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diff --git a/old/55290-0.txt b/old/55290-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6963e8d..0000000 --- a/old/55290-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4372 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Garside's Career, 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: Garside's Career - A Comedy In Four Acts - -Author: Harold Brighouse - -Release Date: August 7, 2017 [EBook #55290] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GARSIDE'S CAREER *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - -GARSIDE'S CAREER - -A Comedy In Four Acts - -By Harold Brighouse - -London: Constable And Company Ltd. - -1914 - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - -TO - -A. N. MONKHOUSE - - - - -GARSIDE'S CAREER - - - - -ACT I - -|Interior of an artisan cottage. Door centre, leading direct to street, -door right to house. Fireplace with kitchen range left. Table centre, -with print cloth. Two plain chairs under it, one left, one centre, -facing audience. Rocking-chair by fireplace. Two chairs against wall -right, above door. Dresser right, below door. Small hanging bookcase -on wall, left centre. Window right centre. On walls plainly framed -photographs of Socialist leaders--Blatchford, Hyndman, Hardie. The time -is 7.0 p.m. on a June evening. - -Mrs. Garside is a working-class woman of 50, greyhaired, slight, with -red toil-worn hands and a face expressive of resignation marred by -occasional petulance, dressed in a rough serge skirt, dark print blouse, -elastic-sided boots, and a white apron. She sits in the rocking-chair, -watching the cheap alarm-clock fretfully. Outside a boy is heard calling -"Last Edishun." She rises hastily, feels on the mantelpiece for her -purse, opens the door centre and buys a paper from the boy who appears -through the doorway. She closes door, sits centre and spreads the paper -on the table, rises again and gets spectacle-case from mantelpiece. She -sits with spectacles on and rapidly goes through the paper seeking some -particular item. - -The door centre opens and Margaret Shawcross enters. She is young, dark, -with a face beautiful in expression rather than feature. It is the face -of an idealist, one who would go through fire and water for the faith -that is in her. - -She is a school teacher, speaking with an educated voice in a slightly -apparent northern accent, dressed neatly and serviceably. - -Mrs. Garside turns eagerly as she enters and is disappointed on seeing -Margaret. - -***** - -Mrs. Gar. Oh, it's you. I thought it might be---- - -Mar. (_closing door, sympathetically_). Yes. But it's too early to -expect Peter back yet. - -Mrs. G. (_with some truculence_). He'll not be long. He's always said -he'd let his mother be the first to hear the news. - -Mar. (_gently_). You don't mind my being here to hear it with you? - -Mrs. G. (_rising and putting spectacles back on mantelpiece, speaking -ungraciously_). No, you've got a right to hear it too, Margaret. -(_Margaret picks up paper._) I can't find anything in that. - -Mar. Peter said the results come out too late for the evening papers. - -Mrs. G. He never told me. (_Margaret folds paper on table._) I'm glad -though. There's no one else _'_ull know a-front of me. He'll bring the -good news home himself. He's coming now as fast as train and car _'_ull -bring him. (_Sitting in rocking-chair._) - -Mar. Yes. He knows we're waiting here, we two who care for Peter more -than anything on earth. - -Mrs. G. (_giving her a jealous glance_). I wish he'd come. - -Mar. Try to be calm, Mrs. Garside. - -Mrs. G. (_irritably_). Calm? How can I be calm? I'm on edge till I know. -(_Rocking her chair quickly._) - -Mar. (_trying to soothe her_). It isn't as if he can't try again if he's -not through this time. - -Mrs. G. (_confidently, keeping her chair still_). He'll have no need to -try again. I've a son and his name this night is Peter Garside, b.a. I -know he's through. - -Mar. (_sitting in chair lift of table_). Then if you're sure---- - -Mrs. G. Yes. I know I'm a fidget. I want to hear it from his own lips. -He's worked so hard he can't fail. (_Accusingly._) You don't believe me, -Margaret. You're not sure of him. - -Mar. (_with elbows on table and head on hands_). I'm fearful of the odds -against him--the chances that the others have and he hasn't. _Peter's_ -to work for his living. _They're_ free to study all day long. (_Rising, -enthusiastically._) Oh, if he does it, what a triumph for our class. -Peter Garside, the Board School boy, the working engineer, keeping -himself and you, and studying at night for his degree. - -Mrs. G. (_dogmatically_). The odds don't count. I know Peter. Peter's -good enough for any odds. You doubt him, Margaret. - -Mar. No. I've seen him work. I've worked with him till he distanced -me and left me far behind. He knows enough to pass, to pass above them -all---- - -Mrs. G. Yes, yes! - -Mar. But examinations are a fearful hazard. - -Mrs. G. Not to Peter. He's fighting for his class, he's showing them -he's the better man. He can work with his hands and they can't, and he -can work with his brain as well as the best of them. - -Mar. He'll do it. It may not be this time, but he'll do it in the end. - -Mrs. G. (_obstinately_). This time, Margaret. - -Mar. I do hope so. - -Mrs. G. (_looking at the clock_). Do you think there's been a breakdown -on the cars? - -Mar. No, no. - -Mrs. G. (_rising anxiously_). He said seven, and it's after that. - -Mar. (_trying to soothe her_). Not much. - -Mrs. G. (_pacing about_). Why doesn't he come? (_Stopping short._) Where -do people go to find out if there's been an accident? It's the police -station, isn't it? - -Mar. Oh, there's no need---- - -[_Peter Garside bursts in through centre door and closes it behind him -as he speaks. He is 23, cleanshaven, fair, sturdily built, with a large, -loose mouth, strong jaw, and square face, dressed in a cheap tweed suit, -wearing a red tie._ - -Peter (_breathlessly_). I've done it. - -Mrs. G. (_going to him; he puts his arm round her and pats her back, -while she hides her face against his chest_). My boy, my boy! - -Peter. I've done it, mother. (_Looking proudly at Margaret._) I'm an -honours man of Midlandton University. - -Mar. First class, Peter? - -Peter. Yes. First Class. (_Gently disengaging himself from Mrs. -Garside._) - -Mrs. G. (_standing by his left, looking up at him_). I knew, I knew it, -Peter. I had the faith in you. - -Peter (_hanging his cap behind the door right, then coming back to -centre. Margaret is standing on the hearthrug_). Ah, little mother, what -a help that faith has been to me. I couldn't disappoint a faith like -yours. I had to win. Mother, Margaret, I've done it. Done it. Oh, -I think I'm not quite sane to-night. This room seems small all of a -sudden. I want to leap, to dance, and I know I'd break my neck against -the ceiling if I did. Peter Garside, b.a. (_Approaching Margaret._) -Margaret, tell me I deserve it. _You_ know what it means to me. The -height of my ambition. The crown, the goal, my target reached at last. -Margaret, isn't it a great thing that I've done? - -Mar. (_taking both his hands_). A great thing, Peter. - -Peter. Oh, but I was lucky in my papers. - -Mar. No, you just deserve it all. - -Peter (_dropping her hands_). Up to the end I didn't know. I thought I'd -failed. And here I'm through first class. I've beaten men I never hoped -to equal. I've called myself a swollen-headed fool for dreaming to -compete with them, and now---- - -Mrs. G. Now you've justified my faith. I never doubted you--like -Margaret did. - -Peter (_looking from her to Margaret_). Margaret did? - -Mar. I didn't dare to hope for this, Peter--at a first attempt. - -Mrs. G. (_contemptuously_). She didn't dare. But I did. I dared, Peter, -I knew. - -Peter (_putting his arm over her shoulder_). Oh, mother, mother! But -Margaret was right, if I hadn't had such luck in the papers I---- - -Mrs. G. (_slipping from him and going to where her cape and bonnet hang -on the door right_). It wasn't luck. Even Margaret said you deserved it -all. - -Peter. Even Margaret! (_Seeing her putting cape on._) You're not going -out, mother? - -Mrs. G. (_with determination_). Yes, I am. There's others besides -Margaret doubted you. I'm going to tell them all. I'm going to be the -first to spread the news. And won't it spread! Like murder. - -[_Margaret sits l.c._ - -Peter. Oh, yes. It'll spread fast enough. They may know already. - -Mrs. G. (_turning with her hand on the centre door latch_). How could -they? - -Peter. News travels fast. - -Mrs. G. But you haven't told anyone else. Have you, Peter? -(_Reproachfully._) You said you'd let me be the first to know. - -Peter. I met O'Callagan on his way to the Club. He asked me. I couldn't -refuse to answer. - -Mrs. G. (_energetically_). He'd no right to meet you. A dreamy wastrel -like O'Callagan to know before your mother! - -Peter. He'll only tell the men at the Club, mother. - -Mrs. G. (_opening door_). And I'll tell the women. They're going to -know the kind of son I've borne. I'm a proud woman this night, and -all Belinda Street is going to know I've cause to be. (_Sniffing._) -O'Callagan indeed! - -[_Exit Mrs. Garside._ - -Peter. And now, Margaret? (_He stands centre behind table._) - -Mar. (_looking up and holding out her hand across table; she takes his, -bending_). Oh, my dear, my dear. - -Peter. Are you pleased with me? - -Mar. Pleased! - -Peter (_rising_). Yes. We've done it. - -Mar. You, not we. My hero. - -Peter. We, Margaret, we. I'm no hero. I owe it all to you. - -Mar. (_rising_). You owe it to yourself. - -Peter. You inspired me. You helped me on. You kept me at it when my -courage failed. When I wanted to slack you came and worked with me. It -was your idea from the first. - -Mar. My idea but your deed. - -Peter (_sitting centre, behind table_). I've had dreams of this. -Dreams of success. I never thought it would come. It was there on the -horizon--a far-off nebulous dream. - -Mar. (_standing right_). It's a reality to-day. - -Peter. Yes. It's a reality to day. I've done the task you set me. I've -proved my class as good as theirs. That's what you wanted, wasn't it? - -Mar. I wanted you to win, Peter. - -Peter. I've won because you wanted it, because after I won I knew that -you---- (_Rising._) Has it been wearisome to wait, Margaret? I had the -work, lectures, study. You had the tedious clays of teaching idiotic -middle-class facts to idiotic middle-class children, and evenings when -you ought to have had me and didn't because I couldn't lose a single -precious moment's chance of study. - -Mar. That's clean forgotten. To-night is worth it all. - -Peter. To-night, and the future, Margaret. - -Mar. (_solemnly_). Yes, the future, Peter. - -Peter. This night was always in my dreams. The night when I should come -to you and say, Margaret Shawcross, this have I done for you, because -you wanted it. Was it well done, Margaret? - -Mar. Nobly done. - -Peter. And the labourer is worthy of his hire? I ask for my reward. - -Mar. (_shaking her head_). I can give you no reward that's big enough. - -Peter. You can give the greatest prize on earth. We ought to have been -married long ago. I've kept you waiting. - -Mar. That had to be. They won't have married women teachers at the -Midlandton High School. I couldn't burden you until this fight was -fought. - -Peter. And now, Margaret? - -Mar. Now I'm ready--if---- - -Peter. More if's? - -Mar. A very little one. If you've money to keep us three. No going short -for mother. - -Peter. You trust me, don't you? - -Mar. (_giving hand_). Yes, Peter, I trust you. - -Peter (_bursting with thoughts_). There's my journalism. This degree -_'_ull give me a lift at that. I shall get lecture engagements too. - -Mar. (_alarmed_). Peter, you didn't do it for that! - -Peter. I did it for you. But I mean to enjoy the fruits of all this -work. Public speaking's always been a joy to me. You don't know the -glorious sensation of holding a crowd in the hollow of your hand, -mastering it, doing what you like with it. - -Mar. (_sadly_). I hoped you'd given up speaking. - -Peter. I haven't spoken lately because I'd other things to do. I haven't -given it up. - -Mar. You did too much before. - -Peter. You don't know the fascination of the thing. - -Mar. (_bracing herself for a tussle_). I know the fascination's fatal. I -saw it growing on you--this desire to speak, to be the master of a mob. -I hoped I'd cured you of it. - -Peter. Cured me? - -Mar. I thought I'd given you a higher aim. - -Peter. And _that_ was why you urged this study on me? - -Mar. Yes. - -Peter. Margaret! Why? (_Backing from, her, and sitting centre during her -speech._) - -Mar. I've seen men ruined by this itch to speak. You know them. Men we -had great hopes of in the movement. Men we thought would be real leaders -of the people. And they spoke, and spoke, and soon said all they had to -say, became mere windbags trading on a reputation till people tired and -turned to some new orator. Don't be one of these, Peter. You've solider -grit than they. The itch to speak is like the itch to drink, except that -it's cheaper to talk yourself tipsy. - -Peter. You ask a great thing of me, Margaret. - -Mar. (_sitting right_) What shall I see of you if you're out speaking -every night? You pitied me just now because you had to close your door -against me while you studied. I could bear that for the time. But this -other thing, married and widowed at once, with you out at your work all -day and away night after night---- - -Peter. But I shan't always be working in the daytime. - -Mar. (_alarmed_). Not work! Peter--they haven't dismissed you? - -Peter. Oh, no. I'm safe if anyone is safe. No one is, of course, but I'm -as safe as man can be. I'm a first-elass workman. - -Mar. I know that, dear. - -Peter. So do they. They'll not sack me. I might sack them some day. - -Mar. But--how shall we live? - -Peter (_impatiently_). Oh, not yet. I'm speaking of the future. Don't -you see? I'm not content to be a workman all my life. I ought to make -a living easily by writing and--and speaking if you'll let me. Then I -could be with you all day long. - -Mar. (_looking straight in front of her_). Have I set fire to this -train? - -Peter. You don't suppose a B.A. means to stick to manual labour all his -life, do you? - -Mar. Oh, dear! This wasn't my idea at all. I wanted you to win your -degree for the honour of the thing, to show them what a working engineer -could do. Cease to be a workman and you confess another, worse motive. -It's as though you only passed to make a profit for yourself. - -Peter. I can't help being ambitious. I wasn't till you set me on. - -Mar. If you listened to me then, listen to me now. - -Peter (_pushing his chair hack and rising_). I might have a career. -(_Crossing to fireplace._) - -Mar (_still sitting_). And I might have a husband. I don't want to marry -a career, Peter. - -Peter (_looking into fire, his back to Margaret_). I've already got a -local reputation as a speaker. - -Mar. Then make one as a writer. I know you can. - -Peter. The other's easier. - -Mar. It's not like you to choose the easy path. - -Peter. I've worked so hard. I did think that now I might have some -reward. - -Mar. You've won your degree. - -Peter (_acquiescent_). Oh, yes. - -Mar. And--I'm ready, Peter. (_Slight pause._) - -Peter (_turning_). Yes. You've conquered me. I'll fight ambition down. -It shall be as you wish, Margaret. - -Mar. (_rising and going to him_). Peter, oh, my dear, dear Peter! You -make me feel I don't do right. Oh, but I know. I know. Speaking's so -deadly dangerous. - -Peter. I promise not to speak. I'll write. I'll stick to engineering, -and we'll have our evenings. - -Mar. You make me very happy, Peter. - -Peter. When are you going to make me happy, Margaret? - -Mar. As soon as my lord pleases. - -Peter. Your lord will be pleased in a month. - -[_Mrs. Garside enters, centre._ - -Well, little mother, have you disseminated the intelligence? - -[_Margaret sits on rocking-chair._ - -Mrs. G. (_uncomprehendingly_). No. I've been telling folks about you. -(_She takes off bonnet and cape and hangs them on door right._) Some of -_'_em's green with jealousy this night. They know I'm the mother of a -great man now. - -Peter. So you were first, after all? - -Mrs. G. I meant being first. Who'd the better right to be? Me or a wild -Irishman? (_Crossing to dresser and emptying on a plate the contents of -a parcel she had brought in._) - -Peter (_smiling_). And you've been killing the fatted calf for me? - -Mrs. G. (_literally_). Oh, did you want pressed veal? I've got ham. - -Peter. I