would my - own darling lend it to his broken-hearted little blossom, and don’t say - anything to me afterwards until I pay you back, as I shall be so ashamed - of it. I send papa with this. He knows nothing about it, so please don’t - tell him—he is so proud.—(<i>Allen looks at Dex., who turns - away and tries to assume airy unconsciousness</i>)—and would be so - angry with me, but you are the only friend I have. Oh, my darling, do let - me have the money or I shall go mad. A million, million kisses to my own - sweet, precious lubby-dubby from his ever loving little birdie, Clara.” (<i>Dex. - sits c.</i>) “P. S.—Please don’t cross the cheque.” - </p> - <p> - (<i>Takes cheque-book from desk and begins to write.</i>) Was Clara ill - when she wrote this? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Who is sitting at table L.c. having wine.</i>) No, my dear - boy—oh, no. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Oh, because the writing seems a bit shaky like, and the - letter so funny—thought maybe she wur a bit queer. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Confused.</i>) Oh—ah—yes. She was a little - queer—very shaky indeed—and she seemed very much worried, too, - she wouldn’t tell me what about. She tries to keep all her trouble away - from her old father, dear child. (<i>Enter Clara unseen by either.</i>) - Ah, I know how anxiously she’s waiting for me now. “Come back soon, dear, - dear papa,” she said—“and bring it with you.” (<i>Crying r.c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Allen having put the cheque in an envelope rises and crosses and holds - it to Dex. Clara steps forward and takes it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Thank you! (<i>c. of the two men.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Miss Dexter! - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> Clara! - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> This letter is addressed to me, I believe. (<i>Opens it and - takes out cheque, which she returns to Allen.</i>) It’s very kind of you, - Mr. Rollitt, but I do not require it. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r.</i>) Didn’t thee write for it? (<i>Showing letter to - her.</i>) Isn’t this thy letter? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Looking at it.</i>) It is the first time I have seen it. - It has the appearance of having been written by someone who was drunk over - night—possibly my father—imitating other people’s handwriting - is one of the few things at which he has attained eminence. (<i>Looks at - Dex.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> Clara, my dear! - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> And perhaps it will be better, Mr. Rollitt, for me to take - this opportunity of ending our relationship by telling you that I am - already married. (<i>Crosses l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Starts hack.</i>) Married! - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>c. frantic and jumping about and screaming and hissing the - words out.</i>) She ain’t. It’s a lie. Don’t believe her. She ain’t. She - ain’t. (<i>Goes c. Clara to l.</i>) It’s only a trick to try your love. - Ah, you hussy! It’s all been planned. This is all part of it. She ain’t - married. We planned it to test your love for her. Ah, you beast! I’ll - strangle you. I’ll murder you. She’s only trying it on to see what you - say. It’s a trick. Don’t believe her. Don’t believe her. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> And have been for the last three years. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>As before.</i>) No, she ain’t been, Mr. Rollitt. It’s a - lie—it’s a lie. It’s a lie. She says it to spite her old father. Ah - you devil, you— - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Silence! - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Cowed, but continuing in nervous undertone.</i>) She’s not - married. I’m her father. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Pointing to door c.</i>) And leave the room—afore - I forget thee art an old man. (<i>Turns him r.Backs Dex. up to c. door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Slinks out muttering.</i>) She ain’t married! It’s a lie. - It’s a lie. (<i>Repeats</i>.) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Dex. c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Turning to Clara.</i>) What does it all mean? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Defiantly.</i>) That I’ve been playing with you only for - the sake of sponging on you. And to get money out of you for my father and - husband—I haven’t had much myself—and that at last I’m grown - tired of it. (<i>Crosses R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>l.c. after a pause.</i>) Thee might have had all the - money thee wanted, lass, wi’out deceiving me. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Falling on her knees before him.</i>) Forgive me, Allen, - you don’t know what my life has been. Dragged up among thieves and - sharpers, taught to trick and lie before I could speak plainly, I have - never know what truth and honor meant except as a dim longing. All the - humanity—all the womanhood—has been dried out of me till I am - only the thing you see me—a vulture—a human beast of prey. Ah, - Allen, thank God for your sake that I am married and that you have escaped - me—forget me—it is the only thing you can do. You can never - hate me as I loathe myself—you can never despise me as I shudder at - my own life. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Puts his hand to his own forehead </i>) Poor lass! Poor - lass! - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Takes’ Allen’s hand, left.</i>) You are the only man - that has been good to me, and I have brought you only pain and shame. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Raising her.</i>) Ah, never mind that, lass. Thee didn’t - mean to do it. Come! I be more sorry for thee than for myself. I could see - what sort of life thee had got around thee, and I wanted to take thee away - from it all. I can do so little for thee now. (<i>Both at cabinet, Allen - r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> You have taught me, Allen, that there are good men in the - world; forgive me for having taught you that there are bad women. (<i>Clara - crosses in front of Allen to r.door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Not bad, Clara. I guess thee’s been more sinned against than - sinning. Thy life has been very dark and thee’s stumbled here and there. - God grant that it may grow brighter for thee one day. - </p> - <p> - Clara, (<i>l.</i>) Ah, Allen, don’t keep speaking kindly to me. Don’t - think kindly of me. Despise me—I can bear that—I am used to - it. (<i>Sits at cabinet.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r.c. next to Clara.</i>) No, lass, I can’t do that. I - shall alius think kindly of thee. I’ve loved thee too well to change now—because - I knows thy lot’s harder than I thought it wur. - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Turns and looks at Allen.</i>) Try not to think of me at - all, Allen—I am not worth it—forget me. There is one who loves - you better than I could ever do, and who is good and pure. (<i>Rises.</i>) - You men never see the love that is under your feet—you reach only - for what is beyond you. Go back to her, Allen. She will make you a better - wife than I could ever have done. (<i>Allen at back of Clara up stage R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) Who—who is this man—your - husband? - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Luke Cranbourne! (<i>She does not look at Allen.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Luke Cranbourne! (<i>Looks nervously at door c. and then at - clock—then crosses to door and stands near it. He assumes to do this - naturally and not to let Clara notice his anxiety.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> We were married secretly before he left for America. Not - even my father knew it until a day or two ago. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> And do you care for him? (<i>Allen at door c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> With such love as a woman can feel without respect. He was - the first that I can remember ever speaking a kind word to me. He is the - only human being I have to cling to—and he is good to me in his way. - (<i>Looks up at Allen.</i>) I don’t expect we shall ever see each other - again. For your sake, I wish we had never met—for myself, my life - will always seem a bit brighter for the love that an honest man once had - for me. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Taking her hand in his.</i>) Good-bye—if ever thee - wants a friend, Allen Rollitt, Woodbarrow Farm, Exmoor, will find him. (<i>Kissing - her on the forehead.</i>) God bless thee, Clara! - </p> - <p> - <b>CLARA.</b> Good-bye! (<i>She goes without a word r.After a few seconds - enter Luke c. announced by Pet.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Coming down.</i>) How de do, dear boy? (<i>Shaking hands. - Allen does so listlessly and almost unconsciously.</i>) I wanted to see - you particularly this morning, before I went to the city. I’ve come across - something that will just double your fortune. Here. (<i>Laying papers on - table l. and taking up and pouring out a glass of wine.</i>) You do have - such capital wine, Rollitt, I really must help myself to a glass. It is a - splendid scheme. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r.c.</i>) Very like, but we won’t discuss it now. (<i>Taking - notes from his pocket-book.</i>) I want thee to leave by the noon train - for the Continent. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Turns round, face to audience, glass in left hand.</i>) - What’s up? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Crosses l. c., hands him the notes.</i>) Thy wife can - join thee there afterwards. (<i>Luke starts and looks hard at Allen.</i>) - And thee can get away to Australia, or somewhere in that direction. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Defiantly.</i>) And why, pray? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Because there is a man in the next room who be more anxious - to see thee than thee may be to see him. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> What man? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Richard Hanningford. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Luke lets fall the glass.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Good God! Thee’ve given the signal to call him in! Quick! (<i>Luke - rushes in terror to door at back.</i>) Not that way. (<i>Luke bewildered - and helpless with fright, turns wildly about like a hunted thing not - knowing which way to fly. Is about to make for other door, when handle of - door at back is heard to move.</i>) Too late—keep where thee art. - </p> - <p> - <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Clinging to Allen’s arm.</i>) Save me! (<i>Allen thrusts - him behind door at c. as it opens and enter Hann. and Purt. following. - Allen goes r. Hann. comes down and stands c. Purt. remains near door and - is about to close it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Who has moved down to r.c., nervously, with effort to - appear calm and careless.</i>) Leave the door, Mr. Purtwee, leave the - door. - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> Wide open? (<i>Surprised.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes, yes, it’s fearfully hot in here! (<i>Wiping his brow.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> (<i>Looking at him suspiciously.</i>) I don’t find it so. I - think we’ll have it shut over this job. (<i>Turns to door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Eagerly.</i>) No, no! Don’t shut it—don’t shut it. - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> Why not? (<i>Looks hard at Allen.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Why—why—don’t I tell you. It’s so close—so— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Hann. crosses, goes to door c. and locks it, then returns, eyeing - Allen sternly. Luke has crept behind the curtain, which hangs like a - pillar by the side of the door. Allen watches with intense suspense.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> (<i>c.</i>) Well—you gave the signal! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Allen r.c. a little to front of Hann. He keeps in front of Hann. all - through the scene until Luke has got away and prevents his turning round—he - is very excited but tries to appear careless—the result being a - slightly hysterical manner. When Luke comes from behind the curtain and - while he is crossing Allen catches Hann. by the lapels of his coat and - holds and works him round so that his back is to Luke. He grows more and - more eager and intense until Luke is off, when he gradually subsides into - a quieter manner, but not too suddenly. At Hann’s hint that he has had too - much brandy, he catches at the idea to cover his excitement, to account - for his conduct.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes, my dear fellow—but—but—I wur going to - explain to thee—it wurn’t the signal—it wur an accident. I - dropped the glass by accident. Thee see I had just had a glass of brandy. - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> More than one glass, cousin? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughs loudly.</i>) Ha! ha! Perhaps it wur two. (<i>First - movement of Luke.</i>) (<i>At this point Luke creeps from behind curtain, - Purt. sees him and is about to make an exclamation, when Allen, covering - his action by assumed drunkenness, lunges half round and catches Purt. on - his shoulder, clutching it tightly with his left hand while holding Hann. - with his right—laughing boisterously all the time. Purt. understands - and remains silent. Allen grows more and more excited. Laughs.</i>) Well, - now, look’ee here. - </p> - <p> - Hanningford. Cousin Dick—my long lost—(<i>laughs as before and - slaps him on the shoulder. Hann. impatient half turns round—Allen - seises his coat with both hands and keeps him round.</i>) No—no—look - thee here, Cousin Dick. Now you say this Cassidy, this creeping, crawling, - lying cur, Dan Cassidy, tried to murder thee—(<i>Hann. again seems - as though he would turn round</i>)—and these papers—these - papers that you sent me. Well, I sent ’em on to Purtwee. Ah, he’s a - sharp one. (<i>Door clicks after Luke’s exit.</i>) Purtwee, he’ll know - who’s who. He’ll put us right. Won’t ’ee, Purtwee, old friend? - Won’t ’ee—won’t ’ee? - </p> - <p> - (<i>He slaps Purt. on back, laughing boisterously and half staggering - forward into Purt.‘s arms. Luke has got away by door r., and from now - Allen’s excitement gradually subsides, and an air of exhaustion follows. - Sits l.c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> (<i>c.</i>) Say! Are you drunk or playing the fool? Where’s - this man Cassidy? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Pause.</i>) I don’t know. - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> Isn’t he coming here? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> No! - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> (<i>Angrily.</i>) Didn’t you lead me to believe— - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> That you should be brought face to face wi’ him? Yes—but - I’ve changed my mind since then. - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) I understand: it was only a trick to - give you time to get him out of the way. You thought that without him I - should not be able to prove my case. I thought I was dealing with an - honest man and a friend, and I offered to share the money with you. (<i>With - tierce anger.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Fiercely, rising.</i>) And I tell you to take the whole - of it! (<i>A pause—Hann. steps back and stares at him.</i>) I have - learnt enough within the last few minutes to believe that you are the man - you say you are, and if so, take it all. You offered me £100,000 to give - thee Dan Cassidy, I offer thee £200,000 to let him go his way in peace. (<i>Pause.</i>) - Come, you may find it hard to prove thee art Hanningford afore the law. - Prove it to me and Mr. Purtwee, and give me thy hand on it that thee’ll - never seek to find Dan Cassidy or harm him, and thee art old Hanningford’s - heir, and I, Allen Rollitt, farmer and yeoman. - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) Your secrets are your own, cousin. - I’d dearly have loved to have my revenge upon the hound, but if Dan - Cassidy is worth £100,000 to you, you can have him—I shouldn’t have - thought he was. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> He goes free, so far as you are concerned, for ever? - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> For ever. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Right, Dick Hanningford! (<i>They grasp hands.</i>) And now - we’ll say good-bye for to-day if you don’t mind. Mr. Purtwee will see thee - to-morrow, and arrange things. I’d like to be quiet a bit just now. - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> You’ve had a rough morning, cousin, and I guess the kindest - thing I can do is to take myself off. Good-bye. (<i>Shakes hands.</i>) - Good-bye, Mr. Purtwee. - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> Good-bye, Mr. Hanningford; I will write to you to-morrow. - </p> - <p> - <b>HANN.</b> (<i>Goes to door c.</i>) No hurry. Good-bye. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> Well, I can’t understand you, my boy. It’s really a very - Quixotic thing to do. Why shouldn’t the man suffer for his crime? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Because he can’t suffer without bringing - suffering to them as I’d rather spare—because he’s the husband of - the woman I have been calling Clara Dexter. - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> (<i>Astonished.</i>) You don’t say that, lad! When did you - learn it? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> About five minutes ago. (<i>Crosses to r.; leans on chair.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) Hanningford said true; it’s been a - rough morning for you. (<i>Going up to Allen and laying his hand on his - shoulder.</i>) Would you rather that I stopped with you a bit, lad, or - left you alone? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Leave me alone, old friend. (<i>Purt. goes to c. door.</i>) - I shall be off soon. - </p> - <p> - <b>PURT.</b> (<i>At door c.</i>) Where are you going to? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> I’m going back to Woodbarrow Farm. I’ve had eno’ of the big - world. I’ve had enough of fine folks and their ways. I’m going back to my - own people—I’m going back to see the faces of them as I know loves - me, to feel the hands of them as I know thinks well of me—I’m going - back home. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Purt. exit R., Allen stands l. by fire, stage darkens, and scene - changes. Slow tableau. Music plays till change of scene and through Scene - 2.</i>) </p <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - Scene 2. Same as Act I. - </p> - <p> - <i>Time:</i> evening, fire burning brightly, and lamp lit on table, where - supper is laid. Deb. discovered by fire, attending to cooking operations; - Mrs. R. by fire, laying supper. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Be it done, lass? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Who is kneeling down, looking into oven.</i>) Yes, aunt, - just to a turn. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Crossing and looking over Deb’s shoulder.</i>) Ah, that - be just right. Thee’s a good cook, lass. (<i>Crossing back to table.</i>) - Ah, how un used to like a veal pasty. (<i>Sighs.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> It’s a bad thing going to bed, though, ain’t it, aunt? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, anything be bad for them as ain’t got no stomachs, and - underdone bricks be all right for them as has. (<i>Gets dishes from - dresser; lays table.</i>) Besides, we bain’t going to bed yet. Us’ll sit - and have a chat after supper. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> It seems so lonely of an evening here now. (<i>Looking into - fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>In front of table r.c.</i>) So it do, lass. (<i>Crossing - L.</i>) Ah, the lads bean’t so big to look at, but they leaves a rare - space behind ’em when they goes away. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>After a pause, still gazing dreamily into fire.</i>) I - wonder if he’ll ever come back. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Aye, aye; he’ll come back, never fear. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Turns.</i>) What, to stop? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>l. sits on settle.</i>) Ah, to stop. - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> What makes you think so, aunt? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> I dunno. It’s never seemed real to me, any on it. I’m - awaiting every day to hear un lift the latch and walk in to find as it had - all been a dream. So I alius lays for three (<i>l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Allen c. He is dressed much as in Act 1. He shuts the door and - stands by it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Well, mother, (<i>c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>l. staring at him.</i>) Allen, lad! (<i>Bewildered, not - grasping it. Deb. having risen, stands with the hot pie that she has that - moment taken from the oven, transfixed R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>At door c.</i>) I’ve come home, you see, to stop—for - good. Are thee glad to see me, mother? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Come home! To stop! For good! Ah! (<i>Rushes - across with a cry of joy and hugs him up c.</i>) I said he would—I - said he would—I said he would. My boy! My boy! (<i>After a pause.</i>) - And—and all the money, and—and Miss Dexter? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Taking off his hat and throwing it down at hack.</i>) - Shadows, mother, that have passed away, out of my life, for ever. I’ll - tell thee all about it later on, never mind to-night. Let’s think only - about ourselves. (<i>Going to Deb. r.</i>) Are thee glad to see me? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. R. pushes them together from behind r. Deb. still with pie in her - hands, puts her face up. Allen bends and kisses it. Mrs. R. catches the - two in her arms, and embraces both at once, laughing. Deb. holds pie out - at arm’s length to save it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Mind the pie, mother. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Still embracing them.</i>) Are thee hungry, lad? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Rather. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Bless un, and thee’ve come back just in time for supper, as - thee alius used to. (<i>Laughs, sits up stage, top of table.</i>) Can thee - eat veal pasty? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Can I eat veal—(<i>taking off overcoat and throwing it - on chair r. c.</i>) Let me get at un, that’s all. - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Poor boy! Come and sit ’ee down. (<i>Pushing him in - chair l. of table.</i>) Where be the potatoes, Deb.? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Bewildered, turns round and round.</i>) I don’t know. (<i>Laughs.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, have a look in the saucepan, then. (<i>Sits back of - table r. c. Allen l. Deb. r.</i>) Thee won’t find ‘em by turning round and - round. Now come lad, and get a bit inside thee. Us’ll do the talking - afterwards. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Deb. potters about between fire and table in a bewildered manner. She - brings potatoes, and puts them in front of Allen.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, it do smell lovely, don’t it? (<i>Sniffing at pie.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Never thee mind smelling it, thee taste it. Lud, how thin - thee art looking, lad. (<i>To Deb. who is almost doing so.</i>) Don’t pour - the beer into the pie, child, and look where thee’s put the potatoes! (<i>Takes - jug away from her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Sitting down, laughing.</i>) I don’t know what I’m doing. - (<i>Takes saucepan off table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, us can see that. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> And how’s everything been going on? How’s the colt? - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> Kicked Parsons clean into the ditch yestermorning, the - little dear! (<i>All are now seated.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> No, did un? (<i>Laughs.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> One of the guinea hens is dead, the little one of all. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> What, the one as used to squint? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Yes, Parsons left his shot on the pigstye wall, and she ate - two ounces. Oh, and you remember Jim? - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> What, the bantam? - </p> - <p> - <b>DEB.</b> Yes. He’s given his own father such a licking, and won’t let - him come near the yard. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughing heartily.</i>) Plucky little beggar! Serve the - old ‘un right. He wur always a bully. Now, mother—(<i>about to hand - her the pie.</i>) Why, mother, thee art crying! - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Crying.</i>) No, I ain’t. Go on with thee supper, lad. - </p> - <p> - <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Looking at Deb.</i>) And—why, here be Deb. crying - too! - </p> - <p> - (<i>The two women laugh through their tears. Allen joins them as curtain - descends.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>MRS. R.</b> It’s wi’ joy, lad; it’s wi’ joy! - </p> - <h3> - SLOW CURTAIN. - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Woodbarrow Farm, by Jerome K. 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-Title: Woodbarrow Farm
- Play in Three Acts
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-Author: Jerome K. Jerome
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- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- WOODBARROW FARM
- </h1>
- <h3>
- Play In Three Acts
- </h3>
- <h2>
- By Jerome K. Jerome
- </h2>
- <h4>
- Samuel French: London
- </h4>
- <h3>
- 1904
- </h3>
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- <br /><br />
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- Piffin.........
