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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b43cabe --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55291 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55291) diff --git a/old/55291-0.txt b/old/55291-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2ce2609..0000000 --- a/old/55291-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4108 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graft, 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: Graft - A Comedy in Four Acts - -Author: Harold Brighouse - -Release Date: August 7, 2017 [EBook #55291] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAFT *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - -GRAFT - -A Comedy In Four Acts - -By Harold Brighouse - -London: Samuel French Publisher - -1913 - -GRAFT - - -[Illustration: 0001] - - -[Illustration: 0001] - - - - - -ACT I - -_A small room on the first floor, awkwardly overcrowded with the entire -furniture of a cottage, a pile of which is stacked in the left corner -and covered with a sheet; the plain iron bed is right, the window coming -between its foot and the pile of furniture; table centre; three plain -upright chairs and one wicker armchair before the fire; fireplace left; -opposite it right a kitchen dresser well stocked with crockery; pans and -kettle about the fireplace. For all the uncomfortable crowding the -room is bright and well kept. Door right. It is 7 p.m. on a September -evening, and the approach of dusk is noticed gradually._ - -_Jim Pilling, a gardener, has finished tea and sits in his shirt-sleeves -before the débris of the meal facing spectator lighting a briar pipe. -Jim is thirty, clean looking, dressed in his rough working clothes -without coat or his combined collar and "dicky" and red tie, which hangs -with the coat behind the door. Sally Pilling is transferring the last -of the table utensils to a tray which she puts on the bed; then removing -the white cloth and shaking crumbs into the fire; a red cloth is -underneath. Sally is of the pale complexion usual to a country girl -living in a town; she dresses neatly and has an apron on; Dick, a thin -boy of eight, in a blue sailor suit, gets off his chair at the table._ - - - -[Illustration: 0091] - - - -Dick. Can I go out and play now, mother? - -(_Jim rises and crosses l. with chair._) - -Sally. Yes. (_She crosses to door and takes down from a hook his sailor -hat._) Here's your hat. (_Dick comes to her; she secures it on his head -with an elastic band._) Don't go far from the door, Dick. I'll shout you -when it's bedtime. - -Jim. And don't get playing in the road--keep on the footpath. - -Dick. Yes, dad. (_He runs out as Sally opens: the door._) - -Sally. Don't get run over now. - -Jim. The young _'_un misses the country. (_Sits in armchair above -fire._) - -Sally (_closing door_). We all do that, Jim. - -Jim. Aye. Streets are no sort of playground for a growing child. Did you -get out while he was at school this afternoon? - -Sally (_gathering up tea-things_). Oh, yes. There's not the cleaning to -do in a single room to keep me in it all day. - -Jim. No; better for you to get out a bit. - -Sally (_dully_). It's no pleasure walking in the streets. - -Jim. Not when there's shops to look at? - -Sally. You can get tired of shops. (_Tea-things on tray._) - -Jim. You're no true woman. - -Sally. I'm no town's woman. (_Crosses to Jim._) I miss the flowers and -the green. I'm pining for the country, Jim. - -Jim. And I'm same way, only I do get the smell of the earth in Mr. -Vining's garden and it's not so bad for me. - -Sally (_wistfully standing above his chair_). I'd dearly love to see -that garden, Jim. - -Jim. I know you would; but they're that strict about the Polygon. No -getting in unless you've business. - -Sally. It does seem hard when there's not a park nor so much as a blade -of grass in the whole blessed town except the Polygon. (_Puts tray on -bed._) - -Jim. The old days were the best, Sally, on the estate where we were -born. - -Sally. We didn't know it, either, till Sir Charles began to sack his -men. - -Jim. No; many a time I've grumbled at the work there and the pay. It's a -judgment on me. - -Sally. You weren't sacked for grumbling. (_Shaking cloth in fire._) - -Jim (_bitterly_). No. I was sacked because Sir Charles lost so much -money on the turf he couldn't keep six gardeners any longer--and me the -one to go because we'd only our Dick and t'others had more childer. - -Sally (_mildly surprised at his tone_). Gentlemen will have their sport, -Jim. It might be worse. You dropped lucky into a job. (_Folds cloth and -puts in dresser drawer._) - -Jim. Aye, the job's all right, and Mr. Vining's a good gentleman to work -for--pay's better than the country an' all, though I can't get stuff -to thrive in Mr. Vining's garden as I'd wish. (_Rises._) Town air kills -'em. Yes, we'd do all right, Sally, if (_looking round as if caged_)--if -there was room to live. That's what we want--room to live. We've -our sticks for a proper house eating their heads off in yon corner -(_indicating the pile_), and I've wages enough to pay rent for a house -and no one 'ull take it from me. There's not a house to let in all -Carrington, nor like to be but what there's plenty waiting for it before -our turn come, and we've waited three years now. - -Sally (_consoling him_). Never mind, Jim. We've got our privacy. We've a -room to ourselves. - -(_She crosses to cupboard, gets work out and puts on table._) - -Jim (_hotly_). A room! One room! (_Cooling._) Aye, but you're right. -Let's be thankful for small mercies. (_Sits._) I mind it looked like we -shouldn't even find a room when we came seeking. But it's hard to live -decent in here, and it's harder on Dick than us. Eat and sleep an all in -one room's not a Christian way of life. - -(_A knock at the door. Sally opens it. Walter Montgomery stands -without. He is a curate, twenty-eight years old, athletic in build, -clean-shaven, with a bright manner and a strong jaw._) - -Walter. May I come in? Good evening, Mrs. Pilling. - -Sally. Surely, sir. - -(_Enter Walter. Sally closes the door, adroitly taking her apron off as -she does so and hanging it up. Jim makes for his coat._) - -Walter. Good evening, Mr. Pilling. (_Seeing his objective._) You're all -right as you are. - -Jim. Shirt-sleeves don't seem respectful, sir. Walter (_genially_).. -Rubbish. It's a pity if you can't be cool in your own room. - -Jim (_apologetically_). The fire does make it hot in here. - -Sally. And we must have a fire to boil the kettle, sir. - -(_Walter looks at the closed window, but, having experience, makes no -suggestion. Jim knocks his pipe out on the fire-bar._) - -Walter (_seeing him, but too late to stop him_). Oh, don't do -that--here, try a pipe of mine. (_Delving in his coat tails for pouch -and offering it._) - -Jim (_shyly_). Well, sir---- - -Walter. Go on, man. (_Jim accepts and fills his pouch; Sally dusts a -chair with the corner of the table cloth._) Now you know that chair -didn't need dusting, Mrs. Pilling. (_He sits._) Well, how's the garden, -Mr. Pilling? - -Jim. Oh, nicely, sir, nicely. - -Walter. Yes. So I thought when I had a look at it over the hedge. -(_Turning to Sally._) I live next door to Mr. Vining, you know, Mrs. -Pilling. - -Sally. Oh, but he can't get the garden to suit him, sir. (_Sits R. of -table._) - -Walter. Oh! How's that? - -Jim. Thanks. (_Returning pouch. Walter fills a pipe and lights up._) -This air's ruination to a garden, sir. - -Walter. You put up a jolly good fight against it, then. My father's -garden looks pretty mean compared with yours. - -Jim (_shyly_). Well, sir, you see, your father will try and look after -his himself. - -Walter. Yes. He's awfully attached to his garden. - -Jim (_with a touch of patronage_). And he doesn't do it badly--for an -amateur, as you might say, but--well, he makes mistakes. - -Sally (_protestingly_). Jim! - -Walter. Oh, that's all right, Mrs. Pilling. Dick keeping well? - -Sally (_formally_). Oh, yes, thank you, sir. - -Walter. I saw him outside as I came in. I fancied the little chap looked -pale. - -Jim (_gravely_). He does look pale. - -Walter. Anything the matter? - -Jim. No, sir, no... only this. - -Walter (_vaguely_). This? - -Jim. This room--living in one room and nothing but streets to run about -in. - -Sally. You can't keep a child inside, sir. 'Tisn't natural. The streets -if it's fine and the stairs when it's wet out. - -Walter. None too safe, Mrs. Pilling, either of 'em. - -Sally. But what are you to do? - -Walter (_hopelessly_). Nothing, I suppose. - -Jim. Folks can't thrive cramped up the way we are. If garden stuff won't -go in the air, it can't be good for humans. - -(_A knock at the door. Without waiting for Sally, who starts towards -door, Stephen Verity enters. He is fifty, iron grey, with a good deal of -iron in his composition, though just now concerned more with the velvet -glove than the mailed fist. A selfmade man, he is cynical, domineering, -dryly humorous at times, an ugly customer if crossed, with a strong jaw -and tightly closed lips. Dressed in morning coat and grey trousers with -very square toed boots, turned down collar, black tie. His coat is good -solid broadcloth, but the cut is palpably local._) - -Stephen (_off_). Are ye in, Pilling? (_He enters and sees Walter. -Sally and Walter rise--grimacing at Walter._) Oh! (_He stops short in -doorway._) - -Jim (_with deference nicely regulated some degrees lower than that he -showed Walter_). Come in, Mr. Verity. - -Walter (_holding out hand_). How do you do, Mr. Verity? - -Ste. (_shaking hands and speaking with laboured politeness_). How do you -do, Mr. Montgomery? (_Dropping his hand--sneeringly._) - -[_He appropriates the wicker chair. Walter sits edgeways on the table._ - -I didn't expect to find you here. What are you doing? Looking after -their souls? - -Walter (_pleasantly_). I dropped in for a chat and a smoke, before going -on to keep my appointment at your house. What are you doing? (_Sits l. -of table._) - -Ste. I'm looking after their bodies, only some of them won't see it. -Pilling's a tough nut to crack. - -Walter. Not gathered him in yet? - -Ste. No, but I shall. He's one of your flock. It takes time to get hold -of these fellows who come in from the country, (_spitefully_) where -the squire and the parson spell omnipotence. He'll change his tune yet, -though. - -Jim (_shaking his head_). I'm not the changing sort. - -Ste. (_confidently_). You will be. A year or two more of this room and -you'll be ripe for anything. - -Sally (_lifting the tray_). We're ripe now for a change from this. - -Ste. Don't go, Mrs. Pilling. - -Sally. I can get my turn at the sink for washing up now. - -Ste. That can wait. I want to ask you something. - -Sally (_replacing the tray_). Yes, sir? (_Sits r. of table._) - -Ste. (_after brief pause_). Well, now, Mrs. Pilling, what would you say -we need most in Carrington? - -Sally (_promptly_). Fresh air. - -Ste. You've hit the nail on the head. Trust a woman to be sensible when -health's at stake. I've a piece of news for you. There's talk of getting -a recreation ground for Carrington. - -Walter (_interested--sincerely_). Indeed! I hadn't heard. It's a most -interesting thing. - -Jim. And about time too. (_Sits below fire._) - -Ste. (_sentimentalizing_). Yes, you'll be able to take Mrs. Pilling -down for a stroll on a summer's evening or a Sunday afternoon and watch -little Dick play about on the soft grass breathing the fresh air and -fancying yourselves back in the country again. No need to have Dick -running about in the streets then. - -Jim (_curtly_). When? - -Ste. Well, nothing's settled yet, of course. I'm bringing it up at the -next Council meeting and I've a backing on both sides. Alderman Verity's -a power in Carrington, I don't mind telling you. - -Jim. I don't know about your power, sir. What I'm wondering is how it -'ull strike my boss. - -Walter. It sounds excellent. - -Jim (_suspiciously_). And where might your land be, Mr. Verity? - -Ste. Ah, that's a secret yet. - -Jim. Um. Recreation ground two mile away's no use to my lad and you'll -not find land nearer. - -Ste. It'll not be five minutes from your door. - -(_Walter turns interestedly from one to the other._) - -Jim. Then you'll have to burrow for it or hang it in the air. - -Ste. No, we shan't. The land we have in view's built on at present. - -Jim. Lots of good that 'ull do--turning people out of house and home to -make a playing field, when houses are so scarce an' all. - -Walter. Yes. To my mind it's more housing accommodation that's most -urgent here, Mr. Verity. - -Ste. We'll get neither without we're helped. There'll be a lot of -opposition. - -Walter. Surely not. - -Ste. Oh, yes, there will. We Progressives can't carry anything in the -Council unless there's a big force of public opinion at our backs. - -Walter (_confidently_). You won't lack that if you've a practicable -plan. - -Ste. (_hotly_). Practicable! Nothing ever is practicable to some folk -that means spending public money and putting up the rates. They're too -shortsighted to see that a healthy town pays best in the end. - -Walter (_reasonably_). Still, such things as rates have to be -considered, I suppose. - -Ste. (_hotly_). Oh, yes. Consider the purses of the ratepayers and -consider the health of the people and the danger of little children -playing in the street and ask your religion which consideration weighs -heaviest. - -Walter (_a little warmly_). Really, Mr. Verity, I needn't consult my -religion. My common sense is sufficient to put me on your side--if you -really are right in believing there can be two sides to such a question. - -Ste. Don't you make any doubt about that. There'll be two sides right -enough. - -Walter. Well, can _I_ do anything? Will you accept my help? - -Ste. Yes, yours--and yours, Pilling, and every man's who'll say a word -for us. - -(_A motor horn heard violently below the window--a few masculine curses -and feminine shrieks--which Sally echoes as she leaps to window and puts -it up._) - -Sally. Dick's in the street. (_She flies across from window and out at -door._) - -Ste. (_with the air of a conjuror_). There you are! Street accident. - -(_Jim follows Sally, but is met at the door by a very irate taxi-cabman -carrying Dick in one hand and by the slack of his trousers, followed by -Sally. The Chauffeur is a Cockney, about thirty, clean shaven, with the -usual oily pallid complexion--dark--with black leather leggings and a -bottle green great-coat with red facings. His number is on an enamelled -plate, which is reversed._) - -Jim (_with more threat than anxiety_). Have you hurt him? - -Chauffeur. 'Urt? Nah. Aw'm a hexpert droiver, aw am. - -(_He puts Dick on his feet. Dick seeks refuge behind his mother s skirts -and pulls at them with one hand, curiously watching the Chauffeur all -the time. Pilling takes jug from washstand r. and exit for water._) - -Pulled up in foive yard. Bet it ain't no bloomin' fault of 'is 'es not -'urt. - -Sally (_threateningly_). If you'd killed my boy I'd have---- - -Chauff. (_interrupting_). Cheese it, missus. 'E's only froightened. - -Dick. I'm not hurt, mother. - -Chauff. No, bet yer would be if yer got what yer bloomin' well arsked -for. Yer came as near to it as bone is to flesh. - -(_Sally sits on stool r, with Dick, examining his bruised knee._) - -Ste. (_stepping forward pompously_). Now then, my man---- - -Chauff. Aw'm not yer man. (_To Sally._) Nah aw' give yer warning, -missus, to look after 'im. - -(_Jim returns with water, which he puts by Sally r. She washes the -knee._). - -Walter (_quietly_). Isn't it your business to look after the safety of -pedestrians? - -Chauff. (_acknowledging the Church by a quieter reply_). What roight 'ad -'e to-be in the middle of the rowd? Ain't the poivement woide enough for -'im to ply 'opscotch? (_He addresses Walter._) - -Jim (_r_). Look here, that's my kid, and if you've anything to say you -can say it to me. - -Chauff. Aw've this to sy. Yer tell 'im to keep to the poivements. 'E -moight 'ave bin in 'eaven nah if aw wasn't a hexpert droiver. There's -more kids to the square foot in this tahn than any place aw've struck. -People moike a fair 'obby of it. - -Ste. (_importantly_). You'd better be careful what you say. You don't -know who you're talking to. - -Chauff. (_with infinite scorn_). Fat lot aw care. Yer nothing but a -crowd of dead-aloive provincials. Don't suppose yer ever saw a taxi-keb -till me and my mate come dahn from London. A 'ackney keb is news to yer -in these parts. (_Up to Stephen._) - -Ste. (_boiling over_). I'm an alderman of this town and if you don't -talk to me respectfully I'll have your license cancelled. You're not fit -to have one. - -Chauff. Ho! Blimey, not fit to 'ave a license, ain't aw? Aw've druv a -dook in my keb. And yer a tahn councillor, are yer? Yus. Yer bloomin' -well look it and aw can't say wuss than that. - -Ste. I'll pay you out for this. I'll report you to your employer. - -Chauff. (_indignantly_). Employer be blowed. Aw'm my own boss. Bought -my keb, aw did. Thet's enterprise. Don't know what enterprise means dahn -here, do yer? - -Ste, What's your number? I'll report you to the police. (_Goes to window -and looks out._) - -Chauff. Yus, yer do. Aw'll tell yer where 'e is. On the 'Igh Street with -a stopwatch in his fat hand, trying to cop me exceedin' the limit, and -aw've never druv above ten moile for fear of the kids. - -(_Jim goes up to door._) - -Ste. I demand to know your number. - -Chauff. (_making sure that it is reversed_). Never you moind my number. -My name's Walker. Fair fed up with this tahn, aw am. Aw'm used to -drivin' gentlemen. Aw druv a bally commercial abart all yesterday and -the blighter tipped me tuppence. - -(_Jim indicates door._) - -Yes. Aw'm going. My keb 'ull carry me to London now (_moves a bit -towards door_), and yer rowds reek of kids. Aw've killed none yet and -aw don't want to. Aw reckon 'oss kebs are good enough for Carrington. -P'raps they train 'em to step loightly on the kids or else they're -funeral 'osses in their spare toime and never learn to go faster. - -Ste. (_almost frenzied_). You... insolent... Cockney... cad. - -Chauff. (_crossing back to Stephen_). Foine language from a tahn -alderman with the Church lookin' on an' all. Aw am among the nobs. Abart -toime aw cleared when a tahn 'as a bally hobject the loikes of you for -an alderman. Aw wouldn't be seen droiv-ing yer not for a quid a moile -and disinfectin' free. - -(_Stephen looks pugnacious. Walter steps between them._) - -Walter. If you're going to London, Mr. Walker--I think you said -Walker--hadn't you better go? - -Chauff. (_at door_). Yus, and aw'll droive quick for once through -Carrington and charnce it. The kids 'ad better look aloive. (_Looking -back at Stephen._) Aw'll tell 'em when aw droive into the old garage -in the Westminster Rowd abaht meetin' a real loive alderman. They'll be -sending rand from Fleet Street to interview me abaht it. - -(_Exit Chauffeur, leaving door open._) - -Jim (_closing door--to Walter_). I'm sorry you've been spoken to like -that in my room, sir. Civil tongues don't cost nothing. - -Walter (_smiling_). That's a type of modern progress. The new man, Mr. -Pilling. - -Jim. Then I'd as lief have the old. - -Ste. That's where you're wrong, Jim Pilling. This fellow's up-to-date. -He'd never be content to let his children play in the streets. He'd---- - -Jim. No. He'd drive over them. - -Dick (_who's been clutching Sally's skirts, staring_). Boo hoo! - -(_Sally bends down._) - -Ste. (_all ostentatious sympathy_). What's to do? - -Dick. My knee's hurting. (_Holding it up._) I falled on it. - -Sally (_examining it_). It's only bruised. - -Jim (_looking at the knee_). Got any plaster? - -Sally. I think so. (_Opens drawer in the dresser and searches._) I ought -to have. - -Jim (_watches her_). What's that? - -Sally. That's no good. Corn plaster. There's Beecher's Pills and Wood's -Sarsaperilla and every mortal thing except the one you want. - -Walter (_reprovingly_). Patent medicines, Mrs. Pilling. (_Back to -fire._) - -(_Dick on stool, watching Sally._) - -Sally (_justifying herself_). They've all got the Government stamp, sir. - -Ste. (_who has taken out a pocket hook, eyeing Dick with what he thinks -is benevolence_). I generally have some plaster in my pocket. (_But he -looks in vain._) No, none there. Sorry, Mrs. Pilling. - -Sally. I'd better take him to the chemist's. (_She gets a purse from the -dresser._) - -Dick. Don't want no chemists. Want my supper. - -Sally. You'll have your supper when we get back. Come and see the man -who lives behind the big red bottles. - -(_Dick consents to go. Exeunt Sally and Dick._) - -Ste. (_triumphantly_). Anybody got anything to say against a recreation -ground _now_. - -Walter. Neither of us ever had, I hope. - -Ste. You'd a lot to say about the rates. - -Jim. And I didn't see the use of pulling houses down to make room where -houses are scarce. - -Ste. We shan't pull down many. - -Jim. It'll be a small ground then. (_Sits R. of table._) - -Ste. (_with quiet triumph_). About ten acres. - -Jim. You'll have to pull down streets on streets to find ten acres. - -Ste. We shall pull down just five houses. (_Sits L. of table._) No more -and no less. - -Jim. Five houses! - -Walter (_startled_). Five, Mr. Verity? - -Ste. (_with bluster_). Yes. Five houses, I said. - -Walter (_puzzled_). Then you must be thinking of--oh, but that's -ridiculous. - -Ste. And why is it ridiculous, Mr. Montgomery? - -Walter. The Polygon's the only place that applies to. - -Ste. Well, why shouldn't I be thinking of the Polygon? - -Walter. Are you? - -Ste. Yes.. - -Walter. But the Polygon is---- - -Ste. (_interrupting_). I'll tell you what the Polygon, is. - -Walter (_quietly_). It's my home, Mr. Verity. - -Ste. (_with gusto_). Yes, it's the home of the leisured and privileged -class of Carrington. It's five big houses with a kind of a square of -tennis lawn in the middle of them and a great big garden behind each. -It's the only apology for a breathing space we have and it's bang in the -middle of the town. You've got great gates to it marked "private" and a -lodge keeper to watch 'em and see none of the common herd get in to soil -your sacred air by breathing it in their vulgar lungs. It's a shame -and a scandal for the land to be wasted on you and it's not going to be -wasted much longer. - -Walter (_without passion_). To the people who live there, it's----- - -Ste. (_interrupting_). They're about twenty all told. Who are they -to get in the way of the thousands that live crowded up like rabbits -outside? - -Walter. They happen to be able to afford it, Mr. Verity. - -Ste. (_sarcastically_). Yes. They're well-to-do, so they've the right to -monopolize the air. - -Walter (_mildly_). Yes, yes. But you do put things so violently. - -Ste. (_glancing at Jim for approval_). I feel 'em violently. - -Walter (_half apologetically_). You must remember this is quite a new -idea to me, and for the moment it seems iconoclastic, if you don't mind -my saying so. - -Ste. (_sneering_). Yes. Like all your class, you don't like new ideas. -I'll say nothing about your Church, though that don't like new things -either. - -(_Jim rises._) - -Walter. If you'll only give me a moment to think, Mr. Verity.... I'm -trying my best to see the matter from your standpoint. Meantime, I don't -know that you'll improve things by fulminating against