don't want veal. Food's not a bad idea, though. - -Mrs. G. (_looking at Margaret_). No. Margaret might have thought of that -and put the kettle on if she'd had her wits about her. - -Mar. (_rising_). I'm sorry, Mrs. Garside. We've been talking. - -Mrs. G. You'd some excuse. Peter's given us something to talk about. - -Mar. Let me help now. - -Peter. We'll all help. I'll lay the table. - -Mrs. G. You don't stir a finger, my lad. Sit you down. - -[_Peter sits with amused resignation in rocking-chair._ - -Peter. Oh! Why? - -Mrs. G. B.A.s don't lay tables. Now, Margaret. (_Mrs. Garside takes -white cloth from drawer in table and she and Margaret spread it. There -is a knock at the door. Peter gets up. Mrs. Garside pushes him back into -his chair_). I've told you to sit still. (_She crosses to door centre -and opens it._) - -O'Cal. (_visible in doorway_). May we come in, Mrs. Garside? - -Mrs. G. (_genially_). Yes. Come in, the lot of you. - -[_The three who enter are working men in their evening clothes. Denis -O'Callagan is 35, clean shaven, an enthusiastic impractical Irishman, -small and dark. Karl Marx Jones is 30, wears a formally trimmed beard, -is precise in utterance, doctrinaire in outlook, and practical in -procedure. Ned Applegarth is a man of 50, his age carrying sober -authority, very earnest in manner, grizzled moustache, grey hair, black -cut-away coat and turn-down collar, a responsible leader deferred to -willingly by O'Callagan, ungraciously by Jones. Ned, entering last, -closes the door. Each, as he speaks, shakes Peter's hand._ - -O'Cal. (_visible in doorway_). Aye. Let us come in, for it's a great -night surely, and we fair bursting with the glory of the thing that's -done this day. - -Jones. Comrade Garside, I offer my congratulations. - -Ned. Well done, youngster. (_Turning to Mrs. Garside._) Mrs. Garside, -you've a son to be proud of. - -Mrs. G. Do you think I don't know it? - -Peter (_his demeanour unfeignedly modest_). Comrades, Mr. Applegarth, -it's nothing. I tried my best, but if I hadn't been so lucky in my -papers---- - -Jones (_interrupting_). You've passed. The others were lucky, lucky in -being men of leisure, sons of wealthy parents with nothing to do but -study. Don't talk about your luck--(_bitterly_)--the luck of a wage -slave. It's like winning a foot race with your ankles chained together. - -O'Cal. It's the mighty brain of him that made him win. - -Peter. Comrades, don't give me praise. It wasn't I. Something not myself -got hold of me and urged me on. Injustice! Tyranny! The consciousness of -class. The knowledge that in the eyes of my well-to-do competitors I was -an inferior animal. My hands are rough with toil, the toil they batten -on, and so they mocked at me for daring to compete with them--a man with -a trade. They know now what a working man can do with his brain. They -laughed on the wrong side of their fat faces, when the list came out -to-night. - -O'Cal. Bravo! - -Jones (_sceptically_). Are they all such cads? I thought there were -Socialists among them. - -Peter. Middle-class, kid-glove Socialists, Fabians. - -Ned (_dryly_). You're a fine talker, lad. - -O'Cal. (_to Ned_). And a brave doer, Mr. Applegarth. - -Ned. Well, well, a good start's half the battle, and I'm not denying -that a ready tongue's a useful gift. - -Mar. It's a dangerous one, Mr. Applegarth. - -Jones. Aye, when it's by itself. Not when it's backed up by a knowledge -of the principles of Karl Marx and used to expose fearlessly the gross -fallacies of the capitalist professors of economics. - -Ned (_impatiently_). Let's get to business. (_Jones is resentful._) Mrs. -Garside's making supper, and we don't want to keep her waiting. - -Mrs. G. That's all one. Food _'_ull be nobbut a fraud. We're too excited -to eat this night. Sit you down. - -Ned. Thank you, Mrs. Garside. - -[_Mrs. Garside puts Ned in chair, centre. Peter and Margaret bring the -chairs right down stage, putting one right, near table, the other left, -Jones sits right. O'Callagan at table left, Peter on chair he brings -left of O'Callagan, and Mrs. Garside presently takes rocking-chair. -Margaret stands l.c. well away from the rest, as if trying to efface -herself, after going off left and returning without her hat in a -moment._ - -(_Sitting._) Peter, I've said it before, and I say it again. You've made -a good start, lad. - -Peter. Thank you, Mr. Applegarth. - -Ned. A good start. And now, what comes next? - -Peter (_going left, and meeting Margaret as she reenters_). Next? This -next, Mr. Applegarth. (_Taking her hand._) - -Ned (_nodding_). So. I mind I'd heard. Well, marriage is a proper state. -(_Jones shows signs of irritation._) And you're a lucky chap to have -Miss Shawcross for a bride. I don't say anything against marriage. - -Jones (_hotly_). Well, I do. Now and always. In a free state -marriage---- - -O'Cal. (_leaning across towards Jones, Peter and Margaret still standing -behind near left door_). And have we got our free state yet? Let you -wait to be talking of freedom and free-loving men and women till we've -had our glorious revolution, and in the dawning of that day---- - -Jones (_leaping up, interrupting_). There must be pioneers. Some of _us_ -must set the example. (_Appealing to Peter and Margaret._) Even at -the price of martyrdom, of ostracism by coarse-minded oafs who cannot -understand, I call on you, Miss Shawcross, to dispense with the worn-out -form of marriage. Be free lovers---- - -Ned. Comrade Jones, you're a married man yourself - -(_Jones sits dozen abruptly, silenced_), and we're here on business. And -after you're married, Peter? - -Jones (_murmuring disgustedly_). Married! - -Peter (_lightly_). Oh, live happily ever afterwards. My horizon doesn't -go beyond that. - -Ned. Doesn't it? Well, listen to me. There'll be a by-election here -shortly. - -Peter. Why? (_Peter leaves Margaret and comes forward to chair right of -table._) - -Ned. Ramsden's resigning South-west Midlandton. - -Jones. About time the old hypocrite did, too. - -Peter. This is news to me. - -Ned. I know that. It was news to us last night. The question is, do we -run a candidate this time? - -Peter. We ought to. It's a labour seat by rights. - -Jones. If only the thick-headed fools would sec their own interests. - -Peter (_turning_). Margaret, you'll have to give me back my word. -(_Slight pause._) - -Jones. What word's that? - -Peter. I've promised to give up public speaking. (_They look at Margaret -in disgusted protest. She speaks quickly._) - -Mar. Oh, you shall speak if there's an election. - -Ned. That's right. All hands to the pump. - -Mar. I'll speak myself. - -O'Cal. It's a risky thing for you. Miss Shaweross. - -Mar. The cause comes first. - -O'Cal. Before bread and butter? You'll lose your job if they hear of it. - -Mar. I must hope they won't hear. - -Ned. You're going too fast. There's two things in the way. One's money. -The other's a man. - -Peter. Surely the Central people have a good man ready to fight. - -Ned. No. We've got to find the man, before they help us with money. -They're a bit down on our chances unless we find a strong local man. A -local man should pull it off where an outsider might fail. Problem is to -find him. - -O'Cal. Faith, and we've found him. - -Peter. Yourself, Mr. Applegarth? - -Ned. I'm the wrong side of fifty, and I'm no speaker. Guess again. - -Peter. It's got to be a local man? - -Jones. That's essential. - -Peter. I can't think of anyone who's big enough for that job. - -Jones. Nor we couldn't neither. We gave it up last night and called -another meeting at the Club to-night. And there we sat, the whole -executive, no better than a parcel of tongue-tied fools, when O'Callagan -bursts in and tells us---- - -Ned. Yes, Peter Garside, b.a., there's you. - -[_Margaret shrinks back still further._ - -Mrs. G. (_going round to him_). Peter! My son a Member of Parliament! - -Peter (_repulsing her_). No, no, I'm not worthy. - -Ned. We're the best judges of that. - -Peter (_firmly_). I'm too young. I'd be the youngest man in the Labour -Party. - -Jones. Someone's got to be that. They need young blood. There's too much -antideluvian trades unionism about the old gang. - -O'Cal. It's a queer thing you do be saying, and you without a grey hair -to your head. It's a queer thing to hear a young man making moan beeause -he's young. - -Mrs. G. (_appealingly_). Peter! - -Peter. But I'm---- (_Hesitating and looking from one to the other._) - -Ned. What? - -Peter. I don't know. I never thought of this. - -Jones. Think of it now. We've to act sharp if we're to do any good at -all. - -Peter (_still wondering_). And you've come officially to offer it to me? - -Jones (_roughly_). Of course we have. Do you think we're playing with -the thing? - -Peter. It's--it's awfully sudden. When do you want my answer? - -Ned. Now. (_Seeing Peter's distress, more kindly._) To-night, anyhow. -The whole thing _'_ull be over in six weeks. We've little enough time in -all conscience to create an organization. - -Peter. And if I say--no? - -O'Cal. Then one of the murdering blood-suckers that live upon our labour -_'_ull get the seat, and it won't matter either way which side wins, for -it's all one to the working man. - -Jones. It's you or nobody. - -Ned (_appealing_). Lad, you'll not say no. I don't say you'll never -get another chance, beeause B.A.s are sort of scarce in the Amalgamated -Society of Engineers. But I do say this. We want you. You've got a call -to a high place and a high duty. Are you going to fail us in our need? - -O'Cal. We want you for another nail in the coffin of capitalism, another -link in the golden chain that's dragging us up from slavery the way -we'll be free men the day that chain's complete. - -Peter (_smiling_). And I'd be a nine-carat link, Denis. I'm made of -baser stuff than the great leaders who compose that chain. I'm not -worthy to aspire to a seat by their side in Parliament. - -Jones. There's such a vice as over-modesty. - -Ned. Nay, I like you better for being modest. You'd like us to go out -and eome back in an hour or so. - -Mrs. G. Say yes to them, Peter. Tell them you'll be a Member of -Parliament. - -Peter. Members of Parliament need electing first, mother. - -O'Cal. And are you doubting that you'll be elected? You've only to say -you'll stand, and you can practise putting M.P. after your name this -night, for you'll have need to write it certainly. - -Peter (_going to Margaret_). Margaret, what shall I say? - -Jones. You must decide this for yourself. - -Mar. (_coming forward a little reluctantly_). Yes, Peter. You must -decide. No one can help you there. - -Peter. Won't you tell me what you think? - -Mar. (_firmly_). Not now. No other mind than yours can make this choice. - -Peter (_adrift_). But, Margaret, you've always given me advice. - -Mrs. G. (_jealously_). She wants to hold you back. She's never had the -faith in you that others have. She'd like to tell you now you're not -good enough for Parliament only there's too many here to give her the -lie. - -Peter. Mother, mother! - -Mrs. G. Oh, yes, I dare say, put Margaret first, Margaret who doesn't -believe in you, in front of all the rest of us who know Parliament's not -good enough for you. It's the House of Lords you should be in. - -Peter. I hope not so bad as that, mother. - -O'Cal. We'll be taking a stroll round the houses, and come in again -presently. - -Peter (_turning to them_). No. Don't go. I'll give you my answer now. -I've decided. - -Ned. Well. What is it? - -Peter. I'll stand. - -Ned. (_shaking his hand_). Good lad! - -O'Cal. It's destroyed I am with joy, and me after thinking he wasn't -going to stand at all. You'll be elected surely, and we the nearer by -another step to that great glittering dawn that's coming to bring peace -and happiness to---- - -Jones. Don't gabble, Denis. We've to work to organize for victory. I'm -going to the Club to beat up recruits. - -Ned. We're all coming, Karl. We're not going into this with our hands in -our pockets. - -Peter (_making for his cap_). Yes. - -Ned (_stopping him_). Not you, Peter. You've earned a rest to-night. You -begin to-morrow. - -Peter. Rest! I shan't rest till after the election. - -Jones. You've to keep your strength for the street corners. We'll do -the donkey work. Clerking's all some of us are fit for. (_Glancing at -O'Callagan._) You can draft your election address if you want something -to do. - -Ned. You'll want every ounce of strength. Ramsden's done us a good turn -by resigning in the summer time. They can have every hall in the town -and welcome. But open-air speaking night after night--well, look to your -lungs. We'll watch the rest. - -Peter. I'm in your hands. - -Ned. That's right. Take it easy now. You'll have to sprint at the -finish. Now, comrades. (_Opening door, centre._) - -O'Cal. Good night, all. - -Jones. Good night. - -[_Peter holds door open and sees them go, he, Margaret, and Mrs. Garside -chorussing "Good night," then he closes the door, and leans against it -as if dazed, passing his hand across his forehead._ - -Peter. My God! It's like a dream. I can't get used to it. - -Mrs. G. You'll get used to it fast enough. It's always an easy thing -to take your natural state in life. You were born to be great. -(_Viciously._) However much some folk _'_ud like to keep you down. - -Peter. Yes. I suppose I shall settle to it. (_Coming to chair right and -sitting, Mrs. Garside is to his left, Margaret his right._) In a few -days it _'_ull seem matter of fact enough to be Labour candidate for the -division. But it hasn't got me that way yet. Margaret, when you set -me on to study for my B.A., you little thought it was going to lead to -this. - -Mar. (_slowly_). No. I didn't think it would lead to this. - -Mrs. G. (_sharply_). And you're not well pleased it has. Some people -can't stand the sight of other folk's success. - -Peter (_protesting_). Mother, mother, without Margaret this would never -have happened to me. I owe it all to her. - -Mrs. G. (_sceptically_). Because she told you to study? It's a proper -easy job to tell someone else to do a thing. A fine lot easier than -doing it yourself. - -Peter. Come, mother, I can't have you quarrelling with Margaret. - -Mrs. G. (_sulkily_). What does she want to go and discourage you for? - -Peter. She didn't discourage me. - -Mrs. G. She wouldn't say a word for it. - -Peter. She will now. Won't you, Margaret? - -Mar. What do you want me to say? - -Peter (_surprised_). Say what you want. - -Mar. Then I say this: Go on and prosper. - -Peter (_relieved_). Ah! You couldn't wish me anything but well. You see, -mother? - -Mrs. G. (_grimly_). Yes, but you don't. - -Peter. Don't what? - -Mrs. G. You don't sec what she means. - -Peter (_confidently smiling at Margaret_). Oh, Margaret means what she -says. - -Mrs. G. And more. She doesn't want you to go into Parliament. - -Peter (_puzzled, looking at Margaret_). Doesn't what------? (_Slightly -pausing._) Speak, Margaret. - -Mar. No. I don't want you to go into Parliament. - -Mrs. G. (_triumphantly_). What did I tell you? - -Peter. But Margaret, why not? Don't you see what a chance it is? -Take it, and I go up, up, Fortune, Fame, anything--the prospects are -tremendous. Miss it, and I sink baek to obscurity. You can't want me to -miss a chance like that. - -Mar. I wanted to be married to you. - -Mrs. G. That's it, Peter. That's your Margaret all over. All she cares -about is herself. - -Peter (_ignoring her--to Margaret_). Nothing's going to interfere with -that. Nothing on earth. You needn't fear. We're to be married in a -month. Exactly as we fixed just now. A month? It'll come in the thick of -the fight. - -Mar. We can't be married while the election's on. - -Peter (_thinking aloud, enthusiastically_). Oh, but we must. We must. -I hadn't thought of that. Weddings are always popular. See what an -advertisement it will be. - -Mar. (_quietly_). We won't use our love to advertise your candidature, -Peter. - -Mrs. G. To hear you talk, it might be something you're ashamed of. - -Peter. It's throwing away a golden opportunity. - -Mar. I'm sorry, Peter. But I can't do that. - -Mrs. G. Won't, you mean. You want to see him defeated. - -Mar. (_with quiet force_). I shall work till I drop to help him on to -victory. - -Mrs. G. You'll help best by doing what he asks. - -Peter. I really think you might, Margaret. It's not a new plan. I'm only -asking you to carry out the arrangement you made this very evening. You -didn't object then, I can't see what your scruple is now. - -Mar. If you can't see for yourself that it's vulgar and hideous and -horrible to drag our love into the glare of an election, I'm afraid I -can't help you to see