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- Allen Rollitt.......
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- Luke Cranbourne.....
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- <p>
- Mike Stratton.......
- </p>
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- Mr. Purtwee.........
- </p>
- <p>
- Hon. Tom Gussett....
- </p>
- <p>
- Baron Von Schnorr...
- </p>
- <p>
- Richard Hanningford
- </p>
- <p>
- Ichabod.............
- </p>
- <p>
- Peters.............
- </p>
- <p>
- Colonel Jack Dexter.
- </p>
- <p>
- Clara Dexter........
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Rollitt........
- </p>
- <p>
- Rachael.............
- </p>
- <p>
- Deborah Deacon......
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> WOODBARROW FARM </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ACT I. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ACT II. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ACT III. </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY
- </h2>
- <p>
- Act I
- </p>
- <p>
- Woodbarrow Farm, Exmoor
- </p>
- <p>
- Act II
- </p>
- <p>
- 13a, St. James’ Mansions
- </p>
- <p>
- Act III
- </p>
- <p>
- Scene 1—Same as Act II., or Library at 13a, St. James’ Mansion
- </p>
- <p>
- Scene 2—Woodbarrow Farm
- </p>
- <p>
- Time: The Present
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- WOODBARROW FARM
- </h1>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- ACT I.
- </h2>
- <h3>
- MUSIC TO OPEN ACT: OLD ENGLISH AIR
- </h3>
- <p>
- SCENE: <i>Kitchen at Woodbarrow Farm. An ideal old farmhouse kitchen. From
- the smoke-blackened ceiling beams hang huge sides of bacon, strings of
- onions, and herbs, and poultry. Over the great fireplace are the guns, and
- in profusion everywhere are the homely furnishings of a prosperous
- farmhouse kitchen. A huge fire burns r. in old-fashioned fireplace, with
- settle on each side. Door l.c. at back opening on corner of farmyard.
- Latticed window looking out on yard to r. of door. Table r.c. piled with
- linen waiting to be folded. Linen press l. Door l. below press. Settle in
- front of press. Mrs. Rollitt at table r.c. discovered ironing. She folds
- up clothes as she finishes with them, and crosses and places them one by
- one in press l.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Rachael! Rachael!! (Crossing l. then crosses to r. at back
- of table r.c.) Ah, drat the girls—alius philandering about with the
- boys when they’re wanted. Rachael!
- </p>
- <p>
- (Enter Rachael, she comes slowly forward to l.c.)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>RACH.</b> Did you call, ma’am?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (At table.) Did I call? Why thee be getting deaf in thee
- old age sure, Rachael.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>RACH.</b> I was in the dairy, ma’am.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> In the dairy! Well, and the dairy bean’t a mile off, be it?
- I expect there wur Joe’s thick head ’twixt you and the sound of my
- voice, warn’t there?
- </p>
-<p>
-<b>RACH.</b> No, ma’am.
-</p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Whose wur it, then?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>RACH.</b> Ichabod’s, ma’am. I—I mean Mr. Ichabod was helping me,
- ma’am.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> What at? (<i>Pause.</i>) How often am I to tell ’ee
- I won’t have that hulking scamp hanging about here after his work’s done.
- Do ’ee understand?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>RACH.</b> Yes, ma’am.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Here’s getting on for 8 o’clock, and thee master may be
- home any minute as hungry as a hunter, poor lad, and noothing ready for
- his supper. Get down the ham (<i>Rachael goes to fireplace r.</i>), and
- bring me in the frying-pan and I’ll do it myself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>RACH.</b> (<i>Turning to go.</i>) Yes, ma’am.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> And don’t be half-an-hour about it. Is Ichabod gone?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>RACH.</b> Oh yes, ma’am.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Mrs. R. turns to her work, Ichabod appears at door at hack, with a
- trout in his hand. Rachael catching sight of him stops, and motions him to
- go away.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, a good thing for un as he has, if I catch un here again
- to-night, I’ll—(<i>Rachael makes sign to Ichabod who is up c. Mrs.
- R. looks at Rachael</i>)—Lord help the lass, be she struck foolish?
- Bean’t ’ee agoing?
- </p>
-<p>
-<b>RACH</b>. Yes, ma’am.
-</p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Well then, do ut. Thee keeps on saying, “yes, ma’am,” “yes,
- ma’am,” and there ’ee sticks. (<i>Drops eyes. Rachael makes sign to
- Ichabod. Mrs. Rollitt catches her.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Ichabod does not understand Rachel, and tries to explain to her in
- pantomime about the trout, which he holds up and points to. Mrs. Rollitt
- follows Rachael’s eyes, and sees Ichabod. Rachael is struck dumb, and
- Ichabod grins and pulls his hair.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> If thee don’t take theeself off pretty, soon, my boy, I’ll
- do that for un. (<i>He makes no answer but continues pulling his hair and
- grinning, making a few steps forward and still holding out the trout. Mrs.
- Rollitt advances to him slowly.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Comes c.</i>) How often am I to tell ’ee I won’t
- have ’ee loafing about here after thee work’s done, and thee mother
- waiting for thee at home, thee good-for-nothing young—(<i>eyeing the
- trout</i>)—aye, but he be a bonny un that.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ICH.</b> Thowt maybe he’d do for the measter’s supper, ma’am. He wur
- a-having his own not half-an-hour agone, ma’am.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>l. with fish in hand.</i>) Her be a three pound un,
- Ichabod.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ICH.</b> As full as an egg, her be, just. Thee feel her, ma’am.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, well, I won’t say but what thee art a thoughtful lad,
- Ichabod, and it will be main good for thee measter’s supper. See there’s a
- clear fire. (<i>Crosses r.Enter Deborah from staircase L.</i>) Rachael,
- and bring me the stew pan and we’ll boil un.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> No, don’t boil it, aunt. (<i>Takes fish from Mrs. R.</i>) Let
- me fry it. Allen alius likes ‘em best that way. (<i>Goes r. c. up stage.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> So un does, lass, so un does. Ah, thee knaw what the lad
- loikes, thee shall fry it. (<i>Hands trout to Deb.</i>) And I’ll finish
- the linen while I’ve got my hand on it. (<i>At back of table r.c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Allen will like that, I know. Where did you get it?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ICH.</b> (<i>Confused and grinning.</i>) What, me, Miss?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Not poached, I hope, Ichabod?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ICH.</b> (<i>Offended.</i>) Poached, Miss? No, Miss, I wur trying to
- teach a fly of mine to swim, that wur all, Miss, and when I took un from
- the water there wur this thing hanging on to the end of un, and I couldn’t
- get ‘un off.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>At table r. c.</i>) Thee’d best stop awhile now,
- Ichabod, and the girls will gie un a bit sup. Thee mother will be main
- glad to be rid o’ ye a bit, I take it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ICH.</b> Thank ye, ma’am. Mother’s alius glad to be rid of me at supper
- toime. (<i>To Deborah.) Gie me un, Miss, I’ll clean un for ye. (</i>Takes
- fish from Deborah, goes down l. at back of settle.)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>RACH.</b> Shall I cook un, Miss?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Na, na, thee bring the pan in here, Rachael, I woan’t trust
- the master’s supper to ‘ee, while there’s a pair of breeches about the
- room.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>RACH.</b> (<i>Crosses l. with a toss of her head.) I’m sure I don’t
- want ‘em there at all. (</i>Picks up buckets near door l. down stage.)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, thee wouldn’t ha’ the lad theer wi’out ‘em! Go and do
- as I tell ‘ee.
- </p>
- <p>
- [Rachael hits Ichabod with bucket. Exeunt Rachael and Ichabod l. door down
- stage.]
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b><b>MRS. R.</b> The lad will enjoy it all the more if thee
- cook it for un. Ah. and he do enjoy his food too. It do me good to see un
- eat.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> He does you a lot of good that way, doesn’t he, aunt?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Laughing.‘</i>) Ah, yes, he be like his father wur
- before him, a rare trencher man. Ah, but they’re better than those as
- doesn’t eat much, but sits a-turning and a-smelling, and a-grumbling at
- everything that’s set before them, for all the world like an overfed
- turkey cock trying to eat potato peelings. Thee wean’t ha’ much trouble
- looking arter un when I’m gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Goes to fireplace R.</i>) Oh, aunt, how naughty you are,
- always talking of being “gone,” just as if you were an old woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> No, no, lass, I bean’t talking of being gone now. I’ve many
- a year before me yet, please God. But it must come sometime, thee knaws,
- and I like to think that when it do there’ll be someone to gie the lad his
- bit of food, and look arter un loike—and, Lord, a man do want a
- power of looking arter to be sure.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>At fire R. making it up.</i>) I think that’s why we love
- ‘em, aunt, because they’re so helpless.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Cross to l.</i>) Ah, maybe it is. There must be summut
- to account for it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> And I suppose they be like the poultry. They get fond of us
- because we feed them. He does say I’ve got a good hand for cooking, aunt.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Cross to r.</i>) Ah, yes, lass. It be a light hand for
- the kitchen and a cool hand for the dairy. It will make a good hand for a
- farmer’s wife. (<i>Takes Deborah’s hand at table R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> I don’t think Allen will want a farmer’s wife, aunt.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Lord, whose wife should a farmer want, then?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Pokes fire r.</i>) I don’t think Allen wants to be a
- farmer at all. He says he wants to be a somebody, not a nobody.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, bean’t a farmer somebody?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Somebody, aunt, but not a somebody. Allen wants to be in the
- world, you know, aunt.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, and he be in the world sure, ain’t he? Sure I think I
- ought to know. (<i>Cross to l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> No, not in the world he means, aunt. Not in the great world as
- they call it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah! he be in God’s world, that ought to be big enough for
- un. (<i>Cross to r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>A little spitefully.</i>) Yes, aunt, but it’s not select
- enough. There’s all sorts of common people in God’s world. Allen wants to
- be in the big world of lords and ladies and big folk up in London. He says
- it’s being buried alive down here; that he wants to be among the stir and
- bustle.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Cross to h., putting clothes in press.</i>) Ah! that be
- only his talk. The young uns be all alike. They run arter shadows like the
- chickens do arter chaff. (<i>Cross l.</i>) Why, I mind when I wur a lass,
- I used to look in the glass and think I’d be a duchess. But the dook
- didn’t come, so I just married thee uncle. The young ducks all fancies as
- they’ll paddle off to the sea, But they live and dies in the old pond
- arter all. (<i>Crosses to R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) And you think that your duck will live and
- die in the Woodbarrow pond, aunt? (<i>Helps Mrs. Rollitt to fold.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, bless un, yes, the lads they fancy that any place is
- better than the old home; but arter they’ve had a good look round, they
- know that the old home’s better than any place else. He’ll flutter about a
- bit maybe (<i>looks at Deborah</i>), but he’ll settle down in the nest
- ‘fore long, and the children will be running about the house (<i>Deborah
- turns away a little</i>) and making it untidy—Bless ‘em—afore
- I close my eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Demurely.</i>) I wonder who he’ll marry.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, I wonder now. (<i>Crosses to put linen in chest of
- drawers.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>r. folding linen.</i>) There’s Polly Steddles. He walked
- home from church with her last Sunday. I think he’s a little sweet on
- Polly Steddles, don’t you, aunt?
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Mrs. R. comes l. of table r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, it bean’t much good being a little sweet on a girl that
- size. It would take a power of sweetness to go round her. (<i>Crosses L.
- with linen.</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> She’s big, but then men like big women, don’t they, aunt?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Ah, some on ’em goes in for quantity,
- and some on ’em goes in for quality. The little ones, they go in
- for size cause they bean’t much of it themselves; and the big ones goes in
- for sense, cause that be what they be most in need of. (<i>Goes R.</i>)
- And Allen, he be’s medium, so he can just please himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> And there’s Miss Dexter, that he drives over to Minehead so
- often. (<i>Mrs. Rollitt goes l.</i>) He thinks a lot of her, I know.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>l.</i>) What, Colonel Dexter’s darter, oop at Lucott’s
- Hill? Oh, yes, her’d be a fine un to make the butter and cure the hams,
- her would. Her be loike them umbrellas they be a selling at Peter’s for
- 1s. 11d.—only meant to be walked out wi’. (<i>Near press l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Ah, but she’s so beautiful, aunt, and she’s a lady! (<i>Sighs.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah! (<i>goes to table r. c.</i>) there be a good many sorts
- o’ them.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> She is a lady, isn’t she, aunt?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Her’s got the clothes all right. (<i>Sits l. of table r. A
- pause—goes up and pats Deborah’s cheek.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- As if thee didn’t know the lad were in love with theeself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Tossing her head.</i>) Sure an’ I don’t see how I should—he
- never says anything.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, the men bain’t much to say for their-selves, poor
- things. Thee must go by what they does. Why, thee uncle kept company wi’
- me for three years, an’ un never said a word. The first year un only sot
- and stared, and the second year un put un’s arm round my waist, and the
- third year un kissed me, and then mother said it were time to put up the
- banns, and her done it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Laughs.</i>) Ah, the man that wants to marry me will have
- to ask me ever and ever so many times and plead, oh, as if his life
- depended on it (<i>tossing her head—at fire.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, the lad be shy, that be all. He be frightened ’o
- thee.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Smiling.</i>) Of me, aunt?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, sure!—(<i>Laughs.</i>)—I expect un be
- worrying hisself finely for fear thee doan’t care for un, a fancying thee
- prefers Jim Harkabuck, maybe.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Demurely—goes up r. and gets l. of Mrs. Rollitt.</i>)
- Jim Harkabuck is a very nice fellow, and he does stare. (<i>Smiling, and
- going to her aunt.</i>) Do you think Allen really—really does—Aunt?
- (<i>Kneels to Mrs. Rollitt, who turns her head away r. a little.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Laughing, and shaking her off playfully. Pauses.</i>)
- Does he! Why beant he alius quarreling wi’ thee, and doan’t he eat twice
- as much o’ anything if he knows thee cooked it—and besides—(<i>Pauses
- and becomes absorbed in stockings.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Besides what, aunt?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Why didn’t I find un only the evening afore last when un
- didn’t know I wur there. (<i>Laughing.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Rachael l. door with fish in frying-pan.—Deborah rises.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>RACH.</b> (<i>Crossing r. and giving it to Deborah.</i>) Shall I put it
- on, Miss?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>c. goes R. to fireplace.</i>) No, I’ll see to it; Rachael,
- thank you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>RACH.</b> I have put some butter in the pan, Miss.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Rachael l. down stage.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Yes, aunt. (<i>r. of table and seeing to fish with back to
- Mrs. Rollitt.</i>) You—you were saying how you came upon Allen the
- other evening, aunt, when he didn’t know you were there, and he was doing
- something.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, yes, it wur Toosday, and he—not in love wi’ ’ee—(<i>laughing</i>)—why—(<i>taking
- up stocking and looking at hole.</i>) Ah, look at that now, blest if I can
- make out where the holes come from, just.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> What was he doing, aunt?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Why there un wur wi’ your—
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Purtwee c.—who coughs.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Turning, and seeing him as he stands in doorway.</i>)
- What, Mr. Purtwee! (<i>Deborah in despair goes to fire and cooks fish.</i>)
- Well, ’ee do surprise me! ’Ee be quite a stranger. Come in.
- Thee be just in time for a bit of sup.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Coming down l. c., puts hat on staircase rail.</i>) I
- couldn’t pass the place without looking in, I’ve just left the trap
- outside. (<i>Shakes hands.</i>) And how are we?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Oh, I be middlin’ well, thank ’ee, and how’s
- yerself?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> Oh, nicely enough, and—(<i>To Deborah crossing r.</i>)—how’s
- Miss Deborah Deacon?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Very well, thank you, Mr. Purtwee.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> That’s all right—you look it, my dear (<i>Taking her
- hands.</i>) Why I declare she’s getting quite a woman!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah! she’s been that for some time. Her be thinking more
- about getting a man now. (<i>Purtwee crosses to l. c. laughing.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Oh, aunt!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Did ’ee see the lad up town?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> What, Allen?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, that be the only lad in the world I know. Did ’ee
- see un? (<i>Goes up l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> Yes, I met him, and I wanted to have a chat with him. (<i>Mrs.
- Rollitt is up l. near linen press.</i>) But, Lord! There he was off to
- Lucott’s Hill, and there was no holding him. (<i>Taking off his coat.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Who has been engaged in her cooking, at this suddenly
- stops, and looks up.</i>) What was he going up there for?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Stopping and facing round.</i>) What for?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Excitedly, but quietly.</i>) Who was he going to see up
- there?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Laughing and folding coat.</i>) Ah! who is it he always
- goes to see up there?
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Deborah turns a little sick at this confirmation of her fears.
- Purtwee, who is a sharp old fellow, notices the expression of her face and
- the whole truth flashes across him. He pauses suddenly, looks hard at her,
- then assuming an ordinary laughing tone, continues—Mrs. Rollitt (up
- l.) is engaged with the linen, and does not notice this.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> Why, the Walleys, of course. He and Jim seem to be
- inseparable of late.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Oh, yes, I know. I asked him to try and see if the Walleys
- would part with one of their short-horns.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> Ah! that was it, then—yes, I remember that was it. (<i>Turns
- away and looks back at Deborah, who has resumed her cooking—aside.</i>)
- Poor child! There’s trouble for her I fear. (<i>Throws coat over chair l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Comes c.</i>) Well, what be going on up at Minehead?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> The same that is going on everywhere, Mrs. Rollitt—people
- lying and slandering and evil-speaking; everybody thieving and cheating
- and quarreling. (<i>Sits on table l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, I guess I could have told thee that. Haven’t thee any
- real news to gie us. Tell us what one person’s be a-doing. Never mind
- “everybody,” I don’t know him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> Well, you see, Susan, a lawyer mustn’t gossip. (<i>Shakes
- finger.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Deborah crosses to linen press L., sets tablecloth and lays table r.
- c. for meal.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>c.</i>) Oh, hoity, toity! What be the use of being a
- lawyer and knowing things if ’ee never tells a body a bit o’ news?
- And now I come to think of it, I’ve got a bone to pick wi’ thee about that
- very thing. Thee never told me old Hanningford wur agoing to die without
- leaving my boy so much as a brass farthing. Do you think as how I’d ’a’
- gone on sending the old skinflint the best turkey in the yard every
- Christmas, and the best goose come every Michaelmas, if I’d known as how
- he’d hadn’t given us so much as the price as a suit o’ black, and Allen
- his own cousin’s child. (<i>Crossing R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- A cousin is a cousin, even if it be a distant one. (<i>Sits l. of table r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> Now, my dear Mrs. Rollitt, how could I tell he was going to
- die?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Thee knowed he wur going to die sometime, and thee knowed
- he hadn’t left the boy anything, and thee might a’ dropped me a hint.
