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| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-07 13:28:38 -0800 |
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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-07 13:28:38 -0800 |
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diff --git a/old/55286-h/55286-h.htm b/old/55286-h/55286-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index c6e3197..0000000 --- a/old/55286-h/55286-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16901 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title>Three Lancashire Plays: The Game; The -Northerners; Zack, by Harold Brighouse</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: 1.10em; margin-bottom: 1.10em; } - 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 Three Lancashire Plays: The Game; The -Northerners; Zack, by Harold Brighouse - -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: Three Lancashire Plays: The Game; The Northerners; Zack - -Author: Harold Brighouse - -Release Date: August 7, 2017 [EBook #55286] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE LANCASHIRE PLAYS *** - - - - -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> - THREE LANCASHIRE PLAYS - </h1> - <h3> - The Game; The Northerners; Zack - </h3> - <h2> - By Harold Brighouse - </h2> - <h4> - London: Samuel French, Ltd. Publishers - </h4> - <h3> - 1920 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_BIBL"> Bibliography: </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>THE GAME</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ACT I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ACT II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> ACT III </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> <b>THE NORTHERNERS</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> ACT I. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> ACT II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> ACT III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> ACT IV </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> <b>ZACK</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> ACT I. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> ACT II. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> ACT III </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - PREFACE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>n another age than - ours play-books were a favourite, if not the only, form of light reading, - and the novel, now almost universally preferred, is the development of the - last century. But a writer of plays should be the last person in the world - to resent the novelist's victory, for plays are written to be acted, and - reach a full completeness only by means of the collaboration of author - with producer, scene-painter, actors and, finally and essentially, - audience. The author's script bears to the completed play a relationship - similar to that of an architect's plan to a completed building. - </p> - <p> - Architect's plans, however, are not unintelligible to the layman, - especially to the layman who is not devoid of imagination, the layman who - is ready to spend a trifling mental effort and to become, be it ever so - little, expert. And so with printed plays, those ground-plans of the - drama. There must have been in the eighteenth century, a larger percentage - of the reading public than obtains to-day that was expert in reading - plays; plays were thought—you can find ample proof of it in the - Diarists—easier reading than the novels of Fielding, Richardson and - Smollett. Perhaps the comparative brevity of a play was, even in those - unhurried days, a point in its favour; certainly the play-reading habit - was strong and one likes to think that it is not lost. To read dully the - script of a spectacular play is desolating weariness, but the same script - read with sympathetic imagination becomes the key to fairyland, and from - an armchair one sees more marvels than ever stagecraft could present. - There are abominable limitations on the stage; producers are tedious - pedants; but the reader mentally producing a play from the book in his - hand looks through a magic casement at what he gloriously will instead of - through a proscenium arch at the handiwork of a merely human producer. - Play-reading, in fact, obeys the law that as a man sows so shall he reap; - a little trouble, rapidly eased by practice, leads one to a great deal of - pleasure. - </p> - <p> - It depends, of course, upon the play as well as upon the reader, and - though one has rather romantically instanced spectacular plays, their - scripts do, as a rule, belong to the class of play which is not worth - reading. They are, or are apt to become, the libretto to some specific - scenery or stage effect and the imaginative reader, failing to hit upon - the particular staging intended, is lost in puzzlement. Nor do plays of - action make the best reading. There are no plays but plays of action, but - action is of many kinds, and the play whose first concern is situation and - rapid physical movement is so specifically a stage-play, so sketchy in its - ground-plan until the collaborators work in unison upon it, as to make - reading more of a torment than a pleasure. While you must have wordless - pantomime at the basis of every play, it is those plays which exhibit in - high degree the use of action in the form of dialogue that are the more - comfortable reading; and, always postulating that a play is a play—not - necessarily a playwright's play, the admiration of his brother craftsmen, - but a thing practicable, actable and effective on the stage—the more - physical action is subordinated to character, to the exploration of the - springs of human motive, the better it is for reading purposes and the - better for all purposes. - </p> - <p> - Ibsen led the modern play, where the modern novel followed it, to the - investigation of character rather than to the unfolding of a story, and - one suggests that readers who find satisfaction in the modern - psychological novel should find the reading of modern plays to their taste - for the reason that the dramatists, though they haven't in a play the same - opportunities for analysis as the novelists find in their more spacious - pages, are essentially "out for" the same thing. - </p> - <p> - The type of play one is here writing about is one which has not, in the - past, flourished extensively in the popular theatres; it is the type - known, rather obscurely, as the "Repertory" play. It was called by that - name, probably in derision, and the Repertory play was held to be - synonymous with the un-commercial play. Then queer things happened. - "Hindle Wakes" broke out of the Repertory palisade, made dramatic history - and, what from the amazed commercial manager's standpoint was even more - startling, a fortune; "The Younger Generation" followed into the - commercial camp; and in the rent profiteer's year of 1919, when managers - seemed forced by ruthless circumstance more even than by inclination to - play the safest game and to offer the Big Public nothing but repetitions - of the tried and true, two plays from the Repertories came to town. "The - Lost Leader" filled the Court Theatre in a very heat wave, and "Abraham - Lincoln" took the King to Hammersmith—with many thousands of his - subjects. So that it will not do to speak of plays as commercial on the - one hand and Repertory on the other. Repertory has golden possibilities, - if you don't expect too much of it. It would be fallacious to expect the - same pay-dust from "Abraham Lincoln" as from "Chu Chin Chow." Nor would - one expect Joseph Conrad to sell like Nat Gould. - </p> - <p> - Sincerity is a virtue possessed, as a rule, by the Repertory play, but it - will by no means do to claim for this sort of play a monopoly of - sincerity. The most popular type of drama (and the most English), - melodrama, is rigidly sincere—to the confounding of the - Intellectual. There is plenty of dishonest thinking and unscrupulous - play-making, but not in popular melodrama. In melodrama which pretends to - be something other than what it is, there is immediate and obvious - insincerity, but there is no writing with the tongue in the cheek in - downright, unabashed melodramas of the old Adelphi, and the present Lyceum - type. It will not do to call the "highbrow" plays sincere, with the - implication that all other plays are insincere, any more than they can - themselves be sweepingly characterized as uncommercial. Sincerity, anyhow, - may be beside the point, and the term Repertory play, though - unsatisfactory, stands for something perfectly well understood. No - definition would be apt to the whole body of Repertory plays, but one - would like, diffidently, to suggest that Repertory plays are written by - men and women of intellectual honesty who postulate that their audience - will be composed of educated people—and that attempt at a definition - fails. It has a snobbish ring. - </p> - <p> - And now, after generalizing about Repertory plays and reading plays, to - come down to the particular instance of the Lancashire plays here printed. - They are three of seven plays which their author has written about the - people of his native county, and reasons for publishing them now are that - nobody wanted to publish plays during the war, and that the author is an - optimist about the future of Repertory. Which last is only a sort of - reason for publishing some of Repertory's step-children—that, at any - rate, the new men may know, if they care to know, these workaday examples - deriving from the only Repertory Theatre in Great Britain which created a - local drama. Though none of these three plays was, in fact, produced by - Miss Horniman's Company, they nevertheless belong to the "Manchester - School," which was a by-product of her Company. - </p> - <p> - The "Manchester School" was never conscious of itself, as the Irish School - was. The Irishmen had a country, a patriotic sentiment, a national - mythology; they had, so soon after the beginning that it seemed they had - it from the first, the already classical tradition of Synge; they had in - the Deidre legend a subject made to their hands, a subject which it - appeared every Irishman must tackle in order to pass with honours as an - Irish dramatist; and there was explicit endeavour to create an Irish - Drama. In Manchester, so far were we from any explicit ambition to create - a Lancashire Drama that we denied the fact of its creation. What - reputation it had was not home-made in Manchester and exported, but made - in London and America. At Miss Horniman's theatre in Manchester, there - were so many bigger things being done than the earlier, technically weak - plays of the local authors. And it is worth pointing out that the authors - went (it was admirable, it was almost original in them) for their material - to what was immediately under their noses; they took as models the - Lancashire people of their daily life, and in their plays they did not - always flatter their models. The models saw themselves in the theatre - rather as they were than as they liked to think they were, and they hadn't - the quixotry to praise too highly authors who held up to them a mirror of - disconcerting truthfulness. It came upon the authors unexpectedly, as even - something a little preposterous, to be taken seriously, to be labelled, - heaven knows by whom, the "Manchester School," as if they had a common - aim.. - </p> - <p> - That, surely, is the significance of the "Manchester School," that the - phenomenon and the hope. Miss Horniman established her Company in - Manchester, with Mr. B. Iden Payne, a genius, as her producer of plays. - What she gave to Manchester was perhaps more, perhaps not more, than the - aftermath of the historic Vedrenne-Barker campaign at the Court Theatre; - at any rate, she gave a series of Repertory plays—plays which had no - likelihood of being seen in the provinces under the touring system—notably - well acted; she demonstrated that drama was a living art, and in the light - of that demonstration there outcropped spontaneously, un-self-consciously, - the body of local drama now known as the "Manchester School." Whatever the - individual merits of the Lancashire plays may be, whatever, even, their - collective importance or unimportance, they have this significance of - localization. Stimulated by Miss Horniman's catholic repertoire, local - authors sought to express in drama local characteristics. - </p> - <p> - There are no two questions in the writer's mind, nor, he thinks, in - anybody's, as to whether local drama is or is not a good thing. It is more - than ever good in to-day's special London conditions, but it was always - good in and for its own locality, and very good when it broke away from - home, travelled to London and introduced to Londoners authentic - representations of natives of their country. It brought variety where - variety was needed. Not all the plays of the "Manchester School," of - course, have travelled. One or two, indeed, hardly travelled across the - Gaiety Theatre footlights, and in the case of a few others, mostly one-act - plays, there was never the least chance of their emerging from Lancashire - owing to the fact that they were written deliberately in dialect. A most - racy little piece, "Complaints," by Mr. Ernest Hutchinson, with its scene - laid in the office of an Oldham spinning-mill, is a case in point. One - doubts, even, if the comparatively urbane Manchester audience grasped the - whole of its idiomatic dialogue. But these are the extremes of local - drama, and generally, the Lancashire writers have avoided dialect as, in - the first place, impracticable, and in the second place, disused, except - (to quote Houghton) "amongst the roughest class in the most out-of-the way - districts." Accent is not dialect though possibly originates in it. Even - when one wishes to use dialect one must not, for stage purposes, write it - as it is spoken. The dramatist selects his material from dialect as he - selects his larger material from life. Dramatically correct dialect is - literally incorrect; it is highly selected dialogue which indicates, but - does not obscure, and the true dialect dramatist is not the man who - exactly imitates the speech of a district, but he who most skilfully - adapts its rhythms and picks out its salient words. Synge invented an - Irish dialect which is false in detail and infinitely true in broad - effect, and the "Manchester School," faced with the same difficulty, has - solved it in the same way, hoping, though without much confidence, that - the Lancashire cadences it adopted and used in its very few dialect plays - may sound to alien ears as aptly as the language of Synge's Irish sounds - to our own. Though you may search in vain the dialogue of Mr. Allan - Monkhouse's plays for local characteristics, the "Manchester School" has - as a rule indicated by the use, in greater or less degree, of local idioms - that the speech of Lancashire has a well-marked individuality; but - dialect, as a distinctive variant of the national language, can hardly be - said to exist in Lancashire. - </p> - <p> - One labours the point a little in order to make clear that the "Manchester - School" had no accidental advantage, over writers who lived near other - provincial Repertory Theatres, in the existence of a language whose - dramatic literature they felt urged to create; there was no such language. - And its absence makes a curiosity of the fact that from Manchester alone - of the Repertory centres has any considerable body of local drama emerged. - (Dublin is another matter; one speaks here of Great Britain.) Other - Repertory centres, like Birmingham and Bristol, must have local - characteristics: Liverpool is, geographically at any rate, in Lancashire; - and Glasgow has a language of its own. None of these Repertories was - sterile, but even Birmingham, despite Mr. John Drinkwater and "Abraham - Lincoln," was economical in creativeness and fathered no local drama. Must - the conclusion be that the Manchester atmosphere has, with its soot, a - vitalizing dramatic principle? - </p> - <p> - Possibly; but a less fantastic theory is that Manchester had Miss - Horniman, and other Repertories had not. Again one insists that the - Lancashire plays were a by-product, and a by-product only, of Miss - Horniman's Company. Who in their senses would go to Manchester expecting - to evoke a local drama? And if she had gone there with a prejudice in - favour of poetic plays, it is more than likely that no local drama would - have been evoked. Modern Lancashire is industrial Lancashire—one - forgets the large agricultural oases, while nobody but map-makers and - administrators remembers that a slice of the Lake District is in - Lancashire—and industrialism does not inspire the poetic play. Miss - Horniman began, on the contrary, with a season whose best productions, - though it included Maeterlinck, were Shaw's "Widower's Houses" and - McEvoy's "David Ballard." Those two productions seemed, rightly or - wrongly, to fix the type of play preferred by Miss Horniman's Company; it - happened—let us call it realistic comedy—to be the type by - which the life of Lancashire could be best expressed in drama and the - future authors of the "Manchester School," most of them of an - impressionable age, some of them already fumbling their way to dramatic - expression, seized avidly the type and the opportunity. They were not so - provincial as to have to wait for Miss Horniman to come to be introduced - to Shaw: but there are worlds of difference between reading Shaw, even - between seeing him indifferently produced, and a Shaw play transmuted by - the handling of such a producer as Iden Payne. It is putting the case - without hyperbole to say that Miss Horniman's Company was an inspiration. - </p> - <p> - The Repertory whose "note" is the poetic play will probably evoke no local - drama, because, until we get the village Repertory, local drama is the - drama of the modern town, wherein the stuff of poetry exists, if at all, - only as a forced revival of folk-lore. Anything can be great poetry to the - great poet; one speaks here of the average playwright, the observer of his - fellow man in a provincial town, seeking his medium of expression in - drama; and such a man is unlikely to find it in the poetic play or to find - encouragement and inspiration from a Repertory where poetic plays are - visibly preferred. It is almost to be said that Miss Horniman's Company - and the Birmingham Repertory Theatre stand for rival theories of the - drama, but not quite; they have too much, including Shakespeare, in - common. - </p> - <p> - Local drama is too important to be left so specially in the hands of Miss - Horniman and the "Manchester School." It is important for the localities - and important, too, for London; London is quite as ready to be interested - in good plays about people in Aberdeen or Halifax as in plays about people - in New York, but the New York author lives in a city where plays are - produced and the Aberdeen author does not. The stimulation of local drama - is possible only where a local producing theatre exists; the education of - a dramatist is unfinished until he has heard his lines spoken and watched - his puppets move. Drama in the capitals is standardized to some half-dozen - patterns which alter slowly and, failing the local producing theatre, what - is the provincial author to do but to suppress his originality and to - write plays, in hopes of London production, as near as he can make them to - one of the approved current designs? It is said that were it not for the - continued influx from the provinces, London would die out in three—or - is it two?—generations; and if that is true of life, it is true also - of drama, and the plain duty of those who control British Drama, the - Napoleons of the theatre, is to dig channels whereby healthy provincial - blood may flow to London to revitalize its Drama. - </p> - <p> - This, which means that Sir Alfred Butt ought to seek out a number of - intelligent producers and endow them in provincial Repertory theatres to - work without interference from above, but always with the vigilant eye for - that byproduct of a rightly inspired Repertory, local drama, is a simple - matter of commercial self-interest, on a par with the action of the - magnates of scientific trade who endow research not out of love of - science, but in the expectation that they will be able some day to exploit - profitably the resulting discoveries. So might Sir Alfred Butt exploit - local authors discovered by the producers of his far-flung Repertories. - The theatre is either a business or a gamble, and in the hands of men like - Sir Alfred Butt it looks less like a gamble every day. Enlightened - business self-interest would look a little to the future, to the fostering - of authorship in provincial towns, to the establishment of many - Repertories. - </p> - <p> - To come back to the windfalls of the "Manchester School" printed here. - They fell, one of them in the Gaiety Theatre, Manchester, at a time when - Miss Horniman's Company was on vacation; another at the Liverpool - Repertory Theatre, which was in origin a secession from Manchester headed - by the late Miss Darragh, with the plays produced by Mr. Basil Dean, later - the first Liverpool Director; and the third so far away from Manchester as - the Empire Theatre, Syracuse, New York State, linked with Manchester, for - all that, through being produced by Mr. Iden Payne. In reading them again, - one is startled for the thousandth time by the difference between stage - and study. The third act of "The Northerners" makes curious reading, - because it depends partly upon the juxtaposition of the characters on the - stage, partly upon the suggestion "off" of a ruse plagiarized from the - Punic Wars, partly upon a spectacular "curtain," but it is—production - proved it—in the focus of the theatre. It "came off" on the stage. - Laughter in the theatre is, again, a mystery. It is possible that the - Lancashire plays in general have the characteristic of acting more - amusingly than they read. "Hindle Wakes" reads positively austerely; - acted, it is full of humour; and one's recollections of "The Game" on the - stage make for the same conclusion. It has, in the theatre, a far more - pronounced tendency to set its audience laughing than seems apparent in - its text. In the case of "Zack" the funis, one would say, hardly of a - subtle kind. Taking the "Manchester School," bye and large, and - remembering the charge against it that it was "grey" or "dreary," one is - forced to believe either that Lancashire humour is not everybody's humour—Mrs. - Metherell in "The Game" might almost be set as a test—or else that - the "Manchester School" has been confused with the whole body of Miss - Horniman's productions; and, even if so, the charge fails. - </p> - <p> - There was an Icelandic tragedy produced in the early days of her Company, - which depressed the thermometer alarmingly; there was Verhaeren's "The - Cloister," a great play performed to empty houses, adding insult to injury - by being popularly called "dreary," and the chill resulting from those two - productions, one a mistake of management, the other a mistake of the - public, lasted for years. The case of the Lancashire Plays is clear; their - authors aimed at presenting the human comedy of Lancashire, and if their - dramatic purpose was to be achieved by the alternative uses of laughter or - of tears, they preferred to achieve it by the ruthless light of laughter. - Many of the plays have not been printed and the appended bibliography - includes no examples of the comedy of Mr. H. M. Richardson, Dr. F. E. - Wynne or Mr. M. A. Arabian. Incomplete record of the Lancashire Plays as - it is, it serves to drive home the contention that the "Manchester School" - are, in the main, comic writers. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_BIBL" id="link2H_BIBL"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - Bibliography: - </h2> - <p> - (1) Stanley Houghton—"The Works of Stanley Houghton," three volumes - (Constable & Co.); "Hindle Wakes" (Sidgwick and Jackson); "The Younger - Generation," "Five Short Plays," "Independent Means," "The Dear Departed," - "Fancy Free" (Samuel French, Ltd.). - </p> - <p> - (2) Allan Monkhouse—"Mary Broome," "The Education of Mr. Surrage" - (Sidgwick & Jackson); "Four Tragedies" (Duckworth & Co); "War - Plays" (Constable & Co.). - </p> - <p> - (3) Harold Brighouse—"Hobson's Choice," "Garside's Career" - (Constable & Co.); "Dealing in Futures," "Graft" (Samuel French, Ltd. - ); "Lonesome-Like," "The Price of Coal," "Converts," (Gowans & Grey, - Ltd). - </p> - <p> - (4) Judge E. A. Parry;—"The Tallyman and other Plays" (Sherratt - & Hughes). - </p> - <p> - (5) J. Sackville Martin—"Cupid and the Styx" (Samuel French, Ltd.). - </p> - <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> - THE GAME - </h2> - <h3> - A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS - </h3> - <h3> - CHARACTERS - </h3> - <p> - AUSTIN Whitworth. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND Whitworth. - </p> - <p> - LEO Whitworth. - </p> - <p> - JACK Metherell. - </p> - <p> - Hugh Martin. - </p> - <p> - Dr. Wells. - </p> - <p> - BARNES. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE Whitworth. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE Whitworth. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. - </p> - <p> - MRS. WILMOT. - </p> - <p> - MRS. NORBURY. - </p> - <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 I - </h2> - <p> - <i>The Action of the Play takes place in a Lancashire town on the last - Saturday in April between the hours of one and five in the afternoon.</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>Austin Whitworth's house in Blackton was built by his father in 1870 - and the library is a stately room. The door is on the right. Centre is a - deep bay with a mullioned window and padded window seat. A brisk fire - burns in the elaborate fireplace, with its high club fender. Shelves line - the walls. All the furniture dates from the original period of the house, - and though the chairs may have been upholstered in the meantime, they - would repay fresh attention. Solidity is the keynote of the roomy but its - light wood and bright rugs save it from heaviness.</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>The time is one o'clock on the last Saturday in April. A painting of - old John Whitworth is over the fireplace.</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>In the armchair is Edmund Whitworth, a prosperous London solicitor. A - bachelor, his habit of dining well has marked his waist-line. Pompous - geniality is his manner. In his hand is a sheet of notepaper which, as the - curtain rises, he finishes reading. Sitting facing him on the fender is - Leo Whitworth, his nephew. Leo is twenty-one and dresses with fastidious - taste, beautifully and unobtrusively. He is small. Just now he awaits - Edmund's verdict with anxiety. Edmund removes his pince-nez and hands the - paper to Leo.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I like it, Leo. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Really, uncle? I asked you to be candid. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Yes. I do like It. It's immature, but it's the real thing. (<i>Rising - and patting his shoulder patronizingly.</i>) There's stuff in you, my boy. - </p> - <p> - LEO. You're the first Whitworth who's ever praised my work. The usual - thing's to laugh at me for trying to be a poet. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. A prophet in his own country, eh? Perhaps they don't know very - much about poetry, Leo. - </p> - <p> - LEO. (<i>excitedly, walking about, while Edmund takes his place by the - fire</i>). Is that any reason for laughing at me? I don't know anything - about hockey, but I don't laugh at Flo and Elsie for playing. As I tell - them, mutual tolerance is the only basis for family life. If I were a - large-limbed athlete they'd bow down and worship, but as I've got a sense - of beauty and no brawn they simply bully the life out of me. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. You're sure you do tolerate them? - </p> - <p> - LEO. Of course I do. I'd rather have a sister who's a football maniac any - day than a sister who's a politician. There's some beauty in catching - balls, but there's no beauty in catching votes. What I complain of is that - there's no seriousness in this house about the things that matter. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Such as—poetry? - </p> - <p> - LEO. Oh, now <i>you're</i> getting at me. All right. I'm used to it. Being - serious about poetry's better than being serious about football, anyhow. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Sonnets have their place in the scheme of things. - </p> - <p> - LEO. A high place, too. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I agree with you in putting them above football. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Then you'll find yourself unpopular here, - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. At the same time, it's possible to overdo the sonnets, Leo. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Never. Art demands all. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. My dear boy, if you're going to talk about art and temperament, - and all the other catchwords—— - </p> - <p> - LEO. I'm not. I'm only asking you to tell them you believe in my genius - and then they'll drop thinking I'm making an ass of myself. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I see. By the way, what are you making of yourself, Leo? - </p> - <p> - LEO. A poet, I hope. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I meant for a living. - </p> - <p> - LEO. I have a weak lung. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Is that your occupation? - </p> - <p> - LEO. It is my tragedy. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Um. - </p> - <p> - LEO. You will speak to them for me, uncle? They'll listen to you. At least - you come from London, where people are civilized. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Are they? In London I hold a brief for the culture of the - provinces. - </p> - <p> - LEO. You took jolly good care to get away from the provinces, yourself. - And you mustn't tell me you think Blackton is cultured. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I heard my first Max Reger sonata in Blackton long before London - had found him. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Music's another matter. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Yes. Your father played it to me. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Well, there you are again. Music and football are the only things he - cares about. That's just what I complain of. I've tried to raise his - tastes, but I find generally a lack of seriousness in men of his age. Of - course' there are exceptions. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Thank you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Florence Whitworth, in golfing tweeds with bag, and without hat, - hair tumbled by the wind. She is a largemade girl of eighteen, supremely - healthy and athletic.</i>) - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. May I hide in here? - </p> - <p> - LEO. What's there to hide from? - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Eleanor Smith is tackling Elsie in the hall to play hockey for - the High School Old Girls this afternoon. When she finds Elsie won't, - she'll want to try me, so I'll keep out of the way, please. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. And why won't Elsie? - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. We never do when the Rovers are playing at home. I wouldn't miss - seeing the match this afternoon for the best game of hockey I ever had. (<i>Slinging - the golf-bag in a corner.</i>) Topping round on the links, uncle. You - ought to have come. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I'm a sedentary animal, Flo. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Yes. And you're putting on weight. It's six years since you were - here, and I'll bet you've gone up a stone a year. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. In my profession a portly figure is an asset. If you have a lean - and hungry look, clients think it's because you sit up late running up - bills of costs. If you look comfortable, they imagine you're too busy - dining to think of the six and eightpences. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Yes. I never met a slacker yet who wasn't full of excellent - excuses. Leo calls his poetry. You call yours business. Wait till you'll - retire. You'll find it out then if you haven't a decent hobby. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. But I have. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. It's invisible to the naked eye. You don't golf, and you don't - play tennis or cricket or—— - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I collect postage stamps. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. No wonder you're in bad condition with a secret vice like that. - (<i>Goes to open window.</i>) - </p> - <p> - LEO (<i>sharply</i>). Don't do that. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. It's blazing hot. I can't imagine what you want a fire for. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Uncle felt chilly. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Sorry I spoke. No, I'm not. It serves him right for taking no - exercise. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Elsie Whitworth, who, like Florence, is tall and muscular, but - with a slim beauty which, contrasted with Florence's loose limbs and - occasional gawkishness, is, at twenty-two, comparatively mature. Her - indoor dress, to honour the visiting uncle, is elaborate and bright.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Flo, Eleanor Smith wants you. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. I know she does. That's why I'm hiding in here. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. They're a man short on the team, and—— - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Didn't you tell her I can't play to-day? Elsie. She thinks she - can persuade you. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. She can't. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You'd better go and tell her so. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE (<i>gathering up her golf-bag</i>). Blow Eleanor Smith! She - thinks hockey's everything. I hate fanatics. Elsie. She's waiting for you. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. All right. I'll go. (<i>Exit Florence.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Heard the news, Leo? - </p> - <p> - LEO. Not particularly. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>excitedly</i>). Jack Metherell's coming in to see father before - the match. Father told me. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Oh? My pulse remains normal. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You've no more blood in you than a cauliflower. I'm tingling all - over at the thought of being under the same roof with Metherell. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. May I enquire who Mr. Metherell is? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Do you mean to say you've never heard of Metherell? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I apologise for being a Londoner. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. That's no excuse. They can raise a decent crowd at Chelsea - nowadays. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Indeed? I live at Sevenoaks. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You must have heard of Metherell. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. No. Who is he? - </p> - <p> - LEO. Metherell is a professional footballer, uncle. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Oh! - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>indignantly</i>). A professional footballer! He's the finest - centre forward in England. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>politely</i>). Really? Quite a great man. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Quite. He's the idol of my sisters and the Black-ton roughs. For two - hours every Saturday and Bank Holiday through eight months of the year - forty thousand pairs of eyes are glued on Metherell and the newspapers of - Saturday night, Sunday and Monday chronicle his exploits in about two - columns; but if you don't know what "agitating the spheroid towards the - sticks" means, you'd better not try to read them. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Elsie approaches him threateningly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - He is also good looking and a decent fellow. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You'd better add that. - </p> - <p> - LEO. I will add more. He spends the rest of his time training for those - two hours, and when he's thirty he'll retire and keep a pub; and in three - years eighteen stone of solid flesh will bury the glory that was - Metherell. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>threatening him</i>). You viperous little skunk. - </p> - <p> - LEO. I appeal to you, uncle. Can a skunk possess the attributes of a - viper? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. If you say another word against Jack Metherell, I'll knock you into - the middle of next week. You're frightened of the sight of a football - yourself and you dare to libel a man who—— - </p> - <p> - LEO. The greater the truth the greater the libel. You're a solicitor, - uncle. Isn't that so? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Do you want my professional opinion? - </p> - <p> - LEO (<i>dodging round the table from Elsie</i>). I want your personal - protection. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>giving Leo up</i>). Uncle, Jack Metherell's the truest sportsman - who ever stepped on to a football field. He's the straightest shooter and - the trickiest dribbler in the game. I'd walk barefooted over thorns to - watch him play, and for Leo to say he'll retire at thirty and grow fat is - nothing but a spiteful idiotic lie. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>making peace</i>) Well, suppose we say he'll retire at - thirty-five and just put on a little flesh and live to a ripe old age, - fighting his battles over again. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Over a gallon of beer in the saloon bar. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. If your head wasn't too full of poetry for anything important, - you'd know Jack's a teetotaller. He's never entered a public house and he - never will. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. If I were you, Leo, I wouldn't quarrel. I should make a poem about - it. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It's all he's fit for. Lampooning a great man. I tell you, uncle, - Jack Metherell can do what he likes in Blackton. If he cared to put up for - Parliament, no other man would make a show. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Oh, the fellow's popular. They all love Jack. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Popular. There isn't a woman in the town but would sell her soul to - marry him. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. This seems to be the old Pagan worship of the body. - </p> - <p> - LEO. The mob must have a hero. Prize-fighting's illegal and cricket's - slow, so it's the footballer's turn to-day to be an idol. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Look here, you can judge for yourself this afternoon. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Are you coming to the match, uncle? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Yes. I'm curious to see it. I suppose you're not going? - </p> - <p> - LEO. Oh, I shall go. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Really? I had gathered that you don't like football. - </p> - <p> - LEO. I don't like funerals or weddings either, but they're all the sort of - family function one goes to as a duty. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. A duty. Will you believe me, he never misses a match, uncle? - </p> - <p> - LEO. If you want to know, I go for professional reasons. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Professional? - </p> - <p> - LEO. I am training myself to be a close observer of my fellow men, and in - a football crowd I can study human passions in the raw. To the earnest - student of psychology the interest is enormous. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes. You wait for his psychological shout when Blackton score a - goal. You'll know then if his lungs are weak. We go because we like it and - so does he, only we're not ashamed of our tastes and he is. Wait till Jack - Metherel comes on the field this afternoon in the old red and gold of the - Blackton Rovers and—— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Austin Whitworth enters while she speaks and interrupts her. Without - being grossly fat, Austin is better covered than Edmund, whose elder - brother he is. Without exaggeration, his lounge suit suggests sporting - tendencies. His manner is less confident than that of Edmund, the - successful carver-out of a career, and at times curiously deferential to - his brother. Obviously a nice fellow and, not so obviously, in some - difficulty. With his children he is on friendly chaffing terms, so - habitually getting the worst of the chaff that he is in danger of becoming - a nonentity in his own house. He wears a moustache, which, like his - remaining hair, is grey. Florence follows him.</i>). - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. But Metherell won't. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. What. Has Jack hurt himself at practice? Austin. No. - </p> - <p> - LEO. What's up with him? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Nothing. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Then why isn't he playing? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. He is playing. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You just said—— - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. He won't wear the Blackton colours. He's playing for Birchester. - He's transferred. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You've transferred Jack Metherell! Father, you're joking. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. No. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>tensely</i>). I'll never forgive you. He's the only man on the - team who's Blackton born and bred. The rest are all foreigners. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Who've you got to put in his place? There isn't another centre - forward amongst them. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. There's Angus. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Angus! He can't sprint for toffee, and his shooting's the limit. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Well, you've to make the best you can of Angus. Metherell belongs - to Birchester now. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I don't know what you're thinking about, father. Are you mad? What - did you do it for? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Money, my dear, which the Club needs badly. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It'll need it worse if we lose to-day and drop to the second - division. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. We must not lose to-day. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. You're asking for it. Transferring Metherell. The rest are a - pack of rotters. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. They've got to fight for their lives to-day. Birchester offered a - record fee on condition I fixed at once. I was there last night with - Metherell and he signed on for them. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. It's a howling shame. - </p> - <p> - LEO. And over Blackton Rovers was written Ichabod, their glory is - departed. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Father, do you mind if I go? I might say some of the things I'm - thinking if I stayed. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. I'll come too. I wish to goodness I was playing hockey. It won't - be fun to see Jack Metherell play against us. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Florence at door,</i>) - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. It wasn't for fun that I transferred him. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. No. Worse. For money. You've told us that and—oh, I'd better - go. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Flo and Elsie.</i>) - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Go with them, Leo. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Shall I? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Please. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Leo.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Well, Edmund? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>puzzled</i>). Well, Austin? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Now you can judge exactly how pressing my necessities are. You've - heard it all. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Really? You've only talked football. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Football is all. I'm sorry I got in last night too late to have a - chat with you, but (<i>shuddering</i>) what I was doing yesterday is - public property this morning. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. You mean about the man Metherell? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Yes. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I understand some other club has bought him from you. Are - footballers for sale? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Er—in a sense. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. And why have you sold him if he's a valuable man? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. He's invaluable. If ever there was a one-man team, that team is - ours. I've seen the others stand around and watch Metherell win matches by - himself. But to-day money is more essential than the man. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I'm still puzzled. Is football a business then? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Of course. That's the worst of burying yourself in London. You - never know anything. Football clubs to-day are limited companies. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I fancy I had heard that. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Well, broadly speaking, and not so broadly either, I am the - limited company that runs Blackton Rovers. You never cared for sport. I - was always keen. In the old amateur days, I played for Blackton while you - went country walks and studied law. Football's always meant a lot to me. - It means life or death to-day. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. That's a strong way of talking about a game, Austin. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Life or death, Edmund. Blackton's been my passion. It's not a town - that's full of rich men, and the others buttoned up their pockets. - Employers of labour too, who know as well as I do that football is an - antidote to strikes, besides keeping the men in better condition by giving - them somewhere to go instead of pubs. I've poured money out like water, - but the spring's run dry and other Clubs are richer. They can buy better - players. They bought them from me. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Have the men no choice? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Up to a point. But footballers aren't sentimentalists and rats - desert a sinking ship. The one man who stuck to me was Metherell. He's a - Blackton lad, and he liked to play for his native town. To-day, he's gone. - I made him go for the money I needed. The Club's been losing matches. We - were knocked out of the Cup Tie in the first round. Lose to-day and - Blackton Rovers go down to the second division. My Club in the second - division! - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Does that matter so much—apart from sentimental reasons? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. It matters this much. That there'll never be another dividend. The - gate money for the second division game's no use to me. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. But surely, if your public's got the football habit they'll go on - coming. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Not to a second division team. They'll drink a pint or two less - during the week and travel on Saturdays to the nearest first division - match. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. So much for their loyalty. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. They don't want loyalty. They want first class football, and if I - can't give it them, they'll go where they can get it. As it is, the Club's - on the brink of bankruptcy, and I'm the Club. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Then your men had better win to-day. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. They must. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. And if—supposing they don't? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. That's why I brought you here. To look into things. I can't face - ruin myself. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Ruin? It's as bad as that? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Oh, I daresay you're thinking me a fool. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I think your sense of proportion went astray. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. All my money's in it. I don't care for myself. I had value for it - all the day four years ago when Blackton won the Cup at the Crystal - Palace, but it's been a steady decline ever since. What troubles me is, - it's so rough on the children. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Have you told them? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. What's the use? Leo's got no head for business and the girls are—girls. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Yes. Tell me, what are you doing with Leo? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Doing? Well, Leo's is a decorative personality, and he has a lung, - poor lad. Leo's not made for wear. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Rubbish! If he's made you feel that, he's a clever scamp, with a - taste for laziness and a gift for deception. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Well, I do feel about Leo like a barndoor fowl that has hatched - out a peacock. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Peacock! Yes, for vanity. A little work would do the feathers no - harm. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I can't be hard on a boy with his trouble. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I foresee a full week-end, Austin. And I thought I was coming down - for a quiet time in the bosom of my family. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Yes, we've been great family men, Edmund, you and I. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>hastily</i>). Well, we won't go into that again. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Yes, we will. We quarrelled over Debussy. Come into the music-room - and I'll play the thing over to you now. If you don't admit it's great, - I'll—— - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. We've other matters to discuss, Austin. This isn't the time for - music. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Yes, it is. Music makes me forget. Some men take to drink. I go to - the piano. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Florence and Elsie.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Father, do you want any lunch? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>looking at watch</i>). By Jove, yes. Time's getting on. I'll - play that Debussy thing afterwards, Edmund. Coming, girls? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. No, thank you, father. Neither Flo nor I feel we can sit down to - table with you just yet. We've had ours. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. You've been quick about it. Where's Leo? - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Stuffing himself with cold beef. Men have no feelings. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Surely Leo must have a feeling of hunger. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It's indecent to be hungry after hearing of father's treachery to - Blackton. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Treachery! - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Some of my tears fell in the salad bowl, and I hope they'll - poison you. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Be careful what you're saying, Florence. Is that the way to talk - to your father? - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. No. That's nothing to the way I ought to talk to him. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Well, I know if I'd addressed my father like that—— - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. It's a long time since you had a father to address, Uncle - Edmund. We bring our fathers up differently to-day. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. If you only knew what your father—— - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>taking his arm</i>). It doesn't matter, Edmund. Come to lunch. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Edmund and Austin.</i>) - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Yes, it doesn't matter if the Rovers are defeated, but there's - beef and beer in the next room and the heavens would fall if food were - neglected. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Oh, I don't care if they are beaten. The Rovers don't interest me - without Metherell. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. I don't believe they ever did. You're no true sportswoman, - Elsie. You always thought more about the man than the game. You might be - in love with Metherell. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes, I might. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Perhaps you are. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Is there a woman in Blackton who doesn't admire him? - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Oh, I admire him. But that's not loving. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. No. That isn't loving. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. You sound jolly serious about it. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Do you realize that now he's transferred he'll have to live in - Birchester—two hundred miles away? - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Yes, I suppose so. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. What are our chances of seeing him? - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Once a year or so when Birchester play here, instead of about - every alternate Saturday. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I've been seeing him oftener than that. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Do you mean you've been meeting him? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>breaking down on Flo's shoulder, to her great embarrassment</i>). - Flo, I do love him and I don't care who knows it, and now he'll have to - leave Blackton, and I—— - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Steady, old girl. I'm a bit out of my depth myself, but I'll do - my best for you with father. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>braced up</i>). Father wouldn't stop me. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. He might try. Jack isn't quite our class, in a general way of - speaking, is he? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Class! What is our class? We're nobodies. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Still, as things go in Blackton we're rather upper crust, - wouldn't you say? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Grandfather began life as a mechanic's labourer. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Did he? I've never worried about our pedigree, but you wouldn't - think it to look at him. (<i>Looking at his portrait.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Oh, he made money. One of the good old grinding, saving sort. But - he began a good deal lower down than Jack. Jack's father was an - undertaker. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. An undertaker! - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>hotly</i>). Well, I suppose undertakers can have children like - other people. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Oh, I've no objections - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I've no objections either. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. I daresay not—to the father. He's dead. But the mother - isn't. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. What's the matter with his mother? - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Haven't you seen her? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Jack's shirked introducing me, if you want to know. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Well, I <i>have</i> seen her, and—— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Well? - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. She's a hard nut to crack. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I'll crack her if she needs it. If I want to marry a man, I marry - him. I don't mind telling parents about it, but I don't ask their - permission. That sort of thing went out about the time motor cars came in. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Then why haven't you told father before this? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Because Jack's old-fashioned and thinks he ought to speak to father - first. He's got a perfectly ridiculous respect for father. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Father's his employer. <i>We</i> don't think much of father, but - I expect there <i>are</i> people who regard him as quite a big man. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. That needn't have made Jack a coward. As father's ceased to employ - him perhaps he'll get his out-of-date interview over now. (<i>She runs - suddenly to window.</i>) - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. What's the matter? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I'm sure I heard a ring. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. You've got sharp ears. Do you mean to tell me that in this room - you can hear a bell in the kitchen? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>opening window</i>). It might be Jack. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE (<i>following her</i>). Don't you know whether it is? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I can't see any one. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. But I thought people in your case didn't need to see. Don't you - feel his unseen presence in your bones like you feel a thunderstorm? - </p> - <p> - (<i>They are both in the window bay. Barnes, the butler, shows in Jack - Metherell. Jack is dark and handsome with traces of coarseness, tall and - of strong appearance, clean-shaven, dressed rather cheaply hut not - vulgarly. A modest fellow, unspoiled by popular acclaim and simple-minded - though successful. He remains near the door, not seeing the girls. - Florence restrains Elsie.</i>) - </p> - <p> - BARNES. I will let Mr. Whitworth know you are here. Jack. Thank you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Barnes half closes door, then returns.</i>) - </p> - <p> - BARNES. Mr. Metherell, I was thinking of having a little money on the team - this afternoon. Can I take it from you that it's safe? - </p> - <p> - JACK. It depends which team you put it on. - </p> - <p> - BARNES. Why, the Rovers, of course. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Do you want to win your bet? - </p> - <p> - BARNES. I do that. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Then put it on Birchester. - </p> - <p> - BARNES. Really, Mr. Metherell? - </p> - <p> - JACK. Really. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Barnes pauses, then.</i>) - </p> - <p> - BARNES. I will inform Mr. Whitworth that you are here. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Barnes. Jack watches him close door, then goes to bookcase, - examines books, takes one out and begins to read studiously. Florence - motions Elsie to remain and comes forward.</i>) - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Good-morning, Mr. Metherell. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>closing book quietly</i>). Good morning, Miss Florence. Florence. - Are you much of a reader? - </p> - <p> - JACK. I'm striving to improve my mind. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE (<i>taking the book</i>). Good gracious, you've got hold of - Plato. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Yes. I have read him in the Everyman Edition, but I see this is a - different translation by a Mr. Jowett. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. How learned you must be. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Not I, more's the pity. We've two members in the Mutual Improvement - League at our Sunday School who can read Plato in the original. I wish I - could. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Do you? I'll put it back (<i>replacing book</i>). You'll have no - use for Plato in a minute. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Why not, Miss Florence? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Florence laughs and exit, leaving him looking after her. Elsie comes - forward and puls her hands over his eyes.</i>) - </p> - <p> - JACK. It's Elsie. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes. It's Elsie. (<i>Facing him.</i>) Aren't you going to kiss me, - Jack? - </p> - <p> - JACK. In your father's house? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It's as good as any other place. - </p> - <p> - JACK. No, it isn't. Not till I have asked his leave. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You've kissed me in the fields. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I know. I've compromised with my conscience. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Jack, if the rest of you was as antiquated as your conscience, - you'd be a doddering octogenarian instead of the liveliest player in the - League. Have you come now to ask father's leave? - </p> - <p> - JACK. I've come because he told me to last night. I might ask his leave - though, now. But I think I ought to ask my mother first. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. They'd better both be told at once. If you're going to Birchester, - I'm coming with you. - </p> - <p> - JACK. You've heard that then? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes. Did you hear what I said? - </p> - <p> - JACK. About coming with me? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I'm willing if they are. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Who are "they"? - </p> - <p> - JACK. Your father, and my mother. Suppose the banns go up next Sunday, we - could get married in a month and make one bite of the wedding and the - testimonial do they'll want to give me. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I couldn't be ready in a month, Jack. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Well, I'm ready any time. - </p> - <p> - (<i>She kisses him.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Oh, now Elsie, that's a foul. You know—— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You didn't kiss me. I kissed you. I do what I like in this house. - </p> - <p> - JACK. It's a big house, lass. You'll find less breathing space in my - seven-and-six a week house in a row, with my mother in it, and all. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>pulling him to the arm-chair and sitting herself on its arm</i>). - I've thought it all out, Jack. It won't be a house in a row. There are - moors round Birchester, and we're going to live outside the town in a - dinky little cottage where the air will always keep you at the top of your - form, and I shall have a garden to look after and be handy for the links. - I'm going to teach you golf. I shall drop hockey when I'm married. Married - life demands sacrifices. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Yes. You're going to sacrifice a lot. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You're not going to begin all that over again, are you? Do you want - to marry me? - </p> - <p> - JACK. Like nothing on earth. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Then I get you and nothing that I lose counts against that gain. - </p> - <p> - JACK. You've a fine sweet way of putting things. I just go funny-like all - over and the words won't come. But I love you, lass, I love you. I'll be a - good husband to you. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It's heaven to hear you say you love me. I want no sweeter words to - come than those, I don't deserve it, Jack. Who am I? Elsie Whitworth. - Nothing. And you're the grandest, strongest player of your time. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>rising</i>). You think too much of football, Elsie. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. That's impossible. - </p> - <p> - JACK. You do. Football's as good a way as another of earning a week's - wages, but that's all it is. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It's the thing you do supremely well. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Yes. Now and for a few more years maybe, but I'll be an old man for - football soon. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. That's why I mean to teach you golf. Don't I tell you I have - thought about it, Jack? You're going to be as brilliant at golf as now you - are at football. I'll never lose my pride in you, your huge, hard muscles - and your clean fit body. - </p> - <p> - JACK. It's a great thing to be strong and master of your strength. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Your splendid strength! Your swiftness and your grace. - </p> - <p> - JACK. But it's a greater to be clever, and I'd give up all my strength if - I could write a poem like the one your brother wrote in the <i>Blackton - Evening Times</i>. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>contemptuously</i>). Leo! That weakling. - </p> - <p> - JACK. He may be, but he's got a brain. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You're twenty times the cleverer. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Then I'm good for something better than football. I'm up in football - now as high as I can get. I used to dream of being called the finest - player in the League. They've called me that these last two seasons and my - dream's grown bigger. I'm honoured for my play. I'd like to gain some - honour now for work. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You've just told me football <i>is</i> work. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I mean brain work. A footballer's a labouring man. And I want you, - Elsie. I look to you to lead me to the higher path. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>dejectedly</i>). You think I can! - </p> - <p> - JACK. I know you can. You've got a fancy now for football, but it's not - your real self. You're a cultured woman. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>interrupting</i>). Culture doesn't count. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>proceeding</i>). You've gone beyond the things that puzzle me. - You're at the other side. Why, Elsie, there are things in Browning that I - can't make out, and Walter Pater has me beat to atoms. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Those aren't the real things, Jack. - </p> - <p> - JACK. They're real enough to be the things that made me want you. I could - pick and choose from lots of women fit to talk of football to me, but I'm - tired of football. You're the only woman who can talk to me of other - things—and you won't. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You're tired of football! - </p> - <p> - JACK. Not of the game. Sick of the eternal jaw about it. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Well, I'm sick of books. - </p> - <p> - JACK. You can't be that. Books last. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Your fame will last. Books aren't the real thing. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Then what is real? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Blood. Flesh and blood. I'd burn every book in this room for the - glory of another rush like yours when you scored your second goal last - Saturday. It may have lasted thirty seconds, but it was worth a wilderness - of books. - </p> - <p> - JACK. It was worth just half a column in the <i>Athletic News</i>. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It's worth my love for you. It's not your brain I'm wanting, Jack. - It's you. You're splendid as you are. Don't try to hide behind a dreary - cloud of culture. It's better fun to be alive all over than to crawl - through life with a half-dead body and a half-baked mind. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Life's not all fun. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It isn't, but it ought to be, and for you and me it's going to be, - and if you don't stop looking serious, I'll upset you by kissing you - again. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Don't do that, Elsie. It isn't right yet. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Jack, you've a bilious conscience. It's the only part of you that - isn't gloriously fit. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Give me till I've seen your father and then perhaps you'll tire of - being kissed a long while sooner than I tire of kissing you. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE It's so stupid to ask father about a thing like that. It's not his - lips you're going to kiss. It's mine. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I've to satisfy my conscience, Elsie. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. The poor thing needs a lot of nourishment. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Austin and Edmund.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Don't stint it. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Good morning, Metherell. Elsie, we've to talk business. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Mayn't I stay? Men are so funny when they're serious. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>holding door</i>). You would find no entertainment this time. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>passing him</i>). That's all you know about it. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Elsie.</i>) - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Sit down, Metherell. Oh, this is my brother, Mr. Edmund Whitworth. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>shaking</i>). I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. - Metherell. - </p> - <p> - (<i>They sit down, Austin commanding, the room from the club-fender.</i>) - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Very busy that train we came home by last night, Metherell. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Yes, very full. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I couldn't get a chance of talking to you. Now, it's about this - match to-day. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Yes? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. You know how tremendously important it is for Blackton. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Blackton <i>'</i>ull be a second division team next season. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I hope not, Metherell. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>without arrogance</i>). With me playing against them? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I still hope not. Blackton must not lose today. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I don't see how they can help it. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. You've a good opinion of yourself, I notice, Mr. Metherell. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Blackton Rovers without me aren't a team at all. They're certain to - be beaten. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. You say that as if you don't mind if they are. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I belong to Birchester now, Mr. Whitworth. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Come, Metherell, you've belonged to Birchester for half a day. You - belonged to Blackton for five years. This match can make no difference to - Birchester. They're half way up the list. It's critical for Blackton. - You've played all these years for Blackton and you've thought Blackton all - your life. You can't change your allegiance all in a moment. You can't - pretend you'd like to see Blackton go down. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Oh, I've a fondness for Blackton. I don't deny it. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Metherell, Blackton must win to-day. - </p> - <p> - JACK. They might have done if you hadn't transferred me. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. My hand was forced. - </p> - <p> - JACK. So you told me. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. At heart you're still a Blackton man, Metherell. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Maybe. But at Football I've signed on to play with Birchester. I may - be just as sorry as yourself to see Blackton go down to-day, but as centre - forward of Birchester United it's my bounden duty to do my best to send - the Rovers down. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Look here, Metherell, you see the hole I'm in. What am I to do? - </p> - <p> - JACK. I've no suggestions. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. What about the referee? - </p> - <p> - JACK. Eh? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Anything to be done there? - </p> - <p> - JACK. I don't understand. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Could I square him? - </p> - <p> - JACK. Not unless you want to see him lynched. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Then you're the only hope. - </p> - <p> - JACK. It's a poor hope if you're looking for anything of that from me. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I'm asking you to be loyal to Blackton for another day. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Were you loyal when you transferred me? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Yes: loyal to Blackton's very existence. Don't play your best this - afternoon. That's all I ask. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I always play my best. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Are you never out of form, Mr. Metherell? - </p> - <p> - JACK. I play at the top of whatever form I'm in. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Couldn't you make it convenient to be in particularly bad form - to-day? After your long journey to and from Birchester yesterday, a tired - feeling's only natural. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I'm feeling very fit. Do you know you're asking me to sell a match? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>firmly</i>). Yes. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I couldn't square it with my conscience. I really couldn't, Mr. - Whitworth. I know it means a lot to you, but I'm not that sort, and you - ought to know it. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Your conscience might be—salved. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Salved? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Yes. Just let us know how much you consider will cover all moral - and intellectual damages, will you? - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>to Austin</i>). I'm glad it wasn't you who spoke that word. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I endorse it, Metherell. I told you last night how I stood. The - loss of to-day's match may involve my ruin. - </p> - <p> - JACK. As bad as that? I'm sorry. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Man, can't you see I'm not romancing? Do you think I'd come to you - with this if I wasn't desperate? - </p> - <p> - JACK. It's a pretty desperate thing to do. Suppose I blabbed? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Yes. There's that. It ought to show you just how desperate I am. - You know, and no one better, how this Club's been run. You know there's - blackguardism in the game, but Blackton hasn't stooped. Whatever other - clubs have done, Blackton has stood for sport, the straight, the honest - game. The Blackton Club's my life's work, Metherell. I might have done a - nobler thing, but there it is. I chose the Club. I gave it life and kept - it living, and the time's come now when I can't keep it living any more. - Twice top of the League and once winners of the Cup. It's had a great - past, Metherell, an honourable past. It's earned the right to live, and - now it's in your hands to kill the Blackton Club and end the thing I've - fostered till it's seemed I only lived for that one thing. It isn't much - to ask. A little compromise to save the Club you've played for all these - years, to save the club and me. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I cannot do it, Mr. Whitworth. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Austin sinks hopelessly into armchair.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>briskly</i>). Now you referred to your conscience, Mr. - Metherell. My experience is that when a man does that he's open to - negotiation. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Money won't buy my conscience, sir. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>half mockingly</i>). Well, are you open to barter? - </p> - <p> - JACK. No. The thing I want from you is no more to be bought than my - conscience is. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>without hope</i>). You do want something from me, then? - </p> - <p> - JACK. I want to marry Elsie. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>shocked</i>). My God! - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Does she know? (<i>Rising.</i>) - </p> - <p> - JACK. Does she know? She says we're to be married and that's all about it, - but I'm old-fashioned and I want your leave. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. My niece and a professional footballer! - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Steady, Edmund. Now, Metherell, just let us see where we stand. - You propose to help Birchester to beat Blackton. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I'll do my best. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. And you think I'll let you ruin me first and marry my daughter - afterwards? - </p> - <p> - JACK. I won't buy Elsie from you at the price of my professional honour. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Professional fiddlesticks! The thing's done every day. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Not by a Blackton lad. I've learnt the game you taught me, Mr. - Whitworth, the straight, clean Blackton game. I'll not forget my school - even at the bidding of the head. I'm not anxious to be suspended for - dishonest play. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Only incompetents get suspended. You needn't fear. You're skilful. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Not at roguery. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. You're talking straight, Mr. Metherell. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Yes. It's you that's talking crooked. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Elsie.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. May I come in now? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. No. We're busy. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Thank you. (<i>Closing door.</i>) You don't get rid of me twice - with that dear old business bogey. I expect Jack's made an awful mess of - it. Has he told you about us, father? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. No. Yes. Go away. We're talking seriously. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes. You all look very foolish. Is it settled, Jack? - </p> - <p> - JACK. No. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. What's the trouble? Is father being ridiculous? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Upon my word, Elsie—— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Oh, that's all right, uncle Ed. It does father no end of good to be - talked to like that. Jack, I find I can be ready in a month after all, so - that's all right. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Ready for what, girl? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. My wedding, uncle. You'd better start thinking about your present. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. But—— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Hasn't Jack told you we're to be married? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. He's told me he wants to marry you, but—— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Then what is there to argue about? Men do love making a fuss about - nothing and fancying themselves important. Come along, Jack. You're going - to take me down to the ground. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Well, I'm—— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Oh, dear no, Uncle. You're not. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Elsie goes off with Jack. They reach door.</i>) - </p> - <h3> - 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 II - </h2> - <p> - <i>The office of Blackton Football Club is situated under a stand, the - slope of which forms its roof, down to some eight feet from its floor. In - the perpendicular side are the windows, overlooking the ground. Used as - much for the entertainment of visitors as for office work, the room - contains only a desk with revolving chair, and a sofa to indicate its - titular purpose, and for the rest is a comfortably appointed club-room. On - the walls are sporting prints and, by the desk, a file of posters, the - uppermost advertising the day's match. A door gives access, and a second - door leads to the ambulance-room.</i> - </p> - <p> - (<i>Hugh Martin, the Club Secretary, sits at the open desk. Austin enters.</i>) - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Well, Martin. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Good afternoon, Mr. Whitworth. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. What do you estimate the gate at? Five hundred pounds? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>rising</i>). The returns are not in yet, but hardly that much. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>looking out of window</i>). I should call it a twenty thousand - crowd by the looks of it. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>not looking out</i>). Not far short. But (<i>awkwardly</i>) - there's been a little accident, sir. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Accident? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Oh, it's happened before. They rushed the turnstiles on the - shilling side. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I say, Martin, that's too bad. Just when we need every penny we - can screw. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. About three thousand got in free before the police could master - the rush. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. That Chief Constable's an incompetent ass. He never sends us - enough men. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Fewer than usual to-day. There's a socialist demonstration on the - recreation ground, and that's taken away a lot of police. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Idiot! Does he think Blackton people will go to a political - meeting when there's a football match? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. As you say, sir, he's a fool. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>sitting at desk</i>). No use claiming for the loss either. Pass - me the cheque-book, Martin. Those people with the mortgage on the stands - threaten to foreclose unless we pay on Monday. I'd a letter this morning. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>opening safe and passing cheque-book from it</i>). Can we meet - it, sir? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Yes. Metherell's transfer fee is in the Bank. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. That brightens our sky. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Think so, Martin? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Martin replaces Austin at desk, signs cheque, tears it out and then - puts book back in safe.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I never thought we should live through the season. And here we are - at the end of it still alive and kicking. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. They'd better kick to some purpose to-day, Martin, or——- - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. It'll be all right, sir. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. You're a sanguine fellow. Suppose we lose. Second Division. No - dividends. No dividends, no Club. No Club, no Secretary, Martin. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Don't talk about it, sir. It's not losing my job. That doesn't - matter. But the thought of Blackton going down is more than I can bear. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Yes. It's ugly. You're a good fellow, Martin. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Don't mention it, sir. I love the game. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. The game! Yes. Always the game. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I often wish this side didn't exist, though it is my bread and - butter.... That's the whistle. They're playing. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Yes. Didn't you know? They'd begun before I came in here. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>reproachfully</i>). Oh, sir! - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Don't let me keep you from your place. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Aren't you coming? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. No. I shan't see much of this match, Martin. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. When so much depends upon it! - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Yes. That's why. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>consolingly</i>). But you forget things when you watch the - game. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>kindly</i>). Go and forget them, Martin. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Florence, in outdoor spring costume, excitedly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Father, aren't you coming? You've missed it all. We've scored a - goal in the first five minutes. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Scored already! Thank God. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. The most glorious goal you ever saw. Black-ton are playing up - like little heroes. It's the match of the season. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Martin slips out.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Angus is in terrific form. I take back what I said about him. Metherell - himself couldn't do better. He had the Birchester goalee beat to - smithereens. I tell you it's tremendous. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. How's Metherell playing? - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Against us. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>impatiently</i>). Yes. But how? - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. How does he generally play? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Like that? He's in form? - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. It's worth a guinea a minute to watch him. And you're missing - it. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I'll go on missing it, Flo. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE (<i>looking through window</i>). Well, I won't. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Florence. Austin sits down in desk-chair, staring at the wall, - blankly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Metherell! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter from the ambulance-room Dr. Wells, a young sporting doctor, - nice-looking, with dark hair and moustache. He is passing through to the - outer door. Austin starts.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Oh, it's you, Doctor. You startled me. - </p> - <p> - WELLS. I beg your pardon, Mr. Whitworth. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. My fault for day-dreaming. (<i>Rising.</i>) Ready for - contingencies in your torture chamber? - </p> - <p> - WELLS. All clear. You look rather like a contingency yourself. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I'm—I'm nervous. - </p> - <p> - WELLS (<i>sympathetically</i>). It's a trying occasion. Don't you keep a - bottle of whisky in that desk? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>smiling</i>). Don't you know I do? - </p> - <p> - WELLS (<i>grinning</i>). I have some recollection of it. Take my strictly - unprofessional advice and have a good strong nip. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>at desk cupboard</i>). Have one yourself? - </p> - <p> - WELLS. No, thanks. I'm going to look out for accidents. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Ghoul! - </p> - <p> - WELLS. Every man to his trade. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Wells. Austin mixes drink. Enter Edmund.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Hullo! That's bad, Austin. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Doctor's orders, Edmund. Will you? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. No, thanks. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. How's the game? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Rowdy. You're not watching it? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. No. I'm praying for it. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. So far the gods have heard your prayer. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Metherell hasn't. I hear he's playing his best game against us. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I'm no judge. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Are you tired of it already? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I find it just a trifle wearing. Perhaps I'm tod old to appreciate - a new sensation. The excitement's too concentrated. And the noise! I'm - deafened. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. It's quiet enough in here. Those windows are double. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. They need to be. Austin, about Elsie. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Yes? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. And this footballer. You'll have to put your foot down. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I don't flatter myself I shall have much to say in the matter. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Hang it, you're her father. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. You heard what she said. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. To my blank astonishment, I did. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Oh, I'm used to it. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Pull yourself together, Austin. You've drifted till your - authority's flouted by your own children. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. You know, Edmund, that sort of talk was all right in our day, but - my children belong to the new generation, and the new generation regards - parental authority as a played-out superstition. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Nonsense. Be supine and they'll tread on you. You've only your own - slackness to blame for it if you're flouted. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. That, again, is the view of our time. We're old codgers to-day, - Edmund, you and I. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Confound it, Austin, you're not going to take this lying down! - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. No. I shall fight the fight of my generation against the next. I - shall lose, of course. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. You mustn't lose. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Why should I be an exception to a natural law? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Natural law! Natural laziness, you mean. You've simply let your - children get out of hand through sheer weakness, and if you don't care to - exert yourself to save Elsie from a gross <i>mésalliance</i>, I will. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Why's it a <i>mésalliance</i>? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Good heavens, man—a footballer! - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. There spoke the acclimatized Londoner. Black-ton won't be - scandalized like Sevenoaks. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Oh, hang your smug imitation democracy! You don't believe that, - Austin. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I always believe in the inevitable. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. It's not inevitable, It's incredible. Now, I'll tell you what I'll - do, Austin. I'll take Elsie back with me to London and cure her of this - infatuation with a jolly good round of the theatres and the shops. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. My dear fellow! The theatres where she'll see nothing but romantic - love stories and the shops where she'll go under your nose to buy her - trousseau. Try it, Edmund. You'll be astonished at the result. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. It seems my <i>métier</i> to be astonished to-day. First I assist - at an attempted bribery, and now it seems I'm to see my niece marry the - incorruptible footballer. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. You're a bachelor. The modern child surprises you. As a father, I - have ceased to be surprised. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. As a father your idea of your duty is to stand idle while your - daughter makes a sentimental mess of her life. I begin to thank my stars - I'm a bachelor. At least I'm not henpecked by a rebellious family. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. There's no rebellion about it, Edmund. I date from the sixties, - they from the nineties, and we rub along quite peacefully in mutual - toleration of the different attitudes. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Tolerating the difference means that you give in to them every - time. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Not quite. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Then you won't give in to Elsie? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I shall be loyal to my generation, Edmund. She will be loyal to - hers,—and youth will fight for her. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. That means you'll put up a protest for form's sake and give in - gracefully when you think you've said enough to save your face. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. No. Not if I can help it. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Austin, you must help it. The thing's unthinkable. I'll help you - to help it. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I shall be glad of any assistance you can give me. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Austin turns a little wistfully to window.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. You think I can't give much. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Hullo! The game's stopped. I hadn't heard the whistle go. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I fancy I did a minute ago, without knowing its significance. What - does it mean? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Probably an accident. Heaven help us if it's one of our men! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Wells and Jack, who is in green-and-white football costume, - soiled on the left side, with his left arm in an emergency sling. Elsie - follows.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>anxiously</i>). Father, Jack's broken his arm. Wells. Nothing - very serious, Mr. Whitworth. I think it's only a simple fracture. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Only! - </p> - <p> - WELLS (<i>taking Jack across</i>). Come along in here, Metherell. I'll - have it set before you know where you are. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>impulsively</i>). Metherell. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>as Wells opens door</i>). Accidents will happen, Mr. Whitworth. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Wells with him, closing door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Doctors are callous beasts. (<i>She opens door rand goes out with - determination after them.</i>) - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>scoffing</i>). Accident! - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Why not? Don't they happen? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. After my proposition? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. He scorned it. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Second thoughts. I asked for bad play, but he's thinking of his - reputation and he's broken his arm. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Deliberately? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Yes. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Heroic measures, Austin. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. It's the last match of the season. He's all the summer months to - get right in. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Elsie returns.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. That doctor's turned me out. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Of course. You've no right in there. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I've every right to be where Jack is suffering. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. He can suffer very well without your assistance. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You needn't be brutal about it, father. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I'm not being brutal. The man's a professional footballer. He - accepts the risk of a broken limb as a part of his occupation. Metherell's - not a wounded hero. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. No. He's simply a workman who'll doubtless receive proper - compensation from his employers. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. And from me. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. You! - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. This will hurry on our marriage, father. Jack needs attention now. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Hasn't he got a mother? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. No mother could love him as I do. No one can nurse him as tenderly - as I shall. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Nurse! A broken arm doesn't make an invalid of any one, especially - a man in first-class physical condition. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I think it's very cruel of you to belittle Jack's injuries. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I wish you would stop calling him Jack. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It's his name. He wasn't christened John. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I refer to the impropriety of a young lady calling a workman by - his Christian name. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. As the young lady is going to be married to the workman in the - shortest possible time, I fail to see where the impropriety comes in. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. That is where we differ, my dear. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. About impropriety? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. No. About marriage. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Would you rather I lived with him without being married? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Elsie! - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>coolly</i>). Oh, it's all right, father. Uncle deserves a good - shock. He's hopelessly suburban. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>pompously</i>). Elsie, I am older than you and—— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>pertly</i>). Yes. That's your misfortune. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>angrily</i>). Will you allow me to speak without interrupting? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Austin sits in the armchair.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes, if you'll speak sensibly and won't put on side because your - mind's grown old and pompous as well as your body. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Elsie, I won't have this rudeness to your uncle. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. My dear father, uncle is being stupid. The only way to combat - stupidity is rudeness. Therefore, I am rude. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>humouring her</i>). I propose to speak sensibly according to my - lights. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>under her breath</i>). Ancient lights. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>reasoning</i>). Now, suppose we do permit you to marry this—— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>reproducing his reasonable tone</i>). Be careful, uncle. Talking - of permission is on the border line. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>avoiding irritability</i>). Suppose you marry him, what - interests can you have in common? I grant you he's a handsome specimen of - manhood to-day, but retired athletes always run to seed. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>self-consciously</i>). Hem! - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. And apart from the attraction of the flesh, what's left? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>cordially</i>). Oh, you are talking sense this time. It's - difficult, but I shall manage him. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Shall you? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>confidently</i>). Oh yes. I couldn't do it if he were as old as - you, because at your age a man's in a groove and sticks in it till he - dies. Jack's not a modern, but he's young enough to learn. It's hardly - credible, but at present he believes in Ruskin and Carlyle and reads - Browning. Well, you know, I can't have a husband with a taste for - Victorianism. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Then why have him at all? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It's a curable disease. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. He reads Browning! - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes, but you needn't worry about that. I shall make a modern of him - all right. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Do you mean to tell me a footballer reads Browning? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. He can't always be at football. Oh yes. And Plato, only not in the - original. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Why, the man's a scholar. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Did you think he was illiterate? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I'm afraid I have underrated him. Still, that only proves him an - estimable member of his class. It doesn't alter the fact that his class - isn't yours. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>hotly</i>). Class! What do I care for class? Elemental passions - sweep away class distinctions. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. That's a high falutin' name for a flirtation with a footballer. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It's a name I thought you'd understand. Personally I'd say I've got - the sex clutch on and other things don't matter. Any more shots, uncle? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. You needn't flatter yourself you've talked me into consenting to - this marriage. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Nobody asked you, sir, she said. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>angrily</i>). Nobody—— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>easily conversational</i>). Wouldn't it interest you to see how - the game's going, uncle? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>relieved</i>). I think it would. But don't you think you've - heard the last of me. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>sympathetically</i>). No, but you want time to think out a few - more objections. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I am going purely out of desire to witness the match. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Edmund.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>looking after him</i>). Poor dear. He tried his best. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>half rising</i>). And I am going to try now. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>pushing him gently hack into chair and sitting on its arm</i>). - Oh, I don't mind you. He tried like an outraged relation. You'll try like - a pal. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. No. I'm going to be firm. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. What a bore. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>seriously</i>). You didn't expect me to be pleased about this, - did you? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>pouting</i>). Why not, if I'm pleased? Jack isn't marrying you. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Nor you, if I can help it. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. But you can't help it, you know. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Oh, I'm quite aware the stern parent isn't my game. But as pals, - Elsie—— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>nestling up to him</i>). Yes, father, as pals. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. As goose to goose, it's not the thing. Now, frankly, is Jack - Metherell up to our weight? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. He's above it. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Above it? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Certainly. The condescension's his. He's a better footballer than - ever you were, and you were no fool at football. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Football isn't everything, Elsie! - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Well, you play a decent hand at Bridge, but that's not much. Your - golf's rotten. What else do you do well? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>pushing her aside, and rising</i>). Really, Elsie! - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>still on the arm</i>). Don't say "really." Tell me. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I hope I'm fairly good at being a gentleman. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Doing, I said, not being. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>humbly</i>). I—er—play the piano, you know. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes, but you're not a musician within the meaning of the Act. You - play the piano like a third-rate professional, too good for a public-house - and not good enough for the concert platform, whereas Jack's football - makes him a certainty for the England team in any international match. You - may have more money than he has—— - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>glancing at window</i>). I'm not even sure of that. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>triumphantly</i>). Then you've absolutely nothing on your side - except a stupid and obsolete class prejudice. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Upon my word, Elsie—— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>coming to him, gently</i>). Yes, I know I'm crushing, dear. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. You're pitiless. Youth always is. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Not always, father, but you shouldn't try to argue about love. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I was arguing about marriage. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>away from him</i>). I suppose at your age it's natural to be - cynical about marriage and pretend it's nothing to do with love. And then - of course when you were young it used to be the fashion to mock at - marriage. We take our duties to society seriously to-day. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Are you proposing to marry Jack from a sense of duty? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>wistfully</i>). You'll be awfully proud of your grandchildren, - father. They'll be most beautiful babies. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. You look ahead, young woman. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It's just as well I do. You're still worrying about a thing I - settled weeks ago. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Then why didn't you tell me weeks ago? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I hadn't told Jack then. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Wells opens door, and enters with Jack, whose arm is in a splint and - sling.</i>) - </p> - <p> - WELLS (<i>entering</i>). You'd better go straight home now. Never mind - about the match. I want you to avoid excitement for a awhile. - </p> - <p> - JACK. The match doesn't excite me. - </p> - <p> - WELLS. Then you can leave it without regret. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>indicating his costume</i>). In these? - </p> - <p> - WELLS. I'll go round to the dressing-room and bring your clothes here if - you'll trust me not to pick your pockets. - </p> - <p> - JACK. There's nothing to pick. I've more sense than to take money into a - dressing-tent. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Can't you trust the others, Metherell? - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>drily</i>). Yes, so long as they're not tempted. - </p> - <p> - WELLS. I won't be long. (<i>Exit.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>watching Wells resentfully till he goes</i>). Did he hurt you - much, Jack? - </p> - <p> - JACK. Not to speak of. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Austin watches her scornfully.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Oh, you're brave. But you shall come to no more harm. I'll see you - home safely. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>sarcastically, indicating door of the ambulance-room</i>). - You'll find cotton wool in there. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. What for? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. To wrap him up in. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Don't be spiteful, father. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Good heavens, girl, a broken arm is nothing. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Jack sits wearily.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Except that the arm happens to be Jack's. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. The civilized world will gasp at the great event. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. The athletic world certainly will. It's all very well for you to - joke. Your arm's not hurt. It's all a gain to you. If Blackton don't win - with only ten men against them, they deserve shooting. This accident means - a lot. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I know what it means—better than you do. (<i>Looking at - Jack.</i>) - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>jerking his head up</i>). What's that? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. As you tactfully remarked, Metherell, accidents will happen. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>rising</i>). Don't you believe it was an accident? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. What else could it be? Do you think he broke his arm for fun? - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>straight at Austin</i>). It was an accident. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. No, my lad. It was a bargain. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I made no bargain. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>sneering</i>). But you broke your arm. - </p> - <p> - JACK. By accident. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. A singularly opportune coincidence. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Father, what do you mean? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. You'd better ask Metherell that. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>in puzzled appeal</i>). Jack! - </p> - <p> - JACK. I'll say nothing. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Then what am I to think? - </p> - <p> - JACK. Think what you like. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I think you're a sportsman, Jack, and—— - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I've known a sportsman do a bigger thing than break his arm for a - woman. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>suspiciously</i>). A woman! What woman? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. You, my dear. And, as you said, Blackton are safe to win now. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Wells, entering with Jack's clothes and boots, overhears Austin.</i>) - </p> - <p> - WELLS. I'm not so sure of that, Mr. Whitworth. It's anybody's game. The - score's one all. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>startled</i>). Birchester have scored! - </p> - <p> - WELLS. Yes. Didn't you know? I'll look after Metherell. You're missing a - good game. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Then you'd better go and watch it, Dr. Wells. - </p> - <p> - WELLS (<i>slightly surprised</i>). I will when I've helped Metherell to - change. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I'm in no hurry. Don't put yourself about for me. Half time <i>'</i>ull - do. - </p> - <p> - WELLS. Well, it can't be far off that now. (<i>Putting Jack's clothes over - chair.</i>) I should like to see something of this match. Is the arm - painful? - </p> - <p> - JACK. It's sharpish. - </p> - <p> - WELLS (<i>by desk</i>). Pull yourself together with a dose of this. (<i>Lifting - whisky bottle.</i>) - </p> - <p> - JACK. No, thanks. I'm a teetotaller. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Austin is lighting a cigar.</i>) - </p> - <p> - WELLS (<i>authoritatively</i>). And I'm a doctor, man. - </p> - <p> - JACK. That doesn't help my principles. - </p> - <p> - WELLS. Oh, all right. If you like to be stubborn. Are you coming, Mr. - Whitworth? (<i>Crossing to door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes. Do go, father. They'll be expecting to see you outside. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>grim</i>). Yes—I'm going—to show them I can smile. - Come along, Doctor. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Wells and Austin.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Now, Jack. What's this all about? - </p> - <p> - JACK. Your father's making a mistake. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. About what? - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>exasperated</i>). It's a confidential matter, Elsie. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. That means there's something you're afraid to tell me. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I'm not afraid. He spoke to me in private, and it's giving him away. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You can't give him away to me. I've lived at home too long for - that. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I can't abuse his confidence. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Are you going to talk about your conscience again? Father said you - broke your arm for my sake and I want to know what it means. - </p> - <p> - JACK. But I didn't, Elsie. It was an accident. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. He thought not. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Yes. He's wrong. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Why should he think you did it intentionally? Jack (<i>sullenly</i>). - Ask him. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. He's just told me to ask you. Now stop being absurd, Jack, and tell - me all about it. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>reluctantly</i>). I told him we wanted to be married— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Elsie nods, smiling approval.</i>) - </p> - <p> - —and he offered to strike a bargain. He wants Blackton to win, so I - was to play a rotten game for Birchester. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. And you couldn't do it. - </p> - <p> - JACK. No. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>enthusiastically</i>). No. You couldn't play badly if you tried, - and so you broke your arm instead, for me. Jack, if I was proud of you - before, I could worship you now. (<i>Patting the sling.</i>) Your arm, - your poor, hurt arm, mangled for me. My hero, my lover and my king. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>disgustedly</i>). You think that too! - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Think it! I know it. Don't pretend. It's too late now for modesty. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Modesty! Don't you see if I'd done that, forgotten my sportsmanship - and sold a match for my private gain, I'd deserve to be kicked round the - county? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. No. I don't see it. You've hurt yourself for my sake, and that's - enough to make of me the proudest woman in the land. - </p> - <p> - JACK. It's enough to prove me dishonest if it were true. Elsie (<i>touching - the arm</i>). Isn't that true? - </p> - <p> - JACK. Don't I tell you that's an accident? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You've never had an accident before. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Not a serious one. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. No. You're too great a master of the game. Accidents happen to the - careless and incompetent. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Then I must be both. I fell and my arm twisted under me. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. And you really didn't do it on purpose? - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>hurt</i>). Elsie, don't you believe me? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It's so beastly to have to. I thought you were a perfect player, - and you have an accident; and I thought you were a perfect lover, and - you've been afraid to prove your love. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>stirred up</i>). Elsie, there are twenty thousand folk about this - ground to-day and some of them have come to see the match, but more to see - me play an honest game. They're just a football crowd, but there isn't a - man upon this ground to-day but knows Jack Metherell is straight. It's - left for you to say I ought to be a crook. You're great at golf and - hockey. Is that the way you play the game? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Forgive me, Jack. I did want things to be right for us. - </p> - <p> - JACK. At any price? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking of the game. I only thought of you. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I know. But I want things to be right and rightly right. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>smiling</i>). And now they are. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>puzzled</i>). Your father—— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. We've only to let him go on thinking you did it on purpose. - </p> - <p> - JACK. But I didn't. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>soothingly</i>). I know. <i>I</i> know it was pure accident. But - he doesn't. - </p> - <p> - JACK. He must be told. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I thought you wanted his consent to our marriage - </p> - <p> - JACK. I do. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Then let him think you've kept the bargain he proposed. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Let him think I'm dishonest? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. What was he? What does it matter what he thinks if I know the - truth? - </p> - <p> - JACK. He's got to know the truth. If he'd have me as a scoundrel for your - husband, he should be glad to have me as an honest man. (<i>Smiling - sourly.</i>) My arm's broke either way. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I don't care tuppence for his consent. - </p> - <p> - JACK. It's not the square thing to get married without. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Oh, leave him to me. - </p> - <p> - JACK. You bustle him so. It's not respectful, Elsie. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Well, you needn't take him under your wing as well. It's not the - custom in this family to split hairs about filial piety. I'll make it all - right, Jack. - </p> - <p> - JACK. It's my job, Elsie. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It's our job, and you've had your innings. Now it's mine. But I'm - going to take you home first to your mother. - </p> - <p> - JACK. But my mother doesn't know about you, yet. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>drily</i>). It's time I made her acquaintance. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>doubtfully</i>). I don't know what she'll say. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. We'll find out when she says it. You think a great deal of your - mother, Jack. - </p> - <p> - JACK. My father's dead. She's both to me. That's why I'm anxious. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Anxious! But your mother wouldn't stop us, Jack. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>doubtfully</i>). You will be careful with her, Elsie. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Careful? - </p> - <p> - JACK. Yes. Not like you go on with your father. She's used to my way. - </p> - <p> - (<i>She has his unhurt arm, urging him to door, when it opens and Austin, - Florence and Leo enter.</i>) - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Still here, Metherell! - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I'm just going to take him home. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>to Jack</i>). Wasn't the doctor going to help you into your - clothes? (<i>To Leo and Florence.</i>) Where is Wells? Have either of you - seen him? - </p> - <p> - LEO. Last seen disappearing in the direction of the bar with an eminent - London solicitor. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Oh, never mind him. Jack's clothes can follow. We'll take a taxi. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. But—— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Come along, Jack. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Elsie and Jack.</i>) - </p> - <p> - LEO. I say, father, it's a jolly rough game. This must be one of the - referee's slack days or he'd pull Angus up sharp. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>genially</i>). The score's two—one for Blackton, my boy. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Blackton play against the wind next half. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>confidently</i>). The match is all right. I've something else - to talk about to you two. You saw Metherell and Elsie? - </p> - <p> - LEO (<i>grinning</i>). Yes. It's a case. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. What? - </p> - <p> - LEO (<i>the grin fading</i>). Well, isn't it? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. So you know. - </p> - <p> - LEO. I've got eyes. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. You take it philosophically. - </p> - <p> - LEO. I don't see that it matters how I take it. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. To my mind it matters considerably. He'll be your brother-in-law - if he marries her. - </p> - <p> - LEO. That had occurred to me. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Don't you mind? - </p> - <p> - LEO. I don't mind. Metherell's a stupendous nut at football. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I understood football didn't interest you. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Merely academically. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. It's really far more your concern than mine, you know, Leo. In the - natural course of things Elsie's husband will be your brother-in-law for a - longer period than he'll be my son-in-law. Yours too, Flo. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Yes. (<i>Pause.</i>) - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>exasperated</i>). Well? Have neither of you anything to say? - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE (<i>rather bored</i>). Not much in my line, dad. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Nor in mine. As I'm her brother I can't cut the other fellow out and - marry her myself. I'm rather thankful, too. Elsie takes a lot of stopping - when she's got the bit between her teeth. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I don't get much help from you. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Why should you? - </p> - <p> - LEO. It's no use jibbing, father. Much easier to give them your blessing - and a cheque. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. It is always easiest to give way, Leo. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Yes. Isn't it? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>wildly</i>). Good heavens, do you young people care about - nothing? - </p> - <p> - LEO. We're tremendously in earnest about a lot of things, only they're not - the things you're in earnest about. There are fashions in shibboleths just - as much as in socks, and you're a little out of date in both. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Possibly. But blood is still thicker than water, Leo. Metherell is - a man of the people and—— - </p> - <p> - LEO. Oh, my dear father, don't talk about the people as if they inhabited - an inferior universe. The class bogey is one of the ghosts we've laid - to-day. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Indeed. I'd an idea it was rather rampant. - </p> - <p> - LEO. I believe it used to be. As a matter of fact, I do object to - Metherell. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Oh! You have some sense left. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. I don't. I only wish I was in Elsie's shoes. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Was I speaking, Flo, or were you? - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. You were, too much. - </p> - <p> - LEO. I object theoretically on aesthetic grounds because of the destined - fatness of the retired footballer. But I have Elsie's assurance that - Metherell's a teetotaller and I trust her to give him a lively enough time - to keep him decently thin, so that practically my objection falls to - pieces. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Leo, I didn't expect much help from you, but upon my word your - cynicism is disgusting. - </p> - <p> - LEO. I expect, you know, that's pretty much what grandfather thought of - you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Elsie and Jack.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Hullo! are there no taxis? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>angry</i>). I think every taxi in the town is outside the - ground, but the men are too keen on getting a free sight of the game from - the roofs of their cabs to take a fare. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. It's a sporting town, Blackton. - </p> - <p> - LEO. I should have thought they'd take it as an honour to drive Metherell - home. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>bitterly</i>). Not in the Birchester colours. - </p> - <p> - LEO (<i>sarcastically</i>). Sporting town, Blackton, - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>at white heat</i>). They're beasts. Beasts. They jeered. They're - glad he's hurt. - </p> - <p> - JACK. That's what you've done for me, Mr. Whitworth. I'm laughed at in - Blackton. Last Saturday I was their idol, and now—— - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. You've done it for yourself, my boy. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>hotly</i>). You transferred me. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I meant the broken arm, not the broken idol. Jack (<i>scornfully</i>). - Do you still think I did it purposely? Austin. I don't think, Metherell. I - know. And I'm very much obliged to you. The chances are it's won the - match. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>sulkily</i>). It was an accident. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>playing his last card</i>). Oh, you needn't keep that up before - the family. That reminds me. (<i>Turning to them.</i>) Leo, Florence, this - is your future brother-in-law, Jack Metherell, the sporting footballer, - who's sold a match to buy my consent to his marrying Elsie. - </p> - <p> - (<i>He watches Leo and Florence for the effect. Jack steps forward, but - Elsie stops him.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Hush, Jack. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE (<i>coldly</i>). I don't believe it, father. That consenting - business went out with the flood. - </p> - <p> - LEO (<i>to Jack</i>). Did you ask my father's consent? - </p> - <p> - JACK. Yes. - </p> - <p> - LEO. It's just credible, Flo. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. In England? In the twentieth century? Leo. These quaint old - customs linger. Half the world doesn't know how the other half thinks. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>who has been looking on amazed</i>). But aren't you horrified? - </p> - <p> - LEO. At his asking? No. Merely interested in the survival of an archaism. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. At his selling a match, man! - </p> - <p> - LEO. A man who would ask papa is capable of anything. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. He's not capable of dishonesty. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Oh, you're blind with love. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I have his word. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>scoffing</i>). His word! - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes. Jack Metherell's word. The word of the man I'm going to marry. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>indicating Jack's arm</i>). Deeds speak louder than words. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>with resolution</i>). Yes, Mr. Whitworth, they do. You think - you've won this match. We'll see. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>frightened</i>). Jack, what are you going to do? - </p> - <p> - JACK. Play. Play for Birchester as I've never played for Blackton. I'll - show him if I sold the match. - </p> - <p> - LEO. No. I say. You mustn't do that with a broken arm. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Yes. Broken arm and all. - </p> - <p> - LEO. It's madness. Look here, I believe you. So does Elsie. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. And I. - </p> - <p> - LEO. We all do, except father, and I assure you he's subject to - hallucinations. Thinks he can play the piano. Thinks my poetry's bad. - Thinks you're a rotter. All sorts of delusions. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>stubbornly</i>). Birchester must win. I'm going on that field to - show them all what football is. - </p> - <p> - (<i>As he speaks Wells and Edmund enter.</i>) - </p> - <p> - WELLS (<i>with calm authority</i>). I think not, Metherell. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Out of my way, Doctor. - </p> - <p> - WELLS. I forbid it. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Much I care for your forbidding. - </p> - <p> - WELLS. One moment, Metherell. The play is extraordinarily rough. It's - Blackton's game to lame their opponents. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. More like a shambles than a game. - </p> - <p> - WELLS (<i>to Austin</i>). The referee is strangely kind to Blackton, Mr. - Whitworth. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Oh? - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>suspiciously</i>). What? What's that you said? - </p> - <p> - WELLS. I say if I were referee I'd have ordered off half the Blackton team - for rough play. This is no match for a damaged man, Metherell. - </p> - <p> - JACK. So you did try the referee, Mr. Whitworth. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I don't understand you. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Don't you? Well, rough or smooth, I'm going through it now. (<i>To - Wells.</i>) Thanks for your warning. (<i>To Austin.</i>) And I warn <i>you</i> - that referee had best be careful now, or I'll report him. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>holding him</i>). For my sake, Jack. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>gently shaking her off</i>). It is for your sake, Elsie, not for - his. His consent's nothing to me after this. My record's going to be - clean. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Jack.</i>) - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>rubbing his hands</i>). Ah! Splendid. Edmund, I've brought you - down from town for nothing. The match is ours. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>drily</i>). Then I can devote my undivided attention to the - problem of my niece. But why's the match yours? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Metherell is kind enough to give it us. An injured player is a - nuisance to his side—no use and only in the way. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You don't know Jack. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Oh yes, I do. You think he's a hero. I know he's a fool. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Then he's an honest fool, and—— - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I haven't time to argue the point now. I want a word with the - referee before the game recommences. (<i>Going.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. So Jack was right. You did bribe the referee! - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Elsie, if you don't want us all to starve, you'll keep a tight - hold of your tongue. - </p> - <p> - LEO. Starve! - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Starve! What—— - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Oh, ask your uncle. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I haven't time. I'm going to Jack's home to see that all's prepared - for him. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Oh, go to—— Go where you like. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I usually do. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Austin.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Now, Elsie, about this footballer. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>moving</i>). I shall be rather busy turning his bedroom into a - hospital for the next hour, uncle. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. You're to do nothing so compromising. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>scornfully</i>). Compromising! - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. If you insist on going, I shall come with you. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You will look funny in Elizabeth Street. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I prefer to look ridiculous than that you should look indiscreet. - </p> - <p> - LEO (<i>at window, crossing</i>). There's the whistle. Come along, Flo. - </p> - <p> - FLORENCE. Yes. They're playing. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Florence and Leo.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You mean to come? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I don't mean you to go alone. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I wish you were in London, uncle. Your intentions are so good. - </p> - <h3> - CURTAIN. - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT III - </h2> - <p> - <i>At 41 Elizabeth Street the combined kitchen and living-room opens - directly to the street, the street door being centre, with the window next - to it. Through the window the other side of the drab street is seen. A - door leads to the stairs, while another gives access to the scullery. The - room is fairly comfortable. A handsome presentation clock is on the mantel - over the fireplace. The plate-rack is well furnished. Rocking-chair by - fireplace. Sofa under window, behind which is a plant on a stand. Table - round which three Old Women sit at tea. Mrs. Wilmot and Mrs. Norbury, as - visitors, wear outdoor clothes and bonnets, of which they have loosened - the strings. Mrs. Metherell has grey hair, a small person, and an - indomitable will. She is too hearty to be ill-natured, but she is mistress - of her house and knows it. She wears her after-work dress of decent black. - The remains of a substantial meal are on the table. Smoke-blackened kettle - on fire.</i> - </p> - <p> - MRS. WILMOT (<i>sighing</i>). Eh, yes. Elizabeth Street isn't what it was. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. It's not the street, Amy, it's the people in it. - </p> - <p> - MRS. NORBURY. It used to be known for a saving street when I first came to - live here. Every house had a bank-book. - </p> - <p> - MRS. WILMOT. And there's more money coming into the street to-day than - there was then. - </p> - <p> - MRS. NORBURY. And going out. They spend more in an ordinary week than ever - me and my old man spent in a holiday week one time, and if they don't - spend, they gamble, and nothing to show for it all at the finish. - </p> - <p> - MRS. WILMOT. Yes, and come begging off their mother as soon as they fall - sick or out of work. And that uppish with it all! - </p> - <p> - MRS. NORBURY. Do you think I can get my girls to stay at home and give me - a lift with the house of an evening? Not they. They've always something on - that's more important than me. I'm nobody. And the money those girls spend - on their clothes! - </p> - <p> - MRS. WILMOT. Time was when a man <i>'</i>ud come straight home when he'd - finished work and be satisfied with doing a bit in his garden. Most he'd - ever think of, barring Saturday night of course, was one night a week at - his club. Nowadays it's every night the same. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. Metherell moves impatiently.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. NORBURY. I know. You did know where to lay your hand on them once, - but there's no telling where they get to now. - </p> - <p> - MRS. WILMOT. It's all these picture shows and music halls. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>roughly</i>). It's all your own fault, Amy. - </p> - <p> - MRS. WILMOT. Why? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. You let them put upon you. - </p> - <p> - MRS. NORBURY. I suppose you don't? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Our Jack doesn't carry on that road. - </p> - <p> - MRS. WILMOT. He'll have it out of you yet. He's quiet and deep. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>confidently</i>). He's safe enough. - </p> - <p> - MRS. WILMOT. Till he breaks out. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. He's never broken yet. - </p> - <p> - MRS. NORBURY. You're lucky, then. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. It isn't luck. It's the way you go about it with them. - </p> - <p> - MRS. NORBURY (<i>enviously</i>). Yours gets good money, too. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. And I see it all. We've a use for a bank-book in this - house. - </p> - <p> - MRS. WILMOT. I wish I saw the half of what mine get. Always crying out for - more, but not to give it me. Some of them wouldn't be happy if they'd - their own motor-car. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Yes. That's the way. When I was young a man could start - poor and end rich. He'd save and stick to what he got. These lads to-day - <i>'</i>ull never rise. They're too busy spending what they have. My Jack - knows a game worth two of that. He's improving his mind. His bedroom's - full of books. Fitting himself to rise, Jack is. - </p> - <p> - MRS. NORBURY. There are a few like that. They're rare and scarce. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Knock at street door,</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>She rises.</i>) I'm nearest. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>rising</i>). Sit you still. (<i>Crosses and opens door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Elsie and Edmund are there.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Mrs. Metherell? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>gruffly</i>). Yes? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Immediately on the "Yes," Elsie enters past her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. May we come in? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Looks as if you were in. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Edmund enters hesitatingly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Have you heard about Jack's accident? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. Wilmot and Mrs. Norbury remain seated, eyeing Elsie's clothes.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>closing door calmly</i>). Yes. There was a special out. - They get papers out for anything nowadays. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>indignantly</i>). You take it very easily. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. He'll be looked after. There's a doctor on the ground. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>politely awkward</i>). Perhaps I ought to introduce myself, - Mrs. Metherell. My name is Whitworth—Mr. Austin Whitworth's brother. - This is Miss Whitworth. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>with some anxiety</i>). Is Jack hurt worse? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>gravely</i>). Not that we <i>know</i> of. - </p> - <p> - MRS. WILMOT (<i>rising</i>). I think we'd best be going. Mrs. Metherell. - No. It's all right. - </p> - <p> - MRS. NORBURY (<i>rising and tying bonnet-strings</i>), I can see we're not - wanted. We'll be seeing you again before you flit to Birchester. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>by door with them</i>). Many a time. We don't go yet. (<i>Opening - door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. WILMOT. Good-bye. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Good-bye. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Mrs. Wilmot and Mrs. Norbury. Mrs. Metherell closes door and - turns to Elsie.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Now, what is it? If it's bad news I can stand it. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Is Jack's bed prepared? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>righteously indignant</i>). Jack's bed was made at - eight o'clock this morning. Do you take me for a slut? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Oh yes, but he'll need special nursing, and the room—which is - his room? (<i>Looking at doors left and right.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>drily</i>). His room's upstairs. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I'm going to see that it's right. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. His room's my job. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes, yes. I know. But I must make sure. Don't you realize he's gone - on playing with a broken arm? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. He was always a fool. But he's not so soft as to take to - his bed for a damaged arm. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>wildly</i>). Anything may have happened. Complications. Fever. - I'm going to his room. Which is it, please? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>guarding the door</i>). You're not going. Elsie. I am. - Please don't be stupid, Mrs. Metherell. Edmund. Elsie! - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Do you think I'll have a girl I've never set eyes on - before ferreting round my house? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. But—oh, you tell her, uncle. (<i>Darts past Mrs. Metherell - and exit.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>calling after her</i>). Here, you come back. Cheek! - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I think perhaps in the circumstances, Mrs. Metherell—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>with the door handle in her hand</i>). What - circumstances? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Don't you know about my niece? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. I know she's a forward hussy, like most young girls - to-day. That's all I know. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Then I must explain. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>glancing off</i>). You'd better. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. You see, she and your son are engaged to be married. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>pausing, astonished, then closing door</i>). It's the - first I've heard of it. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>pleased to find her hostile</i>). Perhaps I ought rather to say - they think they're engaged. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. No. You oughtn't. Jack doesn't think he's tied to any - woman till he's told me first and got my leave. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>delighted</i>). Ah, now that's quite splendid, Mrs. Metherell. - I'm glad to find that you agree with me. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. In what? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. In opposing the engagement. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Why do you? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>easily</i>). Well, on grounds, shall we say, of general - unsuitability. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. I don't oppose. (<i>Sitting in rocking-chair.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Edmund remains standing.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I understood—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. I don't know owt about the girl. She's made a bad start - with me, but she's excited and I'll give fair play. She may be good enough - for Jack. I cannot tell you yet. What makes you think she isn't? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I didn't exactly think that. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. What did you think? Out with it. You're her uncle, you - know more about the girl than I can. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Well, the fact is I don't consider she would be a suitable wife - for your son. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. That's what you said before. I want to know why not. Has - she a temper? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>on his dignity</i>). Certainly not. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Flirts then? Not steady? Extravagant? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. No, no. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Well, is she deformed or does she drink? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Good heavens, woman, no. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. If you won't tell me what's wrong with her, I must find - out for myself. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. There is nothing wrong with her. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Then, where's your objection? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. My objection, stated explicitly, is—— (<i>Hesitating.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Yes? Go on. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I find it rather difficult to explain to you. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. I've a thick skin. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>desperately</i>). My niece's training and upbringing do not - make her a fit wife for your son, Mrs. Metherell. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Did you make a mess of her upbringing? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. No, but—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. How did you bring her up? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. As a lady. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Then she's handicapped for life. But I have seen some grow - out of it. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Elsie. She has a towel over her arm.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Mrs. Metherell, will you come upstairs a minute? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. What for? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. We ought to have hot water ready and I can't find the bath-room. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. You'd have a job to find one in Elizabeth Street. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>blankly</i>). How do you get hot water? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>drily</i>). You heat it. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Edmund stands, looking on.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>crossing to fireplace and making for kettle</i>). Then I'll take - this. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>rising and getting kettle first</i>). That's for his - tea. (<i>Glancing at clock, kettle in hand.</i>) I'll make it too. He - always comes in hungry from a match. (<i>She replaces kettle, takes - tea-pot from table, empties the used tea-leaves behind the fire, fills - generously from canister on mantel and makes tea, replacing kettle and - leaving tea-pot on the hob.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Oh, what have you got for him? He'll need nourishing. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. There's a bit of steak-pie in the cupboard left over from - dinner. He'll have it cold. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. But meat is so indigestible with tea, and he's an invalid. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Edmund sits on sofa.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Eh, stop moithering, lass. You don't know owt about it. (<i>Suddenly - noticing.</i>) What's that over your arm? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Oh, I'm sorry. It was upstairs. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. That's my towel when you've done with it. (<i>Takes it, - then surprised.</i>) Where did you get this from? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. The bedroom. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. That's one of my best towels. It isn't out of Jack's room. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I've arranged the front bedroom for him. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>angrily</i>). I'd have you to know that's my room. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. The other is such a cheerless, poky little place. It's dark, - there's no fireplace, no proper carpet, nothing but a camp-bed and a - second-hand bookstall. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. It's good enough for him. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Nothing but the best is good enough for a man who plays football - like Jack. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Football's one thing. Home's another. He's at home here. - Do you think he sleeps in the best bedroom? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. He must have the best-lighted room just now. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. So I'm to turn out for him, am I? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. That isn't asking very much. I don't believe you care for him at - all. How can you sit at home when he's playing football? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Custom's everything. (<i>Sitting in rocking-chair.</i>) - I'm used to my men being before the public. Jack's father was a public man—an - undertaker, (<i>Edmund winces</i>) and I've known him have as many as six - funerals on a Saturday afternoon, but I didn't go to the cemetery to see - he buried them properly, and I reckon it's the same with Jack. He can kick - a ball without my watching him. (<i>Changing tone.</i>) And now perhaps - you'll tell me what you mean by interfering in my house? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>to Edmund</i>). Haven't you told her, uncle? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Oh yes. I told her. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>smilingly sure of herself</i>). Well, Mrs. Metherell, will I do? - (<i>Standing before her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>still sitting</i>). You said yourself just now that - nothing but the best is good enough for Jack, so you'll excuse my being - particular. I've been asking your uncle about you and he tells me you're a - lady, born and bred. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You mustn't blame me for my relations, Mrs. Metherell. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Nay, I don't. Mine's a respectable family, but there's a - Metherell doing time at this moment, and another to my certain knowledge - who ought to be. But this is where it comes in. If you're going to be - Jack's wife, you've to know your way about a house. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>agreeing</i>). Yes. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Your father <i>'</i>ull keep a servant, I suppose. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Oh, but I do my share. Servants require a lot of management. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>dryly</i>). I'll take your word for it. I never had - any. And Jack <i>'</i>ull have none, either. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I didn't expect it. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>graciously</i>). You may be handier than you look. I'll - try. Those pots want washing. Let me see you shape. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Elsie eagerly begins to put the used cups together.</i>) - </p> - <p> - There's a tray. (<i>Pointing to plate-rack.</i>) The sink's in yonder. (<i>Pointing.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>protesting</i>). Really, Mrs. Metherell—— (<i>He - rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It's all right, uncle. (<i>The tray is loaded and she lifts it.</i>) - In there, Mrs. Metherell? (<i>Starting to go.</i>) Mrs. Metherell. Yes. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Edmund opens door. Elsie is going through.</i>) - </p> - <p> - That'll not do. You won't have a man about the place to wait on you. Close - that door, Mr. Whitworth, and let me see her get out by herself. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Edmund closes it, and comes away. Elsie tries to open it, the tray is - troublesome and the pots slip together on it. Mrs. Metherell rises and - crosses rapidly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Those are my cups, you know. Here, give it to me. (<i>Takes tray and exit, - opening door with the ease of familiarity.</i>) Elsie. I'm sorry, Mrs. - Metherell. But I can learn. Mrs. Metherell (<i>off</i>). Maybe. You've - shown willing. (<i>She closes door from outside.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Come away, Elsie. You've seen enough of the Metherell standard to - show you it will never do. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>her confidence a little shaken, but still fighting</i>). I shall - alter the standard. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. It's fixed. You can't alter it. It's impossible. Elsie. The modern - eye is blind to impossibilities. Have you ever been to an Ideal Home - Exhibition? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. A what? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. They show you little houses fitted up with the cutest dodges for - saving labour. I know Mrs. Metherell will have to make her home with us, - but it'll be a very different home from this. You can credit me with some - imagination. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I do, if you think Mrs. Metherell will ever believe her house is - clean unless she or some one else has drudged in it all day. Seeing's - believing, and you can't see the dust fly in a vacuum cleaner. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. She'll have to use her common sense. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. The scrubbing brush survives in spite of common sense. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Jack, dressed as Act I., left arm in splint. He opens and enters - without knocking, but he hasn't time to get his cap off before Elsie is - with him.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You're safe. - </p> - <p> - JACK. And sound, too, but for this. (<i>Glancing at his arm.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>hysterically</i>). Thank God. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Is the match over? - </p> - <p> - JACK. Three—two for Birchester. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>distressed</i>). Birchester have won! - </p> - <p> - JACK. I won the match for Birchester, if it gives you any satisfaction to - know it. I haven't been a man. I've been a miracle. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You always were. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I've only done my human best before to-day. To-day I've been a - superman, a thing inspired, protected guarded by a greater mastery than I - have ever known. It wasn't football as it is in life. It's been the - football of my dreams. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. It makes you talk. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I'm still intoxicated with the glamour of that game. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Yes, Metherell, success is sweet. But somebody is suffering for - this. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Who? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. If Birchester have won, Blackton have lost. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. For an outsider, you take it seriously. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I take it seriously for your father. I ought to be with him now. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Haven't you done enough here for the proprieties? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I must go to your father, Elsie. Come. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I stay here with Jack. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>after a struggle</i>). Very well. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Edmund.</i>) - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>taking cap off</i>). Elsie, what are you doing here? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I came to—to see your mother. - </p> - <p> - JACK. You've told her about us? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes. - </p> - <p> - JACK. It should have come from me. She'd expect that. But no matter, now - she knows. What did she say? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>hesitating, then plunging</i>). It's—it's all right, Jack. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Hurrah! Then we've a clear road now. I was a bit afraid. Mother has - a will of her own, and she's not easy to please. But I might have known - she couldn't resist you. Tell me what she said when you pleaded to her - with the loveliest eyes in the world and told her you loved me. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>awkwardly</i>). Well—— - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>interrupting enthusiastically</i>). Yes, I know—you needn't - tell me. I can see it all. You there, she here, and then you fell into - each other's arms, and she kissed you, and what you said to each other I'm - not to know, for it was women's talk not meant for men to hear. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Jack, you've never been like this before. - </p> - <p> - JACK. No, I've never played a great game with a broken arm and come - through it unscathed. I've never—oh, but it's you that's done the - greatest thing for me. You've won my mother for us. That was the cloud - that used to get between. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. And made you talk of self-improvement instead of my eyes? It's only - now I learn you know my eyes are good. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I have always known the beauty of your eyes. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You couldn't tell me about them. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Not till it was all made right with mother. I thought last night - to-day would be the saddest day I've known. I had to play for Birchester - and go away from Blackton and from you. And there was mother, but you were - brave and took that burden from me, and I'm glad, Elsie, I'm glad of - everything. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Even of that? (<i>Touching his arm.</i>) - </p> - <p> - JACK. It's brought me luck. It's brought me you, safely secure at last. I - wish I had a dozen arms to break. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>smiling</i>). To get a dozen me's? - </p> - <p> - JACK. To suffer with for you. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>quickly</i>). You are suffering? - </p> - <p> - JACK. This bit of pain is nothing to a bad conscience, and it's that I had - meeting you and knowing I'd not the pluck to have it out with mother. (<i>With - a touch of brutality.</i>) But now I've got you for my own. No, not a - dozen of you, Elsie. One's good enough for me. (<i>He puts his arm round - her, kissing roughly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>frightened</i>). Jack, you're very strong. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>squeezing masterfully</i>). I've only one arm, but it's strong. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I love your strength, Jack, but you do take my breath away. You've - never kissed me like that before. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>still holding her against her will</i>). I've not been free - before. I've kissed you guiltily, not as a free man kisses when he can - give his whole mind to it. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Jack, let me go. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Don't you like it? I said you'd be the first to tire of kissing. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>free of him</i>). It's—it's almost terrifying, Jack. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>roughly</i>). Rubbish, lass, you're not made of glass. You can - stand it. I needn't kiss you like I kiss my mother. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. How do you kiss your mother? - </p> - <p> - JACK. Why, respectfully. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You don't respect me, then? - </p> - <p> - JACK. It's not the same. I love you. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>rather more hopefully</i>). And you don't love her? - </p> - <p> - JACK. It's different. Where is she now? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>indicating</i>). She went in there to wash some pots. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>nodding, anxiously</i>). She does too much of that. The work - comes heavy at her age. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. We'll change all that. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>eagerly</i>). Yes. Four hands <i>'</i>ull make it easy. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. My methods will be very different. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Different? She'll not like changing her ways. Old people don't like - change. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>callously</i>). No, but it's good for them. - </p> - <p> - JACK. My getting married <i>'</i>ull be change enough. We must be careful - not to upset her. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You're very fond of your mother, Jack. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I try to do my duty. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>gladly</i>). It's only duty, then? - </p> - <p> - JACK. Only! Honour thy father and thy mother that— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes, but I don't want to make old bones. And that honouring - business is a bit fly-blown. We spell it humour your parents nowadays and - not too much of that. A badly brought up parent's worse than a spoilt - child. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Of course, you're joking, Elsie, and I know I'm not a judge of - taste, but I don't somehow think we ought to make fun of our parents. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I wasn't joking, Jack. If your mother's going to stay with us, - she'll have to realize the century she's living in. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>reprovingly</i>). My mother's mistress of this house, Elsie. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. This house. Yes. But we're going to be happy in a cottage on the - moors by Birchester, and if people who've forgotten what it is to be young - try any interference, so much the worse for them. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>angrily</i>). Did you tell her that before you asked about the - marrying? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Tell her what? - </p> - <p> - JACK. That you expected her to take a back seat and watch you interfering - with her arrangements? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Interfering's not the word. They'll be revolutionized. Our cottage - will be run on rational and hygienic principles. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I'd rather have it comfortable. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It will be comfortable. - </p> - <p> - JACK. With you and her squabbling all the time? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>very discouraged, but still brave</i>). We shan't squabble if - she'll be sensible. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Her idea of sense mayn't be the same as yours. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It probably won't. It's all right, Jack. I've had practice in - handling parents. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I've seen a bit of it, too. You shan't treat mother that way. If - we're to marry, Elsie— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. <i>If</i> we're to marry! - </p> - <p> - JACK. My mother's first with me. I take my orders from her and you'll just - have to do the same. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Mrs. Metherell. She has an apron on which she wipes her hands - and then takes it off, hanging up behind door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. So you've broken your arm, I hear. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>his attitude is that of a weak-willed child. He almost cowers - before her</i>). Yes, mother. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Wasn't there work enough with a flitting without fetching - and carrying for you? Who's going to break the coals now? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Mrs. Metherell! - </p> - <p> - JACK. It's all right, Elsie. It's just her way. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>turning on Elsie</i>). And you've been turning my house - upside down upstairs. A lot of need you have to talk, my girl. You've been - in here ten minutes with a famished man and not so much as lifted a hand - to put out his food. I told you where it was. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I'm sorry. (<i>Going in terrified alacrity to cupboard, and finding - plate of cold steak pie, which she puts on table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>with rough kindness</i>). Sit you down, Jack. (<i>Lifts - teapot to table and pours.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Oh, that tea's been made so long. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I like it black. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I'm sure Jack ought to have—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Jack <i>'</i>ull have what I provide for him, and be - thankful he's got it. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Elsie fusses over Jack's plate, cutting up small.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>to Jack</i>). You'll be having late dinners in a month. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. Metherell is returning teapot to hob.</i>) - </p> - <p> - JACK. She'll never let us. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>returning</i>). I'll do that. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Elsie moves away.</i>) - </p> - <p> - If he's to be spoon-fed, I'll feed him. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>timidly</i>). I was doing it to help you, Mrs. Metherell. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. You were doing it to show how fond you are. What's this I - hear about you, Jack? - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>his mouth full</i>). Well, she's told you. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Hadn't you a tongue in your own mouth? - </p> - <p> - JACK. I'd have told you to-night. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Going courting behind my back. - </p> - <p> - JACK. You will have your grumble, mother. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. I'd do more than grumble if you hadn't gone and hurt - yourself. You might have done it on purpose just to get on the soft side - of me. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Is this your soft side, Mrs. Metiierell? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Yes. Company manners. I'm keeping what I have to say to - Jack till you've gone. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Jack's ill. You're not to bully him. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Is he your son or mine? Because if he's mine I'll not ask - your leave to say what I like to him. I'm mistress here. - </p> - <p> - Else. Yes, but, Mrs. Metherell—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. That'll do from you. I've had enough of your back - answers. You talk too much. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Knock at door. Mrs. Metherell, eyeing Elsie as she goes, opens door. - Austin is outside.</i>) - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Mrs. Metherell? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Yes. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>coming forward on hearing the voice</i>). Father! Austin. You - here, Elsie! (<i>Entering—to Mrs. Metherell.</i>) Thank you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. Metherell closes door grimly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Well, Metherell, I've come to see how you are. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>rising</i>). I wasn't carried off the field, but it isn't you I - have to thank for it. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>sincerely</i>). No. It's your own magnificent skill. I never - saw such play. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>coming between them</i>). You'll excuse me, but I - don't allow that kind of talk in here. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>surprised</i>). But I was praising your son, Mrs. Metherell. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. He's buttered up too much outside. In here he get's his - makeweight of the other thing. - </p> - <p> - JACK. There's no more praise for me in this town, mother. I'm not popular. - They've lost a lot of money on this match. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Was that your fault? - </p> - <p> - JACK. I played for Birchester. The bets were made on Blackton before they - knew I was transferred. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>indignantly</i>). They're blaming <i>you</i> for that? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Fair weather sportsmen! - </p> - <p> - JACK. There's no denying I won the match for Birchester. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>indignantly</i>). Whose fault was it you played for - Birchester? Yours? No. There stands the man you have to thank for that. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>taken aback</i>). Really, Mrs. Metherell, I was hardly prepared—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>accusingly</i>). You've made my Jack unpopular. That's - what you've done. (<i>Looking at Jack proudly, while he expresses blank - astonishment.</i>) There never was a favourite like Jack. Not a man in the - whole of Blackton but looked up to Jack, nor a woman but envied me my son. - </p> - <p> - JACK. But, mother, I didn't know you cared. You've always—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. You didn't know I cared! Because I haven't gone and - shouted with the others round the field, because I haven't dinned it in - your ears and did my level best to stop them spoiling you, do you think I - took no pride in knowing you're the idol of the town? I'll show you if I - care. Out of that door, Mr. Whitworth. Out of that door, I say. You've - brought trouble on this house. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Really, this is very embarrassing. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. I'll embarrass you. You've made my Jack unpopular. What do - you want here? Your daughter? Take her and go. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. What I wanted was a little private conversation with your son, Mrs - Metherell. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. You've finished with my son. You're not his master now. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. No. But as a friend, I hoped—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. And you're not his friend. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I can't make things clear if you won't let me, Mrs. Metherell. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. They're clear enough. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>desperately</i>). Metherell, will you do me the favour of - stepping outside with me for three minutes' business conversation? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>scoffing</i>). Business! - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. You have no business now with Jack that doesn't include me. If Jack - goes, I go. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. This includes you. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Jack doesn't go. Jack stays where he is. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>trying to be dignified</i>). Do you know who I am? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. You're the man who's flitting me to Birchester. Turning me - out of my house, me that's lived in Blackton all my life, to go to a - strange town and buy in strange shops where'll they rob me, and live - beside strangers instead of here where everybody knew me for the mother of - Jack Metherell. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. But from what Jack says, Mrs. Metherell, Black-ton won't be very - pleasant for you now. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>hotly</i>). Who's made it so? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Mrs. Metherell, can't we be friends? I've always been on friendly - terms in Club affairs with Jack, until to-day. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. A lot can happen in a day. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Yes. To-day the club has died. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Died! - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Yes. You know something of what the club has meant to me. I made - it, built it, fostered it, and now it's dead. There's been a meeting since - the match. The other directors had pence in where I had pounds. They won't - put another farthing down to save the club, and I can't. I'm ruined. But - that isn't what I'm here for now. I've lost to-day a greater thing than - money. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Ruined! Father, what do you mean? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. You needn't fret. Ruined is a way of talking. He'll have a - nest-egg left to pay your servants and your milliner's bills. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. No. It means literally ruined. Metherell has cause to know my case - was pretty desperate. - </p> - <p> - JACK. I didn't know how bad. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Could you have acted any differently if you had? - </p> - <p> - JACK. You know I couldn't. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>sincerely</i>). No. You've showed up well to-day, and I've - showed badly. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>sympathetically</i>). You were in a hole. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. A man can never tell beforehand what he'll do in a tight corner, - but he can be ashamed afterwards if he's done the wrong thing. And I'm—I'm - trying now to snatch some rags of self-respect. Won't you help me, Mrs. - Metherell? - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>graciously</i>). Well, maybe a drowning man can't be - particular what straw he clutches at. What can I do? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Jack was the straw I clutched. I tempted him, and, to his honour - and my own dishonour, he withstood me. But I owe him reparation, and I - want to pay. If I can see these two young people happy, I shan't feel - utterly debased. I shall have rescued from the wreck enough to give me - back my soul. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>hardening again</i>). That's a grand high way to talk - about a bit of conscience-money. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>humbly</i>). Yes, call it conscience-money if you like, - although I have no money now, and money won't buy me back my peace of - mind. I'm going to do the one thing in my power to right the wrong I did - to Jack this afternoon. I'm going to put this marriage through. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>ironically</i>). Oh? What marriage may that be? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Don't you know? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Of course she knows. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Then that's all right, and a load's gone off my mind. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. One moment, father. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Yes. What is it? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I'm not so confident about it as I was. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. As you were when? It's not an hour since you defied the world to - stand between you and Jack. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It's not the world that stands between. It's Mrs. Metherell. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Elsie! (<i>Going towards her, then standing bewildered.</i>) - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Mrs. Metherell! (<i>Turning to her genially</i>). Oh, come, we - parents have to make this sacrifice to see our children happy. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. I care as much about Jack's happiness as you. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Then we're unanimous. That's settled then. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE, (<i>quietly</i>). Not quite. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Why not. (<i>Looking at Jack.</i>) You told me my consent was all - you wanted. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>eyeing Jack</i>). Did you? - </p> - <p> - JACK. No. I said I'd want yours too. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Of course. Well, you've got my consent now, freely, gladly given. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Yes, I wanted that. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Isn't that everything? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. No. I've been thinking. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I thought you knew your own mind, Elsie. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. I didn't know Mrs. Metherell. Perhaps I didn't know Jack. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>still with confidence</i>). There's been some lovers' tiff - between you. Come, Elsie, I divided you this afternoon. Let me unite you - now. What is the difficulty? I'm sure it's just a temporary trifle. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Whether it's temporary depends on how long Mrs. Metherell proposes - to live. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>enjoying herself</i>). I'm hearty, thank you. Mine's a - long-lived family. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>brushing the difficulty aside</i>). Mrs. Metherell won't stand - in your way, Elsie. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Speak for yourself. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Oh, now I see. You're feeling as I did. It took me by surprise. - But I'm converted now, and you'll find you'll soon grow used to the idea. - Once you and I were young ourselves, and—— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Father, it's no use talking to Mrs. Metherell as if she was a - reasonable being. It rests with Jack to choose. - </p> - <p> - JACK. To choose? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes. Me or your mother. Which is it to be? - </p> - <p> - JACK. I—I don't know. (<i>Glancing shiftily at Mrs. Metherell.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL (<i>menacingly</i>). You'd better know, and sharp. - </p> - <p> - JACK. She's my mother, Elsie. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes. Who comes first? Your mother or the woman you—the woman - I used to think you loved. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>hurt</i>). Elsie, you know I love you. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Do I? Is it love? Love hasn't widened your horizon. Love should - break through, but you can't see beyond your mother for all your love. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>peace-making</i>). Elsie, you mustn't ask a man to make a - choice like that. These relationships don't clash. They sort themselves - out. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. That's all you know about it. If you'd been here earlier, you'd - have seen the clash all right. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I didn't see it, but I know you're very capable of looking after - yourself. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Oh, I can manage you. And I can manage Jack. You're men, but—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. You can't manage me. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>agreeing</i>). I've met my match. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>earnestly</i>). Elsie, I've set my heart on seeing you happy. - My future's black. I see no future for myself at all, but I hoped that - this one satisfaction would be granted me. You wanted Jack. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes, but—— - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Do you still want him? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. He's got a mother. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Never mind her. Do you want him? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes. By himself. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Very well. Metherell, do you want her? - </p> - <p> - JACK. My mother doesn't want me to want her. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. No. But do you? - </p> - <p> - JACK. It's like this—— - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. It's no good, father. If wishing could kill Mrs. Metherell, she'd - be dead at my feet. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Elsie! - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Plain speaking breaks no bones. I can give as good as I - get. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. May I speak plainly, then? Frankly, don't you think your attitude - is selfish. We've all to see our children go from us, or the world would - never get on. Let me appeal to you—and I think you will acknowledge - that a man of my position is not accustomed to appeal to a woman of—well, - you'll admit the difference between us, and the fact that I make very - earnestly this petition should—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Yes. I'll admit the difference between us. You're ruined. - I'm not. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>taken aback</i>). Ruined! - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Didn't you say so? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>bitterly</i>). Yes. I'm ruined. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. You've a family. It's a good lift to a ruined man with a - family to get a daughter off his hands. That's why you've come to push her - on to us. We mayn't be swells, but we can keep her, and that's more than - you can do, so—— - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>to Jack</i>). Metherell, you don't believe that, do you? - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>avoiding Mrs. Metherell's eye</i>). No. I think you're sorry you - forgot yourself this morning. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I've done my best to make amends. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Yes. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Is it——? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes, father. It's impossible. - </p> - <p> - JACK. Elsie! - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>to Jack</i>). Isn't it impossible? - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>after a pause while he looks from Elsie to Mrs. Metherell, - finally meeting Mrs. Metherell's eye and bending his head.</i>) Yes. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Edmund knocks and enters without waiting.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. May I come in? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. You here, Edmund! - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I came back for Elsie. I've been looking for you everywhere. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Well, now you've found him, you'd better take him away. - I'll be charging some of you rent for the use of my room. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. But what's happened? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Oh, you've won. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I've won? - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Yes. The old guard. You and Mrs. Metherell. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Yes. You saw it wouldn't do. You're the only Whitworth in - your senses. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Thank you, Mrs. Metherell. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>cornering Edmund, anxiously</i>). You know we lost the match. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Yes. What are you going to do? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I've not had time to think about myself. This affair came first. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Well, this is where I come in. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>with a touch of an elder brother's contempt</i>). What can you - do? The club's wound up. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. If I like, I can do a good deal. I'm a bachelor with a good city - practice, and no expensive hobbies, Austin. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>bitterly</i>). I never thought it would come to this. My young - brother. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Not so young. Oh, if it stings a bit, perhaps it ought to. You'd - the old man's house and the lion's share of his money, and I've got to - pull you out of the hole you dug yourself. There's only one person who'll - like it less than you, and that's my energetic nephew. - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. Leo! - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. I'll present Master Leo with his articles. The law's a splendid - cure for lungs and laziness. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>approaching Edmund</i>). Mr. Whitworth, there's no ill feeling, - is there? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Not a bit. - </p> - <p> - JACK. And Mr. Austin fancies he owes me something. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Oh? - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN. I have that bribery business badly on my mind. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. What do you want, Metherell? - </p> - <p> - JACK. I'm a man with ambitions, sir, and I heard what you said about Mr. - Leo. Would you give me my articles? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. My friend, you're an excellent footballer, but you'd make a - shocking lawyer with that delicate conscience of yours. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. You'll go on living honestly, Jack. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>submissively</i>). Yes, mother. - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. And when you marry I'll choose you a decent hard-working - girl who'll look after you properly, and not a butter-fingered lass who'll - break your crockery and want waiting on hand and foot and—— - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. Mrs. Metherell! - </p> - <p> - MRS. METHERELL. Oh, I forgot you were there. I was just talking privately - to my son, same as you've been doing amongst yourselves. - </p> - <p> - EDMUND. We've earned that. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Metherell. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE. Good-bye, Jack. - </p> - <p> - JACK (<i>taking her hand</i>). Good-bye, Miss Whitworth. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Elsie turns her face away. Edmund opens door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - AUSTIN (<i>shaking his hand</i>). Metherell, I'm sorry. - </p> - <p> - JACK. You did your best to make it right. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Austin.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>at door</i>). Elsie. - </p> - <p> - ELSIE (<i>going to him</i>). Yes, uncle? - </p> - <p> - EDMUND (<i>going out with his arm round her</i>). London! (<i>Elsie smiles - gladly at him as they go out. Mrs. Metherell places teapot on table. Jack - sits and resumes his tea.</i>) - </p> - <h3> - CURTAIN. - </h3> - <p> - Note.—<i>The "transfer" of a football player from one team to - another cannot now be made with the rapidity shown in this play. At the - time when "The Game" was written, such a transfer was possible. A year or - two earlier, indeed transfers were made at least as quickly as in the play—and - one is allowed a certain licence of compression in a play. The instance in - point is recorded in the "World's Work" for September, 1912, In an article - entitled, "Is Football a Business?"</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>Mr. J. J. Bentley, ex-president and life member of the Football League, - tells how he effected the transfer of a player named Charles Roberts from - Grimsby to Manchester United on a Friday night, the player being at - Grimsby, and Mr. Bentley in London. The matter was settled by telephone at - midnight, and in sixteen hours after signing Roberts appeared in the - Manchester United Colours.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE NORTHERNERS - </h2> - <h3> - A DRAMA OF THE EIGHTEEN-TWENTIES - </h3> - <h3> - CHARACTERS. - </h3> - <p> - <i>Factory Owners</i>. Ephraim Barlow; John Heppenstall - </p> - <p> - GUY Barlow, <i>Ephraim's son</i>. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN Las celles. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW Butterworth - </p> - <p> - <i>Weavers</i>. Martin Kelsall; Joseph Healey; Henri Callard - </p> - <p> - MARY Butterworth, <i>Matthew's wife.</i> - </p> - <p> - RUTH Butterworth, <i>his daughter.</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>The Scene is laid in Lancashire in 1820</i>. - </p> - <p> - Act I. <i>Evening in Matt Butterworth's Cottage</i>. - </p> - <p> - Act II.—<i>An evening six months later in Ephraim Barlow's house.</i> - </p> - <p> - Act III.—<i>The next night. A quarry on the moors</i>. - </p> - <p> - Act IV.—<i>Later the same night in Ephraim Barlow's house.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT I. - </h2> - <p> - <i>Interior of Matthew Butterworth's cottage. The room has three doors, - one leading directly outside, one to the lean-to shed which holds the - hand-loom, the third to the stairs. The cottage is that of a prosperous - artisan of 1820, and the general standard of comfort little higher than - that of a modern slum. The room is in darkness and through the door is - heard the monotonous clickety-clackety of a handloom. A brisk knock is - heard at the front door, and as Mary Butterworth opens the door l., - carrying a dip candle in an iron candlestick, the sound of the loom - increases. She crosses, leaving candle on table and opens the front door. - Outside are Joseph Healey, Martin Kelsall and Henri Callard.</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>Mary is fifty, dressed in a dark dress of linsey woolsey, with - neckerchief of indigo blue printed cotton over her shoulders and a full - apron of blue-and-white check round her waist. The men who enter are all - obviously poorer. Joe Healey, the oldest of them, for instance, hopes in - vain by buttoning high his waistcoat to hide the absence of a shirt. All - wear clogs, breeches and coats more or less ragged and patched. Martin is - twenty-four, thin to emaciation, but handsome and fervent. Henri carries - himself well, wears his rags gallantly and his clothes are lighter - coloured.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - JOE (<i>as Mary opens door</i>). Is Matthew in, Mrs. Butterworth? - </p> - <p> - MARY (<i>without standing from door</i>). Yes. You'll hear his loom if you - hearken. - </p> - <p> - JOE. It's a sound that isn't often heard outside the factory nowadays. - </p> - <p> - MARY. It's one that isn't often hushed in here. Matthew's busy. - </p> - <p> - HENRI (<i>half entering. Mary gives back</i>). Too busy to see us, Madame - Butterworth? - </p> - <p> - JOE (<i>entering and speaking importantly</i>). Tell him the 'Friends of - the People are here to see him on the people's business. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Henri and Martin enter, Martin closing the door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARY (<i>raising the candle to their faces</i>). I know you. I know you - all. You, Joe Healey and young Martin Kendall, and you—you're the - Frenchman. - </p> - <p> - HENRI (<i>bowing</i>). I am the Frenchman, madame. - </p> - <p> - MARY (<i>replacing the candle, disgustedly</i>). Radicals, the three of - you. - </p> - <p> - JOE (<i>reprovingly</i>). We are Friends of the People. - </p> - <p> - MARY. Yes. Friends of yourselves. - </p> - <p> - JOE. Yes, of ourselves and of you and of Matthew there. We are the people. - </p> - <p> - MARY (<i>militantly</i>). You're Radicals. And my Matthew's not a redcap - like that Frenchie there that's fled his country to come disturbing quiet - English folk with his nonsense. - </p> - <p> - HENRI. I left my country when the Bourbons entered it again. (<i>Rhetorically.</i>) - The blood I'd shed for freedom—— - </p> - <p> - JOE (<i>interrupting</i>). We'll talk to Matthew about all that. - </p> - <p> - MARY (<i>standing, barring the door</i>). You will not talk to Matthew. - I'll not have my man made a Radical, and run his head into a noose for the - sake of—— - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>quietly</i>). For the sake of freedom. - </p> - <p> - MARY. We're free enough. - </p> - <p> - HENRI. You are free to starve. To be slaves of the cotton masters, who - treat you worse than any grand seigneur would have treated his peasants - under the Bourbons. - </p> - <p> - MARY (<i>dryly</i>). Well, Matthew's busy. - </p> - <p> - JOE. He's not too busy to attend to us. We want him out. - </p> - <p> - MARY. And you'll not get him. - </p> - <p> - JOE. I think we shall. (<i>Calling.</i>) Matthew! Matthew Butterworth! - </p> - <p> - MARY. Yes, you may call. You'll burst your lungs before he'll hear in - there. He's working. You're idling. Don't try to interrupt a better man. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Henri makes as if to force her from door, Joe checks him.</i>) - </p> - <p> - JOE. That's why we want him with us. Because we know him for the best - weaver in these parts. Because he's treated by the master different from - us and works at home instead of being driven into the factory. We want the - best man on the people's side and none of us but gives old Matthew best. - That's what we think of your husband, Mrs. Butterworth. - </p> - <p> - MARY. And it's what I think, so you needn't fancy that it's news to me. - He's better sense than to go wasting time on a pack of crazy Radicals. - </p> - <p> - (<i>The loom stops, the door is thrown open and Matthew speaks off</i>) - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Mary, fetch that candle back. I cannot see to weave properly with - only one. - </p> - <p> - JOE. Let your loom be, Matthew, and come here. We've need of you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Matthew enters in his shirt sleeves, stout waistcoat and breeches. He - is a man of sixty, solidly built with square face and grey hair, bowed - with bending to his loom.</i>) Matthew. What's the to-do about? - </p> - <p> - MARY (<i>holding his arm</i>). They've come to trap you, Matthew. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Trap me? They'll be wide awake. - </p> - <p> - MARY. Don't listen to them, Matt. They're Radicals. -</p> - <p> - JOE We're Reformers. You know us, Matthew. -</p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Aye, I know you. You, Martin! You become a - Radical? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Empty bellies make Radicals, Mr. Butterworth. Empty bellies and - the Corn Tax and bread at thirteenpence the quartern loaf. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Empty bellies make fools then. I can hear you've picked up the - Radical cant. What do you want with me? - </p> - <p> - JOE. We've come to reason with you, Matthew. - </p> - <p> - MARY. Oh, if you're going to listen to them, I'll sit in yonder. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>sharply</i>). Don't touch the loom, now. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Mary.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Well, what is it? I haven't time to spend on argument. - </p> - <p> - HENRI. Then give us your advice, Mr. Butterworth, your help. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. I'm not a politician. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Martin sits wearily on settle.</i>) - </p> - <p> - JOE. Maybe you're not. But you're a man. And you know how things are with - us. They're different with you. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. And why? - </p> - <p> - HENRI. Because you're the favourite of Mr. Barlow. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. If you weren't an ignorant Frenchman you'd suffer for those - words. I'm not a favourite. It isn't me. It's my work. There's never been - a yard of faulty cloth made on my loom. It's good. It's the honest work of - a man that takes a pride in making it good, not like your rotten - machine-made muck that's turned out at the factory. That's why Mr. Barlow - sends me yarn to weave. He gets his special price for the cloth I weave - and he knows it pays to let me weave it. That's not making a favourite of - me. It's business. - </p> - <p> - JOE (<i>quietly</i>). It's making an exception of you, Matthew. You're - working all the hours God sends, but you're drawing good money every week - and you're living in comfort with your missus and your daughter both at - home. My girls are in the factory and the wages of the lot of us don't - keep the cold and hunger from our door. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. What else do you expect but distress when you've let them get - machines to do the work of men? It's Arkwright's spinning frames and - Watt's steam engines that take the bread from your mouths. It isn't - Barlow's, nor Heppenstall's, nor Whitworth's over the hill, nor - Mottershead's, nor any of the manufacturers. It's steel and iron that have - got you down, and more fools you for letting them. - </p> - <p> - HENRI. You talk like one of us already. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Aye? Only I'm not one of you. - </p> - <p> - JOE. Is it our fault? We can't all weave like you. We're not all master - craftsmen with looms of our own and no debts hanging round our necks. The - machines are there. We can't get beyond it. - </p> - <p> - HENRI. We can break the machines. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>sharply</i>). No violence. Violence never did anybody good. - </p> - <p> - HENRI. We did no good in France until we took the Bastille. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. And did that do any good? You're here, in exile, because your - countrymen forgot the Bastille and welcomed Louis Bourbon back. - </p> - <p> - JOE (<i>soberly</i>). I'm against violence myself till all else fails. - That what we want of you, Matt. Help us to escape violence. - </p> - <p> - MATT. What help? - </p> - <p> - JOE. Will you go to London? - </p> - <p> - MATT. London? - </p> - <p> - JOE. Yes. (<i>Very earnestly.</i>) They don't know there. They cannot know - or else they wouldn't let things go on and let poor weavers starve. Eight - shillings have I taken from the factory this week. Eight shillings and the - loaf at thirteenpence! We want to tell the Government we're starving while - the masters stink of brass. Wages must go higher or taxes lower. They must - do something. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Why should I go? I'm not a factory hand. - </p> - <p> - HENRI. That's why they'll listen to a word from you. We'll go too, some of - us, but there's little use in that because we're known to be reformers. - There are Government spies in every Democratic Club. You can hardly trust - your nearest friend. The spies are everywhere. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. How do you make out they don't know about us, then? - </p> - <p> - JOE. They can't. Even Parliament men aren't fiends from Hell. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. It's no good going to London. Think of the March of the - Blanketeers. - </p> - <p> - JOE. Think of it! Wasn't I one of them? One of the thousands who met on - Ardwick Green, and the hundreds that met the Yeomanry at Stockport, and - the tens that struggled through to Macclesfield? - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>scornfully</i>). Yes. You got as far as Macclesfield. Do you - think they'll let you get to London to tell them? Do you think they <i>want</i> - to know? And if they do get there, and tell them, the manufacturers will - be there first telling them another tale, and whose tale do you think - they'll believe? Yours or theirs? Going to London's a fool's errand. They - <i>do</i> know and they don't care. They're South, we're North, and what - the eye doesn't see the heart doesn't grieve at. You made your beds, when - you let Arkwright set up his machinery, and you've to lie on them. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>rising dejectedly</i>). God help the poor! - </p> - <p> - HENRI (<i>turning fiercely on him</i>). God helps those that help - themselves. I'll hear you weavers sing the Marseillaise before I die. - </p> - <p> - JOE (<i>to Matthew</i>). You're against violence and you're against - politics. What <i>do</i> you favour? - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>grimly</i>). I favour work and I favour my loom, and if you've - said your say I'll be getting back to it. - </p> - <p> - JOE. Aye, that's the old story. Work, and every man for himself and his - hand against his neighbour, while the masters join to keep us down. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. I've something else to do than falling out with my bread and - cheese. I'm not a politician, I'm a weaver, and I've not got time for two - jobs. I'm not a Republican neither. I throw the shuttle and I don't throw - stones. - </p> - <p> - HENRI. Coward. It is because you do not dare. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>contemptuously</i>). It's well for you you're French and it's - known you'd break if an Englishman touched you with his hand. - </p> - <p> - JOE. It's well for you you're prosperous with your loom at home and your - women at home and your daughter dressed like—— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Ruth Butterworth by the front door. She is twenty-one, dark, - passionate, tall, in a plain, narrow-skirted, short-sleeved gown of - woolsey, with a bright-coloured cotton handkerchief crossed over the bust - and tied at the back of the short waist, dress low at the neck, straw - bonnet and boots.</i>)—like she is. (<i>Preparing to go.</i>) I'm - grieved we've failed to move you, but you're better off than us, and it's - the skill of your hands you have to thank for it. Machinery has played the - very hangment with the rest of us. Good-night, Matt. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Good-night, Joe Healey. (<i>They shake. Matthew looks - contemptuously at Henri.</i>) Take your Republican with you. I've a word - in season to say to young Martin Kelsall. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Joe and Henri. Ruth stands by settle.