it. - -Peter. I don't see it. Love's not a hole-and-corner business. Why -shouldn't everybody know? - -Mar. All who matter know already. - -Peter. Only our own circle. - -Mar. It doesn't concern the rest. - -Peter (_arguing hotly_). Except as an advertisement. We shan't have too -much money to spend on printers' bills. We ean't buy hoardings like the -capitalist parties. And here's a glorious advertisement simply going -begging. We can have it at the cost of your forgetting some imaginary -scruple of delicacy. Elections aren't delicate affairs. - -Mar. No. But our love is. - -Mrs. G. If your love's so finicky it can't stand daylight, it's not -worth much. A love like that _'_ull not last long. - -Peter. You're right there, mother. - -Mrs. G. (_eagerly_). She wants to hold you back, she'd like to see you -tied to engineering all your life. For why? She's wild because you're -going up in the world. She knows she's not fit to go up with you, so -she's trying to keep you where you are. That's why she refuses to help. - -Mar. I don't refuse to help. I'm going to help. - -Peter. Yes, anything except the only way that's helpful. I don't want -other help. - -Mar. You can't go without it. You can't stop me working for the cause. - -Mrs. G. Yes, and you'd work harder for any other candidate than Peter. I -know you. - -Mar. Not harder, but certainly with a better will. - -Peter (_soberly_). Margaret, you're standing in my way. Oh, I owe a -lot to you. I don't forget it. But... But a man has to rely on his own -judgment. If I took your advice, I'd wreck my career. You've always -underrated me. You thought I wouldn't get my degree. I did get my -degree. And I'll prove you wrong again. I'll be M.P. before six weeks -are out. - -Mar. I say again: Go on and prosper. - -Mrs. G. And she means you can prosper without her, and a good riddance -too, I say. - -Peter. Do you mean that, Margaret? - -Mar. I think we'll wait a little, Peter. You've other things to think of -now. - -Peter. You said that when I started studying. - -Mar. I say it again now when you're starting electioneering. - -Peter (_losing temper_). And after that there'll be something else -and something after that, and so on, till Doomsday _'_ull see us still -unmarried. I begin to think you never mean to marry me. - -Mrs. G. It's about time you did begin to think it, too. - -Mar. (_suffering_). Oh, Peter, why won't you understand? - -Peter. Because you're not reasonable. (_Slight pause._) Tell me this. Do -you think I'm not fit for Parliament? - -Mar. (_painfully_). Yes, dear. I do. - -Peter (_roughly_). Don't call me dear. If that's the way you talk, -you're not dear to me. - -Mrs. G. I've seen it for long enough--her thinking meanly of you and the -rest of us knowing different, and you for ever hearkening to her as if -she was Almighty God. - -Mar. (_facing Mrs. Garside_). I won't stand this. - -Mrs. G. You've got to. You're shown up now. - -Peter. This means you've no faith in me, Margaret. And if you've no -faith, you've no love---- - -Mar. (_despairingly_). Peter, you mustn't say such things. - -Mrs. G. You can't get away from the truth, my girl. - -Peter. I say them beeause they're true. It's for you to prove me wrong. - -Mar. How? Tell me how? - -Peter. Marry me in the month as we arranged, and I'll go down on my -knees and ask your pardon. - -Mar. I can't marry you in a month. - -Peter. Then it's true. You don't love me. You don't believe in me. - -Mar. I--I think I'll go home. - -[_Exit Margaret right, returning quickly with her hat, which she puts -on. Peter watches her go and meets her as she returns._ - -Peter (_appealingly_). Margaret! - -Mar. No, Peter. I can't do it. - -Peter (_acquiescing_). Then--good-bye. - -Mar. I shall see you often at the Committee Rooms. Don't tell me I -mustn't work for you. - -Peter. If it was only for myself I wouldn't have your help at any -price. But, as you told us, you'll not be work-for me but for the cause. -(_Grandiloquently._) In the name of the cause I accept your help. - -Mar. (_simply_). Thank you, Peter. I shall work hard. Good night, Mrs. -Garside. - -[_Mrs. Garside makes no sign. Peter moves towards Margaret, checks -himself, and she goes out._ - -Mrs. G. That's a good job done. - -Peter. Don't talk about it, mother, please. - -Mrs. G. You can look higher than a school marm now you're going into -Parliament. - -Peter (_distressed_). Please, please! - -Mrs. G. (_cheerfully_). Oh, well, we'll have supper and chance it. - -Peter. Have yours. I only want this end of the table. (_Collecting -paper, ink, and pen and sitting at right end of table._) I must do -something to forget. - -Mrs. G. What are you doing? - -Peter. Drafting my address. Hand me down that dictionary, will you? -(_Indicating hanging shelf._) - -Mrs. G. (_getting large dictionary from shelf and putting on table near -him._) You don't want a dictionary. It's all there in that brain of -yours. - -Peter. A dictionary's useful. People like to read long words. It looks -erudite, and costs nothing. - -Mrs. G. They'll never understand dictionary words, Peter. (_Poking -fire._) - -Peter. That doesn't matter. They'll be impressed. (_Dipping pen and -bending._) Don't disturb me while I write. - - -CURTAIN. - - - - -ACT II - -_Ornate drawing-room in Sir Jasper Mottram's house. Centre is a large -window giving access to a balcony. It is, however, evening, and the -drawn curtains conceal the balcony. Door left. Light wall colouring -and carpet. Fireplace right. No fire. Chesterfield right centre. Light -arm-chairs left and left centre. Japanese screen before fireplace. Large -Japanese jar in left corner._ - -_Gladys Mottram is sitting on the Chesterfield reading a novel. She is -in evening dress, a pretty, flirtatious, empty-headed girl, bored with -her daily life and seizing eagerly on any distraction. Freddie Mottram, -her brother, is 30, and conceals real kindness behind his flippant -manner. He doesn't go deep and he likes money, but he is on good -terms with the world and doesn't mind a little trouble or even -unconventionality to put the world on good terms with him. He is fair, -with fair moustache, and his figure is that of the ex-athlete who could -still give a good account of himself. He leans back in the arm-chair, -yawning and consulting his watch, glancing at Gladys, entrenched behind -her book, again yawning and making up his mind to address her._ - -***** - -Fred, (_nursing a grievance_). I say, Gladys, how much longer do you -expect me to wait? - -Glad. (_looking up from her book, calmly_). Till Mr. Garside goes. - -Fred. And he hasn't come yet. Just when I particularly want to go out, -too. It's all very well for the governor to be civil to him. He's got -to. But I do bar doing the honours myself to a horny-handed son of toil. - -Glad. (_putting her book beside her, face downwards. With an air of -resignation_). You don't particularly want to go out. You're only going -to the Club. - -Fred. (_seriously_). But I particularly want to go to the Club. - -Glad. You go every night. - -Fred. Every night isn't my lucky night. Thursday is. I always win on -Thursdays. The governor ought to do his own dirty work. He's Mayor, not -I. Cutting his duty, I call it, being away to-night just when I'm bound -to make money. - -Glad. He'll be here when he's ready. He's going to be late on purpose. - -Fred. Very much on purpose. Yes. There you've got it. He had Rankin and -Beverley here to dinner together. Quite right, too. Rankin's a Radical -rotter, but he's a gentleman. When it comes to Garside the governor -shirks and leaves it to us. Why on earth he wants to ask a Labour -candidate here at all simply floors me. - -Glad. He has to treat them all alike. - -Fred. Then he should have had Garside to dinner, and given us some sport -over the asparagus. - -Glad. That wasn't necessary. - -Fred. And this isn't necessary. Rankin and Beverley, by all means. -They're probables. But why waste time on an outsider like Garside? It'll -only swell his head to be our guest. - -Glad. He isn't an outsider. - -Fred. You don't say the governor's taking him seriously. - -Glad. He's taking him very seriously. - -Fred (_horrified_). Oh, I say. No. It's absurd. - -Glad. Garside's making headway fast. He's a fine speaker, and he's -popular. - -Fred. A mechanic a fine speaker! Rot! Who says so? - -Glad. I for one. I've heard him. - -Fred. You have! It's a quaint taste. - -Glad. More than once. - -Fred. (_sarcastically_). Making a hobby of it? (_Seriously._) Where? - -Glad. In the street. - -Fred, (_genuinely shocked_). You've been listening to a tub-thumper at -street corners? I say, hang it, Gladys, there are things people don't -do. - -Glad. The first time was an accident. - -Fred. The second was a crime. - -Glad, (_rising, and speaking enthusiastically_). I went again because I -admired the man. I liked to hear that ringing voice, to be one of that -wild enthusiastic crowd bewitched by the spell of his personality. He -saw me too. I stood at the back of the crowd, but he saw me and he spoke -for me for me. Our eyes met, and I know he spoke for me alone. - -Fred, (_sitting and leaning back, fanning his face_). Why didn't you -warn me? I didn't know I was to meet my future brother-in-law to-night. - -Glad. Don't be absurd, Freddie. (_Sitting again._) It's because he's -doing so well that father asked him here, and we've to keep him as long -as possible. - -Fred, (_looking at watch_). My ducats, oh, my ducats! Why? - -Glad. Because every moment that he's prevented from speaking is a loss -to him and a gain to us. As Mayor, father's supposed to be neutral, at -the election, so that gives him an excuse to entertain Garside and spoil -his speaking for one night, anyhow. - -Fred. That's a bit tricky. - -Glad. All's fair in war. - -Fred. And love, Gladys, and love. - -Glad. Don't be sillier than you can help. - -Fred. Besides, they'll have others to keep the ball rolling while he's -here. - -Glad. There's a firebrand of a woman speaking every night who's about as -popular as he is. - -Fred, (_interested_). A woman? Is she good-looking? - -Glad. I don't know. - -Fred. You wouldn't. You'd only eyes for him. - -Glad. She doesn't speak on the same platforms with him. - -Fred. Don't blame her, either. Only one star turn to each show, eh? - -Glad. Anyhow, father's instructions are to keep Garside here till he -comes home, if we can. - -Fred. All right. Tell Timson to lock him up in the pantry and keep him -there till the election's over. - -Glad. Afraid that's too crude, Freddie. I'll do my best to hold him for -to-night. - -Fred. Oh? Be careful. Flirtation's a risky game even when both sides -know the rules. It's always apt to end in marriage; and that chap won't -know the rules. Much better lock him up. - -Glad. Kidnapping's out of date. - -Fred. Oh, you want him to get in. He's fascinated you. - -Glad, (_tartly_). That's doubtless why I've been canvassing for Mr. -Beverley all day, while you've been watching a cricket match. - -Fred. Hang it, Glad, someone's got to support-county cricket. I did a -jolly plucky thing to-day. Wore old Beverley's colours and nearly got -mobbed in the bar by a beastly gang of Radicals. - -Glad. You shouldn't go into bars. - -Fred. And you shouldn't hang about street corners with a set of -Socialists. Serve you right if you'd got your pocket picked. I'd rather -be an open drinker than a secret revolutionist any day. - -[_Enter Lady Mottram. She is white-haired and authoritative in manner, -dressed in a high evening gown, too freely jewelled. Freddie rises._ - -Fred. Hullo, mater. Any luck? - -Lady M. If you mean by that expression has Mr. Garside arrived, he has -not. (_Crosses to Chesterfield._) - -Fred. (_looking at watch_). Well, he may be an upright youth, but -punctuality isn't amongst his virtues. - -Lady M. (_standing by Chesterfield_). It's just as well. I have a -disagreeable duty to perform. (_Sitting, very dignified._) - -Fred, (_lightly_). Hope it'll keep fine for you. - -Lady M. Ring the bell, Freddie. (_Freddie crosses to fireplace and -rings._) Thank you. - -Fred. By Jove, Gladys, someone's going to catch it. Mark that -awe-inspiring frown. I'm getting frit. - -[_Enter Timson._ - -Lady M. Show the young person in here, Timson. - -Timson. Yes, my lady. - -[_Exit Timson. Freddie is following with exaggerated fear._ - -Lady M. Don't go, Freddie. - -Fred. Oh, but I do hate thunderstorms when I've no umbrella. - -Lady M. I want to be certain you're here when Mr. Garside comes. - -Fred. Mayn't a man have a cigarette? I'll come back. (_Timson opens door -as Freddie comes to it. Looking off Freddie sees Margaret, and stops -short._) By Jove, I'll stay. - -Timson (_with marked disapproval_). Miss Shawcross. - -[_Enter Margaret dressed as Act I, with the addition of a light coat, -without gloves. Lady M. and Gladys remain seated. Fred, stands right, -well behind the Chesterfield. Margaret stands left, in some confusion. -Exit Timson._ - -Mar. You... I understand you want to see me, Lady Mottram. - -Lady M. (_immensely superior_). Yes. Your name is Shawcross? Margaret -Shawcross? - -Mar. Yes. - -Lady M. Fifteen, Rosalie Street? - -Mar. Yes. - -Lady M. Ah! (_With patronising kindliness._) I've sent for you, Miss -Shawcross, to give you a warning--a friendly warning. Er--you may sit -down. - -Mar. (_sitting stiffly, but not awkwardly, left_). Thank you. - -Lady M. You are an assistant-teacher at the Midland-ton Girls' High -School? - -Mar. I am. - -Lady M. You're aware that I am a member of the Governing Board? - -Mar. Yes. - -Lady M. (_expansively_). In fact, I may say I have a preponderating -influence. Bear that fact in mind, Miss Shaweross. (_Margaret inclines -her head._) We don't enquire offensively into the conduct of our staff -out of school hours. So long as they behave themselves respectably we -are satisfied. Does your experience confirm that? - -Mar. Quite. - -Lady M. You've suffered no inquisition into your private life? No -interference into your personal affairs? - -Mar. None. - -Lady M. (_nodding grimly_). Ah! Then you'll do us the justice to -acknowledge that we don't move except in extreme cases. I regret to say -yours is an extreme ease, Miss Shaweross. - -Mar. (_rising_). Mine! - -[_Freddie's attitude conveys interest plus pity, Gladys's unrelieved -contempt._ - -Lady M. (_severely_). Yours. I don't complain of your holding heterodox -views. It is a regrettable fact that many young women of to-day hold -alarmingly lax opinions. But they keep their views to themselves. They -confine them to their own circle. It has been left to you to proclaim -publicly at street corners your loose morality, to---- - -Mar. You'll pardon me. I've done nothing of the sort. - -Lady M. I'm grievously misinformed if you're not a self-confessed -Socialist. - -Mar. You spoke of loose morality. - -Lady M. (_curtly_). Same thing. Do you admit to publicly advocating -Socialism? - -Mar. Certainly. You publicly advocate Tariff Reform. Why shouldn't I -advocate Socialism? - -Lady M. The cases are hardly parallel. The one is respectable, the other -isn't. However, you're not here to argue with me. You have to earn your -living. An orphan, I understand. - -Mar. Yes. - -Lady M. You've the more reason to walk warily. (_Kindly._) Now, you're -young, and you're ignorant, and I'm ready to overlook this. I could have -you dismissed at once, but I've no doubt you'll be a good girl after -this little talk. Good night, Miss Shawcross. - -Mar. Good night, Lady Mottram. (_She moves towards door. Freddie opens -it, she turns back._) No, I won't go like this. You'd have the right -to tell me I deceived you. (_Freddie closes door and stands centre._) -I can't take your warning, Lady Mottram. (_Lady M. rises._) I dare say -it's kindly meant. I thank you for that. But as for stopping speaking, -working heart and soul for the cause that's all in all to me, I can't do -that. - -Lady M. Can't? Won't, you mean. This is defiance, Miss Shawcross. You'd -better take care. - -Mar. (_splendidly contemptuous_). Care! Life isn't all taking care. - -Lady M. (_calmly_). It's really very rash of you. Your livelihood's at -stake. I say nothing about your immortal soul, which is endangered if -it's not already lost. - -Mar. Suppose you leave my soul out, Lady Mottram. - -My employment _is_ in your hands. You have the power to take that from -me. - -Lady M. Persist in your defiance and I shall be compelled to exercise -that power. - -Fred, (_to Mar._). Speaking from long and intimate acquaintance with my -mother, I should just like to interpolate the remark that she invariably -means what she says. - -Mar. (_coldly_). Thank you. I haven't worked for Socialism without -knowing the risks