- “Mrs. Rollitt,” thee might ha’ said, “thee’s only wasting good poultry on
- a worthless man. The old sinner’s a going to die as hard-fisted and
- ungrateful as he’s lived.” It would ’a’ been a neighbourly act o’
- thee!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) But I didn’t know he wasn’t going to
- leave you anything. You see he died intestate.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> In——— what?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Rises.</i>) Intestate. (<i>Deborah laughs a little.</i>)
- Without leaving a will; he left nobody anything.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Rising.</i>) Well, then, where does the old fool’s
- money go to?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> Why, to his son, of course! (<i>Cross to r. near chair,
- fireplace down stage.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, where be his son?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Folding his knee in his hand and looking at her quietly.</i>)
- On the road from Texas to Devon. (<i>Sits r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> What! Thee don’t mean to say thee’ve found un! (<i>Deborah
- gets dish off dresser r. and puts it down in front of firm Mrs. R. in
- front of table r., Mrs. R. and Deborah draw near interested.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> That’s just exactly what I do mean. We traced him at last—found
- him at Port Chadbourne black as a nigger and dressed as a red Indian.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> What was he doing there—play-acting?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> No, cow-boy. (<i>Mrs. R. sits l. of table r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Lord love us all! and do un know?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> Yes, my agent saw him—went down to meet him as he came
- through with a drove of cattle, gave him my letters and told him
- everything.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Has he written to you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> No, didn’t know how to write—a sort of half savage he
- seems to be, he and all his companions. He said he was going to give the
- boys a three days’ drink, or as he expressed it, “paint the town red,” and
- then start straight for home.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> When do you expect him?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> Any day now; it was six weeks ago my agent saw him. He might
- walk into my office to-morrow morning.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Lor! to think o’ it all. Him running away—driven
- away, as a body might say, by ’is own father, when scarce more than
- a baby, and now coming back to all this money. When do ’ee expect
- un?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> To-morrow—in six months time—never!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Never! (<i>Purtwee rises, crosses to l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> Perhaps never.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Why I thought thee said he’d started.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> Started, yes; but there’s a long road between that and
- arriving. He may be dead and buried—drowned—murdered—for
- all we can tell. They’re a rough lot where he’s coming from. (<i>Takes
- coat off settle L. Feels for snuff box in pockets; rises; goes c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, thee’s picturing a nice fate for the lad. An’ who
- would the money all go to if he were gone?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> Why the next o’ kin of course! He isn’t married.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> And who be the next of kin?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Dryly.</i>) Oh! there’s no need to worry about that now.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs R. Well, I’d just like to know, that’s all. Would it be any of the
- Leeds folk?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> Oh, I really can’t say! (<i>Gets snuff box, puts coat on
- settle l.</i>) I—I can’t say at all who it would be. (<i>Angrily,
- rather.</i>) Why there’s about a hundred different relations scattered all
- over the country, and goodness knows who it might turn out to be. It isn’t
- a matter to be considered yet at all.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Lord bless us all, don’t put theeself out, man. I didn’t
- know as a body’s relations wur any secret—(<i>pauses</i>)—provided
- they be coom by honestly. Doan’t tell us if ’ee doan’t want to. (<i>Turns
- away r. a little.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> No—no, Mrs. Rollitt! I’m not put out, only you see
- it’s always a most complicated question a next of kin, especially in a
- case of this kind where the man shunned all his relations. It might be
- someone in Hong Kong; it might be someone here in Devonshire—(<i>Enter
- Allen c. door.</i>)—it might be,—(<i>he is l., taking
- handkerchief from his overcoat pocket, and turning sees Allen in doorway
- and stops. Deborah puts on the fish.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Coming down r. c.</i>) Well mother! (<i>Kisses her.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Why, my boy, wherever ha’ ye been to—I wur getting
- quite anxious about ’ee!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Taking off his hat and coat and throwing them down at
- back.</i>) Ah, I be a rare anxiety to ’ee, baint I, mother? (<i>To
- Mr. Purtwee.</i>) Mother alius fancies as I’ve been run off with by
- gypsies if I be out more than an hour. (<i>Crossing and shaking hands with
- Mr. Purtwee.</i>) And how be Mr. Purtwee for the second time to-day?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Laughing and shaking hands.</i>) Ah! your mother’s a
- regular old hen with one chick I expect. (<i>Sits l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Never thee mind, mother, thee be quite right to be careful
- o’ me! There baint another son like me in the whole country, be there?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>At fire.</i>) To the credit of old Devon be it said.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Halloa! (<i>Goes r. to Deborah.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah! now that just serves thee right for laughing at thee
- old mother. (<i>Crosses l. and sits knitting next to Purtwee.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah! that be the worst of letting the children stop oop arter
- their proper toime, they allus gets so saucy. What have thee there? Lurd
- bust me, I have got a vacuum inside o’ me. Poached eggs?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> No; poached trout.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> Eh! what’s that?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Hulloa! Thee’ve done it now. Why, Mr. Purtwee be Lord
- Netherby’s lawyer, and he’ll ha’ thee hanged in chains on Dunkery Beacon,
- sure as fate.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Ah, well, you see I didn’t poach him, I’m only frying him.
- There’s no law against frying fish, is there?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r.c.</i>) Aye, well, us’ll forgive thee this time, if
- ee’ll promise to do it again soon. Come and give us a kiss.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Thee’ll kiss the frying-pan if you come any o’ your nonsense
- round here.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> What! won’t thee, when I tell ’ee I’ve bought Jim
- Whalley’s tan and cream shorthorn for ’ee?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Pleased.</i>) No! Have you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I bought her this afternoon, and I got her for—(<i>l.c.,
- turning to his mother</i>) I say, mother, our Deb’s bin and smoshed young
- Whalley.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Done what to un.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Smoshed him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Why, I never touched him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes thee have, thee’ve smoshed un—that be the new
- Lunnun word; made un in love wi’ thee.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> It’s a funny way o’ doing it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I doan’t know how her done it, but her done it. Why he
- wanted £25 for the cow at first, and when I told un her wur for Deb he
- looked as stupid as an old cow unself and said I could have her for £20,
- and then he asked me if she would like a calf. (<i>Goes R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> We could do with one. What did you say?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) I told un her’d better let the calf come
- down and ask for unself. (<i>Laughs boisterously.</i>) He never saw what I
- meant. (<i>All laugh.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Oh, I expect he saw it all right. Jim Whalley is a very sharp
- fellow; there was no need to insult him just because he’d done a kind
- action. (<i>Warmly—turns away r. a little.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Oh, I wouldn’t ha’ said it if I’d known. I didn’t know thee
- was in love wi’ him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Half laughing and half indignant.</i>) Oh, don’t be silly,
- Allen, as if I cared for Jim Whalley.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I might ha’ guessed it too. Why, I expect that’s why thee
- wanted the cow so as to have something about the place to remind thee o’
- un.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Oh, you great stupid!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Why, look how you’re blushing. Look, look at her face,
- mother. (<i>Goes to back of settle r. takes up looking-glass which is
- hanging on settle r., brings it down and holds it before her.</i>) Look at
- yourself! (<i>she catches him a sound box on the ear. He puts his hand to
- his face, and crossing puts back glass.</i>) I didn’t know thee was so
- strong. That all comes of those squab pies o’ yourn, mother, I told thee
- thee wur putting too much meat in ‘em.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) Ah, it’s thy sauce lad, not my meat,
- that’s done it. (<i>Rises.</i>) Thee’d better try and make thy peace,
- while me and Mr. Purtwee has a look round the out-buildings. (<i>To Mr.
- Purtwee</i>) I’ve been wanting to get hold of thee for a long time. Thee’s
- never given us so much as a bit o’ paint for the last ten years, and the
- stable roof won’t bear an owl on it. (<i>Goes up c. with Purtwee.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r. near settle.</i>) Thee might show Mr. Purtwee the
- barn floor while thee’s about it, mother. It be more like an earthquake
- than a floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Oh, I be a going to show him more than he wants to see,
- don’t thee worrit. (<i>Aside to Mr. Purtwee at door c.</i>) Ah, they’d
- make a pretty couple, wouldn’t they?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Looking at them.</i>) No, no, we must make ’em
- one.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Mrs. Rollitt and Mr. Purtwee c. door.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>After a pause, r.c.</i>) Well I’ve got thee the cow,
- anyhow, and it’s a beauty.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>At tire in a tone of severe and offended dignity.</i>)
- Thank you, Mr. Rollitt, it is very kind of you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>After a pause, with exaggerated politeness.</i>) Don’t
- mention it, Miss Deacon—quite a pleasure!
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Allen crosses to l., whistles—a pause—pretends to take off
- leggings. Puts foot on settle.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Thee may bring me over the butter.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Looking up.</i>) Hulloa! come back again! Butter,
- certainly! (<i>Takes it from chair off l. on staircase, crosses with it,
- and holds it for Deborah while she takes some.</i>) Jolly good butter this
- week; who made it? Thee?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Other side of plate.</i>) Of course I did! I make all the
- butter now, and the cream.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> What, wi’ them little hands. They don’t look big enough to
- do anything but be kissed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Looking up and smiling.</i>) They can do something else,
- can’t they?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah! They be like the parson’s, not as soft as they looks. (<i>Puts
- down butter on the table—pause—during which Deborah proceeds
- with her cooking, and Allen stands watching her.</i>) What a jolly little
- farmer’s wife thee’d make.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Yes; I only want the jolly little farmer.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, thee won’t find many of that sort about. Farming don’t
- pay enough for a man to get jolly on, now-a-days.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Oh, we have enough to eat and drink, and a little to spend on
- foolishness. You want so much.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Goes l.</i>) Not more than what a many has. Not more
- than a little bit of what this young Hanning-ford is coming back to—enough
- to let a man see what the world’s like a bit, instead of being cooped oop
- all one’s life, like an old cow, in one corner of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> But you can’t live all over it, and one corner must be much as
- good as another.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Crosses r.</i>) Ah, thee don’t understand it, lass. Thee
- women folk can stand day arter day the same, but we lads are restless wi’
- it. We feel as there’s summat big and stirring going on somewhere, and we
- long to be among it—to be in the great world. It seems to call to me—(<i>puts
- foot on settle L.</i>)—to come to it, sometimes. I hear it of a
- night when I’m watching the sheep on the hill fields. Maybe it’s only the
- sea breaking on the rocks down by Glenthorn—or the wind among the
- old oaks, but it sounds like a distant far-off voice—(<i>gets l. of
- table R. with back to Deborah</i>)—calling to me, and it rings and
- echoes in my ears, till I feel at times that I must start up then and
- there and follow it. (<i>Deborah r. of table r. Allen l. of table r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Very gravely, laying her hand on his arm.</i>) Allen, lad,
- don’t you remember reading one evening to us of the sirens, who in the old
- days used to haunt the sea caves, and sing so sweetly that the sailors who
- once paused to listen, were lured on and on till they were wrecked among
- the cruel rocks? May not the voices that you hear be like the singing of
- those sirens?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Maybe, lass; but the sailors couldn’t help but follow when
- they did hear it. (<i>Sits in chair l. of table R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) What be the matter, Allen? Thee used
- to be contented enough. Now thee’s always talking about riches, and
- wanting to go away from the dear old farm. Somethin’s come over thee, lad.
- (<i>Puts hand on Allen’s shoulder.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> No, I wur allus like an old crow—(<i>Deborah takes her
- hand away</i>)—sitting on a fence, and looking at summat too far off
- to see. But thee be right partly, lass. Summat has come over me, and made
- me want what I can’t get more than ever now.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Very kindly, r.</i>) What be it? (<i>With elbows leaning
- on table, R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Rises, goes l. c.</i>) Well, I be in love, lass. (<i>Still
- looking away from her.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>After a pause, during which she has smiled to herself with
- a happy little sigh, and clasped her hands together in a sort of little
- joyful ecstacy, unnoticed by Allen.</i>) In love!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I fancy it must be that. I think of her all day and I dream
- of her all night, and I’m jolly miserable. (<i>At settle, R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Demurely.</i>) Have you any reason to suppose that she
- returns your affection?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I don’t know, her’s never said anything.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Have you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Me! No, I haven’t said anything.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Most extraordinary that she doesn’t propose. Have you given
- her any encouragement? (<i>Leans against settle R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Noa—I can’t say as I have, much. (<i>Goes r.c.</i>)
- I’ve looked at her, you know—soft like—and sighed. (<i>Does
- so.</i>) But her’s mostly been looking t’other way and an’t seen it, and
- as for saying anything to her—well, I can talk to her all right
- about other things and joke and laugh wi’ her, but the moment I goes to
- say I love her—it—it seems as if I’d got a hot potato stuck in
- my throat. (<i>Speaking as if she had, turns away to l. corner of r.table,
- back to Deborah. His manner throughout this scene carries out the idea
- that it is Deborah he is in love with.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>After a pause, with a coquettish smile to herself.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- I—I can’t do anything to help thee, I suppose? (<i>Goes and leans
- against settle R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Do thee think as her could care for a mere common farmer,
- Deborah?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Turning and looking at him earnestly—comes to front
- of table R.</i>) Well—I think if he were a good farmer, and pleaded
- very hard, I—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Delighted.</i>) No, lass! Do ’ee really think a
- girl could? (<i>Advancing to her.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Putting her hand to stop him with dignity.</i>) A girl
- might—though, of course, a superior sort of girl, such as she
- appears to be, might think it presumption for—(<i>turns away r.puts
- hand on corner of table R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Depressed.</i>) Yes—I’m afraid her would. (<i>Turns
- away l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Eagerly turning around again.</i>) Then, of course, she
- mightn’t. You never can tell till you try. (<i>Goes to fireplace r. Fish
- is changed.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Scratching his head.</i>) Blest if I know how to go
- about it! I say, Deb, you’ve been proposed to, how do they begin?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Bending over fire.</i>) Don’t thee think thee’d better
- tell me who it is and let me ask her for thee? (<i>Looking slyly round,
- pauses.</i>) Who be her, Allen?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Going up to window R.c.</i>) Ah, I expect thee knows who
- her be!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Beginning softly to creep toward him.</i>) How should I
- when thee’s never told me? What be her name? (<i>Close to him, his back is
- still towards her and he doesn’t see her.</i>) Eh?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Without turning, looking out of the back window up R.c.</i>)
- Clara. (<i>Music cue.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Bus. Deb. stands still—for the first moment she hardly
- comprehends. Then she understands, and stands staring straight before her
- with a wild scared look—shivers, crosses back to fireplace on
- tip-toe and bends down over it attending to the fish—after Deb. sobs
- Allen comes down c.—music dies away.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Half turning round.</i>) Colonel Dexter’s daughter, you
- know. Thee’ve seen her. Her wur at the Barnstaple ball and I danced wi’
- her and thee said how beautiful her wur and that her dress was all made o’
- some’at or other, and you—(<i>he has gradually come close over to
- her r.</i>) What be the matter, Deb?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>In a changed, hard tone, bending more intently than ever
- over her cooking.</i>) Nothing—Nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Taking her hand.</i>) Why, thee be quite cold, lass; be
- thee ill?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Snatching her hand away.</i>) No, no, there’s nothing the
- matter with me. Don’t be so foolish, don’t don’t.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Surprised.</i>) I say, Deb, have I said anything I
- oughtn’t to? I know I’m allus a-doing it. (<i>A pause—Allen stands
- looking at her, troubled and bewildered—Deb. bends closer over the
- fire—then takes the pan off the fire and with it in her hand turns
- to Allen smiling.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Gives dish to Allen.</i>) Yes, thee have—talking to
- a cook at the very moment the trout is on the turn. (<i>Puts trout on
- dish.</i>) Serve thee right if I’d spoilt it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Lor’, thee quite frightened me! (<i>Pauses.</i>) Yes—I
- went up there this afternoon. (<i>Deb. takes dish from Allen, puts it down
- in front of fireplace.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Arranging fish.</i>) Did you see her?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes, I saw her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> It doesn’t seem to have made thee any more cheerful. Did thee
- quarrel.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Us never got a chance. There wur a cousin or summat of the
- kind hanging about all the time—just come over with some chap from
- America. Can’t say as I like un much.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Thee’d best summon up thy courage and speak quick or thee may
- lose thy turn. (<i>Allen turns away L.</i>) Go and tell aunt supper’s
- ready—be quick, it’s all spoiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Moving quickly towards door l. down stage.</i>) Where
- shall I find her?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Sharply.</i>) How should I know?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Looks around surprised—sotto voce.</i>) How the
- fire do draw out a woman’s temper, to be sure.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Allen l., down stage.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Left alone stands r.a moment without speaking.</i>) What
- right has she to come down here and take him away? She doesn’t love him.
- Couldn’t she have found enough fine gentlemen in London to amuse her? I
- don’t believe she’s a good woman, and I hate her. (<i>Stamps her foot.</i>)
- She shan’t have him—she—(<i>bursts into quiet tears and,
- slipping down on ground, buries her face in chair by fire—pause—after
- a few seconds Luke Cranbourne appears in door c. front r., Mike Stratton
- behind him. Luke pauses on threshold and coughs. Deb. hastily rises,
- trying to hide her tears and stands r. Luke comes forward slowly, followed
- by Mike at some distance.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>After pause, coming forward r.c.</i>) I—beg pardon—there
- was nobody about. Are Mrs. Rollitt and Mr. Rollitt at home?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Yes, they are at home. I will go and find them. (<i>Crosses to
- l.</i>) Who shall I say it is?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>r.c.</i>) Ah, thank you very much, my dear. Would you say
- Mr. Cranbourne—Mr. Luke Cranbourne and Mr. Richard Hanningford?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Amazed.</i>) Dick Hanningford!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Smiling.</i>) You know the name?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Old Mr. Hanningford’s son? Why, we were only speaking of him
- just this instant, and wondering when he’d come back. (<i>To Luke
- hesitatingly.</i>) Are—are you—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> No—this is Mr. Hanningford. (<i>Turns to Mike, who
- stands awkward and shy l.c. looking at the ground.</i>) Did you know him?
- (<i>Laughs.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Oh, I’m Miss Deacon—Miss Deborah Deacon. We were
- school-fellows, you know. (<i>Timidly approaching Mike with outstretched
- hand.</i>) I am very glad to see you Mr.—Mr. Hanningford.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MIKE.</b> Thank you, Miss—I’m very pleased to see you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Sitting r.</i>) I suppose you hardly recognize our
- friend? (<i>Watches her intently without her noticing it. Mike has turned
- away again, and looks down, flicking leg with cane.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Hesitating.</i>) Um! (<i>Laughs.</i>) Well, he’s certainly
- altered since we used to go to school together. But yes—(<i>examining
- his face</i>)—there’s something of the old face left, I think.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> We only arrived from America last night, traveling hard all
- the time. Pretty nearly worked me to death. Dick has—(<i>with a yawn</i>)—but
- there, I suppose I should have hurried up pretty smart myself if I’d been
- coming home to a fortune.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> You are staying in the village then, I suppose?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> Yes, we’ve put up at Colonel Dexter’s—my uncle’s—slow
- place. (<i>Laughing.</i>) But better than the inn apparently.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Oh. then you are the—Miss Dexter’s cousin that Allen—(<i>pauses
- hesitating</i>)—was—was speaking of?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> Oh, the young fellow that was there this afternoon—was
- that Allen? (<i>With a would-be playful laugh.</i>) And who’s Allen, eh?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>A little stiffly.</i>) Allen is Mr. Rollitt.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> Oh, I wish I’d known that this afternoon. Dick’s been dying
- to see him and his mother all day. I wanted him to wait till the morning,
- but he would come down to-night.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Oh, I’m sure Allen and Aunt will both be delighted. (<i>Approaching
- Mike, who still stands aside and looks down.</i>) Won’t you be seated, Mr.