the Church. - -Ste. (_blustering_). I shan't do myself any good by truckling to it, -either. The Church was here before I was. It was here when Carrington -was a little village and it's stood by and let the place grow into one -huge slum. If we waited for the Church to give us a lead, we'd wait for -all eternity. - -Walter (_smiling_). But you're not addressing the Church, you know. -You're addressing a young and humble member of it. - -Ste. You're all tarred with the same brush. - -Walter. Not so black as our cloth, I hope. Some of us younger men try to -be social reformers. - -Ste. Yes. It's all very pretty and romantic, but when it comes to -anything that touches you personally like this does you're as bad as the -greediest tithe grabbing pluralist that ever robbed a starving farmer of -his---- - -Jim (_touching Stephen's arm_). Mr. Verity, I'm a man that's slow to -anger. But I've this to tell you. Mr. Montgomery's a clergyman and -you're saying things to him that aren't proper to be said and that I'll -hot have said in my room. (_Shrewdly._) And you're not going the right -way to get my vote for your recreation ground either. . - -Ste. (_alarmed_). I apologize, Pilling. (_Rises._) - -Jim (_satisfied_). Ah! - -Ste. (_earnestly_). It's the wrongs of your class. I think of others, -Pilling. I see what the motorman saw--streets crowded with little -children, growing up in the gutter, playing in the dust--I can't help -it. My tongue runs away with me when I think of it all. - -Walter. Say no more, Mr. Verity. You're probably right about the -Polygon. I dare say we are out of place there, but you couldn't expect -me to take your view the moment it's sprung on me. - -Ste. (_nodding_). I've a way of calling a spade a spade. - -(_A knock at the door. Jim opens it. A Man advances a foot into the -room. Behind him is dimly seen a woman, both poorly dressed. The Man has -a bundle tied up into a blue quilt on his shoulder; his voice is tired -and hopeless._) - -Man. Have you got any floor space to let in this room, mate? - -Jim. No. (_Trying to close the door. The Man's foot keeps it open._) - -Man. Don't shut the door in our face. I've got the money to pay for it. -I'll give you a week's rent now. - -Jim. It's no use. I'm not letting. - -Man (_pleading_). I'm in work, mate. Start at Bamford's factory o' -Monday. A corner's all as we want. - -Jim. I tell you I've none to let. - -Man. Don't be so hard on a fellow. I can't get in nowhere. - -Jim. You'll not get in here. - -Man (_turning dejectedly_). Lodging-houses full up and getting late an' -all. We've been looking all day. - -Jim (_closes the door_). Get three or four of them a week. They find -room somewhere in the end. - -Walter. What did he want? Floor space? - -(_Stephen crosses l._) - -Jim. Aye. Lots of rooms about here with two or three families in 'em. -Some one 'ull take them in if they look long enough. - -Walter. I know. It's appalling. - -Ste. And ten acres in the Polygon with only five houses on 'em. (_Sits -in armchair._) - -Walter. All the more reason to build houses there and not waste it in -playing fields. - -Ste. Ah! So it is wasted now? - -Walter. Yes. It's wasted now. I'm going to do my best to help you. -(_Back to fire standing._) - -Ste. That's good news, any way. - -Walter. Don't count on me for much. But what I can do I will. I'm afraid -I must go now. I've a call to make before I'm due at your house. - -Ste. Right. See you later. - -Walter (_to Jim_). Say good-night to Mrs. Pilling for me. (_Crossing -R._) - -(_Jim opens the door as Walter goes out._) - -Good-night. - -Ste. (_rubbing his hands together_). Ah, glad I came. Good thing to rope -in young Montgomery. - -Jim (_sourly_). Good, is it? - -Ste. What else do you call it? - -Jim (_aggressively_). Look here, Mr. Verity, you've been coming here -calling yourself my friend. I knew well enough it was my vote you were -after. Bless you, I don't mind. I know what even the real gentry 'ull -do to get a man's vote. I've seen Sir Charles himself stand by and watch -his wife kiss our Dick at election time. But I've finished with you now. -You'll come here no more after this. (_Above table l._) - -Ste. (_staggered_). But... I don't understand. What have I done? -(_Rises._) - -Jim. It's not what you've done. It's what you're wanting to do. - -Ste. I'm wanting to provide a recreation ground for Dick to play in. -Anything wrong in that? - -Jim. A lot. There's more important things than playing fields. - -Ste. Oh, you're thinking of Montgomery's idea for houses. - -Jim. No, I'm not thinking of anybody's ideas. Thinking of ideas leads -to mischief. I'm thinking of my bread and butter that you're taking from -me. - -Ste. I? - -Jim. You know very well where I work. - -Ste. You're Mr. Vining's gardener, aren't you? - -Jim. Yes, and Mr. Vining lives in the Polygon. It's likely I'd vote for -breaking up the Polygon, isn't it? - -Ste. But, my dear friend---- - -Jim. I tell you I'm not your friend. - -Ste. Mr. Vining will have to live somewhere. He won't cease to require a -gardener. - -Jim. Ever hear tell as a bird in the hand whacked two in the bush? - -Ste. (_scornfully_). If you're afraid of losing your employment. - -Jim (_with conviction_). A working man's always afraid of that. I know -what it's like to be out of a job. - -Ste. (_ingratiatingly, after a slight pause_). Well, now, I tell you -what. - -Jim.. Aye? - -Ste. We shall want somebody to look after the grass in the recreation -ground. - -Jim. Well? - -Ste. The Park Committee will want an experienced gardener--like you. - -Jim. Are you offering me the job? - -Ste. Yes. - -Jim. How do you know you'll be on any Park Committee? You might be fired -out of the Council next November. - -Ste. (_with dignity_). I'm an alderman, Pilling. Aldermen stay in, they -don't get fired. - -Jim. You're offering me this. Well and good. And what about all the -other folk as find work in the Polygon? House servants and such like. - -Ste. The residents won't cease to want servants where they move to. - -Jim. And you can flit servants same as furniture, can't you? And -servants haven't votes and I have. So you bribe me and they can go to -the devil. - -Ste. (_backing in alarm_). Mr. Pilling! - -Jim. Oh, I'm not blind, if I was brought up in the country. They didn't -learn me there to vote against my master, either. I take Mr. Vining's -money and---- - -Ste. But man alive, how's he to know which way you vote? The ballot's -secret. - -Jim (_sceptically_). Oh, aye, we've heard that tale before. - -Ste. (_irritated_). But it is secret. - -Jim (_unconvinced_). That's what they tell you. And if it is, it's not -secret from me. I'd know how I voted. And I couldn't hold out my hand -for wages from a man when I'd voted opposite to him. I'm not built that -way. - -Ste. (_disgustedly_). Jim Pilling, I thought you'd more sense. - -Jim. I've a sense of right and wrong. - -Ste. Yes, the sense that your employer's always right. - -Jim. It makes no matter if he's right or wrong. He's still my employer. -A man can't vote against the gentleman that gives him bread and butter, -and Mr. Vining's a real gentleman, mind you. (_With enthusiastic -admiration_). I never saw him raise his hand to do a thing himself yet. - -Ste. You're a fool, Pilling. - -Jim. I'm an honest fool, then. - -Ste. Look here, if you won't take it from me, will you take it from Mr. -Montgomery? - -Jim. I don't know. He's a young 'un. More like a man than a parson. -Coming in here and smoking his pipe like you might do yourself. - -Ste. But he is a parson--young Montgomery. - -Jim (_grudgingly_). Aye. He's a man I trust. - -Ste. Then if he tells you, will you vote for turning the Polygon into a -playing ground? - -Jim (_confidently_). He won't. - -Ste. But if he does? - -Jim. I'll see. - -(_Re-enter Sally and Dick._) - -Ste. Hullo! Patched the little man up? - -Sally. Yes. - -(_Dick exhibits a black plaster about his knee._) - -Ste. I'll get out of your way, Mrs. Pilling. I've an appointment to keep -at home. Good-night. (_Crosses below table to door._) - -Sally, - -Jim. Good-night. - -Ste. (_turning at door, patting Dick's head_). Goodnight, Dick. - -(_Dick doesn't respond. Exit Stephen._) - -Sally. Good riddance and all. Now, Dick, you ought to have been in bed -long ago. (_Takes Dick up to bed._) - -Dick. Can't I come and watch you wash up? - -Sally. No, you can't. (_She begins to undress him._) - -Dick. I want my supper. - -Sally. You can have it in bed. - -Jim. You don't like Verity, lass? - -Sally. And never did. What's he want with bothering round week after -week? We're not his class. - -Jim. Vote's what he's after, and it's a marvel to me what they will do -for votes. - -Sally. You'll do yourself no good with him, Jim. - -Jim. I'm thinking so myself. He's a bit too keen on this recreation -ground, Verity is. Been putting himself about something extraordinary. -(_Crosses to fireplace, taking pipe._) I fancy, you know, there's, -something behind all this. - -(_The undressing of Dick advances._) - - -CURTAIN. - - - - -ACT II - -_Stephen Verity's dining-room the same evening. The room has doors right -and left. Window with drawn blind, r. Large table centre with chairs. -Fireplace left. Solid-looking sideboard back centre. The furniture is -solid, old-fashioned, and the atmosphere of the room is one of heavy -comfort without ostentation. The room is a small one. No books anywhere. -In an armchair before the fire is Stephen Verity. Walter Montgomery -faces him in a highbacked chair. Stephen is smoking a large, well -coloured briar._ - - -[Illustration: 0092] - - -Stephen (_removing the pipe_). So you think you're good enough to marry -my daughter, do you? Walter. I ventured to think so. - -Ste. Why? - -Walter. Because I love her, Mr. Verity. - -Ste. That the only reason? - -Walter. No. - -Ste. What are the others? - -Walter. She loves me. - -Ste. Did she tell you so? - -Walter. Yes. - -Ste. Um! (_Slight pause; he smokes reflectively._) - -That all? - -Walter (_rather startled_). All what? - -Ste. All your reasons. - -Walter. Yes, I think so. - -Ste. They're too few. - -Walter. But---- - -Ste. I'll ask _you_ something. - -Walter. Yes? - -Ste. What do you want to get married for? - -Walter. I'm in love. - -Ste. That's no reason. You curates, you're all alike--must be with -marrying other folk so much. Infectious, I reckon. Church ought to be -scheduled along with the other dangerous trades. - -Walter. You're laughing at me. - -Ste. No, I'm not. Marriage isn't a laughing matter, I know. - -Walter. Won't you give me your answer, Mr. Verity? - -Ste. Yes. (_He rises, knocks at his pipe in the grate, puts it on the -mantelpiece and goes himself to the door left. His deliberate movements -cause Walter an agony, of which Stephen is quite aware. Stephen opens -the door and calls._) Lucy! - -Lucy (_off l._). Yes. - -Ste. Come in here. (_He leaves the door open and goes below door. Enter -Lucy Verity. She is twenty-one, pretty, dressed in a skirt and blouse, -pointing to a very modest dress allowance. Her hair is plainly dressed. -Obviously her father is her master, but she is not without indications -of a will of her own. Walter rises as she enters._) Here's a friend of -yours. Tells me he wants to marry you. - -(_Lucy crosses r. of table._) - -Lucy (_anxiously_). Yes, father. - -Ste. It's true, then? (_Motions her to sit._) - -Lucy. Yes. (_Sits r. of table._) - -Ste. Well, listen to me. He's a curate. Curates always marry young -and have enormous families on no income. (_Walter makes an attempt to -protest; Stephen proceeds unmoved._) I advise you not to marry him. -If he wants a wife, he'll not go begging one for long. There's always -crowds of silly girls ready to help a chap to button his collar behind. - -Walter. Mr. Verity, this isn't a joke to us. - -Ste. I don't know that losing Lucy 'ud be a joke to me. - -Walter. I can very well believe that. But it's a thing that's bound to -come to you sooner or later. - -Ste. You're making a mistake. It isn't bound to come at all. My -daughter's no need to find a man to keep her. She's a head on her -shoulders and sense enough to know when she's well off. Who's going to -look after my house if Lucy marries? Tell me that, young man. - -Walter. I really haven't thought about it, Mr. Verity. - -Ste. And I'm not going to. - -Walter. There'd be plenty of time to consider that. We're not proposing -to get married to-morrow. - -Ste. 'Um. Very good of you. Want a long engagement, eh? - -Walter. Moderately. - -Ste. And hope I'll be dead and out of your way first? (_Sitting behind -table c._) - -Lucy. Father! - -Ste. You hold your tongue. I'll get you to talk in a minute. (_To -Walter._) What do you want to wait for? - -Walter. I'm hoping to get a living before long. - -Ste. So you _have_ proposed on nothing a year. I thought as much. - -Walter (_with excessive dignity_). I'm not without money, sir. I could -afford to marry at once. - -Ste. Could you now? And what might you call being not without money? - -Walter. I've £150 a year. - -Ste. You plutocrat! Lucy, do you hear that? He's £150 a year. Nice sort -of marrying income, that is. Oh, but perhaps I'm wronging you. What's -your father going to do for you when you marry? - -Walter. I don't know. I haven't asked him. - -Ste. Well, give a guess at it. - -Walter. Nothing, probably. He gave me an expensive education. - -Ste. Then he made a bad investment if it's only worth £150 a year to you -to-day. I had no education and I'm worth--well, never mind. Lucy, tell -him what I've been telling you to-night. - -Lucy. What you told me? - -Ste. Don't repeat my words like a fool. Go on. You've got your chance of -talking now. - -Lucy. But---- - -Ste. So like a woman to be backward at tongue-wagging, isn't it? - -Lucy (_as if repeating a lesson_). You told me that mother left me money -which you've, increased by investment till it's now capable of yielding -£1,000 a year, and since my twenty-first birthday a week ago the money -lies to my credit at the bank. - -Ste. That's right. Now, my gallant £3 a weeker, what have you got to say -to that? - -Walter. Of course I didn't know. - -Ste. No. I'll gamble you didn't. You fancied I lived in a small house -because I couldn't afford a big 'un. That's a regular Polygon notion. -You're used to their way of living up to your income and as much beyond -as you've pluck for. When a man's worked as hard as I have he don't -spend as fast as he earns. He sticks to what he's got. - -Walter. I knew you were a successful man, sir. - -Ste. I've made my way. I began low and I'm no class now, bar what they -think of me at the bank--and that's a fat lot more than they think of -any fine Polygon gentlemen. Would you like to know where Lucy's bit -comes from? - -Walter. Really, I'm---- - -Ste. Her grandfather kept the _Black Bull_. That's where it was made, -except what I've added to it. Stinks of beer, that money does. Pubs were -a good thing in his time for a landlord that kept off the drink. - -Walter. I've no doubt it was honestly made. - -Ste. Aye, ye _would_ think that now you fancy your chance of fingering -it. It was made in the way of business same as my own was, and that -means the best man won and he hadn't time to stand still and think about -honesty. Too busy downing the other fellow for that. And now you've got -it. That's me, sir, builder and contractor, and married a publican's -daughter. Feeling as keen set on Lucy as you were? - -Walter. I don't believe very much in artificial class distinctions, Mr. -Verity. - -Ste. Don't you? Not in your business hours, you mean. Not so long as you -remember you're a parson. - -Lucy. Father! (_Rises._) - -Ste. Well, what's the matter with you? Do you want to marry him? - -Lucy. Yes. - -Ste. You're a fool. You've £1,000 a year. You're an heiress. He's a -pauper.. - -Walter. I'm not a pauper, but I quite agree. - -From the worldly point of view---- - -Ste. It's the only view I care-about. (_To Lucy._) With your money you -can look high. - -Lucy. Thanks, father. When I want to buy a husband, I'll let you know. -I'm thinking of marrying one at present. - -Ste. (_immensely surprised_). Hullo! Showing spirit, are you? (_Rises._) - -Lucy. It's the first time, if I am. - -Ste. And it had better be the last, if you don't want to quarrel. -I'm not one of these weak-kneed modern fathers that let themselves -be browbeaten by their own children. Perhaps you think you'll get him -whether I consent or not? - -Lucy. I hope you will consent. (_Pause._), - -Ste. I'm not fond of curates, Lucy. It's a soft job, and a real man -looks for a fighting chance in life. - -Walter. I get plenty of fighting to do, Mr. Verity. - -Ste. Who do you fight with? - -Walter. Evil, in every shape and form. - -Ste. 'Um, the devil's game for a few rounds yet. - -Walter. He's an old hand, and if we haven't knocked him out we're -weakening his defence. - -Ste. Well, I'll give you a chance of showing it. - -Walter. In a good cause, I hope. - -Ste. The cause is all right. You're a parson. Got the good of the poor -at heart and all that sort of thing? - -Walter. I hope so. - -Ste. Yes. (_Briskly._) Well now, about Lucy. - -Walter. Is that the fight? - -Ste. I'm coming to the fight. You say you love her. - -Walter. I do. (_Stephen is between them._) - -Ste. (_to Lucy_). You love him? - -Lucy. Yes. (_Lucy r., Stephen c., Walter l._) - -Ste. (_holding up his hands evenly_). Quits so far. Income on the male -side £150 a year. (_Surveys his right hand._) Income on the female -side £1,000. (_Depressing his left hand as if weighing the incomes in -scales._) Hullo! wo! something wrong there. Doesn't balance. - -Walter (_bitterly_). Do you think I don't know it? - -Ste. (_dropping his hands_). Yes. You've hooked your fish, my boy. But -you're a long way off landing her yet. - -Walter. Tell me what you want me to do. - -Ste. (_curtly_). Earn her. - -Walter. Yes, but how? (_Steps forward._) - -Ste. By fighting. By doing something for the good of the town. There's -this proposal to buy up the Polygon. - -Walter (_eagerly_). Yes? - -Ste. Well, now you know what you've to do. You know what Polygon people -are and you know what the town needs. - -Walter. The town needs space and decent houses. - -Ste. That's what you've to rub into your Polygon set, and you'll not -find 'em seeing it so easy. - -Walter. You can't blame them if they don't exactly welcome the idea of -turning out and making fresh homes in their old age. It's only natural. - -Ste. Oh, I'm not afraid of them. They'll not stop us. All you've to -do is to make them see they're an obstacle to progress in this town. -They're bound to see justice if they are narrow and selfish and too -puffed up with pride to know the townspeople and---- - -Walter. And they're my father and my friends, Mr. Verity. - -Ste. Yes, I knew you only disbelieved in class distinctions during -business hours. Scratch the curate and find the hypocrite. - -Walter (_keeping his temper smilingly_). As bad as all that? - -Ste. The moment I attack your class you're up in arms to defend 'em. - -Walter. No. They take up too much room in the Polygon. I never said they -didn't. But they'll not want to go. And surely the whole thing depends -on Sir Charles' readiness to sell. - -Ste. Yes, but a willing Polygon will make a lot of difference, and if -you want Lucy as bad as you say, here's your way to help yourself to -her. - -Walter. I don't see what Lucy has to do with it. - -Ste. Don't you? - -Walter. Well, do you? The town proposes to buy the Polygon for the -people. It's an excellent project and my plain duty is to further it. I -shan't fail in my duty merely because of the unpleasant unheaval in the -lives of a few people who happen to be dear to me. - -Ste. Oh! Well, I don't want words, I want deeds. Succeed and I'll think -about calling you son-in-law--if Lucy doesn't change her mind meantime. - -Walter. I can't see why you insist on making a kind of bribe of Lucy -when there's only one course open to me in any case. - -Ste. (_grimly_). I'm making sure of things. - -Lucy. Father, you don't doubt---- - -Ste. I always doubt an untried man. I doubt if he'll have the pluck to -face old Vining in the Polygon--I doubt lots of things. Put it that I'm -giving him some Dutch courage to stiffen his back. - -Walter (_desperately_). I don't want Dutch courage. Is there any way of -convincing you that I mean what I say? - -Ste. There's going and doing it. - -Walter. Very well, I will. (_Moving as if to go._) Ste. (_stopping -him_). Remember, you're not engaged to Lucy yet. - -Walter. I understand. (_Crosses r._) - -Ste. That'll do, then. You know what you've to do. Good-night. - -Walter. Yes. Good-night, Mr. Verity. - -(_Lucy moves towards right door._) - -Ste. (_to Lucy_). You stay where you are. Say good-night to him while -I've got my eye on you. He can find the front door without your help. - -(_Lucy and Walter shake hands, R._) - -Walter. Good-night. - -(_Exit Walter, r. A slight pause. Stephen eyes Lucy from head to foot -before speaking. Lucy crosses and sits l. of table._) - -Ste. (_before fire, judicially_). It strikes me pretty forcibly I've -brought a fool into the world. (_Sharply._) How long's this been going -on behind my back? - -Lucy (_with an air of standing up to him_). Nothing's gone on behind -your back. I told Walter at once he must speak to you. - -Ste. Umph! If you'd told me you wanted help to send him about his -business there'd have been some sense in it. But you backed him up. -You showed, fight. You're getting proud, my girl. - -Lucy. I've grown up, father. - -Ste. Grown up, have you? All right. If you fancy you're too old to come -to me for advice you can do without. - -Lucy. You know I want your advice. - -Ste. So as you can do opposite, eh? - -Lucy. Oh, that's unjust, father. I never disobeyed you in my life. - -Ste, And you'd better not begin now, or you and I will fall out. Ha! -So you're grown up, are you? Yes, you've been a legal woman for a week. -Only I've been a legal man for thirty years and you'll allow I know the -world better than you. - -Lucy. Of course. - -Ste. Oh, you do agree to that, do you? - -Lucy. Certainly. - -Ste. Well, I tell you you'll be throwing yourself away on young -Montgomery..