I took. There's nothing unusual in this. Since -Socialism's been the bogey of the employing class, dismissal for -Socialists is an everyday occurrence. - -Lady M. (_mildly angered_). This is too much. To associate _me_ with -cowardly employers who abuse their power, when my only object is to -secure respectability in our teaching staff. - -Mar. Oh, they all do it for excellent motives. How long have I, Lady -Mottram? - -Lady M. Till Miss Allinson can replace you. - -Mar. Till then I can go on contaminating my pupils! However, to replace -me won't take an hour. Unemployed teachers aren't scarce. - -Lady M. (_viciously_). You are dismissed for gross misconduct, and the -fact will be stated on any reference you ask for. - -Fred. I say, mater, that's a bit rough. (_Margaret turns to door. -Freddie stands intercepting her._) Give the girl a chance. - -Lady M. Mind your own business, Freddie. - -Fred. Hang it, how do you know she won't starve? - -Lady M. Her sort don't starve. - -Glad. She's wearing an engagement ring. Someone's ready to keep her. - -Mar. (_quietly_). My engagement's broken off. - -Lady M. Then why do you carry a lie on your finger? - -Mar. I hadn't the courage to take it off--till now. (_Putting ring in -coat-pocket._) - -Fred. You're in a bit of a hole, you know. - -Lady M. Gladys, if Freddie's going to be sympathetic to this young -person, you and I had better retire. Conversations between young men and -persons of her class are not carried on in the presence of ladies. - -[_Lady M. and Gladys go out, Freddie opening door. Margaret is -following. He closes the door._ - -Fred. One moment, Miss Shaweross. - -Mar. Let me go, please. - -Fred. Yes. I say. I know I'm being assinine. I am rather an ass. But I'm -a genial sort of ass, and if there's one thing I ean't stand it's one -woman being beastly to another. Women are the limit. (_Rapidly, as -Margaret shows impatience._) What I mean is, can I do anything for you? - -Mar. (_curtly_). No, thank you, Mr. Mottram. (_Trying to pass him._) - -Fred, (_with a stronger note of seriousness_). No, you're not going till -I let you. The mater's made it hard enough. That's the worst of women. -They won't be sportsmen. Mind you, I'm not blaming her. Swop positions -and you'd do it yourself. But you've lost your job. That's an idiotic -thing to do now. As if any footling politics were worth a tinker's cuss! - -Mar. Why are you keeping me here? - -Fred. I'm telling you, aren't I? - -Mar. It wasn't very lucid. - -Fred. What are you going to do for a living? - -Mar. That isn't your business, Mr. Mottram. - -Fred, (_seriously_). Look here, I'm not a woman eater. I'm a cheerful -soul, and I hate to see people in distress. The mater's got you down. -Foul blow, too. Hitting below the belt, to sack you without a character. -What are you going to do about it, Miss Shaweross? - -Mar. I don't know yet. - -Fred. Let me talk to some Johnnie at the Club, and make him take you -into his office. - -Mar. Why should you? And do you think anybody will have me without a -character? - -Fred. I'll fix that all right. Only it'll be an office. - -Mar. I can typewrite. - -Fred. By Jove! What a brainy chap you are. - -Mar. I don't know why you're doing this, but I'll work my fingers to the -bone if you can get me work where they'll not mind my principles. - -Fred. You can be a Particular Baptist, or a Neo-Confucian for all this -Johnnie _'_ull care. - -Mar. Are you sure he's the same man in his office as in his Club? - -Fred. Oh, don't wet blanket me. I'm only trying. - -Mar. I'm sorry, Mr. Mottram. Your friend will find me a hard worker. - -Fred. I say, you won't overdo that part of it, will you? - -Mar. What part? - -Fred. The working. Bad form to make the pace hotter than the regular -rate. - -Mar. I thought offices were places for hard work. - -Fred. I dare say you're right. I expect that's why the office men I know -spend so much time at the Club, out of work's way. - -Mar. Mr. Mottram, why are you doing this? - -Fred. Oh, I'm a starved creature. Being good keeps me warm. - -[_Enter Timson._ - -Timson. Mr. Garside. - -[_Peter enters. He has gained considerably in self-confidence, and enters -rather defiantly. Exit Timson._ - -Fred, (_stepping forward_). Good evening, Mr. Garside. - -Peter (_seeing Margaret, and seeing red. Ignoring Fred._). You here! - -Mar. Lady Mottram sent for me. - -Peter. It's a very suspicious circumstance. I find you here in the -enemy's camp, looking confused, guilty. You'd better explain yourself. - -Fred, (_offering hand again, emphatically_). Good evening, Mr. Garside. -Why's it the enemy's camp, when mayors are neutral at elections? - -Peter (_carelessly, just touching his hand_). Oh, good evening. Sir -Jasper is officially neutral, sir. But he is actually chairman of the -Employers' Federation, and, as such, our bitterest enemy. - -Feed. By the way, you're here yourself, you know. - -Peter. I am paying an official visit to the Mayor. It's different -with this lady. She works for me--ostentatiously. She's supposed to be -addressing a meeting for me at this moment. Instead, I find her here, -playing the traitor and betraying me to my political enemies. - -Fred. I always thought it wanted a lot of imagination to be a -politician. Does yours often bolt like this? - -Peter. That's not very convincing. (_Brushing him aside._) Excuse me, -Mr. Mottram. I must get to the bottom of this. (_To Margaret._) What -have you to say for yourself? - -Mar. Nothing. - -Fred. Quite right, too. Some things are too silly to reply to. - -Peter. Then I shall draw my own conclusions. - -[_Peter is left, Freddie centre, and Margaret right._ - -Fred. I'd advise you to draw _'_em mild. (_Turning to Margaret._) This -isn't your lucky night, Miss Shaw-cross. - -Mar. It doesn't matter, Mr. Mottram. - -Fred. Yes, it does. If you won't tell Mr. Garside why you're here, I -will. - -Mar. (_appealingly_). Please don't. (_Proudly._) My personal affairs are -no concern of Mr. Garside's. - -Peter. And meantime let me tell you, sir, that your ardour to defend the -lady only makes bad worse. - -Fred. Good Lord! I always said politicians were people who hadn't the -brains to be frivolous, but I never knew they were quite so stupid. Why, -man----------- - -[_Enter Lady Mottram and Gladys. Fred stops abruptly._ - -Lady M. (_sweetly_). So pleased you've come, Mr. Gar-side. - -Peter (_quite sure of himself_). Good evening, Lady Mottram. - -Lady M. Mr. Garside, my daughter. (_Gladys meets Peter's eyes and bows; -he starts perceptibly._) So sorry Sir Jasper isn't here to welcome you, -but I hope my son's made you feel quite at home. - -Fred. We've talked like brothers. - -Lady M. (_realising Margaret's presence_). Miss Shaw-eross, I think I -told you you could go. Will you ring, Freddie? - -Fred. I'll sec Miss Shaweross out. - -[_Lady Mottram shrugs, and turns virtuously away. Fred, opens door, and -Margaret moves to it._ - -Peter (_as she goes past_). Where are you going? - -Mar. I'm going to speak. I'm advertised to speak. - -Peter. For me? - -Mar. (_frigidly_). No, Socialism. - -Lady M. (_turning_). Then you will take the consequences. - -Mar. (_quietly_). Oh, yes. I'll take the consequences. - -[_Exeunt Margaret and Freddie._ - -Lady M. (_sitting on Chesterfield and motioning Peter to sit by her. -Gladys sits opposite_). Young men are so susceptible to a pretty face. -Don't you think so, Mr. Garside? (_Quickly._) Oh, but of course you are -serious-minded. - -Peter (_glancing at Gladys_). I'm not beauty-proof, Lady Mottram. - -Lady M. Ah, but real beauty is so rare. - -Peter. That's why it haunts me. - -Lady M. Is there a case in point? - -Peter. Yes. - -Lady M. (_insincerely_). How romantic! Do tell us about it, Mr. Garside. - -Peter (_eyeing Gladys_). Shall I? - -Glad. Do please. - -Peter. It is romantic, Lady Mottram. I didn't think such beauty could be -earthly. It came upon me just as I stood speaking at a street corner one -night, a face on the outskirts of my audience. I was tired and it gave -me strength. My voice was failing, but it rang out fresh again to reach -those ears. I've seen it many times since then, that angel's face with -a halo, always at the fringe of the crowd, always an inspiration, eyes -that yearned to mine across the sea of caps and drew my very soul into -my words. I thought it was a dream. Could the same clay that moulded me -be shaped to this vision? Until to-night I didn't know such women could -exist. - -Lady M. (_trying to appear interested_). It's a woman, then. - -Peter. Woman or goddess, she's alive. Yes. - -Lady M. She'd be flattered if she heard you now. - -Peter. I'm not flattering her. - -[_Re-enter Freddie._ - -Fred. I've seen her off the premises. - -Lady M. Don't interrupt. Mr. Garside's telling us about a woman with a -wonderful face who's been inspiring his speeches. - -Fred, (_sitting r.c._). Oh, yes? A face that launched a thousand -speeches? Bit of a responsibility for any face. - -Lady M. And who is she, Mr. Garside? - -Peter. I didn't know. - -Glad. What a pity. She'll never know what she's been to you. - -Peter. I think she knows now, Miss Mottram. - -Fred. Fair Unknown inspires your speeches, your speeches inspire -electors, electors elect you, and it'll be Garsidc, M.P., when it ought -to be Fair Unknown, M.P. - -Peter. Only the electors haven't elected me yet. - -Fred. I hear they're going to. - -Peter (_confidently_). It's highly probable. - -Lady M. Do you know London, Mr. Garside? - -Peter. No, but I hope to shortly. - -Fred. You must let me show you round. You'll feel strange at first. - -Peter. I'm not afraid of London. If it's a case of London conquering me -or me conquering London I know which will win. - -Fred. Going to be one of our conquerors, eh? - -Peter. I mean to try. I've got ambitions. - -Fred. Thank God, I haven't. A cosy club and a decent cigar are good -enough for me. Please count me conquered in advance. (_Lolling easily in -chair._) - -Lady M. But has a Labour member such opportunities of--er--conquering -London, Mr. Garside? - -Peter. If he puts them to the right use. Yes--there's money in it. - -Fred, (_sitting up, interested_). Money? I'll be a Labour member. I like -money. - -Peter. I don't say it's been done up to now. I'm going to do it, though. - -Fred. What's the recipe? - -Peter. Oh, you begin by journalism and lecture engagements. - -Fred. And that's the royal road to wealth? Mother, why wasn't I brought -up to be a Labour member! This solves the problem of what shall we do -with our sons. Only it's too like work for me. - -Glad. Freddie, don't chaff Mr. Garside. He isn't one of your frivolous -Club companions. - -Peter. Oh, I haven't been through the half of an election campaign -without toughening my epidermis, Miss Mottram. I'm not afraid of -ridicule. - -Fred. You'll go far, Mr. Garside. The secret of success is to have no -sense of humour. - -Glad. A lot you know about success. - -Fred. I know everything. I'm not successful and outsiders watch the -game. - -Lady M. Children! Children! - -Peter. Oh, don't apologise, Lady Mottram. I know what family life is in -upper-class households. I've read my Shaw. - -[_To their relief Timson enters._ - -Lady M. What is it, Timson? - -Timson. Sir Jasper is asking for you on the telephone. - -Lady M. Excuse me, Mr. Garside. (_Rising._) - -Timson. And there's a man called for you, sir. (_To Peter._) - -Peter. For me? - -Glad. You go, Freddie. Tell him Mr. Garside wants to be left alone. - -Fred, (_nodding with understanding to Gladys_). All right. I'll deal -with him. Don't disturb yourself, Mr. Garside. - -[_Lady Mottram goes out first, Fred, follows quickly to give Peter no -chance to reply. Exit Timson._ - -Peter. I ought to go, Miss Mottram. I've meetings to address. - -Glad. Oh, but you mustn't disappoint Sir Jasper. He'll be in soon. - -Peter. My time's precious. - -Glad. So are you--(_hastily_)--to your party, I mean. You'll break down -if you overdo things. - -Peter (_consulting watch_). My conscience isn't easy. - -Glad, (_coldly_). Oh, don't let me detain you against your will. - -Peter. It's not against my will, only---- - -Glad. Then won't you sit down? - -Peter (_deciding to stay, and sitting on Chesterfield_). - -Thank you. (_Stiffly._) Some day I hope to have the pleasure of asking -you to sit in a room of mine like this one. - -Glad. You aim high, Mr. Garside. - -Peter. I mean to succeed. I feel I'm one of the men who do succeed. (_He -doesn't boast, he states a conviction._) - -Glad. (_insincerely_). I'm sure you are. - -Peter (_ardently_). If you're sure, there's no doubt about it. I'm going -to rise, Miss Mottram. I shall win fame, fortune---- Everything the -heart of woman can desire will be mine to fling at the feet of my... my -inspiration of the Midlandton election. - -Glad. Ah. Your mysterious vision! - -Peter (_leaning forward_). Is she a mystery to you? I thought you knew. - -Glad. Knew what? - -Peter. You see that inspiration every morning in your looking-glass. - -Glad, (_rising_). Mr. Garside! - -Peter. I thought you understood. (_He rises._) - -Glad. I understand you're being impertinent. - -Peter (_confidently_). That's because you're thinking of my past. Peter -Garside, the Board School boy, the working engineer with a home in a -back street--a great gulf yawned between that Garside of the past and -the daughter of Sir Jasper Mottram, four times Mayor of Midlandton. -The gulf is narrower to-day. In a year or two it won't exist. I'm -not impertinent, Miss Mottram. I'm being bold enough to look into the -future... the future you've inspired. - -Glad. I ought to scold you, Mr. Garside. - -Peter. Why? - -Glad, (_lightly_). You appropriated me as your inspiration without -leave. - -Peter. Didn't my eyes tell you across the crowd? - -Glad. Your eyes? - -Peter (_emphatically_). Yes, mine spoke and yours answered mine, not -once but half a dozen times. - -Glad, (_freezing_). I'm afraid you're subject to delusions, Mr. Garside. - -Peter. You're afraid to tell the truth. - -Glad, (_fencing_). Truth's so miscellaneous, don't you think? It's a -diamond with many facets. - -Peter. I'm not here to bandy epigrams. Truth is truth. You're afraid to -own by mouth the truth you told me with your eyes. - -Glad. Don't you think you overrate the communicative capacity of eyes? - -Peter. I think you're playing with me now. I know you didn't play then. -We had reality there in the street. I'll make you tell me yet you meant -the things your eyes spoke to me. - -Glad. Make! This is strange language for a drawing-room, sir. - -Peter. I'm not talking to the drawing-room miss. She's a stranger to me. -I'm talking to the real woman, the woman I knew outside there, stripped -of the veil of lies you try to hide behind. - -Glad. But you don't know me. I never met you till to-night. - -Peter. I didn't know your name until to-night. What do names matter? -Your eyes had blazed into my soul. - -[_The door opens violently, and Jones, wearing his hat, bursts in -followed by Freddie, who is mildly protestant. Peter and Gladys rise._ - -Jones (_crossing to centre_). What's the meaning of this, Garside? - -Fred (_following and tapping him on the bach_). I say, don't you even -take your hat off in a lady's presence? - -Jones (_growlingly_). Ugh! (_But he takes his hat off._) - -Peter. How dare you force your way in here? - -Jones. I may well come. You're wanted outside. - -Meetings shouting themselves hoarse for you. Chances passing while you -loll here in plutocratic luxury, idling in the gilded chambers of our -enemies. Faugh! (_Kicking chair violently centre. Freddie picks up the -cushion from it and offers it._) - -Fred. That's rather an expensive chair. Take it out of this if you must -kick something. - -Peter. I am paying an official call authorised by my Committee on Sir -Jasper Mottram. - -Jones. I don't sec Sir Jasper. - -Fred. I told this Johnnie you were busy. Tried to soothe the beggar, but -he broke away. - -Jones (_to Peter_). Well, you'd better come at once. - -[_Peter wavers visibly when Gladys interposes._ - -Glad. Mr. Garside is our guest. - -Jones (_more roughly still_). Come away. - -Peter (_his mind made up_). I shall do nothing of the sort. - -Jones. Don't you understand? It's imperative. They're calling for you. -We've done our best, marking time, promising them every minute you'd -come--and you don't come. It's serious. They're impatient. They don't -want us others. They want you--(_sarcastically_)--silver-tongued -Garside. We can't hold them much longer. There'll be a riot if you don't -turn up. - -Peter (_lightly_). Oh, I'll come soon. Let them wait. - -Jones. They won't wait. - -Peter. They'll have to. - -Jones (_imperatively_). You're