- Hanningford? (<i>He makes no sign—hesitatingly.</i>) Dick. (<i>Mike
- still takes no notice. Luke has risen and crossed with assumed
- carelessness, towards him and nozu from opposite side of him to Deborah
- gives him a sharp kick. Mike starts and looks up.</i>),
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Turning away carelessly.</i>) Lost in reveries of old
- scenes, Dick, eh? Miss Deacon is asking you if you won’t sit down.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MIKE.</b> (<i>Sitting L.c.</i>) Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss, I’m sure.
- Oh, thank you, I will.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Going.</i>) I shan’t be a minute. They are only somewhere
- about the yard.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Deborah c. door l. down stage. Luke goes to door, looks off,
- closes door, then goes up to door c., looks off, then closes it. Comes r.
- of Mike, who is l.c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>After waiting an instant, and making sure that no one is
- about.</i>) Try and keep some of your wits about you, Mike—if you
- don’t mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MIKE.</b> (<i>Sulkily.</i>) I don’t see the darned good of this part of
- the trick, so I tell you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> I’m afraid we shall have a rough time if your memory doesn’t
- improve. I’ve explained to you at least half-a-dozen times that it was as
- a sort of trial canter that I wanted to come here. If anyone in Devon can
- tell who is Dick Hanningford and who isn’t it will be these Rollitts. If
- you pass here you pass anywhere.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MIKE.</b> Well, it’s the very place I should have avoided, and for the
- same reason. The old woman knew Dick Hanningford as well as she knows her
- own son, and I’d rather avoid her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Luke, (<i>r.</i>) You’re bound to meet her sooner or later. Better get it
- over and know the worst—or the best. (<i>Turns away r. a little.</i>)
- Sixteen years make it a little difficult to tell a man, especially between
- the age of nine and twenty-five, and you’re like him enough, and always
- were.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MIKE.</b> And suppose she gets asking questions—do I remember
- this, do I remember that—you know what old women are.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> Well, you can’t be expected to remember all the details of
- your pinafore days after all this time, and knocking about as you have
- been. You know all that is necessary for you to know. You knew the old
- man, and you were in the house, and you knew young Hanningford. Besides,
- you needn’t recollect anything yourself. You recollect what other people
- recollect, that’s all you’re wanted to do.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MIKE.</b> (<i>Rising.</i>) I hope we don’t make a mess of it! (<i>Turns
- L.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Crossing and laying his hand on Mike’s shoulder, turns
- him to c.</i>) We shan’t make a mess of it—don’t you. You know what
- it’s for—£100,000 apiece. I’ve done my share of the job—you do
- yours. (<i>Turns r.a little.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MIKE.</b> (<i>Turning round and facing him.</i>) Are you sure you did
- your share?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>l.</i>) What do you mean? (<i>Turns c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MIKE.</b> (<i>r.</i>) Are you sure he was dead?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>After pausing, during which they have looked steadily at
- each other, turning away l.</i>) Well, the bullet went in above his ear,
- because I examined the wound: and his body went over a two hundred-foot
- precipice—that I could also take an affidavit to—only I’d
- rather not. (<i>Turning round and facing Mike again.</i>) What makes you
- doubt it?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MIKE.</b> I don’t know—nothing. The idea occurred to me, that’s
- all. (<i>Turns l. a little.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> Don’t you drink so much and you won’t have so many ideas. (<i>After
- a pause, during which he seems troubled, shaking it oft with an effort.</i>)
- Have you got the letters with you? It will look well to take them out
- casually while talking. (<i>Crosses R.; sits on table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MIKE.</b> (<i>Who has crossed to L., taking them out of his breast
- pocket and holding them in his hand.</i>) Yes, here they are all right.
- Bah! (<i>With a shudder.</i>) I always see his face when I look on the
- darned things—I—Mrs. R. (<i>Without, loudly.</i>) Dick
- Hanningford—Dick Hanningford, my boy! (<i>Mike drops suddenly in
- sitting posture on sofa L. with a cry “Ah.” Luke works round at back and
- drops down l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Mrs. R., excitedly, followed at little distance by Allen and
- Deborah from c. Allen and Deborah remain up. Rachel from door down l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Coming down towards Mike.</i>) What, Dick, my boy,
- where be thee? (<i>Sees Mike on sofa; making towards him.</i>) Ah, there
- thee be—I thought I’d know thee again though thee wur only in
- knickerbockers when I last saw ’ee. Tain’t thy fault thy father wur
- a bit stingy. Come and gie us a hug, lad. Lord love us—(<i>she is
- just in font of him, begins to speak in a bewildered, hesitating manner,
- in tones gradually dying away to an awed whisper, as she slowly step by
- step backs from him.</i>) How—how you’ve grown—Dick—Dick
- Hanningford—what—(<i>stands staring at him; a strange awed
- silence prevails</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Advancing in a terrified voice.</i>) Aunt.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Motioning her back with her arm, but not turning and
- speaking in a quick, excited, loud tone.</i>) Keep back, child, don’t come
- near. (<i>Luke is near Mike down c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Springing forward.</i>) Mother! What’s the matter?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>As before.</i>) The man’s dead.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>r. stepping forward.</i>) Dead!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MR. P.</b> (<i>Who has entered c. followed by Ichabod and Rachel l. He
- goes quietly up to Mike and lays his hand on his heart, and bends over him
- earnestly, and it is a few seconds before he speaks.</i>) Heart disease, I
- suppose. (<i>At back of settee l. Gets r.c. of settle.</i>) My letter in
- his hand. (<i>Gets to back of settle.</i>) It’s an ill wind that blows
- nobody any good. (<i>Turns and feels Mike’s heart once again, then quietly
- turns away to Allen. Comes c.</i>) He stood between you and £200,000. You
- are now old Hanningford’s heir!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Allen!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>To corpse of Mike—aside as he crosses to back.</i>)
- Curse you!
- </p>
- <h3>
- MEDIUM CURTAIN.
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- ACT II.
- </h2>
- <p>
- Scene: <i>Morning room in a handsome flat—a showily furnished room—rather
- ostentatious and loud in its decoration and appointments. Large table in
- bay window r.upper corner. Fire-place r.Doors at back l.c. and two in l.
- wing. Small tables r.and L.. Easy chairs l. and R.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>Breakfast is laid on large table—it is a gorgeously laid meal—silver
- and plate in profusion, and a great number of dishes—tea urn and
- coffee urn—a boiling kettle—flowers and ferns in vases and
- stands. One, a large wavy one, is at left edge of table close to Allen.
- The table in short is crowded and showy to the last degree. A magnificent
- footman in gorgeous livery is standing behind; and Mr. Piffin in solemn
- black waits close to Allen’s chair, a dish in his hand. Allen is
- discovered sitting l. of table, and eating his breakfast in a most
- melancholy fashion. He looks intensely miserable and awed. The terrible
- solemnity of the whole affair has depressed his spirits to their lowest
- ebb. He glances nervously now and then as the meal proceeds, from the
- footman to the valet, and vice versa, as they silently and with much
- ceremony walk about and wait on him. The fern by his side keeps getting in
- his way, tickling and irritating him, but he dare not move it. He eats in
- silence, and when he does speak, does so in a humble, deprecating, nervous
- manner. He is dressed in a loose morning costume. Music to open Act.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Standing by Allen’s l. elbow c. Peters r. of table R.</i>)
- May I get you a little pâté de foie gras, sir?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Looking round, and speaking in a hushed voice.</i>) I
- beg pardon?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> A little pâté de foie gras, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Patty who?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Goose’s liver, sir. I think you will like it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> No, thanks; I never eats liver. It don’t agree with me. I
- will have a bit o’ the bacon though.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> No, sir; it is not dressed that way, sir. I would get used to
- it if I were you, sir. You will so often come across it. Peters, just pass
- your master the pâté de foie gras.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Peters goes to do so. Allen who has turned again towards his breakfast
- is about to take up some gravy from his plate with his knife</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Checks him.</i>) I wouldn’t lap up the gravy with my
- knife, sir. I don’t think. It’s never done now in good society, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> It—it’s the best part of it, you know, I alius thinks—the
- gravy
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Yes, it’s very tasty, sir. It’s unfortunate it’s so sloppy;
- and you see, sir, eating it in that way does not show off the figure to
- advantage. Peters, remove your master’s plate.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Peters does so, placing it a few feet beyond Allen’s left hand. Allen
- watches it with jealous eyes. Peters then holds the pâté de foie gras to
- Allen. He slowly runs his eye up Peters with awe, and then looks at the
- pâté de foie gras, then using one hand attempts to take it. Peters, not
- moving a muscle, holds it tight. Allen seems surprised, and partly rising,
- attempts to take it with both hands.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Coming to his rescue, cutting a piece, and putting it on
- his plate.</i>) Allow me, sir. Peters, the brown bread and butter.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PET.</b> (<i>Looking for it.</i>) It is not on the table, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> No brown bread and butter; dear me, how remiss!
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Crosses l. and rings bell. Peters also crosses l.c. door, Allen looks
- cautiously round and sees they are not watching him, and stealthily
- reaches over and secures a knifeful of gravy. He is about having a second
- and has the knife close to his mouth, when he becomes aware that Piff has
- returned and is watching him. He tries to hide the knife out of sight.
- Peters has returned with bread and butter.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Severely.</i>) Peters, remove your master’s knife. Don’t
- you see that it is in his way?
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Peters does so, and then holds the bread and butter to Allen, who
- takes a thin slice, folds it up, and holds it in his left hand while
- taking the pâté on a fork in his right. He puts first the pâté and then
- the bread and butter into his mouth and swallows them.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> I must apologize for serving you your breakfast in here, sir.
- Of course, you will not have it in the drawing-room as a rule.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> No, a’ coorse not. No; us alius used to have it in the
- kitchen at home.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Yes, sir. Must have been very convenient. But I think I’ll
- get you to put up with the breakfast parlour in future, sir—when the
- room’s ready. Have you quite finished, sir?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Humbly suggesting.</i>) I think I’d like a little more
- o’ that pie. (<i>Looking longingly at pie the other side of table.</i>)
- You see, I alius wur a hearty eater. (<i>Said as apology</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Yes, sir, I’m delighted to hear it, sir; but I wouldn’t eat
- any more breakfast, sir. You will find it is considered correct among <i>bons
- vivants</i> to eat a very sparse dejeuner. My late lamented master, the
- Count de Fizziani, never partook of anything but a cup of weak tea and a
- little dry toast, and he was one of the oldest families in Europe.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Allen rises, Peters bows as he does so, and Allen returns the bow and
- comes dozen R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, I shouldn’t ’a’ thought as anyone could ‘a’ lived
- long on that. (<i>He bows</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> No necessity to bow, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> He did it. (<i>Indicating Peters</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> He’s paid for it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I allus seem to want a good feed myself in the morning. (<i>Takes
- out an old clay pipe and prepares to fill it. Goes down r. and sits in
- chair. Peters is clearing away the breakfast things</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Are you thinking of smoking, sir?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes; I allus has a whiff or two arter breakfast.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> It’s very soothing, sir. My late lamented master, the Count
- de Fizziani, used to follow precisely the same course. But I wouldn’t
- smoke a pipe, sir. Pipes are going out in good society. (<i>Takes
- cigarette case from pocket and offers it to Allen. Takes pipe from Allen
- and puts it on corner of table R.c.</i>) I have some cigarettes here, sir,
- which I think you will like, sir. These are much more <i>comme il faut</i>,
- sir. This case is a present from my late lamented master, the Count.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Allen looks at them and gingerly takes one.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Which end?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Lighting match.</i>) Either end, sir. Allow me. (<i>Showing
- matchbox.</i>) Another little souvenir from my late master. He was always
- acknowledging, if I may say so, my value to him. That sort of thing is
- always done in good society now. (<i>Lights cigarette.</i>) It is a full
- flavored one, sir. (<i>Piffin takes Allen’s pipe from table r.c., crossing
- with it to window r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Watching him, anxiously.</i>) Don’t hurt him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Turning round.</i>) I was just going to put it outside on
- the window-sill, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> No, don’t put him there. We used to sit up together of a
- night watching the sheep. I don’t like the thought of putting him outside
- the window, now I’m a gentleman. Drop him in the pocket of that old
- shooting coat o’ mine that thee won’t let me wear. They know each other. (<i>Sits
- r.and smokes his cigarette. Piff. puts the pipe on table and returns r.c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Noticing that Allen is looking at his cigarette.</i>) All
- right, sir? (<i>r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes—yes, thank you, Mr. Puffin—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Piffin, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I wur looking to see if it wur alight, that’s all.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> You will soon get to like them, sir. And whenever you are
- ready to dress, sir—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Surprised.</i>) Dress? Why, I be dressed, bain’t I?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Oh, only for breakfast, you see, sir. I understood you were
- going out walking, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Why can’t I walk in these?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Oh, no, sir—all London would laugh at you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Lord! I should never a’ thought as they’d take so much
- notice. (<i>Rising. Piff. crosses to l. near down stage door.</i>) Ah,
- well, I’ll dress. (<i>Crossing l.</i>) I don’t want to upset London if I
- can help it. I’ll dress. (<i>Exit l. Bows to Piffin as Piffin does so to
- him</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> No necessity to bow, sir. (<i>Aside.</i>) Ah, I’ve got a big
- job on here!
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Piffin, following Allen l. Piffin immediately returns, having
- forgotten the pipe, which he takes. He is recrossing l. as enter Dexter
- and Clara, c., preceded by Peters, who takes tray from table R.c. and
- exits up L.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- And I’ve got to live in the house with this.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Dexter goes c., Clara r. at back.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Coming down.</i>) Good-morning, Piffin, goodmorning.
- Having a quiet whiff?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Thank you, sir. My stomach does not permit my indulging in
- the luxury of a cutty pipe.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> Is Mr. Rollitt about?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> He has just this minute gone upstairs to dress, sir. I will
- let him know you are here, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> No hurry—no hurry at all, Piffin. We are before our
- time. You are not looking well, Piffin.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Anxiety, sir. May be anxiety. You see Mr. Rollitt’s
- unacquaintance with the manners of the <i>beaux esprits</i> throws much
- responsibility on myself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> But you must be careful, Piffin. What would he do without you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Smiling.</i>) Well, I’m afraid he would be a little up a
- tree, sir, if I may be permitted a vulgarism. (<i>Moving to door l.</i>) I
- will go and acquaint him with your arrival, sir. (<i>Takes plate from
- table l., puts pipe on it.</i>) I’ll send him to you directly, sir. (<i>Smells
- pipe.</i>) Shag! (<i>Exit l.l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> Thank you, Mr. Piffin, thank you. (<i>Turning round.</i>)
- Always be affable with your inferiors—never know when you may want
- ‘em.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>By window, looking out.</i>) Do you come across many of
- that sort? (<i>Comes down r. of table R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> Ah, you beast—you vixen. I wonder you don’t cut yourself
- with that tongue of yours.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Turning round with a hard laugh. At fireplace R.</i>) It
- must be pretty sharp if it goes through your skin.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> Ah, you damned—
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Allen l. He has on slippers and a smoking coat</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Crossing.</i>) Don’t ’ee look at us too closely.
- I bean’t properly dressed yet.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>r.c. turns head away.</i>) I don’t think we had better
- look at you at all under those circumstances, Mr. Rollitt. (<i>Laughs.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughs.</i>) Oh, I be covered up all right everywhere. I
- merely meant as I wasn’t up to fashion plate standard. (<i>Crossing c.</i>)
- And how be Colonel Dexter? (<i>Shaking hands.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Jolly, my boy—and how’s yourself?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>c.</i>) Oh, I be spry enough. (<i>Crossing before him
- and shaking hands with Clara, and keeping her hand.</i>) I think us’ll
- have a pleasant day.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>r. looking tenderly at him.</i>) I’m sure we shall. (<i>Crosses
- to sofa, stands at head of it.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> Well, you young folks will, I know, and the old folks will be
- happy looking on. (<i>Sitting, and taking Clara’s hand in his and fondling
- it. Allen crosses r.</i>) To see his little girl happy, that’s always
- happiness enough for old Jack Dexter.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Leaning over and kissing the top of his hand.</i>) Silly
- old dad.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Taking out his handkerchief and pretending to weep.</i>)
- Ah, like her mother—like her mother.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r. c., laughs nervously.</i>) Her—her mother must
- ha’ been rare beautiful, mustn’t her?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>c. rising and taking Allen by the hand.</i>) Thank you,—ah,
- Mr. Rollitt, you have never known the blessing of a wife—(<i>Clara
- looks at him</i>)—you do not understand the feelings of a widower. (<i>Weeping.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> No—but—(<i>laughing</i>)—but—I hopes
- to one day; no—no—I don’t mean that—I—(<i>confused</i>)—Have
- thee had breakfast? (<i>Clara sits on the soft L.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> Yes, thank you, Allen, my boy.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Cheerfully.</i>) Have another.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> No thanks, not to-day.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> What’s the matter? Off thee feed?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> No, my lad, but we old folks ain’t like you young country ones—nothing
- at present thank you—(<i>pauses</i>)—to eat.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Have summat to drink. (<i>Clara crosses l. Both men laugh,
- each in his own distinctive way. Dex. turns l. and catches Clara’s face.</i>)
- There be some rare old whiskey in the library. Thee’ll find it on the
- sideboard—(<i>Dex. goes up c.</i>)—and it be more comfortable
- like in there than here. I’ll just go and finish making myself beautiful.
- (<i>Crosses to l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Don’t be too long. (<i>Crossing and sitting L.c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) No, it oughtn’t to take me long to—(<i>Dex.
- has his back to them, wine business at table r.c.</i>)—do that,
- ought it? (<i>Goes to l. door down stage. Laughs, and then low to Clara as
- he is going.</i>) I am not likely to stop upstairs long when I know thee’s
- downstairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Go away, go away.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Allen down stage l. Bus. She kisses her hand.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> And I suppose you will go and throw this chance away, like you
- have every other.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Well, what if I do? (<i>Rises, crosses it.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> What if you do? What are we to live on? (<i>Goes to Clara l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Gulls, I suppose—as we always have done.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> Yes, and is it pleasant living? Is it pleasant to have to
- slave and trick for every dinner? Is it pleasant to be kicked—sooner
- or later—out of every society one goes into? (<i>Coming close and
- speaking low.</i>) Was it pleasant to be buried for two years in that
- God-forsaken hole by Exmoor, not daring to show our heads above ground for
- a moment? You’ve got a fine chance of being respectable now.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Too late, I’m afraid, though.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>r. c.</i>) Too late?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Yes—you see, papa, dear, you haven’t exactly brought
- me up in that way, and I’m afraid I’m too old to learn now. I don’t think
- I should be quite at home as the wife of a piously brought up young man
- from the country. (<i>Leans back—laughs.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> And so you’re going to let six thousand a year slip through
- your fingers. It’s wicked—it’s wicked.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Laughs—rises.</i>) Well, it hasn’t slipped through
- my fingers just at present, it is sticking to them pretty freely. (<i>Crosses
- to R.—Dex is c.—toys with ring.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Goes to table r.c.</i>) And how long do you think he will
- stand you playing with him?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Oh, a good long while yet. (<i>Goes up.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Puts hat on table r.c.</i>) That’s just where you’re
- making a mistake then. He’s not a fool. He’ll want an answer, “Yes,” or
- “No,” soon, and what are you going to say then?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Looking out of window.</i>) No. (<i>Looking into
- fireplace r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>After a pause—violently.</i>) Luke Cranbourne’s at
- the bottom of this. What devil’s game is it that’s going on between you
- and him? (<i>Loudly.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> I do wish you wouldn’t drink when you’re coming out
- anywhere, it always makes you so noisy. (<i>At glass.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Violently.</i>) Take care, Clara—you seem to forget
- I’m your father.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Coldly.</i>) The relationship was none of my seeking.