(_Persuasively._) He's not up to your weight, Lucy. Polygon -type, he is. You know, shove all your goods in the shop window. Live in -a big house for swank and get it dirt cheap because the neighbourhood's -gone down. They're not solid.. Lucy, you and I together could buy up the -whole, crowd of swells to-morrow.. - -Lucy. I fell in love with Walter before I knew I'd a penny piece in the -world. I don't think my money must make any difference. - -Ste. Don't be silly. Money makes all differences. We're all born -without pockets. It's pockets or no pockets that makes us rich or poor. -Yesterday you didn't knew you'd a pocket and the Polygon looked big and -young Montgomery, he looked big. I don't blame you. It looked a good -thing. - -Lucy. It looks the same to-day as it did yesterday. - -Ste. Women are fools over money. I did think _you'd_ more sense. -(_Dogmatically._) Money should, marry money. (_With rising irritation._) -It's all my eye to talk of throwing away your money on a penniless -curate. - -Lucy (_rises_). I'm sorry to disagree. Obedience has its limits. I hope -we shan't quarrel, father, but I'm a free woman now and I warn you--oh, -I'm sorry. - -Ste. Sorry, are you? I'm a hard man, Lucy. I'm a masterful man. I know -that. But I'm a soft-hearted fool where you're concerned, or I'd let you -marry the curate and suffer the consequences. But I've got ambitions -for you if you've none for yourself. (_R.d._) When you marry there's two -things for it--money or birth--and you'll not find either in Polygon. -They're a bad imitation of the real thing--about as near as the shoddy -Bamford makes it to honest broadcloth. Not one of them with a handle to -his name. (_Crosses to Lucy._) If you must get married, I'll find you a -husband. Leave it to me. And don't be in such a hurry to leave your old -dad if you are a free woman. - -Lucy (_quietly_). I'm marrying Walter Montgomery, father; but we're not -in any hurry. - -Ste. Going to be obstinate, are you? All right, We'll see who'll win. - -Lucy. You've already given a conditional consent. - -Ste. Don't you worry about that. He may help to keep the Polygon set -quiet till I've put the business through. - -(_Puts ink on table from sideboard._) - -Lucy. You'd use him and then throw him over afterwards. Father, you -don't mean that! - -Ste. What do you know about business? I'd use the devil himself if I -thought he'd smooth my way to a bit of money. - -Lucy. But this isn't money, is it? It's for the town. - -Ste. Oh, yes, of course, it's the town. - -Lucy. Then you'd---- - -(_Janet, the maid, opens the door right to Stephen's obvious relief._) - -Janet. Mr. Bamford, Mr. Alcorn. - -Ste. Ah, that's what I'm waiting for. Don't go beyond call, Lucy. I'll -be wanting you soon. - -(_Exit Lucy l._) - -(_Enter r. Bamford and Alcorn._) - -(_Samuel Bamford is a wealthy shoddy manufacturer. He is a bachelor of -forty, a bon viveur and a sportsman. His shrewd ruddy face shows above a -white four-in-hand scarf, controlled by a horseshoe gold pin. He is well -covered with flesh, but not yet as gross as he probably will be in a few -years. His clothes are slightly sportsmanlike in cut and he wears spats. -A noticeably heavy gold chain crosses his stomach. Nathaniel Alcorn is -tall, spare and dark. His face is yellowish, with a drooping moustache. -He wears a frock coat, and his prosperity, though evident, is less -ostentatious than Bamford's._) - -Ste. Good-evening, gentlemen. (_To Janet._) Send Mr. Smithson up when he -comes. No one else. Janet. Yes, sir. (_Exit Janet._) - -Alcorn (_briskly_). Evening, Verity. - -(_Bamford nods bluffly at Stephen._) - -Ste. Sit down. Any news? - -(_Stephen sits c. above table, Bamford r. and Alcorn l. of table._) - -Alcorn (_producing letter from his pocket_). Yes, my brother's sent this -on. (_Hands letter to Stephen._) From Sir Charles' agent. He's abroad, -Sir Charles. - -Bamford. Yes, confound him. How dare he be abroad when we want him? - -(_Stephen reads the letter._) - -Ste. (_looking up_). Dodging duns. (_To Bamford._) You've seen this? - -Bamford (_gloomily_). Yes. - -Alcorn (_equally gloomily_). It's not encouraging. - -Ste. (_returning the letter to Alcorn_). What isn't encouraging? - -Alcorn. Why, this. (_Reading the letter._) "Speaking for myself alone, I -consider it extremely improbable that Sir Charles will consent to a sale -of the Polygon to your company." (_Leaves letter on the table._) - -Ste. There's nothing to be afraid of there. - -Alcorn. I don't know so much about that. These land owning fellows know -they're no good at business. They leave it to their agents, and if the -agent writes like that, you can take it he knows. - -Ste. He knows all right. Sir Charles isn't a business man, but his -agent is. If there's a chance of selling, that agent wants a top price; -naturally he writes that way to bluff us into raising our offer. - -Bamford. You've a head on your shoulders, Verity. - -Ste. (_to Bamford_). It all depends on what you told us. If your -information's correct, they'll be only too glad to sell. - -Alcorn. Yes. It's you that told us Sir Charles is in low water. - -Bamford. He's dropped a pot of money lately. It's a well known fact. -I know one bookie that's taken ten thousand off him in the season, and -he's not the only one. - -Alcorn (_sanctimoniously_). Deplorable wastrel. - -Ste. Eh? Oh, aye! (_Ironically._) Lamentable prodigality. Shocking -extravagance, isn't it, Alcorn? - -But it suits our book. The faster he goes the pace the better for us, so -you might as well be decently grateful instead of getting mealy mouthed -over it. - -Bamford. Me and Alcorn were arguing coming along here what's to be done -with the land. - -Alcorn. Aye, but as I told him, the first thing is to get possession of -the land. - -Ste. Now, don't you worry about that, Alcorn. The land's as good as ours -at our own price. Sir Charles 'ull jump at it. - -Bamford. Well, I'm for building on it. - -Alcorn. And I'm not so sure. - -Bamford. Of course you're on my side, Verity? - -Ste. Your side? - -Bamford. For building. - -Ste. No. - -Bamford. What, and you a builder! - -Ste. I've finished building now. I'm getting old. I've made my money. - -Alcorn. I'm out for making an open space of it. - -Bamford. You're a blooming philanthropist. - -Ste. No, he's not. It's a pity you missed our last meeting. You don't -grasp the idea yet. We buy the land from Sir Charles. - -Bamford. Yes. - -Ste. Then we create a demand in the town for a recreation ground. - -Alcorn. And you back it up in the Council. - -Ste. And Alcorn as borough surveyor approves officially. - -Alcorn. We force the town to buy from us. - -Ste. And get a quick return of our capital with a clinking profit. - -Bamford (_obstinately_), Well, I thought it was houses. Houses are safe, -and you'd easier raise a cry for houses than playing fields. - -Ste. Depends how you go about it. Work it proper and you could get them -yelling like kids for a municipal service of flying machines. - -(_Enter Smithson, r._) - -Smithson. Good evening, gentlemen all. - -(_Stephen grunts and rises._) - -Alcorn. } Good evening - -Bamford. } Good evening - -(_Stephen gives Smithson his chair, and takes the vacant one r. c. of -table._) - -Smiths. Sorry I'm late, but I've been employing my time well. Sowing the -seed. - -Ste. Been getting at the voters? - -(_Smithson sits between Alcorn and Stephen._) Smiths. Yes, one or two. - -Ste. You've been wasting time. I've collared a man who'll bring in -voters by the score. - -Alcorn. Who might that be, Mr. Verity? - -Ste. Young Montgomery. The parson lad. For all their talk, the Church -still has a big hold on the poorer classes. It'll pay to have that boy -on our side. He'll talk to them in the Polygon, too. Bamford. Aye. Good -man, that, Verity. - -Ste. (_to Smithson_). There's a letter you'd better read. - -(_Smithson reads it._) - -Bamford (_sullenly; emerging from a silent sulk_). I thought it was -houses. - -Ste. Well, it isn't. It 'ud take too much capital to cover the Polygon -with houses. - -Bamford. It was houses. You've altered it. I ought to have been told. No -one told me. - -Smiths (_looking up from the letter_). He'll come round. - -Ste. Yes. - -Bamford (_taking it personally; indignantly_). Who'll come round? I -won't come round. Houses it was and houses it's going to be. - -Ste. (_moving Smithson to give Alcorn the letter. Alcorn pockets it. -Dryly._) We spoke of Sir Charles. - -Bamford. Oh! - -Smiths, (_tentatively_). I fancy, myself, houses would be a safer -battle-cry with the people, Mr. Verity. - -Ste. Damn the people. Who cares for the people? - -Alcorn (_rising_). I really must protest. Such language! (_He seems -genuinely shocked._) - -Ste. (_impatiently_). It's so silly to talk as if the people mattered. -Government by the people! Any fool can lead 'em where he wants. - -Alcorn (_sitting_). We must consider their feelings a bit. Think of the -rates. - -Ste. Oh, we'll consider their feelings all right. We must make 'em feel -what we want 'em to feel.. Then they'll vote for what we want and -kid themselves we do it for their sake. That's how to consider their -feelings. When I was a lad there was a trout stream ran through -Carrington. It's a sewer now, but there were trout in it then and I've -caught 'em by tickling their bellies. That's the way to catch voters, -Mr. Alcorn. Tickle 'em. - -Alcorn. Yes, but the trout died. The voter lives to vote next time. - -Ste. Go on tickling. I'm an old hand and I've never known it fail. - -Bamford. You're not attending to me. I say houses. Smithson says houses. - -Smiths, (_in alarm_). Oh, no, I don't. Indeed I don't. I only say houses -'ull bring votes quicker than playing fields. - -Alcorn. I suppose you couldn't shout houses and make it the other thing -afterwards? - -Smiths. I'm surprised at you, Mr. Alcorn. (_Very righteously._) I stand -for purity in municipal life. - -Bamford. Yes. Always be honest with your electors. - -Ste. Alcorn's got none. He's a permanent official with a certain job, or -he'd know better. - -Bamford. If I provide a quarter of the capital, I've a right---- - -Ste. You've every right, Mr. Bamford, and we shall do nothing without -your approval. - -Bamford. Then I approve houses. As a ratepayer-- - -Ste. (_definitely_). Only, if it's houses, I can't go on. -(_Consternation._) - -Smiths. (_frightened_). We can't do without your influence. - -Bamford (_grudgingly_). No, we can't do without Verity. - -Ste. Our share of what 'ull go on the rates is a flea bite. Our profit -'ull cover it a hundred times. I don't deny the town needs houses, needs -'em badly, only I haven't the capital for houses. My money's tied up and -I'm not touching it. The money I'm putting into this isn't my own. - -(_Alcorn writes on a scrap of paper and passes it to Smithson, who -reads, nods, and passes it to Stephen._) - -Bamford. Who's is it, if it's a fair question? Ste. My daughter's. I'll -want it back quick. Alcorn. Your daughter's got money, then? Bamford -(_very interested_). Your daughter's? Nice looking girl, your daughter. -(_Slight pause._) - -Well, I'm using my own money and----(_Irritably._) - -What's that you're passing round? Another secret from me? - -Ste. (_blandly_). No. (_Passing him the paper._) Bamford (_reading_). -"Make Bamford Mayor next year." (_He looks up at each in turn._) Um. -Well. Bamford's willing. - -Alcorn. I think it's very suitable. - -Ste. Yes. We'll call it a recreation ground, eh, Mr. Mayor-Elect? - -Bamford. I'm not a favourite with the psalmsinging set, you know. - -Alcorn. I've got them in my pocket. They'll be squared all right. - -Ste. If I say mayor, you'll be mayor. You make a bit on the mayoral -allowance, you know. Needn't spend above half of it. - -Bamford. All right. No need to say more. It's a recreation ground and -damn the expense. (_The tension passes._) - -Ste. Right. Got those papers with you, Alcorn? Alcorn. Yes. (_Fussily -producing and smoothing the typewritten articles of association._) - -Ste. Your signature's wanted, Bamford. Bamford (_examining the paper_). -Land Development Syndicate, Ltd. Sounds well, anyhow. Hullo! What's -this? Registered Offices, London Wall, E.C. - -Alcorn. My brother's office in London. Bamford. Why? - -Ste. Wouldn't do to have a local address here. Some busybody 'ud smell -it out. - -Bamford. I see. (_Suspiciously._) What does his brother get out of it? - -Alcorn. Nothing; and he's put down three of his clerks for one share -apiece to make up the statutory seven shareholders. Those are their -signatures above Smithson's and mine. - -(_Bamford nods._) - -Ste. (_dipping pen_). There's a pen. - -(_Bamford signs._) - -I'll witness. (_Calling off l._) Lucy! - -Bamford. I deliver this as my act and deed. - -(_Stephen signs without sitting. Enter Lucy, l. All rise._) - -Lucy. Did you call, father? - -Alcorn (_advancing and speaking with the respect due to a capitalist_). -Good evening, Miss Verity. - -Ste. (_stepping back, and interposing impatiently_). Oh, never mind all -that; sit down, Lucy. (_Pushing her into his vacated chair and pointing -to the papers, handing pen._) Write your name there. - -Lucy (_vaguely_). My name? - -Ste. Yes. Can't you hear? See what it is? Lucy. No. - -(_Bamford's eyes are set on Lucy with the air of a butcher appraising a -sheep._) - -Ste. (_impatiently_). Oh, never mind. It 'ud take a week to make you -understand. You've some money lying at the bank. Mine's all tied up. I -want yours for a bit, so just sign your name there. (_Lucy signs._) Say -"I deliver this as my act and deed." - -Lucy. I deliver this as my act and deed. (_To Stephen._) It's your deed -really, you know. - -Ste. I'll witness. (_Signs._) Right. - -Lucy (_reading_). The Land Development Syndicate, Ltd. - -(_Stephen takes the paper from under her eyes, folds and hands it to -Alcorn._) - -Ste. You'll see to that, now? - -Alcorn. Yes. You're our partner, Miss Verity. Lucy (_standing_). But -what's it all about? - -Smiths. That's right, Miss Verity. Sign first and ask afterwards. - -Bamford. We're buying up the Polygon. Going to make a playing field of -it. - -(_Bamford down r._) - -Lucy. And presenting it to the town? - -(_Stephen alone doesn't look awkward._) - -Alcorn. Well---- - -Ste. (_curtly_). Yes, it 'ull come to the town. - -Lucy (_sentimentally_). How noble of you!' Oh, thank you! Thank you so -much for letting me take a share in this---- - -Ste. (_interrupting_). Yes; now you go and have your supper. It's -getting late. - -(_Exit Lucy, l._) - -Ste. Well, that concludes the business for tonight, gentlemen. Nothing -more to be done till we hear from Sir Charles. (_Puts chair back up -stage._) - -Alcorn. No, that's all. - -Ste. (_finally_). Good night, then. - -Alcorn. Good night, Verity. (_Crosses r._). - -Smiths. Good night. (_Shakes hands and crosses R._) . .. - -(_Smithson opens the door r. Alcorn follows him, pausing and looking -back at Bamford._) - -Alcorn. Coming, Bamford? - -Bamford. No, I want a word with Verity. - -Smiths, (_suspiciously_). Business, eh, Mr. Bamford? - -Bamford. Not about the Company. (_Glancing involuntarily after Lucy._) -Something else. - -(_Exeunt Smithson and Alcorn._) - -Ste. Well, Bamford? Have anything? I've a better port downstairs than -the Polygon toffs can run to. - -Bamford. No, thanks. - -(_Stephen looks relieved, Bamford sits. Their positions reproduce those -of Stephen and Walter at the opening._) - -Ste. (_taking his pipe from the mantelpiece_). I'll have a pipe, if you -don't mind. Well, what's up with you? - -Bamford (_jerking his thumb towards the left door_). It's about her. - -Ste. Aye? Well, I like a man that comes to the point sharp. - -Bamford. Perhaps you wouldn't call me a marrying man? (_Sitting below -fire._) - -Ste. You've not done it yet that I know of. - -Bamford. Never too late to mend. I'm a bit struck with that daughter of -yours, Verity. - -Ste. I noticed you were when I mentioned she had money. - -Bamford. Well, I'm the last man to deny that money's a very important -thing in life. - -Ste. It's a useful thing to have about the house. - -Bamford. I was thinking we might come to an arrangement. - -Ste. It's not impossible.. - -Bamford. Eh! - -Ste. Only she's a bit young. - -Bamford. Meaning to say I'm a bit old, eh? I'm sound and hearty. - -Ste. So's t'other fellow, and more her age. - -Bamford (_rising_). The other fellow?' - -Ste. (_remaining seated_). Aye. You thought you were being smart, didn't -you? Seeing a good thing and dashing at it prompt; but you're the second -man to come to me to-night over Lucy, for all that. - -Bamford (_anxiously_). Is she promised? - -Ste. No. . - -Bamford (_relieved_). Ah! - -Ste. The man that weds my daughter takes a tidy bit of money with her. - -Bamford. It'll find some more of its own kidney if she brings it to me. - -Ste. To tell you the truth, Sam, I'm not struck on the idea of losing -her at all. But she's got a fancy in her head and it's one I don't -cotton to. Best cure might be to put you there instead and be sure of -her not making a fool of herself. - -Bamford. Then I'm not too late. (_Sits again._) - -Ste. You're the best man up to now. - -Bamford. Well---- - -Ste. See here, Sam. It's like this. That girl can look high. Question -is, are you high enough? - -Bamford. Which way? - -Ste. Money. - -Bamford. Depends what you call high. - -Ste. Yes... (_half apologetically._) I've a right to know before I put -it to her. - -Bamford (_after slight hesitation_). Well, I'll tell you this: you know -what my father left? - -Ste. Yes. - -Bamford. There's more to-day. (_They exchange looks._) - -Ste. (_rising with resolution_). That 'ull do. (_Opens left door._) -Lucy, come back a minute. - -Bamford (_rises in alarm_). I'm not what you call a parlour ladies' man. - -Ste. I'll stand by you. - -(_Enter Lucy._) - -Now then. (_Crosses r._) - -Lucy. You want me? - -Ste. (_indicating Bamford_). He does. - -Bamford (_awkwardly_). Yes, I do, Miss Verity. That's just what I do. I -want you. - -(_Lucy is puzzled._) - -Ste. (_looking at her_). Well? - -Lucy (_turning from one to the other_). You want me. I'm here. What do -you want me for? - -Bamford (_l._). For better or for worse. (_Giggling genially._) - -Lucy (_freezing_). I don't understand you. - -Ste. (_roughly_). Don't play stupid now. You understand him well enough. - -Lucy. But---- (_Looking appealingly at Stephen._) - -Ste. Here's your chance, my girl. Here's your answer to the other -fellow. - -Lucy. I have given him my answer. - -Ste. Well, you can give, Mr.. Bamford his and say yes. He's got money. - -Bamford (_eagerly_). Yes, I've got money and I spend it. I'll give you -the time of your life. - -Lucy. Don't spoil this evening for me, Mr. Bamford. You've made me so -happy, so grateful to you all for letting me help in your charity. I -only knew to-night how rich I am. It frightened me--the thought of so -much money. I was afraid of it... of my unworthiness. Until you showed -me the way to use it well. I was proud that I... and now... father, this -isn't fair of you. - -Ste. What isn't fair? - -Lucy. Why didn't you tell Mr. Bamford? (_To Bamford._) I'm engaged. - -Ste. (_r.c._). Don't lie. You're not. - -Lucy (_bravely_). I choose to consider myself engaged. - -Ste. He's a pauper. Look here, my girl, you're rebellious to-night. I'm -master here. I'm not the sort of fool to let you twist me round your -little finger. Don't think because you're twenty-one and got a thousand -a year (_the sum moves Bamford visibly_) that you'll ride rough-shod -over me. (_More gently._) You've got to be sensible. (_Smacks table._) -You've got to do what I tell you. - -Bamford. You shall have your carriage and dress yourself as much as you -like; and what's more, marry me and you'll be. Mayoress of Carrington in -November. - -Ste. Wait a minute, Bamford, not so fast. - -Bamford. What's the matter? - -Ste. (_crossing l._). Engaged, if you like, but no wedding till the -Polygon deal's complete. The profits on that are mine. - -Bamford. Of course they are. I'll hand over your share when we've sold -to the town. - -Lucy. Sold! Profit! I thought---- - -Ste. Never mind what you thought. (_Goes up to Lucy._) That wasn't meant -for your ears. You'd better go back to the other room now. I'll talk to -you after Mr. Bamford's gone. (_Indicating her to exit._) - -Lucy. I hope. Mr. Bamford will remember I'm engaged. - -Ste. He'll remember you're going to be--to him. (_Crosses down r. above, -table._) - -Lucy. Father, I've obeyed you long enough. I'm twenty-one now, and I'm -going to take my own way. - -Bamford (_doubtfully_). I don't like the look of this, Verity. - -Ste. Look of what? - -Bamford. She's a bit of a Tartar, isn't she? - -Lucy. That's nothing to what I can do when I'm roused, Mr. Bamford. - -Ste. Pssh! It's the first time she's broken out like this. She'll be -tame enough next time you come. - -Lucy (_viciously_). Don't make too sure of that. - -Ste. I'm not afraid of that. It's a pity if a man can't do as he likes -with his own flesh and blood. - -Bamford (_warily_). Best sleep on it before you say more, Verity. - -Ste. (_going to Lucy_): Yes. Go to bed, Lucy, and say over to yourself, -I'm going to marry Mr. Bamford. Then you'll get used to the idea. - -Lucy. But I'm not. - -Ste. Aren't you? We'll see. - -Lucy. Yes, we will. (_At exit l._) - - -CURTAIN. - - - - -ACT III - -_Archibald Vining's house in the Polygon the following afternoon. The -room is large and lofty with the air of serene mellowness common to old -houses. The door is r., behind the large mantelpiece. Behind is a French -window, beyond which the-garden is seen. The room is panelled; its -incidental trappings suggest occupants hardly able to live up to their -surroundings; the furniture is faded; the carpet worn. Walter sits on -a chair to the r. of the window against the wall. Down l. is his father -Augustus Montgomery at an escritoire. On a large settee placed crosswise -l. sit Mrs. Montgomery and Mrs. Vining. Archibald Vining is posed with -an elbow on the mantelpiece, looking across at Montgomery. The ladies -gaze at him with admiration. Montgomery Senior is sixty, rather bald, -weak-faced, futile, dressed in light grey morning coat and trousers. -Vining is ruddy, irascible, with white moustache and grey hair, in black -morning coat and grey trousers. The women are both rather foolish. Mrs. -Montgomery is stout and Mrs. Vining lean, but there is otherwise not -much to choose between them in age, which is about fifty, or anything -else. Their dress is conventional without being fashionable or -expensive. They live next door and Mrs. Montgomery has come in without -a hat. The light is of a sunny afternoon and there is no fire. Marjorie -Vining, a tall athletic girl, sits by the window c., with a tennis -racket, looking, increasingly bored._ - - -[Illustration: 0093] - - -Vining (_dictating_). "Your rumoured intention to sell the Polygon"--got -that, Montgomery? - -Montgomery. Yes. (_Looking up timidly._) Excuse me, Vining, I can't help -saying it again, but are you quite sure we form a quorum? - -Vin. (_assertively_). Of course we do, my dear fellow. Don't distress -yourself. - -Mont, (_desperately_). But--but there are five houses in the Polygon and -only two are represented here. - -Vin. We know the views of the rest. - -Mrs. Vin. Their views are ours. - -Vin. Quite so. Allow for unavoidable absentees, and your scruples -vanish. Shall I proceed? - -(_Approval from settee. Montgomery bends and writes._) - -"Dear Sir,--At an indignation meeting of your tenants in the -Polygon----" - -(_Montgomery writes at intervals, when others talk._) - -Mrs. V. Archibald, have we any right to be indignant with Sir Charles? - -Vin. We _are_ indignant, aren't we? - -Mrs. V. Yes. But will Sir Charles quite like us to tell him so? - -Mont, (_pathetically_). It's deucedly--beg pardon--it's hard to be -diplomatic. How would "protest meeting" do? - -Vin. Too political. Let "indignation" stand. We must show him he's -roused the sleeping lion. - -Mont, (_acquiescent_). I'll underline it if you like. - -Vin. No! No! Firmness, my dear Monty, firmness, not ostentation. - -Mrs. M. (_gushingly to Mrs. Vining_). What a man of affairs Mr. Vining -is! - -Vin. (_filling his chest_). I flatter myself I put things through, Mrs. -Montgomery. Now, Monty! - -Mont. (_reading_). "At the indignation meeting--um--held on the--um--it -was resolved to respectfully address----" - -Mrs. V. Oh! - -Vin. (_reprovingly_). Well, Cecilia? - -Mont, (_puzzled_). That's in order, I think. - -Vin. Quite. Go on. - -Mrs. V. But, Archibald, to address a split infinitive to a baronet! - -Vin. I stand corrected. Thanks, Cecilia. - -Mont. I don't quite see---------- - -Vin. (_moving him to write_). It was resolved respectfully to -address---- - -Mont, (_correcting and reading_). To