coming now with me. - -Peter. No. I'll follow you. (_Reassuringly._) It's all right, man. I -shan't be long. - -Jones. I'll report you to the Committee if you don't come at once. - -Peter. You can report me to the devil. Get along now, that's a good -chap. I'm busy. - -Jones (_very earnestly_). Garside, I warn you. You know what a crowd's -like when it gets out of hand. - -Peter. I tell you I'm coming. The longer you stay the longer it'll be -before I get there. - -Jones (_making his best effort and meaning it_). If you don't come with -me you'll have no need to get there. I shall bring them here to you. - -Fred. Oh, but you can't do that you know. - -Jones. Can't I? You tell him to come or I'll show you if I can't. - -Peter (_impatiently_). In a minute. - -Jones (_inexorably_). Now! - -Peter. No. - -Jones (_turning abruptly_). Very well, then. - -[_Exit Jones, slamming door. Fred, opens it after a moment._ - -Fred. I don't think the furniture's safe until he's out of the house. - -[_Exit Freddie._ - -Glad. (_excited and utterly sincere_). It must be glorious to be wanted -like that, Mr. Garside. Isn't it risky to deny them when they call for -you? - -Peter. I can do what I like with them. - -Glad. Why didn't you go? - -Peter. You know why not. - -Glad. (_sitting on Chesterfield_). Do I? - -Peter (_standing centre_). Every night I can make myself the master of a -mob. It's no new joy to me to feel I've got them there in the hollow of -my hand. I can't speak with you every night. That's why I didn't go. - -Glad. But is it wise? - -Peter. Wise? - -Glad. You mustn't spoil your chances, Mr. Garside. - -Peter. I won't spoil my chances of speaking with you. - -Glad. But if the crowd makes a disturbance? That man's malicious. He'll -stir them up to mischief. - -Peter. I can calm them with a word. - -Glad. What confidence you have! - -Peter. Yes. In the power you give me. - -Glad. You don't let me shuffle off responsibility. - -Peter. You wouldn't want to if you could forget that you're Miss Mottram -and I'm a working man. - -[_Low murmurs as of a distant crowd off, approaching and growing louder -as the scene proceeds. Gladys catches it at once, and is alarmed. Peter, -if he hears at all, is inattentive._ - -Glad. I really think you'd better go to them, Mr. Garside, before that -man leads them here. - -Peter. Not long ago you were urging me to stay--to wait for Sir Jasper. - -Glad. Sir Jasper will be late. - -Peter. You said he'd be here soon. - -Glad, (_rising, exasperated_). Mr. Garside, will you go? - -Peter (_shaking his head_). You haven't told me what I want to know. - -Glad. What is it? I'll tell you anything if you'll only go-go. - -Peter (_calmly_). Did I read the meaning in your eyes aright? (_A slight -pause._) Did I? - -Glad, (_nervously glancing towards window_). I don't know what you mean. - -Peter. You do know. You won't tell me. - -Glad. I can't. - -Peter (_sitting centre_). Then I'll stay here till you do. - -Glad. And hold me responsible if your ragamuffins wreck the house. - -Peter. You've only to speak, and I'll see they don't come near. - -[_A moment's silence, then Freddie enters briskly._ - -Fred. I say, Mr. Garside, I'm afraid we must turn you out. - -Peter (_still sitting_). Oh, how's that? - -Fred. Your friend went off in no end of a rage. Said he'd bring your -meeting here. Mohammed and the Mountain, don't you know? I really think -you'd better go. We don't want to read the Riot Act. - -[_Gladys is at the window, peeping through blind._ - -Peter. The matter's out of my hands, Mr. Mottram. - -Fred. Why? Surely you can head them off. - -Peter. Easily. - -Fred. (_irritated_). Well, I wish you'd go and do it. - -Glad, (_at window_). They're there. There's a crowd coming round the -corner now. - -Fred. You'll have to look lively. Come on, man. (_Trying to make him -move._) - -Peter (_to Gladys, who is standing left_). Well, Miss Mottram? - -Fred, (_impatiently_). Oh, never mind her. Get along sharp. (_He opens -door._) - -Peter. I'm ready when Miss Mottram gives the word. I shall know what she -means if she says "Yes." - -Glad. I can't. - -Peter (_sitting in chair_). Then I stay here. - -[_Shouts below are heard: "Garside!" "We want Garside!" "Where's that -silver-tongue?"_ - -Fred. Look here, this is getting beyond a joke. - -Peter. I'm only waiting for the word of command. - -Fred. Gladys, for God's sake say what he wants! - -Glad. No. - -[_Shouts more fiercely._ - -Fred, (_helplessly irritable_). Where the devil are the police? - -[_Lady Mottram rushes in hysterically._ - -Lady M. Mr. Garside, save us. Speak to them before they get violent. - -Peter (_coolly_). They're doing the speaking. (_Lady M. cries out -inarticulately._) I'm waiting for Miss Mottram. - -Lady M. For Gladys? (_Top pane of the window is broken by a stone which -falls between blind and window. Almost shrieking._) What's that? - -Peter. The voice of the people. - -Fred. They've a nasty way of talking. This looks serious. (_Crosses, -picks up and quickly pockets the stone, which is a large one._) - -Lady M. Is it a big one? - -Fred. (_nonchalantly_). Size of a piece of wood. - -Glad. Very well, then. Yes. - -Peter (_rising briskly_). That's what I wanted. (_Crosses as if to open -door, comes round to window, runs blind up, and steps out to balcony._) - -Glad, (_as he is at window_). I didn't mean it. - -Peter. You said it. (_He goes out, speaking as if to a crowd below._) -Comrades, I'm here. (_Cheers off._) From the house of our Mayor, on whom -I am calling as the people's candidate at this election---- - -[_Fred, crosses and closes window. Faint murmur only is audible off._ - -Fred. I can't stand this. He's spouting Socialism from our balcony. -(_Angrily._) This is your fault, Gladys. - -Glad. I was told to keep him here. - -[_Lady Mottram has collapsed on the Chesterfield._ - -Fred. Not with a mob howling for him outside. - -Glad. I didn't bring the mob. - -Lady M. What will Sir Jasper say? - -Fred, (_recovering his temper_). He'll not be fit to listen to. We're -the laughing-stock of Midlandton. This _'_ull win Garside the election. -He's using the balcony of the Chairman of the Employers' Federation for -his platform, and we've let him do it. - -Glad. We tried to trick him and he's turned the tables on us. That's -all. - -Fred. Clever beast. (_Laughter off._) - -Lady M. Listen to the cheering! - -Fred. Oh, he's popular, only that's not cheering. It's laughter. - -Lady M. What are they laughing at? - -Fred. At us, _ma petite mère_, at us. - -Lady M. (_standing, with extreme dignity_). They wouldn't dare! - -[_Loud burst of laughter._ - - -CURTAIN - - - - -ACT III. - - - -_Peter's rooms in the Temple. Door extreme right centre, with the -passage beyond visible with telephone on its wall when the door is open. -Door left. Fireplace centre, with low fire shining dully in the darkened -room. Bookcase right. Below it, table with inkstand. Blue books, etc., -and revolving chair. Arm-chairs, left and right of fireplace. Sofa -left, between fireplace and door. Heavy carpet. The whole appointments -indicate comfort and taste, as understood in Tottenham Court Road: there -is nothing individual about them._ - -_As the curtain rises the room is in darkness, except for the glow from -the fire, and the telephone bell right is ringing. After a moment's -pause the outside door opens; then Peter in a lounge suit, overcoat, -and bowler hat opens the door right and turns on the electric light. He -speaks as he looks off right. His self-confidence has increased. He is, -in fact, coarsened and even brazen at times._ - -***** - -Peter. Come in here. (_Freddie and Gladys follow him in. Peter stands -by door._) Make yourselves at home for two minutes. That's my telephone -ringing like mad. - -[_Exit Peter hurriedly, closing the door. Bell ceases ringing. Gladys is -in winter costume with furs. Freddie, in heavy overcoat with hat in hand -and a cane which he swings as he stands centre, surveying the room in -astonishment._ - -Fred. By Jove! By Jove! - -Glad. (_standing off_). What's the matter? - -Fred. Does himself all right. - -Glad. What did you expect? - -Fred. I didn't expect this. - -Glad. Was that why you didn't want to come in? - -Fred. I didn't want to come because I've to meet Charlie Beversham at -the hotel in half an hour. - -Glad. Well, you can meet him. - -Fred. Not if we stay here long. - -Glad. You needn't stay here. - -Fred. Oh? And what about you? - -Glad. I'll stay. - -Fred. Hang it, you can't do that. - -Glad. No. You'd rather I wasted another evening sitting with the frumps -in the hotel drawing-room while you discuss odds with your sporting -friend in the bar till it's too late to go anywhere. I'm having no more -nights in a refrigerator, thank you. - -Fred. It's not the thing to leave you here. You'll only be in Garside's -way. He'll be going to the House. - -Glad. Then he'll leave me at the hotel as he goes. - -Fred. You know the mater only let you loose in London because I promised -to look after you. (_Good-naturedly perplexed._) You're a ghastly -responsibility. Why on earth do you want to stay with Garside? - -Glad. Garside's amusing and the hotel isn't. - -Fred. I simply must sec Beversham. It means money to me. - -Glad. Don't let me stand in your way. - -Fred, (_giving way_). Well, I do like to be generous. It's the only -thing that keeps my blood at normal temperature---- - -Peter (_off right, at telephone_). I shall shout. You may be the whip, -but you'll not whip me. Important division? I know that as well as you -do. No, I shan't be there. Promised? Of course I promised. I started to -come. How did I know I was going to be indisposed in the Strand? - -Fred, (_whistling_). Whew! I wouldn't mind betting you're the -indisposition, Gladys. - -Peter (_off_). Yes. I'm far too ill to turn out. What? No, I'm not too -ill to shout. Good night. (_Opens door and enters without his hat and -overcoat._) Oh, do sit down, Miss Mottram. So sorry I'd to leave you. -(_Pulls left armchair before fire and pokes it._) I'll make the fire up. -It's a cold night. (_Gladys sits._) - -Fred. Comfortable enough in here, Garside. You've snug quarters. - -Peter (_failing to conceal his pride in his room_). It's a beginning. -(_Rising from fire._) One moment. (_Goes off left quickly, and is heard -as he exits, saying:_) Mother, you let that fire go low. - -Mrs. G. (_off left_). I thought you'd gone out. - -Fred. Oh, if he's got a mother on the premises that alters the case. I -don't mind your staying now. - -[_Peter re-enters with Mrs. Garside in a neat black dress, spectacles -on, and a "Daily Telegraph" in her hand. Mrs. Garside, though sharing -Peter's prosperity, has now an habitually worried look and is vaguely -pathetic. She enters embarrassed._ - -Peter (_off-handedly, treating his mother without ceremony_). Mr. -Mottram, Miss Mottram--my mother. - -[_Freddie bows. Gladys advances and takes hands._ - -Glad. How do you do, Mrs. Garside? - -Mrs. G. Nicely, thank you, miss. - -Peter (_peremptorily_). Why didn't you hear the telephone, mother? Were -you asleep? - -Mrs. G. (_meekly_). Did it ring? I was reading the report of your speech -at Battersea last night. - -Peter (_interested_). Oh! Where is it? I haven't had time to look at a -paper to-day. - -Mrs. G. (_handing him the paper and pointing_). There, dear. - -Peter (_looking and speaking with satisfaction_). Two columns. Good. -That's pretty near verbatim. - -Fred. Two columns in the "Telegraph"? You're getting on, Garside. - -Mrs. G. (_handing the paper from Peter to Fred._). And look at the -headings! - -Fred. (_looking--awkwardly_). Er--yes--not very complimentary. - -Glad, (_curiously_). What are they? - -Fred. (_returning paper to Peter_). Tact never was my sister's strong -point, Garside. - -Peter (_holding up the paper_). Oh, I don't mind this in the least. -It means my blows are getting home. (_Reading the headings._) "The -Demagogue again." "More Firebrand Oratory from the egregious Garside." -(_Putting paper on table._) Spreading themselves, aren't they? - -Fred. Well, it's all right, so long as you don't mind. - -Peter. Oh, they'll need a big vocabulary to express their feelings -before I'm done with them. I haven't started yet. - -Fred. Hope it'll keep fine for you. Afraid I must toddle, Garside. I've -an appointment. - -Peter (_his face falling in deep disappointment_). Appointment! Oh, -I did hope you'd both stay a bit. In fact, I--I put off an engagement -while I was at the telephone. - -Fred, (_looking at Gladys_). Well--er--I might come back for my sister. - -Peter (_enthusiastically_). Splendid! Have something before you go? - -Fred (_surprised_). Eh? - -Peter (_taking his arm_). Just to keep the cold out. Next room. - -Fred, (_turning with him_). I'd an idea you were a teetotaller. - -Peter. I was a lot of things in Midlandton. In London I'm a man of the -world. - -[_Exeunt Freddie and Peter, l._ - -Glad, (_sitting on sofa_). You must find London a great change after -Midlandton, Mrs. Garside. - -Mrs. G. (_sitting in left arm-chair, facing her--confidentially_). I -haven't had an easy hour since Peter brought me. You wouldn't believe -the prices they charge me in the shops if I want a chop or a bit of -steak for Peter's tea. Dinner he calls it now, though how it can be -dinner at seven of an evening I don't know. Thieves, that's what they -are. Not shopkeepers. You mustn't mind me running on, I haven't a soul -I know to talk to here. It's a pleasure to see you, I'm sure. And the -streets! I'm feared for my life if I go out. I know I'll be knocked down -and brought home dead. Eh, London's an awful place, but it's Peter's -home now, and his home's mine. - -Glad. But you'll get used to it. - -Mus. G. I doubt I'll never get used to this. I'm too old to change, and -Peter moves so fast. What's fit for him one day isn't good enough the -next. The waste's enough to frighten you. - -Glad. You must be very proud of your son, Mrs. Garside. - -Mrs. G. (_with conviction, dropping her querulous tone_). He's something -to be proud of. I'm the mother of a great man. You can't open a -newspaper without you see his name. - -Glad. I know that. - -Mrs. G. You've seen it? - -Glad. Often. - -Mus. G. (_rising and coming to table_). But not all. I've got them all -here. I cut them out, reports of his speeches, and paste them in this -book. (_Crosses to sofa with press-cutting book and sits by Gladys._) - -Glad. His speeches in Parliament? - -Mrs. G. (_with fine scorn_). Peter doesn't waste his words on -Parliament. He goes direct to the people--addressing meetings up and -down the country. (_Glowing with pride._) They fight to get him. Pity is -he can't split himself in bits and be in six places at once. Two guineas -a speech he gets--and expenses,--more sometimes. That's what they think -of him, Miss Mottram. That's my son. (_Pointing to a heading in the -hook._) Silver-tongued Garside. That's what they call him. - -Glad. Yes, I see. (_She turns a page._) - -Mrs. G. (_looking, bending round Gladys_). Oh, no, not that. I oughtn't -to have pasted that in. It's an attack on him in one of our own papers. -They call him something he didn't like. - -Glad, (_reading_). Platitudinous Peter. - -Mrs. G. It's all their spite. - -Glad. I suppose all politicians make enemies. - -Mrs. G. Oh, he's not afraid of his real enemies. The capitalists can -call him what they like. They do, too, and the more the better, Peter -says. But that's different. Mean things, attacking their own side. - -Glad, (_absently_). Yes. (_Putting book down._) And this is where he -prepares his speeches. (_Crossing to table._) - -Mrs. G. (_rising with book and crossing, replacing it on table_). Yes. -Those are his books. - -[_Gladys looks at titles._ - -Glad. Why, this row's all dictionaries. - -Mrs. G. Peter says people like long words. He writes his article at that -desk. Peter's printed in the paper every week. - -Glad. He's kept busy. - -Mrs. G. And he keeps me busy looking after him. - -Glad, (_sitting in the revolving chair and facing Mrs. Garside, standing -centre_). Have you no help? - -Mrs. G. Me? Nay. I couldn't abide the thought of a strange woman doing -_'_owt for Peter. I've cared for him all his life, and I'll go on caring -for him until he's put another woman in my place. Peter's wife won't be -of my class. It'll be my duty then to keep myself out of her sight, and -a hard job I'll find it, too, but I was never one to shirk. - -Glad. Didn't I hear something about a girl in Midland-ton, who---- - -Mrs. G. (_with conviction_). Don't you believe it, miss. She wasn't fit -to clean his boots. - -Glad. And of course he's all London to choose from now. - -Mrs. G. London! He'll