- Whatever responsibility attaches to the unfortunate—(<i>moves near
- Dex.</i>)—occurrence is not mine.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>l. making movement as if to strike her.</i>) Clara.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Facing him with quiet contempt—a pause.</i>) Put
- down your hands, father. That period of my life is over. (<i>Crosses. Dex.
- steps back, then throws himself into chair, leans his head on his arms,
- and bursts into tears r.c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Crying.</i>) My own child hates me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Crossing and laying a hand on his shoulder gently.</i>)
- I don’t mean to be hard, father, but you can’t expect much love and duty
- from me. Curses and blows were all you ever gave me as a child, and ever
- since I became a woman you have merely hawked me about as your decoy.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i> Whimpering.</i>) I only want you to do what’s for your
- own good.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Turns away L.</i>) Yes, but you must allow me to be the
- judge of that—and come—you haven’t had much cause to grumble
- up to now. You’ve been able to be drunk every night for the last three
- months.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Rises c.</i>) I ain’t been drunk. (<i>Takes hat off table
- r. c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Not for you perhaps—(<i>goes l. a little</i>)—drunk
- in the ordinary sense of the word—and I will get you something
- to-day if I can.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Drying his eyes.</i>) God bless you, Clara, you’re a good
- girl. Do you think you’ll be able to get a twenty?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> You must leave it to me. I’ll get you as much as I can.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Off l.</i>) Thank you, Mr. Puffin.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Off l.</i>) Piffin, Piffin, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Moving away towards door—upper l.</i>) Come into
- the next room now. Here’s Allen coming back.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>As he follows her out.</i>) Say you want to help a poor
- woman who’s very ill, and has been ordered nourishing food and—(<i>gags.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exeunt Clara and Dex. upper l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Allen and Piff. l. Allen is completely dressed in the height of
- walking costume, and is evidently very uncomfortable. Enter Peters c. Pet.
- puts photo case on table r. c. Exits down c. Allen has on hat and coat,
- and Piff. is carrying his umbrella and gloves. Allen should be got up in a
- slightly exaggerated masher style. He is smoking a cigarette.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I carn’t breathe, Mr. Puffin.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Oh, you will soon get used to that, sir. And would you please
- to remember my name is Piffin, sir? (<i>Taking his hand.</i>) Why, surely
- these are nines, sir, I think we could get them down to eight and a half,
- and if I were you, sir, I would show a little more cuff, sir, it’s always
- done in good society, sir; besides, it makes the hand look smaller; a
- little cuff, sir, goes a long way in good society.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Thank you, Mr. Piffin. (<i>Shakes his hand.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Thank you, sir, but I don’t think you ought to shake hands
- with me, sir. And when you do shake hands with your friends, sir—allow
- me (<i>takes Allen’s hand</i>) shake high, sir. (<i>Shakes his hand high.</i>)
- You’ll see it’s always done in good society, sir. Lord Carmichael’s man
- told me he met you yesterday, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I—I don’t know him, do I?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Oh, no, sir, but he knows you, sir, and he was rather
- complaining of your walk, sir?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Why, what’s it got to do with him?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Well, sir, knowing as I’m your coach, sir, he meant it as a
- friendly hint. You have rather a countrified walk, if you will forgive me
- for saying so—a more <i>négligé</i> style is adopted by the <i>savoir
- vivre</i> now, sir, and a more <i>insouciant</i> manner of carrying the
- umbrella. You walk too much in this way, sir. (<i>Taking up umbrella,
- gags, and imitates.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Lord love us, do I walk like that?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Just like that, sir. You see yourself, sir, what a very <i>undestingué</i>
- appearance it presents. The present fashionable style is more like this,
- sir. (<i>Performing an exaggerated Piccadilly dawdle.</i>) See, sir—body
- a little forward—knees stiff—and a slight wobble, sir—very
- slight. (<i>Handing Allen the umbrella.</i>) Perhaps, sir, you would take
- the umbrella and try it, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Allen attempts the business.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Criticising Allen’s practice. Allen crosses to R.</i>) A
- little more bend, sir—a little wobble, sir—umbrella held
- lightly between the first and second fingers, sir, (<i>Allen goes l.</i>)
- and if you could manage—allow me, sir—. (<i>takes umbrella,
- shows him, and returns it</i>) to swing it right round now and then, sir,
- it adds great <i>aplomb</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Great what?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> French, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Swings umbrella round awkwardly.</i>) Like that?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Not quite like that, sir. A little more airily, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Swinging it.</i>) Does it ever put anybody’s eye out
- behind?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> I don’t think that point is considered of much importance in
- good society, sir—that is much better, sir. (<i>Goes r.Allen l.</i>)
- If you would practice like that a little every day, sir, you would soon
- pick it up, sir. A little more bend, sir, and—er—don’t forget
- the wobble.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit l. down stage.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Allen goes on practicing to himself, making as much fun as possible,
- consistent with comedy, out of the bus. As he is in the middle of it,
- enter Mrs. R.and Deb. door c., the door being opened for them by Peters.
- They stand c. staring aghast at Allen, who continues, unconscious of their
- presence.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Gags.</i>) Soon pick it up! Strikes me someone’ll have
- to pick me up. It puts me in mind of one of our old turkey cocks.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Mrs. R. and Deb. come down stage a little.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Bus. in r. corner of stage. Peters withdraws, grinning.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>After a long pause, clapping her hands.</i>) I know what
- it is, aunt. It’s our Allen.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Seeing them.</i>) Mother! (<i>Comes down r.c. Deb. l. c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> My boy! (<i>They rush into each other’s arms c. and Mrs. R.
- gives him a huge hug—gets r.of Allen, Deb. l. Then he and Deb. have
- an embrace, and then he and Mrs. R. for the second time.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>In the middle of Mrs. R. second hug.</i>) Hold hard!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Alarmed.</i>) What’s the matter, lad?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Summat’s gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> What?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I don’t know; summat behind. (<i>Drawing back r. and looking
- down at himself.</i>) Mother, you’ve spoilt me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, they used to tell me I allus did that, lad. (<i>Laughs.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>After gazing in silent admiration at Allen.</i>) Oh, aunt,
- isn’t it lovely? Look at its hat!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Critically examining his clothes.</i>) Ah—and
- there’s some good stuff there, too. (<i>Moving away.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Going near and sniffing.</i>) Oh, oh! Doesn’t it smell
- nice—and—oh, look at its collar! (<i>Allen pleased—begins
- to plume himself—Deb. begins to laugh.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> What’s the matter with the collar—what are you
- laughing at? (<i>Trying to look at his own collar. Debt’s laugh only
- grows, and Allen’s indignation begins to rise.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> What’s the matter—what are you laughing at? (<i>Deb.
- laughing more and more, goes to walk round him. Turning round, so as to
- face her—his collar prevents him turning his head, and he has to
- walk round.</i>) What are you up to?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> I want to see it all round.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Very indignantly.</i>) Well then, you can’t do it. I
- ain’t a show. What are you laughing at? There’s nothing to laugh at. (<i>Mrs.
- R. laughs first time.</i>) It’s your ignorance, because you don’t
- understand things. What are you laughing at?
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Mrs. R., who has hitherto sat R. looking on, now also begins to laugh,
- and she and Deb. go on laughing more and more, Allen growing more and more
- indignant.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I am surprised at you, mother. Deb. allus was a—(<i>the
- two women only laugh louder, and Allen in spite of himself begins to laugh
- too; afterwards he joins in heartily and all three laugh, after which they
- have another hug. Bus.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Exhausted.</i>) Well, lad, and how dost thee like being
- a gentleman? (<i>Sits r., Deb. sits l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>c. doubtfully.</i>) Well, it’s got its drawbacks,
- mother. There’s more work about it than you’d think for, you know,—but
- I think I shall be all right, I’ve got a good man learning me. He wur
- teaching me to walk this morning. That wus the Park stroll I wur
- practicing when you come in; see, mother? (<i>Imitates stroll.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, well, us made a good man of ’ee down in Devon. I
- hopes they don’t spoil ’ee, lad, in turning thee into a gentleman.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, no, mother. It’s only a polishing up the outside. I’m
- old Exmoor oak—(<i>puts his hat and umbrella on table r. c.</i>)—I
- hope, right through, and they can’t hurt that. When did ’ee come
- up? (<i>Sits r. c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Only yesterday, and us went to Mrs. Clouter’s and slept,
- and then us come on here this morning.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> And how long can you stop?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, us must start off to-morrow, some time.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> To-morrow! Oh, nonsense, mother.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Nonsense! Why, bless the lad, thee wouldn’t have me away on
- Saturday. Why, who’d pay the wages, and see to everything?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Why, there’s Rogers there, ain’t there?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, why thee might just as well leave the key of the stable
- in charge o’ the old bay mare, as trust him to look arter anything, except
- his own inside.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) Mother! (<i>Rises, goes to Mrs. R.
- r.</i>) What do ye want to go back at all for, and work and worry yourself
- to death? Let me take a little house up here in London for thee and Deb,
- and then we can all be together.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Aghast.</i>) And leave the farm?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Turning round.</i>) Oh, Allen!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Why not? You’ve worked hard enough, mother—give the
- farm up and enjoy yourself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Enjoy myself! Away from Woodbarrow
- </p>
- <p>
- Farm! Why, lad, thy father wur born there and brought me home there—and
- he died there, and thee wur born there—and there be the pigs and the
- poultry! (<i>Begins to cry.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Tenderly patting her.</i>) All right, mother, all right.
- Us’ll keep it on.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Wiping her eyes.</i>) And thee might want to come back
- to it theeself some day, lad.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) Why, thee don’t think I’m going to run
- through two hundred thousand, do ye, mother? We Devonshire lads win
- fortunes, not lose ‘em. (<i>Crossing c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, no, lad. But thee knows the saying “Roses blossom for a
- day, But stout old ivy’s green al-way.” Thee ain’t likely to lose the
- money, if thee can help it, lad, but us all be in God’s hands, and I’ll be
- easier in my mind if the farm’s there for thee to come home to. If
- anything happens, thee knows the way across the Moor, and thee knows how
- the latch goes, and me and the lass will be inside to welcome thee.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Goes l. takes Deb.‘s hand.</i>) Ah, I know you will,
- mother, both of you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Music—piano.</i>) Leastways I shall—and the
- lass until her gets married, I suppose. (<i>Deb. goes up a little; gets r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Surprised.</i>) Until her gets married? (<i>Deb. goes to
- Mrs. R. r.; tries to stop her speaking.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Sharply.</i>) Ah, the lads ain’t all fools.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Evidently troubled.</i>) I never seemed to think o’
- Deb’s getting married, somehow.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, other folks have.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I can’t fancy the old farm wi’out Deb. Lord, how lonesome it
- would be.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Who has been trying to stop Mrs. R., has come down and
- stands by her aunt, l.</i>) Oh, it’s only aunt’s fun. (<i>Goes to Allen,
- l. c.</i>) I’m not going to get married. Sure the pigs and cows are worrit
- enough wi’ their foolish ways. I don’t want any husband.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, thee will some day, o’ course, and when thee does we
- must make thee comfortable, lass. (<i>Taking her hand.</i>) Thee shalt ha’
- the best farm in all the country, and the best dairy, and the best stock.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Little c.</i>) Thank thee, Allen dear. (<i>Turns up stage.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Rising; music dies away.</i>) Well, lass, I suppose us
- had better have a clean down and summat to eat, and then see about our bit
- o’ shopping.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Lord help us! (<i>Starting.</i>) If I ain’t forgot all about
- ‘em.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> All about whom?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Why, Clara—Miss Dexter and her father—they be in
- the library waiting for me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Oh, don’t let us keep you from them. (<i>A little spitefully.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Oh, I shan’t go out this morning, now. (<i>Gets hat and
- umbrella from table r.c.</i>) I shall get them to stop here instead, and
- us can have a nice quiet day all together. (<i>Going towards door, lower
- l.</i>) Come on, mother. (<i>Crosses to c.</i>) I’ve got a room fitted up
- a’purpose for thee and Deb, with a roost just outside the window with a
- cock and three hens in it, and he crows all night.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exeunt Allen, Deb., and Mrs. R. down stage.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Baron von Schorr (1) and the Hon. Tom. Gus-sett (2), ushered in
- by Peters c. (3). Enter Luke c., and Dexter u. l. (4), afterwards Clara
- (5.) Baron goes down l., Gussett r., Luke r. c., Dexter l. c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Rollitt’s going out. You can’t see him. It’s no
- good your coming here to try and fleece him this morning. I tell you he’s
- going out.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Coming down r.c.</i>) Ah, we’ll wait and say good-bye to
- him, Jack.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>BARON.</b> (<i>l. c.</i>) Ah, greedy Jack,—greedy Jack—you
- want de bird all to yourself. Nein—nein, zhare and zhare alike. Herr
- Cranbourne have a ving, Tom Gussett, he have de oder ving. You and your
- fair daughter have de legs, and I vill have de breast.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> No, you shall have the bones after we’ve done with them.
- Make ’em into a stew—keep a German baron for a week. (<i>Others
- laugh.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>BARON.</b> Ah, Trickey, you here. (<i>Motioning towards Clara and her
- father.</i>) Ah, de early birds—de early birds.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Yes, we have to be. (<i>Rises, and goes r.imitating him.</i>)
- De worms get up so early nowadays. (<i>Enter Allen lower l. Baron goes to
- meet him. Guss. puts him away and he turns up c. Speaks to Dex.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Hullo! Unexpected pleasure!
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Luke comes forward and greets Allen c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>r.</i>) Haven’t seen you for an age, dear boy.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> No. (<i>Goes to Luke r.</i>) I’ve been keeping pretty
- respectable of late—I—I mean, you know, I haven’t been going
- out much.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Tom and I are going over to Paris for the
- Vincennes meeting, and we’ve come to see if you will join.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>l. of Allen r.</i>) Yes, do come; then we can show you
- about Paris a bit, you know.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> Ah, yes, and we shall be able to get you into one or two
- things in the betting line if you are with us. We can introduce you to
- some friends of ours.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, it be very kind of thee, I’m sure.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>They go on talking r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>BARON.</b> (<i>Aside to the Dexters, back of Clara.</i>) I say, Jack,
- my boy, how long have you been Colonel? I did not know you vas a
- militaire.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Papa joined the Salvation Army about the same time that you
- were raised to the German Peerage. Don’t talk so loud, my dear Baron.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>BARON.</b> Gut, gut.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Luke sits down stage r. with back to audience, looking at betting
- book.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>To Allen r.</i>) Of course we shall take care of your
- interests as if it was for ourselves.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>BARON.</b> (<i>Comes and puts arm in Allen’s.</i>) Of course they vill
- take care ob your interests for themselves. Come here. (<i>Goes l.</i>)
- You know I have been tinking about you so much ob late. Ja!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, very kind of thee, I’m sure.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>BARON.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Ja, I say to myself, my fren Rollitt—I
- always call you my fren—my fren Rollitt, I say, he is a gut fellow—he
- has money—all he vants is family. (<i>Guss. goes to Dex. l. c.</i>)
- He must marry family. (<i>Dex. goes c. and tries to hear conversation—Baron
- notices it and crosses to r.with Allen.</i>) Now, Miss Dexter, she is a
- nice girl—ach, such a nice girl—but she has no family.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> No—not yet. (<i>Luke gets near fireplace R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>BARON.</b> (<i>r. Seeing it after a while.</i>) Ah, nein, nein—I
- do not mean vat you mean—I mean family de oder vay—backvards—dead
- uns.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Oh!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>BARON.</b> Ja. Now, dere is my niece, look at her family! Look at her
- ancestors—all barons—German barons! And she is such a nice
- girl—so beaudiful—so plump—ach, I will indroduce her to
- you. She vill mash you—so much. She—
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Mrs. R., Deb. behind her, lower l. door. Seeing the room full
- she stands by door hesitatingly.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>Coming down and interrupting, with a sneering laugh.</i>)
- Your nurse, Rollitt, I think. (<i>Comes c. Luke goes to fireplace R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Turns and sees them, and then goes towards them.</i>)
- Yes, Mr. Gussett—the best nurse a man can have—my mother.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Guss. confused, but soon recovers himself and laughs it off. Col. D.,
- Luke, and Clara come forward to greet Mrs. R. and Deb. l. c., and the
- customary ceremony, etc., is gone through—all speaking together.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Smiling pleasantly, shakes hands with Mrs. R.</i>)
- Good-morning, Mrs. Rollitt. You are looking so well and jolly. How are
- you, my dear? (<i>To Deb. Between these two the greeting is really
- strained and awkward, although outwardly pleasant enough. Clara kisses
- Deb., but Deb. seems to shrink—she turns away. Clara notices this,
- and follows Deb. as she turns away up c., with a meaning look. While it
- has been going on the greeting between Mrs. R. and Luke has taken place—Mrs.
- R. down l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Finishing his introduction of Mrs. R. and Baron.</i>)
- The Baron von Schnorr—Mrs. Rollitt, my mother.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>BARON.</b> Your mudder—Oh, impossible. (<i>Goes l. c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Huffy.</i>) I beg your pardon, Mr. Snort.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>BARON.</b> Ach, ja, you are laughing at me—not your mudder.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Clara walks round at back, drops down r. near Luke.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Very indignant.</i>) Yes—his mother. Don’t you
- cast any of your nasty foreign insinuations upon me. I’m his lawful
- married mother, and his father was his father, and a better man never
- lived, as anyone in Exmoor—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Soothing her.</i>) It’s all right, mother, the Baron
- only means it complimentary. Thee’st supposed to look too young to be
- anybody’s mother. He has to take (<i>Clara sits r.</i>) thee for my
- sister. (<i>Laughing—goes up l. c. with Dex.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>BARON.</b> Ja—I take you for his sister. Ach, you English ladies,
- you never seem to get more old—you only get more round, more—more
- jolly.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Still indignant.</i>) Ah—foolishness. (<i>Ruffling
- her dress and sitting very stiff l. on sofa.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>BARON.</b> (<i>Sitting on sofa beside her.</i>) It must be de climate
- keep you so moist. (<i>Drawing closer.</i>) I knew a man, he lives in your
- Manchester, and—(<i>goes on talking to Mrs. R. but is not heard.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Allen goes up and joins Col. Dex. up l. c. and Clara. After a little
- while Col. Dex. appropriates him, leaving Clara a little to r.of them
- unnoticed. Guss. continues talking to Deb. Deb. evidently bored and
- anxious to get away. Guss. trying to be very agreeable. At this point when
- all the others are occupied, Luke r. beckons Clara to him and she crosses.