address a letter to you on the -subject of your rumoured intention to sell the Polygon. - -Vin. Correct, I think? (_Approval from the settee._) - -Mont. (_proceeding_). It is our hope that should this information -be correct, bracket, which we hesitate to believe, bracket, you will -reconsider your decision to give over to the hands of the jerry builder -the only residences in Carrington habitable by persons of refinement. - -Vin. Excellent. (_Approval from settee. Vining crosses l. to above -Montgomery and takes letter; patronisingly._) You write a clerkly hand, -Monty. (_Picks up pen._) I'll sign as the oldest resident present. - -(_Montgomery swallows a protest, remaining seated, Vining signs, bending -over._) - -What a pity Sir Charles is abroad. We shall be kept waiting for his -reply. - -Mont. You got his address from Dunkerly? - -Vin. (_putting envelope before him_). Yes. _Hotel Métropole_, Monte -Carlo. - -(_Montgomery writes and encloses letter. Vining goes to French window -and opens it._) - -I'll have this posted at once. (_Calls._) Pilling! - -(_He returns. Montgomery crosses r. and sits above fireplace._) - -Mont. Ah, well! That's settled.. - -Vin. (_sitting at desk_). Yes. - -Mar. (_rises_). Jolly glad to hear it. I'm fed up. Come out and play -tennis, Walter. (_Puts chair down c._) - -Walter. Not this afternoon, Marjorie. - -Mar. Oh, be a sport. - -Walter. Some other time. - -Mar. It's always some other time with you, now. I'm forgetting what you -look like in flannels. You'll lose all your form if you don't practice a -bit. - -Walter. I'm afraid I must let it go. (_Rises and crosses l._) - -Mar. It's pure slacking. Don't be so beastly serious, if you are in -Orders. Come and be a muscular Christian on the lawn. - -Walter. Something more serious to-day, Marjorie. Mar. Oh, rot! What's -the good of having the courts if you don't use 'em? - -Mont. They certainly might be used more by you young people. - -Walter. They might be used by hundreds of people if---- - -Mar. Oh, blow, you're getting on your hobby horse again. I'm going to -practice putting if you won't give me a game. You are a rotter. - -(_Exit Marjorie c. to l. Pilling appears c. from l. in his -shirt-sleeves._) - -Vin. (_closes desk and crosses up l.c._). Oh, Pilling, just post this -letter at once. Are your hands clean? - -Pilling (_inspecting his very black hands_). Not very, sir. - -Vin. Go and wash them and come back for it. - -Pilling. Yes, sir. - -(_Pilling vanishes to r. Vining crosses to fire._) - -Mrs. M. I can't understand Sir Charles wanting to sell at all. - -Mrs. V. No. What would Carrington be without the Polygon? - -Walter (_quietly_). I'm not sure that it wouldn't be a good deal better -off, Mrs. Vining. - -(_They all stare at him astonished._) - -Vin. What an extraordinary thing to say. Why, we _are_ Carrington. - -Mrs. V. We've always lived in the Polygon. We've taken root, -Carrington's gone on its way---- - -Vin. A precious bad way, too. - -Mont. Other times, other manners, Vining. - -Vin. Carrington has no manners--but the Polygon has stood aloof. Thank -God we leisured people have no connection with the town roughs. - -Walter. Then how can you say you _are_ Carrington? - -Vin. We are the best people in Carrington, sir. Do you judge a place by -its quality or by the counting of heads? - -Walter. I wish I could make you see their point of view, Mr. Vining. - -Vin. (_snorting_). Their point of view. - -Walter (_quietly_). They have one, you know. Before that letter goes to -Sir Charles, I'd like to try---- - -Mrs. M. Walter, remember what the Polygon means to all of us. - -Walter. It's a survival, mother. It's out of date in the midst of a -modern manufacturing town. - -Mont, (_pathetically_). But--but, Walter, it means so tremendously much -to us all. It may be out of date, but I did hope it was going to last -our time. - -Vin. It's _got_ to last our time. (_Sincerely._) I'm not a deeply -religious man, but I get reverent when I think of the Polygon. - -Mrs. M. That's just it. We all love the Polygon. - -Mrs. V. The five houses. - -Mont. Chatsworth. - -Mrs. V. Apsley House. - -Mrs. M. Marlborough Lodge. - -Vin. Kenilworth and Abbotsford. - -Mont. And our gardens. - -Vin. And the tennis ground in the middle. - -Walter. Which nobody uses except Marjorie. - -Mrs. V. Are we to lose it _all?_ - -Vin. (_with appropriate chest expansion_). Not if Archibald Vining can -prevent it. - -Walter. You make it very hard for me to go on. - -Vin. Then don't go on. - -Walter. (_crosses c._). I must. Father, Mr. Vining, you--all of you--are -wrapped up in the Polygon. You hardly go out of it except to the -station. | - -Mont. There's nothing else in Carrington to go to. - -Vin. Thank goodness we've no business to take us into those mean -streets. - -Walter. You haven't, Mr. Vining, but I have. I see the other side of the -picture, if you don't. - -Vin. Well, my dear boy, every town has its back stairs. - -Walter (_sits c._). Carrington's all back stairs, and cramped stairs -they are. There's no breathing space. What right have we to monopolize -the air? We've room to move about--so much room that you need never go -out of the Polygon. - -Mont. We pay for the privilege, don't we? - -Walter. Yes, you pay for it in money and they pay for the lack of it in -health. - -Mont. If there's overcrowding it's a matter for the town authorities to -deal with. - -Walter. They want to deal with it. They want the Polygon. - -Vin. They can't have it. They must know it 'ud be cutting off their nose -to spite their face. The Polygon's essential to Carrington. - -Walter. Why? - -Vin. It _is_ Carrington. I tell you this, young man, Carrington's -last state would be worse than its first if you took us away. We--we -circulate money. We give the place a tone. - -Walter. It's a tone the place could do without. It could do without -your money. We are not Carrington. The factories are the essential -Carrington. Mr. Vining, (_rising and taking a step to r. c._) let me -show you what it's like--whole families living--no, not living--pigging -in a single room. Rooms cut up amongst two or three families. All in -Carrington, our neighbours in Christian Carrington. - -Vin. Thanks. I'm not the sort of man to put my head into a noose. I -prefer to keep out of infection. - -Walter (_appealingly_). Don't send that letter to Sir Charles. Don't try -to influence his decision. The workpeople can't move out of the town. -They must live near their work. You can move. Dividends can reach you -anywhere just as easily. - -Mrs. V. Move of ourselves! Never! - -Mrs. M. Walter, you don't understand what you're asking us to do. You're -young. You can change easily, because you're young and restless. But -when you've lived in a house that's dear to you till it's become part of -your life, you can't leave it in your old age. - -(_Walter crosses above settee._) - -Mont. I can't leave my garden. You know that. No other garden would mean -the same to me. - -Vin. My dear friends, you needn't worry. Carrington would never let -us go. Walter's got hold of the wrong end of the stick. We're an -institution. - -Walter. How do you know? Did you ever ask them what they think of us? - -Vin. I'll ask Pilling. You'll see. (_Crosses up c._) - -Walter. I shouldn't advise you to. I know Pilling's home. He's a wife -and child. They all live in one room. - -Vin. Why, I pay the man twenty-two shillings a week. What does he live -like that for? - -Walter. He's no choice. Pilling 'ull tell you what Carrington thinks of -the Polygon. - -Vin. He's a long time washing his hands. (_Goes up to window and looks -off r._) - -Walter. But you're not going to send that letter now. - -Vin. Certainly we are. (_Returns r.c._) - -Walter. But---- - -Mont. I think we're all agreed on that? - -Vin. Quite. No stone unturned. That fellow who's coming, what's his -name--you know, Walter--that alderman---- - -Walter. Verity? - -Vin. Verity. That's it. We must make sure of the town authorities. A -little affability goes a long way with people of that sort. - -Mrs. V. Yes. He's not the type of man you're accustomed to meet in my -drawing-room, Mrs. Montgomery, still---- - -Mont. It's in a good cause, Mrs. Vining. - -Mrs. M. He's an architect, isn't he? - -Walter. He's a builder who's his own architect. That's why his houses -fall to pieces. - -Mrs. M. That's what I say. An architect. Almost a professional man. - -Walter. But you mustn't pin your faith on Verity. He's, the last man---- - -Vin. Walter, as a Churchman, I am always willing to accept your views on -religious matters. But when it comes to worldly questions, permit me to -have an opinion of my own. - -(_Pilling appears and knocks on the window without advancing into the -room._) - -Oh, Pilling! - -Pilling (_in c.o._). Yes, sir? - -Vin. Come in. - -(_Pilling advances a foot and stands awkwardly near the window._) - -Pilling. Letter ready, sir? - -Vin. (_absently_). Yes, yes. (_Montgomery rises gets letter from -mantel; hands it to Vining._) There you are. - -(_Up to Pilling, who turns to go._) - -One moment, Pilling, I want to ask you something. Can you tell me how -people in the town talk of the Polygon? - -Pilling. How they talk, sir? - -Vin. Yes. What's the general opinion of us? Pilling. It's not for the -likes of me to talk against the gentry. - -Walter. They _do_ talk against us, then? - -Pilling (_awkwardly_). Well, sir----- (_He pauses._) - -Walter (_helping him out_). Tell them how you live, Pilling. - -Pilling. You can tell that as well as me. - -Vin. (_impatiently_). Yes, yes, but that's not the point. Doesn't your -class feel what a privilege it is to have us living in your midst? - -Pilling (_earnestly_). _I'd_ be badly off without you, sir. - -Vin. You'd be sorry to lose us, eh? - -Walter. Of course _he_ would. A gardener's no use if there's nothing to -garden. Only Carrington's not a garden city. It's a manufacturing town. - -Mont. (_with back to fire, to Pilling_). Supposing now you weren't a -gardener? - -Vin. Yes. What's the common view of us? - -Pilling. Well, sir, it 'ud seem to me against nature if the town had no -quality in it. - -Vin. (_turning triumphantly to Walter_). You see? (_Patronising -Pilling._) You're perfectly right, Pilling. I've noticed it before. -(_Talking at the ladies._) The masses always have this instinctive -clinging to their superiors. They know we're the source of all -prosperity. - -Pilling (_shyly_). There's queer talk, sometimes, sir. _I_ know -gentlemen are different from us, but there's men in this town wanting to -tell me we're all born equal--asking your pardon, sir. - -Mrs. V. You know better than that, Pilling. - -Pilling. Yes, mum. - -Vin. You could never get on without us. - -Pilling. No, sir. - -Walter. Be honest, man. No one's going to hurt you for it. Tell us the -truth, about the overcrowding and the waste of valuable space in the -Polygon. - -Mrs. V. Yes. Tell us the truth, Pilling, and say you know how necessary -we are. - -Pilling. You're bread and butter to me, mum, and I know it. - -Vin. There you are, Walter. - -Walter (_impatiently_). But he's an exception. He's - -Vin. (_interrupting_). You've got the letter, Pilling. - -Pilling. Yes, sir. (_Turning, then courageously._) There's no denying as -the overcrowding's something cruel. I wouldn't say a word of it, not to -you, sir, if I didn't know and see and suffer it. - -(_Montgomery sits again below fire._) - -Vin. That'll do, Pilling. - -Pilling. Yes, sir. (_Turns to go._) - -Walter (_to Vining, crossing above sofa c._). You heard that. Won't you -wait? Wait till Verity's been. You'll catch the same post. - -Vin. (_pause_). Give me the letter, Pilling, I'll keep it back a little. - -Pilling. Yes, sir.. - -(_Exit Pilling, c._) - -Walter. Thank you, Mr. Vining. - -(_Maid announces Mr. Verity. Maid withdraws Stephen is dressed as Act -II, and very sure of himself, except at odd moments._) - -Vin. (_patronisingly_). Ah, Mr. Verity. Pleased to see you. -(_Advancing._) - -Ste. (_up R. c., shaking hands; very formally_). How do you do? - -Vin. You know us all, I think? - -Ste. (_dryly_). By sight. - -Vin. (_hurriedly_). Yes. Sit down, won't you? (_Sits above fire._) - -(_Stephen does so, uncomfortably, c. Walter stands R. end of settee._) - -Now come to business, Mr. Verity. - -Ste. Yes? - -Vin. What we want to see you about is this confounded rumour of the -Polygon's being up for sale for building lots. No doubt you've heard it? - -Ste. I've heard tell of it. - -Vin. Have you thought about it at all? - -Ste. I've thought a lot. - -Mont. Well, what do you think, Mr. Verity? Could anything be more -absurd? - -Ste. (_nodding his head towards Walter_). Ask him. He knows what I -think. - -Walter. Mr. Verity's of my opinion, father. Vin. We don't want -your opinion, sir. You're full up with all sorts of idiotic modern -sentimentalism about the poor. It all comes of the Church meddling with -secular matters instead of minding its own business. Mr. Verity's a man -of sense. - -Ste. Thank you; but I don't know that I can do anything. - -Mrs. M. (_sweetly_). Oh, but I'm sure you can, Mr. Verity. You've such -influence in the town. You're a man of weight. - -Ste. If I am, madam, what had the town to do with Sir Charles selling -the Polygon? - -Mont. How can the town get on without the Polygon? - -Mrs. M. I'm sure you, as an architect, Mr. Verity, must feel the -importance of preserving such fine examples as these are of old Georgian -mansions. - -Mrs. V. So many links with the historic past. - -Vin. (_impatiently_). It 'ud be a blue ruin for the town. - -Mont. Sheer catastrophe. You're a leading personage here, Mr. -Verity--alderman and so on. Of course you have the interest of the town -at heart. - -Ste. (_with faint irony_). As much as you have yourselves, I dare say. - -Vin. (_recovering first from the slight general embarrassment_). Er, -yes. Now, don't you think a petition from the Town Council to Sir -Charles might do the trick? You see, the Polygon's the backbone of the -place. I can't for the life of me imagine what Sir Charles is thinking -of. - -Ste. The price. - -Mrs. V. Now, that's ungenerous of you, Mr. Verity. Sir Charles would -never be so selfish. - -Ste. (_stolidly_). Think not? - -Mrs. V. He wouldn't turn us out for money. (_Vining and Montgomery are -not so sure._) - -Ste. It's hard times for the rich. - -Mont. (_timidly_). Yes, I suppose it is. - -Ste. (_with aggression_). It is. I know. I'm rich. - -Vin. (_pompously_). I agree with you. We people of independent means -have been hard hit lately. What with the differential income tax and the -super tax, we---- - -Ste. We all think we'd like to pay the super tax, don't we? - -Vin. Er--yes--we can rely on your sending that petition then? - -Ste. Can you? - -Mont. I thought you said so. - -Ste. I don't remember. - -Vin. Dash it, Verity, we men of property must hang together. In a little -matter of this sort I'm sure you'll come in with us. - -Ste. Yes? Well, I'm sorry to disoblige you. - -Mrs. M. But surely as an architect---- - -Ste. (_interrupting_). Now it's no use of you talking. I've said my say. - -Mont. But you must have some reason. This is really most extraordinary. - -Ste. Is it? What's extraordinary in a man getting back a bit of his own? - -Vin. Have we offended you, Mr. Verity? I'm very sorry. You speak as if -you had some grudge against us. - -Ste. Grudge? I hate the sight of you if that's your meaning. - -Mont, (_rising_). This is simply staggering. Why, Mr. Verity, we've -always been good neighbours, I hope. - -Ste. (_still sitting_). You've kept yourselves to yourselves, if that's -what you call being good neighbours. Who've you been good neighbours to? -The shopkeepers? You don't deal with them if you can help it. London's -your mark when you've money to spend, and that's not every day of the -week. How often have you got your hand down for a local charity? Folks -get sick and tired of coming to ask. You buttoned up your pockets so -tight. - -Vin. Other people, at least, don't share your views, sir. - -Ste. Ask 'em. (_Rising._) You silly little set of genteel paupers, who -did you think you were? (_Ladies rise._) We weren't good enough for you. -You lived in the Polygon; we lived in the town, and you held your noses -too high to see us if you met us, which wasn't often, because you stuck -inside your private preserve and didn't have truck with us vulgar folk -outside. We weren't your class. You patronising snobs, do you fancy -I can't see through your getting me here and soaping me to send your -petition from the town for you? The town can go to blazes for all you -care, so long as you're left alone in your nice big gardens. - -Vin. (_rises and goes up to door R._) Mr. Verity, I'm sorry to have to -remind you there are ladies present. - -Ste. I can see 'em. That's why I'm letting you down so easy. I'd let it -rip if you'd the courage to turn 'em out and meet me man to man. - -Mrs. M. (_moving towards door_). We'll go. - -Mont, (_r., timidly_). I'd rather you didn't, my dear. - -Ste. Yes. He'd rather you stayed, and kept a stopper on my tongue. - -(_Vining opens door and signs to ladies to go._) - -Walter (_coming to r. of Verity_). No, mother. Mr. Verity, don't let us -lose our tempers about this. It's too important for petty feelings. - -Vin. (_indignantly_). Petty feelings, indeed! - -(_The ladies stand by door, irresolute._) - -Walter (_appealingly_). Oh, don't split hairs over words. The town's -crying for fresh air and health. The town wants to buy the Polygon. - -Mont. The town does? - -Walter. Yes, didn't you know? - -Vin. (_looking at Stephen_). So it's the town? - -Walter (_as Stephen doesn't answer_). Yes. - -Mrs. M. (_up by door, r., dropping to Montgomery by fire_). Augustus, -don't you think, after all, we ought perhaps to---- (_Hesitating._) - -Vin. (_l. c. fiercely_). To what, Mrs. Montgomery? - -Mrs. M. Well, I'm sure there's something in what Mr. Verity and Walter -say. (_Sits in armchair above fire._) - -Mont. Come, this is weakness, my dear. - -Vin. No compromise, Mrs. Montgomery. - -Mrs. M. I shall never feel at ease again when I think of the -overcrowding in the town. - -Vin. Then don't think of it. - -Mrs. M. I can't help thinking of it now. - -Mont, (_to Walter_). Oh, dear, I do wish you'd kept your mouth closed. - -Walter. And my eyes closed, and my nose closed, and gone about -Carrington without looking at it. No, father, I meant to stir your -conscience, and I'm glad I've done it. (_Sits._) - -Vin. Well, I must admit--hang it, Verity, if people are crowded why -don't you build 'em houses? It's your trade. - -Ste. No land. - -(_About here Pilling appears c. with some garden stuff in his hand, and -Mrs. Vining exit with him for some consultation._) - -Vin. There's land enough outside. Why can't the town expand outwards? To -hear you talk about the Polygon the town might have a wall round it. - -Mont. Yes, there's lots of moorland about the place. - -Ste. Quite so. Lots of moor. - -Mont. Well, then! - -Ste. Shooting moor. Sir Charles' shooting moor. - -Vin. Well, what difference do a few acres more or less make to a -shooting moor? Surely he'd rather sell you some of that. - -Ste. Think so? - -Mont. I'm certain of it. - -Ste. (_sitting on settee_). You're wrong, then. He's holding on for -a rise. He's held on to this till the value went up. Land here in the -centre's' worth more, than land outside. This is ripe. The other isn't. -That's why he'll sell this. - -Vin. (_r. c._). Well, if that's really so---- - -Ste. (_grimly_). It's really so. - -Vin. (_with-an air of finality_). All I can say is I shall most -certainly have to revise my opinion of Sir Charles. (_Crosses down L._) - -(_Pilling is visible through the window working a mowing machine in the -garden; he passes and repasses at intervals._) - -Ste. Did you think your tin pot rents paid Sir Charles to let land like -this lie idle? - -Mont. He likes to have us here. We're desirable tenants. - -Ste. Pardon me. As a property owner I know. Desirable tenants are paying -tenants. - -Vin. Do you insinuate that we don't pay? - -Ste. You don't pay a profitable price. He can make a little gold, mine -of the Polygon. Land values in the town have been going up all the time. -He's cute enough to know it, or his agent is. The only question is, will -our price tempt him or is he able to be greedy and wait a bit longer -till the land's worth more. - -Mont. And you mean to tell me we've been living on the edge of a volcano -all these years? - -Ste. You've been living in Sir Charles' almshouses for decayed -gentlefolk. That's our name for it in the town. - -Vin. Sir! - -Ste. (_calmly_). It's the truth. What did it matter to him how little -he got out of you meantime? He knew very well it's a fortune waiting for -him whenever he wants it. - -Mont. I'd no idea of this. (_Sits below fire._) - -Ste. You know now. If you hadn't been so busy with thinking what nice -people you were and what nasty brutes lived outside you'd have found it -out for yourselves. Not one of you's on lease. You can all be turned out -at six months' notice. - -Vin. We trusted to Sir Charles' sense of honour. - -Ste. I wouldn't trust him with sixpence, and I'm a sound Tory at that. - -Vin. I still think you're wrong, sir. You've given us your view. We're -much obliged. (_Sits l._) - -Ste. (_sneering_). You'd be more obliged if I'd given you your petition. - -Vin. Your view was unexpected. - -Ste. Was it? (_Turning to Walter._) I thought he'd told you. - -Vin. Unexpectedly strong. - -Ste. You've not heard the half of it. You've been the bane of the town. -It's a working town and it does the working man no good to have the -sight of a lot of idle people living well and doing nothing for it. -Breeds discontent. Makes him ask questions. That's what you've been to -us. A public nuisance. Easy game for every agitator to have his shy at. -Do you think we employers loved you? They didn't mind us. They could see -we worked for our living. But you set of do-nothing wastrels---- - -Walter (_c._). Mr. Verity! (_Vining rises and goes up to back, returns, -then round to R. c._) - -Ste. What's to do? You've been saying the same to them yourself, haven't -you? - -Walter. I did my best to gild the pill. - -Ste. Well, I'm not a parson. I haven't the gift of using big words for -little 'uns and talking sweetly about Hell. - -Vin. (_dropping r. of Walter to below him_). Well, now look here, Mr. -Verity, you needn't suppose that I'm influenced in the slightest by your -extremely forcible language, but a possible compromise occurs to me. - -Ste. Does it? I thought I heard you say just now "no compromise." - -Vin. (_r. c._). This is a compromise of my own suggesting, sir. - -Ste. I'm not the compromising sort. Still, go ahead. What's your idea? - -Vin. It's this, sir. I grant you we're drones, and I can see there's -something in what you say about the sight of a few idle people taking a -lot of room, though I take exception to the way you put it. - -Ste. (_drily_). Aye. - -Vin. (_r. c._). Now we've an affection for these houses of ours. - -Ste. Of Sir Charles'. - -Vin. Yes, of Sir Charles'. We're attached to the bricks and mortar. You -can understand it. - -Ste. I never thought you'd shift willing. - -Vin. Just so. We're not willing to shift. But my idea is this. We're all -old people, and our families have married off. There's no young blood -in the Polygon, except Walter here and my daughter, to use those tennis -courts and croquet lawns of ours. They're pleasant to walk about in and -it's a real sacrifice to part with them. But I propose writing to Sir -Charles suggesting that if (_crossing to l. c. and back; returns to l. -for end of speech_) he cares to sell you some building land outside the -town we will sacrifice our lawns for a park if he will leave our bricks -and mortar standing till--till we old fogies have done with them. How -does that strike you, Mr. Verity? - -Ste. It strikes me your motto will do for me as Well as for you. - -Vin. My motto? - -Ste. No compromise, Mr. Vining. - -Walter. Mr. Verity, surely it's a fair offer. It's generous. It's---- - -Ste. Indeed! If that's your notion of generosity---- - -Vin. It's my last word. - -Ste. (_rises_). Then I need stay no longer. (_Moves towards door._) - -Walter (_rises_). Oh, but---- - -(_Maid announces, "Miss Verity." Enter Lucy. Exit Maid._) - -Ste. You! What are you doing here? - -Lucy (_crosses up r. c._). I came to see Walter. - -Ste. But--I locked you up. - -Lucy. As you see, I've escaped. - -Walter. Locked you up! - -Lucy. Oh, yes. Father does things like that. - -Ste. Come home, girl. - -Lucy. Not yet. I'm a rebel to-day. You locked me up because I refused to -marry Mr. Bamford---- - -Walter. What! - -Lucy. And I've escaped to tell the truth about you and---- - -Ste. Hold your tongue. - -Lucy. No. I'm going to tell Walter all I know. - -Ste. (_sneering_). He's welcome to all _you_ know. - -Lucy. He's welcome to all I know and all I am. - -Mrs. M. Walter, what does this mean? (_Rises._) - -Vin. I have never heard a more immodest speech. - -Walter. Miss Verity and I are engaged. - -Ste. You're not. You agreed last night that you weren't. - -Lucy. That was before you had thrown me at Bamford's head. I'm engaged -to Walter, and I've things to tell him, things I've discovered about---- - -Ste. Be quiet, will you. - -Lucy. No. This is no time for concealment. We've got beyond all that. - -Ste. You've nothing to conceal. - -Lucy. Then why do you try to stop my mouth? - -Ste. I don't. I'm here on business. I've no time for girls' foolishness. -Vining, can we go somewhere to draft that letter? (_Crosses down to -Vining._) - -Vin. Letter? What letter? - -Ste. The compromise. - -Vin. I thought you said---- (_Crossing slowly._) - -Ste. Never mind what I said. Shall we go? Lucy. Yes, go, while I tell -Walter all I know. Ste. Tell him what you like now. - -(_Exit Stephen with Vining._) - - -CURTAIN. - - - - -ACT IV. - -_Verity's dining-room as Act II a week later. Bamford and Stephen enter -from r. Stephen just pocketing his watch._ - - -[Illustration: 0092] - - -Stephen. You're a bit early for the meeting, Sam. (_Crosses to c. above -table._) - -Bamford. Yes; fact is, I wanted a word with you alone about that other -matter. - -Ste. Lucy? - -Bam. (_r. c._). Aye. I'm a bit uneasy about it, Verity. - -Ste. No need to be. - -Bam. Well, I am. - -Ste. Natural enough, I dare say. When a young man's fancy turns to -thoughts of love it churns up his inside a bit. - -Bam. 