never wed a Londoner. - -Glad. No? - -Mrs. G. He's in love with a Midlandton young lady. Calls her his -inspiration and I don't know what. But I tell you this, miss, I don't -care who, she is, she'll be doing well for herself when she marries my -Peter. - -Glad. You think she will marry him, then? - -Mrs. G. I'd like to see the woman who'd refuse him when he asks her. - -[_Re-enter, left, Fred, and Peter. Fred, addressing Peter._ - -Fred. Yes. I'll come back. I say, Garside, before I go, congratters, and -all that sort of thing, you know. - -Peter (_the pair have emerged very friendly_). Congratulations? - -Fred. (_sweeping his hat round_). On all this. - -Peter (_still puzzled_). This? - -Fred. This jolly little place, and so on. - -Peter. Oh, that's nothing. Part of the game, my boy. - -Fred. It's a profitable game when you can run to this after six months -of it. - -Peter. It doesn't afford it. Did you ever hear of the hire system? A man -who means to be a big success simply must have a decent address and be -on the telephone. People won't believe in you if you're content to hide -yourself up a mean street. - -Fred. But you _are_ a big success, Mr. Garside. - -Peter. Oh, I've not arrived yet. I'm ambitious. - -Fred. I like your pluck. Give me a quiet life and a thousand a year paid -quarterly by the Bank of England. Security's my mark. - -Peter. I'm betting on a certainty when I put money on myself. - -Fred. I'm such a thrifty soul. I never risk more than 10 per cent of my -income on certainties. That reminds me. Beversham. I must fly. See you -later. (_Reaches door right._) About half an hour, Gladys. - -[_Peter goes out with him, is heard closing outer door, and returns -immediately, closing door. Mrs. Gar-side yawns ostentatiously._ - -Glad. (_more with an air of saying something than meaning anything_). -Strange that we should meet in the Strand by accident, Mr. Garside. - -Peter (_who has paid for the moment more attention to Mrs. Garside than -to Gladys, speaking jerkily_). You call it accident? I call it Fate. -(_Mrs. Garside executes another palpably diplomatic yawn._) You're -tired, mother. - -Mrs. G. Yes. - -Peter. I'm sure Miss Mottram will excuse you. - -Mrs. G. Then I think I'll go to my bed. I'm an early bird. Good night, -Miss Mottram. - -Glad, (_after a moment's twinge of conscience, accepting Mrs. Garside's -hand_). Good night, Mrs. Garside. - -Mrs. G. (_to Peter, who opens right door_). I'll put your supper out. -You'll only have your cocoa to make. - -[_Peter tries not to look angry at the intrusion of domestic details. -Exit Mrs. Garside. Peter closes the door and stands by it. Gladys is -still in the revolving chair with her back to the table._ - -Peter. Yes. Fate didn't mean us two to miss each other. - -Glad, (_lightly_). Do you believe in Fate? - -Peter. I believe in mine. I know I was born under a lucky star. I've a -genius for overcoming obstacles, no matter what they are, Miss Mottram. -I've the knack of getting what I want. - -Glad. Don't you find continuous success monotonous? - -Peter (_smiling_). They're such precious small successes. I'm on the -foothills yet, and I've set myself a lot of peaks to climb, but already -I'm in sight of the highest of them all. (_Looking at her hard._) Even -from where I stand now I can glimpse the Mount Everest of my ambition. - -Glad. Happy man, to know what you want. Most of us poor creatures -haven't the faintest idea what we want to do with our lives. - -Peter. I think better of you than that. You're not a bored society -butterfly. - -Glad. Must one be in society to be bored? I am bored in Midlandton. - -Peter (_with the quickly acquired London attitude to the provinces_). -Oh, Midlandton! - -Glad. We don't live in Midlandton. No one does. Midlandton! It sends a -shiver up your baek like the tear of a sheet. - -Peter. I couldn't go back now. - -Glad. And I've given up hope of ever getting to London. - -Peter. Do you want to very much? (_Draws towards right arm-chair, and -sits leaning forward towards her._) - -Glad, (_with deep conviction_). I feel sometimes I'd do anything on -earth to live here. (_Smiling._) You see, I'd like to be a society -butterfly. You can't understand that, I suppose. - -Peter. Why not? - -Glad. I thought you despised luxury. - -Peter. Oh dear no. I like good clothes and soft living. - -Glad. But you denounce them. - -Peter. What I denounce is luxury for the few and penury for the many. We -want to level up, not level down. - -Glad. I've heard something like that before. - -Peter. Probably. It's not my business to be original. If I tried to be -lofty I'd be talking above the heads of my audiences. - -Glad, (_puzzled_). I wonder how much is sincere! - -Peter. Sincere? I'm a professional advocate. I take a tiny grain of -truth, dress it up in a pompous parade of rhetoric and deliver it in the -manner of an oracle and the accent of a cheapjack. It's a question of -making my points tell. Sincerity doesn't matter. - -Glad, (_rising_). If I turned myself into a human gramophone, I -shouldn't boast about it, Mr. Garside. It's not _very_ creditable to -live by fooling the public. - -Peter (_rising_). Creditable? If I fooled them from Fleet Street they'd -make me a peer. The public likes to be fooled. They know I'm fooling -them. They pay me to go on fooling them. Some men live by selling -adulterated beer. I live by selling adulterated truth. - -Glad. And neither makes an honest livelihood. - -Peter. No, neither your father the brewer, nor I the demagogue. But I'm -being frank with you, Miss Mottram. Between us two there's not to be -pretence. - -Glad. Why am _I_ honoured with your confidences? - -Peter. Because you have a right to know. I do these things to make -money. I want money because--because of the hope that was born in me -when your eyes first met mine across the crowd in Midlandton. - -Glad, (_after a slight pause_). Mr. Garside, I--I think I ought to go. -My brother only left me because he thought your mother would be here. - -Peter (_going towards door right_). Shall I bring her? - -Glad. She's gone to bed. - -Peter. I fancy I can find her if you tell me to. - -Glad. I'm sure I ought. - -Peter. I'm sure you always do what you ought, so---- - -(_Putting his hand to the door-handle._) - -Glad. (_quickly_). Yes, I do--in Midlandton. - -Peter (_turning quickly from door_). And this is London. You're on -holiday. - -Glad, (_checking him_). But not from my conscience, Mr. Garside. - -Peter. Oh, conscience is so much a matter of climate. A Midlandton -conscience finds London air very relaxing. - -Glad, (_sitting slowly right as before_). I don't think you ought to -disturb your mother, Mr. Garside. - -Peter (_resuming his own chair, with conscious hypocrisy_). No. Old -people need such a lot of sleep. So that's settled. Let me see. I was -talking about myself, wasn't I? - -Glad. Yes. You seem to find the subject interesting. - -Peter. I'll talk about the weather if you prefer it. - -Glad. No. You can stick to your text. - -Peter. Thanks. But I wasn't talking about myself alone. - -Glad, (_reflectively_). I don't remember the exception. It was all -yourself and the money you're going to make. - -Peter. The money. Yes. I'm making money, Miss Mottram, and I'm going to -make more. Do you know why? - -Glad. Money's always useful, I suppose. - -Peter. Yes, even a little of it. But I shan't be satisfied with little. -And I'm a fairly frugal man. - -Glad. You'll grow into a miser on the margin between your moderate wants -and your colossal income. - -Peter. I might grow into a married man on that margin. It's to be a good -margin, because I believe no man should ask his wife to accept a lower -standard of living than she's been accustomed to. - -Glad. I didn't know Miss Shawcross lived so well. - -Peter (_rising, sternly_). It isn't a question of Miss Shaweross. - -Glad. I thought it was. - -Peter. So did I when I was a boy in Midlandton about a hundred years -ago. I'm wiser now. Women of her class can't adapt themselves to changed -circumstances. They're a drag on a man's career. You've seen Miss -Shawcross? - -Glad. Yes. - -Peter. Well, you know the type. Good, plodding, conscientious, -provincial girl, with about as much ambition as a potato. Marry her to a -bank clerk and she'll be in her proper place. Picture her the wife of a -Cabinet Minister, and--well, no, you can't. It's unthinkable. - -Glad. The wife of a what? - -Peter (_imperviously_). A Cabinet Minister. - -Glad. But you're not a Cabinet Minister. - -Peter (_quite seriously_). No, I'm young yet. What a man of my stamp -wants is a wife who can help him to push his way, not one I'd be ashamed -to show in society. - -Glad. I see. You're marrying into one of the big political families. - -Peter. No. I'm showing you how you can be done with Midlandton and get -to London. You said you'd do anything for that. - -Glad. I meant anything in reason. Shall we change the subject? - -Peter. No. - -Gladys (_rising, curtly_). Then I must go back to the hotel. - -Peter. Your brother's coming for you. Meantime I ask you to remember the -difference between the Peter Garside of six months ago and the Garside -of to-day. I've bridged the gulf that lay between us. A man of genius -can do things like that. I meant what I said, Miss Mottram. I didn't say -it till you encouraged me. - -Glad. I have not encouraged you. - -Peter. You're here, you know. You let your brother go without you. You -let my mother leave us alone. Isn't that encouragement? - -Glad. (_as cruelly as she can_). I stayed because I find you amusing. - -Peter. Yes. I dare say I am amusing. People in deadly earnest usually -are. - -Glad, (_gently_). We'll forget what you said, Mr. Garside. - -Peter. No, we won't. I can't ask you to marry me yet because I am not -rich. I'm merely prospering. But I ask you to wait. Give me a year--no, -six months. I can offer you a home in London then. It won't be worthy -of you, but we shan't stagnate. May I come to you in six months' time to -get your answer to the question I haven't yet the right to ask? - -Glad. I don't know. - -Peter. No. Rut I know six months of Midlandton are longer than six years -here. You badly want to live in London now. You'll want it worse then. -Don't think of me as I was. That's buried. Think of me as I am and as -I'm going to be. (_Electric bell rings right._) That's probably your -brother. - -Glad (_half sorry, but on the whole relieved_). Yes. Don't keep him -waiting. - -Peter (_moving right, and stopping_). Before I open the door won't you -tell me what I want to know? It's all for you--all my ambitions. I only -want position for you to grace it, money for you to spend. Give me six -happy months of hope. - -Glad, (_with a low laugh_). Will hoping make you happy? - -Peter. Yes, if you tell me I may hope. - -Glad (_sincerely_). Then by all means hope. - -[_Bell rings again._ - -Peter. That's all I want. (_He looks at her humbly. She extends her hand -impulsively. Peter kisses it reverently._) - -Glad. You're very absurd. Now let my brother in. - -[_Peter crosses and opens door right, leaving it half open, as he goes -through and opens outside door._ - -Peter (_heard off right, in surprised voice_). Hullo! - -Ned. (_off right, less loudly_). Good evening. - -[_Peter appears outside door right, pulling it to him._ - -Peter (_off_). Leave your coats here. Excuse me. I'll--I'll just close -this door and keep the cold out till you're ready. - -[_He enters rapidly, opening the door as little as possible, and closing -it quickly, putting his back to it. The manouvre is not, however, -executed fast enough to prevent Jones peering over his shoulder as he -enters._ - -Peter (_standing against the door_). It's not your brother. - -Glad, (_dryly_). I gathered that. I'd better go without him. - -Peter (_agitated_). You can't. That's the only way out. They'd see you. - -Glad, (_surprised_). I don't mind. - -Peter. They mustn't. - -Glad. Why not? Who are they? - -Peter. Constituents. - -Glad, (_alarmed_). From Midlandton? - -Peter. Yes. Let them get a glimpse of you, and God only knows what tale -will be over Midlandton. - -Glad, (_agreeing_). Yes. They mus'n't see me. On no account. (_She -crosses to left, Peter nods approvingly._) Peter. My mother's there. -I'll get rid of them quickly. Glad. Remember, I'm trusting you. - -[_Exit Gladys, left. Peter opens door right, and speaks off._ - -Peter. Ready, comrades? Come in. (_Ned and Jones enter, dressed much as -in Act I. Peter is genial._) How are you? Both well? - -Jones (_as they shake hands_). Yes, thanks. (_With slight emphasis._) -Are you well? - -Peter. Quite well, thanks. Never better in my life. (_Ned and Jones -exchange glances._) Sit down, comrades. It's good to see Midlandton -faces again. - -[_Ned in arm-chair right, Jones left, Peter in revolving chair. Peter's -attitude at first is the mixture of obsequiousness and patronage of an -M.P. to influential supporters._ - -Ned. I suppose you don't see many people from the old town here? - -Peter. You're the first I've seen since I came up. - -Ned. Ah! - -Peter. And what brings you to town? Pleasure, I suppose. - -Jones. Well---- - -Peter. Yes, I know. London's a playground to you fellows. It's more like -a battlefield to your hard-worked member. - -Jones (_firmly_). It's not exactly pleasure we're here for, Comrade -Garside. - -Peter. Oh? - -Ned. More like business. We're a sort of a delegation. - -Peter. Delegates, eh? What's on? I don't remember any congress at the -moment? - -Jones. We're on a special mission. - -Peter (_obviously forcing an appearance of interest_). Now, that's very -interesting. May I ask the object of this mission? - -Jones (_grimly_). You're the object. - -Peter. I? - -Ned. Yes. We've a crow to pluck with you, my lad. - -Peter (_not yet greatly concerned_). Oh? Something you want to discuss? - -Jones. Something we're going to discuss. - -Peter (_rising_). Well, suppose I meet you to-morrow morning. Come here -at--yes--at eleven, and I'll give you an hour with pleasure. - -Ned (_shaking his head_). You'll give us an hour, or as long as we want, -now. - -Peter. Really, I'm afraid I can't. (_Involuntarily glancing left._) I'm -busy to-night. I'll see you to-morrow. - -Jones. We shan't be here to-morrow. We've to go back by the midnight -train. We've our livings to earn. - -Peter. Well, look here, eome back in an hour or so, and I'll see you -then. - -Jones (_commandingly_). You'll see us now. Your time's ours, we pay for -it. - -Peter. You haven't bought me, you know. You pay me to represent your -interests at Westminster. - -Jones. Then why aren't you there representing them to-night? - -Peter (_irritably_). I've told you I'm busy. - -Jones. Busy with what? - -Peter. Mind your own business. - -Ned (_quietly_). It is our business. We've a right to know why you're -neglecting your duty. - -Peter (_hotly_). I don't neglect my duty. - -Ned. What's on at the House to-night? - -Peter (_embarrassed_). Well---- - -Ned (_inexorably_). What's on? - -Peter. The Right to Work Bill, I believe. (_Sitting again._) - -Ned. Yes. The Right to Work Bill. The cornerstone of the Labour policy. -Any Labour member who's absent from to-night's division deserves -drumming out of the party as a traitor to its cause. - -Peter. Oh, I'll be there for the division if you don't keep me here too -long. - -Ned. The division's over. You're out of your place on the most important -night of the session. You've missed your ehanee to speak. You've missed -the division. You've not paired. Your vote's lost. - -Peter. It's not. The division can't take plaee so early. - -Jones. We've been to the House. We thought we'd find you there. Why -weren't you there? - -Peter. I've told you I was busy. - -Ned. You told the Whip on the telephone you were ill--too ill to turn -out. We were there when he rang you up. We eome here, and we find you -well. - -Peter. I _am_ indisposed. - -Jones. Indisposed! - -Peter. I meant to go. I started out to go only I became ill on the way. - -Jones. You told us when you shook hands you'd never been better. - -Peter. Oh, I dare say. The usual figure of speech. I _am_ recovering. - -Jones. No. You spoke the truth then. You're lying now. - -Peter. Lying! This is too much. (_Rising._) - -Jones (_rising_). You'll like it less before we've finished. We're not -in London losing a day's wages for our health. We've been called up to -decide what's to be done with you. - -Peter (_angrily_). You'll decide what's to be done with me. You! - -Jones (_firmly_). We have decided. - -Ned (_still sitting_). They've been showing us your record at the Whip's -office. You ignore them. You go to the House when you think you will. -You refuse to