- Their conversation is in eager undertone and they watch to see that no one
- is noticing them.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> Have you got him to join yet?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> No—he kicks against it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> If his name isn’t down in the list of directors before Monday
- I shall be arrested.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Can’t you get away?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> No, I’m watched night and day. If he joins, the company will
- float and it will be all right.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> I shall be seeing him alone this morning. I will try again.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> And keep to plain gold and diamonds for presents. Those
- fallal things (<i>touching her bracelet</i>) are no good. Don’t fetch ten
- per cent, of their value.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Part of the conversation between herself and Guss.
- Abstractedly, her attention being fixed on Luke and Clara.</i>) Ha, ha!
- that was very funny.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Guss. r. with Deb. looks at her in amazement.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Down r.</i>) There’s that milkmaid watching us—don’t
- look around, answer as though I had been proposing to you—that will
- account for our talking together. (<i>In a louder but still undertone.</i>)
- Is there no hope for me?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Down r.—smiling.</i>) None, Luke—please
- don’t refer to the subject again. I like you—respect you—will
- be a sister to you—but love—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Grinning.</i>) Yes, it’s that Rollitt that you love. (<i>Deb.,
- followed by Guss., has moved away to window.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Mr. Cranbourne, you have no right—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Who has been watching Deb.</i>) Chuck it up, it’s all
- right, she’s gone to the window.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> I don’t suppose we’ve deceived her very much, she’s a sharp
- little minx. Get these men away.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Clara takes up book, and standing, toys with it up r. front of r.c.
- table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>BARON.</b> (<i>Finishing.</i>) She never leave her bed for eighteen
- years—she take dree dozes—den she get up and go for a dree
- mile walk.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Rising.</i>) Lor! It must have been quite a change for
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>BARON.</b> (<i>Rising.</i>) Ja. It vas a miragle. (<i>Turning and
- seeing Luke beside him.</i>) Ha, my dear boy, ready?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Crosses to Baron.</i>) Ready and off.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Coming down c. followed by Dex.</i>) Oh, are you three
- going?
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Baron goes c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> Yes, I know you’ll be glad to be rid of us. (<i>Laughing.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Well, I have (<i>looking at watch</i>) one or two little
- things to do this morning.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Baron goes up c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> Well, look here, Allen, I’m just going to have a quiet weed in
- the smoking room till you’re ready. See?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Oh, it be a billiard room now, thee know.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> Oh. have you had a table put up?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Who has just crossed over and joined the group l. to
- Mrs. R. who is just about quitting the room by door l. lower.</i>) Do you
- allow your little boy to play billiards, Mrs. Rollitt? I don’t think I
- should if I had charge of him. (<i>Playfully.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Oh, the more he’s up to every sort o’ game that’s played
- the better for him, to my thinking.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Mrs. R. l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) Oh, it keeps me at home out of mischief,
- like. (<i>Moves to upper door L.</i>) Come and have a look at it. (<i>Goes
- up c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>BARON.</b> (<i>As they go.</i>) Ach, billiards iz a beaudiful game. (<i>Aside
- to Luke.</i>) But you cannot vin much at id, id take so dam long.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exeunt all but Guss. and Deb. [l.]—all talking as they go. Guss.
- and Deb. near fireplace.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>r.</i>) Well, I’m afraid, Mr. Gussett, I must really go
- now. (<i>Goes down stage. Guss. goes l. c. and stops her.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>Getting between her and the door l. to which she is
- backing.</i>) Oh, no, don’t go. Do you know, I shall really think you are
- trying to avoid me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Retreating behind table—Guss. takes a step.</i>) Oh,
- not at all.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>c. gets l. of r. c. table.</i>) Ah, so pleasant to hear
- you say so. You know, Miss Deacon, I so want you to like me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Yes, well—I do very much, only I can’t stop to do it
- now, because you see aunt wants me. (<i>Moves c. up stage. Guss. stops
- her. Bus. of Deb. trying to get away and of Guss. cutting her off and
- trying to get near her; is kept up throughout the scene.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>GUSS.</b> Ah, but your aunt sees so much of you and I can see so
- little.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Laughing, walks l. c. up stage. Guss. at head of sofa.</i>)
- I’m afraid there’s not very much more of me to see. I must go really,
- because we have got to do some shopping this morning.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>GUSS.</b> Ah, let me come with you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Oh, no, I won’t tax your kindness. I know you men hate
- shopping, and we are going into drapers’ and dressmakers’ and all sorts of
- dreadful places, (<i>c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>GUSS.</b> Ah, they will not be dreadful if you are there, Miss Deacon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> And aunt always takes such a long time shopping. (<i>Goes up
- c.</i>) Never can make up her mind, and I’m worse still, and—(<i>makes
- movement, Guss. moves behind settle and stops her down l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>GUSS.</b> Ah, the longer you take, the better I shall like it. I shall
- enjoy coming, I assure you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Getting more and more cross, comes r.c.</i>) Well you know
- I really don’t think you will; and really, Mr. Gussett—(<i>turns r.a
- little.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>Interrupting.</i>) Ah, I know better. No, I quite insist
- upon coming.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>With calm, suppressed temper.</i>) Ah, all right, Mr.
- Gussett, you shall. (<i>Crossing l. meets Mrs. R. just entering l.</i>)
- Aunt, I want you. (<i>Turning her round again.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Why, whatever’s the—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> I’ll tell you, come along.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exeunt Mrs. R. and Deb. l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>r. turns and arranges his moustache in glass over chimney</i>).
- Might do worse, Gussy, my boy. (<i>Turns round again.</i>) She’s not a bad
- little thing, lick her into shape a bit.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Luke, upper l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Crossing to table and taking up his hat.</i>) Coming?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>GUSS.</b> No, dear boy. (<i>Laughing.</i>) Got a little job on.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> Oh, on the war-path?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>GUSS.</b> Yes—well, I may as well keep it in hand—Chawbacon
- will make her good for a thousand or two, I expect—if nothing better
- turns up.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> Ah—wish you luck—she’ll be a good match for you,
- I think, Gussy.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Luke c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Mrs. R. and Deb. lower door l. Both are wearing old-fashioned
- big country shawls, and big bonnets. Deb. evidently has on one of her
- aunt’s. Their dress altogether is as extravagant as comedy will permit,
- and has evidently been hastily put on. Deb. also carries a big country
- hand-basket covered with a cloth, the neck of a bottle sticking
- prominently out, and a huge gamp. Deb. smothering her laughter</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Crossing r.c.</i>) We are quite ready, Mr. Gussett
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Yes, we are quite ready.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>GUSS.</b> (<i>Who has regarded them with a horrified stare.</i>) Ah,
- yes, if you will wait a minute I think I will call a cab.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Oh, we’d rather walk, thank you—you would rather walk,
- wouldn’t you, aunt?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Oh, I’ve made up my mind for a walk.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Yes, we would both rather walk. Will you give your arm to
- aunty, Mr. Gussett? (<i>Guss. crosses to c.</i>) And be very careful of
- her at the crossings, because she’s rather nervous, and so am I.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>r.c. handing the basket to Guss.</i>) You won’t mind
- carrying the basket, will you, Mr. Gussett, because it’s so heavy? (<i>He
- takes it bewildered and helpless.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>As Guss., Deb. and Mrs. R. reach door c., enter Allen and Clara l.
- upper e.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Hulloa! Where be thee off to?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Down Regent street, and up—Piccadilly, I think you call
- it. Good-bye.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exeunt Mrs. R., Deb. and Guss. c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Comes l. laughing.</i>) I should like to be there to see
- the Hon. Tom Gussett at the crossings.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Half amused, half cross.</i>) Ah, her be a madcap, her
- be, that girl. What makes thee so anxious that I should join the company?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Sitting l. on sofa, Allen stands by her, behind sofa,
- leaning over.</i>) Why, don’t you see, poor papa could be secretary if you
- joined. They would let you nominate him, and we should be so glad to be
- earning something—(<i>very low</i>)—and we are so poor. (<i>Laying
- her hand on him.</i>) Do join, Allen, for my sake.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Yielding—back of sofa.</i>) Ah, thee don’t know
- how hard thee makes it for me to say no.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Then don’t say it—it would make me so happy. (<i>Looking
- up at him.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> It would?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Laying her hand as if unwittingly on his.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- And I should think you—(<i>drooping her head.</i>) Ah! I’d better
- not say what I should think you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, well, lass, if you wish it, I will then.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> You will really?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes—if it will make thee happy I will. And now let’s
- talk about yourself. (<i>Sits l. next to Clara.</i>) Thee is the company I
- most wants to join. How have thee been getting on?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Looking down.</i>) Oh, dear!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> What does “Oh dear” mean?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> “Oh, dear” means very bad. Debts. (<i>With assumed
- bewilderment.</i>) Awful!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Smiling.</i>) What sort of debts?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Oh, all sorts—tradespeople, you know, and all that,
- and then I thought I could win a little by betting—(<i>Allen rises</i>)—and
- put it all right—and I’ve been and lost. Oh dear!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Vexed, goes c.</i>) I should ha’ thought there wur
- enough fools among us men trying to win money that way.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> I am naughty, I know—but papa leaves everything to me,
- and I get so frightened when I see the debts mounting up and nothing to
- meet them, and I’ve no one to advise me. (<i>Crosses l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>After a pause, rises, goes to Clara—kindly.</i>) I
- didn’t mean to speak unkind, lass. I’m full of old-fashioned notions about
- women, I suppose. I like ’em to be women—not mere men in
- petticoats. How much does thee owe?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Oh, heaps! (<i>Handing him pocket-book.</i>) Look. (<i>Allen
- crosses to R. and sits at table.</i>) And I haven’t any money. (<i>Rising
- and looking over his shoulder R., as he examines the book.</i>) Do you
- think they’ll put me in prison?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Turns—laughing.</i>) Thee ought to be taken in
- charge by somebody, that’s certain. (<i>Allen rises, puts some notes from
- his pocket-book into hers, and hands it back to her.</i>) I owe your
- father a little over one or two bets. I can take it off that and give him
- the rest, like. (<i>Crosses to l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Takes book and lays it on the table—the notes drop
- out on to the table.</i>) You are good, Allen, really. (<i>Puts book on
- table R.—half to herself.</i>) I wish sometimes that you weren’t—that
- you were more like other men I have met. (<i>Turning away r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Why, would thee like me better?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> No, but I should like myself better.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> What do thee mean, lass?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Nothing. I’m not used to your sort of men. (<i>Goes to
- fireplace, then up R., throwing off her seriousness and turning towards
- him.</i>) You are like the knight, Allen, out of some old legend that
- comes and slays the dragon and sets the frightened princess free from all
- her trouble. (<i>Laughing.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Goes to table r. Clara r.c. at top of table.</i>) When
- art thee going to gie me the right to be thy knight always?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b>.(<i>Sits at table playfully.</i>) Ah, the gallant knights
- are apt to turn into grim jailers—(<i>comes l. of r. table</i>)—when
- they get the princess into their own castles.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Can’t thee believe me, Clara? Trust me, lass—I’m only
- a rough country chap to be asking a beautiful lady like thee to be my
- wife. But if I can’t gie thee anything very showy on the outside, it will
- make me the more eager alius to keep a loving heart for thee within.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Oh, no. (<i>Sits in chair l. of table.</i>) A lover on his
- knees is so much nicer than a lover on your arm. You are so nice, Allen,
- as you are, you can’t think. I really couldn’t bring myself to risk a
- change.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>c.</i>) It would be a change for thee, Clara—(<i>leans
- on table at back of Clara, puts hand on Clara’s chair</i>)—from a
- rough and troubled road to one where every stone wur smoothed away from
- your path—-where every thorn wur held back as you passed—where,
- instead of care for the day and dread for the morrow, thee would feel that
- a strong arm wur round thee—that a loving hand wur working out thy
- life for thee. Cannot thee risk the change, Clara?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Rises, Allen takes her right hand, turns away R.</i>)
- Ah, I suppose there are such lives for some women. It must be very good
- when you are tired. (<i>Facing round to L.c.</i>) And you, Allen—women
- do not always seem so charming after marriage as they did before. It might
- be a risk for you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> To have the sweetest, noblest woman in the world to be my
- wife? I’ll risk that. (<i>Laughs, comes c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Turning away again to R., Allen l.c.</i>) Ah, you boys,
- you think all women are angels.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> So they are—a good woman is an angel.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>At Are, facing round and looking at him.</i>) How do you
- know I am good? (<i>Very low and serious. Allen drops down c. A pause. He
- looks in surprise and inquiry at her, not knowing what to answer.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Hadn’t you better make sure, Allen? (<i>Laughing.</i>) What
- do you know of my past—of even my present—of whence I came—what
- I am? (<i>Laughs.</i>) Suppose, Allen, suppose I were only an adventuress.
- (<i>Takes a step.</i>) A woman with the blood of sharpers and thieves in
- her veins—whose nursery was the gambling house—whose school
- was the Café and the Boulevards—a woman who earned her daily bread
- by shamelessness and cunning—a woman whose past would ever follow
- like a shadow the footsteps of her life—whose future must ever be a
- darker shadow still. Ah, Allen, take care. Cupid ties a bandage over men’s
- eyes. Hymen, when it is too late, plucks it off. Hadn’t you better lift a
- corner off the handkerchief, Allen, while we are yet upon the step
- without, lest beside your hearth, when the door has shut us in, you cast
- it loose, to find I am a stain upon your name—a shadow in your home—a
- blight upon your life? (<i>Laughing.</i>) Allen, take care—take
- care. (<i>Crosses to l. Allen moves up a trifle.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Recovering from the bewilderment with which he has heard
- her.</i>) Ah, it’s well for thee that it is thee, and not anyone else that
- talks like this about ’ee.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Ah, but Allen, try and find out a little more about me; it’s
- just a whim of mine—I want to feel sure that you know me—just
- to please me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> If I couldn’t trust thee—(<i>takes her hand</i>)—lass,
- I shouldn’t love thee.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Crosses to R.c. Allen follows.</i>) Ah, you are a dear
- good fellow, Allen, and I won’t tease you any more. And you will join the
- company, won’t you? And then you shall get me that dear little diamond
- bracelet that we looked at—do you remember it?—and you shall
- put it on yourself. (<i>Allen by her side r. All this is said with every
- trick of fascination at her command, and now she playfully holds up her
- arm, from which the loose sleeve falls back, close to his face.</i>) On
- that. (<i>He drops on his knees and kisses her arm</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Deb. c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Snatches her arm away.</i>) Deborah! (<i>Allen rises.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Turning and seeing her, goes to fireplace R.</i>) Hullo,
- thee’s back soon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Yes, aunt met Mrs. Clouter just outside, so I pleaded a
- headache and left them. (<i>Throwing off bonnet and shawl on chair and
- coming down.</i>) Don’t you think Col. Dexter would like a game of
- billiards, Allen?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> No, he’s all right—he’s smoking. (<i>Crosses l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Oh, I’m sure he’d like a game (<i>Clara motions Allen away</i>),
- and I want to have a chat with Miss Dexter. We shan’t see each other after
- this morning for goodness knows how long.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Moving away l.</i>) Ah, I understand now. (<i>Goes up
- stage l.</i>) I’ll go, and you can tell each other about your new frocks.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Allen l., Clara goes c., Deb. l.c. and Clara look at each other.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) I came back to see you, Miss Dexter,
- before you left.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Coldly.</i>) It was very good of you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> I want to know whether you are playing the fool with Allen, or
- whether you mean to marry him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> I have heard of that sort of question being put to a
- gentleman under certain circumstances. (<i>Crosses to L.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> It is put to the person who is supposed to be acting
- dishonorably—I put it to you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> I am afraid I have been mixing things up. I was under the
- impression that it was the stout lady, your aunt, that was Mr. Rollitt’s
- mother.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> You are very smart, Miss Dexter, and I am not, but this is no
- game—it is earnest.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Then I would suggest to you that your cousin is quite
- capable of taking care of himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Yes, against a man; but not against the woman he loves and
- trusts. It is his love that enables you to deceive him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Crossing to R.—sits on chair near table r.</i>)
- You seem to have made up your mind, my dear child, that I am deceiving
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>l.c.</i>) I know that he has asked you to become his wife,
- and I know that although you have let him think it is all right, you have
- never given him a real answer. I know that you accept his attentions, his
- invitations, his presents. (<i>Noticing the book and notes on the table,
- points to them.</i>) And all the while you are having whispered interviews
- and secret meetings with another man.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Coolly counting notes.</i>) If you are thinking of the
- conversation you were trying to listen to just now—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> That is only the latest of many such I have noticed. They
- began three months ago, down in Devonshire. I come to London and find the
- same thing going on.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Sneering.</i>)’ You really ought to have been a
- detective, the force might have been some use then.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> I’m not blind. (<i>Goes c.</i>) Allen is. But that is not all.
- These things might be explained by themselves—suspicious though they
- are—but just now, going downstairs, I picked up a purse. (<i>Pausing
- and looking at Clara, who, however, makes no sign.</i>) It is your purse.
- (<i>Throws it into Clara’s lap.</i>) I opened it to see whom it belonged
- to—and inside it is a wedding ring. Is your name Dexter or
- Cranbourne?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Rising.</i>) I really must decline to answer any
- questions of yours. You are so exceedingly rude. (<i>Crosses up behind
- table R.c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> You need not answer me. Answer Allen. Tell him that you will
- be his wife—or that you cannot. (<i>Clara takes no notice.</i>) Do
- you refuse? (<i>Crossing l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> I refuse to be dictated to.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Then I shall communicate my suspicions to Allen.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Turning fiercely.</i>) Do so. Tell him—(<i>walks
- round table to back of Deb. c.</i>)—that you believe that I am the
- wife of another man, and am playing a shameful part with him merely to
- sponge on him. That I am fondling him with the one hand only the better to
- pick his pocket with the other. Tell him that you believe he is surrounded
- by a gang of adventurers and thieves, of which I am the willing decoy.
- Tell him your suspicions, and I will tell him that they are the poisonous
- concoctions of a jealous woman—of a woman who loves him herself—(<i>laughs</i>)—and
- seeks to win him from her more favored rival, by lies and trickery. (<i>Goes
- dozen r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Quietly.</i>) You shall answer him for all that, or he
- shall know the reason why you dare not. (<i>Crosses L., and calls.</i>)
- Allen! Allen!
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Allen l. up stage</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>l. c.</i>) Allen, is Miss Dexter engaged to be married to
- you or not?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Well. (<i>Laughs.</i>) Blest if I could tell ‘ee
- that, Deb. That be the very thing I ha’ been trying to find out myself.