'Tisn't that. I'm not a young man. (_Crosses l._) - -Ste. You're young enough for all marriageable purposes. - -Bam. I'm doubtful if I'm the right man to make that girl happy. - -Ste. You're going to be Mayor, aren't you? - -Bam. Yes. - -Ste. And you promised her a carriage? - -Bam. Yes. - -Ste. And as much dressing as she's a mind to? Bam. Yes. - -Ste. (_sits above table_). Then what's troubling you? What else does any -female woman want? - -Bam. (_sits l. of table_). Eh! I dunno! They're a grasping lot, women.. - -Ste. Damn you, Sam, do you fancy my girl's not been well brought up? -You're as good as telling me she's not good enough for you. - -Bam. Nay, I'm not; I'm only thinking I may not be good enough for her. - -Ste. I'm best judge of that. The thing's settled. We said it once, you -and I, and we're not weathervanes. - -Bam. (_resignedly_). Yes, I suppose it's settled. - -Ste. That's all right, then. - -(_Maid announces Mr. Smithson. Enter Smithson, Maid exit._) - -Ah, good evening, Smithson. (_Rises._) - -Smiths. Good evening, Verity. (_Shakes hands._) Evening, Bamford. - -Bam. Good evening. - -Ste. (_to Smithson_). Seen anything of Alcorn? Smiths. Yes. He's gone -round to the Post Office on his way here to see if a letter's been -forwarded from the London office. - -Ste. Well, sit you down. - -(_They sit at table. Stephen head, Smithson r. and Bamford l._) - -I've a bit of news for you gentlemen. - -Smiths. Yes? - -Ste. I've been paying a call--afternoon call on some friends of mine in -the Polygon. - -Bam. What! - -Ste. Take it easy, Sam. (_Chuckles._) Aye, they wanted the Council to -petition Sir Charles not to sell. Tried to get me to do it for 'em. - -Smiths. Good, that. - -Ste. Well, we'd a little talk, Mr. Vining and I, and we come to a sort -of a compromise. - -Smiths. Compromise? - -Bam. Compromise! Verity? I don't like that word. - -Ste. Finish was, they've written to Sir Charles asking him to sell the -town their grass plat--tennis courts and what-not--if he'll leave their -houses alone. - -Bam. Verity, I don't like this. Ask me, it sounds like treachery to the -company. - -Ste. Treachery be hanged. I drafted the letter myself. - -Bam. That makes it worse. - -Ste. Don't be stupid, Sam. - -Bam. (_indignantly_). Stupid! I say, Verity---- - -Ste. Put yourself in Sir Charles' place. He's got an offer, the -company's offer, cash down for the whole Polygon. - -Smiths. Aye. - -Ste. Well, say he has got a soft spot for his tenants there, old -tenants, doesn't want to turn them out, that sort of thing. - -Smiths. Quite likely. - -Ste. Then he gets their letter. Sees they're ready to lose their tennis -courts. All right, says he, if they're a slack back set of weaklings to -propose that of themselves, I shan't have any trouble in getting shut -of them altogether. Their rents aren't worth having. But the company's -offer's a sound ready cash affair. He's a bit short of the ready, isn't -he? - -Bam. Aye. Above a bit. - -Ste. So when he sees they'll shift without trouble, being weak enough -to offer a compromise before they're even asked for one, he'll take a -flying jump at our offer, and there you are. And a good afternoon's work -I call it. - -Bam. Verity, I apologize. You're the dandiest schemer I ever saw, and -I've seen some warm members in my time. - -Ste. Well, they sent for me. I didn't think this out. I just saw the -chance while I was there. - -Smiths. You don't let much pass you, Verity. - -Ste. I take my brains along when I go calling of an afternoon on my -swell friends. I'd like to bet that letter Alcorn's fetching says "Yes" -to our offer. - -Bam. It's odds on, or I'd take you. - -(_Maid announces Mr. Walter Montgomery. Enter Walter. Exit Maid._) - -Ste. Hullo! Oh, damn! - -Walter (_r. c._). Good evening, Mr. Verity. Good evening. I hope I don't -interrupt business. - -Ste. Young man, you appear to have a lot of time on your hands. - -Walter. It's an important part of my business to visit my parishioners, -Mr. Verity. - -Ste. Humph! Our turn for your parochial attentions soon comes round -again. You were here a week ago. - -Walter. On my own business that time, sir. - -Ste. What is it this time? - -Walter. You're sure I'm not interrupting you? - -Ste. I'm sure you are. Go on. - -Walter. I've come to put you on your guard. You led me to suppose, and I -in turn told Mr. Vining, that the town authorities were proposing to buy -the Polygon. - -Ste. And aren't they? - -Walter. As an Alderman you ought to know that better than I do. - -Ste. Never mind what I know. The question is, what do you know? - -Walter. Oh, we fellows who go into the Church don't know much. You told -me yourself we go there because we're chicken-hearted fools without an -ounce of sense or fight in us. - -Bam. Can't you make him cut the cackle, Verity? - -Walter. Cackling's a professional failing, Mr. Bamford. We get the -talking habit in the pulpit. - -Bam. You're not in the pulpit now. - -Walter. No, sir. In the pulpit I'm in good company--my own. - -Bam. What the---- - -Walter. In this room I'm in the company of certain members of a rascally -syndicate who hope to buy the Polygon cheap from Sir Charles and sell -dear to the town when they've carefully engineered a public demand. - -Smiths. Who told you? - -Ste. Tch, Smithson! Where the devil did you raise this cock and bull -story? - -Walter. Oh, I don't think it was the devil. On the _contrary_, in fact, -Mr. Verity. - -Ste. Come to facts. - -Walter. Facts? Shall I give you names? (_Strolls round back to -fireplace._) I regret the absence of Mr. Alcorn and Miss Verity, -but--well, gentlemen, you're found out. - -Ste. (_pause_). And if we are? (_Rises._) - -Smiths, (_to Stephen_). And if we are, some one's blabbed. - -Bam. (_to Stephen_). And you're the only one who pays afternoon calls in -the Polygon. - -Ste. (_bending over table, beneath his breath_). Fools! (_Aloud._) Do -you think I foul my own nest? - -Bam. Then if it isn't you, who is it? Tell me that. - -(_Stephen looks first at Bamford, then Smithson, then suddenly moves to -door l. and calls._) - -Ste. Lucy! Lucy! Come here! (_Returns above table._) - -Bam. That's the worst of having a woman in the thing. They will talk. - -Ste. How could she talk? She knew nothing. - -(_Lucy enters._) - -Walter (_l._). Funny how things get about, isn't it? - -Lucy (_up l._). _Did_ you call me, father? - -Ste. (_to Walter, still ignoring Lucy_). Get about? How many have you -told? - -Walter. Oh, I've told nobody. Secrets cease to be valuable when they're -told, and I don't mind telling you this secret's going to be a valuable -lever to me. - -Ste. (_to Lucy_). You've been talking to him. - -Lucy (_up l._). Yes. I told him all you told me. - -Ste. I didn't tell you anything. - -Lucy. Oh, yes. You and Mr. Bamford. (_Stephen turns on Bamford._) - -Bam. I? I never breathed. - -Lucy. You squabbled together about the profits. - -Bam. We _did_ say something. - -Ste. And you pieced it out from that? - -Lucy. Yes. - -Bam. Um! smart girl, Verity. Chip of the old block. - -Ste. Bit too smart this time. I hope she'll never play _you_ a trick -like that. - -Bam. Yes, by Gad. I hadn't thought of that. - -Walter. Well, gentlemen? - -Ste. Oh, I'll attend to you. Look here, Sam--Smithson, I'll tackle this -chap. Just go into the other room there, will you? (_Pushes Smithson to -go below table._) I've a private word for the parson. - -Bam. Can I smoke there? - -Ste. (_r. c._). Aye. - -(_Exeunt l., Bamford and Smithson. Walter before fireplace, Lucy c, -above table, Stephen r. of table._) - -Now, Mr. Montgomery, my lad, what sort of a trick do you call this to -play on your future father-in-law? You've a queer idea of tact, you -have. - -Walter. It wasn't my intention to be tactful, sir. - -Ste. You're not improving your chances of marrying my daughter, you -know. - -Walter. How do you know I want to marry her? - -Lucy. Walter! - -Ste. Why, you told me so yourself, the other night. - -(_Lucy sits in armchair l. above fire._) - -Walter. Since then, you see, I've made discoveries. If a man is known by -the company he keeps, the same applies to a woman. The woman I'm going -to marry doesn't, help to form a robbery syndicate along with Messieurs -Alcorn, Smithson and Bamford. So if you thought to buy my silence by -giving me your daughter, you made a bad mistake. No. Bamford's the man -for her. Partners in scoundrelism, partners in life. - -(_Enter Bamford l. and crosses r. c._) - -Ste. What do you want now? - -Bam. (_apologetically, crossing r._). All right. I only want my pipe. -Left it in my overcoat. - -Walter. Mr. Bamford, I congratulate you. (_Holding out hand._) - -Bam. Eh? On what? - -Walter, On being my successful rival for the hand of Miss Verity. - -Bam. What's this? Was _he_ the other you spoke of? (_To Stephen._) - -Walter (_to Lucy_). Don't be afraid. - -Ste. Yes. - -Bam. (_to Walter_). Who told you about me? - -Walter. Oh, news soon gets round. (_Lightly._) - -Bam. (_r. c._). Does it? Well, there's two sorts of news. Correct news -and incorrect news. Both sorts gets round, but incorrect news gets round -most. See what I mean? - -Ste. (_sternly_). I don't. - -Bam. (_to Stephen_). You will. (_To Walter._) Look here, have you given -her up? - -Walter. You wouldn't have me stand in your way, would you? - -Bam. So you _have_ given her up. Why? - -Walter. Oh, I had my reasons. - -Bam. Had you now? I'd like to hear those reasons. - -Walter. That's not quite fair to the lady, I think. - -Ste. No. He's out of it. - -Bam. Is he? I take no man's leavings without I know why he left 'em. - -Walter. It's all square, man. She's yours now. - -Bam. I beg to differ. - -Ste. (_angrily_). What? - -Lucy (_rises to go_). The goods needn't be on exhibition while the sale -proceeds. - -(_Stephen points her angrily to chair l. She sits._) - -Ste. Here, sit down. Now, Sam, what's it all about? - -Bam. I'd as lief tell you when you're by yourself. - -Walter. I thought so. - -Ste. You can speak now. We're all concerned in this. - -Walter. I beg your pardon. I've ceased to---- - -Ste. (_his back to the right door_). Now, Sam? - -Walter (_sitting below fire_). Oh, very well. - -Bam. (_r. c., awkwardly_). Well, I've been thinking things over. The -married state and--well---- - -(_Hesitating._) - -Ste. (_grimly_). Yes, go on. - -Bam. (_desperately_). It means giving up too much. - -Ste. (_c._). And a good thing, too, Sam Bamford. How much longer do you -think you'll last at the pace you go? You're cracking up already--not -half the man you were. - -Lucy (_icily_). Think how nice it would be to have me for a nurse. I -warm father's carpet slippers beautifully, don't I, and my gruel's a -dream. - -Bam. There's many a long day between me and carpet slippers and gruel. I -like roving about, Verity, and that's a fact. - -Ste. Didn't you think of that before? - -Bam. I spoke hurried. - -Ste. It's time you settled down. You won't lose much that a thousand a -year and home comforts don't match. - -Bam. I'm rich enough. - -Ste. You didn't talk like that on Tuesday. - -Bam. (_irritably_). I tell you, I've thought things over. Fact is, -I didn't half like the way she answered you back. A man gets enough -worries in his working day. When he gets home he wants peace and no back -answers. - -Ste. She's all right now. It was having him asking (_indicating Walter_) -that made her proud. He's thrown her over--not good enough for him. - -Bam. And she's not good enough for me, either. I can be a bit particular -myself. I like 'em quiet. - -Ste. She's as quiet as they make 'em. - -Lucy. Father, I absolutely and finally decline to marry Mr. Bamford. - -Bam. I ask you, does that sound like a quiet life? - -Ste. Well, damme, Sam Bamford, you can't get a thousand a year without -paying a tax on it. - -Bam. You can pay too much tax if you get a woman thrown in with a razor -instead of a tongue. - -Ste. (_disgustedly_). I thought you were a man of your word. - -Bam. And I thought you cracked to be a friend of mine. - -Ste. I am your friend. - -Bam. Perhaps; but as a rule when a man's as anxious as you are to sell -an article I begin to think there's something wrong with the goods. - -Ste. Didn't I tell you on Tuesday I didn't want her to marry at all? - -Bam. Didn't Sir Charles' agent write me he wouldn't want to sell? And -you know what you said about that. - -Ste. But I'm not selling. I'm giving. - -Bam. Yes, and nobody ever knew you to give away anything worth having. -What's he given her the chuck for, if it comes to that? He knows -something. - -Walter. Yes. I know something, Mr. Bamford. - -Ste. (_raps table_). I'm not going to be played about with like this. -I never asked either of you to come after my daughter. You came because -you liked, but you'll not cry off when you like. - -Bam. What do you mean now? - -Ste. _One_ of you's going to marry her. - -Bam. It won't be me, then. I don't want any woman with a temper of her -own. - -Ste. I tell you she hasn't got a temper. - -Lucy (_rises_). I've got a tongue. - -Ste. Be quiet. - -Lucy. I won't be quiet while you wrangle over me like---- - -Ste. (_thundering_). Go to your room. I'll tame you. - -(_Lucy deliberately sits down._) - -Bam. There you are, Verity. Regular spitfire. Too late to send her away -now. I know what she is. - -Walter (_rising_). So do I. She's a monstrous woman with an abnormally -developed bump of business capacity and I absolutely decline to marry -any member of a syndicate of avaricious thieves formed to swindle---- - -Ste. (_interrupting_). She's no more business capacity than a flea and -I'll take her off the syndicate to-night, if that 'ull please you. Now -then, which of you is it to be? - -Bam. I don't wish to quarrel with you, Verity. I've told you I'm taking -none. - -Ste. (_briskly_). All right. Then you marry young Montgomery, Lucy. -(_Moves L. above table._) - -Lucy. He says he won't have me while I'm in the Syndicate. - -Ste. I'll get you out of that. - -Bam. You can't do that, Verity. (_Moves to table R._) - -Ste. Can't I? I will, though. - -Bam. You'll upset the whole thing. - -Ste. I'll look after that. - -(_Maid announces Mr. Alcorn. Enter Alcorn; exit Maid r._) - -Ste. Ah! Got the letter, Alcorn? - -Alcorn. Yes. I don't understand it. - -Ste. Just a moment. (_Opens door l. and calls._) Smithson! - -(_Enter Smithson._) - -Walter. I'd better go. - -Ste. You've no need. You know so much about it you can stay and listen -to the rest. (_Gets chair._) - -(_Stephen sits at head of table. Bamford, Smithson, Alcorn sit as in Act -II. Lucy stands r., Walter sits below fire._) - -Alcorn. Well, gentlemen, he won't sell. (_Taking out letter._) - -Ste. Refuses to sell? What does this mean? - -Smiths, (_to Bamford_). And you assured us he was broke. - -Bam. So he was, absolutely broke. I don't understand it at all. . - -Al. No more do I. Listen to this. (_Reading letter._) "I regret my -inability to entertain the offer made by your company. I have reason to -believe that owing to overcrowding the land is urgently wanted and -that the town authorities wish to deal with the matter themselves. I -am having the tennis lawns, etc., valued independently and the town may -then purchase at the valuation. I shall, however, not disturb my old -tenants in the Polygon, this letter referring only to the open space now -used as tennis lawns." Now what in thunder do you make of that? - -Ste. (_looking at Walter_). You? - -Walter. A letter to Monte Carlo only costs tuppence-halfpenny. - -Bam. But hang it, Verity, the town isn't buying. - -Ste. On the contrary, Sam, the town is. The overcrowding is a scandal. -We must have some fresh air. - -Smiths. Oh, don't talk like a blooming philanthropist again. - -Ste. I'm talking like a blooming alderman. - -Al. This isn't a town's meeting. It's a company meeting. Stick to -company business. - -Ste. The company has no further business. The company is wound up. - -Bam. Damned if it is. This letter doesn't end all. It's your fault, -Verity. You shouldn't have gone to the Polygon. You over-reached -yourself. - -Ste. This would still have happened, Sam, in any case. - -Bam. I don't see it. Why? - -Ste. Mr. Montgomery can tell you. - -Bam. Well, it's not all up. Let's have what he offers. - -Ste. He doesn't offer us anything. He offers it to the town. - -Al. And the town must buy. - -Ste. The town shall buy. - -Bam. Yes; well I said houses. Let's make it houses. Model dwellings -as ugly as hell, for the Polygon toffs to look at every time they poke -their noses out of doors. - -Ste. Don't be spiteful, Sam. We've had a licking, but don't bear malice. - -Walter. Thank you, Mr. Verity. - -Ste. Oh, I'd forgotten you were there. Oblige me by going into that room -for two minutes. You can wait in there till we're through. - -Walter. But what have I to wait for? (_Rises._) - -Ste. Sorry to occupy your valuable, time, but you're going to wait. -You'll find a fire. - -(_Exit Walter l._) - -That chap's wasted as a curate. (_Sits._) He's beaten me! Me licked by a -bricking curate! - -Al. But I don't understand. - -Ste. Oh, he got hold of our company idea, told Sir Charles and smashed -our plans. That's all. Nothing very serious. We're out of pocket for a -few expenses that won't hurt any of us, and we've missed a good piece of -plunder. Well, the thing to do now is to turn round and do the handsome -over that recreation ground. _Our_ idea for the benefit of the town! -_My_ negotiations with the Polygon! If we can't get cash by it, -gentlemen, let us get credit. - -Smiths.. And what about the rates? - -Ste. Well, what about them? More fresh air, less ill health. Less ill -health, less poverty. Less poverty, fewer paupers. That recreation -ground 'ull pay for itself in less than no time. If there's going to be -any barging about the rates we'll raise the money by subscription, and -for two pins I'll head the list myself. - -Al. It's a queer finish to our plans. - -Ste. It is a finish, Alcorn. We're knocked out, and we've got to take -it with a big, broad smile and nobody will even so much as guess we've -meant anything but the square thing all the time. - -Bam. That curate 'ull talk. Curates are always talking. - -Ste. No, he won't. - -Bam. You can't stop an old woman gossiping. Gab's a parson's -stock-in-trade. - -Ste. He's no old woman. He's a wide-awake young man and he's going to -marry my daughter--if she's free. That'll shut his mouth for him. - -Smiths. Well, we'll leave that to you, Verity. - -Ste. You can, safely. - -Al. It's been a lot of trouble all for nothing. - -(_Rises; general rise._) - -Ste. Well, we're good sportsmen, I hope, and the Carrington recreation -ground 'ull be an everlasting monument to our civic enterprise and -public spirit. - -Al. Aye, I'm beginning to feel good already. - -Smiths. It's a disappointment, Verity. Ah, well, we can't win every -time. - -Ste. No. Better luck next time. Good night, Smithson. (_Takes chair up -stage._) - -Smiths. Good night. Good night all. - -Al. I'm coming your way. - -Smiths. Come along then. (_Crosses r._) - -Al. Good night. - -(_Exeunt Smithson and Alcorn, r._) - -Bam. I'm glad they've gone. Something to put to you, Verity, private. - -Ste. About her? - -Bam. Her? No. I've said my say about that, and you need her to shut the -curate's mouth. - -Ste. I'll shut his mouth without that if you want her. It's a thousand a -year, you know. - -Lucy. The auction recommences, Mr. Bamford. - -Bam. Don't fret yourself, Miss Verity. I'm not bidding. You've had my -last word, Verity. - -Ste. Well, what's this you want to say? - -Bam. About me being mayor. That stands, of course? - -Ste. No, it doesn't. (_Above table._) - -Bam. But---- - -Ste. That was a contract made by a company that's wound up. - -Bam. But, hang it, I'd counted on being mayor. I've mentioned it to one -or two. (_Goes above table R._) - -Ste. All right, then. There's your mayoress. - -Bam. Is that the price? - -Ste. There's your mayoress. - -Lucy. I won't be haggled over. - -Bam. Miss Verity, it's not you. If I wanted to marry I dunno as I'd -look an inch further. It's--I'm not the marrying sort and that's top and -bottom of it. - -Ste. Sam, I'll be mayor myself if it's only for the fun of opening that -recreation ground to the public and making a speech about the anxious -negotiating the Council had to do before they brought off this great -scheme and conferred an inestimable boon on the deserving working -classes. - -Bam. Oh, if you're putting up for mayor, I retire. I can't fight a man -of your weight. - -Ste. Fight be hanged. We're good friends. - -Bam. Aye. You've got your man in there. - -Ste. Well! (_Pause._) Yes. - -Lucy. It's very sweet of you not to want to marry me, Mr. Bamford. - -Bam. Ask me to the wedding. - -Ste. Yes, you should be good for a thumping present after this. - -Bam. I'll stand my corner. You've to tackle the curate. I'll be off. - -Ste. Good night. - -Lucy. Good night, and thank you. - -Bam. It's _me_ that's thankful. Good night. - -(_Exit Bamford. Stephen crosses to left door, opens it and calls._) - -Ste. Now, Mr. Montgomery. - -(_Enter Walter. Lucy rises, l._) - -Walter. Well, sir? (_Crosses to r. below table._) - -Ste. (_c. above table_). Are you or are you not going to marry my -daughter? - -Walter. That depends. - -Ste. I'll tell you something. The syndicate's bust. In fact, there never -was a syndicate. - -Walter. You mustn't ask me to believe that, sir. You gave the thing away -yourself. - -Ste. (_impressively_). There never was a syndicate. A limited company -isn't a limited company till it's registered. We weren't registered. -You understand? You can't go telling people about a syndicate that never -existed. - -Walter (_smiling_). That sounds reasonable. I shan't tell. - -Ste. Yes. Well, what about my daughter? - -Walter. I thought you objected to me. - -Ste. I did. But I begin to think there's more in you than meets the eye. - -Walter. Thanks for the compliment. - -Ste. I do wish you weren't a curate, though. - -(_Crosses to fire._) There's nothing in the Church for a smart man. - -Walter. There are plenty of prizes in the Church. - -Lucy. And Walter's going to win them, father. (_Up to Walter._) - -Walter. Yes. - -Ste. He's not won much yet. - -Walter. This is all the prize I want, Mr. Verity. (_Takes her hand._) - -Ste. She's not a bad start, either. You've got round me, and it takes a -bit of doing. (_Crosses to Walter._) Look here, my lad, I come of a long -lived stock and you'll disappoint me if I don't see you a bishop before -I die. I'll come to the Palace, Lucy, and hang my hat up some day. -(_Going to exit to leave them together._) - -CURTAIN. - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graft, by Harold Brighouse - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAFT *** - -***** This file should be named 55291-0.txt or 55291-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/2/9/55291/ - -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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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: Graft - A Comedy in Four Acts - -Author: Harold Brighouse - -Release Date: August 7, 2017 [EBook #55291] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAFT *** - - - - -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> - GRAFT - </h1> - <h3> - A Comedy In Four Acts - </h3> - <h2> - By Harold Brighouse - </h2> - <h4> - London: Samuel French Publisher - </h4> - <h3> - 1913 - </h3> - <p> - <br /> <br /> <br /> <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/0005.jpg" alt="0005 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0005.