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diff --git a/old/55290-h/55290-h.htm b/old/55290-h/55290-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 74aee39..0000000 --- a/old/55290-h/55290-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5975 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title>Garside's Career, by Harold Brighouse</title> - <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" /> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:20%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 1.20em; margin-bottom: 1.20em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of 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 - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - GARSIDE'S CAREER - </h1> - <h3> - A Comedy In Four Acts - </h3> - <h2> - By Harold Brighouse - </h2> - <h4> - London: Constable And Company Ltd. - </h4> - <h3> - 1914 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <h3> - TO - </h3> - <h3> - A. N. MONKHOUSE - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> GARSIDE'S CAREER </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> ACT I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ACT II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ACT III. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ACT IV </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - GARSIDE'S CAREER - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT I - </h2> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>arside 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. - </p> - <p> - 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. - </p> - <p> - She is a school teacher, speaking with an educated voice in a slightly - apparent northern accent, dressed neatly and serviceably. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>arside turns eagerly as she enters and is disappointed on seeing - Margaret. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. Gar</b>. Oh, it's you. I thought it might be—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>closing door, sympathetically</i>). Yes. But it's too early to - expect Peter back yet. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>with some truculence</i>). He'll not be long. He's always said - he'd let his mother be the first to hear the news. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>gently</i>). You don't mind my being here to hear it with you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>rising and putting spectacles back on mantelpiece, speaking - ungraciously</i>). No, you've got a right to hear it too, Margaret. (<i>Margaret - picks up paper.</i>) I can't find anything in that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Peter said the results come out too late for the evening papers. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. He never told me. (<i>Margaret folds paper on table.</i>) I'm glad - though. There's no one else <i>'</i>ull know a-front of me. He'll bring - the good news home himself. He's coming now as fast as train and car <i>'</i>ull - bring him. (<i>Sitting in rocking-chair.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Yes. He knows we're waiting here, we two who care for Peter more than - anything on earth. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>giving her a jealous glance</i>). I wish he'd come. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Try to be calm, Mrs. Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>irritably</i>). Calm? How can I be calm? I'm on edge till I - know. (<i>Rocking her chair quickly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>trying to soothe her</i>). It isn't as if he can't try again if - he's not through this time. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>confidently, keeping her chair still</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>sitting in chair lift of table</i>). Then if you're sure—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. 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. (<i>Accusingly.</i>) You don't believe - me, Margaret. You're not sure of him. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>with elbows on table and head on hands</i>). I'm fearful of the - odds against him—the chances that the others have and he hasn't. <i>Peter's</i> - to work for his living. <i>They're</i> free to study all day long. (<i>Rising, - enthusiastically.</i>) 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>dogmatically</i>). The odds don't count. I know Peter. Peter's - good enough for any odds. You doubt him, Margaret. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. 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—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Yes, yes! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. But examinations are a fearful hazard. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. He'll do it. It may not be this time, but he'll do it in the end. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>obstinately</i>). This time, Margaret. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I do hope so. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>looking at the clock</i>). Do you think there's been a - breakdown on the cars? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. No, no. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>rising anxiously</i>). He said seven, and it's after that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>trying to soothe her</i>). Not much. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>pacing about</i>). Why doesn't he come? (<i>Stopping short.</i>) - Where do people go to find out if there's been an accident? It's the - police station, isn't it? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Oh, there's no need—— - </p> - <p> - [<i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>breathlessly</i>). I've done it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>going to him; he puts his arm round her and pats her back, - while she hides her face against his chest</i>). My boy, my boy! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I've done it, mother. (<i>Looking proudly at Margaret.</i>) I'm an - honours man of Midlandton University. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. First class, Peter? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes. First Class. (<i>Gently disengaging himself from Mrs. Garside.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>standing by his left, looking up at him</i>). I knew, I knew - it, Peter. I had the faith in you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>hanging his cap behind the door right, then coming back to - centre. Margaret is standing on the hearthrug</i>). 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. (<i>Approaching Margaret.</i>) Margaret, tell me - I deserve it. <i>You</i> 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? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>taking both his hands</i>). A great thing, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh, but I was lucky in my papers. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. No, you just deserve it all. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>dropping her hands</i>). 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—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Now you've justified my faith. I never doubted you—like - Margaret did. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>looking from her to Margaret</i>). Margaret did? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I didn't dare to hope for this, Peter—at a first attempt. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>contemptuously</i>). She didn't dare. But I did. I dared, - Peter, I knew. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>putting his arm over her shoulder</i>). Oh, mother, mother! But - Margaret was right, if I hadn't had such luck in the papers I—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>slipping from him and going to where her cape and bonnet hang - on the door right</i>). It wasn't luck. Even Margaret said you deserved it - all. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Even Margaret! (<i>Seeing her putting cape on.</i>) You're not - going out, mother? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>with determination</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Margaret sits l.c.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh, yes. It'll spread fast enough. They may know already. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>turning with her hand on the centre door latch</i>). How could - they? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. News travels fast. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. But you haven't told anyone else. Have you, Peter? (<i>Reproachfully.</i>) - You said you'd let me be the first to know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I met O'Callagan on his way to the Club. He asked me. I couldn't - refuse to answer. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>energetically</i>). He'd no right to meet you. A dreamy - wastrel like O'Callagan to know before your mother! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. He'll only tell the men at the Club, mother. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>opening door</i>). 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. (<i>Sniffing.</i>) - O'Callagan indeed! - </p> - <p> - [<i>Exit Mrs. Garside.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. And now, Margaret? (<i>He stands centre behind table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>looking up and holding out her hand across table; she takes his, - bending</i>). Oh, my dear, my dear. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Are you pleased with me? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Pleased! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>rising</i>). Yes. We've done it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. You, not we. My hero. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. We, Margaret, we. I'm no hero. I owe it all to you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>rising</i>). You owe it to yourself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. My idea but your deed. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>sitting centre, behind table</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>standing right</i>). It's a reality to-day. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I wanted you to win, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I've won because you wanted it, because after I won I knew that you—— - (<i>Rising.</i>) 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. That's clean forgotten. To-night is worth it all. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. To-night, and the future, Margaret. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>solemnly</i>). Yes, the future, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Nobly done. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. And the labourer is worthy of his hire? I ask for my reward. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>shaking her head</i>). I can give you no reward that's big - enough. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You can give the greatest prize on earth. We ought to have been - married long ago. I've kept you waiting. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. And now, Margaret? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Now I'm ready—if—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. More if's? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. A very little one. If you've money to keep us three. No going short - for mother. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You trust me, don't you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>giving hand</i>). Yes, Peter, I trust you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>bursting with thoughts</i>). There's my journalism. This degree - <i>'</i>ull give me a lift at that. I shall get lecture engagements too. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>alarmed</i>). Peter, you didn't do it for that! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>sadly</i>). I hoped you'd given up speaking. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I haven't spoken lately because I'd other things to do. I haven't - given it up. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. You did too much before. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You don't know the fascination of the thing. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>bracing herself for a tussle</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Cured me? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I thought I'd given you a higher aim. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. And <i>that</i> was why you urged this study on me? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Margaret! Why? (<i>Backing from, her, and sitting centre during her - speech.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You ask a great thing of me, Margaret. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>sitting right</i>) 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—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. But I shan't always be working in the daytime. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>alarmed</i>). Not work! Peter—they haven't dismissed you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I know that, dear. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. So do they. They'll not sack me. I might sack them some day. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. But—how shall we live? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>impatiently</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>looking straight in front of her</i>). Have I set fire to this - train? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You don't suppose a B.A. means to stick to manual labour all his - life, do you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I can't help being ambitious. I wasn't till you set me on. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. If you listened to me then, listen to me now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>pushing his chair hack and rising</i>). I might have a career. (<i>Crossing - to fireplace.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b> (<i>still sitting</i>). And I might have a husband. I don't want to - marry a career, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>looking into fire, his back to Margaret</i>). I've already got a - local reputation as a speaker. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Then make one as a writer. I know you can. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. The other's easier. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. It's not like you to choose the easy path. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I've worked so hard. I did think that now I might have some reward. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. You've won your degree. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>acquiescent</i>). Oh, yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. And—I'm ready, Peter. (<i>Slight pause.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>turning</i>). Yes. You've conquered me. I'll fight ambition - down. It shall be as you wish, Margaret. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>rising and going to him</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I promise not to speak. I'll write. I'll stick to engineering, and - we'll have our evenings. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. You make me very happy, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. When are you going to make me happy, Margaret? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. As soon as my lord pleases. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Your lord will be pleased in a month. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Mrs. Garside enters, centre.</i> - </p> - <p> - Well, little mother, have you disseminated the intelligence? - </p> - <p> - [<i>Margaret sits on rocking-chair.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>uncomprehendingly</i>). No. I've been telling folks about you. - (<i>She takes off bonnet and cape and hangs them on door right.</i>) Some - of <i>'</i>em's green with jealousy this night. They know I'm the mother - of a great man now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. So you were first, after all? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. I meant being first. Who'd the better right to be? Me or a wild - Irishman? (<i>Crossing to dresser and emptying on a plate the contents of - a parcel she had brought in.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>smiling</i>). And you've been killing the fatted calf for me? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>literally</i>). Oh, did you want pressed veal? I've got ham. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I don't want veal. Food's not a bad idea, though. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>looking at Margaret</i>). No. Margaret might have thought of - that and put the kettle on if she'd had her wits about her. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>rising</i>). I'm sorry, Mrs. Garside. We've been talking. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. You'd some excuse. Peter's given us something to talk about. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Let me help now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. We'll all help. I'll lay the table. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. You don't stir a finger, my lad. Sit you down. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Peter sits with amused resignation in rocking-chair.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh! Why? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. B.A.s don't lay tables. Now, Margaret. (<i>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>). I've told you to sit still. (<i>She crosses to door centre and - opens it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. (<i>visible in doorway</i>). May we come in, Mrs. Garside? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>genially</i>). Yes. Come in, the lot of you. - </p> - <p> - [<i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. (<i>visible in doorway</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. Comrade Garside, I offer my congratulations. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. Well done, youngster. (<i>Turning to Mrs. Garside.</i>) Mrs. Garside, - you've a son to be proud of. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Do you think I don't know it? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>his demeanour unfeignedly modest</i>). Comrades, Mr. Applegarth, - it's nothing. I tried my best, but if I hadn't been so lucky in my papers—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>interrupting</i>). 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—(<i>bitterly</i>)—the luck - of a wage slave. It's like winning a foot race with your ankles chained - together. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. It's the mighty brain of him that made him win. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. Bravo! - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>sceptically</i>). Are they all such cads? I thought there were - Socialists among them. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Middle-class, kid-glove Socialists, Fabians. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>dryly</i>). You're a fine talker, lad. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. (<i>to Ned</i>). And a brave doer, Mr. Applegarth. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. Well, well, a good start's half the battle, and I'm not denying that - a ready tongue's a useful gift. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. It's a dangerous one, Mr. Applegarth. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>impatiently</i>). Let's get to business. (<i>Jones is resentful.</i>) - Mrs. Garside's making supper, and we don't want to keep her waiting. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. That's all one. Food <i>'</i>ull be nobbut a fraud. We're too - excited to eat this night. Sit you down. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. Thank you, Mrs. Garside. - </p> - <p> - [<i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sitting.</i>) Peter, I've said it before, and I say it again. You've - made a good start, lad. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Thank you, Mr. Applegarth. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. A good start. And now, what comes next? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>going left, and meeting Margaret as she reenters</i>). Next? - This next, Mr. Applegarth. (<i>Taking her hand.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>nodding</i>). So. I mind I'd heard. Well, marriage is a proper - state. (<i>Jones shows signs of irritation.</i>) And you're a lucky chap - to have Miss Shawcross for a bride. I don't say anything against marriage. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>hotly</i>). Well, I do. Now and always. In a free state marriage—— - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. (<i>leaning across towards Jones, Peter and Margaret still standing - behind near left door</i>). 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—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>leaping up, interrupting</i>). There must be pioneers. Some of - <i>us</i> must set the example. (<i>Appealing to Peter and Margaret.</i>) - 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—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. Comrade Jones, you're a married man yourself - </p> - <p> - (<i>Jones sits dozen abruptly, silenced</i>), and we're here on business. - And after you're married, Peter? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>murmuring disgustedly</i>). Married! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>lightly</i>). Oh, live happily ever afterwards. My horizon - doesn't go beyond that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. Doesn't it? Well, listen to me. There'll be a by-election here - shortly. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Why? (<i>Peter leaves Margaret and comes forward to chair right of - table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. Ramsden's resigning South-west Midlandton. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. About time the old hypocrite did, too. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. This is news to me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. I know that. It was news to us last night. The question is, do we run - a candidate this time? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. We ought to. It's a labour seat by rights. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. If only the thick-headed fools would sec their own interests. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>turning</i>). Margaret, you'll have to give me back my word. (<i>Slight - pause.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. What word's that? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I've promised to give up public speaking. (<i>They look at Margaret - in disgusted protest. She speaks quickly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Oh, you shall speak if there's an election. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. That's right. All hands to the pump. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I'll speak myself. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. It's a risky thing for you. Miss Shaweross. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. The cause comes first. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. Before bread and butter? You'll lose your job if they hear of it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I must hope they won't hear. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. You're going too fast. There's two things in the way. One's money. - The other's a man. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Surely the Central people have a good man ready to fight. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. Faith, and we've found him. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yourself, Mr. Applegarth? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. I'm the wrong side of fifty, and I'm no speaker. Guess again. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. It's got to be a local man? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. That's essential. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I can't think of anyone who's big enough for that job. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. 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—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. Yes, Peter Garside, b.a., there's you. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Margaret shrinks back still further.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>going round to him</i>). Peter! My son a Member of Parliament! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>repulsing her</i>). No, no, I'm not worthy. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. We're the best judges of that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>firmly</i>). I'm too young. I'd be the youngest man in the - Labour Party. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. Someone's got to be that. They need young blood. There's too much - antideluvian trades unionism about the old gang. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>appealingly</i>). Peter! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. But I'm—— (<i>Hesitating and looking from one to the - other.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. What? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I don't know. I never thought of this. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. Think of it now. We've to act sharp if we're to do any good at all. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>still wondering</i>). And you've come officially to offer it to - me? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>roughly</i>). Of course we have. Do you think we're playing with - the thing? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. It's—it's awfully sudden. When do you want my answer? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. Now. (<i>Seeing Peter's distress, more kindly.</i>) To-night, anyhow. - The whole thing <i>'</i>ull be over in six weeks. We've little enough time - in all conscience to create an organization. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. And if I say—no? - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. Then one of the murdering blood-suckers that live upon our labour - <i>'</i>ull get the seat, and it won't matter either way which side wins, - for it's all one to the working man. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. It's you or nobody. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>appealing</i>). 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? - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>smiling</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. There's such a vice as over-modesty. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. Nay, I like you better for being modest. You'd like us to go out and - eome back in an hour or so. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Say yes to them, Peter. Tell them you'll be a Member of - Parliament. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Members of Parliament need electing first, mother. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>going to Margaret</i>). Margaret, what shall I say? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. You must decide this for yourself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>coming forward a little reluctantly</i>). Yes, Peter. You must - decide. No one can help you there. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Won't you tell me what you think? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>firmly</i>). Not now. No other mind than yours can make this - choice. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>adrift</i>). But, Margaret, you've always given me advice. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>jealously</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Mother, mother! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I hope not so bad as that, mother. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. We'll be taking a stroll round the houses, and come in again - presently. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>turning to them</i>). No. Don't go. I'll give you my answer now. - I've decided. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. Well. What is it? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I'll stand. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. (<i>shaking his hand</i>). Good lad! - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. 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—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. Don't gabble, Denis. We've to work to organize for victory. I'm - going to the Club to beat up recruits. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. We're all coming, Karl. We're not going into this with our hands in - our pockets. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>making for his cap</i>). Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>stopping him</i>). Not you, Peter. You've earned a rest to-night. - You begin to-morrow. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Rest! I shan't rest till after the election. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. 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. (<i>Glancing at - O'Callagan.</i>) You can draft your election address if you want something - to do. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I'm in your hands. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. That's right. Take it easy now. You'll have to sprint at the finish. - Now, comrades. (<i>Opening door, centre.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. Good night, all. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. Good night. - </p> - <p> - [<i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. My God! It's like a dream. I can't get used to it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. 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. (<i>Viciously.</i>) - However much some folk <i>'</i>ud like to keep you down. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes. I suppose I shall settle to it. (<i>Coming to chair right and - sitting, Mrs. Garside is to his left, Margaret his right.</i>) In a few - days it <i>'</i>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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>slowly</i>). No. I didn't think it would lead to this. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>sharply</i>). And you're not well pleased it has. Some people - can't stand the sight of other folk's success. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>protesting</i>). Mother, mother, without Margaret this would - never have happened to me. I owe it all to her. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>sceptically</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Come, mother, I can't have you quarrelling with Margaret. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>sulkily</i>). What does she want to go and discourage you for? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. She didn't discourage me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. She wouldn't say a word for it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. She will now. Won't you, Margaret? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. What do you want me to say? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>surprised</i>). Say what you want. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Then I say this: Go on and prosper. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>relieved</i>). Ah! You couldn't wish me anything but well. You - see, mother? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>grimly</i>). Yes, but you don't. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Don't what? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. You don't sec what she means. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>confidently smiling at Margaret</i>). Oh, Margaret means what - she says. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. And more. She doesn't want you to go into Parliament. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>puzzled, looking at Margaret</i>). Doesn't what———? - (<i>Slightly pausing.</i>) Speak, Margaret. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. No. I don't want you to go into Parliament. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>triumphantly</i>). What did I tell you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I wanted to be married to you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. That's it, Peter. That's your Margaret all over. All she cares - about is herself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>ignoring her—to Margaret</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. We can't be married while the election's on. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>thinking aloud, enthusiastically</i>). Oh, but we must. We must. - I hadn't thought of that. Weddings are always popular. See what an - advertisement it will be. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>quietly</i>). We won't use our love to advertise your - candidature, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. To hear you talk, it might be something you're ashamed of. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. It's throwing away a golden opportunity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I'm sorry, Peter. But I can't do that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Won't, you mean. You want to see him defeated. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>with quiet force</i>). I shall work till I drop to help him on to - victory. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. You'll help best by doing what he asks. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I don't see it. Love's not a hole-and-corner business. Why - shouldn't everybody know? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. All who matter know already. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Only our own circle. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. It doesn't concern the rest. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>arguing hotly</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. No. But our love is. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. If your love's so finicky it can't stand daylight, it's not worth - much. A love like that <i>'</i>ull not last long. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You're right there, mother. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>eagerly</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I don't refuse to help. I'm going to help. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes, anything except the only way that's helpful. I don't want - other help. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. You can't go without it. You can't stop me working for the cause. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Yes, and you'd work harder for any other candidate than Peter. I - know you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Not harder, but certainly with a better will. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>soberly</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I say again: Go on and prosper. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. And she means you can prosper without her, and a good riddance - too, I say. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Do you mean that, Margaret? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I think we'll wait a little, Peter. You've other things to think of - now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You said that when I started studying. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I say it again now when you're starting electioneering. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>losing temper</i>). And after that there'll be something else - and something after that, and so on, till Doomsday <i>'</i>ull see us - still unmarried. I begin to think you never mean to marry me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. It's about time you did begin to think it, too. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>suffering</i>). Oh, Peter, why won't you understand? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Because you're not reasonable. (<i>Slight pause.</i>) Tell me this. - Do you think I'm not fit for Parliament? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>painfully</i>). Yes, dear. I do. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>roughly</i>). Don't call me dear. If that's the way you talk, - you're not dear to me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>facing Mrs. Garside</i>). I won't stand this. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. You've got to. You're shown up now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. This means you've no faith in me, Margaret. And if you've no faith, - you've no love—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>despairingly</i>). Peter, you mustn't say such things. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. You can't get away from the truth, my girl. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I say them beeause they're true. It's for you to prove me wrong. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. How? Tell me how? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Marry me in the month as we arranged, and I'll go down on my knees - and ask your pardon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I can't marry you in a month. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Then it's true. You don't love me. You don't believe in me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I—I think I'll go home. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Exit Margaret right, returning quickly with her hat, which she puts - on. Peter watches her go and meets her as she returns.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>appealingly</i>). Margaret! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. No, Peter. I can't do it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>acquiescing</i>). Then—good-bye. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I shall see you often at the Committee Rooms. Don't tell me I mustn't - work for you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. (<i>Grandiloquently.</i>) - In the name of the cause I accept your help. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>simply</i>). Thank you, Peter. I shall work hard. Good night, - Mrs. Garside. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Mrs. Garside makes no sign. Peter moves towards Margaret, checks - himself, and she goes out.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. That's a good job done. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Don't talk about it, mother, please. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. You can look higher than a school marm now you're going into - Parliament. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>distressed</i>). Please, please! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>cheerfully</i>). Oh, well, we'll have supper and chance it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Have yours. I only want this end of the table. (<i>Collecting - paper, ink, and pen and sitting at right end of table.</i>) I must do - something to forget. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. What are you doing? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Drafting my address. Hand me down that dictionary, will you? (<i>Indicating - hanging shelf.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>getting large dictionary from shelf and putting on table near - him.</i>) You don't want a dictionary. It's all there in that brain of - yours. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. A dictionary's useful. People like to read long words. It looks - erudite, and costs nothing. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. They'll never understand dictionary words, Peter. (<i>Poking fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. That doesn't matter. They'll be impressed. (<i>Dipping pen and - bending.</i>) Don't disturb me while I write. - </p> - <h3> - CURTAIN. - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT II - </h2> - <p> - <i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b> (<i>nursing a grievance</i>). I say, Gladys, how much longer do you - expect me to wait? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. (<i>looking up from her book, calmly</i>). Till Mr. Garside goes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. (<i>putting her book beside her, face downwards. With an air of - resignation</i>). You don't particularly want to go out. You're only going - to the Club. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. (<i>seriously</i>). But I particularly want to go to the Club. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. You go every night. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. He'll be here when he's ready. He's going to be late on purpose. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. He has to treat them all alike. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Then he should have had Garside to dinner, and given us some sport - over the asparagus. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. That wasn't necessary. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. He isn't an outsider. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. You don't say the governor's taking him seriously. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. He's taking him very seriously. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b> (<i>horrified</i>). Oh, I say. No. It's absurd. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Garside's making headway fast. He's a fine speaker, and he's - popular. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. A mechanic a fine speaker! Rot! Who says so? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I for one. I've heard him. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. You have! It's a quaint taste. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. More than once. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. (<i>sarcastically</i>). Making a hobby of it? (<i>Seriously.</i>) - Where? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. In the street. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>genuinely shocked</i>). You've been listening to a tub-thumper - at street corners? I say, hang it, Gladys, there are things people don't - do. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. The first time was an accident. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. The second was a crime. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>rising, and speaking enthusiastically</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>sitting and leaning back, fanning his face</i>). Why didn't you - warn me? I didn't know I was to meet my future brother-in-law to-night. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Don't be absurd, Freddie. (<i>Sitting again.</i>) It's because he's - doing so well that father asked him here, and we've to keep him as long as - possible. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>looking at watch</i>). My ducats, oh, my ducats! Why? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. That's a bit tricky. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. All's fair in war. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. And love, Gladys, and love. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Don't be sillier than you can help. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Besides, they'll have others to keep the ball rolling while he's - here. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. There's a firebrand of a woman speaking every night who's about as - popular as he is. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>interested</i>). A woman? Is she good-looking? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I don't know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. You wouldn't. You'd only eyes for him. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. She doesn't speak on the same platforms with him. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Don't blame her, either. Only one star turn to each show, eh? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Anyhow, father's instructions are to keep Garside here till he comes - home, if we can. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. All right. Tell Timson to lock him up in the pantry and keep him - there till the election's over. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Afraid that's too crude, Freddie. I'll do my best to hold him for - to-night. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Kidnapping's out of date. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Oh, you want him to get in. He's fascinated you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>tartly</i>). That's doubtless why I've been canvassing for Mr. - Beverley all day, while you've been watching a cricket match. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. You shouldn't go into bars. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Enter Lady Mottram. She is white-haired and authoritative in manner, - dressed in a high evening gown, too freely jewelled. Freddie rises.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Hullo, mater. Any luck? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. If you mean by that expression has Mr. Garside arrived, he has - not. (<i>Crosses to Chesterfield.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. (<i>looking at watch</i>). Well, he may be an upright youth, but - punctuality isn't amongst his virtues. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>standing by Chesterfield</i>). It's just as well. I have a - disagreeable duty to perform. (<i>Sitting, very dignified.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>lightly</i>). Hope it'll keep fine for you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Ring the bell, Freddie. (<i>Freddie crosses to fireplace and - rings.</i>) Thank you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. By Jove, Gladys, someone's going to catch it. Mark that - awe-inspiring frown. I'm getting frit. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Enter Timson.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Show the young person in here, Timson. - </p> - <p> - <b>Timson</b>. Yes, my lady. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Exit Timson. Freddie is following with exaggerated fear.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Don't go, Freddie. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Oh, but I do hate thunderstorms when I've no umbrella. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. I want to be certain you're here when Mr. Garside comes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Mayn't a man have a cigarette? I'll come back. (<i>Timson opens door - as Freddie comes to it. Looking off Freddie sees Margaret, and stops - short.</i>) By Jove, I'll stay. - </p> - <p> - <b>Timson</b> (<i>with marked disapproval</i>). Miss Shawcross. - </p> - <p> - [<i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. You... I understand you want to see me, Lady Mottram. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>immensely superior</i>). Yes. Your name is Shawcross? Margaret - Shawcross? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Fifteen, Rosalie Street? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Ah! (<i>With patronising kindliness.</i>) I've sent for you, Miss - Shawcross, to give you a warning—a friendly warning. Er—you - may sit down. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>sitting stiffly, but not awkwardly, left</i>). Thank you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. You are an assistant-teacher at the Midland-ton Girls' High - School? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I am. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. You're aware that I am a member of the Governing Board? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>expansively</i>). In fact, I may say I have a preponderating - influence. Bear that fact in mind, Miss Shaweross. (<i>Margaret inclines - her head.</i>) 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? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Quite. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. You've suffered no inquisition into your private life? No - interference into your personal affairs? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. None. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>nodding grimly</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>rising</i>). Mine! - </p> - <p> - [<i>Freddie's attitude conveys interest plus pity, Gladys's unrelieved - contempt.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>severely</i>). 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—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. You'll pardon me. I've done nothing of the sort. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. I'm grievously misinformed if you're not a self-confessed - Socialist. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. You spoke of loose morality. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>curtly</i>). Same thing. Do you admit to publicly advocating - Socialism? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Certainly. You publicly advocate Tariff Reform. Why shouldn't I - advocate Socialism? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. You've the more reason to walk warily. (<i>Kindly.</i>) 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Good night, Lady Mottram. (<i>She moves towards door. Freddie opens - it, she turns back.</i>) No, I won't go like this. You'd have the right to - tell me I deceived you. (<i>Freddie closes door and stands centre.</i>) I - can't take your warning, Lady Mottram. (<i>Lady M. rises.</i>) 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Can't? Won't, you mean. This is defiance, Miss Shawcross. You'd - better take care. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>splendidly contemptuous</i>). Care! Life isn't all taking care. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>calmly</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Suppose you leave my soul out, Lady Mottram. - </p> - <p> - My employment <i>is</i> in your hands. You have the power to take that - from me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Persist in your defiance and I shall be compelled to exercise that - power. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>to Mar.</i>). Speaking from long and intimate acquaintance with - my mother, I should just like to interpolate the remark that she - invariably means what she says. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>coldly</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>mildly angered</i>). This is too much. To associate <i>me</i> - with cowardly employers who abuse their power, when my only object is to - secure respectability in our teaching staff. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Oh, they all do it for excellent motives. How long have I, Lady - Mottram? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Till Miss Allinson can replace you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Till then I can go on contaminating my pupils! However, to replace me - won't take an hour. Unemployed teachers aren't scarce. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>viciously</i>). You are dismissed for gross misconduct, and - the fact will be stated on any reference you ask for. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I say, mater, that's a bit rough. (<i>Margaret turns to door. - Freddie stands intercepting her.</i>) Give the girl a chance. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Mind your own business, Freddie. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Hang it, how do you know she won't starve? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Her sort don't starve. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. She's wearing an engagement ring. Someone's ready to keep her. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>quietly</i>). My engagement's broken off. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Then why do you carry a lie on your finger? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I hadn't the courage to take it off—till now. (<i>Putting ring - in coat-pocket.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. You're in a bit of a hole, you know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Lady M. and Gladys go out, Freddie opening door. Margaret is - following. He closes the door.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. One moment, Miss Shaweross. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Let me go, please. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. 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. (<i>Rapidly, as Margaret - shows impatience.</i>) What I mean is, can I do anything for you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>curtly</i>). No, thank you, Mr. Mottram. (<i>Trying to pass him.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>with a stronger note of seriousness</i>). 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! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Why are you keeping me here? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I'm telling you, aren't I? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. It wasn't very lucid. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. What are you going to do for a living? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. That isn't your business, Mr. Mottram. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>seriously</i>). 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? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I don't know yet. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Let me talk to some Johnnie at the Club, and make him take you into - his office. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Why should you? And do you think anybody will have me without a - character? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I'll fix that all right. Only it'll be an office. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I can typewrite. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. By Jove! What a brainy chap you are. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. You can be a Particular Baptist, or a Neo-Confucian for all this - Johnnie <i>'</i>ull care. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Are you sure he's the same man in his office as in his Club? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Oh, don't wet blanket me. I'm only trying. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I'm sorry, Mr. Mottram. Your friend will find me a hard worker. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I say, you won't overdo that part of it, will you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. What part? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. The working. Bad form to make the pace hotter than the regular rate. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I thought offices were places for hard work. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Mr. Mottram, why are you doing this? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Oh, I'm a starved creature. Being good keeps me warm. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Enter Timson.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Timson</b>. Mr. Garside. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Peter enters. He has gained considerably in self-confidence, and - enters rather defiantly. Exit Timson.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>stepping forward</i>). Good evening, Mr. Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>seeing Margaret, and seeing red. Ignoring Fred.</i>). You here! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Lady Mottram sent for me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. It's a very suspicious circumstance. I find you here in the enemy's - camp, looking confused, guilty. You'd better explain yourself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>offering hand again, emphatically</i>). Good evening, Mr. - Garside. Why's it the enemy's camp, when mayors are neutral at elections? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>carelessly, just touching his hand</i>). Oh, good evening. Sir - Jasper is officially neutral, sir. But he is actually chairman of the - Employers' Federation, and, as such, our bitterest enemy. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. By the way, you're here yourself, you know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I always thought it wanted a lot of imagination to be a politician. - Does yours often bolt like this? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. That's not very convincing. (<i>Brushing him aside.</i>) Excuse me, - Mr. Mottram. I must get to the bottom of this. (<i>To Margaret.</i>) What - have you to say for yourself? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Nothing. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Quite right, too. Some things are too silly to reply to. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Then I shall draw my own conclusions. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Peter is left, Freddie centre, and Margaret right.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I'd advise you to draw <i>'</i>em mild. (<i>Turning to Margaret.</i>) - This isn't your lucky night, Miss Shaw-cross. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. It doesn't matter, Mr. Mottram. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Yes, it does. If you won't tell Mr. Garside why you're here, I will. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>appealingly</i>). Please don't. (<i>Proudly.</i>) My personal - affairs are no concern of Mr. Garside's. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. And meantime let me tell you, sir, that your ardour to defend the - lady only makes bad worse. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. 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—————- - </p> - <p> - [<i>Enter Lady Mottram and Gladys. Fred stops abruptly.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>sweetly</i>). So pleased you've come, Mr. Gar-side. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>quite sure of himself</i>). Good evening, Lady Mottram. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Mr. Garside, my daughter. (<i>Gladys meets Peter's eyes and bows; - he starts perceptibly.</i>) So sorry Sir Jasper isn't here to welcome you, - but I hope my son's made you feel quite at home. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. We've talked like brothers. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>realising Margaret's presence</i>). Miss Shaw-eross, I think I - told you you could go. Will you ring, Freddie? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I'll sec Miss Shaweross out. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Lady Mottram shrugs, and turns virtuously away. Fred, opens door, and - Margaret moves to it.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>as she goes past</i>). Where are you going? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I'm going to speak. I'm advertised to speak. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. For me? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>frigidly</i>). No, Socialism. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>turning</i>). Then you will take the consequences. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>quietly</i>). Oh, yes. I'll take the consequences. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Exeunt Margaret and Freddie.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>sitting on Chesterfield and motioning Peter to sit by her. - Gladys sits opposite</i>). Young men are so susceptible to a pretty face. - Don't you think so, Mr. Garside? (<i>Quickly.</i>) Oh, but of course you - are serious-minded. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>glancing at Gladys</i>). I'm not beauty-proof, Lady Mottram. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Ah, but real beauty is so rare. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. That's why it haunts me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Is there a case in point? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>insincerely</i>). How romantic! Do tell us about it, Mr. - Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>eyeing Gladys</i>). Shall I? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Do please. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>trying to appear interested</i>). It's a woman, then. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Woman or goddess, she's alive. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. She'd be flattered if she heard you now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I'm not flattering her. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Re-enter Freddie.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I've seen her off the premises. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Don't interrupt. Mr. Garside's telling us about a woman with a - wonderful face who's been inspiring his speeches. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>sitting r.c.</i>). Oh, yes? A face that launched a thousand - speeches? Bit of a responsibility for any face. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. And who is she, Mr. Garside? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I didn't know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. What a pity. She'll never know what she's been to you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I think she knows now, Miss Mottram. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Only the electors haven't elected me yet. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I hear they're going to. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>confidently</i>). It's highly probable. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Do you know London, Mr. Garside? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. No, but I hope to shortly. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. You must let me show you round. You'll feel strange at first. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I'm not afraid of London. If it's a case of London conquering me or - me conquering London I know which will win. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Going to be one of our conquerors, eh? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I mean to try. I've got ambitions. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Thank God, I haven't. A cosy club and a decent cigar are good enough - for me. Please count me conquered in advance. (<i>Lolling easily in chair.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. But has a Labour member such opportunities of—er—conquering - London, Mr. Garside? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. If he puts them to the right use. Yes—there's money in it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>sitting up, interested</i>). Money? I'll be a Labour member. I - like money. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I don't say it's been done up to now. I'm going to do it, though. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. What's the recipe? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh, you begin by journalism and lecture engagements. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Freddie, don't chaff Mr. Garside. He isn't one of your frivolous - Club companions. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh, I haven't been through the half of an election campaign without - toughening my epidermis, Miss Mottram. I'm not afraid of ridicule. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. You'll go far, Mr. Garside. The secret of success is to have no - sense of humour. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. A lot you know about success. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I know everything. I'm not successful and outsiders watch the game. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Children! Children! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh, don't apologise, Lady Mottram. I know what family life is in - upper-class households. I've read my Shaw. - </p> - <p> - [<i>To their relief Timson enters.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. What is it, Timson? - </p> - <p> - <b>Timson</b>. Sir Jasper is asking for you on the telephone. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Excuse me, Mr. Garside. (<i>Rising.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Timson</b>. And there's a man called for you, sir. (<i>To Peter.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. For me? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. You go, Freddie. Tell him Mr. Garside wants to be left alone. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>nodding with understanding to Gladys</i>). All right. I'll deal - with him. Don't disturb yourself, Mr. Garside. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Lady Mottram goes out first, Fred, follows quickly to give Peter no - chance to reply. Exit Timson.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I ought to go, Miss Mottram. I've meetings to address. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Oh, but you mustn't disappoint Sir Jasper. He'll be in soon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. My time's precious. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. So are you—(<i>hastily</i>)—to your party, I mean. - You'll break down if you overdo things. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>consulting watch</i>). My conscience isn't easy. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>coldly</i>). Oh, don't let me detain you against your will. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. It's not against my will, only—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Then won't you sit down? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>deciding to stay, and sitting on Chesterfield</i>). - </p> - <p> - Thank you. (<i>Stiffly.</i>) Some day I hope to have the pleasure of - asking you to sit in a room of mine like this one. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. You aim high, Mr. Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I mean to succeed. I feel I'm one of the men who do succeed. (<i>He - doesn't boast, he states a conviction.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. (<i>insincerely</i>). I'm sure you are. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>ardently</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Ah. Your mysterious vision! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>leaning forward</i>). Is she a mystery to you? I thought you - knew. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Knew what? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You see that inspiration every morning in your looking-glass. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>rising</i>). Mr. Garside! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I thought you understood. (<i>He rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I understand you're being impertinent. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>confidently</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I ought to scold you, Mr. Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Why? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>lightly</i>). You appropriated me as your inspiration without - leave. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Didn't my eyes tell you across the crowd? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Your eyes? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>emphatically</i>). Yes, mine spoke and yours answered mine, not - once but half a dozen times. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>freezing</i>). I'm afraid you're subject to delusions, Mr. - Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You're afraid to tell the truth. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>fencing</i>). Truth's so miscellaneous, don't you think? It's a - diamond with many facets. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Don't you think you overrate the communicative capacity of eyes? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Make! This is strange language for a drawing-room, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. But you don't know me. I never met you till to-night. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I didn't know your name until to-night. What do names matter? Your - eyes had blazed into my soul. - </p> - <p> - [<i>The door opens violently, and Jones, wearing his hat, bursts in - followed by Freddie, who is mildly protestant. Peter and Gladys rise.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>crossing to centre</i>). What's the meaning of this, Garside? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b> (<i>following and tapping him on the bach</i>). I say, don't you even - take your hat off in a lady's presence? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>growlingly</i>). Ugh! (<i>But he takes his hat off.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. How dare you force your way in here? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. I may well come. You're wanted outside. - </p> - <p> - Meetings shouting themselves hoarse for you. Chances passing while you - loll here in plutocratic luxury, idling in the gilded chambers of our - enemies. Faugh! (<i>Kicking chair violently centre. Freddie picks up the - cushion from it and offers it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. That's rather an expensive chair. Take it out of this if you must - kick something. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I am paying an official call authorised by my Committee on Sir - Jasper Mottram. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. I don't sec Sir Jasper. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I told this Johnnie you were busy. Tried to soothe the beggar, but - he broke away. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>to Peter</i>). Well, you'd better come at once. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Peter wavers visibly when Gladys interposes.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Mr. Garside is our guest. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>more roughly still</i>). Come away. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>his mind made up</i>). I shall do nothing of the sort. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. 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—(<i>sarcastically</i>)—silver-tongued - Garside. We can't hold them much longer. There'll be a riot if you don't - turn up. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>lightly</i>). Oh, I'll come soon. Let them wait. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. They won't wait. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. They'll have to. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>imperatively</i>). You're coming now with me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. No. I'll follow you. (<i>Reassuringly.</i>) It's all right, man. I - shan't be long. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. I'll report you to the Committee if you don't come at once. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You can report me to the devil. Get along now, that's a good chap. - I'm busy. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>very earnestly</i>). Garside, I warn you. You know what a - crowd's like when it gets out of hand. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I tell you I'm coming. The longer you stay the longer it'll be - before I get there. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>making his best effort and meaning it</i>). If you don't come - with me you'll have no need to get there. I shall bring them here to you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Oh, but you can't do that you know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. Can't I? You tell him to come or I'll show you if I can't. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>impatiently</i>). In a minute. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>inexorably</i>). Now! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. No. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>turning abruptly</i>). Very well, then. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Exit Jones, slamming door. Fred, opens it after a moment.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I don't think the furniture's safe until he's out of the house. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Exit Freddie.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. (<i>excited and utterly sincere</i>). It must be glorious to be - wanted like that, Mr. Garside. Isn't it risky to deny them when they call - for you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I can do what I like with them. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Why didn't you go? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You know why not. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. (<i>sitting on Chesterfield</i>). Do I? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>standing centre</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. But is it wise? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Wise? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. You mustn't spoil your chances, Mr. Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I won't spoil my chances of speaking with you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. But if the crowd makes a disturbance? That man's malicious. He'll - stir them up to mischief. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I can calm them with a word. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. What confidence you have! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes. In the power you give me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. You don't let me shuffle off responsibility. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You wouldn't want to if you could forget that you're Miss Mottram - and I'm a working man. - </p> - <p> - [<i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I really think you'd better go to them, Mr. Garside, before that man - leads them here. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Not long ago you were urging me to stay—to wait for Sir - Jasper. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Sir Jasper will be late. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You said he'd be here soon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>rising, exasperated</i>). Mr. Garside, will you go? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>shaking his head</i>). You haven't told me what I want to know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. What is it? I'll tell you anything if you'll only go-go. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>calmly</i>). Did I read the meaning in your eyes aright? (<i>A - slight pause.</i>) Did I? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>nervously glancing towards window</i>). I don't know what you - mean. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You do know. You won't tell me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I can't. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>sitting centre</i>). Then I'll stay here till you do. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. And hold me responsible if your ragamuffins wreck the house. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You've only to speak, and I'll see they don't come near. - </p> - <p> - [<i>A moment's silence, then Freddie enters briskly.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I say, Mr. Garside, I'm afraid we must turn you out. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>still sitting</i>). Oh, how's that? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Gladys is at the window, peeping through blind.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. The matter's out of my hands, Mr. Mottram. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Why? Surely you can head them off. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Easily. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. (<i>irritated</i>). Well, I wish you'd go and do it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>at window</i>). They're there. There's a crowd coming round the - corner now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. You'll have to look lively. Come on, man. (<i>Trying to make him - move.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>to Gladys, who is standing left</i>). Well, Miss Mottram? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>impatiently</i>). Oh, never mind her. Get along sharp. (<i>He - opens door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I'm ready when Miss Mottram gives the word. I shall know what she - means if she says "Yes." - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I can't. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>sitting in chair</i>). Then I stay here. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Shouts below are heard: "Garside!" "We want Garside!" "Where's that - silver-tongue?"</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Look here, this is getting beyond a joke. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I'm only waiting for the word of command. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Gladys, for God's sake say what he wants! - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. No. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Shouts more fiercely.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>helplessly irritable</i>). Where the devil are the police? - </p> - <p> - [<i>Lady Mottram rushes in hysterically.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Mr. Garside, save us. Speak to them before they get violent. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>coolly</i>). They're doing the speaking. (<i>Lady M. cries out - inarticulately.</i>) I'm waiting for Miss Mottram. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. For Gladys? (<i>Top pane of the window is broken by a stone which - falls between blind and window. Almost shrieking.</i>) What's that? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. The voice of the people. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. They've a nasty way of talking. This looks serious. (<i>Crosses, - picks up and quickly pockets the stone, which is a large one.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Is it a big one? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. (<i>nonchalantly</i>). Size of a piece of wood. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Very well, then. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>rising briskly</i>). That's what I wanted. (<i>Crosses as if to - open door, comes round to window, runs blind up, and steps out to balcony.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>as he is at window</i>). I didn't mean it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You said it. (<i>He goes out, speaking as if to a crowd below.</i>) - Comrades, I'm here. (<i>Cheers off.</i>) From the house of our Mayor, on - whom I am calling as the people's candidate at this election—— - </p> - <p> - [<i>Fred, crosses and closes window. Faint murmur only is audible off.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I can't stand this. He's spouting Socialism from our balcony. (<i>Angrily.</i>) - This is your fault, Gladys. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I was told to keep him here. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Lady Mottram has collapsed on the Chesterfield.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Not with a mob howling for him outside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I didn't bring the mob. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. What will Sir Jasper say? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>recovering his temper</i>). He'll not be fit to listen to. We're - the laughing-stock of Midlandton. This <i>'</i>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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. We tried to trick him and he's turned the tables on us. That's all. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Clever beast. (<i>Laughter off.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. Listen to the cheering! - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Oh, he's popular, only that's not cheering. It's laughter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. What are they laughing at? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. At us, <i>ma petite mère</i>, at us. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lady M</b>. (<i>standing, with extreme dignity</i>). They wouldn't dare! - </p> - <p> - [<i>Loud burst of laughter.</i> - </p> - <h3> - CURTAIN - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT III. - </h2> - <p> - <i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Come in here. (<i>Freddie and Gladys follow him in. Peter stands by - door.</i>) Make yourselves at home for two minutes. That's my telephone - ringing like mad. - </p> - <p> - [<i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. By Jove! By Jove! - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. (<i>standing off</i>). What's the matter? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Does himself all right. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. What did you expect? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I didn't expect this. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Was that why you didn't want to come in? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I didn't want to come because I've to meet Charlie Beversham at the - hotel in half an hour. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Well, you can meet him. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Not if we stay here long. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. You needn't stay here. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Oh? And what about you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I'll stay. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Hang it, you can't do that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. It's not the thing to leave you here. You'll only be in Garside's - way. He'll be going to the House. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Then he'll leave me at the hotel as he goes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. You know the mater only let you loose in London because I promised - to look after you. (<i>Good-naturedly perplexed.</i>) You're a ghastly - responsibility. Why on earth do you want to stay with Garside? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Garside's amusing and the hotel isn't. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. I simply must sec Beversham. It means money to me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Don't let me stand in your way. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>giving way</i>). Well, I do like to be generous. It's the only - thing that keeps my blood at normal temperature—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>off right, at telephone</i>). 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? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>whistling</i>). Whew! I wouldn't mind betting you're the - indisposition, Gladys. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>off</i>). Yes. I'm far too ill to turn out. What? No, I'm not - too ill to shout. Good night. (<i>Opens door and enters without his hat - and overcoat.</i>) Oh, do sit down, Miss Mottram. So sorry I'd to leave - you. (<i>Pulls left armchair before fire and pokes it.</i>) I'll make the - fire up. It's a cold night. (<i>Gladys sits.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Comfortable enough in here, Garside. You've snug quarters. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>failing to conceal his pride in his room</i>). It's a beginning. - (<i>Rising from fire.</i>) One moment. (<i>Goes off left quickly, and is - heard as he exits, saying:</i>) Mother, you let that fire go low. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>off left</i>). I thought you'd gone out. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Oh, if he's got a mother on the premises that alters the case. I - don't mind your staying now. - </p> - <p> - [<i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>off-handedly, treating his mother without ceremony</i>). Mr. - Mottram, Miss Mottram—my mother. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Freddie bows. Gladys advances and takes hands.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. How do you do, Mrs. Garside? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Nicely, thank you, miss. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>peremptorily</i>). Why didn't you hear the telephone, mother? - Were you asleep? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>meekly</i>). Did it ring? I was reading the report of your - speech at Battersea last night. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>interested</i>). Oh! Where is it? I haven't had time to look at - a paper to-day. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>handing him the paper and pointing</i>). There, dear. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>looking and speaking with satisfaction</i>). Two columns. Good. - That's pretty near verbatim. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Two columns in the "Telegraph"? You're getting on, Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>handing the paper from Peter to Fred.</i>). And look at the - headings! - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. (<i>looking—awkwardly</i>). Er—yes—not very - complimentary. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>curiously</i>). What are they? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. (<i>returning paper to Peter</i>). Tact never was my sister's strong - point, Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>holding up the paper</i>). Oh, I don't mind this in the least. - It means my blows are getting home. (<i>Reading the headings.</i>) "The - Demagogue again." "More Firebrand Oratory from the egregious Garside." (<i>Putting - paper on table.</i>) Spreading themselves, aren't they? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Well, it's all right, so long as you don't mind. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh, they'll need a big vocabulary to express their feelings before - I'm done with them. I haven't started yet. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Hope it'll keep fine for you. Afraid I must toddle, Garside. I've an - appointment. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>his face falling in deep disappointment</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>looking at Gladys</i>). Well—er—I might come back - for my sister. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>enthusiastically</i>). Splendid! Have something before you go? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b> (<i>surprised</i>). Eh? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>taking his arm</i>). Just to keep the cold out. Next room. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>turning with him</i>). I'd an idea you were a teetotaller. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I was a lot of things in Midlandton. In London I'm a man of the - world. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Exeunt Freddie and Peter, l.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>sitting on sofa</i>). You must find London a great change after - Midlandton, Mrs. Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>sitting in left arm-chair, facing her—confidentially</i>). - 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. But you'll get used to it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. You must be very proud of your son, Mrs. Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>with conviction, dropping her querulous tone</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I know that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. You've seen it? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Often. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>rising and coming to table</i>). But not all. I've got them - all here. I cut them out, reports of his speeches, and paste them in this - book. (<i>Crosses to sofa with press-cutting book and sits by Gladys.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. His speeches in Parliament? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>with fine scorn</i>). Peter doesn't waste his words on - Parliament. He goes direct to the people—addressing meetings up and - down the country. (<i>Glowing with pride.</i>) 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. (<i>Pointing to a - heading in the hook.</i>) Silver-tongued Garside. That's what they call - him. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Yes, I see. (<i>She turns a page.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>looking, bending round Gladys</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>reading</i>). Platitudinous Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. It's all their spite. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I suppose all politicians make enemies. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>absently</i>). Yes. (<i>Putting book down.</i>) And this is - where he prepares his speeches. (<i>Crossing to table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>rising with book and crossing, replacing it on table</i>). - Yes. Those are his books. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Gladys looks at titles.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Why, this row's all dictionaries. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Peter says people like long words. He writes his article at that - desk. Peter's printed in the paper every week. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. He's kept busy. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. And he keeps me busy looking after him. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>sitting in the revolving chair and facing Mrs. Garside, standing - centre</i>). Have you no help? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Me? Nay. I couldn't abide the thought of a strange woman doing <i>'</i>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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Didn't I hear something about a girl in Midland-ton, who—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>with conviction</i>). Don't you believe it, miss. She wasn't - fit to clean his boots. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. And of course he's all London to choose from now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. London! He'll never wed a Londoner. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. No? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. You think she will marry him, then? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. I'd like to see the woman who'd refuse him when he asks her. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Re-enter, left, Fred, and Peter. Fred, addressing Peter.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Yes. I'll come back. I say, Garside, before I go, congratters, and - all that sort of thing, you know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>the pair have emerged very friendly</i>). Congratulations? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. (<i>sweeping his hat round</i>). On all this. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>still puzzled</i>). This? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. This jolly little place, and so on. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh, that's nothing. Part of the game, my boy. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. It's a profitable game when you can run to this after six months of - it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. But you <i>are</i> a big success, Mr. Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh, I've not arrived yet. I'm ambitious. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I'm betting on a certainty when I put money on myself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. 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. (<i>Reaches door right.</i>) About half an hour, Gladys. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Peter goes out with him, is heard closing outer door, and returns - immediately, closing door. Mrs. Gar-side yawns ostentatiously.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. (<i>more with an air of saying something than meaning anything</i>). - Strange that we should meet in the Strand by accident, Mr. Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>who has paid for the moment more attention to Mrs. Garside than - to Gladys, speaking jerkily</i>). You call it accident? I call it Fate. (<i>Mrs. - Garside executes another palpably diplomatic yawn.</i>) You're tired, - mother. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I'm sure Miss Mottram will excuse you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Then I think I'll go to my bed. I'm an early bird. Good night, - Miss Mottram. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>after a moment's twinge of conscience, accepting Mrs. Garside's - hand</i>). Good night, Mrs. Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>to Peter, who opens right door</i>). I'll put your supper out. - You'll only have your cocoa to make. - </p> - <p> - [<i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes. Fate didn't mean us two to miss each other. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>lightly</i>). Do you believe in Fate? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Don't you find continuous success monotonous? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>smiling</i>). 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. (<i>Looking at her hard.</i>) - Even from where I stand now I can glimpse the Mount Everest of my - ambition. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I think better of you than that. You're not a bored society - butterfly. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Must one be in society to be bored? I am bored in Midlandton. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>with the quickly acquired London attitude to the provinces</i>). - Oh, Midlandton! - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. We don't live in Midlandton. No one does. Midlandton! It sends a - shiver up your baek like the tear of a sheet. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I couldn't go back now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. And I've given up hope of ever getting to London. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Do you want to very much? (<i>Draws towards right arm-chair, and - sits leaning forward towards her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>with deep conviction</i>). I feel sometimes I'd do anything on - earth to live here. (<i>Smiling.</i>) You see, I'd like to be a society - butterfly. You can't understand that, I suppose. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Why not? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I thought you despised luxury. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh dear no. I like good clothes and soft living. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. But you denounce them. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. What I denounce is luxury for the few and penury for the many. We - want to level up, not level down. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I've heard something like that before. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>puzzled</i>). I wonder how much is sincere! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>rising</i>). If I turned myself into a human gramophone, I - shouldn't boast about it, Mr. Garside. It's not <i>very</i> creditable to - live by fooling the public. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>rising</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. And neither makes an honest livelihood. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Why am <i>I</i> honoured with your confidences? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>after a slight pause</i>). Mr. Garside, I—I think I ought - to go. My brother only left me because he thought your mother would be - here. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>going towards door right</i>). Shall I bring her? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. She's gone to bed. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I fancy I can find her if you tell me to. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I'm sure I ought. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I'm sure you always do what you ought, so—— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Putting his hand to the door-handle.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. (<i>quickly</i>). Yes, I do—in Midlandton. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>turning quickly from door</i>). And this is London. You're on - holiday. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>checking him</i>). But not from my conscience, Mr. Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh, conscience is so much a matter of climate. A Midlandton - conscience finds London air very relaxing. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>sitting slowly right as before</i>). I don't think you ought to - disturb your mother, Mr. Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>resuming his own chair, with conscious hypocrisy</i>). No. Old - people need such a lot of sleep. So that's settled. Let me see. I was - talking about myself, wasn't I? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Yes. You seem to find the subject interesting. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I'll talk about the weather if you prefer it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. No. You can stick to your text. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Thanks. But I wasn't talking about myself alone. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>reflectively</i>). I don't remember the exception. It was all - yourself and the money you're going to make. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. The money. Yes. I'm making money, Miss Mottram, and I'm going to - make more. Do you know why? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Money's always useful, I suppose. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes, even a little of it. But I shan't be satisfied with little. - And I'm a fairly frugal man. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. You'll grow into a miser on the margin between your moderate wants - and your colossal income. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I didn't know Miss Shawcross lived so well. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>rising, sternly</i>). It isn't a question of Miss Shaweross. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I thought it was. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. The wife of a what? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>imperviously</i>). A Cabinet Minister. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. But you're not a Cabinet Minister. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>quite seriously</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I see. You're marrying into one of the big political families. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. No. I'm showing you how you can be done with Midlandton and get to - London. You said you'd do anything for that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I meant anything in reason. Shall we change the subject? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. No. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>ys (<i>rising, curtly</i>). Then I must go back to the hotel. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I have not encouraged you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You're here, you know. You let your brother go without you. You let - my mother leave us alone. Isn't that encouragement? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. (<i>as cruelly as she can</i>). I stayed because I find you amusing. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes. I dare say I am amusing. People in deadly earnest usually are. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>gently</i>). We'll forget what you said, Mr. Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I don't know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. (<i>Electric bell rings right.</i>) That's probably your - brother. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b> (<i>half sorry, but on the whole relieved</i>). Yes. Don't keep him - waiting. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>moving right, and stopping</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>with a low laugh</i>). Will hoping make you happy? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes, if you tell me I may hope. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b> (<i>sincerely</i>). Then by all means hope. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Bell rings again.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. That's all I want. (<i>He looks at her humbly. She extends her hand - impulsively. Peter kisses it reverently.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. You're very absurd. Now let my brother in. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Peter crosses and opens door right, leaving it half open, as he goes - through and opens outside door.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>heard off right, in surprised voice</i>). Hullo! - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. (<i>off right, less loudly</i>). Good evening. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Peter appears outside door right, pulling it to him.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>off</i>). Leave your coats here. Excuse me. I'll—I'll just - close this door and keep the cold out till you're ready. - </p> - <p> - [<i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>standing against the door</i>). It's not your brother. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>dryly</i>). I gathered that. I'd better go without him. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>agitated</i>). You can't. That's the only way out. They'd see - you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>surprised</i>). I don't mind. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. They mustn't. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Why not? Who are they? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Constituents. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>alarmed</i>). From Midlandton? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes. Let them get a glimpse of you, and God only knows what tale - will be over Midlandton. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>agreeing</i>). Yes. They mus'n't see me. On no account. (<i>She - crosses to left, Peter nods approvingly.</i>) Peter. My mother's there. - I'll get rid of them quickly. Glad. Remember, I'm trusting you. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Exit Gladys, left. Peter opens door right, and speaks off.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Ready, comrades? Come in. (<i>Ned and Jones enter, dressed much as - in Act I. Peter is genial.</i>) How are you? Both well? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>as they shake hands</i>). Yes, thanks. (<i>With slight emphasis.</i>) - Are you well? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Quite well, thanks. Never better in my life. (<i>Ned and Jones - exchange glances.</i>) Sit down, comrades. It's good to see Midlandton - faces again. - </p> - <p> - [<i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. I suppose you don't see many people from the old town here? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You're the first I've seen since I came up. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. Ah! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. And what brings you to town? Pleasure, I suppose. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. Well—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes, I know. London's a playground to you fellows. It's more like a - battlefield to your hard-worked member. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>firmly</i>). It's not exactly pleasure we're here for, Comrade - Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. More like business. We're a sort of a delegation. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Delegates, eh? What's on? I don't remember any congress at the - moment? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. We're on a special mission. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>obviously forcing an appearance of interest</i>). Now, that's - very interesting. May I ask the object of this mission? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>grimly</i>). You're the object. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. Yes. We've a crow to pluck with you, my lad. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>not yet greatly concerned</i>). Oh? Something you want to - discuss? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. Something we're going to discuss. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>rising</i>). Well, suppose I meet you to-morrow morning. Come - here at—yes—at eleven, and I'll give you an hour with - pleasure. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>shaking his head</i>). You'll give us an hour, or as long as we - want, now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Really, I'm afraid I can't. (<i>Involuntarily glancing left.</i>) - I'm busy to-night. I'll see you to-morrow. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. We shan't be here to-morrow. We've to go back by the midnight - train. We've our livings to earn. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Well, look here, eome back in an hour or so, and I'll see you then. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>commandingly</i>). You'll see us now. Your time's ours, we pay - for it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You haven't bought me, you know. You pay me to represent your - interests at Westminster. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. Then why aren't you there representing them to-night? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>irritably</i>). I've told you I'm busy. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. Busy with what? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Mind your own business. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>quietly</i>). It is our business. We've a right to know why you're - neglecting your duty. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>hotly</i>). I don't neglect my duty. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. What's on at the House to-night? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>embarrassed</i>). Well—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>inexorably</i>). What's on? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. The Right to Work Bill, I believe. (<i>Sitting again.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh, I'll be there for the division if you don't keep me here too - long. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. It's not. The division can't take plaee so early. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. We've been to the House. We thought we'd find you there. Why - weren't you there? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I've told you I was busy. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I <i>am</i> indisposed. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. Indisposed! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I meant to go. I started out to go only I became ill on the way. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. You told us when you shook hands you'd never been better. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh, I dare say. The usual figure of speech. I <i>am</i> recovering. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. No. You spoke the truth then. You're lying now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Lying! This is too much. (<i>Rising.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>rising</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>angrily</i>). You'll decide what's to be done with me. You! - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>firmly</i>). We have decided. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>still sitting</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I serve the cause in my own way. (<i>He is consciously on his - defence now.</i>) 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—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>rising, and putting his hand on Peter's arm, shaking his head</i>). - It won't do, Garsidc. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. You needn't wag that silver tongue at us. You're found out. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>quietly</i>). Whatever you are, you're paid to be a cog. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. If I'm to do my great work for the cause I must live somehow. The - labourer is worthy of his hire. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I won't be dictated to by you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. And yet we're your masters, you know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. It's my nature to be a free lance. Routine would kill me. I've to - work for the cause in my own way. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. 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? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. A hundred days to every week are not enough. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. We sent you to Parliament to obey the Party Whips and be governed by - older and wiser heads than yours. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Nelson won battles by disobeying orders. If you didn't want - independence you shouldn't have chosen me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. We see that now. You'd ceased to be representative of the - Midlandton working classes before we chose you for our candidate. You <i>were</i> - 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. Yes, he'll represent us better than you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Then God help representative government! You'd better be careful. - My personal popularity's your finest platform asset. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. Well, it's an asset we can do without. Put it that you're too - brilliant for us. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh, it's the old story. Genius and the Philistine. For two pins I'd - resign my seat. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>gravely</i>). We accept your resignation. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. What! - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. We come here to demand it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>abject</i>). Comrades, you don't mean this! You wouldn't do a - man out of his job. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>curtly</i>). Oh, we're finding you a new job. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. What's that? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. The Stewardship of the Chiltern Hundreds. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>slight pause</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. You can talk till you're blue in the face without shifting facts. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>growing increasingly hysterical</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>contemptuously</i>). You're the victim of nothing but your own - swelled head. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. Yes. The way you found most profitable. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I'm spending every penny I earn. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. 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. - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - * 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.' -</pre> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You lie. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. I don't. I saw her. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>deliberately</i>). There's no woman here except my mother. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>solemnly</i>). Is that the truth, Peter? I also thought I saw a - skirt that I'm sure your mother couldn't wear. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. It's the truth. Upon my word of honour it's the truth. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>roughly</i>). I don't believe it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>protesting</i>). We have his word, Karl. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. The word of a convicted liar. He lied about his absence from the - House. He's lying now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>with determination</i>). You'll take my word for it. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Door bell rings r.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. Yes, if you'll let me see who's in that room. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. My mother's there. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. And no one else? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Nobody. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. Then show us. Prove it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. He's said enough, Karl. He's passed his word. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. I don't believe his word's worth that. (<i>Snapping fingers.</i>) - He's lying for a woman. (<i>Bitterly.</i>) It's the code of a gentleman to - lie for a woman. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Door bell rings again.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I can't help your disbelief. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. No, but you can open that door. (<i>Indicating left.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>his back to the door</i>). You'll take my word. (<i>Again the - door bell rings, and Mrs. Garside enters left. Peter turns round on her, - surprising her by his vehemence. Angrily.</i>) What is it? - </p> - <p> - [<i>The door remains open.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Someone's at the door. Didn't you hear the bell ring? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Let it ring. Don't you see I've visitors? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>coming forward like a friend</i>). Good evening, Mrs. Garside. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>unheeding, troubled with Peter</i>). But it'll be Mr. Mottram - eome baek for his sister. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. What? - </p> - <p> - [<i>He crosses to look through the left door. Gladys enters, meeting - Jones' eye.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. May I go through to my brother, Mr. Garside? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>falling back</i>). Miss Mottram! - </p> - <p> - [<i>Peter looks from one to the other like a caged animal.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b> (<i>with genuine feeling</i>). Lad, lad, do you lie for the sake of - lying? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>triumphantly, his voice ringing</i>). I think there'll be no - dilliculty about that resignation now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>after a slight pause, tensely</i>). On one condition. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>scornfully</i>). You're in a grand position for making - conditions. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Keep your mouths shut about Miss Mottram's presence here, and I - place my resignation in the Speaker's hands to-morrow. (<i>Slight pause.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. I accept. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b> (<i>disagreeing violently</i>). Well, I—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. <i>You</i> accept. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jones</b>. But——— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ned</b>. You have our promise, Garside, and you can take my word. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Jones is silent and sullen.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>vaguely</i>). What! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>hysterically</i>). You heard. I'm resigning my seat in the House - of Commons. Humpty-dumpty had a great fall. (<i>Jones laughs aloud, Gladys - smiles slightly, Peter almost screams.</i>) Don't laugh. (<i>Suddenly - self-pitying.</i>) I don't know what I'm saying. (<i>With a flicker of the - old pride.</i>) But I was an M.P. once. You can't take that from me. (<i>Blundering - blindly to door, left.</i>) Oh, go, go, all of you. I want to be alone. - </p> - <p> - [<i>The door bell has been steadily ringing. Peter goes off left, and - bangs the door behind him.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Will you let my brother in, Mrs. Garside? - </p> - <p> - [<i>Mrs. Garside goes right, and opens door, goes through and lets Fred. - in.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>to Gladys</i>). Thought you'd gone to sleep. (<i>Seeing Jones.</i>) - Hello! Our friend of the election. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>impatiently</i>). Never mind these men. Come away. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Well, don't snap a fellow's head off. (<i>Ned and Jones quietly go - out right.</i>) Sorry I've been so long, only——- - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. It doesn't matter. (<i>Raising her voice, looking left</i>). Mr. - Garside's been an entertainment in himself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>, (<i>crossing</i>). Where is he? In there? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>, (<i>crossing to right door</i>). Oh, will you come? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Must do the decent by our Member, you know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. He's not our Member, he's resigned. - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Good Lord! Why? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Oh, can't you see we're not wanted here? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. (<i>crossing towards her</i>). All right. Don't get vicious. Nothing - to lose your temper over, is it? - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. I've lost more than my temper. I've lost a chance.... Oh, never - mind. What's the next train for Midlandton? - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Train? What you want's some supper. We've two more days of town. - </p> - <p> - <b>Glad</b>. Yes. We'll eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die. You're - standing me champagne to-night, Freddie. - </p> - <p> - [<i>She goes out right. Fred, looks after her, puzzled, crosses, and - shakes Mrs. Garside's limp hand.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Fred</b>. Good night, Mrs. Garside. - </p> - <p> - [<i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Have they all gone? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Yes. (<i>Pathetically puzzled.</i>) What does it all mean, Peter? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Mean? Ruin. My career's blasted. (<i>Sits at table, turning chair - towards her.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. But why, Peter? I can't understand it. I—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Don't take on about it, deary. They'll find they can't do without - you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You'd always faith, hadn't you, mother? (<i>Turning to table and - putting his head on his hands.</i>) But I've fallen like Lucifer, never to - rise again. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>struck with a new delightful thought, hesitating to utter it</i>). - Peter, it means—it means—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>not turning</i>). What? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>standing centre</i>). Oh, I'm so glad. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>leaping up angrily, and turning on her</i>). Glad! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. I've been so unhappy here. I shall be glad to be in Midlandton - again. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>disgustedly</i>). Midlandton! (<i>Shuddering.</i>) Those grimy - streets reeking of poverty. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>reproachfully</i>). Peter! Midlandton is home. - </p> - <p> - [<i>She gives way a little. Peter stands centre.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes. After all, why not? The wounded lion crawls to its lair to - die. (<i>Pause, looking straight out.</i>) I wonder. Am I a lion or only - an ass braying in a lion's skin? - </p> - <h3> - CURTAIN. - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT IV - </h2> - <p> - <i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. May I come in, Mrs. Garside? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. And welcome, Mr. O'Callagan. - </p> - <p> - [<i>He enters. She closes door.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. (<i>coming centre, in front of table, glancing upwards</i>). Still - the same? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>standing centre, gloomily</i>). Oh, yes. He doesn't seem to - care for anything. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. I can hear him moving about upstairs. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>sitting left of table, as if too weary to stand</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. You've not got him to go out yet? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. You dropped lucky finding the old house empty. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. (<i>patting her shoulder encouragingly</i>). Let you not be talking - like that, Mrs. Garside. There's no call to despair. Peter's got to be - roused. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Haven't we tried and failed? If you fancy you know the way to do - it I'll be obliged by your telling me. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. Oh, we've not tried them all yet. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>vigorously</i>). Then for God's sake go up to him and try. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. (<i>without moving</i>). Sure he's not himself at all. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>rising, with more force in her voice</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. (<i>giving way a little</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Do you think I care what it is so it puts an end to this? - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. Is that the truth you're telling me? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Truth! Bless the man. I'm at the bitter end. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. (<i>briskly</i>). Then I'll be stepping out and bringing out my - cure. I didn't fetch her in because I knew you quarrelled with her. (<i>He - reaches the door and puts his hand to the latch.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Stop! Do you mean Margaret Shaweross? - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. Yes. (<i>He takes a step towards table. They speak across it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. That woman doesn't cross my threshold. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. The sight of her <i>'</i>ull bring the life back into Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. No. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. You said you wouldn't care what I did. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. I didn't know you meant her. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. (<i>coming round table</i>). No, and you called me all the names - you could lay your tongue to when I came in last week. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. I thought you one of the lot that ruined Peter. I've told you I'm - sorry for what I said. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. Yes. You see it now. Why won't you see Miss Shaweross is a friend - as well? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>sullenly</i>). She's a woman. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. And can't you be mistaken about a woman just as much as a man? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. She never did Peter any good. She always thought too little of - him. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. (<i>pleadingly</i>). Give her a chance, Mrs. Garside, she loves - him. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. She'd a queer way of showing it, then. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. She loves him. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>hotly</i>). And don't I love him? If love's all he wants to - put him right, won't his mother—— - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. There's different kinds of love. Let her try hers. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>grimly</i>). Yes. Let her try. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. (<i>moving eagerly</i>). May I? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Bring her in. - </p> - <p> - [<i>O'Callagan goes to door, then turns suddenly suspicious.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. You're not going to be rude to her? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. She'll need none, neither. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. Well, we'll see. Open the door and call her in. - </p> - <p> - [<i>O'Callagan opens door and calls off.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. Will you come in, Miss Shawcross? - </p> - <p> - [<i>Enter Margaret in a plain winter costume with a cheap fur round her - neck.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. (<i>in her ear as she passes him</i>). It's all right. - </p> - <p> - [<i>He closes door, Margaret crosses to Mrs. Garside.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>anxiously—waiving ceremony</i>). How is he, Mrs. Garside? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>turning from her to O'Callagan</i>). Bring him down, Denis, - you know the way. (<i>O'Callagan crosses and exit r. Mrs. Garside faces - Margaret.</i>) 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I understand. Thank you for letting me come. How is he? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. He's like to die because he doesn't want to live. - </p> - <p> - [<i>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.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You here! (<i>Turns as if to go back, but O'Callagan closes the - door quickly.</i>) Why didn't you tell me, Denis? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>stepping forward</i>). Don't go. I've come to see you, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. (<i>He - turns his back on her, only to face O'Callagan.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. I'm telling you you're not a failure. It's just a temporary check - in your career you've had. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>sullenly</i>). My career's ended. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Mrs. Garside sits in the rocking-chair, aloof, watching.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. At twenty-six, Peter? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>turning</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. That you <i>will</i> live, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>sitting left of table, elbows on table and head in hands</i>). - Oh, what's the use of that? I'm finished. Out, middle stump. And there's - no second innings in life. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. Isn't there? Don't the people need you just as much as ever? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>without turning to him</i>). The people have no use for broken - idols, Denis. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. But <i>we</i> need you, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>looking up</i>). Who are we? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Your own people. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You! You never believed in me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I always thought you'd the wrong temperament for Parliament. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You knew me for the rotten failure that I am. I congratulate you on - your perspicacity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>shaking her head</i>). I'm not proud of it. What do you propose - to do? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I don't propose to do anything. (<i>Resuming the hopeless attitude</i>). - I've shot my bolt. I'm a man with a past, an ex-M.P., ex-Everything. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. (<i>with conviction</i>). You're a blazing idiot. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I quite agree. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. You're not. You know you're not. I'm only saying it to rouse you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You'll say nothing that I won't agree with. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. All right. You've a big future before you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I can't agree to that. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. You have. You're going to—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I'm going to take it lying down, Denis, and that's all there is to - it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. That's a pretty mean thing to say, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh, taunts don't sting me now. I've reached the further side of - agony. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>sitting at table, centre, leaning on it very close to Peter, and - speaking without a trace of sympathy</i>). Peter, don't you think you've - made sufficient demonstration of your grief? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Demonstration? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. We're all tremendously impressed. You've thoroughly alarmed us. - That's what you wanted, wasn't it? (<i>Peter meets her eye questioningly.</i>) - 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>hiding his head on the table</i>). Misunderstood! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Misunderstood? (<i>Rising and tapping the table.</i>) Or found out, - Peter? Which? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>pitiably turning, still sitting, to Mrs. Garside</i>). Mother, - you let these people in. Are you going to sit there and let them bully a - sick man? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>admiringly</i>). That's a good pose, Peter. The great, strong, - self-willed man brought down to crying to his mammie. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>in an agonised shriek</i>). Mother! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>firmly</i>). I'm not going to interfere. I promised Margaret - her own way. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. But—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. (<i>interrupting, dryly</i>). Besides, I think there may be - something in it. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Peter hides his face again with a deep "Oh!"</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. (<i>putting his hand on Peter's shoulder</i>). Be a man, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>looking up at him</i>). Yes, it's all very well for you to talk. - You with your beastly robust health. I'm an invalid. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I assure you, you're not looking half so feeble as you did. You're - improving under treatment. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Then I must thrive on torture. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Something's doing you good. You're not the woebegone catastrophe you - were. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>rising</i>). I won't tolerate this. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. You prefer to be a catastrophe, in fact? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>moving right</i>). I want to be left alone. I'm going to my - bedroom. You can't follow me there. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Oh, you'll not escape that way. I don't in the least mind invading - your bedroom. A doctor has privileges. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. All right. I'll go out, then. Mother, where's my hat? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Splendid. Fresh air will do you good. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I won't go out. They'll mock me in the streets. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Then you prefer my medicine? I'll go on dosing you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>sitting centre, behind table, covering face</i>). I'll close my - eyes and stop my ears. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>taking her hat off</i>). The night is young. (<i>She puts her hat - on the bookcase and her fur on it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>turning and watching her</i>). Oh! So it's to be a trial of - strength, is it? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Just as you like. As I'm strong and you're weak, I ought to win. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. We'll see if I'm weak. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Of course, I've only your word for it. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Margaret takes chair from wall, right, and puts it before fire.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Weak as I am, I'm strong enough to tire you out. (<i>Folding his - arms.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I don't go to work till nine in the morning. (<i>Sitting on her - chair.</i>) You don't mind my making myself comfortable for the night, - Mrs. Garside? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. I've told you I'm not interfering, Margaret. You can do as you - like. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Denis, go home. I want to be alone with Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Stay where you are, Denis. Don't leave me alone with her. - </p> - <p> - <b>O'Cal</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Exit O'Callagan, l.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Now, Peter, I'm going to talk to you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. I'll take myself out of your way. (<i>Going r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Mother! You too! Haven't I a friend in the world? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. G</b>. You wouldn't listen to me. It's her turn how. Call me if you want - me, Margaret. - </p> - <p> - [<i>Exit Mrs. Garside, r.</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>sitting c., stopping his ears</i>). I shan't listen. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>sitting and making herself ostentatiously comfortable in the - rocking-chair, poking fire</i>). Oh, take your time. I'm quite - comfortable. (<i>She leans back humming "Home, Sweet Home"</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>unstopping his ears</i>). What? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Oh, could you hear? You're such a bad listener as a rule. You much - prefer to talk. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>folding his arms</i>). My talking days are past. I'll be as mute - as a fish. Go on. Say what you like. I'll stand it all. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>rising and looking down on him</i>). Peter, Peter, how young you - are! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>rising excitedly</i>). Young! I'm not young. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I thought you were going to be silent. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>walking up and down</i>). 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>standing c. against table, watching</i>). When you sow wild oats - that old feeling is usually part of the crop. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>hotly</i>). I haven't sown wild oats. I'm not that sort of man. - (<i>Hesitating.</i>) Unless you mean—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I didn't, but I might have done. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>sitting, sullenly</i>). I wish there were no such things as - women in the world! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I'm not so young as you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. No. Youth is a gift we both possess. I don't intend to waste mine, - Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Here's a change of front! You used to tell me talking was the finest - thing you knew. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Margaret, have you no reverence at all? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. For talking? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Oh, no, it's not, and if it is, the microbes can be happy in their - insignificance. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>solemnly</i>). I shall not know happiness again. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Oh, need you keep it up with me, Peter? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>surprised</i>). Keep what up? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. The pose. You've had your fun with us. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Fun! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. You've brought us to your feet. We've all come: all of us who care. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>vigorously</i>). 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? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Heaven knows what you came for. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. You know as well as Heaven does. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Do I? But it's—— So much has happened since. That's all - so long ago. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Less than a year, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. A year! What's a year! From poverty to Parliament, from Parliament - to hell. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Still spinning phrases, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>sincerely</i>). I'm a pauper, Margaret. That's not a phrase, - it's a fact. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Is there no work to be done in the world? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. A man like me wants something else than bread to work for. I had a - career once, it's gone today. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Thank God, it is. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes, if you like, thank God for it. It deserved to go. But - nothing's left worth living for. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I'll give you that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. What? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. The object, Peter. Don't say again you don't know why I came. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes, Margaret, I know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Why not admit it, then? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. What do you mean by being a criminal fool? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I might have acted as I meant to act when next I saw you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. How did you mean to act? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>hardly</i>). Then when I came you didn't do as you intended. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Ashamed to ask forgiveness? Ashamed to carry out your plan? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. We weren't alone. There were others there. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Just pride, in fact. You were too proud to ask. And when the others - went? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh, yes. Yes. Pride again. Then, too, until—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Till when? You've not asked yet. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Margaret, am I worth while forgiving? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Peter, when your mother let me come, I came. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. So I thought it worth while. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Margaret, you are so beautiful, and I—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. 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—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes. I know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. It's been a crowded year for you. (<i>Gesture from Peter.</i>) 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—(<i>Peter shudders</i>)—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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Just as we were? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Why not? Love understands. We're both a little scarred. We both need - picking up and making whole. We need each other, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You need me! Margaret, you're not just putting it that way because—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Because it's true. We need each other badly. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>taking her</i>). Margaret! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. So you will have me, Peter? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. I'll bring you peace. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I think you will. (<i>From her.</i>) Oh, but it's madness, madness, - Margaret. What are we thinking of? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Our happiness. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes, for a moment we've been happy fools. Now I'm awake. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. And so? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. And so good-bye. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Indeed? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Oh, would to God, it needn't be. But here I am, an outcast, and—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>quickly</i>). No phrases, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I'm a man without a job, Margaret. I can't keep myself, let alone - anyone else. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Have you tried? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Excellent reasons for not being a journalist. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. You don't need friends. You want an employer, and I thought you were - a skilled mechanic. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes. As a matter of fact I did have a vague idea of going in for - aeroplanes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Oh, Peter, Peter, still the high flights! - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b> (<i>earnestly</i>). There's money in it, Margaret. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. For the mechanic? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. There is. Fame. Applause. Incense. Everything that ruined you before. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You can't be famous without risk. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Why be famous? - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. For me? I don't want them, Peter. Fight them down. Be humble. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I'm not built for humility. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Drop your ambition, Peter. You will feel like Christian when he lost - his pack. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. What do you want me to do? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. There is always room for you at your old place. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Back to the mechanic's bench. In Midlandton, where everybody knows! - That's humble pie with a vengeance. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. A new beginning, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. There's no such thing. In life, we pay. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. We'll pay together then. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. I can't go back. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. A man can do things for his woman, Peter, when he can't do them for - himself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. You want me to go back? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Yes, Peter, back to the starting-place. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. It's a bitter pill. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. But won't you swallow it—for me? For my sake, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes, Margaret, you've won. I'll go back if they'll have me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Thank you, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Don't thank me, dear. It's—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Why not? It means I'm going to have my heart's desire. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. What's that? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Just you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Margaret! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Yes, Peter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Are you happy? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. Yes? Only yes? When I'm almost afraid to be so happy, when—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Yes, Peter, when you are down, you are very, very down, and when - you're up you are up—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Peter</b>. That's the way with all geniuses. Oh, I forgot. I'm not a—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. 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. - </p> - <p> - [<i>They move r. together.</i> - </p> - <h3> - CURTAIN. - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -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-h.htm or 55290-h.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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