submit to discipline. - -Peter. I serve the cause in my own way. (_He is consciously on his -defence now._) It's a better way than listening to dry-as-dust debates -and tramping endless miles through the division lobbies. I'm getting -at the people. I'm carrying the fiery sword of revolutionary Socialism -through the length and breadth of the land. I'm the harbinger of the new -age. Wherever I go I leave behind me an awakened people, stirred from -their lethargy and indolent acceptance of things as they are, fired with -new hopes of the coming dispensation, eager to throw off the yoke and -strike their blow for freedom, justice, and the social revolution. -That's my work, comrades, not wasting my energy, my gift of oratory on -the canting hypocrites at Westminster, but keeping them fresh for -the honest man outside. I'm going to quarter England, town by town, -until---- - -Ned (_rising, and putting his hand on Peter's arm, shaking his head_). -It won't do, Garsidc. - -Jones. You needn't wag that silver tongue at us. You're found out. - -Peter. Found out! You can't find out a man you're incapable of -understanding. You can't drive genius with a bearing rein. I'm a man of -genius, and you're angry because I can't be a cog in the parliamentary -machine. - -Ned (_quietly_). Whatever you are, you're paid to be a cog. - -Peter. If I'm to do my great work for the cause I must live somehow. The -labourer is worthy of his hire. - -Jones. You're hired twice over. You get lecture fees when you ought to -be in the House. You make local secretaries compete for your lectures to -force your price up. You've got swelled head till you think you can do -as you like. - -Peter. I won't be dictated to by you. - -Ned. And yet we're your masters, you know. - -Peter. It's my nature to be a free lance. Routine would kill me. I've to -work for the cause in my own way. - -Ned. We don't want free lances. We want workers. If you want to speak to -the people aren't your week-ends and vacations good enough? - -Peter. A hundred days to every week are not enough. - -Ned. We sent you to Parliament to obey the Party Whips and be governed -by older and wiser heads than yours. - -Peter. Nelson won battles by disobeying orders. If you didn't want -independence you shouldn't have chosen me. - -Jones. We see that now. You'd ceased to be representative of the -Midlandton working classes before we chose you for our candidate. You -_were_ a B.A. You're still less able to represent us now when you make -as much in a month as your average constituent does in a year. We'll -have a better man next time. - -Peter. Yes. You find an ignorant, dense average specimen of the British -workman without a soul above thirty shillings a week, and he'll just -about represent the ideas and ambitions of the Midlandton mob. - -Jones. Yes, he'll represent us better than you. - -Peter. Then God help representative government! You'd better be careful. -My personal popularity's your finest platform asset. - -Ned. Well, it's an asset we can do without. Put it that you're too -brilliant for us. - -Peter. Oh, it's the old story. Genius and the Philistine. For two pins -I'd resign my seat. - -Ned (_gravely_). We accept your resignation. - -Peter. What! - -Jones. We come here to demand it. - -Peter (_abject_). Comrades, you don't mean this! You wouldn't do a man -out of his job. - -Jones (_curtly_). Oh, we're finding you a new job. - -Peter. What's that? - -Jones. The Stewardship of the Chiltern Hundreds. - -Peter (_slight pause_). I won't resign. You've tried and judged me in my -absence. You haven't given me a chance to say a word in my own defence. - -Ned. You can talk till you're blue in the face without shifting facts. - -Peter (_growing increasingly hysterical_). The facts are that I'm a -Member of the House of Commons for the term of this Parliament, and you -can't force me to resign until I do it of my own free will. I'm still -M.P. for Midlandton, if I've to sleep on the Embankment. I'll go to -the House in rags. I'll be an M.P. still, M.P. for the outcast, the -despised, the rejected, the human derelicts, victims of jealousy and -injustice and all man's inhumanity to man. - -Jones (_contemptuously_). You're the victim of nothing but your own -swelled head. - -Peter. I'm the victim of my own great nature. A nature that's cast in -too large a mould to submit to pettifogging little rules. My life -was the people's. I demanded nothing in return but a free hand and no -interference. I've to do this mighty task in my own way. - -Jones. Yes. The way you found most profitable. - -Peter. I'm spending every penny I earn. - -Jones. Yes. I'll believe you for once. This place proves that. We sent -you here to be our representative, not to be a bloody * gentleman. I -know what your indisposition was that kept you from the House tonight. -I saw its skirts when you opened the door. That's what we're paying for. -For you to--faugh, you sicken me. - - * This word must be omitted in representation. It was - censored by the Lord Chamberlain about two months before it - was passed in Mr. Shaw's "Pygmalion.' - -Peter. You lie. - -Jones. I don't. I saw her. - -Peter (_deliberately_). There's no woman here except my mother. - -Ned (_solemnly_). Is that the truth, Peter? I also thought I saw a skirt -that I'm sure your mother couldn't wear. - -Peter. It's the truth. Upon my word of honour it's the truth. - -Jones (_roughly_). I don't believe it. - -Ned (_protesting_). We have his word, Karl. - -Jones. The word of a convicted liar. He lied about his absence from the -House. He's lying now. - -Peter (_with determination_). You'll take my word for it. - -[_Door bell rings r._ - -Jones. Yes, if you'll let me see who's in that room. - -Peter. My mother's there. - -Jones. And no one else? - -Peter. Nobody. - -Jones. Then show us. Prove it. - -Ned. He's said enough, Karl. He's passed his word. - -Jones. I don't believe his word's worth that. (_Snapping fingers._) He's -lying for a woman. (_Bitterly._) It's the code of a gentleman to lie for -a woman. - -[_Door bell rings again._ - -Peter. I can't help your disbelief. - -Jones. No, but you can open that door. (_Indicating left._) - -Peter (_his back to the door_). You'll take my word. (_Again the door -bell rings, and Mrs. Garside enters left. Peter turns round on her, -surprising her by his vehemence. Angrily._) What is it? - -[_The door remains open._ - -Mrs. G. Someone's at the door. Didn't you hear the bell ring? - -Peter. Let it ring. Don't you see I've visitors? - -Ned (_coming forward like a friend_). Good evening, Mrs. Garside. - -Mrs. G. (_unheeding, troubled with Peter_). But it'll be Mr. Mottram -eome baek for his sister. - -Jones. What? - -[_He crosses to look through the left door. Gladys enters, meeting -Jones' eye._ - -Glad. May I go through to my brother, Mr. Garside? - -Jones (_falling back_). Miss Mottram! - -[_Peter looks from one to the other like a caged animal._ - -Ned (_with genuine feeling_). Lad, lad, do you lie for the sake of -lying? - -Jones (_triumphantly, his voice ringing_). I think there'll be no -dilliculty about that resignation now. - -Peter (_after a slight pause, tensely_). On one condition. - -Jones (_scornfully_). You're in a grand position for making conditions. - -Peter. Keep your mouths shut about Miss Mottram's presence here, and I -place my resignation in the Speaker's hands to-morrow. (_Slight pause._) - -Ned. I accept. - -Jones (_disagreeing violently_). Well, I---- - -Ned. _You_ accept. - -Jones. But------ - -Ned. You have our promise, Garside, and you can take my word. - -[_Jones is silent and sullen._ - -Glad, (_vaguely_). What! - -Peter (_hysterically_). You heard. I'm resigning my seat in the House -of Commons. Humpty-dumpty had a great fall. (_Jones laughs aloud, -Gladys smiles slightly, Peter almost screams._) Don't laugh. (_Suddenly -self-pitying._) I don't know what I'm saying. (_With a flicker of the -old pride._) But I was an M.P. once. You can't take that from me. -(_Blundering blindly to door, left._) Oh, go, go, all of you. I want to -be alone. - -[_The door bell has been steadily ringing. Peter goes off left, and -bangs the door behind him._ - -Glad. Will you let my brother in, Mrs. Garside? - -[_Mrs. Garside goes right, and opens door, goes through and lets Fred. -in._ - -Fred, (_to Gladys_). Thought you'd gone to sleep. (_Seeing Jones._) -Hello! Our friend of the election. - -Glad, (_impatiently_). Never mind these men. Come away. - -Fred. Well, don't snap a fellow's head off. (_Ned and Jones quietly go -out right._) Sorry I've been so long, only----- - -Glad. It doesn't matter. (_Raising her voice, looking left_). Mr. -Garside's been an entertainment in himself. - -Fred, (_crossing_). Where is he? In there? - -Glad, (_crossing to right door_). Oh, will you come? - -Fred. Must do the decent by our Member, you know. - -Glad. He's not our Member, he's resigned. - -Fred. Good Lord! Why? - -Glad. Oh, can't you see we're not wanted here? - -Fred. (_crossing towards her_). All right. Don't get vicious. Nothing to -lose your temper over, is it? - -Glad. I've lost more than my temper. I've lost a chance.... Oh, never -mind. What's the next train for Midlandton? - -Fred. Train? What you want's some supper. We've two more days of town. - -Glad. Yes. We'll eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die. You're -standing me champagne to-night, Freddie. - -[_She goes out right. Fred, looks after her, puzzled, crosses, and -shakes Mrs. Garside's limp hand._ - -Fred. Good night, Mrs. Garside. - -[_He follows Gladys. Mrs. Garside goes right, the outer door closes, she -turns light off in the hall and re-enters, closing the door behind her. -Peter reenters left, composed._ - -Peter. Have they all gone? - -Mrs. G. Yes. (_Pathetically puzzled._) What does it all mean, Peter? - -Peter. Mean? Ruin. My career's blasted. (_Sits at table, turning chair -towards her._) - -Mrs. G. But why, Peter? I can't understand it. I---- - -Peter. Why? Because I was too successful. Jealousy. That's it. They -do nothing themselves, but they won't give young blood a chance. -Mediocrity's their motto. They've no use for brains. So I'm kicked out. - -Mrs. G. Don't take on about it, deary. They'll find they can't do -without you. - -Peter. You'd always faith, hadn't you, mother? (_Turning to table and -putting his head on his hands._) But I've fallen like Lucifer, never to -rise again. - -Mrs. G. (_struck with a new delightful thought, hesitating to utter -it_). Peter, it means--it means---- - -Peter (_not turning_). What? - -Mrs. G. (_standing centre_). Oh, I'm so glad. - -Peter (_leaping up angrily, and turning on her_). Glad! - -Mrs. G. I've been so unhappy here. I shall be glad to be in Midlandton -again. - -Peter (_disgustedly_). Midlandton! (_Shuddering._) Those grimy streets -reeking of poverty. - -Mrs. G. (_reproachfully_). Peter! Midlandton is home. - -[_She gives way a little. Peter stands centre._ - -Peter. Yes. After all, why not? The wounded lion crawls to its lair to -die. (_Pause, looking straight out._) I wonder. Am I a lion or only an -ass braying in a lion's skin? - - -CURTAIN. - - - - -ACT IV - -_Scene as Act I, except that the room has a bareness indicative of a -recent removal. The bookcase is on the floor instead of being fastened -to the wall, and no pictures are hung._ - -_Mrs. Garside, dressed as Act I, sits dejectedly in the rocking-chair. -A knock at the door, centre. Mrs. Garside sighs heavily, rouses herself -slowly, crosses and opens door. Denis O'Callagan is on the doorstep. The -blind is drawn. One incandescent light._ - -***** - -O'Cal. May I come in, Mrs. Garside? - -Mrs. G. And welcome, Mr. O'Callagan. - -[_He enters. She closes door._ - -O'Cal. (_coming centre, in front of table, glancing upwards_). Still the -same? - -Mrs. G. (_standing centre, gloomily_). Oh, yes. He doesn't seem to care -for anything. - -O'Cal. I can hear him moving about upstairs. - -Mrs. G. (_sitting left of table, as if too weary to stand_). I never -hear anything else. It's driving me mad. Up and down, up and down, all -day long, and all night too, till he drops because he's too tired to put -one foot before the other. It's like a wild beast in a cage. - -O'Cal. You've not got him to go out yet? - -Mrs. G. Nor look like doing till he's carried out feet foremost. He says -he'll never show his face in Midlandton again. I've done all the work. -Getting the furniture out of store and everything. Peter didn't raise a -hand. - -O'Cal. You dropped lucky finding the old house empty. - -Mrs. G. I don't know if I did. It reminds him. Won't take his food now. -That's the latest. Not that I've much to give him. Heaven knows where -it'll end. We with no money coming in and nearly every penny as we had -gone to pay his debts in London and fetch us here. Workhouse next, I -reckon. - -O'Cal. (_patting her shoulder encouragingly_). Let you not be talking -like that, Mrs. Garside. There's no call to despair. Peter's got to be -roused. - -Mrs. G. Haven't we tried and failed? If you fancy you know the way to do -it I'll be obliged by your telling me. - -O'Cal. Oh, we've not tried them all yet. - -Mrs. G. (_vigorously_). Then for God's sake go up to him and try. - -O'Cal. (_without moving_). Sure he's not himself at all. - -Mrs. G. (_rising, with more force in her voice_). Denis O'Callagan, if -you've a plan to rouse my poor boy I've told you to go upstairs and try -it on him. If you've come to stand there like a log and tell me what -I've known this week and more, there's my door, and the sooner you put -your ugly face outside it the better you'll please me. - -O'Cal. (_giving way a little_). I come to tell you of the cure we will -be putting on him. I'm thinking it won't be to your taste and you short -tempered with your trouble. - -Mrs. G. Do you think I care what it is so it puts an end to this? - -O'Cal. Is that the truth you're telling me? - -Mrs. G. Truth! Bless the man. I'm at the bitter end. - -O'Cal. (_briskly_). Then I'll be stepping out and bringing out my cure. -I didn't fetch her in because I knew you quarrelled with her. (_He -reaches the door and puts his hand to the latch._) - -Mrs. G. Stop! Do you mean Margaret Shaweross? - -O'Cal. Yes. (_He takes a step towards table. They speak across it._) - -Mrs. G. That woman doesn't cross my threshold. - -O'Cal. The sight of her _'_ull bring the life back into Peter. - -Mrs. G. No. - -O'Cal. You said you wouldn't care what I did. - -Mrs. G. I didn't know you meant her. - -O'Cal. (_coming round table_). No, and you called me all the names you -could lay your tongue to when I came in last week. - -Mrs. G. I thought you one of the lot that ruined Peter. I've told you -I'm sorry for what I said. - -O'Cal. Yes. You see it now. Why won't you see Miss Shaweross is a friend -as well? - -Mrs. G. (_sullenly_). She's a woman. - -O'Cal. And can't you be mistaken about a woman just as much as a man? - -Mrs. G. She never did Peter any good. She always thought too little of -him. - -O'Cal. (_pleadingly_). Give her a chance, Mrs. Garside, she loves him. - -Mrs. G. She'd a queer way of showing it, then. - -O'Cal. She loves him. - -Mrs. G. (_hotly_). And don't I love him? If love's all he wants to put -him right, won't his mother---- - -O'Cal. There's different kinds of love. Let her try hers. - -Mrs. G. (_grimly_). Yes. Let her try. - -O'Cal. (_moving eagerly_). May I? - -Mrs. G. Bring her in. - -[_O'Callagan goes to door, then turns suddenly suspicious._ - -O'Cal. You're not going to be rude to her? - -Mrs. G. I'm going to give her her chance fair and square. Loves him, -does she? We'll see if her love's good enough to do what my love can't, -and I'll own I'm wrong about her. She'll get no second chance. - -O'Cal. She'll need none, neither. - -Mrs. G. Well, we'll see. Open the door and call her in. - -[_O'Callagan opens door and calls off._ - -O'Cal. Will you come in, Miss Shawcross? - -[_Enter Margaret in a plain winter costume with a cheap fur round her -neck._ - -O'Cal. (_in her ear as she passes him_). It's all right. - -[_He closes door, Margaret crosses to Mrs. Garside._ - -Mar. (_anxiously--waiving ceremony_). How is he, Mrs. Garside? - -Mrs. G. (_turning from her to O'Callagan_). Bring him down, Denis, -you know the way. (_O'Callagan crosses and exit r. Mrs. Garside -faces Margaret._) We'll understand each other first. You're here on -sufferance. I've let you in same as I would a doctor, because O'Callagan -thinks there's a chance you'll cure Peter. We're strangers till you've -done it. - -Mar. I understand. Thank you for letting me come. How is he? - -Mrs. G. He's like to die because he doesn't want to live. - -[_Enter r., O'Callagan and Peter, whose