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> ACT I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> ACT II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ACT III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ACT IV. </a> - </p> - <h1> - GRAFT - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACT I - </h2> - <p> - <i>A small room on the first floor, awkwardly overcrowded with the entire - furniture of a cottage, a pile of which is stacked in the left corner and - covered with a sheet; the plain iron bed is right, the window coming - between its foot and the pile of furniture; table centre; three plain - upright chairs and one wicker armchair before the fire; fireplace left; - opposite it right a kitchen dresser well stocked with crockery; pans and - kettle about the fireplace. For all the uncomfortable crowding the room is - bright and well kept. Door right. It is 7 p.m. on a September evening, and - the approach of dusk is noticed gradually.</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>Jim Pilling, a gardener, has finished tea and sits in his shirt-sleeves - before the débris of the meal facing spectator lighting a briar pipe. Jim - is thirty, clean looking, dressed in his rough working clothes without - coat or his combined collar and "dicky" and red tie, which hangs with the - coat behind the door. Sally Pilling is transferring the last of the table - utensils to a tray which she puts on the bed; then removing the white - cloth and shaking crumbs into the fire; a red cloth is underneath. Sally - is of the pale complexion usual to a country girl living in a town; she - dresses neatly and has an apron on; Dick, a thin boy of eight, in a blue - sailor suit, gets off his chair at the table.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0091.jpg" alt="0091 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0091.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <b>Dick</b>. Can I go out and play now, mother? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Jim rises and crosses l. with chair.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. Yes. (<i>She crosses to door and takes down from a hook his sailor - hat.</i>) Here's your hat. (<i>Dick comes to her; she secures it on his - head with an elastic band.</i>) Don't go far from the door, Dick. I'll - shout you when it's bedtime. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. And don't get playing in the road—keep on the footpath. - </p> - <p> - <b>Dick</b>. Yes, dad. (<i>He runs out as Sally opens: the door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. Don't get run over now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. The young <i>'</i>un misses the country. (<i>Sits in armchair above - fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b> (<i>closing door</i>). We all do that, Jim. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Aye. Streets are no sort of playground for a growing child. Did you - get out while he was at school this afternoon? - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b> (<i>gathering up tea-things</i>). Oh, yes. There's not the cleaning - to do in a single room to keep me in it all day. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. No; better for you to get out a bit. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b> (<i>dully</i>). It's no pleasure walking in the streets. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Not when there's shops to look at? - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. You can get tired of shops. (<i>Tea-things on tray.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. You're no true woman. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. I'm no town's woman. (<i>Crosses to Jim.</i>) I miss the flowers - and the green. I'm pining for the country, Jim. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. And I'm same way, only I do get the smell of the earth in Mr. - Vining's garden and it's not so bad for me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b> (<i>wistfully standing above his chair</i>). I'd dearly love to see - that garden, Jim. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. I know you would; but they're that strict about the Polygon. No - getting in unless you've business. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. It does seem hard when there's not a park nor so much as a blade of - grass in the whole blessed town except the Polygon. (<i>Puts tray on bed.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. The old days were the best, Sally, on the estate where we were born. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. We didn't know it, either, till Sir Charles began to sack his men. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. No; many a time I've grumbled at the work there and the pay. It's a - judgment on me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. You weren't sacked for grumbling. (<i>Shaking cloth in fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>bitterly</i>). No. I was sacked because Sir Charles lost so much - money on the turf he couldn't keep six gardeners any longer—and me - the one to go because we'd only our Dick and t'others had more childer. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b> (<i>mildly surprised at his tone</i>). Gentlemen will have their - sport, Jim. It might be worse. You dropped lucky into a job. (<i>Folds - cloth and puts in dresser drawer.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Aye, the job's all right, and Mr. Vining's a good gentleman to work - for—pay's better than the country an' all, though I can't get stuff - to thrive in Mr. Vining's garden as I'd wish. (<i>Rises.</i>) Town air - kills 'em. Yes, we'd do all right, Sally, if (<i>looking round as if caged</i>)—if - there was room to live. That's what we want—room to live. We've our - sticks for a proper house eating their heads off in yon corner (<i>indicating - the pile</i>), and I've wages enough to pay rent for a house and no one - 'ull take it from me. There's not a house to let in all Carrington, nor - like to be but what there's plenty waiting for it before our turn come, - and we've waited three years now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b> (<i>consoling him</i>). Never mind, Jim. We've got our privacy. - We've a room to ourselves. - </p> - <p> - (<i>She crosses to cupboard, gets work out and puts on table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>hotly</i>). A room! One room! (<i>Cooling.</i>) Aye, but you're - right. Let's be thankful for small mercies. (<i>Sits.</i>) I mind it - looked like we shouldn't even find a room when we came seeking. But it's - hard to live decent in here, and it's harder on Dick than us. Eat and - sleep an all in one room's not a Christian way of life. - </p> - <p> - (<i>A knock at the door. Sally opens it. Walter Montgomery stands without. - He is a curate, twenty-eight years old, athletic in build, clean-shaven, - with a bright manner and a strong jaw.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. May I come in? Good evening, Mrs. Pilling. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. Surely, sir. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Walter. Sally closes the door, adroitly taking her apron off as - she does so and hanging it up. Jim makes for his coat.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Good evening, Mr. Pilling. (<i>Seeing his objective.</i>) You're - all right as you are. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Shirt-sleeves don't seem respectful, sir. Walter (<i>genially</i>).. - Rubbish. It's a pity if you can't be cool in your own room. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>apologetically</i>). The fire does make it hot in here. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. And we must have a fire to boil the kettle, sir. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Walter looks at the closed window, but, having experience, makes no - suggestion. Jim knocks his pipe out on the fire-bar.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>seeing him, but too late to stop him</i>). Oh, don't do that—here, - try a pipe of mine. (<i>Delving in his coat tails for pouch and offering - it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>shyly</i>). Well, sir—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Go on, man. (<i>Jim accepts and fills his pouch; Sally dusts a - chair with the corner of the table cloth.</i>) Now you know that chair - didn't need dusting, Mrs. Pilling. (<i>He sits.</i>) Well, how's the - garden, Mr. Pilling? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Oh, nicely, sir, nicely. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Yes. So I thought when I had a look at it over the hedge. (<i>Turning - to Sally.</i>) I live next door to Mr. Vining, you know, Mrs. Pilling. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. Oh, but he can't get the garden to suit him, sir. (<i>Sits R. of - table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Oh! How's that? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Thanks. (<i>Returning pouch. Walter fills a pipe and lights up.</i>) - This air's ruination to a garden, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. You put up a jolly good fight against it, then. My father's garden - looks pretty mean compared with yours. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>shyly</i>). Well, sir, you see, your father will try and look - after his himself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Yes. He's awfully attached to his garden. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>with a touch of patronage</i>). And he doesn't do it badly—for - an amateur, as you might say, but—well, he makes mistakes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b> (<i>protestingly</i>). Jim! - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Oh, that's all right, Mrs. Pilling. Dick keeping well? - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b> (<i>formally</i>). Oh, yes, thank you, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I saw him outside as I came in. I fancied the little chap looked - pale. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>gravely</i>). He does look pale. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Anything the matter? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. No, sir, no... only this. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>vaguely</i>). This? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. This room—living in one room and nothing but streets to run - about in. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. You can't keep a child inside, sir. 'Tisn't natural. The streets if - it's fine and the stairs when it's wet out. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. None too safe, Mrs. Pilling, either of 'em. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. But what are you to do? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>hopelessly</i>). Nothing, I suppose. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Folks can't thrive cramped up the way we are. If garden stuff won't - go in the air, it can't be good for humans. - </p> - <p> - (<i>A knock at the door. Without waiting for Sally, who starts towards - door, Stephen Verity enters. He is fifty, iron grey, with a good deal of - iron in his composition, though just now concerned more with the velvet - glove than the mailed fist. A selfmade man, he is cynical, domineering, - dryly humorous at times, an ugly customer if crossed, with a strong jaw - and tightly closed lips. Dressed in morning coat and grey trousers with - very square toed boots, turned down collar, black tie. His coat is good - solid broadcloth, but the cut is palpably local.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Stephen</b> (<i>off</i>). Are ye in, Pilling? (<i>He enters and sees Walter. - Sally and Walter rise—grimacing at Walter.</i>) Oh! (<i>He stops - short in doorway.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>with deference nicely regulated some degrees lower than that he - showed Walter</i>). Come in, Mr. Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>holding out hand</i>). How do you do, Mr. Verity? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>shaking hands and speaking with laboured politeness</i>). How do - you do, Mr. Montgomery? (<i>Dropping his hand—sneeringly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - [<i>He appropriates the wicker chair. Walter sits edgeways on the table.</i> - </p> - <p> - I didn't expect to find you here. What are you doing? Looking after their - souls? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>pleasantly</i>). I dropped in for a chat and a smoke, before - going on to keep my appointment at your house. What are you doing? (<i>Sits - l. of table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'm looking after their bodies, only some of them won't see it. - Pilling's a tough nut to crack. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Not gathered him in yet? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. No, but I shall. He's one of your flock. It takes time to get hold of - these fellows who come in from the country, (<i>spitefully</i>) where the - squire and the parson spell omnipotence. He'll change his tune yet, - though. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>shaking his head</i>). I'm not the changing sort. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>confidently</i>). You will be. A year or two more of this room - and you'll be ripe for anything. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b> (<i>lifting the tray</i>). We're ripe now for a change from this. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Don't go, Mrs. Pilling. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. I can get my turn at the sink for washing up now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. That can wait. I want to ask you something. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b> (<i>replacing the tray</i>). Yes, sir? (<i>Sits r. of table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>after brief pause</i>). Well, now, Mrs. Pilling, what would you - say we need most in Carrington? - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b> (<i>promptly</i>). Fresh air. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You've hit the nail on the head. Trust a woman to be sensible when - health's at stake. I've a piece of news for you. There's talk of getting a - recreation ground for Carrington. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>interested—sincerely</i>). Indeed! I hadn't heard. It's a - most interesting thing. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. And about time too. (<i>Sits below fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sentimentalizing</i>). Yes, you'll be able to take Mrs. Pilling - down for a stroll on a summer's evening or a Sunday afternoon and watch - little Dick play about on the soft grass breathing the fresh air and - fancying yourselves back in the country again. No need to have Dick - running about in the streets then. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>curtly</i>). When? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, nothing's settled yet, of course. I'm bringing it up at the - next Council meeting and I've a backing on both sides. Alderman Verity's a - power in Carrington, I don't mind telling you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. I don't know about your power, sir. What I'm wondering is how it 'ull - strike my boss. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. It sounds excellent. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>suspiciously</i>). And where might your land be, Mr. Verity? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Ah, that's a secret yet. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Um. Recreation ground two mile away's no use to my lad and you'll not - find land nearer. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. It'll not be five minutes from your door. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Walter turns interestedly from one to the other.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Then you'll have to burrow for it or hang it in the air. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. No, we shan't. The land we have in view's built on at present. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Lots of good that 'ull do—turning people out of house and home - to make a playing field, when houses are so scarce an' all. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Yes. To my mind it's more housing accommodation that's most urgent - here, Mr. Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. We'll get neither without we're helped. There'll be a lot of - opposition. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Surely not. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Oh, yes, there will. We Progressives can't carry anything in the - Council unless there's a big force of public opinion at our backs. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>confidently</i>). You won't lack that if you've a practicable - plan. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>hotly</i>). Practicable! Nothing ever is practicable to some folk - that means spending public money and putting up the rates. They're too - shortsighted to see that a healthy town pays best in the end. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>reasonably</i>). Still, such things as rates have to be - considered, I suppose. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>hotly</i>). Oh, yes. Consider the purses of the ratepayers and - consider the health of the people and the danger of little children - playing in the street and ask your religion which consideration weighs - heaviest. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>a little warmly</i>). Really, Mr. Verity, I needn't consult my - religion. My common sense is sufficient to put me on your side—if - you really are right in believing there can be two sides to such a - question. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Don't you make any doubt about that. There'll be two sides right - enough. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Well, can <i>I</i> do anything? Will you accept my help? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes, yours—and yours, Pilling, and every man's who'll say a - word for us. - </p> - <p> - (<i>A motor horn heard violently below the window—a few masculine - curses and feminine shrieks—which Sally echoes as she leaps to - window and puts it up.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. Dick's in the street. (<i>She flies across from window and out at - door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>with the air of a conjuror</i>). There you are! Street accident. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Jim follows Sally, but is met at the door by a very irate taxi-cabman - carrying Dick in one hand and by the slack of his trousers, followed by - Sally. The Chauffeur is a Cockney, about thirty, clean shaven, with the - usual oily pallid complexion—dark—with black leather leggings - and a bottle green great-coat with red facings. His number is on an - enamelled plate, which is reversed.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>with more threat than anxiety</i>). Have you hurt him? - </p> - <p> - <b>Chauffeur</b>. 'Urt? Nah. Aw'm a hexpert droiver, aw am. - </p> - <p> - (<i>He puts Dick on his feet. Dick seeks refuge behind his mother s skirts - and pulls at them with one hand, curiously watching the Chauffeur all the - time. Pilling takes jug from washstand r. and exit for water.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Pulled up in foive yard. Bet it ain't no bloomin' fault of 'is 'es not - 'urt. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b> (<i>threateningly</i>). If you'd killed my boy I'd have—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Chauff</b>. (<i>interrupting</i>). Cheese it, missus. 'E's only froightened. - </p> - <p> - <b>Dick</b>. I'm not hurt, mother. - </p> - <p> - <b>Chauff</b>. No, bet yer would be if yer got what yer bloomin' well arsked for. - Yer came as near to it as bone is to flesh. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally sits on stool r, with Dick, examining his bruised knee.