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Now, my lad, you came here to see me a week ago. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>looking guiltily at Ruth, who shows surprise</i>). Yes, Mr. - Butterworth. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. You said nowt about being a Radical then. Martin. I came on other - business. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. And you said nowt about starving bellies. If you can't make brass - enough to fill one belly, you'll be hard put to it to fill two. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. That's all over, father. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Is it? Did he speak to you? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes. I told him "no." - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>to Ruth</i>). Have I no chance? - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. A chance of what? Of taking Ruth from here, where she's all a - woman wants, and making her starve alongside of you and expecting her to - go into the factory to help you to make a livelihood. My daughter's not - for your sort, my lad. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I told him that. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Yes, you told me, but I haven't finished hoping yet. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. If you're hoping for a wife to work for you, you've come to the - wrong shop this time. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. You're a proud man, Mr. Butterworth, and, Ruth, you're proud and - all. I'm just a weaver lad that loves you and <i>'</i>ud work till I drop - for you. And maybe you'll find out your mistake some day. Proud you may be - and proud you are, but if you're not above taking a warning from me, - you'll be careful where you walk o' nights. There's company that's - dangerous for you. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>suspiciously</i>). What's that? - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>quickly</i>). Who cares what a man says when he's sent about his - business? - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. You're right there, lass. It's not for me to take notice of his - words. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Then take notice of this, Ruth. I love you. I always shall. No - matter what happens, I always shall. And I'm a patient man. I'm used to - waiting. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You'll be more used to it if you're going to wait for me. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>doggedly</i>). I'm going to wait. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>opening the door, grimly</i>). Good-night to you. (<i>Slight - pause, then Martin moves to door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>going</i>). Good-night. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Martin.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. I'll be getting back to my loom. I've wasted too much time - to-night. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Matthew. The sound of the loom is heard, and, immediately she - hears it, Ruth opens the front door and calls.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Martin! Martin, come back a minute. - </p> - <p> - (<i>After a moment Martin reciters.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. You want me? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I want to speak to you before you go. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>advancing</i>). Ruth! - </p> - <p> - RUTH. No. Don't mistake me. I haven't changed my mind, but I want you to - understand. Just now, you tried to warn me. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Yes? I warn you again. It isn't safe. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You mean Guy Barlow? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Yes, you know I mean Guy Barlow. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. That's what I wanted to be certain of. I wanted you to know that - what I do is done with open eyes. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. You're playing with fire. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. It won't be me that's burnt. I've got my purpose clear and strong - before me, Martin. It's you put this thing in my mind and I'm going - through with it for your sake. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. For my sake! A lot you care for me. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. That's neither here nor there. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. No more than a month ago I'd have broken the jaw of any man that - said you weren't my wench. We hadn't spoke it out to each other, but I - thought it was that sure it didn't need the speaking. And then you changed - and I found out what changed you. So I thought I'd save you if I could. I - asked you, and you said "No." I asked your father and I got my answer - to-night. And now, you'll go your way, the woman I love. God knows what's - changed you, but—— - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Nothing has changed me, Martin. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Then marry me. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. No. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. You don't love me. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I haven't said I did. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Yes, you have. Not in words, I grant you, but if looks mean - anything you've told it me a hundred times. Do you think he'll marry you? - He won't. Marriage is not what Guy Barlow wants. I could tell you tales—— - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You needn't. I'll make him marry me. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. He didn't marry the others. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Had they my beauty? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Beauty! Yes, you're beautiful. By God, you are. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I've the gift of beauty, Martin, and I'm going to use it. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Because he's rich, and I'm poor. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. No, because he's powerful over others and I want power over him. - When you and I have gone our walks and been together on the moors, did we - talk of nothing but the stars? You told me dreams, dreams of all the - things you'd do if some great god gave you the power. It's I shall have - that power, Martin, and use it in the way you taught me. Your thoughts, - your dreams—and my pretty face gives me the chance to take your - dreams and make them live. That's what I'm going to do. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. It's nothing but another dream. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. It's real this time, Martin. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. But we did talk of the stars sometimes, and of ourselves and—— - </p> - <p> - RUTH. That was the dream. That was happiness. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Why shouldn't we be happy? It's a crime to throw yourself away on - him for the sake of us. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. No, it's a crusade. I hope We shall be happy, but not together, - Martin. I shan't do it all in a day, even after he has married me, but I - shall manage him in time, and all this misery shall cease. You do believe - I shall, don't you, Martin? You do approve? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>after a pause</i>). God give you strength. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I think He will. You understand now, Martin? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I understand. (<i>Slight pause.</i>) Ruth, are you sure? - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>calmly</i>). I'm going through with it. Good-night, Martin. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>approaching her, then backing as she gives no encouragement</i>). - Good-night, Ruth. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Martin. Ruth closes the door, then takes off her hat as Mary - enters.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARY (<i>sourly</i>). So you've come in. And where have you been? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Out. - </p> - <p> - MARY. You've a fancy for going out o' nights. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I suppose I'm old enough to please myself when I go out. - </p> - <p> - MARY. I suppose you think you are. Times are changed since I was young. - I'd have got the rolling-pin at my head if I'd answered your grandmother - back the way you answer me. I'd never any time for going out at nights. - Too busy spinning. (<i>She busies herself getting out crockery, etc., - putting it on table without cloth.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Machines spin now. - </p> - <p> - MARY. And women and children watch the machines. But of course I mustn't - say owt of that. Send you to the factory and I'd know where to put my hand - on you. But no. What's good enough for others isn't good enough for you. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. They're fitted for the factory. - </p> - <p> - MARY. And what are you fitted for? Nowt, but to fancy yourself a fine - lady. I know if I was your father, I'd have you working for the bread you - eat and the clothes you wear, like every other girl about. But he's got - his way and made an idler of you. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Perhaps he's right. - </p> - <p> - MARY. It's not my way of bringing up a girl. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Never mind, mother. I'll be surprising you one of these days. - </p> - <p> - MARY. Yes. You're always in the right. You're like your father. Got stiff - neck with pride. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Maybe, I've cause for pride. - </p> - <p> - MARY. And maybe you haven't, and all, and if you have I've never seen - cause for it. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You shall do very soon. - </p> - <p> - MARY. You're hiding something. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. It won't be hidden long. - </p> - <p> - MARY. What is it now? Out with it, lass. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Not yet, mother. I'll tell you when there's anything to tell. - </p> - <p> - (<i>A knock is heard. Mary opens door after momentary surprise. Outside - are Ephraim and Guy Barlow. Ephraim is a man of about sixty, well covered - with flesh, clean-shaven, grey, square in the face, but not too strong of - feature, wearing a short-bodied, long-tailed bottle-green coat, breeches - to match, waistcoat, ruffled shirt frill, low-crowned black beaver hat - with narrow curly rim, and thick draft top-coat, long in the skirt and - with a huge collar Guy is twenty-eight, with fair hair and a stronger face - than his father. He is clean-shaven and his clothes more fashionable and - of finer material than the stout durable cloth Ephraim prefers. He has - trousers instead of knee breeches.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Is this Matt Butterworth's? - </p> - <p> - MARY. Surely, Mr. Barlow. Will you step inside? (<i>Holding door open.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>entering</i>). It's what I came to do. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Guy follows. Mary closes door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - That'll be Matt at his loom? - </p> - <p> - MARY. Yes. I'll bring him to you. (<i>Crosses, opens door.</i>) Matt, - here's the master. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>entering, putting on his coat</i>). The master! Ephraim. Good - evening, Matt. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. You'll sit down, won't you? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Thanks. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. And you too, Mr. Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Thank you. - </p> - <p> - MATT. Well, I'm glad to see you here, and if so be as bread and cheese and - ale are not beneath you, there's enough for all. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>half heartedly</i>). Well, thankee, Matt Butterworth—— - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>interrupting</i>). No. It's business brings us here, not eating. (<i>To - Matthew.</i>) My father has something to say to you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>At a glance from Matthew, Mary and Ruth go out.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Yes, I thought I'd come and tell you here instead of sending for - you up to factory. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>grimly</i>). It's as well you did come. You'd not have got me - there by sending. I've never entered factory gate and never will. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>good-naturedly</i>). You're a pig-headed old stick in-the-mud, - Matt. You won't move with the times. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Not when the times move to factories. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Well, well, you're an obstinate fellow. What's wrong with - factories? - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. What isn't wrong? They're bits of hell spewed up on earth. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You'd better keep a civil tongue in your head. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. I'm talking to your father, Mr. Guy, and we've known each other - long enough to speak what's in our minds. You're a young man and the young - get used to changes quickly. You find machines a natural state of things. - I'll tell you how things were before the factories came and progress got a - hold over everything. I'd open yon door in a morning and I'd see children - playing in the fields. Where are the children now? Driven into your - factory at five in the morning pretty nigh as soon as they can walk and - thrashed with a cane to keep the poor little devils awake when all the - nature in them's crying out for sleep. I'd go into a neighbour's cottage - and I'd see a loom with a warp on it and a weaver taking pride in his - work. You've taken the work away from men and given it to machines. And - the worst is the machines don't care. You send out miles of cloth for - every inch we used to weave, and every yard you send as full of faults as - an egg of meat. It's that you've done with your factories, young sir. - You've broken the weaver's spirit and you've killed the joy he used to - take in honest craftsmanship. It's quality that used to count and a man <i>'</i>ud - think shame to himself to produce a cloth that's full of weaving faults. - There are no weavers now. They're servants of a steam engine. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I'm sorry it upsets you, Mr. Butterworth, but facts are too much for - you. Hand looms are played out. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>intensely convinced</i>). Never, while good workmanship - endures. If they want the best, they'll come to the handloom weaver for - it. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Yes, but you see they don't want the best. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. They want designs that a man conceives in joy and executes with - pride. They want a cloth that shows he's taken pride in making it, and - knows it's his design and not a copy of another's. - </p> - <p> - GUY. We can sell a hundred pieces of the same design with as little - trouble as your one. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. And which <i>'</i>ull wear longest? - </p> - <p> - GUY. We don't want cloth to wear, we want it to sell. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>dismissing him, sadly</i>). Mr. Guy, it's a hard thing to say - of your father's son, but I've a fear you're a godless youth. (<i>To - Ephraim.</i>) What was it you wanted of me, Mr. Barlow? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>awkwardly</i>). You've made it rather hard to tell you that. I - didn't know you thought so badly of the factories. (<i>Turning.</i>) Guy, - I think, perhaps—— - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>curtly</i>). No. If you won't speak out, I will. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Slight pause. Then Ephraim gives Guy leave by a glance.</i>) We want - you to come into the factory, Butterworth. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>startled</i>). I? In factory? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Yes. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. But—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. You're the last man on our pay-sheets working out. We must have - uniformity. We want you in. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. You want me, Mr. Guy. I can see who <i>'</i>tis I have to thank - for this. It's you that have brought the old master here to stand by while - you say these things to me. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Well, as it happened, you're so far wrong that I'd no intention of - coming in at all, only I was going home from a walk (<i>glancing away, as - if after Ruth</i>), and met him on his way here. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>to Ephraim</i>). Mr. Barlow, it isn't <i>your</i> wish that I—— - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Well, Matt, we've had complaints. (<i>Querulously.</i>) Weavers - nowadays are a grumbling, discontented lot, and—— - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Aye. Power-loom weavers are, and have cause to be. Before you - started factories folk could save. It was a saying here that every man in - the valley owned his own house and the one next door to it. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. They complain I make a favourite of you, and, as Guy says, we - must have uniformity. It's just a point of discipline. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Yes, I know what discipline means. Discipline means ringing them - into your factory at five in the morning and out at seven in the evening, - and uniformity means fifty looms in rows all tied to a steam engine and - every loom weaving the same pattern. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Look here, Butterworth, you were working when we came in. Working at - nine o'clock at night. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Do I complain of that? Not me. I can please myself what hours I - work. It's nowt to me what time the engine stops. My engine's here. (<i>Indicating - his arms.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY. Yes, and because it is, you never let it rest. Come into the factory - and you've finished at seven. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. I'm <i>sent</i> away at seven. I'm under orders. I'm my own - master here, Mr. Guy, and have been all my life. If I want to work, I - work, and if I want to play, I play, and there's nobody to stop me, - whether it's tramping over the moors getting my mind choke full of the new - designs that come to me when I'm walking through the green, resting my - eyes, or whether it's a cock-fight and a bellyful of ale—and you've - no need to look shocked neither, Mr. Barlow, for I've seen time afore you - got meddling with machines when you went cock-fighting yourself, and you - weren't too big in those days to drink with me, too. And now you're - telling me to come and weave in factory. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Oh, nay, Matt, I'm not. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Well, I don't know. You've stood there and heard him tell me I'm - to come in. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. But not as weaver, Matt. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. What then? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. As overlooker, and not a man in Lancashire that's better fitted - for it. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>soberly weighing it</i>). Aye. That's no more than truth. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. I'm not flattering. I'm a business man, and I'm choosing the best - man for the job. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. And I'm refusing it, for I'm a business man and I've got a better - job. I've an old loom in yonder and as long as she hangs together I'll go - on weaving cloth as cloth should be woven, by the skilful hand of a man to - designs of his own contriving. To hell with uniformity. There's beauty in - a loom and nowt but beastly ugliness in a row of looms. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>coldly</i>). Where do you get your yarn from, Butter-worth? - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Why, from you. - </p> - <p> - GUY. And you've been selling your cloth to us? - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Yes. - </p> - <p> - GUY. We can take no more. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>staggered</i>). You can't take my cloth, my beautiful cloth? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>with sympathy</i>). It's true, Matt. Good cloth means a good - price and people won't pay it. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. It's your fault, then. That's what you've brought them to. You've - spoilt them with your factory rubbish. - </p> - <p> - GUY. They want cheap cloth. We provide it. Yours is dear. We can't sell - it. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Then I'll sell my own. I'll find buyers. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. It's no use, Matt. Take my word for it, there are no customers - to-day for cloth like yours. What between paying the country's bill for - licking Bonaparte and power looms for silk and linen there's no demand for - cotton cloth of your quality. - </p> - <p> - GUY. And you'll get no more yarn from us. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. You're not the only ones. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Nor from others. We're going to make an end of the whole breed of - hand-loom weavers. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. We'll not be ended easy. - </p> - <p> - GUY. We want you in the factories. The factories are hungering for the - right men. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. And men are hungry because of the factories. Don't tell me my - cloth won't sell. It's cloth that sells itself. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Don't you believe me, Matt? - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. I don't believe you know what my cloth's like. Do you see it - yourself up yonder? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Well—no. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>going to door</i>). Then come in here and I'll show you. - You'll not be telling me then there are no decent housewives left to buy a - cloth like mine. (<i>Exit.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>to Ephraim, who is following</i>). Oh, what's the good of wasting - time on him? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Best humour him, Guy. Don't come. I'll get him round. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Psh! You're too soft with the old fool. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. And you're too hard. Matt and I were friends before you were - born. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Ephraim. Guy moves impatiently, then sits on table. Enter Ruth.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>surprised and not cordial</i>). I thought you'd gone. I heard no - voices. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I schemed to get them into there. Do you think I'd go without a word - with you? (<i>Approaching her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>coldly, holding him at arm's length</i>). We've parted once - to-night. What do you want with me? - </p> - <p> - GUY. I want everything except to part again. You witch, what have you done - to me? I haven't a nerve but tingles for the touch of you. I'm all burnt - up. The night's a tossing fever, and the day's a cruel nightmare till - evening comes and brings me sight of you. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>backing</i>). Don't touch me, please. - </p> - <p> - GUY. How long am I to hold myself in leash? It's more than flesh and blood - can stand. My God, I wonder if you know how beautiful you are. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I have a mirror in my room. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I'm jealous of that mirror, Ruth. Jealous of a piece of glass because - it sees you every day. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You've seen me every evening for a month. - </p> - <p> - GUY. And I'm no farther than when we began. You're hot and cold by turn. - You lead me on and thrust me off. You play with me. To-night you said you - wouldn't walk with me to-morrow. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. And time I did. I've walked with you too much. A change of company - is good. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>startled</i>). Company? What company? - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>dryly</i>). My mother's. You say you're where you were when we - begun. Perhaps you are. But I am not. It's no new thing for you to go your - walks with a weaver's lass. But it's new for me to be the lass. Do you - think there are no wagging tongues about? - </p> - <p> - GUY. It's news to me that you give heed to gossip. You're not going to - talk about your reputation, are you? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. No. I shan't <i>talk</i> about it, Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>scornfully</i>). I thought you made of finer stuff. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Than those others you have walked with? - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>sharply</i>). What's that to do with you? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Nothing, but that I find it good to know about them. - </p> - <p> - GUY. This is strange talk for a woman. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>dryly</i>). Folk always say I should have been a man. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>ardently</i>). Thank God, you're not. It's better to rule a man - than be one, Ruth. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Do I rule you? - </p> - <p> - GUY. You've made a slave of me. I'm at your feet. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You told the others that. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Had they your beauty? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Then I've the greater cause to guard it. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You haven't talked like this outside. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I'm inside now. This is my father's cottage. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You've been like this to-night. Perverse. As if you didn't know what - passion meant. As if you laughed at me for being on fire for you. You've - come half-way to meet me till to-night. You've answered love with love. - You've been a fine free glory of a woman that it was heaven to be near and - hell to be away from, that knew to be in love was to be upraised above the - talk of fools and what a pair of lovers do is right because they do it for - their love. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>absently</i>). Yes. What lovers do is right even if it's to - renounce. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Renounce? What are you talking about? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I was thinking of a pair of lovers that I know. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>roughly</i>). Then stop thinking of them. Think of us. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I'm thinking of myself. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You're in a curious mood to-night. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. To-night I'm being prudent. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>scornfully</i>). Prudent! Love isn't prudent. Prudence was made - for cowards, not for lovers. Ruth, you're not a coward. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>absently</i>). I think that what I'm doing now is the bravest - thing I ever did. (<i>At him.</i>) What do you make of it all? - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>trying to be light</i>). I think you're a mischievous tease, and—— - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I'm quite in earnest. I was in earnest when I let you talk to me of - love and still in earnest when I told you I could walk with you no more. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Ruth! You didn't mean it? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I meant it all. Did you? - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>surprised</i>). Did I? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. About your love. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Why should you doubt me, Ruth? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I'll tell you. Because in all your talk of love, you have used a lot - of words, but there is one word that you haven't spoken yet, and that I'd - like to hear before I go my walks with you again. - </p> - <p> - GUY. What word? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Marriage. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>staggered, then recovering</i>). Marriage! Well, isn't it early - days for that? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. With some men and some women it would be over early. When you're the - man and I the woman, it isn't early. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Marriage! There's a directness about you. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>simply</i>). Yes, there is. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I'm taken by surprise, but—— - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>quietly</i>). Are you? - </p> - <p> - GUY. I've been too busy simply loving you to think of marriage. (<i>Quickly.</i>) - Yes, Ruth, of course we're going to be married. It would be monstrous in - me ever to have intended anything else. But—er—you know, - there's my father. We shall have to keep the marriage secret. Just the - clergyman and no witnesses to make quite sure of secrecy. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>moving to door as if leaving him and opening it</i>). Good-bye, - Mr. Barlow. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>staring at her</i>). Ruth! - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Good-bye. Yes. Look at me well. It's your last look at close - quarters. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>by her</i>). No, by Heaven, it's not. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>still holding the door open</i>). You've told me much about my - beauty. You hold my beauty cheap. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Your beauty is the richest, finest thing in all the world. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. A secret marriage! - </p> - <p> - GUY. What's changed you, Ruth? You've shown yourself to me a soft and - yielding woman. To-night, you're hard, suspicious. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>closing door</i>). To-night, I mean to strike a bargain with you. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Lovers don't talk of bargains. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. There's always time to talk of love. To-night, we'll talk of - marriage, if you please. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You mean to be wilful. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I mean that if you want me there's a price to pay, and a secret - marriage by a puppet priest with no witnesses is too low a price for me. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>blustering</i>). You thought that! - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>calmly</i>). Wasn't I right? How badly do you want me, Mr. Guy - Barlow? You see me, and you know the price. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>quite shocked</i>). You didn't talk this way outside. You've made - it all so ugly. You've taken all romance away. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Romance is safe for men. It's dangerous for women. You tell me I was - soft and yielding. What if I'd been too soft, and yielded further than I - should? You'd still have life, and life would still be beautiful for you - and you'd be looking for another woman with a pretty face to make love - beautifully with you. But I'd be dead. I should have killed myself and - you'd forget me in a little while. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>genuinely moved</i>). Ruth, stop! I'm not a black-guard. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I'm hoping not, if I'm to be your wife. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I never meant you harm. I simply didn't think. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You thought fast enough of a secret marriage. You remembered to be - prudent, and prudence, as I think you said, is made for cowards, not for - lovers. Are you a coward, Mr. Guy? - </p> - <p> - GUY. I'm a lover, Ruth. Will you be my wife? - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>with slight shudder</i>). Yes. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>holding her</i>). I've got you now. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes. For better or for worse, you've got me now. - </p> - <p> - GUY. For better than the best. I never knew till I met you what love could - do to a man. Ruth, you won't remember what you fancied that I thought - to-night? You won't have that against me? It really wasn't so. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I have only room for one thought now. I remember that you're going - to marry me. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>lightly</i>). In a precious few days, you'll remember that I have - married you. I'm not cut out for waiting. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I shall not keep you waiting. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Ephraim and Matthew.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Well, that's settled now, Matt. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>like a beaten man</i>). Yes, it's settled. I'll be at factory - come five to-morrow morning. - </p> - <p> - GUY. That's good. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Is it? I'll tell you this much, Mr. Barlow, it's a bad night's - work you've done. - </p> - <p> - GUY. If you're talking to me, it's the best night's work I've ever done. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>morosely</i>). I was talking to your father. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Well, well, we must agree to differ. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. And it won't be the last of our differences, neither. It's my - punishment, this is. I've been a proud man and I'm humbled. Some weaver - lads come here this very night asking me to join in with them. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Join? In what? - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Ah, well, I'll leave you to guess in what. I sent them off with a - good big flea in their ear: told them a hand-loom weaver had nowt to do - with their sort. I've everything to do with their sort now. I'm one of - them, and if they have owt to say, or do against you and your ways, I'll - say and do it with them. You've made a Radical to-night. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Now, Matt, don't try to threaten me. We've met as friends too - often in the days gone by for that. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Yes, before you started getting up in the world by climbing on - other men's shoulders. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. And if you'll let me, we'll go on being friends. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Of course you will. Now more than ever. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>roughly</i>). You don't know what you're talking about, lass. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Tell them, Guy. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Guy? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Mr. Butterworth, you and my father must be friends, because I'm going - to marry Ruth. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. What's that? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes, father, it's true. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>excitedly calling and opening door</i>). Here, Mary! Mary, - where are you? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Mary.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Here's our Ruth going to wed the young master. What do you say to that? - </p> - <p> - MARY (<i>judicially</i>). I say the young master's doing well for himself. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>sourly</i>). Nobody asks what I think. - </p> - <p> - GUY. That'll be all right, father. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Will it? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Oh, I'll tell you about it walking home. You've Mr. Butterworth's - hand to shake. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>dryly</i>). It just depends if he's still a Radical. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Me? I'm a maze. I don't know what I am. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>genially smiling</i>). I'll chance it then. (<i>They shake.</i>) - Good night, Matt. (<i>Genially.</i>) Good night. - </p> - <p> - GUY. To-morrow, Ruth. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes, Guy, to-morrow. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Ephraim and Guy.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARY (<i>going to Ruth as if to kiss her</i>). Well, lass, you said you'd - surprise us. You have and all. Biggest surprise I ever had. Wedding the - young master. Something like a match now this is. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Don't, mother. I'm so ashamed. - </p> - <p> - MARY. Ashamed? Where's the shame in getting wed? We all come to it. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. And you've come to it rare and well. And me thinking in yonder - while Mr. Barlow talked to me I'd have small cause now to send young - Kelsall off, for I'm a factory hand myself the same as he. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Poor Martin Kelsall. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Aye, poor he is and rich you're going to be. You've little need - to think of Kelsall now. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. No. I mustn't think of Martin now. I'm doing what I meant to do. - I've got Guy Barlow. - </p> - <p> - MARY. Ruth, there'll be a lot of sewing to be done. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Why? - </p> - <p> - MARY. Why? The girl's a-dream. Against your wedding to be sure. What else - are you thinking of? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. It's not my wedding that I'm thinking of. It's afterwards. Well, - I've begun. I'm going to see it through. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Ruth stares straight out, as into the future. The others are looking - at her.</i>) - </p> - <h3> - CURTAIN. - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT II - </h2> - <p> - (<i>Six months later. Interior of Barlow's house at night. Doors on each - side of the roomy window, covered by drawn chintz curtains at the back. - Dark panelled walls. Polished oak floor with squares of carpet, dark - mahogany furniture, square table. Centre with four chairs, chairs by - fireplace and under window; right, basket-grate with high steel fender and - hand-irons. Bright fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Ruth, her whole appearance suggesting physical wellbeings sits by fire - reading by the light of four candles on table. She is well dressed in - sober colours. A manservant opens door and Mary enters, dressed as Act I, - with a heavy cloak, mittens, etc., suggesting winter. The servant goes, - closing the door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>rising</i>). Well, mother. - </p> - <p> - MARY (<i>kissing her</i>). You're warm in here. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. We need to be. - </p> - <p> - MARY. It's bitter cold to-night. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Ruth pulls chair from table and sits, putting Mary in her own chair. - Mary looks scornfully at the book placed on table.</i>) Reading, were you? - Well, one way of idling's as bad as another and reading never did anybody - good that ever I heard of. That's what your father's always doing with his - spare time now. Tom Paine's <i>Rights of Man</i> and <i>The Age of Reason</i>. - Stuffing his old head with all manner of new-fangled politics. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. But this isn't politics, mother. It's poetry. (<i>Mary sniffs.</i>) - <i>The Corsair</i>. Lord Byron's poem. - </p> - <p> - MARY. I've heard of him and nothing good neither. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Nothing good! Why, mother, he—— - </p> - <p> - MARY. A lot of things, I dare say. Well, I've gone for fifty years without - the power of reading and I reckon I'll go through without it to the end. - I've no time to be idle. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I've no time to be anything else. - </p> - <p> - MARY. You've taken to being a lady like a duck to water. Lazybones is the - name I'd give you if you were still Ruth Butterworth, but I suppose this - vain life is right for Mrs. Guy Barlow. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>rising</i>). It isn't right. Idleness is never right, and least - of all for me, because I know my idleness is paid for by the toil of - others. Something has changed me, mother. I can't think of the past. I've - forgotten what I was and what I used to think. I had ideals then, when I - was poor. I'd noble thoughts of my own. The only thoughts I have to-day - are thoughts of other's thinking. (<i>Picking Byron up.</i>) You're right, - I'm lazy. Bone lazy, and I like it. I like fine clothes and soft living - and hands that aren't work-roughened. - </p> - <p> - MARY. Small blame to you for that. I'd do the same myself. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I'm getting fat. I'm like a pig. I never want to go out. The house - is soft and warm and comfortable, and the sights I see outside are hard - and cold and comfortless. - </p> - <p> - MARY. You may well say that. Things go from bad to worse, With wages down - and food up it's near impossible to make ends meet. And that's for us, - with your father an overlooker. What it is for the weavers, I don't know. - There's empty hearths and empty bellies this winter time. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I know. I know and I don't care. I used to care. Something's gone - dead inside me, killed by the comfort and the ease and the good living and - all the things I used to hate and despise until I had them for my own. - </p> - <p> - MARY. Eh, don't you worry! When a lass has got a good husband same as you - have it's little room she has in her mind for thoughts of other things. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. That's my punishment. Guy's good to me. (<i>Changing tone.</i>) - Mother, I'll tell you something. I love my husband. - </p> - <p> - MARY (<i>puzzled</i>). Well, don't tell me that as if it was news to me. - What did you marry him for if you didn't love him? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I married him to use him for an instrument. And I don't care now for - the things I cared for then. I only care for Guy, and what Guy does is - right because he does it. - </p> - <p> - MARY. Well, I never let your father come over me like that. But there's - many wives do think that road of their husbands, especially young wives. - I'm a bit surprised at you being one of them for all that, Ruth. You'd - always a will of your own. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. My will's asleep. - </p> - <p> - MARY. Don't let it waken up too sudden. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. No fear of that. I eat too much. - </p> - <p> - MARY. There's a-many eat too little, Ruth. There was one you used to know - came in to us the other night. He'd been short of food for weeks and - looked it too, poor lad. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. A friend of mine? What friend? - </p> - <p> - MARY (<i>reluctantly</i>). Martin Kelsall, if you want to know. There was - him and others. Friends of the People they call themselves, and your - father's joined them now. I never heard such talk in my life. Proper wild - it was. Drilling on the moors, and knocking out the engine boiler plugs - and breaking the machinery and I don't know what. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. And father, too? - </p> - <p> - MARY. As savage as the worst of them, the silly old man. Got to threats - before they'd done. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Threats? - </p> - <p> - MARY. Against your Guy. It's him they're bitterest against. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>indignantly</i>). What's Guy done? - </p> - <p> - MARY. You'd think there was nothing he hadn't done. You'd better tell him - to be careful about going out at night. They've guns amongst them. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Guns! - </p> - <p> - MARY. Oh, don't be frightened, lass. They won't <i>do</i> owt. Men like to - talk. I don't take any notice of them. If they said less I'd fear them - more. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Has Martin Kelsall got a gun? - </p> - <p> - MARY (<i>contemptuously</i>). Him! It's bread he wants, not a gun. Gave me - a message for you, Martin did. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. A message? - </p> - <p> - MARY. "Tell her to remember me," he says. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I understand. What must he think of me? - </p> - <p> - MARY. What right has he to think of you at all? Impudence I call it. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. He has the right to think me traitor. I'm a renegade. I'm—— - </p> - <p> - MARY. You're Mrs. Guy Barlow, my lass, and don't you forget it and start - thinking of a famished weaver chap without a shirt to his back or a - mouthful of bread for his belly. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Is it as bad as that? - </p> - <p> - MARY. It's hard times, Ruth, harder every day. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. The men must be desperate. - </p> - <p> - MARY. They <i>talk</i> as if they were. But what's talking? They talked - before you wed. They're talking still and I tell you things are worse. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. What's made them worse? - </p> - <p> - MARY. They say Guy has. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. But how? - </p> - <p> - MARY. You'd better ask him. Don't you talk to him of the factory? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. No. I tried to do at first, but he stopped me, and I thought I'd - bide my time. - </p> - <p> - MARY. You've a lot more sense than I ever gave you credit for. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Then I fell in love with Guy and I haven't cared for anything since - that. - </p> - <p> - MARY. I don't suppose you'd do a scrap of good. (<i>Rising as if to go.</i>) - Well, that's how it is. A terrible lot of barking, but not a bite amongst - the lot of them. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>detaining her</i>). But there is danger there, danger to Guy. - </p> - <p> - MARY. I tell you they, don't mean it. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Perhaps all don't. But one man might, and one would be enough. One - man can press a trigger. - </p> - <p> - MARY. There now! I've upset you. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Never mind that. You're sure that's all! - </p> - <p> - MARY. All what? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. All Martin said. - </p> - <p> - MARY. You've got that fellow on the brain. No. <i>'</i>Twasn't all, then. - He wants to meet you. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Tell him I will. - </p> - <p> - MARY. I'll tell him no such thing, and you a married woman. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You'll tell him I will see him. Not here, though. He mustn't come - here. - </p> - <p> - MARY. And I'll not have my house put to such a use. So that settles it. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. There is an old quarry on the moors. Martin knows. It's where the - stone was quarried when they built the factory. I'll meet him there - to-morrow night at eight. Will you tell him that, or must I write? - </p> - <p> - MARY. Can Martin read? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I'm not sure. Tell him, mother. - </p> - <p> - MARY. It isn't right, but—— - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You will. I'm doing this for Guy. You've stirred me from my sleep at - last. To-morrow night at eight. Mary. Well, I'll tell him. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. That's right. There's Guy's step now. - </p> - <p> - MARY. Then I'll be going. God bless you, lass. (<i> Kissing her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Guy.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>to Mary</i>). Good evening. - </p> - <p> - MARY (<i>apologetically</i>). I was just going, sir. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>warming himself by fire, speaking over his shoulder</i>). Oh, - don't hurry away. You'll find it cold outside. - </p> - <p> - MARY. I must go sharp. If you're here it means factory's loosed and - Matt'll be at home looking for his supper. Good night, sir. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Mary. Guy goes to Ruth with lover-like attitude. They are on the - best of terms.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY. Well, little wife, how goes it? - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>tensely</i>). Guy, I want to talk to you. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>sitting by fire, lightly</i>). The sound of your voice is the - sweetest thing on earth. I'm all attention. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. This is serious, Guy. I've tried before to talk to you about the - factory. You stopped me then. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>still lightly</i>). Of course I did. I won't have you worrying - your pretty head about the factory. Besides, think of your long-suffering - husband. Don't you think I get all the business I can stand across the way - there? (<i>Waving hand towards window.</i>) I want a change at home. Sit - down and tell me what you think of <i>The Corsair</i>. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. No. You must listen to me, Guy. I won't be put off this time. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>easily</i>). Oh, well, if I'm in for it, I'm in for it. What's it - all about? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You saw mother here. She's been telling me things. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Really, Ruth, you can't expect me to take any notice of your mother's - old wives' tales. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You needn't notice them. But when I'm told you're in danger, I - notice them. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>still lightly</i>). Danger? What of? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. What have you been doing in the factory? - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>sternly</i>). Leave that alone. That's my affair. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. And it's my affair if they murder you. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>rising</i>). Oh! So they've got to talking about murder have they? - I'll teach them. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>taking his arm, pleadingly</i>). Guy, you must be careful. For my - sake. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I shall look after myself, Ruth. (<i>Standing by fireplace, hand on - shelf.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH. But what have you done to them? I know that since you married me - you've had more power, and your father's done less than he used to. It's - something you've done that's upset the weavers. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>over his shoulder</i>). I found it necessary to make economies and - they don't like it. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Economies I You mean you've cut their wages down? - </p> - <p> - GUY. That's it. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. And they were so pitifully low. They'd hardly enough for bread - before. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>facing her</i>). I don't fix the price of bread. It's no use - discussing it with you. You can't understand. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I'm not thinking of them. At one time I should have done. That's - over now. To-day I only think of you. And you're in danger. I know it. I - know it. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Nothing's going to happen to me. I've a rough idea of what they think - of me. I've taken my precautions. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. No precautions are proof against desperate men. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Then if nothing's any good, why worry? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Something would be good. Raise their wages. - </p> - <p> - GUY. That's impossible. I've told you to drop discussing it. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Why is it impossible? They'd more before you reduced them and you - didn't starve. - </p> - <p> - GUY. No. But I wasn't building another factory then. I want every penny I - can screw to-day. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Another factory! - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>with a touch of fanaticism</i>). Yes. I mean to have another. One - was good enough for my father, but it isn't good enough for me. What was - enterprising ten years ago isn't enterprising to-day. Machinery's improved - since then. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Then you're quite sure factories are right? - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>grimly</i>). I'm quite sure they're money-makers. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. But money isn't all. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I keep on telling you not to discuss it. With your upbringing and - your father's views, we're bound to differ, so for Heaven's sake talk - about Byron, or anything under the sun but factories. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I'm talking about your danger. You won't believe me. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You won't believe me when I say there is no danger because I'm - prepared to meet anything. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Including bullets? Do you wear a coat of mail? - </p> - <p> - GUY. That's the worst of reading <i>The Corsair</i>. Put this - cock-and-bull story of your mother's on the top of <i>The Corsair</i> and - you're ready to imagine anything. We're in England now. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. So is Nottingham. - </p> - <p> - GUY. This is Lancashire. We don't have Luddites here. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. We have plug riots. I've read it in the newspaper. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Women shouldn't read newspapers. It's all right, Ruth. Our fellows - won't get out of hand. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You're driving them to desperation, Guy. I know the other side. I've - seen. Guy, won't you have mercy on them? - </p> - <p> - GUY. I'll have another factory out of them. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Have mercy on yourself and me. I'm so happy here. You've made me - love you till I would cut off my hand to save you from a scratch upon your - little finger. I shan't know peace again whenever you're away. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Upon my word, Ruth, it's too bad of your mother. She ought to keep - away, and not come here disturbing you with wild tales that haven't a - spark of truth in them. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Are they wild tales? - </p> - <p> - GUY. They're wild as wind. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. But you said you'd taken precautions. If there's no truth, why take - precautions? - </p> - <p> - GUY. I said anything to comfort you. Are you satisfied now? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I'm silenced. - </p> - <p> - GUY. That's good enough. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Ephraim and John Heppenstall, another factory owner, resembling - Ephraim in type, dress, and age. He is, however, a more timid man, and his - manner is irresolute.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>as they enter</i>). Come in here, Heppenstall. (<i>Seeing - Ruth.</i>) Ah! you've met my son's wife? - </p> - <p> - JOHN (<i>bowing politely, with a touch of courtliness</i>). Good evening, - Mrs. Guy. (<i>To Guy.</i>) Good evening. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Good evening, Mr. Heppenstall. (<i>Taking Ruth's arm</i>). Ruth, my - dear, Mr. Heppenstall has called on a matter of business. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Oh, mayn't I stay and listen? I'll be as quiet as a mouse. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>genially</i>). Never knew anybody like this lass of Guy's, - Heppenstall. She's interested in all manner of affairs. (<i>To Ruth.</i>) - You promise to be quiet? - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>eagerly</i>). Oh, yes, yes. - </p> - <p> - GUY. No. Ruth's more interested in Byron than anything else. (<i>Holding - the book to her.</i>) You can't read him here with us talking all the - time. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You want me to go? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Please. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>submissively</i>). Yes Guy. (<i>Takes book and exit.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>closing door behind her</i>). That's better. Women are - sentimental, and we've to talk business. Won't you sit, Mr. Heppenstall? - </p> - <p> - JOHN (<i>who has been eyeing Guy with disapproval</i>). Thank you, Mr. - Guy, I will. - </p> - <p> - (<i>They sit round table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>after clearing his throat</i>). Now, Heppenstall, I'll tell - you what it's all about. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. I'm waiting to hear. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. You and I are rival manufacturers, but that's no reason why we - shouldn't put our legs under the same table when we find the times - difficult. I suppose there's no denying, they <i>are</i> difficult? - </p> - <p> - JOHN. They're more than difficult. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Then we agree so far. What threatens us threatens you. In fact, - our interests are identical. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. Not quite, I think. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Eh? Well, no. What's mine isn't thine. We've each to make a - profit for ourselves. But we get the profit out of weaving, and your - weavers are fractious; so are ours. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. But mine aren't—or not to anything like the extent yours are. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. I'm told the grumbling is universal. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. It's general up to a point, but there's a dead set at you. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. At me? - </p> - <p> - JOHN. Well, no, not at you, Barlow. It's this young gentleman who's the - mischief-maker. - </p> - <p> - GUY. The mischief-maker, Mr. Heppenstall? - </p> - <p> - JOHN (<i>defending himself</i>). You reduced wages. You put down fresh - machinery, and got rid of men and—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. And you've done the same. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. I had to follow suit or see you take my trade away. I didn't want to - do it. I believe in treating men as men. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I believe in treating men as servants of the machines. It's all they - are. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. No. By your leave, young gentleman, it is not all they are. They're - flesh and blood. (<i>To Ephraim.</i>) And I'm surprised, Barlow, at your - allowing your men to be reduced. - </p> - <p> - GUY. The men can live on what they're paid. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. They can't. - </p> - <p> - GUY. They do. I'm getting applications every day from men who want to be - taken on. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. Yes, so am I. And why? Because the steam power's taken away their - living and half a living's better than none to a starving man. (<i>To - Ephraim.</i>) You ought to be ashamed of yourself to take advantage of - them. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Well, Heppenstall, it's—— - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>interrupting</i>). I'm responsible, Mr. Heppenstall. If you've - anything to say about the management of Barlow's, say it to me. My - father's virtually retired. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>with spirit</i>). Have I? I'm not dead yet, my lad. I've given - you a lot of rope, but be careful or you'll hang yourself. - </p> - <p> - JOHN (<i>approvingly, turning his shoulder on Guy</i>). That's better, - Barlow. I mislike seeing you knuckle under to a boy. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Guy rises and goes to fireplace, standing with his back to table. John - speaks across table to Ephraim </i>) - </p> - <p> - Now, look here, I had to follow your lead when you reduced. Will you - follow mine if I put them up again to what they were three months ago? - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>wheeling round</i>). And let the weavers fancy we're afraid of - them? - </p> - <p> - JOHN (<i>not turning</i>). I'm not afraid of them. I'm sorry for them. - </p> - <p> - GUY. They know better. Once give in, and they're the masters. Show them - they've only to ask and threaten to get what they ask and they'll ask for - more. They'll not stop at the old level. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. Oh, we can't go beyond the old figure. - </p> - <p> - GUY. No. But you'll have to if once you start putting wages on the basis - of a benevolent Charity. I'm in business to buy cheap and sell dear. I - want my labour as cheap as I can get it and, by God, I'll get it cheap. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>thumping table</i>). Are you the head of Barlow's or am I? - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>impatiently</i>). Oh, you are, I suppose. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Then you'd better not forget it or I'll turn you out of the room - and finish this talk with Heppenstall alone. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Guy throws himself in chair by fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>sighing to himself</i>). Oh, my God, these old men! - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>to John</i>). I agree to that. I'll raise them on condition - you do the same. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I object. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Your objection is overruled. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I'm your partner. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>hotly</i>). I am the head of Barlow's and—— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Manservant enters with port, glasses, etc., places on table, and exit - in silence.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Ephraim pours out wine, and offers John, etc.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY. The old wages won't satisfy the weavers. They grumbled then. But the - point for Mr. Heppenstall is this. It may have hurt his tender heart, but - when we reduced, he did the same, and he needn't cant about it now, for - actions speak louder than words. The thing is that he acts with us, and we - manufacturers can present a solid front and—— - </p> - <p> - JOHN. Yes, but you set the bad example. I'm a business man and I had to - follow or you'd have cut me out with my customers. But as a humane man, I - protest, sir. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Because you look at the men. I look at the system. The system's - magnificent, and if the factory system demands sacrifices, I shall - sacrifice men without scruple. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. Will you sacrifice yourself? - </p> - <p> - GUY. I do sacrifice myself. I've sacrificed my personal security. I risk - my life every day and I value my life, Mr. Heppenstall. I value it so much - that I've taken protective measures at the factory. I've a few stout - fellows there—an odd prizefighter or two, an old soldier from the - French wars, nominally as watchmen, but they're men who can use their - fists and handle a gun too if the worst comes. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. Ah! You've a pretty good idea of looking after yourself. - </p> - <p> - GUY. It isn't for my own sake. - </p> - <p> - JOHN (<i>sceptically</i>). No? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Oh, I've a life I'd like to live. I've a wife and I'm young and so on—but - that doesn't matter. My value is as a factory owner. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Owner? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Manager, then. I believe in the system, I'm here to spread that - system, to cover Lancashire with factories and make the county - manufacturing centre of the world. That is my dream, sir, the dream of - cheap production, and the triumph of machinery. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. You're talking very big, young man. It takes me all my time to run - one factory. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I know I'm talking big. I'm seeing big, bigger than will come in your - lifetime or in mine. This thing's at the beginning. It's not secure yet, - but I mean to do my part to set it firmly on its legs before I die. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. There's nothing wonderful in bigness. A thousand factories are no - more wonderful than one. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Oh, you've no vision. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. And maybe you've too much. The future isn't here. The present and - those weavers are. And they trouble me. - </p> - <p> - GUY. They trouble me until they've learnt who's master. After that, - there'll be no trouble. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Ruth, excitedly, leaving door open behind her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Guy! The men. Don't you hear them? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Men! Where? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. They're in the hall. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Henri, Joseph, Matthew and Martin.</i>) - </p> - <p> - HENRI. No, Madame Barlow, we are no longer in the hall. We are here. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>on his feet</i>). What's the meaning of this? - </p> - <p> - JOE (<i>insolently</i>). Meaning, Mr. Barlow? The meaning is, you'll - either listen to us here and now or you'll have your factory fired. You - can take your choice. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Fire then, and be damned to you. - </p> - <p> - JOE. Is that your answer, Mr. Barlow? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. No. Come here and be quiet, Guy. Who am I speaking to? - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. You know us, Mr. Barlow. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. You're in bad company, Matt. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. I told you how <i>'</i>twould be if you forced me into factory. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Are you the spokesman? I suppose there's a ringleader. Who is he? - </p> - <p> - HENRI. We are all leaders. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>sneering</i>), I've heard of armies that were all generals and no - privates. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>quietly</i>). If you mean by leader who it is that's-kept back - the riot—— - </p> - <p> - JOHN (<i>badly frightened</i>). Riot? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. There are hundreds round your factories tonight. They're waiting - there, waiting for us. I'm leader enough to hold them back until we get - your answer. Take care lest I lead them in a different fashion on another - night. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Mutiny, eh? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Oh, names don't matter, <i>Mr</i>. Guy. We could call you names, - and true ones, if we liked. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. So you're their leader, Martin Kelsall? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. At your service, Mr. Barlow. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. I have my doubts of that. Well now, we'll just sit down and talk - this over quietly. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Father, you amongst the rioters! - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. We're here as peaceful delegates. - </p> - <p> - GUY. With threats of fire and murder on your tongue. - </p> - <p> - JOHN (<i>querulously</i>). What's it all about? Never mind who they are. - What do they want? - </p> - <p> - HENRI. More wages. - </p> - <p> - JOE. Less machinery. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Close the factories. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. And whatever you do, give a fellow-creature a chance of living, - Mr. Barlow. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Will one of you speak for all? What are your complaints? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I'll speak, Mr. Barlow. We complain of starvation, of being driven - into your factories and—— - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Stop there. We drive nobody. There's no compulsion to enter our - factories. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. There's the compulsion of need. You won't have hand-looms and - you've forced us into factories. You've got us there and we've been - helpless before you. We've to work your hours and take your pay, and the - pay's not fit to keep a dog alive. We're tired of factories. We want to - live. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Murmurs of agreement from the men.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>rising</i>). Listen to me, men. Everything must have a beginning. - A great system is springing into birth. It isn't perfect yet—— - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Perfect! It's—— - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>proceeding</i>). You are suffering the lean years. The fat ones - are coming. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. We've heard all that before. You put it down to the war, not to - the machines that time. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Even England can't recover in a moment from a war like this one. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. It was all the war last time we made complaint and when the war - was over you promised us fat times, and all of us were going to go hell - for leather for prosperity. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Just wait a bit. Think what a great thing this system is. We're going - to make calico for the whole world. We've all a share in it. - </p> - <p> - HENRI. You get your share and ours as well. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Do try to follow me. The cotton comes to us from the sun-kissed - fields of far America, grown there by planters descended from men of our - own blood and—— - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. The cotton's grown by slaves. - </p> - <p> - GUY. That's not my business. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. No. Your business is to make slaves of us here. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I'll tell you something, Mr. Butterworth. It's this, and it's from a - book you know. "Where there is no vision, the people perish." - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. I don't know about the vision, but I'm sure about the perishing. - And I know where we'll go when we've finished perishing. When one of us - gets up to the Golden Gate, Peter <i>'</i>ull ask him what he was and - he'll say a weaver, and Peter 'ull ask him no more questions. He'll just - open the gate quick and say, "Poor devil, get into heaven, you've had your - bellyful of hell on earth." - </p> - <p> - GUY. You'll have prosperity on earth. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Aye. So you've said before. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You complain of the machines. You say they've turned men away. - </p> - <p> - JOE. Aye. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Those men will soon find work. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Where? - </p> - <p> - GUY. I'm going to build another factory. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. By God, you're not. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Another! Isn't one hell on earth enough for you? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Patience, patience! I'm trying to explain. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. We've no time for patience. We're famishing. And you'll build no - other factory. You'll change your tune or you'll lose the one you've got. - Building new factories is no use to us. We're not builders. We're weavers. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Hold your tongue, Guy. I'll tackle this. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Guy sits sulkily.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. We'll hear the old master. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Now, my lads, the factory's there, and it's going to stop there. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Guy takes paper and pencil from his pocket and begins to draw - caricatures of the men.</i>) - </p> - <p> - HENRI. Don't be too sure of it. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Burn it and we build another. And while it's building you'll have - time to think and clear heads to think with, for you'll draw no wages in - the meantime. I'm still waiting to know why you're here. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. If you'd not reduced wages, maybe we'd not be here. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. That's it, is it? - </p> - <p> - JOE. Yes, that's it. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Will it make you happy if I put the wages up again? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. It won't make us happy. There's been no happy weavers since - machines came in. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. Is that what you want? Wages back at the old level? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. No. We want more. The old level isn't good enough. Eight shillings - a week won't keep a man, let alone a man's family. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. We give your families work. You men aren't the only wage-earners. - Even your children can come to us and be paid. We not only keep them away - from mischief at home, but we pay them for it. (<i>Rising.</i>) You can - take that answer back. We want willing workers and if you'll go away and - be satisfied with the old wages, we'll try to pay them, though it's little - less than ruin for the manufacturers. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>scornfully</i>). This looks a ruined house, and you look badly - fed and all with your wine, and your servants, and your money to build - another factory. To hell with your eight shillings! We want ten. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. And we want cent, per cent, profits, my man, only we don't get them. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>sternly</i>). This is no time for jesting, Kelsall. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I wasn't jesting. Ten shillings a week is what we want. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Ten is out of the question. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. I've made double ten with my old hand-loom. Where's the good of - factories to us if that's what they bring us to? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Guy rises with his drawings comes round to John and gives it him.</i>) - </p> - <p> - JOHN (<i>laughing</i>). Ha! Very good. I didn't know you drew. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I've had practice lately. Drawing plans for my new factory. - </p> - <p> - (<i>John passes it on to Ephraim.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>glancing at it</i>). Pssh! (<i>To men.</i>) Well, that's what - you're here for, is it? Ten shillings. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Yes. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. We offer eight. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Then I warn you there'll be consequences. - </p> - <p> - GUY. We're ready for your consequences. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Guy, I've told you to hold your tongue. (<i>Reasonably.</i>) - We've made a big concession, Kelsall. Martin. You'll make a bigger if you - want us satisfied. John. We do want you satisfied. We want this valley - peaceful and contented. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Then you know what to do. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Suppose we talk it over and give you an answer to-morrow? - </p> - <p> - JOE. We've come here for an answer to-night, Mr. Barlow. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Very well. Stay here and we'll come back with an answer. Come - into the other room, Mr. Heppenstall. (<i>The men give way sullenly.</i>) - Come, Guy. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Heppenstall passes out, as Ephraim holds door open. Guy catches - Ephraim at door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY. Do you want your silver stolen? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Guy, I'd trust Matt Butterworth with everything I own. - </p> - <p> - GUY. And the others? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Matt will be there. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Guy and Ephraim. Neither thinks of Ruth, who now rises from her - chair by fire, crosses, and speaks with Matthew, while the rest appreciate - the fire and examine curiously the fire-irons, etc.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Father, what are you doing with these men? Matthew. Mind your own - business, my lass. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I am minding it. I'm minding Guy. If anything happens to Guy, I - shall hold you responsible. Matthew. Guy has the remedy in his own hands. - Ruth. The remedy's in your hands. You have influence with the men. See how - they wanted you on their side. They came to you at home before I married. - They'll listen to you. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. I've no great influence, Ruth. I'm one of the crowd. Martin - Kelsall's the man they listen to. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>glancing at the three who are now gathered round the drawing - Ephraim left on table</i>). Yes. I'm going to talk to Martin. But not - here. I sent him a message to-night. Can you do nothing, father? - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. I can do nothing but what's right. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Violence is never right. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Oh, yes, it is. Often. I've counselled peace, but there's a time - for war, and if the time comes, old as I am, I'll do my share. - </p> - <p> - JOE (<i>coming across with drawing</i>). Look here, Butter-worth. See - that? He drew it. Guy Barlow drew that. That's what he thinks of us. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>taking it</i>). A drawing? - </p> - <p> - JOE (<i>pointing</i>). That's me. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Nay, never. - </p> - <p> - JOE. I pin my waistcoat up that road 'cause all the world don't need to - know I haven't got a shirt. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>looking at drawing</i>). Yes. He's spotted that right enough. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>over Matthew's shoulder</i>). And that scarecrow's meant for - me. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>smiling in spite of himself</i>). Well, he's a clever drawer, - Mr. Guy. - </p> - <p> - HENRI. What is that writing, Matt? You can read. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>half turning away</i>). Yes, I can read. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Ruth comes as if to try to secure the paper. Martin turns his shoulder - to her and the three men surround Matthew as he stands C.</i>) - </p> - <p> - JOE. What is it? - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>reluctantly</i>). Something cruel, Joe. It's under your - picture. - </p> - <p> - JOE. I can see that. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Out with it Matt. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. No need to cry aloud the shame of what a young man does in his - pride. - </p> - <p> - HENRI. You think to shield him because he is your son-in-law. You are a - traitor, Butterworth. - </p> - <p> - JOE. Best read it, Matt. We'll get it done outside, in any ease. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. It isn't much. He's wrote "No shirt but dirt" below you. - </p> - <p> - JOE (<i>as the group breaks up</i>). Dirt! If I'm dirty who's fault is - that but his? I don't like dirt. I'd like to be clean like him. How can a - man wash properly when his belly's crying out for bread and they've put - the tax on soap? I'd like a shirt. I'm weaving yards and yards of Barlow's - cloth and I haven't got a shirt. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. It's wrong to make a jest of starving men. We've come to ask for - fire for our hearths and clothes to cover our nakedness, and food for the - children. We don't want fine raiment nor grand houses, nor wine like that. - The simple things are good enough for us, and we come here to ask the - masters for them, and all we get is a mocking picture and a cruel jest, - and I'm sick and sorry that the son of Mr. Barlow and the husband of my - lass should be the one that's done it. We're asking for the right to live, - and all we get is contumely and shame. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>triumphantly</i>). That's brought you round at last. We'll have - no more peace-preaching from you. You know now what they think of us. - We're dogs and worse than dogs. Well, dogs can bite. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>her hand on Martin's arm</i>). Martin! - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>roughly shaking her off</i>). I've no word for you. You've gone - wrong. (<i>Moving.</i>) Let's clear away. No need to wait. We've got their - answer here in this. (<i>Tapping picture in Matthew's hand.</i>) To-morrow - night we'll meet up on the moors and march down on the factory. - </p> - <p> - HENRI. I said I'd hear you frozen English sing the Marseillaise. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. The moors! - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. It's not a lawful thing to meet like that. Joe. Lawful! Who cares - for the laws of London here? I'd take the Luddites' oath to-night, and - that's an oath no man can dare to break. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Swear by your vacant concave belly, man. (<i>Tapping Joe's - stomach.</i>) You'll find no stronger oath than that. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. They'll have the law of you. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. The law doesn't care for us. The law lets us starve. We've - finished with palaver now. We've got to <i>do</i>. - </p> - <p> - (<i>They are reaching the door when Ephraim, John and Guy enter by the - opposite door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Where are you going? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. We're tired of waiting. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Come, come! We had to consider our answer. (<i>The men come back.</i>) - </p> - <p> - JOE (<i>closing door, l.</i>). Well, have you got your answer? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Yes. Go back to your fellows and tell them this: We will raise - wages to the old figure—— - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. We've refused that. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Let me finish, my man. And as to a further increase, when you've - tried how you go on and we've all of us thought it over and feel a little - calmer than we do now, well, we'll see if we can't do something more for - you. - </p> - <p> - HENRI. You will see now if you mean to see at all. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. That's my last word, men. You've got a lot. Now go away and be - reasonable. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. And this is my last word, Mr. Barlow. You've refused, and refused - with scorn. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Scorn? I've not—— - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. If you haven't, he has (<i>pointing at Guy</i>), and we know which - of the pair is boss. You think you are, but we and Mr. Guy know better. - He's boss and (<i>taking picture from Matthew</i>) he calls us dirty and - makes insulting pictures of us for you to laugh at. We shan't do anything - to-night. To-morrow night we're meeting on the moors. Look to your - factory, then. - </p> - <p> - GUY. If I'm boss, listen to me. I've told you I believe in factories. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. And I tell you you'll have no factory to believe in. We're tired - of machinery. - </p> - <p> - GUY. The machines are going on. Factories are going on. It's my life's - work to push them on. - </p> - <p> - HENRI. Then look to your life. - </p> - <p> - GUY. The system's going on. It may break men in the making. It may break - me. But, by God, I'll break you first. Ideas are greater than men. They - conquer men. You can burn and kill and scotch the system <i>here</i>, but - the idea will go on in spite of you and anything you rioters can do to us. - You can crush us perhaps, but you can't kill the idea. Factories will - spring up and men will live and die for them and roll themselves against - them like waves against the rocks, but the factories are permanent because - the world is crying for our cloth. - </p> - <p> - JOE. And I haven't got a shirt. - </p> - <p> - GUY. A shirt! The world doesn't care for you. It's cloth by the hundred - thousand yards they want. It's not your petty wants the system cares - about. It's—— - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Then to hell with the system. We're petty, and, as you say, we - can't do much. We can't stop factories being built elsewhere. But we can - stop them here. We're broken men, but our spirit isn't broken yet. You've - set up your last machine. Your system may be all you think, but men come - first. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Your men or mine? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. The men you've driven desperate. The starving, ragged men with - wives and children hunger-mad, with everything to win and nowt to lose. - It's men like that that win. Men with the choice of fighting hard or dying - slow. Men with a bitter hatred in their hearts and knowledge in their - heads that machinery's the cause of all. Men fighting for themselves - against the men that fight for money and for you. Your hired bullies won't - last long. We know they're there, and know we'll see them run. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>soberly</i>). You'll waste your blood. You may waste life. I've - got men there. I don't deny it. And I ask you not to break yourselves - against them. You're thinking me a coward, but it isn't that. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>sneering</i>). Oh? What is it then? - </p> - <p> - GUY. It's that I <i>know</i>. I won't be you and it won't be I who will - win this fight. - </p> - <p> - JOE. It must be one of us. - </p> - <p> - GUY. No. We may have ups and downs, but the system will conquer us both. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. To-morrow night your factory will burn. We meet up on the moors, - not tens or twenties of us, but every man of Barlow's and of - Heppenstall's, and—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. And we'll be glad to see you. Good night. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW (<i>to Ephraim</i>). Mr. Barlow—— - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>shaking his head</i>). My son speaks for me, Matt. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Martin, Henri, Joe, Matthew.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY. The blazing fools! To give away their meeting-place. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. The moors are wide. - </p> - <p> - GUY. They meet beneath the quarry. I know their place. We'll get them - there. One good surprise attack and we shall hear no more of meetings. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Guy, you're going into danger. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Not I while there are redcoats to fight my battles for me. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Soldiers! - </p> - <p> - GUY. What else are soldiers for? I ride to Blackburn barracks to-night. - We'll teach these rioters a lesson that they'll not forget. Write me the - summons to the barracks, father. You're a magistrate. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. It's a heavy responsibility, Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY. A flaming factory's the alternative. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Pass me the paper. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sits at table and writes, John bending over him. Guy goes to - fireplace, takes a pair of spurs from mantel and straps them on. Ruth - follows him.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Guy, must you ride yourself? Can't you send somebody you trust? - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>grimly</i>). I'm sending somebody I trust. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. It's dangerous. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Rioting's a dangerous pastime—for the rioters. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>appealingly</i>). But soldiers in the valley, Guy! You'll never - be forgiven. It always will be war between you and the weavers if you - bring soldiers here. They'll be revenged. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>straightening his back and taking the second spur, bending to put - it on</i>). Meantime, I've got to save the factory. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. And I have got to save the factory and you. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You! - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>tensely</i>). Can I do nothing, Guy? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>holding out the paper, without rising</i>). The summons, Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>replying to Ruth</i>). Yes. You can pass me the summons. - </p> - <p> - (<i>He bends, fastening the spur. Ruth goes slowly to Ephraim, takes the - paper and hesitates as if intending to tear it, then jerks her head and - takes it to Guy, who accepts, straightening himself and pocketing it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY. Ah! That's all right. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>who has been filling three wine glasses, rising with glass</i>). - Here's to your ride, Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>coming to table and filling a fourth glass</i>). I'll give you a - better toast than that. The factory. (<i>Passing Ruth glass.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. (John and Guy). Ruth! (<i>drinking together</i>). The factory. (<i>Ruth - hesitates, meets Guy's eye until he masters her.</i>) Ruth. The factory. - </p> - <p> - (<i>She gulps as if taking poison. Guy drinks his glass off and goes to - door.</i>) - </p> - <h3> - CURTAIN. - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT III - </h2> - <p> - <i>A rough road terminates in the quarry whose hewn crags rise high at the - right. Below them, behind the road is an old shed of planks, open to the - front. To the left, the quarrying has caused a steep dip. The road ends, - the rock descends to it and beyond, so that the opposite side of the - valley below is visible, seen dimly in the night. Gorse and heather grow - over the deserted workings. There is no moon, but the lighting is - sufficiently strong for faces to be seen.</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>Ruth, warmly clad, sits on a stone by the shed, a lighted lantern at - her feet. After a moment, Martin, without greatcoat, enters.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>as he comes</i>). Are you there, Martin? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I am here. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>rising, nervously</i>). I had begun to fear you would not come. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I know I'm late. To-night I'd work to do, for once in my useless - life. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Don't be bitter, Martin. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. The bitterness is past. My work is done, well done. I came when I - was free to come, Mrs. Barlow. Ruth. Is it to be names like that between - us two? Martin. I don't know what there is between us two, save that I got - a message from your mother to meet you here. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I chose this place because we used to meet here often. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. In happier days. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I chose it to remind you of them. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>bitterly</i>). I don't need to be reminded. I'm striving to - forget. I want to kill their memory and I can't. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I thought you had. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. And why? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Last night. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. What has last night to do with it? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. It seemed to me last night that you'd forgotten. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. It always seems to me that you forget. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I? It's you forget. Forget our hope of happiness together and why we - gave it up, forget the terms on which I gave myself to him. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Your plan, your terms. Not mine. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. We both agreed that it was best. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Well, if we did? Now you've had your way, now you are Guy Barlow's - wife? Have you done anything? Does the plan work, or——? - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>interrupting</i>). It all takes time. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Martin moves impatiently.</i>) - </p> - <p> - And you agreed to that. That it would take time. That I was to be given my - chance. And now, last night, you spoilt it all. You—— - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>harshly</i>). Your plan's been tried and failed. You've done - nothing. Less than nothing. Things have gone worse—— - </p> - <p> - RUTH. And if they have—— - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. They have. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Will what you're doing help? Are threats of violence better? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. No. But we don't threaten. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>surprised</i>) Not threaten! - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>coolly</i>). We burn the factory to-night. And if your—husband - tries to interfere, so much the worse for him. (<i>Producing pistol from - pocket.</i>) There's food and drink for many a day gone to the buying of - this. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Martin! A pistol! You! - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. He talks of putting up another factory. (<i>Grimly.</i>) It's - going to stop at talk. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. A pistol! (<i>Coaxing.</i>) I've never had a pistol in my hand. Let - me feel it, Martin. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>replacing it</i>). They're dangerous toys. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. But I'll hold it by the handle. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. It's safer where it is. It's no good, Ruth You haven't wheedled - Guy Barlow into being soft with us, and you won't wheedle me into being - soft with him. You're no great hand at wheedling for all your pretty face. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>feigning indignation</i>). Oh, do you think it's Guy I care - about? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>drily</i>). I think somehow it is. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You have no right—— - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. What else am I to think? For all these months I get no word from - you. Your mother talks of nothing but your happiness with him. I know - you're living there in luxury with him, and I see you dressed the way you - are. What can I think but that he's won you round? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I'm not a cat to be won over with caresses. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. You always fancied finery. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Finery! It's good for finery to bring it on the moors to-night. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. It keeps you warm. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. So does my fire. And yet I've left my fire I'm here. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Why are you here? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. To see you. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Only that? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. What else? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Why do you choose this night of all the nights that have gone by - since—since we made our plan and you took him for husband? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. To-night's the first since yesterday. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Why yesterday? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You sent a message by my mother. She gave it to me yesterday. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I'd forgotten that. So much has happened since. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Then you should trust me all the more. I'm here in spite of all. I'm - risking everything to come to tell you what you do is wrong, utterly, - hopelessly wrong. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. What do you risk? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I risk my plan. Let Guy find out I meet you, and where's my chance - of influencing him? Where's my reward for sending you away? I risk my - life, my hope, my all. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>sceptically</i>). It sounds a lot. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. It is a lot. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Well, I too take risks to-night. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes, greater than you know. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Ah! - </p> - <p> - RUTH. But you shall not take them. That's why I'm here. To stop you. - You'll ruin all if this goes on to-night. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. We'll ruin his factory. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You'll bring black ruin on yourselves. Oh, listen to me, Martin. I - know. I know. Guy's got the soldiers coming. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>eagerly</i>). They're coming <i>here?</i> - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes. Didn't you say you all met here below to-night? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Yes. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Soldiers, Martin. Can you fight soldiers? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. After to-night there'll be no factory to fight about. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. There always will be factories. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Yes? So he said last night. But we know better. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. There will, there will. They'll build others, and while they're - building you'll be starving, and when they're built, do you think there'll - be work for you or my father or any man who lifts a hand to-night? You'll - all be hanged or rotting in some gaol, and wages for the rest lower than - ever to pay them out for the doings of this night. Don't do it, Martin. - Leave Guy to me. I'll manage him, but I must bide my time. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. And meantime we must live a living death. A bullet's better, Ruth. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Oh, maybe better for the few they hit. Death's not important. Think - of the others who'll live on. Don't be selfish, Martin. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Selfish! I'm doing all for others. I don't care for myself. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You do. You care to be the leader. You care for your pride, the - pride that won't let you draw back because you dare not seem to have an - afterthought, the pride that's going to strew that valley with the ruined - lives of men and corpses of the dead. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I can't draw back now. It's too late, Ruth. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. It's never too late. (<i>Suddenly terrified.</i>) You <i>are</i> - their leader, Martin? They won't do anything without your word? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I am their leader, Ruth. To-night's plan is mine. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Then so long as you stay here nothing can happen. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I shan't stay long. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You will. I've got you and I mean to keep you here. Thank God, I - came. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. You've come, but I've told you it's too late now. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Oh, no, it's not. You can't deceive me, Martin. I know this is the - meeting-place. I heard you all say so last night. The moors below the - quarry. Are the men there, Martin? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. There are men there. Listen. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Faintly, the strains of the Marseillaise are heard from below l., and - with them the barking of dogs.</i>) - </p> - <p> - The song that Henri Callard brought from France and made into an English - song to put the spirit of a revolution into us. The song of life and hope. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. No, Martin, the song of death. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Perhaps it is, for Barlow's bullies at the factory. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Martin, don't go. Don't give the word. For my sake, Martin. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. The song is calling. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Are we English to be French and lose our senses for a song? Is all - that you and I have said and done to go for naught? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Ruth, tell the truth - </p> - <p> - RUTH. The truth? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Is it you and I or you and that other? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Other? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. You know whom I mean. Guy Barlow. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I love him, Martin. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. At last! The truth. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I love him, and you're going to kill my husband. If when you said - you couldn't lose the memory of me you spoke the truth, you'll spare him, - Martin. You won't go down amongst those men and lead them to the factory. - I tried my best to carry out our plan. You told me that he wouldn't marry - me, but I made him do it. And afterwards I tried. I did try, Martin. Only - Guy's my husband and I love him now. I've learnt to love him till my - love's the greatest thing in all the world. Don't kill him, Martin. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. It will not be killing, Ruth. It won't be murder if a bullet finds - its way in Guy Barlow's heart. Not murder, but an accident. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You mean to kill him. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Not man's vengeance, Ruth, but God's. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You mean to murder him. What shall I do? (<i>Changing her tone.</i>) - Martin, you loved me once. Is that love dead? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Dead? Love needs nourishment and you have starved my love. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. What if I said I'm here to nourish it? Would you go down there then? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Nourish? How? - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>holding up lantern</i>). Am I still beautiful, Martin? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Yes. So Guy Barlow thinks. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Don't you? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Delilah! - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Was Delilah married? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. No. - </p> - <p> - (<i> The Marseillaise is heard again, more loudly. Below l., torches - appear. Martin's attention is attracted.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Don't look down there. They're singing. Let them sing. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. And if I stay? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Ruth makes a gesture of surrender.</i>) - </p> - <p> - You mean it, Ruth? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I mean—everything. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. My God, you're beautiful! (<i>Harshly.</i>) Put out the lantern. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Give me your pistol first. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. My pistol? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes. - </p> - <p> - (<i>A pause. Martin takes it out, half offers it, then, with a suspicious - look, gives it her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. The lantern. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Ruth blows it out. As Martin draws her towards the shed, voices are - heard.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. I'm convinced your men won't be needed, Captain. - </p> - <p> - GUY. We shall soon see. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Ephraim, Guy and Captain Lascelles, a youngish officer. Guy has - a lantern which he places on the ground.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Personally I fancy we shall show you a little sport. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Sorry sport, Mr. Barlow. I fought the French with a relish. - They're our natural foes. But this setting English at English goes against - the grain with me. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Excellent sentiments, Captain Lascelles. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>sneering</i>). I used to think the whole duty of a soldier was to - fight. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. The duty of a soldier is to obey orders. That, sir, is why I am - at the disposal of your father, who represents the civil authority. But - I've no stomach for firing on unarmed men. - </p> - <p> - (<i>The Marseillaise and the dogs are heard.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY. Listen! That's very near. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. So are the singers. Look there. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Epiiraim and Guy look over with him.</i>) - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Torches! There's a big crowd there. Why didn't we hear them? - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. We came uphill. The hill cut off the sound. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Dogs? What are the dogs for? - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>well satisfied</i>). Well, Captain, like it or not, you'll have - warm work to-night. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. To be candid with you, I don't like it at all. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You make me alter my opinion of the British officer. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Sir! I saw service in the Peninsular and I was under fire at - Waterloo—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. But a handful of scarecrow weavers is too much for you because - they're English. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. A few are not, Mr. Barlow. But those torches don't indicate a - few, but a very much larger number than I have force to cope with. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>timidly</i>). There certainly is a great number. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>to Captain</i>). In other words, you shirk your duty. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN (<i>controlling himself</i>). I don't want to quarrel with a - civilian. (<i>Turning to Ephraim.</i>) Am I to get my men into position, - sir? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>hesitating</i>). Well—their number is certainly - alarming. (<i>Turning to Guy for a lead.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>curtly</i>). Yes. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>to Captain</i>). If you please, Captain. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Very well. You've a copy of the Riot Act with you? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>nervously</i>). Yes. I hope I shall not have to read it. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. That is for you to decide. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Yes. (<i>Calling.</i>) Guy! - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>by the shed</i>). One minute, sir. There's a smell of tallow here. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN (<i>without suspicion</i>). Your lantern. - </p> - <p> - GUY. That didn't smell before. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN (<i>impatiently</i>). The torches below there, then. The wind - would carry their reek. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Yes. Only there doesn't happen to be a wind. Captain (<i>suspicious - now</i>). The shed? - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>picking up lantern</i>). I'll see. - </p> - <p> - (<i>He holds up lantern, disclosing Ruth and Martin at opposite ends of - the shed.</i>) - </p> - <p> - There's no one there. Must have been our lantern. What did you want, - father? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Guy, hadn't we better leave it? I don't want bloodshed. They're - decent fellows at heart, and we don't know they mean to attack. I can't - believe it of them. Wait till they do and use the soldiers to guard the - factory. Guy. What's the use of waiting till they attack? Take them here - unprepared and you make a thorough job of it. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Yes: only I can't promise to take them unprepared. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Why not? Have I to teach you your business? Get your men round them - in the dark and—— - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. It won't be dark. The clouds will be off the moon soon. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>sarcastically</i>). Then as Nature won't assist you, Captain, - you'll have to draw upon the great store of military tactics you no doubt - acquired in your numerous campaigns. How long will it take to get your men - placed between that crowd and the factory? - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Oh, say ten minutes. The moon will be clear before then. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I hope it won't. They'll run like hares at the sight of a uniform, - and I want them taught a lesson they'll not forget in a hurry. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>picking up lantern</i>). Shall we go? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Yes. I'll join you below. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Join? Aren't you coming? - </p> - <p> - GUY. In a minute. For the moment I have business here. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. What business are we to imagine that can keep you here alone? - </p> - <p> - GUY. You can imagine any business you like. You can imagine me praying for - the British Army when it is officered by men like you, but, at any rate, - you can leave me here. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN (<i>sneering</i>). Yes. You'll be quite out of danger here, Mr. - Barlow. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>appealingly</i>). Gentlemen! - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>to Captain</i>). Hadn't you better look after your men? Your ten - minutes are flying. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN (<i>turning to go</i>). I shall deal with you afterwards. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>smoothly</i>). With pleasure. My business is to deal in cotton - cloth with all comers. I don't discriminate. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Pah! Shopman! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Captain and Ephraim.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>by shed</i>). Come out. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Martin and Ruth emerge, Martin crosses l. and looks down.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Yes. It's steep, isn't it? You'll not escape that way unless you've wings. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Escape? I don't want to escape. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You're looking for a way. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I'm looking at the great crowd your father saw. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Yes. You've brought your ragamuffins out, but you'll find it a - tougher job to make them fight. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I don't intend to let those lads down there fight soldiers. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>barring the way, though Martin doesn't move</i>). And I don't - intend to let you warn them. You're going to stay here. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>limply</i>). I can shout. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Why don't you? Shout till you brast your lungs, my lad. It won't - carry downhill. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>acquiescing very easily</i>). Then you must do your butcher's - handiwork. (<i>With energy.</i>) Butchers! Yes. That's just the word. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Ah! So you do know when you're beaten. Well, Kelsall, as you heard - while you were eavesdropping, I've ten minutes to fill in. Ten minutes - isn't long. There's no margin for lies. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. The truth about your factory is the last thing you'll listen to. - </p> - <p> - GUY. The truth about my wife is what I'm waiting for. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Hadn't you better ask her? - </p> - <p> - GUY. I don't question my wife before a workman. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Shall I leave you? (<i>But he doesn't move.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY. You don't seem in any hurry. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>easily</i>). No. The time for that is past. I've stayed here - too long for going now. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Thank God, then I've succeeded. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>coldly</i>). Succeeded? How? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I've kept him here until the danger passed. He meant to burn the - factory and murder you. He told me so and I—I kept him here. I've - played with him. I've—— - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. You played with fire, and it's not your fault you haven't burnt - yourself. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>to Guy</i>). What did it matter what I said? I've saved your - life. I've kept him here. - </p> - <p> - GUY. How did you get him here? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I sent for him. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Why should he come for your sending? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. You don't question your wife before a workman, do you? - </p> - <p> - GUY. No. You're right. This can wait. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Guy, I sent because last night I heard him threaten you. I wanted to - persuade him—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. Your methods of persuasion are peculiar. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. They kept him here. That was what I had to do. At any cost to keep - him here. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Ruth, I begin to think that reading Byron isn't good for you. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Why put it on to Byron? Hasn't his noble Lordship sins enough of - his own? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Guy, don't you see? He's the men's leader. - </p> - <p> - They won't do anything without him. He told me that. That they would wait - for him to give the word. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I told you that it was too late. I came up here to-night without - imperilling my plans. It didn't matter that (<i>snapping his fingers</i>) - how long you kept me here. Succeeded! The only thing you've succeeded in - is in arousing your husband's suspicions. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Be careful, Kelsall. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I've nothing to be careful about. I could be at Jericho for all - the difference it'll make. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You told me you were their leader. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. The leader of a movement is the brain of it. - </p> - <p> - Brain is scarcer than brawn, and therefore—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. Therefore it skulks up here in safety. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Yes, that's what that soldier said to you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Guy makes a threatening gesture.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Oh, but he's wrong, of course. You don't suppose Lord Wellington was in - the firing line at Waterloo? He left fools like your soldier friend to - feed the powder. A leader's business is direction. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Am I to understand that you direct? You? Martin (<i>quietly</i>). I - have directed. In no long time I hope to see the fruits of my direction. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Down there? (<i>Pointing l.</i>) There'll be a crop of broken heads - if that's the fruit you're looking for. Martin. I'm looking up, not down. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Up? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. A sign in the heavens. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>bewildered</i>). The heavens! - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>passionately</i>). Don't you believe in heaven? Sometimes I - don't. I find it difficult to believe in a just God who lets you live and - lets your machinery be made and lets you starve your weavers. But I have - faith to-night, Guy Barlow, a mighty faith in the all-seeing God who's - brought us face to face, oppressor and oppressed, avenger and——- - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>as Martin approaches Guy</i>). Be careful, Guy, he means to do - you harm. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>gently putting her aside</i>). My dear Ruth, I'm quite convinced - you read too much. Romance and Mrs. Radcliffe are fitting for your - withdrawing-room, but please don't bring them out of doors. You told me - once romance was dangerous for women. I find it is. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. But he was armed. Thank God, I've got his pistol. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>losing temper</i>). You got his pistol! Confound you, what did you - do that for? I can't shoot the fellow in cold blood. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Oh, you needn't scruple. Life's no use to a weaver in Barlow's - factory, and my work is finished now. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>to Ruth</i>). Give it him back. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You'll fight together if I do. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Do as I tell you, Ruth. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Ruth holds out the pistol to Martin, who doesn't take it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I warn you this is murder. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You shouldn't carry firearms if you're not competent to use them. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. The murder is of you. This is my night, Guy Barlow. You've had the - power to starve and sweat the weavers of the valley, but the tide has - turned at last. The luck's on my side now, and if we fight and one of us - should fall, it won't be I that has to die to-night. - </p> - <p> - RUTH, You shall not fight. This pistol's mine, I won it from you. I do - what I like with my own. (<i>She flings it down the cliff. It is heard to - strike and rebounding, strike again.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY. Rebellion is in the air to-night. You've caught the prevalent - disease, my Ruth. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Guy, this man means to kill you. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I mean to kill this man. But I've a scruple that prevents my shooting - down an unarmed man. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You're both safe then. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Not while my pistol's left. He seems to think the luck is on his - side. We'll put that to the test by tossing for the first shot. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. But he might win. - </p> - <p> - GUY. That will decide the point at issue. Luck will be on his side. You've - got your chance now, Kelsall. (<i>Taunting him.</i>) What was it? - Oppressor and oppressed, avenger and avenged? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. My God, I wish I had your coolness. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Blood will tell, you know. Do you accept? Martin (<i>in a rush</i>). - Yes, I accept. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Good. Shall I spin a coin or you? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I don't bring money out. It's scarce with me. Guy. Then I provide - both pistol and coin. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. And corpse. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You're getting back your spirit. Will you call? - </p> - <p> - (<i>He spins a coin. Ruth puts her foot on it as it falls. At the same - time the moon lights up the scene.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Now that's really very thoughtful of the moon. The target will be visible, - and we can see the coin as soon as you remove your foot. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I shall not remove my foot. - </p> - <p> - GUY. And Kelsall quite forgot to call. He's too busy shivering. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I'm cold. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>taking another coin, spinning and catching rapidly</i>). This - time, Kelsall. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Heads. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>looking</i>). The pistol's yours. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Martin crosses doubtfully and takes it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Oh yes, it's loaded. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>facing Martin, covering Guy, melodramatically</i>) Martin, you'll - shoot him through my body. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I'm sure that's out of Mrs. Radcliffe, Ruth. It has the true romantic - ring. Will you help me to tie her up, Kelsall? It's a bore to have to ask - the favour, but—— - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. You're smiling and you're going to die. - </p> - <p> - GUY. It's possible, but these cold nights do make a man's hand shake, - don't they? Your luck may not be altogether in. The heavens do not send - the sign you look for. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. They sent the moon to shoot you by. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Yes. Get out of the way, Ruth, unless you want to be tied up. Stand - clear. This fellow's hand's so shaky he might hit you by mistake. Go - ahead, Kelsall. Remember your wrongs and your faith and blaze away. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>half raising the pistol, then dropping it</i>). I can't do it. - It's the chance I've prayed for and I can't do it. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Oh come, Kelsall. Remember what's expected of a leader of the men. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>jerking up his head</i>). I've beaten you there. Yes, now I - understand. I'm not afraid to shoot. - </p> - <p> - GUY. My mistake. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Oh, I've a sweeter revenge than that, Shoot, and you'd never know - the way that you've been fooled this night. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You didn't shoot because you lacked the pluck. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. The thing I didn't lack was brain to outwit you and bring you on a - fool's errand to the moors while—— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Pausing.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>alarmed</i>). While what? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Oh, while the moon came out and showed your military friends the - truth. - </p> - <p> - GUY. The truth? What is the truth? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Oh, you shall know. I'm keeping you alive that you may know. - </p> - <p> - GUY. What is it, you———— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Captain and Ephraim.</i>) - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN (<i>entering</i>). Are you there, Barlow? (<i>Seeing him.</i>) Oh—— - (<i>Saluting Ruth.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY. Never mind these people. What is it? - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Confound it, that's what <i>I</i> want to know. - </p> - <p> - GUY. What are you doing here? Why aren't you down there surrounding those - weavers? - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Well, you see, the fact is, there are no weavers. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Dogs, Guy. You remember I noticed the dogs. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Dogs? Have you both gone mad? My patience! What is it? - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN (<i>drawing him to look</i>). You see those torches? - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>impatiently</i>). Of course. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. But you can't see who's carrying them from here. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I don't need to see. I know. It's the weavers' meeting. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Weavers! They're sheep, sir. Sheep with torches fastened to them - and not a man in sight. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Sheep! - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>quietly</i>). You'll remember I said butchers was the right - word. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Sheep! But we heard singing; - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. A dozen men can make a noise. They'll have sore throats to-morrow. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Sheep! - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>ringingly</i>). Look up! I've got my sign in the heavens. - </p> - <p> - (<i>The sky is illuminated by the great leaping glare of a distant fire</i>) - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Fire! - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. This is my night after all, Guy Barlow. The factory's ablaze. - </p> - <h3> - CURTAIN. - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT IV - </h2> - <p> - <i>Later the same night. Scene as Act II. Wine and glasses on table. The - curtains are drawn apart and the glare of the burning factory is seen. - Ephraim and John are in the window.</i> - </p> - <p> - JOHN. It's a sad sight, Barlow. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. A sight I cannot bear to see. Shut it out. Shut it out. (<i>He - draws curtains.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>John lays a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, and Ephraim goes slowly - to chair by fireplace.</i>) - </p> - <p> - I built it, Heppenstall, the first factory in these parts, fifteen years - ago, and there it's stood through all these years a monument of - enterprise, until I'd grown to love the very stone of it. They mocked me - when I put it up. They called it Barlow's Folly. But I knew. I knew - machinery had come to stay, and now new factories are springing up, and - building one to-day is not the same great thing it was. The glamour's - gone. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. But you'll rebuild. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Guy will rebuild. I doubt if I shall care for what he does. This - night has broken me. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. Come, come, now, don't give way like that. Ephraim. It's easy talk - for you. Your factory is sound. They've left it standing. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. Aye. You were the scapegoats. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. And all my business checked. Customers to disappoint. Connections - broken and—— - </p> - <p> - JOHN. They will come back to you. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. And when? You can burn fast, but you rebuild slowly. And the - misery, Heppenstall, the misery of it. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. You're thinking of your men? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Aye and their families. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. A merciful man, Barlow. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Oh, let the leaders swing for it. It's their desert. But all the - others, just the heedless fools they've led astray. I'm sorry for them in - the bitter days to come. Guy's been too hard on them. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. Yes. Guy's been hard. A wilful, headstrong man. But, hearkee, - Barlow, I've a plan that will smooth out the crookedness for you. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. A plan? - </p> - <p> - JOHN. You've been a rival of me, and your son has made the rivalry no - pleasant thing. But you and I are friends, and sooner than see you suffer - for your son, I'll run my place by night as well as day, and you can put - your people there by night and keep faith with your customers. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>rising</i>). Why, Heppenstall, that's generous. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. There's something in the doctrine which that fighting-cock of yours - was preaching here last night. We manufacturers must cling together, - Barlow, only he wanted us to cling to his policy and, by your leave, we'll - cling to mine. It lets you satisfy your customers and keep your weavers - living, and it gives me the chance of rapping Mr. Guy Barlow on the - knuckles. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM (<i>timidly</i>). Do you think he'll let—? - </p> - <p> - JOHN. Why, man alive, I hope that you are master here. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. I shall take no pleasure in it now. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Guy.</i>) - </p> - <p> - That old factory was like another son to me. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>in high spirits</i>). And a damned rickety child it was. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Guy! - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>good-humouredly</i>). You will get a new son, father A lusty son - with new machinery in the guts of him. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. It will not be my old factory. - </p> - <p> - GUY. No, by the Lord, it won't. It will be efficient. Come, father, bear - up. We'll soon have that site covered up again with another son for you, - and there's no love like the love of a man for the child of his old age. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. It won't be my child, Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Then call it your grandson and dote upon him as a grandad should. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. Is this a time for your jesting, Mr. Guy? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Maybe you think you've the laugh of me, Mr. Heppenstall, you with - your factory unburnt. Wait till my new building is complete with all the - last word in machinery, Look to your business then. I'll show you what a - factory should be. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Guy, you sound—almost—as if you are glad. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Why not? We're well insured. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. And our customers, meantime? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Customers? Fire breaks all contracts. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Not mine. Not while there exists a way of carrying them out. - </p> - <p> - GUY. There is no way. - </p> - <p> - JOHN. You'll pardon me, there is. I have offered your father the use of my - factory by night. - </p> - <p> - GUY. By night? We should lose money. There would be you to pay, and - weaving by candlelight is expensive. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Then let us lose money. I will carry out my contracts. And—think - of the weavers, Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Let them starve. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. I won't. I will hang the leaders. But the rest shall live. - </p> - <p> - GUY. They will live somehow. When we want them again, they will be there. - Meantime, they shall be punished. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. I say they shall not, and by our good friend's help they need not - be. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Our good friend is to run his factory by day and night and take his - profit out of us. So much for friendship. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. He must certainly be compensated for turning his place upside - down. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Why turn it upside down? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. For the sake of the weavers whom I will not desert. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Did I burn their livelihood? No. They did. Let them suffer for it. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Guy, I have to remind you again that I am the head of the firm. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Very well, then. I break my connection with the firm. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Guy! Barlow & Son. - </p> - <p> - GUY. In future there will be two firms. The first is a charitable - institution which penalizes itself to find work for riotous weavers who - burn its factory. The second firm exists to make money. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. You mustn't do that, Guy. Not the factory and the firm on one - black night. I can't stand both. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Then the firm goes on on my terms. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. You mustn't leave me, Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Very well. Barlow & Son decline your offer with thanks, Mr. - Heppenstall. (<i>He turns to table, pours wine and drinks.</i>) - </p> - <p> - JOHN. Barlow, do you mean to tell me——? - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. I give him best, Heppenstall. The lad is a stronger man than I - am. Henceforth I am a looker-on. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>seated at table</i>). Father, hand me those plans. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Plans, Guy? - </p> - <p> - GUY. The new factory, man. Do you think there's time to waste? (<i>He - finds pistol uncomfortable in his pocket, takes out and puts on table.</i>) - Hah! That's finished with. I use a stronger weapon. This. (<i>Taking up - pen and bending over the plans which Ephraim has put before him.</i>) - </p> - <p> - JOHN. Come away, Barlow. - </p> - <p> - EPHRAIM. Yes. Yes. I think—(<i>he follows John haltingly to door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Ephraim and John. Guy is busy with the plans. Enter Ruth - quickly. She closes door and leans against it, panting.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Guy! - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>not looking up</i>). I am busy, Ruth. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Guy, they have got my father. The soldiers, Guy. They've got my - father. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>still bending</i>). Yes, I can hear. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. My father! - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>leaning back in chair</i>). Why not? Your father joined the rest. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. What will they do to him? - </p> - <p> - GUY. The law has a strong arm, Ruth. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You mean—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. Fools pay for their folly. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>coming to him</i>). Guy, Guy, you will not let my father—— - Oh—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. Captain Lascelles has charge of all the prisoners till they are - handed over to the civil authorities. If you wish to communicate with any - of them, you must apply to him. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. But—Guy—they say the prisoners will be hanged. - </p> - <p> - GUY. It's more than likely. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. And my father—— - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>rising and standing with hack to fire</i>). Arson is a hanging - matter, Ruth. If your father chose to be a riotous incendiary, he must pay - the penalty. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>standing by table</i>). Guy, don't you love me? - </p> - <p> - GUY. I have loved you, Ruth. I find you are the kind of woman men do love. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. What do you mean? - </p> - <p> - GUY. There was a man to-night, Ruth, upon the moors. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. That? But you know. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I am waiting to know. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I went to save your life from him. I heard him speak in here, last - night, when you and Mr. Heppenstall had gone in there, and he—he - threatened and—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. Threatened! He! And if he did, do you imagine it a woman's job to - guard my life? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. He threatened and he meant to do. - </p> - <p> - GUY. And what had you to do with him? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. That is all over now. - </p> - <p> - GUY. It may be, but it has left its mark. Why did you go to him? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I went because of what is past. Before I knew you, Guy, I knew him - and—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. You went to beg my life. From him, your lover, Martin Kelsall! - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes. He was my lover once. - </p> - <p> - GUY. A fine strong lover for you, wife of mine. A brave, grand lover, - Ruth. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Oh, you outfaced him in the quarry there. I saw the fear he had for - you. - </p> - <p> - GUY. The starveling rat. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes, starveling and a coward when he met you face to face, you with - your strength and he an ill and starving man. Maybe it's easy for a strong - man to be brave, but, in the end, he won. His starveling brain had made a - plan. His—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. Damn him. Do you defend him? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. No, Guy, I don't defend. I prove him dangerous. I prove that when I - went, I went with reason. I prove that if he fooled me there, he fooled - you here. The factory is burnt. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I am not talking of the factory just now. It's you I'm talking of. - You say you prove him dangerous. You do. You say he fooled you there, me - here. I am not certain that he did not fool us both at once, up there. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Guy! But I told you. - </p> - <p> - GUY. What? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You came in time. - </p> - <p> - GUY. In time for what? I want to know. It seems to me that you were ready—— - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes. I was ready, ready then and there to save your life. - </p> - <p> - GUY. At the price———? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. To save your life. You see, I loved you, Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You loved me! - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Could I have proved it more? - </p> - <p> - GUY. There is a price which no man pays for life. You got his pistol from - him. How? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. By promising. And then you came. Guy, Guy, I loved you and I wanted - you to live. - </p> - <p> - GUY. And you? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. The quarry cliff is steep. I should have died. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Come here, Ruth. Look at me. Look into my eyes and tell me that - again. - </p> - <p> - (<i>She comes to him.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I should have died. Death's easy, Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Yes. I believe you now. (<i>From her.</i>) By heaven, what a fool you - are. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. A loving fool, then, Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY, A fool in love's the worst of fools. There, there it's over, Ruth. - But Kelsall? Yes, I've got Kelsall. Kelsall shall pay for this. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. They'll hang him, Guy? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Oh yes, they'll hang what's left. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. What's left? - </p> - <p> - GUY. When I have done with Martin Kelsall, the gallows will be welcome to - the rest. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Guy, you—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. Be careful, Ruth, or you will have me doubting you again. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. And there's my father, Guy. Is he to hang as well? - </p> - <p> - GUY. You come of a race of fools. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I believe that you can save him, Guy. For my sake, won't you let - that old man live. My father, Guy? Your father's friend when they were - young together. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Come here, Ruth. I'll strike a bargain with you. (<i>He sits.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH. A bargain? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Yes, for your father's neck. We mustn't let our father hang, must we, - my pretty? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. If what you want is in my power to grant—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. It's in your power. We'll have a straightening out of things, my - girl. They've got askew, and this night's work of yours is just the last - knot that you'll tie. You meddle, girl. You are come of weavers' stock and - weavers tend to meddling. You used to ask me questions, you worried me - about the factory. I stopped your asking, but I didn't change your ways. - You kept them, saved them up for this fine piece of meddling of to-night. - Now Ruth, it's this. You're my wife. You're Mrs Barlow, not Ruth - Butterworth. Your thoughts should be of my making, not your father's. You - will give up attending other people's business and attend your own. Maybe - if you had done that earlier we should have seen by now some sign of what - I'm looking for from you. You know what that is, lass. I want an heir. - Give me obedience, my Ruth, bear me a son, and this night's work shall be - forgotten. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. And, my father? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Your father shall escape the hangman, Ruth. What do you say to me? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I—I will be your slave. (<i>She sinks at his feet in utter - surrender.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY. You will be my wife. You won't ask questions. You will know that what - I do is good because I do it, and the sooner you bring me an heir the - better I shall be pleased with you. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. That is in God's hand, Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Aye, but meddling women make bad mothers, Ruth. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I will not meddle more. I'll be your—your wife. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Captain Lascelles. Ruth struggles up.</i>) - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Oh, I—I beg your pardon—I—— - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>rising and pouring wine</i>). Come in, Captain, come in. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Captain closes door and advances.</i>) - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN, a loving cup. I apologize to the British Army and congratulate - you on the round-up. (<i>Holding glass out.</i>) - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN (<i>taking glass</i>). Why, thank you, Mr. Barlow. Here's your - health, sir. To your eyes, madam. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>drinking</i>). A very gallant piece of work, Captain. - </p> - <p> - (<i>They sit at table. Ruth is by fire, looking into it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Gallant? Nay, to my mind, sir, the policing of your valley is no - work for a man of Wellington's. It is a sorry soldier who takes pleasure - in the harrying of half-starved weavers. - </p> - <p> - GUY. All work well done is good work, Captain. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. I do not share your pleasure in this night. And let me tell you, - sir, your father's with me in the view I take. - </p> - <p> - GUY. My father? Aye, old men resent a change, especially a change that is - forced on them. But for myself, why, good out of evil, captain. A new - factory, up to date in every detail with new machines to cut my wage list - down, and—— - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Do you think it's safe to build again? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Safe? - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Yes. Will they let you? - </p> - <p> - GUY. The weavers? Man, they'll help. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Will they now? - </p> - <p> - GUY. They will come and ask to be allowed to help They'll sit round - watching stone go on to stone and thank their God for every story raised. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. That's not their mood to-night. - </p> - <p> - GUY. To-night they have a supper in them, They'll be starving then. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>without turning</i>). Starving! - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. You are somewhat drastic, sir. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Well, sir, and are not you? In the army you've the noble institution - of flogging to keep your men to heel. We can't flog weavers. It's against - the law and so we have to keep them disciplined by other means. And now, - captain, about your prisoners. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Yes? - </p> - <p> - GUY. You would count them carefully? Suppose, I mean, that one were - missing. Would you take it very much to heart? - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. On the contrary, sir, I should be glad to see the whole lot go. - </p> - <p> - GUY. What, all of them? And go away with nothing to show for your night's - work? - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. I don't regard this as a creditable night, Mr. Barlow. Your - father was saying just now that the simplest way is to let them all - escape. They will have had the scare of their lives and are not likely to - forget the lesson. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>turning to Guy</i>). Oh, if you would! - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>ignoring her</i>). And what did you say? - </p> - <p> - The Northerners - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. I agreed with him. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You're a man of heart, Captain. Only you would be cashiered. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. I would risk cashiering. And I may remind you, sir, that it is - not you, but your father, who's the magistrate. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I speak here for my father. We settled that between us half an hour - ago. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. That's true. He sent me to you. - </p> - <p> - GUY. On your errand of—mercy? - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Yes. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>rising</i>). Captain, oblige me by sending two of your prisoners - here. Butterworth and Kelsall. One of them may escape. He is my wife's - father. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN (<i>rising</i>). Your wife's father! I'm sorry, Mrs. Barlow. I had - so few men that I had to bind the prisoners, and your father must be - pinioned like the rest. - </p> - <p> - GUY. He acted like the rest. I will see to his bindings, Captain. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. And as to the other question? - </p> - <p> - GUY. What other? - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Letting them all escape. - </p> - <p> - GUY. There is no other question. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Your father, sir——- - </p> - <p> - GUY. Your duty, Captain Lascelles, is to hand your prisoners to the - authorities to be dealt with as the law provides. Meanwhile, send me the - men I want. - </p> - <p> - CAPTAIN. Very well. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Captain Lascelles. Guy sits to his plans. After a moment Ruth - comes to him and touches his arm.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Guy! - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>not looking up</i>). Don't go, Ruth. I want you here. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I was not going, but—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. Then oblige me by silence. These plans of mine must reach an - architect to-morrow. (<i>Takes knife from pocket and erases something on - plan.</i>) And the new machinery must be ordered to-night. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Guy, how soon will the new factory be built? - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>still at work</i>). With luck, six months, if frost does not hold - up the masons. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Six months. Six wintry months and in the mean time all the weavers—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. Those who are not hanged will be starving for their sins. I've told - you to keep quiet, Ruth. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I have kept quiet, Guy, kept quiet while you made me love you like - your dog because you warmed my body well and fed me till my eyes were - closed with fat and all my will was lulled to sleep. I asked you questions - of the factory, and when you gave me poetry books to read, I read them and - forgot. You told me not to meddle and I have obeyed. I gave up asking - questions till in all the valley there was none more ignorant than me. - Than me, who—— - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>rising</i>). Than you who made a bargain with me here. Is this - your way of keeping it? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Guy, let me ask you things. If it is the last time, for just this - once, be kind and tell me what you mean to do. - </p> - <p> - GUY. If it is the last time? Ruth, I keep my bargains. There is your - father's life at stake. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Still, I must know. For the sake of our future, Guy, I must know - what you mean to do. I have been quiet, Guy. I will again. I might have - spoken now while Captain Lascelles spoke with you. I kept my silence then, - But tell me, Guy. It's you who are the master now? You, not your father? - </p> - <p> - GUY. It is I. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Lord of the Valley. Master of their lives. Guy, Guy, what will you - do with them? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Break them. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Your father would be merciful. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Old men grow soft with age. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Have you not broken them enough? Have they not starved for you till - desperation made them turn and do the deed they did to-night? - </p> - <p> - GUY. They did the deed. They turned. Therefore they are not broken, Ruth. - But, by the Lord, they're going to be. I'll have them meek. I'll crush - their spirits till their children's children rue the day their fathers - tried to thwart Guy Barlow. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes. You can do it. You've the strength. - </p> - <p> - GUY. And the power. The dogs don't know their master yet. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You can do it, Guy. But will you? - </p> - <p> - GUY. Will I? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Hear me. A woman can't do much. A woman's handicapped. But what she - can do, Guy, all that I'll do—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. Where is your bargain now? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes. I made a bargain, didn't I? I bargained for my father's life. - My life for his. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Your—life? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I said I'd be your slave. I said that I would give you sons. I said - I would not ask you questions. - </p> - <p> - GUY. And you have asked. You have asked and had your answers, For the last - time, Ruth. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes. I shall ask no more. I shall——Guy. What? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter soldier with Matthew and Martin, whose wrists are bound behind - their backs.</i>) - </p> - <p> - SOLDIER. Captain Lascelles' orders, sir. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Thank you. You may go. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Soldier salutes and goes. Ruth snatches knife from table and cuts - Matthew's bonds.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Father, you shall not be bound. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>watching cynically and firmly taking knife from her.</i>) No. Our - father must not be in bonds, must he? But we will stop there, Ruth. It is - not Kelsall's turn just yet. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. I am not wishful to be treated differently from the rest. - </p> - <p> - GUY. No? And yet, do you know, Father-in-law Butterworth, you are going to - be. Martyrs are going cheap to-night. I have another use than martyrdom - for you. Matthew. Well, seemingly, I'm in your hands. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You are precisely in my hands, Father-in-law. What would you say now - if I let you go scot free for this? - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>half-incredulously</i>). Guy! - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. I'd say the wench had talked to you. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Yes. She has talked. And then, Butterworth? After I had let you go? - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. You want a promise from me? Well, I'll make you none until you - put away from you the abomination of machinery. I'll fight till I can - fight no more against your factories and ugliness. I'll fight for honest - craftsmanship and joy and pride in work until there's not a factory left - in the land, until we've made an end to all the makers and the users of - machines that take the weaver's handiwork away, until—— - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>holding him back as he advances towards Guy</i>). Father! Guy has - the power of life or death. You could be hanged for what you've done - to-night. - </p> - <p> - GUY. And dead men burn no factories, Butterworth. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Dead men can speak, speak from their graves back to the living, - Mr. Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY. I have told you you are not to die. You're going to live, because I - will it so. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. And ask me to submit? - </p> - <p> - GUY. I don't remember asking. I know you will submit. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. Never. - </p> - <p> - GUY. The door is there. Get out of it and go. You'll not be stayed. Go out - and show yourself alive. Go out and prove to all the valley that Guy - Barlow has the power of life or death. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. So that's the use you have for me. To show myself a coward, who—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. To show yourself sent back to life by me. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. To life! The life you send me to is not worth having. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Perhaps that's why I send you back to it. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. No. I will—— - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You will think of my mother. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Go, Butterworth. There is still work for you to do. - </p> - <p> - MATTHEW. To take my life from him! - </p> - <p> - RUTH. He will not taunt you with it, father. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>going impatiently to door and opening it</i>). Go, man, before I - change my mind, and thank your God it's you I choose to take my message - out—the message that Guy Barlow has the power to send men to the - gallows or the loom. For you, the loom. For him, the gallows. Go. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Ruth goes with Matthew to door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Go, father. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Ruth, not you. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. No. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Gently pushing Matthew out. He goes. Guy closes door, then crosses to - window and throws curtains hack. Then turns bullyingly on Martin.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY. Well, Martin Kelsall, do you like your handiwork? A pretty bonfire - for a winter's night. Look at it, Kelsall. Drink it in, for it is like to - be the last you'll see of earthly fire. They don't waste coal in jail. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. I have two things will keep me warm. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You will need them both before the hangman fits a noose about your - neck. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Two things, Guy Barlow. Hatred. Hatred of you and satisfaction for - to-night. We've made a clean sweep of your factory. - </p> - <p> - GUY. And I could almost find it in my heart to shake your dirty hand for - doing it. You've left the less to clear away before we can commence - rebuilding. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Rebuilding! - </p> - <p> - GUY. Why, did you think we'd sit down still and mourn? You will not live - to see it, Kelsall, but there will be a grand new factory in six months' - time. There'll be machines which eat up work as if they liked it. Machines - to do the work of many men. They're cunning things, those new machines. - They are not rebellious and a little child can guide them by the hand. - Kelsall, I think a factory should have a name. I shall call mine the - Phoenix Factory, because it's going to rise more glorious upon the ashes - you have sown. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Oh, you can kill me—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. And I shall. I'm not like you. I'm not afraid to kill. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. But my work will go on. - </p> - <p> - GUY. It will. And shall I tell you what that work of yours will be? Death, - Kelsall, Death and—— - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Yes, death for me, but for the others—those for whom I give - my life—there will be—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. There will be the slower death which you escape by hanging. They will - thank you for it, won't they, Kelsall? While they starve, they'll bless - your name for burning down the factory that brought them bread. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. It did not bring them bread enough for life. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Oh, some of them will live the winter through and come to work my new - looms in the spring. They'll be the strong men who survive, strong weavers - for my factory and, by the Lord, they will be meek. They will have learnt - the cost of yonder carnival. They—— - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Stop, Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY. What? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I'm telling you to stop your blasphemy. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You asked me questions, Ruth. I thought you liked to listen to my - plans. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes. I have asked you questions and I have my answer now. - </p> - <p> - GUY. True, but you interrupt me, Ruth. You interrupt my telling Mr. - Kelsall of the future which he will not be fortunate enough to see. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You are baiting a helpless man, and—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. If you prefer to go, the door is open. I've got a crow to pick with - Kelsall here. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I do not prefer to go. I told you what a woman could, I'd do to stop - your infamies. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>sneering</i>). Women can do so much. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Sometimes they can do much. Martin, I am glad that they have bound - your hands. Glad of it now, because—— - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>understanding</i>). No. No. Not that way, Ruth. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Is there another? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Yes. Loose my hands and I—— - </p> - <p> - GUY. I think not, Kelsall. So. You are Ruth and Martin to each other, are - you? And Ruth met Martin on the moors to-night. Ruth is my wife, and - Martin—Martin is—— (<i>He approaches with fist clenched - to strike.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>in front of Martin, protecting him</i>). Martin is the man I - should have married if—— - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>restraining himself with the mastery of one who feels he can take - his time</i>). If you hadn't seen a better chance in me. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. A better chance! - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>with a protective arm across his chest, watching Guy by fire, - over her shoulder</i>). Yes, Martin, for it was a chance. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN (<i>bitterly</i>) What have you made of it? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Oh, in the end it comes to this. Could it have come to any other - thing? - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. We might have had this time together, Ruth. Some sort of - happiness, some little sort. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I've had some happiness with him. The sort of happiness you have - when you're asleep. I loved him in my sleep, and in my dreams he seemed a - proper man to love. But you—you've had no happiness. You have been - lonely, Martin, lonely and cold and hungry. You should have had me working - with you all this while. I've been a traitor to you in my sleep. But now—now - I am awake and in the death to which they'll make you go, you shall be - stainless to the end. And in their hearts you'll live again—the man - who planned and did and died upon a gallows for the people's sake. I will - keep you pure for that, my Martin. I——- - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>from fire</i>). I am being very patient, Ruth. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>to Martin, not turning</i>). You see, I've had my happiness, so - it is right that I should pay. (<i>She turns to Guy.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY. So? You have finished your farewell? - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes, Guy, it is all over now. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>suddenly ferocious</i>). Then come here, Ruth. Come here and - scream. Scream loudly, Ruth, or I shall cheat the hangman of his prey - before they drag me off. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>between them</i>) You shall not touch him, Guy. A fettered man. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Shan't! Shall I not? Come to me, Ruth, I tell you. Come away. I'm - master here. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes. You are master here where your father was. And if you die, your - father would be master still. - </p> - <p> - GUY. You are standing in my way. - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Your father's merciful and you—you shall not have your - vengeance, Guy. The hard, hard laws will take revenge and men will pay in - blood and tears and life for what they've done to-night. You shall not - make the women pay in agony. (<i>She takes pistol from table and points.</i>) - You shall not starve the valley, Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY. So. That is what you mean. The pistol's loaded, and your aim is true. - (<i>He comes round table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH. I do not shake with hunger, Guy. - </p> - <p> - GUY. Not by my death nor by a hundred deaths of such as me will you delay - the spread of factories. They will go on—go on—I may not see - it, but—— (<i>He leaps.</i>) - </p> - <p> - RUTH. You will not see it, Guy. (<i>She fires.</i>) And I—I only see - the valley here and you who would be master of their lives. - </p> - <p> - GUY (<i>falling</i>). You—you've got me, Ruth. - </p> - <p> - RUTH (<i>dropping pistol</i>). The plans. The plans. (<i>She burns plans - in fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - GUY. Ruth! - </p> - <p> - RUTH. Yes. (<i>By him.</i>) I have killed the man I loved. Lest he became - the beast I'd hate. - </p> - <p> - MARTIN. Ruth! For God's sake, loose my hands. Ruth (<i>looking at Guy</i>). - Good-bye, Martin. They will be coming for me now. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Captain Lascelles, Ephraim and John are seen in the doorway.</i>) - </p> - <h3> - CURTAIN. - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ZACK - </h2> - <h3> - CHARACTERS. - </h3> - <p> - PAUL Munning. - </p> - <p> - Zachariah Munning. - </p> - <p> - JOE Wrigley. - </p> - <p> - James Abbott. - </p> - <p> - THOMAS Mowatt - </p> - <p> - HARRY Shoebridge - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA Cavender. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA Wrigley. - </p> - <p> - SALLY Teale - </p> - <p> - Act I.—<i>Mrs. Munnings Parlour—an afternoon in early June</i>. - </p> - <p> - Act II.—<i>The Refreshment Room—morning a fortnight later</i>. - </p> - <p> - Act III.—<i>Mrs. Munnings Parlour—evening a month later.</i> - </p> - <p> - In the Village of Little Hulton, Lancashire. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT I. - </h2> - <p> - <i>The parlour in Mrs. Munning's house, the window of which looks out to a - bowling green. The room is furnished with chairs and sofa, upholstered in - horsehair. It is not quite shabby, but well used. The ornaments crowded on - the mantelpiece are Mid-Victorian survivals. There is a bookshelf on the - wall above the bureau. The wall-paper is flowered; there is no gas, but - lamp on table. In the window is a small model in plaster of a - wedding-cake. It should be quite small and unostentatious. Men's coats are - hung behind door. The light is of a spring afternoon.</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>As the curtain rises, Mrs. Munning, who is fifty-five and hard - featured, is dusting the ornaments on the mantel. She is in her best - clothes, which are black, protected by a dirty apron. She looks at the - clock impatiently. It strikes four. She goes to window and looks out. She - mutters, "And time too" and goes to door. She opens it and speaks through - it.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Get a move on, now. Take your things off in there and come - along quick. - </p> - <p> - SALLY (<i>off</i>). Yes, Mrs. Munning. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Hurry up when I tell you. This is a nice time of day to - come. - </p> - <p> - SALLY (<i>entering, a pretty, country girl of eighteen in print frock</i>). - You told me to come o' Thursday and Thursday <i>'</i>tis. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. It's been Thursday a long time. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. You never said no hour. And mother said to me, she says—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Never mind what she said. You take hold of that duster and - let me see you shape. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Yes, Mrs. Munning. (<i>She takes it and dusts at mantel.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Take care of those ornaments now, Sally. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Now don't you fret yourself. I'm not the breaking sort. You can - stop my wages for all I'm like to break. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That's of course. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. I was telling you. Mother, she says to me, you stay at home for - your dinner, she says, and that'll save Mrs. Munning a bit; and I stayed - willing because we'd trotters to-day and they're a dish that I've a relish - for. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You could have gone home to your dinner. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. And I couldn't. Not when I'd once begun with you. Meals and all, - you said, and a bargain's a bargain. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well, you should have come this morning. Leaving me all to - do. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Mother didn't know you were in a hurry. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. She ought to, then. I told her. I told her that when Miss - Cavender came this afternoon I wanted her to take you for a regular maid. - And don't you forget it neither, Sally, and go giving it away you're not - always here. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Suppose she asks me, Mrs. Munning? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. If you'll shape properly, she'll never think but what you're - regular. That's what I wanted you early for. To run you round and show you - the ways of the house. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Eh, but I don't need showing. Didn't I spring-clean for you last - year? I'll manage easy. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You'll have to now. And don't come asking me where things - are kept, not when Miss Cavender can hear you ask. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Oh, don't you worry, Mrs. Munning. If any one gives it away to Miss - Cavender that I've not been here for years and years, it'll not be me. - Find my way about a strange house blindfold, I can. It's a natural gift. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul Munning enters, a man of thirty, well-built, but with meanness - stamped upon an otherwise not unattractive face. He wears light clothes - with a grey bowler hat, and a buttonhole.</i>) - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Here's Mr. Paul. Good-afternoon, sir. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul grunts. Mrs. Munning turns.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Has she come yet? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Not yet. Have you——? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul indicates Sally.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Um. This room will do now, Sally. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. It will, though I says it that did it. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Did you! I fancied I did it myself. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. You did the rough, Mrs. Munning, but I always say it's the - finishing touch that counts with dusting and I reckon I did that. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well, now you can go to the kitchen and get the kettle on - for tea. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. You'll be having your tea in here, won't you? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Yes. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. All right. You needn't raise a hand to it. I'll see to everything. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally goes out.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. She's a Miss Know-all, she is. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Won't she do? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. She'll have to do. Virginia's got to think we keep a maid, - and Sally's the only one who'd come at our price. - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>sitting, gloomily</i>). It's great expense. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. No helping that. It's got to be. We can't have Virginia - going home and telling all her aunt's too poor to keep a servant. Did you - get that order? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. No. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Not Taylor's? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Wilson, of Norton Parva, is catering for Mrs. Taylor's wedding. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You mean to say that Wilson got there first? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. He hadn't been. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Then how's he got the order? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. He's going to get it. It's the same old tale. They'd heard our - weddings aren't as pleasant as they used to be. Knew we were nearest, but - they thought they'd give Wilson a chance. A good ten pounds gone from us - there. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well, I don't know. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. And I don't know. If I knew I'd alter it. We're doing things no - different from what we always did, and yet it's got about our style's gone - off. It's not gone off. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'm sure it's not. What do they say? Do they tell you - anything? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Folks with a wedding in their house are too uplifted to say much. - They don't explain. What I make out is we're not so hearty as we used to - be. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Hearty? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I've heard it said so. God knows what it means. I'm sure I try to be - hearty. It's prejudice, and nothing else. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. And word's passed round against us. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Seems so. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. It's very bad, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Bad? Don't I know it's bad? Couldn't be worse if it tried. We'll - have the shutters up altogether at this rate. The joinery business doesn't - keep us alive, and if the catering goes to ruin, we'll go along with it. - That's all. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That's all, is it? Can't you up and fight it? You're losing - heart. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Enough to make me, too. You can fight a thing you see, but you can't - fight a prejudice. It's like hitting air. I tell you what, mother, this is - no time to have a guest, and a guest that calls for a servant. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. We can't afford to lose a chance. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Chance of what? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. There's money in that family, and when my sister writes to - me and says Virginia's not been well and needs the country air, I say it's - folly not to have her here, cost what it may. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. There's money and they'll keep it to themselves. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'm not the one to go expecting much, but you never know, - and it <i>'</i>ud be no more than sisterly of Annie to remember me in her - will. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Oh well, she's coming and we're in for it. How long before we see - the back of her? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. The doctor told her mother it'll take a month to put her - right. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. A month! A month! Good Lord! There's Sally at six shillings a week - wages, that's one pound four, and as much again for keep, is two pounds - eight, and Virginia an invalid <i>'</i>ll cost—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. She's not an invalid. She's just run down. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I know, and the Lord knows what it'll cost in fancy goods to wind - her up. You'll see no change from five pounds for this affair. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I say it's worth it. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. And I hope you're right. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. We'll see. You'd better change your clothes now, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Change? What for? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. When I married your father I married a joiner and I didn't - see cause to tell our Annie that he couldn't make ends meet till I turned - to and made a catering business for him as well, me being apprenticed to - the confectionery when he came courting me. I didn't tell them and I - haven't told to this day. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Yes, but if the girl's to stay a month she's bound to know it soon - or late. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Then let her know it late. There's a lot in first - impressions. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Why, there's Mr. Abbott's wedding-party tomorrow. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That's not to-day, is it? And we'll send her for a walk - to-morrow with Zack, out of the way. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. About all he's fit for. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You get your gay clothes changed, - </p> - <p> - PAUL, or she'll ask questions at once. I've tea to see to now. (<i>Opening - door.</i>) Sally! - </p> - <p> - SALLY (<i>appearing with folded cloth</i>). Now it's all right, Mrs. - Munning. I'm finding all I want. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul goes out. Sally unfolds and lays on table a ragged white cloth.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. What do you call that? - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Tea-cloth, isn't it? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Yes, for the kitchen. I've got one here for this room. (<i>She - opens drawer in table and takes out cloth.</i>) - </p> - <p> - SALLY (<i>watching</i>). Oh! Company cloth, like. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Take the other back. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally is going.</i>) - </p> - <p> - And here, Sally. - </p> - <p> - SALLY (<i>turning</i>). Yes, Mrs. Munning. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>going to window, getting the wedding-cake model</i>). - Take this with you and put it in the dresser drawer. Sally. The dresser - drawer! - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. And mind you close it. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Well I—— Oh, I see. You're hiding it. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. We don't want Miss Cavender to be learning everything at - once. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. A nod's as good as a wink to me. I'm mum. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally goes out, with model and cloth, nodding sagely. Mrs. Munning - carefully spreads the new cloth on table, putting the lamp on the bureau. - Sally re-enters with tray, which she places on the table with a flourish. - Mrs. Munning surveys the tray.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That'll not do, Sally. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. What's wrong now? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You mustn't bring in the loaf like that. I want cut bread - and butter. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Oh, well I call that making work, especially with a loaf like that, - all over nobbly bits of crust that's twice as sweet to eat for tearing - off. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. And that cress? - </p> - <p> - SALLY (<i>bridling</i>). Well? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. It's for cress sandwiches. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Oh? I didn't see no ham nor nothink. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Cress sandwiches, Sally. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. How can they be sandwiches without there's meat? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Can you cut them or must I do it myself? - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Can I? Of course I can. But I call it a finicky way of doing - things. Making a nuisance of a simple job like eating cress. What are - fingers for? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That will do, Sally. I want no grumbling. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally takes up loaf and cress.</i>) - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Grumbling? There never was nobody less of a grumbler than me. I - only speak my mind. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well, you get along and cut that bread up now. I want things - looking nice. Lord I If that isn't the fly now. Quick, Sally! Put those - plates down in yonder and get back to the door. (<i>She hustles Sally out. - By the door she takes off her apron, and pitches it through door.</i>) - Hang that up sometime. Come along, now. Get to the front door. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally re-enters.</i>) - </p> - <p> - SALLY. It's all right, Mrs. Munning. Don't you get yourself into a tear. - There's another day to-morrow. (<i>Sally crosses to front door and exit.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. Munning becomes very much the lady of leisure. She pats her hair, - takes a book from shelf and sits in arm-chair, reading. Sally re-enters - with Virginia, a well-dressed girl of the urban type with plenty of high - spirits and some little indication of recent illness.</i>) - </p> - <p> - SALLY. The young lady's here. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally remains, an interested spectator.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>marking her place in the book, and rising</i>). Well, so - this is Virginia. How you've grown! - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. How are you, Aunt Elizabeth? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'm strong and hearty, child. It's you that's not. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Oh, I'm all right now, aunt. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You're pale. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. But not for long in this air of yours. There isn't much the - matter with me. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Your mother wrote a different tale from that. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Mother's a dear old fuss. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. How is she? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. She's splendid, thanks. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well, give Sally your coat and sit down. Virginia. Thanks. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally takes her coat, then stands examining it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That's right. And now, Virginia—— - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Jenny, please, aunt. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Jenny! - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Virginia's no name to live with. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well, as you like. Why don't you sit? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I didn't pay the flyman. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. As if we'd let you! It'll be a pleasure to Paul to see to - that. You'll remember Paul? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Very vaguely. As a tiny boy. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. He's a big man now. He'll be helping the flyman up with your - boxes, only we don't hear them because this house is so extraordinarily - well-built you can't hear sounds in it at all. It's a perfect refuge of - peace. Just what you want to cure your nerves with quiet and—— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Several loud bumps are heard above. Mrs. Munning looks disconcerted.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>quickly</i>). I'm afraid my box is very heavy. Mrs. Munning (<i>recovering</i>). - Oh, Paul won't mind. He's wonderfully strong. Will you have tea now or - would you rather go to your room first? Sally shall show you. Virginia (<i>rising</i>). - Thank you. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>speaking at Sally</i>). Our guest room is directly over - here. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Virginia nods and goes out.</i>) - </p> - <p> - SALLY. That's your room, Mrs. Munning. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You keep that to yourself. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally nods, and goes out after Virginia. Mrs. Munning fusses a moment - at the tea tablet then suddenly thinking, goes to the window and opens it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Calling softly</i>). Zack! Zack! Zack! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul enters. He has changed to a brown suit of country cut.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. What do you want Zack for? (<i>He speaks at her back.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>turning violently</i>). Eh? Oh, it's you. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Yes. What's to do? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I've had so much on hand with that Sally turning up so late - that it slipped my mind about Zack. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. What about Zack? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I've forgotten to warn him. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Warn? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. About the catering, and Sally and so on. If we don't make it - as plain to him as Monday's dinner he'll give us away in the inside of two - minutes. You know what Zack is. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I'd leave him alone. He's safer out of the way than in it. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That'll not do. He'll chose the best wrong time for turning - up. Trust Zack for doing something awkward. - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>going l.</i>). I'll have a look round. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. As like as not the wastrel's sleeping somewhere. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Or reading in a book. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'll give him read. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Sally</i>). - </p> - <p> - You've been a fine time showing Miss Cavender her room. (<i>Exit Paul.</i>) - </p> - <p> - SALLY. I've been helping her undo her box, Mrs. Munning. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Trust you for prying, I suppose. Sally. I didn't look before - she asked me. But when I did, I saw some sights. The ironing she'll make. - Frills! They're the width of my hand and more. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>angrily</i>). Will you go into the kitchen and get those - sandwiches cut? - </p> - <p> - SALLY. I'm going. (<i>She gets to door, then turns.</i>) But I'll tell you - this much, Mrs. Munning, that there'll be a row of eyes on washing day - a-watching me hang Miss Cavender's underlinen on the line. This village - hasn't seen such sights before. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You mind your own business in there and don't waste time. - I'll ring for tea. (<i>She pushes Sally out, then goes to window.</i>) - Can't you find him, Paul? Paul. Not yet. (<i>He is outside window.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Best leave it, then. If he's asleep he may sleep on till - after tea and then we'll tell him quietly. Paul. What! Zack sleep while - there's eating going on? Mrs. Munning. We'll have to chance it, Paul. I - want you here when she comes down wherever Zack may be. You didn't see her - upstairs? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. No. Dodged her. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That's right. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul comes from window and enters by door. Mrs. Munning closes window, - and then arranges table again, fussily.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>grumbling</i>). Tea in here. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Why, of course. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul sits sulkily in arm-chair, legs outstretched, hands in pocket.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. It's a sight more comfortable in the kitchen. This is a foul upset - of all our ways. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Wait till you see Virginia. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I don't need seeing her. I carried up her traps and that's enough to - tell me all I want to know. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. A girl must have clothes, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I'd rather carry them than pay for them, that's true. A dressed-up, - peeked and pampered town girl with a head full of fancies and—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'm sure she isn't peeked. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Oh? Isn't she ill, or was her mother lying? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. She's been ill and she's getting better now. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. That's worse. She'll eat us out of house and home Convalescents - always eat like elephants. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I wish you'd think ahead. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I do. To the grocer's bills she'll make. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well, you think to something a bit more pleasant that'll - bring a smile to your face. You've a sour look on you sometimes. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Enough to make me sour, too. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I've told you why she's here. It's not because I love her, - nor her mother neither, but there's money at that end of the family and - I'm a believer in keeping on the sweet side of rich relations and giving - Providence a friendly lead. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I can look pleasant all right when I'm being photographed with a - wedding-group, but looking pleasant for a month on end! It'll take some - doing, I give you my word. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Virginia enters in a light spring frock. Paul rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. This is Paul, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I'm very glad to see you, Cousin Paul. It's a long time since we - met. - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>not ungraciously</i>). I don't remember meeting you at all. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>up to bureau, from which she gets a large old-fashioned - portrait album</i>). Don't you? I'll show you when you met. Sit down, - Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>sitting</i>). Thanks. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>sitting by her with the album. Paul stands behind</i>). - I've got you both in this album. Taken together. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Oh? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. Munning finds the photograph.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Oh yes. Mother has one of that at home. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. It was taken at your house. Look at it, Paul. Weren't you a - loving pair? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Is that me? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That's you. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Don't you look funny? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You a baby and me a little lad. No wonder I'd forgotten it. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You've both come on a bit since then. Ring the bell for tea, - Paul. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul looks surprised, then rings.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>turning over leaves</i>). Is this Paul, too? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Yes. Paul at five. (<i>Turning</i>). And there he is at ten, - and there at twelve and—— - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes. But haven't I another cousin, Aunt Elizabeth? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Yes. Yes, but—— - </p> - <p> - PAUL. He makes a bad photograph. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Some people do. But they are often all the better in the flesh. - Will he be in to tea? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well—— - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Isn't he at home? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally enters with tea, sandwiches, etc.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Oh yes. But we're very busy in the joiner's shop just now. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally stops short and looks at him.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Come along, Sally. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Oh, dear! But of course I'm glad to know your business does so - well. I mean I suppose it does if my cousin is too busy to come in to tea. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. We'll send for him. Sally, tell Mr. Zachary to come. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Mr. Zachary? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Yes. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Do you mean Zack? - </p> - <p> - Mrs Munning. Tell Mr. Zachary tea's ready and his cousin's come. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. But I don't know where he is. He's such a one for getting into - holes and corners and—— - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You can find him, can't you? - </p> - <p> - SALLY. I can try. And I'll start with his bed, and all. It's ten to one - he's lying on it. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Sally, he's—— - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Are you finding him or am I? Because if it's me, I'll look in the - likeliest place first. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Sally.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You mustn't expect town courtesy from our country servants, - Jenny. May I give you sugar? Virginia. One lump, please. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. And cream? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Thanks. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Paul, Jenny's cup. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul hands it clumsily. While they are occupied the door opens, and - Zack enters. He is younger than Paul, but neglect makes him look - middle-aged. He wears spectacles and a beard and is dressed shabbily with - a carpenter's apron on. Under his left arm is the wedding-cake model.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I knew that was the smell of tea-time, but what are we having it in - here for? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Zack, don't you see your cousin? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. Munning pours tea, etc. Virginia rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Why, if I'd not forgotten all about her. I am a careless chap. Do - you know, Miss Virginia, I forgot to come in to dinner one day last week. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. That doesn't often happen. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. It <i>'</i>ud better not, neither. Gives you a nasty sinking feel - towards tea-time to go without your dinner. Well, how are you, Miss - Virginia? I'm pleased to meet you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Till now Virginia has stood slightly embarrassed and amused. He comes - forward now, and Virginia puts out her hand.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You'll wash your hand before you touch Jenny's. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Maybe I ought. I'm not so frequent at the soap as I might be. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I think we'll shake hands as you are. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Will you? That's hearty. - </p> - <p> - (<i>They shake hands. Virginia sits, Zack is about to.</i>) - </p> - <p> - But——- Oh, Lord! - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. What is it? - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>fingering his coat</i>). I'm not dressed up for a parlour tea. I—— - Eh? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul is taking the model from under Zack's arm.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Oh, yes. Do you know where I found that? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Put it down. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>up to window with it</i>). I'll put it in its place. But do you - know where I found it? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Never mind, Zack. It doesn't matter. (<i>To Jenny.</i>) It's - only a little window ornament, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>imperviously</i>). I found that on the kitchen dresser. Picked it - up as I came through. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally enters. Mrs. Munning's feelings get too much for her. She rises - to meet Sally. Paul sees and distracts Virginia's attention.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Will you have more bread and butter, Jenny? Virginia. Thank you, - Paul. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. I can't find—— (<i>Seeing Zack.</i>) Oh, there you are! - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>to Sally</i>). I told you to put that model in the - dresser drawer. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. And you told me to cut sandwiches and bread and I've one pair of - hands and not a hundred. I left it atop till I'd a minute to spare, and if - it's not where I left it some one's moved it. It didn't walk. - </p> - <p> - (<i>She crosses speaking and exit. Mrs. Munning returns speechlessly to - her seat.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well, I'll change my coat and chance it. - </p> - <p> - (<i>He changes to a slightly less old coat which hangs behind the door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Parlour ways is parlour ways. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I do hope you're not going to make a stranger of me, Aunt - Elizabeth. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. And that's no use in here. (<i>Taking off the apron,</i>) Paul. - You'll have to make allowances for Zack, Jenny. Virginia. Is he a little——? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. We don't let it go beyond the family, of course. Virginia. I hope - I'm one of you. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. He was born lazy. That's what's the matter. Zack (<i>returning to - table, sitting and eating. Zack can talk and eat at once</i>). I've done a - job of work to-day and chance it. Mended that pig-stye at Ballbrook farm. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Did you? I daresay there was all of ten minutes' work in that. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Took me a couple of hour. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Then I hoped you charged according. Zack. I charged a - shilling. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. For a couple of hour! It's worth half a crown. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I charged what I thought fair. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. What you——! Oh well, it's done now. - </p> - <p> - Where's the shilling? - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>feeling</i>). Oh, it's in my other coat. (<i>He is about to rise.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. All right. All right. That'll do later. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. But I can see I've done wrong thing again. It's like this, Miss - Virginia, there's some folk born to do right. They can't do the wrong - thing if they tried. Like mother and Paul. I'm different. It's just the - other way with me. I can't do right. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You never spoke a truer word. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Same time, you know, I have my use. Oh yes, I've got a use. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I haven't noticed it. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'll tell you then. Suppose a thing goes wrong. - </p> - <p> - They do sometimes. Very well. It couldn't be Paul and it couldn't be you, - because you're born the other way. It's always me. You don't need to look - round for some one to put the blame on. You know it's me. And that's a - sort of use now, isn't it? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Is it? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Think of the time it saves. I'm always handy to be cussed at. Like a - cat, you know. Some folks keep a cat or a dog, and when their feelings get - too much to hold, they kick the cat. Well, I'm the cat in this house. (<i>He - speaks entirely without bitterness. It is all accepted fact.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You sleep like one, but a cat's more use than you. You don't catch - mice. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I eat more, too. And that's a thing I've tried to master and I - can't. You'd be surprised the way I've tried to fight my appetite. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. It's news to me. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I own it didn't show. It beat me every time Eating agrees with me. - That's where it is. I'm a natural-born eater and I can't go against - nature. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You needn't talk about it. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. No. But it's like my other ways. It can't be hid. I'm eating now in - the parlour as hearty as if it were in the kitchen. And that's not right, - is it? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I don't know. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Parlour's for eating like you didn't mean it, and only played with - food to pass the time. I wish I could pretend with food. But the habit's - got too strong a hold on me for that. I'll never be a gentleman. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That'll do, Zack. Talking about yourself with your mouth - full. Jenny's heard quite enough. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. What would you like to do after tea, Jenny? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Anything you like. I must just write to mother first to tell her - I got here all right. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Of course. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. What time does the post go? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Six o'clock. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I'd better write at once. Then I shall be quite at your - disposal, cousin. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I thought you and mother might go out. The country's looking quite - like spring. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I've noticed the celandine's in bud. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Are you too tired for a walk, Jenny? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Not at all. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Then Paul shall take you. Youth with youth. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I'm rather busy at the works. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Works! And busy! - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>silencing him</i>). Yes, busy. So if you'll excuse me now——— - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Of course. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well! that's a oner. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I'll just clear off my work as quickly as I can. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Paul.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. That'll not take long. Busy! - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Paul's busy if you're not. Hadn't you better go and help - him? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. There's no wurk in to help him at. We've never been so slack. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. It's there if you'll go and look for it, and stop making an - exhibition of your laziness to your cousin. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I haven't finished my tea. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Every one else has. It's not our fault you came in late. - Will you write your letter here, Jenny? (<i>Indicates bureau.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I have notepaper upstairs, aunt. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. And you don't use it in this house. We can run to a sheet of - notepaper, I should hope. Oh, I was thinking—— (<i>She opens - the portrait album.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. No, there's a better one than that. I'll get it for you. I - thought you might like to send your mother a photograph of Paul. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I'm sure she'll like to have it, aunt. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Yes. I'll run upstairs and get it you. I've one up there - that's better than any of these. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Mrs. Munning.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. There's queer things happening here to-day, Miss Virginia. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Are there? Why do you call me Miss Virginia? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You're not a married woman, are you? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Of course not. But I don't call you Mr. Zachary. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Nor nobody else neither. Mr. Zachary! I'd not know who you meant. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Why don't you call me Jenny, like the others do? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'm not same as the others, you see. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. You're my cousin just as much as Paul is. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I suppose that's true. There's funny things in nature, too. By gum, - there are. To think of the likes of me being own cousin to the likes of - you. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. So you'll call me Jenny. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'd <i>like</i> to, if you think it's quite respectful. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Bother respect. I'm Jenny and you're Zack, and that's settled. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well, I never thought—eh, but we're getting on champion, - Jenny. I'm still a bit worried in my mind, though. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Not about my name? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Oh no. Settled's settled. It's, well—this for a start. (<i>He - takes up the model.</i>) What did mother want to hide it away for? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. What is it, Zack? - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>holding it towards her</i>). You can see what it is. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. A wedding cake? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Aye, but you wouldn't thank me for a slice of this. It's plaster. - How are folks to know we are caterers unless they can see that in the - window? It's like keeping a pub and putting your sign away. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. But I thought you were joiners. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. We crack to be because joinery was father's trade. But it's mother's - trade we mostly live by. She's a masterpiece at cooking, only the business - isn't thriving. Wedding spreads are the best part of it. Folk are a bit - slow at getting wed, some road. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I don't think aunt wanted me to know about this, Zack. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. She's no cause to hide it, then. Father was a bit like me, not much - inclined to work, and I reckon I'm proud of my mother for working for two. - But things aren't what they were. Folks won't spend like they used to. - They buy furniture instead of feasting so much. And our weddings have a - bad name, too. I don't know how it is. I'm sure Paul tries. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. And do you go to them? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Not now, with things so bad. I used to go until my clothes wore out—well, - they weren't mine at all properly speaking. They were father's when he was - alive and then I had them, but I'm hard on clothes somehow. I'm a great - expense all ways there are, with being a big eater and all. And when my - dress coat gave out at the seams and got that shiny you could see your - face in it, mother wouldn't buy me another, and so I don't go now. It's - been a sorrow to me, too. I used to take a lot of pleasure in seeing - others enjoy themselves. But I wasn't any use, not real use, like Paul. I - couldn't boss things like he does. I just was there and tried to tell the - old maids that their day would come. But I couldn't even do my fair share - of waiting because of a weakness that I have. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. A weakness! Zack, it isn't—— - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Oh, no. Not that. I'm a teetotaller, Jenny. I get that worked up - with the hearty feeling of it that I break the plates. My hand's unsteady. - (<i>Takes plates from table.</i>) See! That's steady enough? Yes, but get - me waiting at a table full of wedding guests and it seems I've got to - break the plates to show my pleasure. And it's not wilful. It's not - indeed. It's just anxiety to do things right that makes me do them wrong. - Mother's quite right. I'm not a bit of good, but I do miss the outings all - the same. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Poor Zack. I really must get to my letter now, and I think I'll - go upstairs after all. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'm not driving you away? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Of course you're not. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. Munning enters r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'm sorry I've been so long, Jenny, I couldn't lay my hands - on the one I wanted. There it is. (<i>Giving photograph.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Oh! It's very good of him. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I think your mother will be glad to see it. . - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes. (<i>She isn't interested, and puts the photograph on the - table.</i>) I was just going upstairs to write. It will be quieter in my - room. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Has Zack been talking to you? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I did a bit. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Oh, then I'm not surprised you want some quiet for a change. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I thought I'd not be interrupted there. I won't be long. (<i>Going.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You're forgetting the photograph. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I'm sorry, aunt. I was thinking of the other things I had to say - to mother. (<i>She glances at Zack and goes out.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>reflectively, looking after her</i>). I'd give something - to know what she's saying about our Paul in that letter. (<i>She turns.</i>) - Why isn't the table cleared? Couldn't you stir yourself to ring the bell - for Sally? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I didn't know I ought. A servant girl's a novelty to me. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You didn't let that out to Jenny? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Let what out? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Why, that Sally isn't always here. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I don't remember that we mentioned her at all. Aren't we to let that - out? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Of course we're not, you moon-struck natural! What do you - think she's here for? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well, I dunno. Unless she's here to do the work that Jenny makes. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Work I I'd do all Jenny makes with one hand tied behind me. - Sally's here for show, but I'll watch she does some work as well. And I've - a word to say to her about that model there. And you as well. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Yes, mother. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'll see her first. You can wait. Your time's worth nothing - and I'm paying her for hers. Now don't you dare to stir from here till I - come back. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. No, mother. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Mrs. Munning. Zack stands stock-still for a minute, then his eye - catches the last piece of bread and butter. Tempted, he falls and gets it. - Then tiptoes to a chair, takes one large bite out of the slice, gets - sleepy, half raises the slice for another bite, lets his hand drop and - settles as if to sleep. A knock at the door. Zack half-hearst but decides - not to move. The knock repeated. This time he does not hear at all. Martha - Wrigley opens the door, and puts a timid head round it. She enters shyly, - half child, half woman of eighteent slovenly and down at heel. She carries - a dress suit over her arm. She sees Zack and stops.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Oh! Zack! - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Eh? (<i>He rouses slowly, not as if from sleep, but from sloth.</i>) - Who's there? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. It's Martha Wrigley. And if you please I knocked, and knocked, and - nobody came and so—— - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>stirring lazily in his chair</i>). Just when I had a moment for a - bit of rest. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I'm sorry, Zack. I am sorry. Only I had to make somebody hear, - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>noticing the bread in his hand, and finishing it</i>). It needn't - have been me. I can't tell you anything. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA (<i>matter of fact, without malice</i>). No. I know you're nobody - here. But you can tell them that are somebody. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Tell 'em what? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Oh, Zack, we're in such trouble at home. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>sitting up straight with ready sympathy</i>). What's to do, - Martha? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I don't know what Mrs. Munning will say. It's my father, Zack. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. What's he done? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. He's fallen down and broke his arm and he won't be able to wait at - the wedding to-morrow. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Joe Wrigley's broke his arm! Well, there's carelessness for you. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Yes. Please, he knows it's careless of him and he'll lose the - half-a-crown he gets from you for waiting, and we did need that half-crown - so bad. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>rising</i>). You'd better see my mother, Martha. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Couldn't you tell her, Zack. She'll be so mad. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>shaking head</i>). It's not a job I'm pining for. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. We've done our best. I've brought my father's suit for some one - else to wear. And Zack—— (<i>She puts the clothes on a chair.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Nay. This is getting too much for me. I'll fetch my mother. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Yes, but Zack—— - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. We did so hope that Mrs. Munning would see her way to paying - father all the same. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Paying him when he's not there! - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. He would be if he could. We do need his money that bad. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You'll not get owt from mother. Nothing for nothing's her way of - seeing things. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. There's been so little lately with you having so few parties. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You'll get none out of mother. That's a certain fact. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA (<i>blubbering</i>). And I was so looking forward to a bite of - meat. We've not seen butcher's meat at our house not for a month and more. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>really hit where he's soft</i>). My word, that's bad, Martha. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. And me anæmic too, and never can get food enough to satisfy me. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Not food enough! - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I'm always hungry, and this did look a chance of getting my teeth - into a bit of meat at last. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well, I dunno. That's very bad. (<i>He looks at coat behind door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. You try it and you'd know. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Look here, Martha. This'll get me into trouble, but I got a shilling - to-day at Ballbrook Farm, and if it's any use to you well—dang it, - mother can't kill me. Here it is—(<i>He goes to coat, gets shilling, - and brings it to her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>She takes it and expresses thanks, mostly by crying on his shoulder.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Oh, Mr. Zack. You are the good one. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. There! There! There I There! There! Don't take on so. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Oh! - </p> - <p> - (<i>She kisses him. Mrs. Munning enters.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>grimly sarcastic</i>). Oh? When's the wedding, Zack? - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>humouring her</i>). Oh, I dunno. In about a month, eh, Martha? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You're fool enough for anything. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>seriously</i>). I was only consoling her a bit. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. If you want to console young women with your arm around - their waists, my lad, you'll not be long for this house. You've enough bad - habits now without beginning new ones. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Martha was a bit upset, mother. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. It <i>'</i>ud be a bad case that called for you to set it - right. What is it, Martha? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Father's broke his arm and he can't wait tomorrow, and I've - brought his clothes, and, please Mrs. Munning, he's very sorry. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Sorry! Here! Paul! Paul! (<i>Opens door.</i>) Paul! - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>off</i>). Coming. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. And you consoled her for a thing like that! Console! I'd use - a stick and—— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul enters.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. What is it, mother? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. A nice upset, that's what it is. Joe Wrigley's gone and - broke his arm when we wanted him tomorrow. - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>savagely</i>). The meddling fool! Disturbing our arrangements. - How dare he break his arm? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Please, Mr. Paul, he didn't mean to. It was an accident. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Accident! Didn't he know it was Mr. Abbott's wedding to-morrow? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Yes, sir. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Then he shouldn't have an accident. You go and tell your father he's - engaged by me to-morrow and if he doesn't come and do his job, he'll get - no more work from us. You understand? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. But father can't wait to-morrow with a broken arm. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. That's not my fault. I didn't break it. You tell him what I said. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA (<i>turning, then</i>). Then you won't be paying him his money, - sir? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. What? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Paying him! I like your impudence - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You'd better go home, Martha. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Yes, Mr. Zack (<i>Crying.</i>) But I am so—— - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>his arm about her</i>). There! There! (<i>Leading her towards - door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Keep your hands off the girl, Zack. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I was only consoling her a bit. (<i>He opens r. door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Then don't do it. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. No, mother. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Martha.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. This is' a pretty how do you do. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Confound Joe Wrigley. I don't know where to get another man at such - short notice. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. And labour scarce, and all. Can you manage it with a man - short? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Zack shyly approaches the clothes on chair and, not lifting them, - fingers them lovingly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. No, I can't. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You'll have to get somebody to-night, then. That's all. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. If I can. It's going to take some doing to find a steady man. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Paul! - </p> - <p> - PAUL. What's the matter? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Could I go? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You! - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'd dearly love to. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You're no use. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I know my hands are awkward, but I will try, Paul. I'll try so hard - not to break anything. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. He'd be better than nothing, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I doubt it. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Give me another chance. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I gave you chance on chance. You're more trouble than you're worth. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'm not worth anything, and nobody knows it more than me. But - couldn't I go this once, just to fill up? I'll be so careful, Paul. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. It's saving a man's wages for the day. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. It's not a saving if he makes a mess of things. Our catering's got - bad name enough without our making bad to worse. He's got no proper - clothes. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'll wear Joe Wrigley's willing. (<i>He goes to them.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Joe Wrigley's a big man. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Can I try them, Paul? Do let me try them on. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Well, you can try, and show us what sort of a lout you look. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Oh, hurrah! (<i>He jerks his coat off and fastens on the clothes.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. It's the best road out, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. A rotten best. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>putting on the dress coat. It is far too large for him</i>). It - will be splendid to be wearing black again. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. It's only for to-morrow, mind. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul does not yet turn to look at Zack.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Joe Wrigley's out of it six weeks or more. Paul. Joe - Wrigley's finished himself with me. Zack can go to-morrow till I've time - to look round. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Suppose I'm not so bad to-morrow, Paul? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Supposing pigs <i>'</i>ull fly. Let's have a look at you. Good Lord! - Hold the trousers to you and let us know the worst. Now, I ask you—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I can tack the bottoms up, Paul, and the rest is not so bad. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Virginia. She has a hat on and her letter in her hand.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I've finished my—— Oh, Zack, you do look funny. - </p> - <h3> - CURTAIN. - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT II. - </h2> - <p> - <i>Morning a fortnight later. The Scene is the refreshment-room attached - to Mrs. Munning's house. Walls whitewashed, roof of glass. Long deal table - at the lower end of which Paul sits writing a letter. Ink and a few papers - on the table. In one corner is a quantity of cane-bottomed chairs. Below - them, another table. Centre is a knife-cleaning machine, which badly needs - oil. Knives on table. At the machine Zack stands in shirt-sleeves and - apron. He is not energetic and turns lazily with many glances towards - Paul. He sees Paul look at him and his efforts increase for a moment. Paul - seals and stamps envelope and crosses to house door. Zack, left alone, - mops his brow and sits. A low knock at the street door. Zack rises - promptly and opens door with the air of a conspirator. Martha Wrigley is - there.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You've just come at the right time. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Martha enters, but stays by door. Zack hurries behind the chairs and - returns with a small newspaper parcel which he gives Martha.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Thank you, Zack. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>referring to the parcel</i>). It's a bit mixed-up on account of - me putting bits of things into my pocket at table when nobody's watching, - but it's all good food, Martha. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I'm sure I'm very grateful to you, Zack. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well, I often get up famished from my meals, and it's a fight to - keep from feeling in my pocket, but I'm managing without. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Yes, and I—— Oh, Zack, I'm grateful. I am, really. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I know you are. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Yes, but I want you to know I am, and if anything's going to come - to you unpleasant, it's not my fault. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Unpleasant? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I'm being driven, Zack. I'd never dream of such a thing myself. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. What ever is it? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. It's father, Zack. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Again? What's he broke now? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. He's not broke anything, but you know your brother sacked him, and - my father says he'll be revenged and—— - </p> - <p> - ZACK. That's a nasty spirit, Martha. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. And a nasty thing that Mr. Paul did, and all. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'm not denying that. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. And I'd not mind whatever father did to Mr. Paul—— - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Oh, Martha! - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I wouldn't. Not for sacking him because he hurt himself. But - father's doing it to you and I've to help him to do it, and—oh dear! - (<i>Her handkerchief comes out.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Don't cry. No, don't do it, Martha, because if you do, I'll have to - console you, and you know what mother said to me the other day. (<i>He is - itching to "console," but restrains himself visibly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. But it's———- - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Paul's coming back. Quick, Martha. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA (<i>sniffing as she goes</i>). Oh! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Zack hustles her out c. and returns to his cleaning, not so quickly - that Paul does not see his return. Paul opens the door and Virginia - enters. Paul follows her in.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. You do look busy, Zack. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. He's good at looking it. I'd guarantee he hasn't raised his hand - while I've been out of the room. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>who is obviously quite fond of Zack</i>). Oh, but you must be - kind to Zack to-day. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Why? What's to-day? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I knew you didn't know. Do you, Zack? - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>up to wall, consulting calendar</i>). Tuesday. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. It's your birthday and I hope you'll have a very lucky day. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. My birthday! The twentieth of June. So it is. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul returns to his correspondence at the table, half occupied, half - listening.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes. I was sure you didn't know. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. How did you know? Did mother tell you? Virginia. No. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Who did? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>with mock impressiveness</i>). The family Bible, Zack! Your - mother lent it me to look at something yesterday, and there I found it. - Zachariah Manning, June 20th, 1886. Zack. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Yes. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. You knew? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Yes. That's the year all right. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Then how dare you look forty when you're only twenty-nine? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Do I? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. You do, and I'm taking you in hand. Tell me, are your eyes so - very bad? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. They're weak for reading with. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. You're not always reading. Why do you wear your glasses when - you're not? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. It's a trouble to be taking them off and putting them on. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. So you keep them on all the time and damage your eyes. Come - here, Zack. (<i>She takes them off and gives them him.</i>) There! Don't - put those on again until you want to read. You look at least five years - younger than you did. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Do I? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. You do. And now about the rest? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. What rest? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. The other six years that we've got to wipe away. I've got a - present for you upstairs to do that. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. A present! - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes. Don't you usually get presents on your birthday? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. What! Between grown-ups? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Why not? It's just those little pleasant things that keep life - sweet. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I used to get a bag of humbugs when I was a tiny lad. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Oh, we keep on doing it at home and I shall do it here. Only I - want a ha'penny from you first. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. A ha'penny! - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. My present cuts, and so you'll have to pay me for it to keep bad - luck away. Ha'penny, please, (<i>She holds hand out.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>rather hurt at having to confess</i>). I haven't got a ha'penny, - Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. What, have you spent last Saturday's wages already? It's only - Tuesday. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I don't get any wages. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. We've given up trusting Zack with money. He lost a shilling on the - day you came. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Oh dear, then what's to be done? I know. You give Zack the - ha'penny for a birthday present. Then he can give it me. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. What is your present, Jenny? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. It's a shaving-set. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Zack's no use for shaving. He's never shaved in his life. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. His beard looks that kind of beard. That's why I want him to - begin. Give him the ha'penny, Paul. Paul. Oh, it'll not matter. Zack isn't - superstitious. Virginia. But I am. All decent-minded women are. And I - won't cut my friendship for Zack. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Well, if you insist. (<i>Taking coins from pocket.</i>) Oh, no good. - I've got no change. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. You've got a sixpence there. That will do. (<i>She takes it and - hands it Zack.</i>) There you are, Zack. Now you give it me and I'll get - your present from upstairs. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. But—Jenny—sixpence! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. Munning opens door l. and enters with James Abbott, a pleasant - gentleman, dressed in good country clothes.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>The little episode is suspended. Paul becomes the shopman with a - customer. Zack stands away and Virginia sits on the pile of wood.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Good morning, Mr. Abbott. - </p> - <p> - ABBOTT. Good morning, Munning. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Mr. Abbott's called to settle his account, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Account! You are prompt, sir. I only sent it out last night. - </p> - <p> - ABBOTT. Any objections to prompt settlement, Munning? (<i>Paying out notes - and gold.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Not at all. I only wish I could find everybody so quick at paying. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul writes receipt at table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ABBOTT. It's like this, Munning. When I'm satisfied I believe in showing - it, and paying promptly is my way of showing that you've pleased me. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'm very glad to hear that, Mr. Abbott. - </p> - <p> - ABBOTT. And I'm glad too, for I don't mind telling you now it's over that - I had my doubts. The last once or twice that I've attended weddings where - you did the catering I've not been well impressed at all. There's been a - harshness, Munning, and when I got married I was in two minds about - putting it with you or going to those people over at Norton Parva. - Wilson's, isn't it? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Yes. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul comes out with receipt, which Abbott takes and pockets.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ABBOTT. But I decided to support a neighbour and you rewarded me for it. - There was a—I don't know how you'd put it in words—a very - pleasant atmosphere. I wanted things to go well. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Naturally, sir. - </p> - <p> - ABBOTT. But I've no complaints at all. It went off with a—a - sprightliness. Yes. Sunny's the word. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Thank you very much, Mr. Abbott. - </p> - <p> - ABBOTT. But mind you, Mrs. Munning, you don't always do it. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I'm sure we try to make no difference. - </p> - <p> - ABBOTT. You don't always succeed as you did for me. There was a jolly - feeling that I'm sure has not been there for some time past. Still, I was - pleased, and I've told others I was pleased. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Thanks very much. We <i>have</i> had more orders in this last - fortnight. - </p> - <p> - ABBOTT. Well, I daresay some of them are due to me. Don't let me down now - I've been recommending you. I can get out this way? - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>opening door</i>). Yes, Mr. Abbott. - </p> - <p> - ABBOTT (<i>ignoring him, to Paul</i>). Good-day, Munning. - </p> - <p> - PAUL and Mrs. Munning. Good-day, sir. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Abbott.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well, here's a change. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. He's not the first who's talked like that these last few times. But - why they do it is a mystery to me. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I've got a guess. Jenny, you've brought us luck. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. It's since you came that things have taken this turn. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I'm very glad to hear it aunt, - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You've been a blessing to us. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I think I'll send some more accounts out, mother. They might fetch - other people's money in like Mr. Abbott's. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Oh yes. I'm in your way here. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. And you're not. You're never in the way. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. As if I'd mean a thing like that to you, Virginia. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. But I was just going, aunt. I've something upstairs that I want - to bring for Zack. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Zack? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. You'd forgotten it's his birthday. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul sits at the table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. No, I hadn't, Jenny. Mothers don't forget a thing like that. - But I'd not seen cause to mention it. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I'll get Zack's present. (<i>She opens door.</i>) By the way, - wasn't it at Mr. Abbott's wedding that Zack began to go again? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I fancy it was. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. And he's been going to the others since? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Yes. But he's still on trial. Why, Jenny? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I only wondered. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Virginia.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Get on with your work, Zack. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Yes, Paul. (<i>He turns the handle once or twice, and is then - occupied testing the result.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Come here a minute, Paul. You're not that busy. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I'm not busy at all. I just made a show of it before Virginia. A - good thing she heard him talk like that. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'll tell you something better for the business than Mr. - Abbott's talk. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. If you'll tell me what it is that makes people say one thing of us - one week and change their minds the next, you'll be doing me a good turn. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'll do you a better turn. I'd a chat with Virginia in her - room last night. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I heard your voices going late. You kept me awake. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well, it was worth it, Paul. I knew they were well off, but - there's more than I thought. The girl's got money of her own besides her - mother's. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Zack turns the handle.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Some folk get all the luck. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Well what? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Don't you take me, Paul? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Zack works the machine. Mrs. Munning turns on him.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Oh, will you hush your noise, Zack? Get away out of this while I talk to - Paul. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>going l.</i>). Yes, mother. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Go round to Bealey's and ask him if those nails have come. Don't be - all day. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. No, Paul. (<i>He turns to door and goes out.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Look here, Paul, you could do a lot to this business if you - had the capital. We could start a temperance hotel and give up the joinery - altogether. Zack could clean boots. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Aye. If—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. She's got it. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Well for her. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You're not slow to see your interests as a rule. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Slow? I'd call it quick myself and very quick. I've known the girl a - fortnight. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Oh, you do see what I'm driving at. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I saw it days ago. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. And anything the matter with it? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Only Virginia. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. What's wrong with her? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. She don't show willing. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Have you asked? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Asked? I haven't. It's not a thing to rush at, mother. I've to look - at every side before I take a leap like that. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. What are you frightened of? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I wouldn't like to get refused. I don't so much as know she thinks - of me at all. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. And what do you think I'm doing all these days? I've done - nothing else but keep you in her mind. She knows it all from A to Z. Why, - only yesterday I gave her the Bible to look at, and you know what's - written in the front of it. There's every prize you ever won at school on - record with the date and—— - </p> - <p> - PAUL. And what she found in the Bible was that it's Zack's birthday to-day - and she's giving him a present. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well, she's got a kind heart. I saw her give a beggar - sixpence yesterday. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. That isn't kindness. It's extravagance, and I've no taste for a wife - who throws her money away. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. She couldn't throw it if she hadn't got it first. And I'd - trust you to let her know that charity begins at home when she's your - wife. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. There's something in that. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. There's all in it. I say we've got a golden chance, and I - don't know what you're shirking for. Our luck's well in all round with - people talking sensibly about us and the orders coming in. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. That's not to say Virginia <i>'</i>ull have me. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You'll get to know by asking, Paul. And I tell you she's - ripe for it. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Ripe? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. The girl's in love. She's got the signs of it all over her. - It only needs a bit of enterprise from you, and all's as good as done. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I've seen no signs of love. She's got a thumping appetite, if that's - your meaning. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Where's your eyes? The girl's another creature since she's - been with us. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. The country air did that. I thought love made them pale. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Quit talking, Paul. Are you in love with any other girl? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. What, me in love? I've got more sense. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Then marry Virginia. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. All right. I'll try. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Virginia. She has a small brown-papered parcel.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Oh! is Zack not here? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. He's gone out on an errand. Did you want him? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes. To give him this. But it will do later. (<i>She turns away.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Oh, don't go, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. But Paul's busy here. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Paul's never too busy to have some time for you. But I've - got to see Sally myself, so I'll leave you two together. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Mrs. Munning.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I'll make you comfortable here. (<i>He fusses at the chairs and - places one for her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Oh, please don't trouble, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. There's no trouble about it, Jenny. It's always a pleasure to do - things for you. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Why, Paul, I didn't know. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Know what? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. That you did things for me. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You didn't? Well, I haven't boasted up to now. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. No. Then it's you, and I've been thinking it was Zack. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Thought what was Zack? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I thought Zack brought the roses that I'm always finding in my - room and—— - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>uneasy, but bluffing</i>). Zack? Did you ever see him doing it? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. No. And it was you. (<i>Hand out.</i>) Paul, I apologize. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Apologize? For what? (<i>He touches her hand.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I imagined you too businesslike to think of doing anything like - that. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Well, Jenny, you were wrong that time. I've got an eye to business, - but I'm not quite blind to other things. I've eyes to see the roses coming - to your cheeks to match the roses in your room. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes. I do look better for my stay with you, don't I? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. It's working wonders, Jenny. The country is the place for you. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I shall be sorry to go. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Oh, that's too bad. To talk of going. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Not yet, of course. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. And not at all, if I'd my way. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Not at all? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Are you so set on towns? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I live in one. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Yes, but I wonder why. It beats me why you and your mother want to - live in ugliness with noise and bad air, Jenny. Where's the need for it? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Friends. Associations. That's all. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You'd never want for friends anywhere. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. But I've to think of mother. She's like an old tree, firmly - rooted and she's hard to move. So we stay where we are. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. And you'll grow ill again. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Oh no. I shall be all right now. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You'd be better here. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I can't stay here for ever. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. We might find out a way, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. How? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Don't you see? (<i>Takes her hand.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Paul! I never thought of this. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I've thought of nothing else since I set eyes on you. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>withdrawing hand</i>). But I must think a little now and—and - confess. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Confess! You mean that in the town—— - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Not in the town, Paul. Here! - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You don't mean—— - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes. I thought I was so clever and could see what you and aunt - were blind to. It was just a bad mistake, but I have had Zack in my mind a - lot. So much, Paul, that I didn't think of you, or if I did it was as - something not quite—— I liked Zack, and I fancied you were - wrong to make so little of him. Why, even now, when Mr. Abbott came to say - how pleased he'd been and you were puzzled at it all, I thought I'd - guessed the cause and put it down to Zack. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Well—that's a queer idea. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I know it must seem queer to you. I'm sorry I was stupid, Paul. - Of course you must know best, living with Zack for all these years. But—isn't - it just a little hard to keep him without money? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You don't know all the truth. We do. We've had experience of Zack. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes. I suppose I'm being rash again. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I think we've got the size of him, Virginia. He's bone-lazy. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Well, that's Zack. But I was talking of myself—and you. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. You'll have to give me time for that, please, Paul. I made a - false start and I have to see things all over again before I get them - right. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You're not convinced that Zack's a fool. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I have your word now, Paul. But that doesn't quite mean that I—I— - </p> - <p> - PAUL. That you love me. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. It doesn't follow, does it, Paul? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I hoped it might. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Some day, when I'm used to knowing that it's you who've done the - little things that made me happy here, it might come, Paul. I cannot say - just yet. - </p> - <p> - (<i>The door c. is burst open violently and Joe Wrigley stands in the - doorway. Behind him, both very reluctant, are Zack and Martha. Joe is a - big man, with his left arm in a sling. He is strong in body and purpose, - and has a useful gift of sly humour. He can dominate, and in the ensuing - scene, he does. He advances. Zack closes the door, and he and Martha try - to look effaced in the background.</i>) - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Good morning. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Wrigley! - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. That's me. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Get out of this. There's nothing here for you. Wrigley. I beg to - differ, Mr. Paul. We've things to settle here, have you and me. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Well, you can't settle them now. I'm busy. Wrigley. I'm not, and so - I'll wait your pleasure. Paul. I've finished with you, Wrigley. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. No, you haven't, Mr. Paul. You only think you have. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I'd better go, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. No. I'll get rid of him. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. When things are settled, you'll get rid of me. And not before. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You're trespassing in here. I tell you to get out. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. You'll do yourself no good by quarrelling. It's him I've come - about. Him and her. Your Zack and my Martha. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Zack? What about him? - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. They've got to be married. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. What! - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Oh, how horrid! (<i>She turns away.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>following her</i>). No, no! Please, Virginia! It isn't true. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY (<i>growling</i>). What isn't true? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I mean you're twisting it. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. You're going to marry her. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Yes. If you say so, but you make it sound so bad the way you're - putting it. I mean, you'll make Virginia think that I—— - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. And who cares what she thinks? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I care, Mr. Wrigley, I do indeed. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Oh! Then you're blacker than I took you for. Carrying on with two - young women at once. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Upon my word! - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. It's he that said he cared, miss. It wasn't me. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Let's have this from the beginning, Wrigley. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Beginning? I reckon this began when the Lord made him a male and - her a female. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Oh yes. That's very funny, but—— - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. It's not. There's nothing funny in the ways of sex. They've been - the worry of the world for ever since the world grew bigger than the - Garden of Eden, and if you think they're funny, you've a lot to learn. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Wrigley, do you know who you're speaking to? - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Aye. Brother of my future son-in-law. Makes you a kind of - sideways son of mine yourself. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. We'll have this tale from Zack if you won't tell it straight. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. I'd rather; and I'll just be here to know he tells it straight. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Wrigley sits.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Now, Zack. No. Wait a minute. Mother had best be in at this. (<i>Opening - door.</i>) Mother! - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. And I had better not. (<i>She follows to door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Are you afraid to know the worst of him? (<i>Call-ing.</i>) Mother! - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>off</i>). I'm coming, Paul. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Oh, Zack, Zack, I am so disappointed in you. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I meant no harm, Virginia. It's a thing that's grown from nothing - like, and I don't know how it grew so fast. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>entering</i>). What is it, Paul? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Zack and Joe Wrigley's girl. Now go on, Zack. What have you done? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I've got to speak it out before you all and with Virginia hearing, - too? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I'll go. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Why should you? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Because I prefer it, Paul. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Virginia.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. We're waiting, Zack. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well, there isn't much to tell that you don't know about, mother. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I! - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You started the whole thing off. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. When? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You mind that day when Martha came to tell us Joe had broke his arm - and Martha took on so in our parlour. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well, that's it. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That! - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Yes. You came in when I was trying to console her and—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I caught you kissing her, if that's what you mean. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Ah! That's a point. I'd been waiting for that to come. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I know I kissed her, but it wasn't a meaning kiss. She was blubbing - and she wouldn't hush and so I kissed her like I'd kiss a baby to console - it. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. You kissed her. That's enough. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. But it weren't for pleasure, Mr. Wrigley. She was too wet. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. He kissed her all right. I saw it. What about it? - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. He's got to marry her. That's all. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Now what has kissing a girl to do with marriage? - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. A lot. He's going to marry her because you said so. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. That's the trouble, mother. You did say something, joking like. You - said, "When's the wedding?" and I joked back and said, "About a month," - and Martha took it serious and told her father, and he told other people - and it's all over the village. It's expected of me now, and I suppose—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Be quiet, Zack. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You told me to tell you. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Keep your mouth shut when I tell you. You only open it to - give yourself away. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. You needn't trouble, missus. He's done all that. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Done what? You know he'd no intentions, and he hasn't any - now. He's made no promises. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. He's promised and he's made her presents. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You'll have to prove that first. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Prove? Where's that parcel, Martha? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Martha comes timidly forward with it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Open it. See that? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. This? Crusts of bread and bits of meat! - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. That's it. Bread you baked and meat from what you had for dinner - yesterday. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. How did you come by this? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I saved them from my food. She told me she was always hungry and I - felt that sorry for her. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>giving the parcel to Martha</i>). You're too soft to - live. Well, that's only giving charity, Joe Wrigley. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. With lots of folk it might be, but it's something else than - charity when one of your family starts giving things away. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. It's nowt to do with marrying and promising, so what it is. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. He promised her not half an hour ago in Tim Bealey's shop, with - witnesses and all. There was Tim Bealey there and his missus and the - errand lad and me. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Is that true, Zack? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I did say something, mother. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You silly fool! - </p> - <p> - ZACK. But it was only to save argument. I do hate argument when people - have a voice as loud as Joe's. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That means you forced him, Wrigley. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. It means he promised before witnesses, and I'll take good care he - keeps his word. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Come here, Martha. Do you want to marry him? - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Of course she does. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Let the girl speak for herself. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I'd like to, Mrs. Munning. Only not if Zack don't want as well. - I'd not expect it. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. But I expect it. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Yes, Joe, we know it's you we've got to thank for this. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. I reckon it's me all right. You'll think twice before you sack a - man for getting hurt another time. I'll teach you something. - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>quietly</i>). Will you? By marrying your girl to Zack? - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. That's it. I'll break your pride. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. It might break you. I wouldn't swear that this wouldn't make me, - Joe. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA (<i>up to Zack</i>). I didn't go to do it, Zack. I don't want to be - no trouble to nobody. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Do you want her, Zack? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'd rather not say, mother. I wouldn't like to hurt her feelings. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Do you want to marry her? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'd rather drown myself. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Oh! - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>to her</i>). There, there, Martha. I didn't mean to hurt you. - There! - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Keep your great hands to yourself, Zack, can't you? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I've hurt her feelings, mother. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. And I'll hurt yours if you don't do what I tell you sharp. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Come, Mrs. Munning. What's to do with a chap putting his arm - round the girl he's going to marry? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. He's just about the same chance of marrying her as you have - of coming back to work here, Joe. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. I fancy both our chances then. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You'd lose your money. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. I think not, Mrs. Munning. I've a notion that you'll weigh things - up and come to seeing this my way. I've not come here to quarrel with my - relations to be, but I'll just point out that Wilson's of Norton are - getting business off you every day and you can't afford a scandal in your - line of trade. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Be careful, Wrigley. Threats of that kind have a nasty name. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. I'm not afraid of names. Come here, Martha. We've given them - enough to think about. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Yes, father. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. I'll look in later for your answer. (<i>Opens door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You needn't. You can have it now. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You can. I'll give it you. It's this, that—— - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Zack can go with you now to see the vicar, Joe. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Eh? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. What? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Paul! - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Paul, are you mad? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. But I don't want to marry her. I don't indeed. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You've made your bed and you'll lie on it. I'll stir no hand to save - you. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. But, Paul—— - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I've got my reasons, mother, and they're sound. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. There's no great hurry, is there, Paul? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. If a thing's to be done, it's best done quick. We'll have the banns - put up on Sunday. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. You're in a mighty haste. It's giving things a queerish twist to - me. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. When I've to take a dose of physic, I don't play round because it's - got a filthy taste. I get it down. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. But it's my physic, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You'll do as you're told. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I'm sure I'll try to make you a good wife, Zack. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. If it comes to the worst, I'll try and all. But we might both try - and make a mess of it for all we tried. I'm against this, Martha, and it's - no good wrapping up the truth. I don't favour it and I can't see sense in - it at all. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You've gone a bit too far to talk like that, my lad. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I wouldn't say I'd gone at all, not knowingly, I mean. It's happened - like, somehow, and I'll say this much or brast for it. It'll be the - mistake of your life, Martha. I'm not cut out for a husband of yours. If - ever you get wed—— - </p> - <p> - PAUL. She's wedding you. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well, I don't favour it. I've as good a right to my opinion as - anybody else and I say it's not fair doing to Martha. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Is Martha all you're thinking of? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. There's me as well, and I tell you what I told you down in Bealey's - shop. I'm always one to take the short road out of trouble and I'm ready - to oblige you. But I don't like it and the more I think about Martha the - worse it looks to saddle her with me. Martha's the helpless sort and I'm - the helpless sort and you don't make two soft people into strong by - wedding them together. She'd try to lean on me and I'd try to lean on her - and there'd be nothing there to lean on. It's like trying to make weak tea - strong by watering the pot. Martha'll only wed with trouble when she weds - a gormless chap like me, and I don't favour it. I see no sense in it at - all, and it's no use saying I do, because I don't. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. And I don't see the sense in doing things to please Joe - Wrigley. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I'm doing this to please myself, not him. What are you waiting for, - Wrigley? You've got your answer. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. I dunno. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Then don't wait. If you want to see Mr. Andrews, it's a good time to - catch him now before his lunch. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Come along. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Wrigley and Martha move towards door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Paul! You're going to have me called in church? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. It's the usual place. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Me and Martha Wrigley! And everybody listening! - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Take him with you, Joe. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>going slowly</i>). Well, I don't favour it at all. I'll do my - best for Martha, but I'm a silly best for any girl. I've got no heart in - this. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. Munning goes up towards Zack. Paul stops her with a gesture. Exit - Zack, after Wrigley and Martha.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>turning angrily.</i>) You're crossing me in this. I've - not said much so far because there's time to stop it yet. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You won't want to stop it, mother. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Won't I? I'm not particular fond of Zack, but he's my son as - much as you, and I've no taste to see a Munning standing up in church with - a daughter of Joe Wrigley's. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I've just two things to say to that. The first is that you started - it with joking about marriage, and the second's what you're planning now - for Virginia and me. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Virginia? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I've had that talk with her. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well? Is it right? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. It isn't right, and it was very wrong. I've got her coming round. No - more than that. But this affair of Zack's chimes in with what we want. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. What's Zack to do with her? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. That's where the queerness comes. What do you think, mother? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'm getting past all thought to-day. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. She'd him in mind. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Zack! Well, I don't know! What's Zack been doing that takes - her fancy? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Did you ever know Zack do anything? Oh, she told me one thing. He's - been putting flowers in her room. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. In her room! The impudence. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I put those flowers there. You understand? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You? Oh, I see. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. And I'll tell you something else. She thinks the weddings have got a - better name because Zack's going to them now. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. But Zack does nothing but break things when he goes. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I'm telling you what she thinks, not what we know. She's got a fancy - picture of him in her mind, and while it's there, she'll never marry me. - That's why he'll marry Martha. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'm not at ease about it, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Whose scheme was it for me to marry Jenny? Mine or yours? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. It's mine, I know. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Then you shouldn't scheme if you're not prepared to put things - through. I am prepared. I didn't think seriously of this until you set me - on. But now I'm on, I'm on, and it'll not be Zack will stop me, neither. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. We'll have to set them up. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. That won't cost much. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'll never bear the sight of Zack living along of Martha in - the village here. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. We might get over that. It's costing something, but there'll be - Virginia's money soon, and so— - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. What's in your mind? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. A clean sweep, mother. Getting rid of them. It's much the best. - Zack's never any use to us. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Get rid? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. We'll emigrate them when they're married. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You're thinking fast. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Leave it to me, mother. I'll arrange it. Yes. It's all plain sailing - now. Zack married and in Canada, and me and Jenny here with you. I'll see - that steamship agency at Bollington to-morrow and find out the cost. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Zack enters.</i>) - </p> - <p> - What on earth——-? You've never seen Mr. Andrews in this time? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. No. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Then what do you mean by coming back? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well, I wasn't satisfied we were doing right, Paul, and I got a - notion as I went along with Joe and Martha. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. A notion? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I made my mind up I'd consult somebody before it got to doing things - so final as the banns. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. But we've decided. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I know you have, but I'm still doubtful, and I thought I'd ask - Virginia to tell me what to do. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Ask Virginia? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Yes. Tell her all about it and just see what she advises me to do. - I've a great respect for her opinions. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. More than you have for ours? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I can't say that until I know what her opinion is. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. She'll be disgusted with you. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You'll keep your foolishness to yourself, Zack, do you hear? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'm hard put to it to see I have been foolish, Paul. Virginia will - tell me, I expect. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Where have you left Joe Wrigley? At the Vicarage? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. No. At the "Bunch of Grapes." - </p> - <p> - PAUL. The "Bunch of Grapes"! The crazy fool. Drinking when he'd a job like - this to do. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I suppose he'd have a drink. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Oh, yes, he'd money for that. They've never any money, but there's - always some for drink. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. It wasn't his fault,|Paul. I gave it him, - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You! Where did you get money from? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I gave him sixpence that Paul gave me this morning for a birthday - present. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Paul gave you sixpence! - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Yes, I did, as it happens. For a purpose, though. (<i>Turns on Zack.</i>) - What gets me is Joe Wrigley's letting loose of you at any price. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I gave him an explanation of that. I told him I'd forgotten - something important. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. And he believed you for sixpence? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. But I <i>had</i> forgotten something, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. What? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. What's that you're hiding behind you all this time? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'd forgotten these. (<i>He discloses a small bunch of roses.</i>) - They're wild roses from the hedge and I came back to put them in - Virginia's room when she's not there, same as I have done every day, only - I'd forgotten them this morning. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You can just leave off doing it then. Virginia's room! Have - you no sense of decency? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'm sure she likes them, mother. - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>anxiously</i>). She never told you so? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. No, but I've seen her smiling at me and—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. She may well smile. Your ways would make a cat laugh. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'll—I'll throw the flowers away. (<i>He turns towards door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Give me those flowers! (<i>Following him to door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. But—— - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Go back and get your business done. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Virginia from the house. She has a small parcel. There is a - conflict of wills at the street door. Then Zack steps into the room again. - Paul closes the door. Virginia notices the flowers. She goes towards Paul, - smiling.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Oh! You've—you've caught me this time. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. But you needn't look ashamed, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I didn't know I did. I'll—I'll take them away now. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. That's very sweet of you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Zack watches agape. Paul goes out with the roses.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Now, Zack, I don't think you deserve it, but I brought your - birthday present down, and here it is. A shaving-set. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'm sorry, but I haven't got a coin to give you now for luck. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. That doesn't matter now. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Oh, Jenny! - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'd think not, too, with you disgraced. Haven't you got a - word of thanks for your razor? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Yes. It's the best gift you could make me, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. And you promise me you'll use it, Zack? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'll use it right enough. I'll cut my throat with it. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Zack! He doesn't know what he's saying, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I do know, and I mean it, too. (<i>Tearing at paper of the parcel.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>dryly</i>). You'd have some trouble, Zack. It's a safety - razor. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You're all against me, all of you, and I don't care what happens to - me. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Zack, listen to me. I'm not against you, though I'm very, very - sorry for what you've done. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I haven't done anything and nobody will let me tell you and—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Your cousin doesn't want to hear about that, Zack. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You're trying to stop her hearing and I'm going to tell her now. - She's got it all so wrong. I know I'm not an angel in trousers, but I'm - not a wrong <i>'</i>un neither, and—— - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That will do, Zack. You've said enough. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You'll none of you be sorry when I'm dead. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I should be very sorry, Zack. What is it that you want to tell - me? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Mother won't let me speak. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I'm sure she will. She's leaving us together now, so that you - may tell me what you want to say. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I doubt it's safe for you, Jenny. He's a bit beside himself. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. It's quite the best way, aunt. To let him open his heart to me. - He'll be much better after that. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. He'll tell a pack of lies to get the soft side of you. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I'll make all due allowances, aunt, if you will leave me with - him now. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'm loth to, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Then Zack and I will take a walk and he shall tell me as we go. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Oh, if you're keen set like that, I'll go. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Thank you, aunt. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>at door</i>). But don't you go believing half of what he - says. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Mrs. Munning.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'm wonderful obliged to you, Jenny. I'll get some good advice now. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Sit down and tell me what you want to. Zack. I dunno where to - begin. It's so mixed up. But I'm not a desperate bad lad, Virginia. I'm - really not. Virginia. No. Begin at the beginning, Zack. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. It's like this, Jenny. On the day you came, Martha Wrigley came here - to let us know her father had broke his arm, and I—— - </p> - <p> - (<i>The street door opens violently and Wrigley enters. Silently he goes - to Zack and points to door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'm busy just now, Joe. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Are you coming? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. But—— Yes, Joe. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>stopping Zack as he goes</i>). I want Zack, Mr. Wrigley. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. You can have him when I've done with him. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Mr. Wrigley, I ask you as a favour. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. I'm sorry to disoblige a lady, but my affair comes first. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I think not. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Let me go with him, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. But, Zack, you were going to tell me—— - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I know. But he'll only argue, and I do hate argument. It wouldn't be - any good, Virginia. My luck's dead out. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY (<i>by door</i>). Come on. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Yes, Joe. Oh, what a birthday! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Wrigley and Zack go out.</i>) - </p> - <h3> - CURTAIN. - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT III - </h2> - <p> - <i>The parlour as Act I. The time is seven o'clock on a sunny evening - three weeks later. The stage is empty. Then Martha opens a door, looks in, - enters, comes c., hesitates and sits. She is dressed in her best and looks - like a country servant girl on a Sunday evening. She carries a small - handbag. Sally enters from house.</i> - </p> - <p> - SALLY (<i>crossing and pulling up short on seeing Martha</i>). Well, I - never did see the like of you, Martha Wrigley. Strolling in and sitting - you down as if you owned the place. Martha. Are you speaking to me? - </p> - <p> - SALLY. I'm not addressing my remarks to the table. Martha (<i>with great - hauteur</i>). I believe I'm speaking to Mrs. Munning's kitchen-maid. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Kitchen-maid! I'm a lady-help. And you couldn't get a job at - cleaning steps yourself. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I want some of your impudence, my girl. Sally. Impudence! From me - to you! I've known when you came begging a slice of bread from my lunch - when we were at school, and—— - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Times change, don't they, Sally? I'm sitting in the parlour now, - and your place is in the kitchen. You'll keep it, too. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. You know very well I'm only obliging Mrs. Munning temporarily. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I know you're idling your time in here and if you don't want me to - show you up to Mrs. Munning for a dawdling slouch, you'll keep the sweet - side of me. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. You do think you're some one because you're going to marry Zack. It - might be Mr. Paul the fuss you make. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA (<i>rising</i>). It's a pity that folk can't control themselves. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. If that's meant for me, let me tell you I never lost control of - myself in my life. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. If the cap fits you can put it on. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. You'll please to tell me what you mean by that, Martha Wrigley. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Everybody knows you'd hopes of Zack yourself. You're only showing - your jealousy. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Me jealous of you! You'll take that back. Do you hear? You'll take - that back. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Not me. It's a well-known fact. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Who says? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I say. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Then I call you a liar. You're a liar, and a mean, spiteful - spitting cat, and—— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Martha gives back before her. Zack enters.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Zack! - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Hullo, Martha. I just came in here for a bit of a sit-down. I favour - a spell of peace and quiet at the close of the day. - </p> - <p> - (<i>He just touches Martha without affection in passing and sits.</i>) - </p> - <p> - SALLY. And all day too. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. You hold your hush, Sally Teale. Am I to come in here to be - insulted by your servant, Zack? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Nay, I've got no servant that I ever heard of. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Sally. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Eh, Martha, Sally's a decent body. She'd never insult nobody. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Are you going to take her side against me? Zack. I've not seen - anything to take anybody's side about as yet. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. She says I'm jealous and she'll take it back. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I won't. As true as true, you are. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. I'm not. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. You are. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. I'm not. I'm not. I'm not. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Zack rises, comes between, puts finger in mouth and whistles.</i>) - </p> - <p> - SALLY. I'm not. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. That's enough, lass. Whistle's gone. I'm referee and I look at it - like this. You can't both be right. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. No, I'm—— - </p> - <p> - ZACK. And you can't both be wrong. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. She's—— - </p> - <p> - ZACK. So it's a draw. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. That doesn't help. She called me a liar. Zack (<i>impressed</i>). - No. Did you, Sally? - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Yes, I did, and—— - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'm sorry to hear that of you, Sally. - </p> - <p> - SALLY (<i>contrite</i>). Well, she shouldn't have said—— - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Maybe she spoke beyond her meaning. You did, didn't you, Martha? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I spoke hasty. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>to Sally</i>). And you answered hasty, didn't you? - </p> - <p> - SALLY. I might. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I thought so. Haste! It's the cause of half the trouble in the - world. I never hurry. It's a principle with me. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA (<i>tearfully</i>). Zack, I'm sorry I put on airs. I won't do it - again. (<i>Comes to him. He puts arm round her</i>). - </p> - <p> - SALLY. I'll—I'll not lose my temper again, Zack. (<i>Comes to him. - He puts his other arm round her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. There, there, Martha. There, there, Sally. I never did believe in - arguing. It's wear and tear for nothing, and——- - </p> - <p> - (<i>Virginia and Mrs. Munning enter, Virginia in light dress, with hat and - gloves.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Oh! - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Going in for being a Mormon, Zack? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. No, mother. I dunno how it is, cousin Virginia, but the awkwardest - things do keep happening to me. I was only reconciling them like. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You haven't done the bedrooms for the night, Sally. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. I'm on my way there now. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You'll arrive a lot sooner if you'll try going upstairs. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally is about to reply, thinks better of it and goes out.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'm the unluckiest chap alive, Virginia. I'd give the world to have - you thinking well of me, and things fall out wrong road every time. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That'll do, Zack. Martha's waiting to speak to me. What is - it, Martha? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA (<i>opening her bag</i>). This is what I came in for, Mrs. Munning. - Your invitation to the wedding. Oh! (<i>She drops some cards.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Pick them up, Zack. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Zack picks them up.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I thought Zack and me might go round tonight delivering them. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Zack, on his knee picking up cards, reverently kisses the hem of - Virginia's skirt.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Oh yes. (<i>Sharply.</i>) What are you doing, Zack? - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>scrambling up</i>). Picking up cards. (<i>Giving them to Mrs. - Munning.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Why, you've had cards printed. (<i>Returns cards to Martha.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. They are stylish, aren't they? (<i>Giving a card</i>). That's - yours, Mrs. Munning. And I brought you one, Miss Virginia. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Thanks. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Waste of money. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. You can't be genteel without spending a bit of money. A wedding's - a wedding, Mrs. Munning, and folk have to spread themselves sometimes. Are - you ready, Zack? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'm not so anxious, Martha. It'll mean a lot of walking. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I suppose you'd rather good money went on postage? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. All right, mother. I'll go. Only you know, Martha, you're tying this - knot firm. A printed card's an awful binding thing. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. My father's got to see there's no mistake. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. He's doing pretty well so far. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Yes. My wedding-dress is coming home tonight, too. I'll show it - you if you like. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>swallowing, then</i>), I'm like a cat on hot bricks till I see - that dress. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Martha and Zack go out.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Poor Zack! - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Fools pay for their folly. Did you come down for your walk - with Paul? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes. It's about the usual time. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. He'll be late this evening. He'd to go to Bollington this - afternoon, but he'll bring you back a fairing, Jenny. He mostly went on - your account. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. On mine? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Paul's fretting because the roses he's putting in your room - each day aren't good enough for you. He's gone to Bollington to see if he - can't find better at the flower shop there. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>coldly</i>). He needn't have troubled, aunt. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Paul doesn't count it trouble to do things for you. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. So he's told me. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well, truth's truth, and I'm not bound to hide it. He's - missed his proper bedtime every night with seeking roses here to suit him. - They've got to be so fine and large before they'll do for Paul. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally enters with a vase of very faded roses in her hand.</i>) - </p> - <p> - SALLY. Do you want these leaving in your room any longer, Miss Virginia? - They're that faded and done they'll stink the place out soon. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I think they might be thrown away now, Sally. - </p> - <p> - SALLY. I'd think so, too. Been there a week if it's a minute. Some one - used to change them every day, but they've seemingly got tired of the job. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes. Put them away, please. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally nods and goes out.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>making the best of it</i>). I didn't know he'd given it - up here altogether. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I expect he preferred a proper night's rest, aunt. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Not he. But that's Paul all over. If he can't get the best - he'll have none. Look at the engagement ring he gave you. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes. It's—an engagement ring. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Ah, but you're like myself, Jenny. You don't value things - for their appearance, but for what they mean to you. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>doubtfully, fingering the ring</i>). Yes. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Paul enters, with hat and coat on.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Good evening. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Why, you're sooner than I expected. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Well, I've settled it. I've done my business. I've got them mother. - How are you, Jenny? (<i>Comes round and kisses her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Have you brought them with you, Paul? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I'll show you. Let me get my coat off. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. The roses, I mean. - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>blankly</i>). Oh the roses. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING (<i>quickly</i>). They'll be sending them, I suppose. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Well—— - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I'm just going upstairs. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You needn't run away from him the moment he comes back. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. No. But I shan't be going out for a walk to-night, aunt. I'll - take my hat off. (<i>Exit Virginia.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Have you no sense at all? Couldn't you tell her the roses - were coming? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. They're not. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Not coming? And me just telling her they were all you went - to Bollington for! - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You shouldn't tell her lies. You know they weren't all I went for. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. She liked to think they were. You've got a memory like a - sieve. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I didn't forget. I went to the shop and asked the price. They wanted - sixpence each. Sixpence for a single rose. Have you any idea what a lot of - roses it takes to make a decent-looking bunch? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Will you never get it into your thick head that it's worth - spending money to gain money? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You've got the spending habit lately. There's no need to spend for - the sake of spending. I'm engaged to Virginia. What more do you want? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I want you to keep engaged till you're married. You're - growing careless and neglecting her. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Neglecting! I gave her a kiss just now. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That cost you nothing. What made you stop putting flowers in - her room? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I'm not marrying a wife to stand at her heels with silly flowers. - And there isn't a woman on earth worth buying roses for at sixpence a - bloom. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Virginia's five hundred a year's worth it. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. It's not. Selling flowers at that price is robbery, and I'll be - robbed by no one. Look at Joe Wrigley. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That won't last long. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You're right. It won't. Zack will be married on Wednesday and off to - Canada on Saturday. Just let Joe Wrigley come here after that. I'll teach - him something. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You've got their tickets? - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>showing them</i>). I told you I had. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Steerage, I see. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Of course they're steerage. Why, do you know we've to give them a - matter of ten pounds before they'll let them load? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well, we have to start them off with something, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Ten pounds isn't something. It's a thundering lot. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. In a good cause. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. A good cause is a better cause when it's cheap, and this is coming - out a bit expensive. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Sally.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. What is it, Sally? - </p> - <p> - SALLY. The door bell, Mrs. Munning. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally crosses and exit.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. An order, if we're lucky. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well, you are lucky, lately, aren't you? Everything you can - think of <i>'</i>s going right, (<i>Sally re-enters.</i>) - </p> - <p> - SALLY. It's Mr. Wrigley and some friends. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Wrigley enters with Thomas Mowatt and Harry Shoe-bridge. Mowatt is a - fat, red-faced dairyman and Shoe-bridge is a farmer, tall, with brown face - and mutton-chop whiskers. Wrigley has a large jug of ale and puts it on - table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Sally.</i>) - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Good evening, Mrs. Munning. Come in, Thomas, Harry. You see, Mrs. - Munning, you've been so amazing good to me lately over a bit of supper at - nights that I thought I'd bring a friend or two this time to test the - vittles. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You—— - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Ay, and you needn't tire your tongue with welcoming words. I can - read your genial thoughts. And knowing you hadn't got it here, we brought - our own ale with us. (<i>Lifting jug.</i>) It's a real drop of stimulant - is this. Now sit down, Thomas. There you are, Harry. (<i>Places chairs.</i>) - Well, now what shall it be? (<i>Sits.</i>) Seeing we're unexpected like, I - think a bit of bread and cheese, eh Thomas? - </p> - <p> - THOMAS. It'll go sweetly with the ale. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. So it will. Bread and cheese, Mrs. Munning. I'd not say "no" to - biscuits myself. - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>advancing</i>). Joe Wrigley—— - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Eh, Paul, I didn't just notice you, but you're the man we want. - We've really come on business, but we'll get on better when we're - fortified with a bite and a sup. You know what Thomas and Harry are, don't - you? - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>surrendering</i>). You'd better get the bread and cheese out, - mother. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. Munning goes reluctantly and opens door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Sally! Sally! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Mrs. Munning.</i>) - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. That's right, Paul. When the Executive Committee of the Little - Hulton Savings Club pay a call upon you it's a matter of common sense for - you to make them feel at home. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Mr. Mowatt and Mr. Shoebridge are on the Executive and they're - welcome here, but you—— - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. I'm on as well. - </p> - <p> - HARRY. Since last night. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. As you say, Harry, since last night. I'm coopted under rule 17. - Cost me a gallon of beer, but I'm co-opted. We're the Executive and we're - here on a matter of business concerned with the work of the Society. - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>with deference</i>). What can I do for you, Mr. Shoebridge? - </p> - <p> - HARRY. Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Munning. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Mrs. Munning and Sally enter. They put food and glasses on table. - Wrigley pours ale. They eat and drink during the ensuing. Exit Sally.</i>) - </p> - <p> - HARRY. You do the catering for our annual picnic, and there's a resolution - standing on our minute book, recommending our members to employ you at - times of private merrymaking. Thank you, Mrs. Munning. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. We've done all catering for your members at contract prices for many - years. - </p> - <p> - THOMAS. That's so. And no one likes to break an old connection without - warning. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Break? - </p> - <p> - THOMAS. I reckon first to last you've made a pretty penny by us. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I'm sure our charges to you are moderate, Mr. Mowatt. - </p> - <p> - THOMAS. They'll do. They'll do—so long as you're giving us what we - want. - </p> - <p> - HARRY. It's not the charges that we're here about exactly. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Then what is it? - </p> - <p> - HARRY. I'm telling you as fast as I can. This is a tasty bit of cheese, - Mrs. Munning. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Aye. I thought you'd relish it. It's full-flavoured but it - doesn't rasp the tongue. It's mellow. - </p> - <p> - THOMAS. Meller's a great word, Joe. I like things to be meller. I like - meller women and meller cheese and meller ale and meller festivals. - </p> - <p> - HARRY. Did you go to see Mr. Abbott married the other day? - </p> - <p> - THOMAS. Did I go? I'd say so. That was a proper meller occasion. - </p> - <p> - HARRY. It was that. Mellow right through. He married his wife with port - wine, did Mr. Abbott. - </p> - <p> - THOMAS. I'm not partial to port wine myself. I favour ale at all times and - all occasions. Ale's a beverage. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. And Mr. Abbott's wedding isn't the point to-night. - </p> - <p> - THOMAS. It was a meller wedding and we want things meller always. - </p> - <p> - HARRY. That's it in a nutshell, Mr. Munning. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I'm sure we make no differences, Mr. Shoebridge. - </p> - <p> - HARRY. Oh yes, you do. You may not know it, but you do. You have two sorts - of catering, and our members want the best, or the Executive will pass a - resolution advising all to patronize Wilson's of Norton. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I hope you won't do that, Mr. Shoebridge. - </p> - <p> - HARRY. Well, if you want to keep our connection, you'll have to do the - thing our way. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. But you don't tell us what your way is. What is it we do wrong? - </p> - <p> - HARRY. I'm coming to it, lad. I'm going to touch the spot. From what we - hear, your Zack's a-wedding Martha Wrigley. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Yes? - </p> - <p> - HARRY. Well, I've nowt against it. Martha's doing unexpected well, but if - Zack's satisfied I'm sure I am. But Joe Wrigley tells me that it doesn't - stop at that, and being her father he ought to know. You want to emigrate - them off to Canada. Now where's the sense in that? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. It seems best to us. - </p> - <p> - THOMAS. Well, I think it's rotten. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You must allow us to be judges. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I think that's our business and nobody else's. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY (<i>pushing back chair and rising</i>). Come on, let's be getting - over to Wilson's and making our arrangements with him. - </p> - <p> - THOMAS (<i>rising</i>). Yes, that's the only thing if they're going to - talk that road. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. But I do wish you'd explain. What has Zack's going to Canada to do - with it? - </p> - <p> - HARRY. You want a lot of telling. You have two sorts of jollifications - here. Jollifications with Zack Munning and jollifications without. We want - them <i>with</i>. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. With Zack? - </p> - <p> - HARRY. He's the difference I've been telling you about. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Zack is! He never does anything. - </p> - <p> - HARRY. He does enough. I know what you mean. He's a bit of a fool at doing - most things is Zack, but he's got a gift for jollifications. I couldn't - point to where it is myself. Zack's just to come and moon about and drop a - word into an ear there and take a woman's arm here and the thing's done. - You might call it a knack he has. - </p> - <p> - THOMAS. He mellers things. That's where it is. It's like this, Mrs. - Munning. You can eat cheese without supping ale to it, but you don't get - satisfaction. And Paul can run a wedding without Zack being there, but - it's not hearty—not what I'd call a jollification. It's stiff and - hard. No feeling in it. No mellerness. - </p> - <p> - HARRY. Zack's got a way with him. He's an artist. If the talk's going - flat, or anybody recalls a subject that's not fit to be recalled at a - wedding—an old quarrel or such like,—what does Zack do but - break a plate? and smiles that smile of his, and all's well in a moment. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Well, this is a revelation to me. I don't know what to say. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I do. He'll go to Canada. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Is that your last word? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. No. We'll talk this over, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. It's gone too far for talking now. I've bought their tickets. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. They'll do to light a fire with. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. We'll let you have your answer later, Mr. Shoebridge. - </p> - <p> - HARRY (<i>by door</i>). All right, Mrs. Munning. You're wise enough to - know a hasty temper doesn't pay in business. I could give a good guess at - your answer. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. I'm not fond of guessing myself, so I'll stay here to get it. I'm - concerned twice over. As a member of the Executive and as father of the - bride to be. - </p> - <p> - THOMAS. We'll leave it to you, Joe. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. I reckon you can. - </p> - <p> - HARRY. Good evening, Mrs. Munning. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Good evening to you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Thomas and Harry.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I suppose we can put this down to you, Joe Wrigley. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. You might be farther out. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You'd nothing to say against emigrating them when I mentioned it. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. No, but I thought a lot. I'd a father's feelings, and they went - too deep for words. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. What have you done this for, Joe? - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Two reasons, and I don't know which is bigger of the two. Zack's - worth good money here. If I'd a mind to ruin your trade I'd let him go, - and make you find out what you've missed. But that's not Joseph Wrigley's - way. I kill no geese that lay me golden eggs. And reason number two. Aye, - and this weighs heaviest. I want the pleasure of knowing they're living in - the village here and the satisfaction of watching your face look sour and - sourer for the sight of them. I'll teach you something for sacking me. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Virginia enters, during this speech.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Will you, Joe? You've given me two reasons why you think you will. - I'll give you two why you won't. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. You will? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Be careful, Paul. (<i>She puts hand on his arm.</i>) - </p> - <p> - PAUL (<i>shaking her off</i>). The first's Zack isn't married yet to - Martha and the second is he isn't going to be. Their engagement's served - my purpose. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. What was your purpose, Paul? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Oh! I didn't see you, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Never mind her. You're speaking to me. Zack shall marry Martha or - I'll make your name a stink in Little Hutton. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Get out. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. You'll eat a lot of dirt for this, Paul Munning. Banns called and - wedding fixed and people asked. (<i>By door, then turns</i>). Is Zack to - marry Martha? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. He's not. - </p> - <p> - WRIGLEY. Then the band is going to play and, by George, I'll make you - dance to it. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Wrigley.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>quietly</i>). You must tell me what this is, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. It's Joe Wrigley making a mistake. Thinks he can bounce me, does he? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You'd better be careful, Paul. Joe Wrigley's one thing when - he's one of our men, but he's another now he's got on that committee. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. I'd like to wring his neck. The cunning swine. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Zack's not to go to Canada. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. All right. He's not. I'll go to Bollington tomorrow and get the - money back on the tickets. But he shan't marry Martha either. I'll get - even with Joe Wrigley there. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. What does Zack say? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Zack? What's Zack to do with it? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. It's his marriage, you know. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Zack <i>'</i>ll do as he's told. He wasn't marrying her because he - wanted to. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Why was he marrying? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Because I wanted it. I don't want it now. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. We're in a ticklish corner with Joe Wrigley, Paul. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Do you want me to hold my hands up to Joe Wrigley? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You'll take care what you do? I don't want my business - damaged worse than it is. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. <i>Your</i> business? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. It is my business, I believe. You're only my manager, and I - warn you to be careful or I'll set about making a change. I've learnt - something to-night. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. So have I. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Mother, you don't believe Joe's tales of Zack! - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'd not believe a sacked man's tales of anything, but I - believe Mowatt and Shoebridge, and I know who it is they want at the - weddings. It's been a shock to me to find they favour Zack, but it's Zack - they want and Zack they're going to get. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. A nice mess he'll make of things. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. That remains to be seen. He's never had his chance till now, - but he's just as much my son as you are, Paul. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes, he was just as much your son when you neglected him and - kept him down and gave Paul all your love. And just as much when you and - Paul let Zack walk into Wrigley's trap and never raised a hand to save - him, and when you schemed to send him out to Canada to save your pride - from being hurt, and when you changed your mind about him now—not - from regret or any love for Zack, but when you found your business would - do better with him here. Oh, I've been stupid too. I let myself be blinded - by the dust you both threw in my eyes, but I'm not blinded now and—— - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Will you be quiet, Virginia? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. If I made a mistake; Jenny, I've owned to it. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. You've owned to it! Does that make up to Zack for all the years - you've slighted him, for the chances that he might have had and Paul has - robbed him of? For—— - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Robbed! I think you're forgetting whose ring you're wearing on your - finger. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Your ring? Yes. There's your ring. - </p> - <p> - (<i>She takes it off and throws it at him. Zack and Martha enter. Martha - is in a stupidly elaborate wedding-dress. The ring misses Paul, hits Zack - and falls.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I think I heard something drop. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes. I've dropped Paul. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Jenny! - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You might have damaged that ring badly. It cost me thirty shillings. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. You are having an expensive time, lately. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA (<i>picking up ring</i>). Oh, it's a beautiful ring. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Yes. Give it to me. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. No. Put it on, Martha. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. What! - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Put it on. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Martha puts it on.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Do you like the look of it on your finger? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA It's a vision. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Is it? Do you like the man that goes with that ring? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. That's my ring, Virginia. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I'm quite aware of that. Do you like Paul, Martha? Will you take - Paul Munning for your lawful wedded husband? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'm not very quick at thinking, Virginia, but I think you're getting - things mixed up like. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. She's gone mad. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Have I aunt? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I don't know, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. You do know. You know Joe Wrigley has the power to ruin you - unless Martha becomes Mrs. Munning. She's going to become Mrs. Munning, - but not Mrs. Zack Munning. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. But I've passed my word to Martha. We've had banns called in church. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Are you in love with Martha, Zack? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well—— - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Are you or are you not? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You do ask the awkwardest questions, Virginia. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. That's good enough for me. Martha, it's a pity to waste that - wedding-dress. Would you rather marry Zack or Paul? - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I've never dared to lift my eyes as high as Mr. Paul. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. It's not so high. Stand on a chair if it'll make you feel - easier. It's like this, Martha. Paul's missing something by not marrying - me, but there's a matter of five hundred pounds that I'll give him in the - vestry on his wedding-day with you. Of course if he doesn't marry you - there's no five hundred pounds, and there is your father. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. And a new manager for my business too. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Mother! - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. So you've got it all three ways, Paul. Martha, you needn't be - afraid. Canada with Zack was the riskiest gamble a woman ever thought of, - but England with Paul is something solid. You'll have friends to Watch you - and to watch Paul, too. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. But—but—— - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. That's all right, Paul. You needn't thank me now. And if you'd - like to take Martha out for a walk, I shan't prevent you. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Me walk through Little Hulton by the side of Mr. Paul! Oh, Miss - Virginia, I'd never have the face. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I've told you you're bringing him good money. You give and he - takes. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Do I take? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Don't you? - </p> - <p> - PAUL. Mother, have you nothing to say? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. She's come down on the right side of the fence at last, Paul. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I'll not pretend I'm pleased, but it's a way out. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. You'd see me sacrificed like this? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You'll not forget that Martha's in the room, will you? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I suppose I'll do wrong thing if I open my mouth, but I'll speak my - mind for once and chance it. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. What's the matter, Zack? You didn't want to marry Martha? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I didn't and I did. I've no right to be selfish, and I didn't like - the thought of it at first. I'm the wrong sort of husband for her as I am. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Very well, then——— - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Aye. As I am I'm wrong, and I know I'm wrong. But I might not be so - wrong in Canada. I've never had a chance afore, and this thing's grown on - me a bit. I've wanted my chance, and it looked like I was getting it. You - never know what a foreign country will do for a man, and Canada began to - look a chance to me. I'd hopes of Canada. And now you say I'm not to marry - Martha, and I'll never get a chance again. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. I'd rather marry Mr. Paul, if he's willing, Zack. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. He's willing. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Maybe you're right, Martha. Paul's a bigger man than me and I - mustn't be selfish. But I'd begun to be hopeful, and I own this is a blow - to me. I'll go out for a breath of air. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Stay where you are, Zack. Paul and Martha are going out - together. - </p> - <p> - PAUL. That's advertising it a bit, and her in her wedding-gown and all. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. It's meant to advertise it, Paul. There's your hat. Give her - your arm now. - </p> - <p> - MARTHA. Oh, Mr. Paul! - </p> - <p> - (<i>They go up to door, arm in arm.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. And I'll tell you something, Paul. You're great at talking of - the cost of things. A pleasant look costs no more than a sour one, so see - what you can do. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Paul and Martha. Virginia closes door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Now then, aunt, is there anything you'd like to say to Zack? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. He's the cause of more trouble than he's worth, and has been - since the day he was born. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Yes, mother. I knew it must be all my fault some road. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I suppose that way of speaking to him is force of habit, aunt. - But it's time you changed your habits now. Don't you think you'd feel - better if you apologized to Zack? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Apologized! - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I've a belief myself in paying debts. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I don't owe Zack for much. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Only thirty years' neglect. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You mustn't talk like that to mother, Jenny. You can't expect a - great soft thing like me to get same care taken of him as she took of - Paul. You don't treat carthorses like you'd treat a racer. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>to Mrs. Munning, ignoring Zack</i>). So you've nothing to say - to him? - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. I don't know that I have. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. You're leaving quite a lot to me. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. We know what's good for Zack. Some folk don't pay for - kindness. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Some never get a chance. Zack's had your method long enough. - We'll try mine now. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. And what is yours? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Bring me some hot water and a towel, Zack. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Hot water? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. In a jug. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Yes, Jenny. I knew there'd be hot water in it somewhere. (<i>Exit - Zack.</i>) - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. What's this for? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. A clean start and a clean chin and Zack's first lesson in the - art of self-respect. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. Meaning you're going to swell his head. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. No, aunt. Only to shave his beard. I'm going to talk to Zack and - a lather-brush will be a handy thing to stop his mouth with if he tries to - answer back before I've done. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Zack re-enters with steaming jug and a towel.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. It's very hot. I found the kettle on the boil. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. All the better. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>apprehensively</i>). Yes, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. And you think I'll stay here and watch you do it? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Well, aunt, I rather hoped you wouldn't. - </p> - <p> - MRS. MUNNING. You're taking charge of things, young lady. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I've come to the conclusion that it's time. (<i>Mrs. Munning - meets her eye, quails and goes out.</i>) Zack, go upstairs and bring me - down the birthday present that I gave you. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. It's not upstairs, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Where is it, then? I want it. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I keep it in my pocket. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. No wonder your coat fits like a sack. Give it me. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You're not going to take it off me because I didn't use it, are you? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I'm going to use it. Sit down. (<i>She pushes him into chair and - puts towel round his neck.</i>) Tell me why you carried this about with - you. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. It's because I——— (<i>hesitates.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Well? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Because you gave it me. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I gave it you for use. Keep still now. (<i>She trims his beard - with scissors.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Yes, Jenny. I know, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. They're - too grand for using on the likes of me. Oh! (<i>She deliberately pricks - him.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. What is it? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You ran the scissors into me. It doesn't matter though. - </p> - <p> - (<i>She pricks again.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Oh, Jenny, that did hurt a bit. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I meant it to. Don't you dare to say it doesn't matter when - you're hurt or I'll hurt you again. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. No, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - (<i>She turns to table and makes lather.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. And when I give you anything and tell you to use it, you won't - imagine it's too grand for you. You'll use it; (<i>Her back is still - turned to him. He fingers the stubble on his chin and nervously holds the - chair-arms, watching her timorously.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Yes, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>turning with lather-brush</i>). Very well. Now I can start - talking to you. (<i>She holds brush poised. He eyes it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You've not done badly up to now for a non-starter. (<i>She puts - brush in his mouth</i>). Oof! - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>lathering</i>). If you open your mouth again unless I tell - you to, that's what you'll get. Now, Zack Munning, who do you think you - are? (<i>Stands from him</i>). You may answer. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well I suppose I'm—— I dunno. I'm nobody much. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>approaching and lathering</i>). You can't answer. Then I'll - tell you. You are not nobody. You're a person of considerable importance. - For one thing, you're the mainstay of your mother's business. When you go - to weddings, they're liked, and when you don't they're disliked. Paul is - not popular. You are. You may speak. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You've no right to run down Paul like that, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I'm not running him down. I'm putting him in his place in - comparison with you. Now, is that understood? You're of more value here - than he is. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Oh, but, Jenny—oof! (<i>He gets the brush in his mouth.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. If you like a mouthful of soap at every word I utter you can - have it. If you don't, sit quiet and listen. Where was I coming to? Oh - yes. Martha Wrigley. You didn't love her, Zack. Why did you let them force - her on to you? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I do hate argument, Jenny. Paul argued and Joe argued and he's a - powerful voice for arguing has Joe, and so I just said "yes" to make an - end of it. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>taking razor</i>). You'd better turn round to the light now. - I don't want to plough your face. Carry the chair to the window. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Yes, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Sit down and let me see what I can make of you. (<i>She shaves.</i>) - You just said "Yes" to save yourself the trouble of saying "No" and never - thought of anybody else but Paul and Joe. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>moving in protest</i>). Oh yes, I did, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>alarmed</i>). Be careful, Zack. I don't want to cut you. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well, I did think of some one else. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Who? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I thought of Martha. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Never mind Martha. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. But I must mind her. She looked to me for consolation did Martha, - and I don't think Paul's as good at consoling a wench as I am. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Oh? So we've found something we're better at than he is, have - we? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I'm bound to think of Martha's feelings, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Martha's parading the high street with Paul. Her feelings are - all right. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. My conscience isn't easy about her, Jenny. We've been called in - church together and—— - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>holding out razor</i>). And you can finish shaving by - yourself. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. But I don't know how. I've never used a razor in my life. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Virginia puts razor on table. Zack rises, half shaved.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. It's time you learned. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. You were getting on so well. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. So were you till you began to talk rubbish about Martha Wrigley. - Go and ask her to finish shaving you. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Have I said anything to offend you, Jenny? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Have you said——? You think a lot about other people, - Zack. Do you never think of me? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. I do that. But it's not the same. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. The same as what? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. It's common thinking when I think of them. When I think of you it's - something a bit special. It's thinking with my hat off, like going into - church. It's Sunday best and I couldn't bring myself to talk of it the - same way as I'd talk of them. It's not for talking of at all. It's - holylike. That's why I haven't mentioned it. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>takes up razor. Zack flinches</i>). Sit down again. I'll - finish shaving you. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Will you, Jenny? (<i>He sits.</i>) - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Yes. Don't talk or you'll get cut. Now listen, Zack. Martha - Wrigley's getting what she wants. She's marrying Paul and she'll be the - proudest woman in the place. So you can put her out of mind. If you want - to say "good-bye" to her, you can go and say it when I've finished shaving - you. Only you'll say it in words. You're a bit too free with your - consolations, and I've not shaved you for Martha Wrigley to have the - benefit of your virgin chin. You've finished with her, Zack, you - understand? - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Yes, Jenny. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Very well. Now you can get up and look at yourself in that - glass. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>peering into glass in lid of shaving set</i>). Why, Jenny, I'd - not have known myself. Is yon lad me? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. It's you. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well, I tell you what, Jenny, if I'd met that face in the lane on - anybody else but me, I'd have said he wasn't a bad looking chap at all. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. It's not a face you're meeting in the lane. It's your face. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. That's the surprising part about it. Why, it's very near worth - taking the trouble to shave every day. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. I'll see you take the trouble. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. And I'll look like this every day! - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. You will. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well, but if that's so, and I'm free of Martha, why.... No. I'm - getting ahead too fast. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Not you. Take another look at yourself if you're afraid about - anything. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>looking</i>). I'm pretty near good-looking enough to chance it. - Dang it, I will chance it, and all—No. No. I'm not quite bold enough - for that. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA (<i>holding glass in front of him</i>). Look again. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Well, you can't eat me anyhow. Jenny, I've got a heap of love for - you. I've loved you since the day I met you, and I've been the miserablest - chap on earth because of what's been happening since. Things always do go - wrong with me, and they've been going the wrongest road they could, but, - by gum, there's just a chance to put them right this time, and I'll dash - at it if I'm hanged for it. Jenny it's the most bowdacious thing to come - from me to you, but I'm wrought up to point and I've got to speak or bust. - Will you have me, lass? - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. Kiss me, Zack. - </p> - <p> - ZACK. But—but—do you mean to say you'll—— - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. You great baby. - </p> - <p> - ZACK (<i>embracing her</i>). Eh, I could hug you till you broke. Love? - Love's the finest state of man. I'm—I'm—— No. There - aren't words made for this. Its too tremendous big for words. Jenny, it's - true? You're not—You're not just playing with me. - </p> - <p> - VIRGINIA. No. It's true. Oh, Zack! - </p> - <p> - ZACK. Jenny! (<i>Kiss.</i>) - </p> - <h3> - CURTAIN. - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Three Lancashire Plays: The Game; The -Northerners; Zack, by Harold Brighouse - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE LANCASHIRE PLAYS *** - -***** This file should be named 55286-h.htm or 55286-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/2/8/55286/ - -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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