- Bain’t it, Clara? Only her be such a tease. (<i>All said laughingly.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Sharply.</i>) You mean you have never been able to get a
- plain answer, yes or no?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Gently, lass. Thee be mistaking this for some business of
- thine.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Allen, we’ve been like brother and sister all our lives, and
- your happiness is my happiness. I have my reasons—very strong
- reasons—for asking you to ask Miss Dexter now, before me, whether
- she will be your wife.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I can’t say I thank thee, Deb, for interfering in a matter
- that don’t concern thee. (<i>To Clara, crossing to her.</i>) I hope,
- Clara, you don’t think as I have any hand in this, but as things stand
- now, it will perhaps be best (<i>advancing</i>) if I do ask thee. Will
- thee be my wife?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Crosses down. Very quietly and deliberately.</i>) Yes! (<i>Stepping
- forward and, putting her hand in Allen’s, c. A pause. She then, glancing
- first at Deb., draws Allen slowly to her, and they kiss. They cross r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I think now, Deb, that Miss Dexter has a right to know thy
- “reasons.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> They were mistaken ones, Allen. Please forgive me, both of
- you.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Deb. l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Bewildered—looks after Deb.</i>) What does it all
- mean?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> I will tell you some time. Never mind now.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, well, us oughtn’t to be angry with her, anyhow, for what
- her’s done. (<i>Takes Clara’s hand in his.</i>) Ought us? (<i>Draws her to
- him and kisses her forehead</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Disengaging herself gently.</i>) I am going to tell
- papa. I am so happy. (<i>Crosses l., looking back to him laughingly.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Clara l. up stage</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>c. after a pause.</i>) Everything I want in the whole
- wide world, and three months ago—(<i>Breaks off and pauses his hand
- over his eyes.</i>) I wonder if I shall wake up in a minute in the old
- farm and find that the £200,000 and Clara have only been dreams. (<i>Rousing
- himself.</i>) Ah, no, it be real enough. (<i>Looks round.</i>) Ah, they
- call Fortune a fickle jade, but her’s been a firm friend to me. I’ll drink
- thee a bumper, Fortune lass. (<i>Turns to table r., On which are wine and
- glasses, and pours out a glassful.</i>) I don’t know how much a bumper is,
- but I expects it’s about a glassful, and thee shall ha’ it. (<i>Takes
- glass in his right hand, and raises it.</i>) Here’s thy jolly good health,
- my lass. To Lady Fortune!
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Peters c. upper door, with card on salver.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Lowers glass untouched.</i>) What’s the matter?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PETERS.</b> (<i>Coming forward and presenting salver.</i>) A gentleman
- to see you, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Takes card, but does not look at it.</i>) He’ll have to
- be quick about it then. Send un up. (<i>Footman seems to hesitate.
- Sharply.</i>) Send un up. Send un up.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Peters c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- Another of my swell friends, I suppose; they seem to be swarming this—(<i>r.
- c. glances at card, his hand holding the glass sinks lower and lower, he
- gazes round bewilderingly.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Richard Hanningford c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Reads card in amazed tone.</i>) Richard Hanningford, I saw him lying
- dead before my own eyes three months ago! Hann. (<i>At door, raising hat.</i>)
- I beg your pardon! (<i>The glass in Allen’s hand overturns</i>).
- </p>
- <h3>
- MEDIUM CURTAIN.
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- ACT III.
- </h2>
- <p>
- Scene I. The library at Allen’s Chambers. Fire l. Doors r.and c. Table
- L.c. Big easy chair l. by fire. Peters discovered l. c. arranging and
- cutting papers on table and whistling.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Piffin r. Music to open.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Have you seen my cub about?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PETERS.</b> (<i>Without looking up.</i>) No, Foxey, I ain’t. Didn’t
- know as you had had one.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>c.</i>) You know who I mean—your master. Peters. (<i>Going
- to door c.</i>) Not far off from where yours is I suppose.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Peters c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Um! The master has been getting impertinent to me of late, so
- the servants seem to be following suit. (<i>Shrugging his shoulders.</i>)
- I shall throw this job up when I’ve made another hundred or two. I wonder
- how much longer he’s going to keep me waiting.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Piff. c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Allen r. creeping in cautiously in a mysterious and watchful
- manner. He has a huge pewter pot in one hand and a large church-warden
- clay pipe alight in the other. He looks round stealthily, listens, then
- crosses nervously and sits l. in easy chair. He stretches himself out as
- luxuriously as his tight clothes will allow—especially the collar.
- Takes a long pull at the pot and long puffs at the pipe. In the middle of
- each pull, grunts “good” in evident enjoyment.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Chuckling in a deep undertone. Crosses to c. and sits.</i>)
- Ah-h-h, I’ve done un this time. He’s waiting upstairs to curl my hair. (<i>Chuckling
- again.</i>) Told un I’d come up when (<i>grandly</i>) I’d finished
- conducting my correspondence. (<i>Chuckles, pulls at pipe, and takes a
- deep draught.</i>) First time I’ve ever enjoyed myself since I came into
- my property. (<i>Breaks out into some country ale-house sort of song,
- sings, warming as he goes on with great gusto.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Piffin c., unseen by Allen. Piff. comes down and stands c.
- looking on. Allen finishes song and then buries his face in the pot. As
- his eyes emerge over the brim he catches sight of Piff. He remains looking
- at him for a while and then slowly puts the pot on the table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> What do thee want? Didn’t I tell ’ee I wur going to
- conduct my correspondence, and that I didn’t want to be disturbed?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Goes up table.</i>) I beg pardon, sir, but I thought
- maybe you had completed your correspondence, especially as there was only
- one letter this morning, and that was a circular about coals.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Oh, did you. Well, I ain’t you see. I’m going to write a lot
- of original correspondence this morning, and I’m collecting my thoughts. (<i>Goes
- on smoking sulkily.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Yes, sir—certainly, sir—but might I be allowed to
- suggest, sir, that a pot of ale and a clay pipe are hardly the <i>dolce
- far niente</i> of a <i>grand seigneur</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Hardly the what of my which? Look here, don’t you be so spry
- at calling me them jaw-breaking foreign names, because I don’t like it. It
- wur only yesterday you alluded to me as a <i>bo-mo</i>, and last week you
- said I ought to be in the <i>hot tongs</i>. I didn’t say anything at the
- time, but you drop it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> I referred to you as belonging to the <i>beau monde</i>, sir,
- and I may have said your position was now among the <i>haut ton</i>. We
- always talk like that in good society, sir. Both expressions were
- flattering, very flattering.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, maybe they wur and maybe they wurn’t. Next time, you
- call it me in English, and then I can judge for myself. And don’t worrit
- me to-day at all. I’ve got a trying morning before me, and I’m going to
- have a little quiet enjoyment to set myself up before it begins.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Might I suggest, then, sir, that a cigarette and a little
- absinthe would be more <i>de rigueur?</i> My late lamented master the
- Count de Fizziani invariably took a little absinthe after breakfast and
- found great benefit from it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes, I know. I tried your friend’s cough mixture before, you
- know. Old ale’s good enough for me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> But, sir—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Don’t you worrit. I’ve been a gentleman for a month; I think
- I might have a morning off.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> Very well, sir. Just as you please, of course, sir; but I’ve
- my character to consider, sir—and—and—I am not
- accustomed to the service of gentlemen with pothouse proclivities.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Sotto voce.</i>) Oh, go and hang yourself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Up c.</i>) That’s never done now, sir, in good society.
- My late lamented master, the Count de Fizziani—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Springing up, working Piff. round, from table l. to desk
- r.</i>) Oh, you go to your late lamented master, the fizzing Count, and
- tell him to—I have had eno’ of him and I’ve had eno’ of you. Blest
- if I’ve had a happy moment since you came into the house. You’ve dressed
- me up like a tailor’s dummy, and curled my hair like a Sunday school kid;
- you’ve made me talk like a man in a play, and walk like a monkey on
- stilts. Thee’ve chivied me about from morning till night, and thee’ve
- rammed that old lamented corpse of yours down my throat every two minutes
- of the day. I’ve put up wi’ it all for a long while because I thought thee
- meant well, and wur a-trying to make me into a gentleman, but blest if I
- think thee knows much more about the genuine article than I does, and I’m
- going to go it in my own way now. Look here. (<i>Takes off his tie and
- collar and throws them down and jumps on them, pulls off his coat and
- throws it in a corner, nifties his hair, unbuttons and throws back his
- waistcoat, kicks off his boots, and throws himself into easy chair, sticks
- his feet on table, takes long pull from the pot, slams it on table> again,
- and commences to smoke his pipe vigorously, looking defiantly at Piff.</i>)
- That’s the sort o’ man I’m going to be now. (<i>Sits l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>Who has stood aghast, moving off.</i>) Very well, sir;
- then I have only to say that I wash my hands of you entirely. (<i>Pause.</i>)
- You can’t make a gentleman out of a pig’s ear. (<i>Sneeringly</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Puffing quietly at pipe.</i>) No, it ain’t the usual
- method.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PIFF.</b> (<i>By door c. muttering to himself, but meant to be heard by
- Allen.</i>) Only what I might have expected from mixing myself up with
- such canaille. (<i>Pauses. Allen takes no notice.</i>) Pray understand,
- sir, I give you a week’s warning on the spot. My late master, the—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Springing up and throwing book at him. Piff. exits r.</i>)
- Yes. (<i>Piff. again appears hurriedly at door r. and cries, “Upstart
- bumpkin,” and exit quickly.</i>) I’ll give ’ee my toe on the spot
- if I hear any more of—(<i>reseats himself, with a grunt of disgust;
- a pause, during which he smokes.</i>) He is right, I wurn’t meant for a
- gentleman after all. Some of us was built for gaiters, and some on us for
- patent leather shoes, and I be one of the gaiter sort—all my tastes
- are low. I doan’t like claret and I doan’t like cigarettes. I’m
- uncomfortable in a collar (<i>picking his up and fixing it</i>) and I
- prefer shove-ha’penny to billiards. (<i>Sighs, continues dreamily.</i>)
- Ah, I’d gie a trifle to be going to spend this evening at the Dunkery Arms
- a-halping to sing a chorus with old Joe Steddles and young Jem Whalley and
- Jack Clouter. Ah, he’d got a fine voice, had old Jack Clouter. Never heard
- a man sing so loud in all my life. Lord, I shall never forget her’s doing
- “Rock me to sleep, mother,” round at the lodge, and a waking up mother
- Hammond’s three kids just as her’d got un all off to sleep. Lord, how her
- let us have it. (<i>Laughing.</i>) Ah, us went home early that night. (<i>Chuckling.</i>)
- They comed back wi’ me, old Jack and Jim, and Deb made us a veal pasty for
- supper. (<i>Smiling.</i>) Ah, her do make good—
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Peters, followed by Purtwee, door c., says, “Mr. Purtwee,” takes
- P.‘s hat and exit. Allen rises and commences to pick up his various
- articles of apparel and re fix them while talking to Purt.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> (<i>Coming forward.</i>) Well, my boy.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, it does me good to see thee again.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> How are you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Shakes hands.</i>) Oh, I be all right outside. (<i>Rises,
- crosses to L.</i>) Bean’t very spry inside, so I tell ’ee. (<i>Explanatory
- of his dressing arrangements.</i>) Just been having a quiet smoke, you
- know.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> (<i>With a smile.</i>) And do you always undress to smoke?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughing.</i>) No—but I has to now when I want to
- sit down comfortable. (<i>Continues to dress—brings wine down to
- table.</i>) Have a glass of wine. I’m glad thee’ve come, I wur afraid from
- thy letter that thee wouldn’t.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> (<i>Sits in arm-chair l.</i>) Well, it’s a very informal
- proceeding I’m bound to say—not at all professional.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Perhaps not, but it’s simple and straightforward like and
- maybe that’s as good. Have ’ee read the papers I sent thee?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> Yes—most carefully—and they certainly make the
- story appear very plausible—very plausible, indeed. Have you said
- anything to your mother?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> No—no, I thought I wouldn’t say a word to anybody
- until I was sure one way or t’other. (<i>Sits L.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> Quite right—quite right. What sort of a man was he?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Blest if I could tell ’ee—I wur that taken
- aback I couldn’t tell ’ee what it wur, but thee’ll see him for
- theeself in a minute. I told Father Christmas to send him straight up when
- he comes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> (<i>Looking at his watch.</i>) Well, if he’s an impostor,
- he’ll hardly venture to come to a meeting of this kind.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Peters announcing Richard Hanningford, door at back.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PET.</b> Mr. Richard Hanningford.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Peters.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> Morning, gentlemen. (<i>Allen goes r.c. Hann. goes c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Good-morning. (<i>Motioning to Purt., who is l.</i>) Mr.
- Purtwee, the gentleman I spoke of.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> Good-morning, (<i>c. and then coming r.sits L.c.</i>) Guess
- I’m not a particularly welcome visitor here.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r.</i>) Well, I owns as I’ve come across folks as I’ve
- felt more at home wi’. (<i>Allen sits R.</i>) But I suppose we’ve got to
- get used to ’ee.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> Well now, gentlemen, we’ve come for business and must not
- waste time. Mr. Rollitt has told you who I am, and if you are Richard
- Hanningford I shall be only too anxious for you to have your rights. But
- then, my dear sir, I shall want to be very sure that you are Richard
- Hanningford.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> That’s right and square. I’ve got to prove it, I know, and I
- don’t say that it will be an easy job.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> At present you see we have nothing but your bare word for it.
- You say this man who called himself Richard Hanningford and who died at
- Mrs. Rollitt’s was an impostor.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> And a damned scoundrel.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> Quite so, if he were not Richard Hanningford, he must have
- been. But then if he were Richard Hanningford—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> Why then, I am the damned scoundrel.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> Well—I wasn’t going to say that—but one of you
- must be the right Hanningford—and the other the wrong one—and
- if we made a mistake three months ago we don’t want to make another now.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r.</i>) You see it ain’t so much the money I care about.
- There was a time that I thought it would be a grand thing to be rich, but
- now I’ve tried it, danged if I see so much fun in it as I thought there
- wur. (<i>Rises.</i>) It ain’t only that: it’s the girl I love—if I
- lose the money, I loses her. I can’t expect her to have me wi’out it.
- She’s a lady—I’m only a country bumpkin and I know it. With this
- money I can win her and make her life happy—even if she doesn’t much
- care for me. If I were sure you were Dick Hanningford, I’d gie it up. But
- I ain’t sure and I’m going to fight—that’s plain. (<i>Turns and
- crosses r. Sits R.c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> (<i>Coes to Allen r.c.</i>) Plain and sensible, and I don’t
- like you any the less for it; but I am Dick Hanningford, and the money’s
- mine, and I’m going to have a good fight to get it. (<i>Coes l. puts foot
- on chair.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) You say this man who tried to—and,
- as he thought, did—murder you—had been a friend of yours.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> (<i>Fiercely—takes foot off chair.</i>) He’d been my
- chum for over two years—the cur—and knew everything about me—I
- saved his life when the gang were going to hang him—he shared my
- diggings when we were in the mining lay, and he had half my blanket every
- night when we were with the cattle. And I trusted him—the skunk.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> What was his name?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> Cassidy—Dan Cassidy. (<i>Sits again.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> And then he murdered you—or tried to as you say—took
- your papers from you, and came over here to impersonate you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> I suppose so.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> He was uncommonly like you, too.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> Like me! Not at all!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> Oh, yes, my dear sir, I never saw him alive, but his features
- were yours one for one.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> Dan Cassidy was no more like me than I’m like a colored angel
- out of a picture book.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Purt. and Allen exchange glances.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Well, all I know is, that if the man who called himself
- Richard Hanningford, and who fell down dead in my mother’s kitchen three
- months ago was standing beside you now, nobody would know which wur you
- and which wur him. .
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> (<i>Rising.</i>) I don’t know that man! (<i>All rise and look
- at one another.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Peters c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> (<i>Pause.</i>) Then what has become of Dan Cassidy?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PETERS.</b> Mr. Luke Cranbourne is downstairs, sir, and would like to
- see you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Oh, bother Luke Cranbourne—tell him I’m out.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PETERS.</b> Yes, sir. (<i>Going. As he is by door.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Stop! (<i>Peters turns.</i>) Ask Mr. Cranbourne to come back
- in a quarter of an hour. (<i>Looks at watch.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PETERS.</b> Yes, sir. (<i>Exit c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> What sort of a man was Dan Cassidy?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> A pale, dark-eyed man with a long black beard.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Would you know him again without the black beard, and under
- another name?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> (<i>Fiercely.</i>) Know him! Will you bring me face to face
- with him?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Maybe I will.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> (<i>c.</i>) See here! I’ve lived among a set that like to
- wipe off a score, no matter what the price. You put that man into my hands
- so that justice may be done on him, and we share the old man’s money
- between us. (<i>Crosses R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Is that a bargain?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> You don’t suspect—(<i>goes to r.of l. table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Crosses to Purt. Hann. goes R.</i>) Yes I do. He’s been
- no friend of mine. Is it a bargain?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> Yes. Without Dan Cassidy my case might be hard to prove. With
- him it would be easy. £100,000 and my revenge are good enough for me. You
- give me that. (<i>Goes to extreme R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Dexter from door c. He draws back on seeing strangers, and
- stands r.c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> Beg pardon, my dear boy. Found the door open (<i>Allen goes up
- c. to Dex.</i>) and took the liberty of an old friend to walk in. Thought
- I should find you alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Crosses up c.</i>) Shall be in a minute, Colonel, if you
- will excuse me. (<i>Draws the two men together near fireplace, Allen
- nearest, Purt. next, Hann. r.</i>) Can thee play billiards?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> I can, but I don’t crave for them at this particular moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> You’ll just have time to play fifty up afore the man as I
- takes to be Dan Cassidy is here.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> How will you let us know?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Looks round thinking, then catches sight of glasses on
- table l.; takes one up and holds it over hearth.</i>) Keep thee, ears
- open, and when thee hears this glass fall and break, open the door and
- come in. (<i>All go up c. speaking low.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Purt. and Hann. Dex. goes L.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Returning c.</i>) Well, Colonel Dexter, what do thee
- want? Glad to see thee, thee know.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>l.c.</i>) Nothing, dear boy—nothing for myself. I
- have only brought a letter from my little girl, and am to take back an
- answer. (<i>Produces letter and hands to Allen.</i>) I’m only Cupid to you
- young folks. Ha! Hat Only Cupid.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, they usen’t to wrap ’em up so much when I wur
- young. (<i>Crosses R., opens and reads letter.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Who is very much wrapped and buttoned up, laughs with much
- ostentation.</i>) Ha! Ha! Very good, very good. We really must bring you
- out more, Allen. Ha! Ha! Ha!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Who has sat r.in front of desk, reading.</i>) “My
- darling Popsy-wopsy.” (<i>Looks up puzzled and round at Dex. Aside.</i>)
- That ain’t Clara’s usual style. (<i>Reads.</i>) “I am so terribly sorry to
- worry my own darling boy, but I am in such fearful trouble—I want
- £100 to pay some debts owing to a wicked man having cheated us. Would my
- own darling lend it to his broken-hearted little blossom, and don’t say
- anything to me afterwards until I pay you back, as I shall be so ashamed
- of it. I send papa with this. He knows nothing about it, so please don’t
- tell him—he is so proud.—(<i>Allen looks at Dex., who turns
- away and tries to assume airy unconsciousness</i>)—and would be so
- angry with me, but you are the only friend I have. Oh, my darling, do let
- me have the money or I shall go mad. A million, million kisses to my own
- sweet, precious lubby-dubby from his ever loving little birdie, Clara.” (<i>Dex.
- sits c.</i>) “P. S.—Please don’t cross the cheque.”