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>stepping forward pompously</i>). Now then, my man—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Chauff</b>. Aw'm not yer man. (<i>To Sally.</i>) Nah aw' give yer warning, - missus, to look after 'im. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Jim returns with water, which he puts by Sally r. She washes the knee.</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>quietly</i>). Isn't it your business to look after the safety - of pedestrians? - </p> - <p> - <b>Chauff</b>. (<i>acknowledging the Church by a quieter reply</i>). What roight - 'ad 'e to-be in the middle of the rowd? Ain't the poivement woide enough - for 'im to ply 'opscotch? (<i>He addresses Walter.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>r</i>). Look here, that's my kid, and if you've anything to say - you can say it to me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Chauff</b>. Aw've this to sy. Yer tell 'im to keep to the poivements. 'E - moight 'ave bin in 'eaven nah if aw wasn't a hexpert droiver. There's more - kids to the square foot in this tahn than any place aw've struck. People - moike a fair 'obby of it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>importantly</i>). You'd better be careful what you say. You don't - know who you're talking to. - </p> - <p> - <b>Chauff</b>. (<i>with infinite scorn</i>). Fat lot aw care. Yer nothing but a - crowd of dead-aloive provincials. Don't suppose yer ever saw a taxi-keb - till me and my mate come dahn from London. A 'ackney keb is news to yer in - these parts. (<i>Up to Stephen.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>boiling over</i>). I'm an alderman of this town and if you don't - talk to me respectfully I'll have your license cancelled. You're not fit - to have one. - </p> - <p> - <b>Chauff</b>. Ho! Blimey, not fit to 'ave a license, ain't aw? Aw've druv a dook - in my keb. And yer a tahn councillor, are yer? Yus. Yer bloomin' well look - it and aw can't say wuss than that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'll pay you out for this. I'll report you to your employer. - </p> - <p> - <b>Chauff</b>. (<i>indignantly</i>). Employer be blowed. Aw'm my own boss. Bought - my keb, aw did. Thet's enterprise. Don't know what enterprise means dahn - here, do yer? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>, What's your number? I'll report you to the police. (<i>Goes to window - and looks out.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Chauff</b>. Yus, yer do. Aw'll tell yer where 'e is. On the 'Igh Street with a - stopwatch in his fat hand, trying to cop me exceedin' the limit, and aw've - never druv above ten moile for fear of the kids. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Jim goes up to door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I demand to know your number. - </p> - <p> - <b>Chauff</b>. (<i>making sure that it is reversed</i>). Never you moind my - number. My name's Walker. Fair fed up with this tahn, aw am. Aw'm used to - drivin' gentlemen. Aw druv a bally commercial abart all yesterday and the - blighter tipped me tuppence. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Jim indicates door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Yes. Aw'm going. My keb 'ull carry me to London now (<i>moves a bit - towards door</i>), and yer rowds reek of kids. Aw've killed none yet and - aw don't want to. Aw reckon 'oss kebs are good enough for Carrington. - P'raps they train 'em to step loightly on the kids or else they're funeral - 'osses in their spare toime and never learn to go faster. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>almost frenzied</i>). You... insolent... Cockney... cad. - </p> - <p> - <b>Chauff</b>. (<i>crossing back to Stephen</i>). Foine language from a tahn - alderman with the Church lookin' on an' all. Aw am among the nobs. Abart - toime aw cleared when a tahn 'as a bally hobject the loikes of you for an - alderman. Aw wouldn't be seen droiv-ing yer not for a quid a moile and - disinfectin' free. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Stephen looks pugnacious. Walter steps between them.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. If you're going to London, Mr. Walker—I think you said - Walker—hadn't you better go? - </p> - <p> - <b>Chauff</b>. (<i>at door</i>). Yus, and aw'll droive quick for once through - Carrington and charnce it. The kids 'ad better look aloive. (<i>Looking - back at Stephen.</i>) Aw'll tell 'em when aw droive into the old garage in - the Westminster Rowd abaht meetin' a real loive alderman. They'll be - sending rand from Fleet Street to interview me abaht it. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Chauffeur, leaving door open.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>closing door—to Walter</i>). I'm sorry you've been spoken to - like that in my room, sir. Civil tongues don't cost nothing. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>smiling</i>). That's a type of modern progress. The new man, - Mr. Pilling. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Then I'd as lief have the old. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. That's where you're wrong, Jim Pilling. This fellow's up-to-date. - He'd never be content to let his children play in the streets. He'd—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. No. He'd drive over them. - </p> - <p> - <b>Dick</b> (<i>who's been clutching Sally's skirts, staring</i>). Boo hoo! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Sally bends down.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>all ostentatious sympathy</i>). What's to do? - </p> - <p> - <b>Dick</b>. My knee's hurting. (<i>Holding it up.</i>) I falled on it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b> (<i>examining it</i>). It's only bruised. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>looking at the knee</i>). Got any plaster? - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. I think so. (<i>Opens drawer in the dresser and searches.</i>) I - ought to have. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>watches her</i>). What's that? - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. That's no good. Corn plaster. There's Beecher's Pills and Wood's - Sarsaperilla and every mortal thing except the one you want. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>reprovingly</i>). Patent medicines, Mrs. Pilling. (<i>Back to - fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Dick on stool, watching Sally.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b> (<i>justifying herself</i>). They've all got the Government stamp, - sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>who has taken out a pocket hook, eyeing Dick with what he thinks - is benevolence</i>). I generally have some plaster in my pocket. (<i>But - he looks in vain.</i>) No, none there. Sorry, Mrs. Pilling. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. I'd better take him to the chemist's. (<i>She gets a purse from the - dresser.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Dick</b>. Don't want no chemists. Want my supper. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. You'll have your supper when we get back. Come and see the man who - lives behind the big red bottles. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Dick consents to go. Exeunt Sally and Dick.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>triumphantly</i>). Anybody got anything to say against a - recreation ground <i>now</i>. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Neither of us ever had, I hope. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You'd a lot to say about the rates. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. And I didn't see the use of pulling houses down to make room where - houses are scarce. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. We shan't pull down many. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. It'll be a small ground then. (<i>Sits R. of table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>with quiet triumph</i>). About ten acres. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. You'll have to pull down streets on streets to find ten acres. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. We shall pull down just five houses. (<i>Sits L. of table.</i>) No - more and no less. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Five houses! - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>startled</i>). Five, Mr. Verity? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>with bluster</i>). Yes. Five houses, I said. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>puzzled</i>). Then you must be thinking of—oh, but that's - ridiculous. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. And why is it ridiculous, Mr. Montgomery? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. The Polygon's the only place that applies to. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, why shouldn't I be thinking of the Polygon? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Are you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes.. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. But the Polygon is—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>interrupting</i>). I'll tell you what the Polygon, is. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>quietly</i>). It's my home, Mr. Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>with gusto</i>). Yes, it's the home of the leisured and - privileged class of Carrington. It's five big houses with a kind of a - square of tennis lawn in the middle of them and a great big garden behind - each. It's the only apology for a breathing space we have and it's bang in - the middle of the town. You've got great gates to it marked "private" and - a lodge keeper to watch 'em and see none of the common herd get in to soil - your sacred air by breathing it in their vulgar lungs. It's a shame and a - scandal for the land to be wasted on you and it's not going to be wasted - much longer. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>without passion</i>). To the people who live there, it's——- - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>interrupting</i>). They're about twenty all told. Who are they to - get in the way of the thousands that live crowded up like rabbits outside? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. They happen to be able to afford it, Mr. Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sarcastically</i>). Yes. They're well-to-do, so they've the right - to monopolize the air. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>mildly</i>). Yes, yes. But you do put things so violently. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>glancing at Jim for approval</i>). I feel 'em violently. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>half apologetically</i>). You must remember this is quite a new - idea to me, and for the moment it seems iconoclastic, if you don't mind my - saying so. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sneering</i>). Yes. Like all your class, you don't like new - ideas. I'll say nothing about your Church, though that don't like new - things either. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Jim rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. If you'll only give me a moment to think, Mr. Verity.... I'm - trying my best to see the matter from your standpoint. Meantime, I don't - know that you'll improve things by fulminating against the Church. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>blustering</i>). I shan't do myself any good by truckling to it, - either. The Church was here before I was. It was here when Carrington was - a little village and it's stood by and let the place grow into one huge - slum. If we waited for the Church to give us a lead, we'd wait for all - eternity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>smiling</i>). But you're not addressing the Church, you know. - You're addressing a young and humble member of it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You're all tarred with the same brush. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Not so black as our cloth, I hope. Some of us younger men try to - be social reformers. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes. It's all very pretty and romantic, but when it comes to anything - that touches you personally like this does you're as bad as the greediest - tithe grabbing pluralist that ever robbed a starving farmer of his—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>touching Stephen's arm</i>). Mr. Verity, I'm a man that's slow to - anger. But I've this to tell you. Mr. Montgomery's a clergyman and you're - saying things to him that aren't proper to be said and that I'll hot have - said in my room. (<i>Shrewdly.</i>) And you're not going the right way to - get my vote for your recreation ground either. . - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>alarmed</i>). I apologize, Pilling. (<i>Rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>satisfied</i>). Ah! - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>earnestly</i>). It's the wrongs of your class. I think of others, - Pilling. I see what the motorman saw—streets crowded with little - children, growing up in the gutter, playing in the dust—I can't help - it. My tongue runs away with me when I think of it all. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Say no more, Mr. Verity. You're probably right about the Polygon. - I dare say we are out of place there, but you couldn't expect me to take - your view the moment it's sprung on me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>nodding</i>). I've a way of calling a spade a spade. - </p> - <p> - (<i>A knock at the door. Jim opens it. A Man advances a foot into the - room. Behind him is dimly seen a woman, both poorly dressed. The Man has a - bundle tied up into a blue quilt on his shoulder; his voice is tired and - hopeless.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Man</b>. Have you got any floor space to let in this room, mate? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. No. (<i>Trying to close the door. The Man's foot keeps it open.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Man</b>. Don't shut the door in our face. I've got the money to pay for it. - I'll give you a week's rent now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. It's no use. I'm not letting. - </p> - <p> - <b>Man</b> (<i>pleading</i>). I'm in work, mate. Start at Bamford's factory o' - Monday. A corner's all as we want. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. I tell you I've none to let. - </p> - <p> - <b>Man</b>. Don't be so hard on a fellow. I can't get in nowhere. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. You'll not get in here. - </p> - <p> - <b>Man</b> (<i>turning dejectedly</i>). Lodging-houses full up and getting late - an' all. We've been looking all day. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>closes the door</i>). Get three or four of them a week. They find - room somewhere in the end. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. What did he want? Floor space? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Stephen crosses l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Aye. Lots of rooms about here with two or three families in 'em. Some - one 'ull take them in if they look long enough. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I know. It's appalling. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. And ten acres in the Polygon with only five houses on 'em. (<i>Sits - in armchair.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. All the more reason to build houses there and not waste it in - playing fields. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Ah! So it is wasted now? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Yes. It's wasted now. I'm going to do my best to help you. (<i>Back - to fire standing.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. That's good news, any way. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Don't count on me for much. But what I can do I will. I'm afraid I - must go now. I've a call to make before I'm due at your house. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Right. See you later. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>to Jim</i>). Say good-night to Mrs. Pilling for me. (<i>Crossing - R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Jim opens the door as Walter goes out.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Good-night. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>rubbing his hands together</i>). Ah, glad I came. Good thing to - rope in young Montgomery. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>sourly</i>). Good, is it? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. What else do you call it? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>aggressively</i>). Look here, Mr. Verity, you've been coming here - calling yourself my friend. I knew well enough it was my vote you were - after. Bless you, I don't mind. I know what even the real gentry 'ull do - to get a man's vote. I've seen Sir Charles himself stand by and watch his - wife kiss our Dick at election time. But I've finished with you now. - You'll come here no more after this. (<i>Above table l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>staggered</i>). But... I don't understand. What have I done? (<i>Rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. It's not what you've done. It's what you're wanting to do. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'm wanting to provide a recreation ground for Dick to play in. - Anything wrong in that? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. A lot. There's more important things than playing fields. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Oh, you're thinking of Montgomery's idea for houses. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. No, I'm not thinking of anybody's ideas. Thinking of ideas leads to - mischief. I'm thinking of my bread and butter that you're taking from me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. You know very well where I work. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You're Mr. Vining's gardener, aren't you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Yes, and Mr. Vining lives in the Polygon. It's likely I'd vote for - breaking up the Polygon, isn't it? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. But, my dear friend—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. I tell you I'm not your friend. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Mr. Vining will have to live somewhere. He won't cease to require a - gardener. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Ever hear tell as a bird in the hand whacked two in the bush? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>scornfully</i>). If you're afraid of losing your employment. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>with conviction</i>). A working man's always afraid of that. I - know what it's like to be out of a job. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>ingratiatingly, after a slight pause</i>). Well, now, I tell you - what. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>.. Aye? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. We shall want somebody to look after the grass in the recreation - ground. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Well? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. The Park Committee will want an experienced gardener—like you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Are you offering me the job? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. How do you know you'll be on any Park Committee? You might be fired - out of the Council next November. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>with dignity</i>). I'm an alderman, Pilling. Aldermen stay in, - they don't get fired. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. You're offering me this. Well and good. And what about all the other - folk as find work in the Polygon? House servants and such like. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. The residents won't cease to want servants where they move to. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. And you can flit servants same as furniture, can't you? And servants - haven't votes and I have. So you bribe me and they can go to the devil. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>backing in alarm</i>). Mr. Pilling! - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Oh, I'm not blind, if I was brought up in the country. They didn't - learn me there to vote against my master, either. I take Mr. Vining's - money and—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. But man alive, how's he to know which way you vote? The ballot's - secret. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>sceptically</i>). Oh, aye, we've heard that tale before. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>irritated</i>). But it is secret. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>unconvinced</i>). That's what they tell you. And if it is, it's - not secret from me. I'd know how I voted. And I couldn't hold out my hand - for wages from a man when I'd voted opposite to him. I'm not built that - way. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>disgustedly</i>). Jim Pilling, I thought you'd more sense. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. I've a sense of right and wrong. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes, the sense that your employer's always right. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. It makes no matter if he's right or wrong. He's still my employer. A - man can't vote against the gentleman that gives him bread and butter, and - Mr. Vining's a real gentleman, mind you. (<i>With enthusiastic admiration</i>). - I never saw him raise his hand to do a thing himself yet. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You're a fool, Pilling. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. I'm an honest fool, then. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Look here, if you won't take it from me, will you take it from Mr. - Montgomery? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. I don't know. He's a young 'un. More like a man than a parson. Coming - in here and smoking his pipe like you might do yourself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. But he is a parson—young Montgomery. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>grudgingly</i>). Aye. He's a man I trust. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Then if he tells you, will you vote for turning the Polygon into a - playing ground? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b> (<i>confidently</i>). He won't. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. But if he does? - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. I'll see. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Re-enter Sally and Dick.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Hullo! Patched the little man up? - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Dick exhibits a black plaster about his knee.