spectacular disarray is -nicely calculated. Physically he appears normal, but his ruffled hair, -cross-buttoned waistcoat unbuttoned collar and crooked black tie give -the appearance of hopeless abandon. He enters wearily, forgetting -himself for a moment on seeing Margaret and speaking vigorously._ - -Peter. You here! (_Turns as if to go back, but O'Callagan closes the -door quickly._) Why didn't you tell me, Denis? - -Mar. (_stepping forward_). Don't go. I've come to see you, Peter. - -Peter. I'm not on exhibition. What have you come for? To gloat over me, -to see for yourself how well you prophesied when you told me I should -fail. (_He turns his back on her, only to face O'Callagan._) - -O'Cal. I'm telling you you're not a failure. It's just a temporary check -in your career you've had. - -Peter (_sullenly_). My career's ended. - -[_Mrs. Garside sits in the rocking-chair, aloof, watching._ - -Mar. At twenty-six, Peter? - -Peter (_turning_). That's my tragedy. Waste. At twenty-six I'm looking -backward on a closed account. The future's blank--all the brilliant -fruitful years I might have lived. - -Mar. That you _will_ live, Peter. - -Peter (_sitting left of table, elbows on table and head in hands_). Oh, -what's the use of that? I'm finished. Out, middle stump. And there's no -second innings in life. - -O'Cal. Isn't there? Don't the people need you just as much as ever? - -Peter (_without turning to him_). The people have no use for broken -idols, Denis. - -Mar. But _we_ need you, Peter. - -Peter (_looking up_). Who are we? - -Mar. Your own people. - -Peter. You! You never believed in me. - -Mar. I always thought you'd the wrong temperament for Parliament. - -Peter. You knew me for the rotten failure that I am. I congratulate you -on your perspicacity. - -Mar. (_shaking her head_). I'm not proud of it. What do you propose to -do? - -Peter. I don't propose to do anything. (_Resuming the hopeless -attitude_). I've shot my bolt. I'm a man with a past, an ex-M.P., -ex-Everything. - -O'Cal. (_with conviction_). You're a blazing idiot. - -Peter. I quite agree. - -O'Cal. You're not. You know you're not. I'm only saying it to rouse you. - -Peter. You'll say nothing that I won't agree with. - -O'Cal. All right. You've a big future before you. - -Peter. I can't agree to that. - -O'Cal. You have. You're going to---- - -Peter. I'm going to take it lying down, Denis, and that's all there is -to it. - -Mar. That's a pretty mean thing to say, Peter. - -Peter. Oh, taunts don't sting me now. I've reached the further side of -agony. - -Mar. (_sitting at table, centre, leaning on it very close to Peter, and -speaking without a trace of sympathy_). Peter, don't you think you've -made sufficient demonstration of your grief? - -Peter. Demonstration? - -Mar. We're all tremendously impressed. You've thoroughly alarmed -us. That's what you wanted, wasn't it? (_Peter meets her eye -questioningly._) To prove to yourself that after all you're still of -consequence to somebody. It's quite true, Peter. We're not content to -watch you sulk to death. You've made your big effect. For a week you've -had the joy of fostering your wound, keeping it open for all the world -to see how hardly you've been hit, but it's time you healed it now. - -Peter (_hiding his head on the table_). Misunderstood! - -Mar. Misunderstood? (_Rising and tapping the table._) Or found out, -Peter? Which? - -Peter (_pitiably turning, still sitting, to Mrs. Garside_). Mother, you -let these people in. Are you going to sit there and let them bully a -sick man? - -Mar. (_admiringly_). That's a good pose, Peter. The great, strong, -self-willed man brought down to crying to his mammie. - -Peter (_in an agonised shriek_). Mother! - -Mrs. G. (_firmly_). I'm not going to interfere. I promised Margaret her -own way. - -Peter. But---- - -Mrs. G. (_interrupting, dryly_). Besides, I think there may be something -in it. - -[_Peter hides his face again with a deep "Oh!"_ - -O'Cal. (_putting his hand on Peter's shoulder_). Be a man, Peter. - -Peter (_looking up at him_). Yes, it's all very well for you to talk. -You with your beastly robust health. I'm an invalid. - -Mar. I assure you, you're not looking half so feeble as you did. You're -improving under treatment. - -Peter. Then I must thrive on torture. - -Mar. Something's doing you good. You're not the woebegone catastrophe -you were. - -Peter (_rising_). I won't tolerate this. - -Mar. You prefer to be a catastrophe, in fact? - -Peter (_moving right_). I want to be left alone. I'm going to my -bedroom. You can't follow me there. - -Mar. Oh, you'll not escape that way. I don't in the least mind invading -your bedroom. A doctor has privileges. - -Peter. All right. I'll go out, then. Mother, where's my hat? - -Mar. Splendid. Fresh air will do you good. - -Peter. I won't go out. They'll mock me in the streets. - -Mar. Then you prefer my medicine? I'll go on dosing you. - -Peter (_sitting centre, behind table, covering face_). I'll close my -eyes and stop my ears. - -Mar. (_taking her hat off_). The night is young. (_She puts her hat on -the bookcase and her fur on it._) - -Peter (_turning and watching her_). Oh! So it's to be a trial of -strength, is it? - -Mar. Just as you like. As I'm strong and you're weak, I ought to win. - -Peter. We'll see if I'm weak. - -Mar. Of course, I've only your word for it. - -[_Margaret takes chair from wall, right, and puts it before fire._ - -Peter. Weak as I am, I'm strong enough to tire you out. (_Folding his -arms._) - -Mar. I don't go to work till nine in the morning. (_Sitting on her -chair._) You don't mind my making myself comfortable for the night, Mrs. -Garside? - -Mrs. G. I've told you I'm not interfering, Margaret. You can do as you -like. - -Mar. Denis, go home. I want to be alone with Peter. - -Peter. Stay where you are, Denis. Don't leave me alone with her. - -O'Cal. Don't! But I will and sharp too, for it's wishing you a quick -recovery I am, and the more you hate your medicine the better it is for -you. Good night. - -[_Exit O'Callagan, l._ - -Mar. Now, Peter, I'm going to talk to you. - -Mrs. G. I'll take myself out of your way. (_Going r._) - -Peter. Mother! You too! Haven't I a friend in the world? - -Mrs. G. You wouldn't listen to me. It's her turn how. Call me if you -want me, Margaret. - -[_Exit Mrs. Garside, r._ - -Peter (_sitting c., stopping his ears_). I shan't listen. - -Mar. (_sitting and making herself ostentatiously comfortable in the -rocking-chair, poking fire_). Oh, take your time. I'm quite comfortable. -(_She leans back humming "Home, Sweet Home"_) - -Peter (_unstopping his ears_). What? - -Mar. Oh, could you hear? You're such a bad listener as a rule. You much -prefer to talk. - -Peter (_folding his arms_). My talking days are past. I'll be as mute as -a fish. Go on. Say what you like. I'll stand it all. - -Mar. (_rising and looking down on him_). Peter, Peter, how young you -are! - -Peter (_rising excitedly_). Young! I'm not young. - -Mar. I thought you were going to be silent. - -Peter (_walking up and down_). Young! As if youth had anything to do -with arithmetic and the number of one's years. I'm old in suffering and -experience. I'm an old, old man. - -Mar. (_standing c. against table, watching_). When you sow wild oats -that old feeling is usually part of the crop. - -Peter (_hotly_). I haven't sown wild oats. I'm not that sort of man. -(_Hesitating._) Unless you mean---- - -Mar. I didn't, but I might have done. - -Peter (_sitting, sullenly_). I wish there were no such things as women -in the world! - -Mar. The bi-sexual system has its disadvantages. But we'll forget Miss -Mottram, Peter. That was a private indiscretion. You sowed your wild -oats publicly in the fierce light that beats upon a politician. That was -the arrogance of youth. - -Peter. I'm not so young as you. - -Mar. No. Youth is a gift we both possess. I don't intend to waste mine, -Peter. - -Peter. No? Well, you've me before you as an awful warning. I'm a living -cautionary tale. I'm---- O, what's the good of talking? - -Mar. Here's a change of front! You used to tell me talking was the -finest thing you knew. - -Peter. Margaret, have you no reverence at all? - -Mar. For talking? - -Peter. For human suffering. You're mocking at my life's tragedy. You -hummed a tune just now you must have known was agony to me. My home in -Midlandton! It's like living in an ashpit. - -Mar. Oh, no, it's not, and if it is, the microbes can be happy in their -insignificance. - -Peter (_solemnly_). I shall not know happiness again. - -Mar. Oh, need you keep it up with me, Peter? - -Peter (_surprised_). Keep what up? - -Mar. The pose. You've had your fun with us. - -Peter. Fun! - -Mar. You've brought us to your feet. We've all come: all of us who care. - -Peter. Care? What do you care for me? Why should you care for a broken -man, a derelict, one of the legion of the lost, a rotten---- - -Mar. (_vigorously_). Will you stop embroidering? Do you think I've come -to listen to all the pretty phrases you've spent a week inventing about -yourself? - -Peter. Heaven knows what you came for. - -Mar. You know as well as Heaven does. - -Peter. Do I? But it's---- So much has happened since. That's all so long -ago. - -Mar. Less than a year, Peter. - -Peter. A year! What's a year! From poverty to Parliament, from -Parliament to hell. - -Mar. Still spinning phrases, Peter. - -Peter (_sincerely_). I'm a pauper, Margaret. That's not a phrase, it's a -fact. - -Mar. Is there no work to be done in the world? - -Peter. A man like me wants something else than bread to work for. I had -a career once, it's gone today. - -Mar. Thank God, it is. - -Peter. Yes, if you like, thank God for it. It deserved to go. But -nothing's left worth living for. - -Mar. I'll give you that. - -Peter. What? - -Mar. The object, Peter. Don't say again you don't know why I came. - -Peter. Yes, Margaret, I know. - -Mar. Why not admit it, then? - -Peter. Because I daren't. A man who's fallen as I fell deserves no -second ehanee. I've been a silly fool, but it won't mend that to be a -criminal fool. - -Mar. What do you mean by being a criminal fool? - -Peter. I might have acted as I meant to act when next I saw you. - -Mar. How did you mean to act? - -Peter. I meant to ask forgiveness on my knees for all the things I said -to you. Up in my room I'd come to see it all, sec what a swine I'd been, -how right you were, how much you knew me better than I knew myself. I -thought in London that I'd met the worst. I thought my bitterest hour -was past. But worst and bitterest of all was when I realised all that -I'd done to you, all that that doing made me miss. - -Mar. (_hardly_). Then when I came you didn't do as you intended. - -Peter. Margaret, I saw you and I felt ashamed. It's one thing to decide -within one's mind to do a thing, but quite another thing to do it in -the flesh. I saw you, saw the suffering in your face and knew that I had -caused it all. I felt ashamed to speak. - -Mar. Ashamed to ask forgiveness? Ashamed to carry out your plan? - -Peter. We weren't alone. There were others there. - -Mar. Just pride, in fact. You were too proud to ask. And when the others -went? - -Peter. Oh, yes. Yes. Pride again. Then, too, until---- - -Mar. Till when? You've not asked yet. - -Peter. Margaret, am I worth while forgiving? - -Mar. Peter, when your mother let me come, I came. - -Peter. Yes! - -Mar. So I thought it worth while. - -Peter. Margaret, you are so beautiful, and I---- - -Mar. Listen to me, Peter. You tell me I am beautiful. You told me I am -young. I am, but I'm a year older than I was twelve months ago. Twelve -months ago, when you---- - -Peter. Yes. I know. - -Mar. It's been a crowded year for you. (_Gesture from Peter._) Too -crowded, yes, but there was glamour in it all. You've paid a price, but -you've known the flavour of success. You've had your fun. I've spent -my year in Midlandton--(_Peter shudders_)--a plaee where one can live, -Peter. Oh, yes, one can. But I've been lonely here. A year's dropped -from me sadly, slowly. I've kept myself alive and that, the daily round, -is all my history, while you--well, never mind. The past is past. We're -where we were a year ago, a little older, just a little less in love -with life, but still we're here, Peter. You and I, just as we were -before. - -Peter. Just as we were? - -Mar. Why not? Love understands. We're both a little scarred. We both -need picking up and making whole. We need each other, Peter. - -Peter. You need me! Margaret, you're not just putting it that way -because---- - -Mar. Because it's true. We need each other badly. - -Peter (_taking her_). Margaret! - -Mar. So you will have me, Peter? - -Peter. I think I always loved you, Margaret. Throughout the madness of -my pride, behind it all, I think I never quite forgot the great -reality of you. I've been ambition's drunkard, but behind the mist of -self-deluded dream, the light shone dimly though. London brought me no -peace. - -Mar. I'll bring you peace. - -Peter. I think you will. (_From her._) Oh, but it's madness, madness, -Margaret. What are we thinking of? - -Mar. Our happiness. - -Peter. Yes, for a moment we've been happy fools. Now I'm awake. - -Mar. And so? - -Peter. And so good-bye. - -Mar. Indeed? - -Peter. Oh, would to God, it needn't be. But here I am, an outcast, -and---- - -Mar. (_quickly_). No phrases, Peter. - -Peter. I'm a man without a job, Margaret. I can't keep myself, let alone -anyone else. - -Mar. Have you tried? - -Peter. I've thought of ways. Scraps of journalism, perhaps. I might -live that way for a time. I'm a notorious person. They'll take my stuff -until--my--my escapade's forgotten. Then they'll drop me. - -Mar. Excellent reasons for not being a journalist. - -Peter. I'm fit for nothing else. I thought I had supporters, friends -who'd rally round when the official party sent me to the rightabout. -I've waited there a week. I have no friends. - -Mar. You don't need friends. You want an employer, and I thought you -were a skilled mechanic. - -Peter. Yes. As a matter of fact I did have a vague idea of going in for -aeroplanes. - -Mar. Oh, Peter, Peter, still the high flights! - -Peter (_earnestly_). There's money in it, Margaret. - -Mar. For the mechanic? - -Peter. I shouldn't be a mechanic long. A man of original mind like me is -bound to be ahead of the crowd. I've to keep moving fast. I can't wait -for the mob to catch me up. Yes, there's something in that aeroplane -idea. - -Mar. There is. Fame. Applause. Incense. Everything that ruined you -before. - -Peter. You can't be famous without risk. - -Mar. Why be famous? - -Peter. That's your doing. You wakened my ambitions. They're there now, -ineradically fixed, and if they weren't there for myself, they would be -there for you. - -Mar. For me? I don't want them, Peter. Fight them down. Be humble. - -Peter. I'm not built for humility. - -Mar. Drop your ambition, Peter. You will feel like Christian when he -lost his pack. - -Peter. What do you want me to do? - -Mar. There is always room for you at your old place. - -Peter. Back to the mechanic's bench. In Midlandton, where everybody -knows! That's humble pie with a vengeance. - -Mar. A new beginning, Peter. - -Peter. There's no such thing. In life, we pay. - -Mar. We'll pay together then. - -Peter. I can't go back. - -Mar. A man can do things for his woman, Peter, when he can't do them for -himself. - -Peter. You want me to go back? - -Mar. Yes, Peter, back to the starting-place. - -Peter. It's a bitter pill. - -Mar. But won't you swallow it--for me? For my sake, Peter. - -Peter. Yes, Margaret, you've won. I'll go back if they'll have me. - -Mar. Thank you, Peter. - -Peter. Don't thank me, dear. It's---- - -Mar. Why not? It means I'm going to have my heart's desire. - -Peter. What's that? - -Mar. Just you. - -Peter. Margaret! - -Mar. Yes, Peter. - -Peter. Are you happy? - -Mar. Yes. - -Peter. Yes? Only yes? When I'm almost afraid to be so happy, when---- - -Mar. Yes, Peter, when you are down, you are very, very down, and when -you're up you are up---- - -Peter. That's the way with all geniuses. Oh, I forgot. I'm not a---- - -Mar. Never mind. You're genius enough for me. Only, we'll stop telling -other people about it, eh, Peter? Now let's go to your mother. - -[_They move r. together._ - - -CURTAIN. - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Garside's Career, by Harold Brighouse - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GARSIDE'S CAREER *** - -***** This file should be named 55290-0.txt or 55290-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/2/9/55290/ - -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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