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Takes cheque-book from desk and begins to write.</i>) Was Clara ill
- when she wrote this?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Who is sitting at table L.c. having wine.</i>) No, my dear
- boy—oh, no.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Oh, because the writing seems a bit shaky like, and the
- letter so funny—thought maybe she wur a bit queer.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Confused.</i>) Oh—ah—yes. She was a little
- queer—very shaky indeed—and she seemed very much worried, too,
- she wouldn’t tell me what about. She tries to keep all her trouble away
- from her old father, dear child. (<i>Enter Clara unseen by either.</i>)
- Ah, I know how anxiously she’s waiting for me now. “Come back soon, dear,
- dear papa,” she said—“and bring it with you.” (<i>Crying r.c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Allen having put the cheque in an envelope rises and crosses and holds
- it to Dex. Clara steps forward and takes it.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Thank you! (<i>c. of the two men.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Miss Dexter!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> Clara!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> This letter is addressed to me, I believe. (<i>Opens it and
- takes out cheque, which she returns to Allen.</i>) It’s very kind of you,
- Mr. Rollitt, but I do not require it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r.</i>) Didn’t thee write for it? (<i>Showing letter to
- her.</i>) Isn’t this thy letter?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Looking at it.</i>) It is the first time I have seen it.
- It has the appearance of having been written by someone who was drunk over
- night—possibly my father—imitating other people’s handwriting
- is one of the few things at which he has attained eminence. (<i>Looks at
- Dex.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> Clara, my dear!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> And perhaps it will be better, Mr. Rollitt, for me to take
- this opportunity of ending our relationship by telling you that I am
- already married. (<i>Crosses l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Starts hack.</i>) Married!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>c. frantic and jumping about and screaming and hissing the
- words out.</i>) She ain’t. It’s a lie. Don’t believe her. She ain’t. She
- ain’t. (<i>Goes c. Clara to l.</i>) It’s only a trick to try your love.
- Ah, you hussy! It’s all been planned. This is all part of it. She ain’t
- married. We planned it to test your love for her. Ah, you beast! I’ll
- strangle you. I’ll murder you. She’s only trying it on to see what you
- say. It’s a trick. Don’t believe her. Don’t believe her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> And have been for the last three years.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>As before.</i>) No, she ain’t been, Mr. Rollitt. It’s a
- lie—it’s a lie. It’s a lie. She says it to spite her old father. Ah
- you devil, you—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Silence!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Cowed, but continuing in nervous undertone.</i>) She’s not
- married. I’m her father.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Pointing to door c.</i>) And leave the room—afore
- I forget thee art an old man. (<i>Turns him r.Backs Dex. up to c. door.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEX.</b> (<i>Slinks out muttering.</i>) She ain’t married! It’s a lie.
- It’s a lie. (<i>Repeats</i>.)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Dex. c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Turning to Clara.</i>) What does it all mean?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Defiantly.</i>) That I’ve been playing with you only for
- the sake of sponging on you. And to get money out of you for my father and
- husband—I haven’t had much myself—and that at last I’m grown
- tired of it. (<i>Crosses R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>l.c. after a pause.</i>) Thee might have had all the
- money thee wanted, lass, wi’out deceiving me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Falling on her knees before him.</i>) Forgive me, Allen,
- you don’t know what my life has been. Dragged up among thieves and
- sharpers, taught to trick and lie before I could speak plainly, I have
- never know what truth and honor meant except as a dim longing. All the
- humanity—all the womanhood—has been dried out of me till I am
- only the thing you see me—a vulture—a human beast of prey. Ah,
- Allen, thank God for your sake that I am married and that you have escaped
- me—forget me—it is the only thing you can do. You can never
- hate me as I loathe myself—you can never despise me as I shudder at
- my own life.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Puts his hand to his own forehead </i>) Poor lass! Poor
- lass!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Takes’ Allen’s hand, left.</i>) You are the only man
- that has been good to me, and I have brought you only pain and shame.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Raising her.</i>) Ah, never mind that, lass. Thee didn’t
- mean to do it. Come! I be more sorry for thee than for myself. I could see
- what sort of life thee had got around thee, and I wanted to take thee away
- from it all. I can do so little for thee now. (<i>Both at cabinet, Allen
- r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> You have taught me, Allen, that there are good men in the
- world; forgive me for having taught you that there are bad women. (<i>Clara
- crosses in front of Allen to r.door.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Not bad, Clara. I guess thee’s been more sinned against than
- sinning. Thy life has been very dark and thee’s stumbled here and there.
- God grant that it may grow brighter for thee one day.
- </p>
- <p>
- Clara, (<i>l.</i>) Ah, Allen, don’t keep speaking kindly to me. Don’t
- think kindly of me. Despise me—I can bear that—I am used to
- it. (<i>Sits at cabinet.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r.c. next to Clara.</i>) No, lass, I can’t do that. I
- shall alius think kindly of thee. I’ve loved thee too well to change now—because
- I knows thy lot’s harder than I thought it wur.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> (<i>Turns and looks at Allen.</i>) Try not to think of me at
- all, Allen—I am not worth it—forget me. There is one who loves
- you better than I could ever do, and who is good and pure. (<i>Rises.</i>)
- You men never see the love that is under your feet—you reach only
- for what is beyond you. Go back to her, Allen. She will make you a better
- wife than I could ever have done. (<i>Allen at back of Clara up stage R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) Who—who is this man—your
- husband?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Luke Cranbourne! (<i>She does not look at Allen.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Luke Cranbourne! (<i>Looks nervously at door c. and then at
- clock—then crosses to door and stands near it. He assumes to do this
- naturally and not to let Clara notice his anxiety.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> We were married secretly before he left for America. Not
- even my father knew it until a day or two ago.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> And do you care for him? (<i>Allen at door c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> With such love as a woman can feel without respect. He was
- the first that I can remember ever speaking a kind word to me. He is the
- only human being I have to cling to—and he is good to me in his way.
- (<i>Looks up at Allen.</i>) I don’t expect we shall ever see each other
- again. For your sake, I wish we had never met—for myself, my life
- will always seem a bit brighter for the love that an honest man once had
- for me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Taking her hand in his.</i>) Good-bye—if ever thee
- wants a friend, Allen Rollitt, Woodbarrow Farm, Exmoor, will find him. (<i>Kissing
- her on the forehead.</i>) God bless thee, Clara!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CLARA.</b> Good-bye! (<i>She goes without a word r.After a few seconds
- enter Luke c. announced by Pet.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Coming down.</i>) How de do, dear boy? (<i>Shaking hands.
- Allen does so listlessly and almost unconsciously.</i>) I wanted to see
- you particularly this morning, before I went to the city. I’ve come across
- something that will just double your fortune. Here. (<i>Laying papers on
- table l. and taking up and pouring out a glass of wine.</i>) You do have
- such capital wine, Rollitt, I really must help myself to a glass. It is a
- splendid scheme.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>r.c.</i>) Very like, but we won’t discuss it now. (<i>Taking
- notes from his pocket-book.</i>) I want thee to leave by the noon train
- for the Continent.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Turns round, face to audience, glass in left hand.</i>)
- What’s up?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Crosses l. c., hands him the notes.</i>) Thy wife can
- join thee there afterwards. (<i>Luke starts and looks hard at Allen.</i>)
- And thee can get away to Australia, or somewhere in that direction.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Defiantly.</i>) And why, pray?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Because there is a man in the next room who be more anxious
- to see thee than thee may be to see him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> What man?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Richard Hanningford.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Luke lets fall the glass.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Good God! Thee’ve given the signal to call him in! Quick! (<i>Luke
- rushes in terror to door at back.</i>) Not that way. (<i>Luke bewildered
- and helpless with fright, turns wildly about like a hunted thing not
- knowing which way to fly. Is about to make for other door, when handle of
- door at back is heard to move.</i>) Too late—keep where thee art.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>LUKE.</b> (<i>Clinging to Allen’s arm.</i>) Save me! (<i>Allen thrusts
- him behind door at c. as it opens and enter Hann. and Purt. following.
- Allen goes r. Hann. comes down and stands c. Purt. remains near door and
- is about to close it.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Who has moved down to r.c., nervously, with effort to
- appear calm and careless.</i>) Leave the door, Mr. Purtwee, leave the
- door.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> Wide open? (<i>Surprised.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes, yes, it’s fearfully hot in here! (<i>Wiping his brow.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> (<i>Looking at him suspiciously.</i>) I don’t find it so. I
- think we’ll have it shut over this job. (<i>Turns to door.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Eagerly.</i>) No, no! Don’t shut it—don’t shut it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> Why not? (<i>Looks hard at Allen.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Why—why—don’t I tell you. It’s so close—so—
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Hann. crosses, goes to door c. and locks it, then returns, eyeing
- Allen sternly. Luke has crept behind the curtain, which hangs like a
- pillar by the side of the door. Allen watches with intense suspense.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> (<i>c.</i>) Well—you gave the signal!
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Allen r.c. a little to front of Hann. He keeps in front of Hann. all
- through the scene until Luke has got away and prevents his turning round—he
- is very excited but tries to appear careless—the result being a
- slightly hysterical manner. When Luke comes from behind the curtain and
- while he is crossing Allen catches Hann. by the lapels of his coat and
- holds and works him round so that his back is to Luke. He grows more and
- more eager and intense until Luke is off, when he gradually subsides into
- a quieter manner, but not too suddenly. At Hann’s hint that he has had too
- much brandy, he catches at the idea to cover his excitement, to account
- for his conduct.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Yes, my dear fellow—but—but—I wur going to
- explain to thee—it wurn’t the signal—it wur an accident. I
- dropped the glass by accident. Thee see I had just had a glass of brandy.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> More than one glass, cousin?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughs loudly.</i>) Ha! ha! Perhaps it wur two. (<i>First
- movement of Luke.</i>) (<i>At this point Luke creeps from behind curtain,
- Purt. sees him and is about to make an exclamation, when Allen, covering
- his action by assumed drunkenness, lunges half round and catches Purt. on
- his shoulder, clutching it tightly with his left hand while holding Hann.
- with his right—laughing boisterously all the time. Purt. understands
- and remains silent. Allen grows more and more excited. Laughs.</i>) Well,
- now, look’ee here.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hanningford. Cousin Dick—my long lost—(<i>laughs as before and
- slaps him on the shoulder. Hann. impatient half turns round—Allen
- seises his coat with both hands and keeps him round.</i>) No—no—look
- thee here, Cousin Dick. Now you say this Cassidy, this creeping, crawling,
- lying cur, Dan Cassidy, tried to murder thee—(<i>Hann. again seems
- as though he would turn round</i>)—and these papers—these
- papers that you sent me. Well, I sent ’em on to Purtwee. Ah, he’s a
- sharp one. (<i>Door clicks after Luke’s exit.</i>) Purtwee, he’ll know
- who’s who. He’ll put us right. Won’t ’ee, Purtwee, old friend?
- Won’t ’ee—won’t ’ee?
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>He slaps Purt. on back, laughing boisterously and half staggering
- forward into Purt.‘s arms. Luke has got away by door r., and from now
- Allen’s excitement gradually subsides, and an air of exhaustion follows.
- Sits l.c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> (<i>c.</i>) Say! Are you drunk or playing the fool? Where’s
- this man Cassidy?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Pause.</i>) I don’t know.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> Isn’t he coming here?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> No!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> (<i>Angrily.</i>) Didn’t you lead me to believe—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> That you should be brought face to face wi’ him? Yes—but
- I’ve changed my mind since then.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) I understand: it was only a trick to
- give you time to get him out of the way. You thought that without him I
- should not be able to prove my case. I thought I was dealing with an
- honest man and a friend, and I offered to share the money with you. (<i>With
- tierce anger.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Fiercely, rising.</i>) And I tell you to take the whole
- of it! (<i>A pause—Hann. steps back and stares at him.</i>) I have
- learnt enough within the last few minutes to believe that you are the man
- you say you are, and if so, take it all. You offered me £100,000 to give
- thee Dan Cassidy, I offer thee £200,000 to let him go his way in peace. (<i>Pause.</i>)
- Come, you may find it hard to prove thee art Hanningford afore the law.
- Prove it to me and Mr. Purtwee, and give me thy hand on it that thee’ll
- never seek to find Dan Cassidy or harm him, and thee art old Hanningford’s
- heir, and I, Allen Rollitt, farmer and yeoman.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) Your secrets are your own, cousin.
- I’d dearly have loved to have my revenge upon the hound, but if Dan
- Cassidy is worth £100,000 to you, you can have him—I shouldn’t have
- thought he was.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> He goes free, so far as you are concerned, for ever?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> For ever.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Right, Dick Hanningford! (<i>They grasp hands.</i>) And now
- we’ll say good-bye for to-day if you don’t mind. Mr. Purtwee will see thee
- to-morrow, and arrange things. I’d like to be quiet a bit just now.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> You’ve had a rough morning, cousin, and I guess the kindest
- thing I can do is to take myself off. Good-bye. (<i>Shakes hands.</i>)
- Good-bye, Mr. Purtwee.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> Good-bye, Mr. Hanningford; I will write to you to-morrow.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>HANN.</b> (<i>Goes to door c.</i>) No hurry. Good-bye.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> Well, I can’t understand you, my boy. It’s really a very
- Quixotic thing to do. Why shouldn’t the man suffer for his crime?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Because he can’t suffer without bringing
- suffering to them as I’d rather spare—because he’s the husband of
- the woman I have been calling Clara Dexter.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> (<i>Astonished.</i>) You don’t say that, lad! When did you
- learn it?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> About five minutes ago. (<i>Crosses to r.; leans on chair.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> (<i>After a pause.</i>) Hanningford said true; it’s been a
- rough morning for you. (<i>Going up to Allen and laying his hand on his
- shoulder.</i>) Would you rather that I stopped with you a bit, lad, or
- left you alone?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Leave me alone, old friend. (<i>Purt. goes to c. door.</i>)
- I shall be off soon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>PURT.</b> (<i>At door c.</i>) Where are you going to?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> I’m going back to Woodbarrow Farm. I’ve had eno’ of the big
- world. I’ve had enough of fine folks and their ways. I’m going back to my
- own people—I’m going back to see the faces of them as I know loves
- me, to feel the hands of them as I know thinks well of me—I’m going
- back home.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Purt. exit R., Allen stands l. by fire, stage darkens, and scene
- changes. Slow tableau. Music plays till change of scene and through Scene
- 2.</i>) </p <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Scene 2. Same as Act I.
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>Time:</i> evening, fire burning brightly, and lamp lit on table, where
- supper is laid. Deb. discovered by fire, attending to cooking operations;
- Mrs. R. by fire, laying supper.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Be it done, lass?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Who is kneeling down, looking into oven.</i>) Yes, aunt,
- just to a turn.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Crossing and looking over Deb’s shoulder.</i>) Ah, that
- be just right. Thee’s a good cook, lass. (<i>Crossing back to table.</i>)
- Ah, how un used to like a veal pasty. (<i>Sighs.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> It’s a bad thing going to bed, though, ain’t it, aunt?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Ah, anything be bad for them as ain’t got no stomachs, and
- underdone bricks be all right for them as has. (<i>Gets dishes from
- dresser; lays table.</i>) Besides, we bain’t going to bed yet. Us’ll sit
- and have a chat after supper.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> It seems so lonely of an evening here now. (<i>Looking into
- fire.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>In front of table r.c.</i>) So it do, lass. (<i>Crossing
- L.</i>) Ah, the lads bean’t so big to look at, but they leaves a rare
- space behind ’em when they goes away.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>After a pause, still gazing dreamily into fire.</i>) I
- wonder if he’ll ever come back.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Aye, aye; he’ll come back, never fear.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Turns.</i>) What, to stop?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>l. sits on settle.</i>) Ah, to stop.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> What makes you think so, aunt?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> I dunno. It’s never seemed real to me, any on it. I’m
- awaiting every day to hear un lift the latch and walk in to find as it had
- all been a dream. So I alius lays for three (<i>l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Allen c. He is dressed much as in Act 1. He shuts the door and
- stands by it.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Well, mother, (<i>c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>l. staring at him.</i>) Allen, lad! (<i>Bewildered, not
- grasping it. Deb. having risen, stands with the hot pie that she has that
- moment taken from the oven, transfixed R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>At door c.</i>) I’ve come home, you see, to stop—for
- good. Are thee glad to see me, mother?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>l.</i>) Come home! To stop! For good! Ah! (<i>Rushes
- across with a cry of joy and hugs him up c.</i>) I said he would—I
- said he would—I said he would. My boy! My boy! (<i>After a pause.</i>)
- And—and all the money, and—and Miss Dexter?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Taking off his hat and throwing it down at hack.</i>)
- Shadows, mother, that have passed away, out of my life, for ever. I’ll
- tell thee all about it later on, never mind to-night. Let’s think only
- about ourselves. (<i>Going to Deb. r.</i>) Are thee glad to see me?
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Mrs. R. pushes them together from behind r. Deb. still with pie in her
- hands, puts her face up. Allen bends and kisses it. Mrs. R. catches the
- two in her arms, and embraces both at once, laughing. Deb. holds pie out
- at arm’s length to save it.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Mind the pie, mother.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Still embracing them.</i>) Are thee hungry, lad?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Rather.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Bless un, and thee’ve come back just in time for supper, as
- thee alius used to. (<i>Laughs, sits up stage, top of table.</i>) Can thee
- eat veal pasty?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Can I eat veal—(<i>taking off overcoat and throwing it
- on chair r. c.</i>) Let me get at un, that’s all.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Poor boy! Come and sit ’ee down. (<i>Pushing him in
- chair l. of table.</i>) Where be the potatoes, Deb.?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Bewildered, turns round and round.</i>) I don’t know. (<i>Laughs.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, have a look in the saucepan, then. (<i>Sits back of
- table r. c. Allen l. Deb. r.</i>) Thee won’t find ‘em by turning round and
- round. Now come lad, and get a bit inside thee. Us’ll do the talking
- afterwards.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Deb. potters about between fire and table in a bewildered manner. She
- brings potatoes, and puts them in front of Allen.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> Ah, it do smell lovely, don’t it? (<i>Sniffing at pie.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Never thee mind smelling it, thee taste it. Lud, how thin
- thee art looking, lad. (<i>To Deb. who is almost doing so.</i>) Don’t pour
- the beer into the pie, child, and look where thee’s put the potatoes! (<i>Takes
- jug away from her.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> (<i>Sitting down, laughing.</i>) I don’t know what I’m doing.
- (<i>Takes saucepan off table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Well, us can see that.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> And how’s everything been going on? How’s the colt?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> Kicked Parsons clean into the ditch yestermorning, the
- little dear! (<i>All are now seated.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> No, did un? (<i>Laughs.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> One of the guinea hens is dead, the little one of all.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> What, the one as used to squint?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Yes, Parsons left his shot on the pigstye wall, and she ate
- two ounces. Oh, and you remember Jim?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> What, the bantam?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>DEB.</b> Yes. He’s given his own father such a licking, and won’t let
- him come near the yard.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Laughing heartily.</i>) Plucky little beggar! Serve the
- old ‘un right. He wur always a bully. Now, mother—(<i>about to hand
- her the pie.</i>) Why, mother, thee art crying!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> (<i>Crying.</i>) No, I ain’t. Go on with thee supper, lad.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>ALLEN.</b> (<i>Looking at Deb.</i>) And—why, here be Deb. crying
- too!
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>The two women laugh through their tears. Allen joins them as curtain
- descends.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>MRS. R.</b> It’s wi’ joy, lad; it’s wi’ joy!
- </p>
- <h3>
- SLOW CURTAIN.
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
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