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'll get out of your way, Mrs. Pilling. I've an appointment to keep - at home. Good-night. (<i>Crosses below table to door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>, - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Good-night. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>turning at door, patting Dick's head</i>). Goodnight, Dick. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Dick doesn't respond. Exit Stephen.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. Good riddance and all. Now, Dick, you ought to have been in bed - long ago. (<i>Takes Dick up to bed.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Dick</b>. Can't I come and watch you wash up? - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. No, you can't. (<i>She begins to undress him.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Dick</b>. I want my supper. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. You can have it in bed. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. You don't like Verity, lass? - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. And never did. What's he want with bothering round week after week? - We're not his class. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. Vote's what he's after, and it's a marvel to me what they will do for - votes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Sally</b>. You'll do yourself no good with him, Jim. - </p> - <p> - <b>Jim</b>. I'm thinking so myself. He's a bit too keen on this recreation - ground, Verity is. Been putting himself about something extraordinary. (<i>Crosses - to fireplace, taking pipe.</i>) I fancy, you know, there's, something - behind all this. - </p> - <p> - (<i>The undressing of Dick advances.</i>) - </p> - <h3> - CURTAIN. - </h3> - <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 II - </h2> - <p> - <i>Stephen Verity's dining-room the same evening. The room has doors right - and left. Window with drawn blind, r. Large table centre with chairs. - Fireplace left. Solid-looking sideboard back centre. The furniture is - solid, old-fashioned, and the atmosphere of the room is one of heavy - comfort without ostentation. The room is a small one. No books anywhere. - In an armchair before the fire is Stephen Verity. Walter Montgomery faces - him in a highbacked chair. Stephen is smoking a large, well coloured - briar.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0092.jpg" alt="0092 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0092.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <b>Stephen</b> (<i>removing the pipe</i>). So you think you're good enough to - marry my daughter, do you? Walter. I ventured to think so. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Why? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Because I love her, Mr. Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. That the only reason? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. No. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. What are the others? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. She loves me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Did she tell you so? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Um! (<i>Slight pause; he smokes reflectively.</i>) - </p> - <p> - That all? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>rather startled</i>). All what? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. All your reasons. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Yes, I think so. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. They're too few. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. But—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'll ask <i>you</i> something. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Yes? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. What do you want to get married for? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I'm in love. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. That's no reason. You curates, you're all alike—must be with - marrying other folk so much. Infectious, I reckon. Church ought to be - scheduled along with the other dangerous trades. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. You're laughing at me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. No, I'm not. Marriage isn't a laughing matter, I know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Won't you give me your answer, Mr. Verity? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes. (<i>He rises, knocks at his pipe in the grate, puts it on the - mantelpiece and goes himself to the door left. His deliberate movements - cause Walter an agony, of which Stephen is quite aware. Stephen opens the - door and calls.</i>) Lucy! - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>off l.</i>). Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Come in here. (<i>He leaves the door open and goes below door. Enter - Lucy Verity. She is twenty-one, pretty, dressed in a skirt and blouse, - pointing to a very modest dress allowance. Her hair is plainly dressed. - Obviously her father is her master, but she is not without indications of - a will of her own. Walter rises as she enters.</i>) Here's a friend of - yours. Tells me he wants to marry you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Lucy crosses r. of table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>anxiously</i>). Yes, father. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. It's true, then? (<i>Motions her to sit.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Yes. (<i>Sits r. of table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, listen to me. He's a curate. Curates always marry young and - have enormous families on no income. (<i>Walter makes an attempt to - protest; Stephen proceeds unmoved.</i>) I advise you not to marry him. If - he wants a wife, he'll not go begging one for long. There's always crowds - of silly girls ready to help a chap to button his collar behind. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Mr. Verity, this isn't a joke to us. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I don't know that losing Lucy 'ud be a joke to me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I can very well believe that. But it's a thing that's bound to - come to you sooner or later. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You're making a mistake. It isn't bound to come at all. My daughter's - no need to find a man to keep her. She's a head on her shoulders and sense - enough to know when she's well off. Who's going to look after my house if - Lucy marries? Tell me that, young man. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I really haven't thought about it, Mr. Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. And I'm not going to. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. There'd be plenty of time to consider that. We're not proposing to - get married to-morrow. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. 'Um. Very good of you. Want a long engagement, eh? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Moderately. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. And hope I'll be dead and out of your way first? (<i>Sitting behind - table c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Father! - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You hold your tongue. I'll get you to talk in a minute. (<i>To - Walter.</i>) What do you want to wait for? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I'm hoping to get a living before long. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. So you <i>have</i> proposed on nothing a year. I thought as much. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>with excessive dignity</i>). I'm not without money, sir. I - could afford to marry at once. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Could you now? And what might you call being not without money? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I've £150 a year. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You plutocrat! Lucy, do you hear that? He's £150 a year. Nice sort of - marrying income, that is. Oh, but perhaps I'm wronging you. What's your - father going to do for you when you marry? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I don't know. I haven't asked him. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, give a guess at it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Nothing, probably. He gave me an expensive education. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Then he made a bad investment if it's only worth £150 a year to you - to-day. I had no education and I'm worth—well, never mind. Lucy, - tell him what I've been telling you to-night. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. What you told me? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Don't repeat my words like a fool. Go on. You've got your chance of - talking now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. But—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. So like a woman to be backward at tongue-wagging, isn't it? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>as if repeating a lesson</i>). You told me that mother left me - money which you've, increased by investment till it's now capable of - yielding £1,000 a year, and since my twenty-first birthday a week ago the - money lies to my credit at the bank. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. That's right. Now, my gallant £3 a weeker, what have you got to say - to that? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Of course I didn't know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. No. I'll gamble you didn't. You fancied I lived in a small house - because I couldn't afford a big 'un. That's a regular Polygon notion. - You're used to their way of living up to your income and as much beyond as - you've pluck for. When a man's worked as hard as I have he don't spend as - fast as he earns. He sticks to what he's got. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I knew you were a successful man, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I've made my way. I began low and I'm no class now, bar what they - think of me at the bank—and that's a fat lot more than they think of - any fine Polygon gentlemen. Would you like to know where Lucy's bit comes - from? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Really, I'm—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Her grandfather kept the <i>Black Bull</i>. That's where it was made, - except what I've added to it. Stinks of beer, that money does. Pubs were a - good thing in his time for a landlord that kept off the drink. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I've no doubt it was honestly made. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Aye, ye <i>would</i> think that now you fancy your chance of - fingering it. It was made in the way of business same as my own was, and - that means the best man won and he hadn't time to stand still and think - about honesty. Too busy downing the other fellow for that. And now you've - got it. That's me, sir, builder and contractor, and married a publican's - daughter. Feeling as keen set on Lucy as you were? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I don't believe very much in artificial class distinctions, Mr. - Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Don't you? Not in your business hours, you mean. Not so long as you - remember you're a parson. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Father! (<i>Rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, what's the matter with you? Do you want to marry him? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You're a fool. You've £1,000 a year. You're an heiress. He's a - pauper.. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I'm not a pauper, but I quite agree. - </p> - <p> - From the worldly point of view—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. It's the only view I care-about. (<i>To Lucy.</i>) With your money - you can look high. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Thanks, father. When I want to buy a husband, I'll let you know. I'm - thinking of marrying one at present. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>immensely surprised</i>). Hullo! Showing spirit, are you? (<i>Rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. It's the first time, if I am. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. And it had better be the last, if you don't want to quarrel. I'm not - one of these weak-kneed modern fathers that let themselves be browbeaten - by their own children. Perhaps you think you'll get him whether I consent - or not? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. I hope you will consent. (<i>Pause.</i>), - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'm not fond of curates, Lucy. It's a soft job, and a real man looks - for a fighting chance in life. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I get plenty of fighting to do, Mr. Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Who do you fight with? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Evil, in every shape and form. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. 'Um, the devil's game for a few rounds yet. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. He's an old hand, and if we haven't knocked him out we're - weakening his defence. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, I'll give you a chance of showing it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. In a good cause, I hope. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. The cause is all right. You're a parson. Got the good of the poor at - heart and all that sort of thing? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I hope so. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes. (<i>Briskly.</i>) Well now, about Lucy. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Is that the fight? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'm coming to the fight. You say you love her. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I do. (<i>Stephen is between them.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>to Lucy</i>). You love him? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Yes. (<i>Lucy r., Stephen c., Walter l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>holding up his hands evenly</i>). Quits so far. Income on the - male side £150 a year. (<i>Surveys his right hand.</i>) Income on the - female side £1,000. (<i>Depressing his left hand as if weighing the - incomes in scales.</i>) Hullo! wo! something wrong there. Doesn't balance. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>bitterly</i>). Do you think I don't know it? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>dropping his hands</i>). Yes. You've hooked your fish, my boy. - But you're a long way off landing her yet. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Tell me what you want me to do. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>curtly</i>). Earn her. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Yes, but how? (<i>Steps forward.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. By fighting. By doing something for the good of the town. There's - this proposal to buy up the Polygon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>eagerly</i>). Yes? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, now you know what you've to do. You know what Polygon people - are and you know what the town needs. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. The town needs space and decent houses. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. That's what you've to rub into your Polygon set, and you'll not find - 'em seeing it so easy. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. You can't blame them if they don't exactly welcome the idea of - turning out and making fresh homes in their old age. It's only natural. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Oh, I'm not afraid of them. They'll not stop us. All you've to do is - to make them see they're an obstacle to progress in this town. They're - bound to see justice if they are narrow and selfish and too puffed up with - pride to know the townspeople and—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. And they're my father and my friends, Mr. Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes, I knew you only disbelieved in class distinctions during - business hours. Scratch the curate and find the hypocrite. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>keeping his temper smilingly</i>). As bad as all that? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. The moment I attack your class you're up in arms to defend 'em. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. No. They take up too much room in the Polygon. I never said they - didn't. But they'll not want to go. And surely the whole thing depends on - Sir Charles' readiness to sell. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes, but a willing Polygon will make a lot of difference, and if you - want Lucy as bad as you say, here's your way to help yourself to her. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I don't see what Lucy has to do with it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Don't you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Well, do you? The town proposes to buy the Polygon for the people. - It's an excellent project and my plain duty is to further it. I shan't - fail in my duty merely because of the unpleasant unheaval in the lives of - a few people who happen to be dear to me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Oh! Well, I don't want words, I want deeds. Succeed and I'll think - about calling you son-in-law—if Lucy doesn't change her mind - meantime. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I can't see why you insist on making a kind of bribe of Lucy when - there's only one course open to me in any case. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>grimly</i>). I'm making sure of things. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Father, you don't doubt—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I always doubt an untried man. I doubt if he'll have the pluck to - face old Vining in the Polygon—I doubt lots of things. Put it that - I'm giving him some Dutch courage to stiffen his back. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>desperately</i>). I don't want Dutch courage. Is there any way - of convincing you that I mean what I say? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. There's going and doing it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Very well, I will. (<i>Moving as if to go.</i>) Ste. (<i>stopping - him</i>). Remember, you're not engaged to Lucy yet. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I understand. (<i>Crosses r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. That'll do, then. You know what you've to do. Good-night. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Yes. Good-night, Mr. Verity. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Lucy moves towards right door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>to Lucy</i>). You stay where you are. Say good-night to him while - I've got my eye on you. He can find the front door without your help. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Lucy and Walter shake hands, R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Good-night. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Walter, r. A slight pause. Stephen eyes Lucy from head to foot - before speaking. Lucy crosses and sits l. of table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>before fire, judicially</i>). It strikes me pretty forcibly I've - brought a fool into the world. (<i>Sharply.</i>) How long's this been - going on behind my back? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>with an air of standing up to him</i>). Nothing's gone on behind - your back. I told Walter at once he must speak to you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Umph! If you'd told me you wanted help to send him about his business - there'd have been some sense in it. But you backed him up. You showed, - fight. You're getting proud, my girl. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. I've grown up, father. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Grown up, have you? All right. If you fancy you're too old to come to - me for advice you can do without. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. You know I want your advice. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. So as you can do opposite, eh? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Oh, that's unjust, father. I never disobeyed you in my life. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>, And you'd better not begin now, or you and I will fall out. Ha! So - you're grown up, are you? Yes, you've been a legal woman for a week. Only - I've been a legal man for thirty years and you'll allow I know the world - better than you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Of course. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Oh, you do agree to that, do you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Certainly. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, I tell you you'll be throwing yourself away on young - Montgomery..(<i>Persuasively.</i>) He's not up to your weight, Lucy. - Polygon type, he is. You know, shove all your goods in the shop window. - Live in a big house for swank and get it dirt cheap because the - neighbourhood's gone down. They're not solid.. Lucy, you and I together - could buy up the whole, crowd of swells to-morrow.. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. I fell in love with Walter before I knew I'd a penny piece in the - world. I don't think my money must make any difference. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Don't be silly. Money makes all differences. We're all born without - pockets. It's pockets or no pockets that makes us rich or poor. Yesterday - you didn't knew you'd a pocket and the Polygon looked big and young - Montgomery, he looked big. I don't blame you. It looked a good thing. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. It looks the same to-day as it did yesterday. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Women are fools over money. I did think <i>you'd</i> more sense. (<i>Dogmatically.</i>) - Money should, marry money. (<i>With rising irritation.</i>) It's all my - eye to talk of throwing away your money on a penniless curate. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>rises</i>). I'm sorry to disagree. Obedience has its limits. I - hope we shan't quarrel, father, but I'm a free woman now and I warn you—oh, - I'm sorry. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Sorry, are you? I'm a hard man, Lucy. I'm a masterful man. I know - that. But I'm a soft-hearted fool where you're concerned, or I'd let you - marry the curate and suffer the consequences. But I've got ambitions for - you if you've none for yourself. (<i>R.d.</i>) When you marry there's two - things for it—money or birth—and you'll not find either in - Polygon. They're a bad imitation of the real thing—about as near as - the shoddy Bamford makes it to honest broadcloth. Not one of them with a - handle to his name. (<i>Crosses to Lucy.</i>) If you must get married, - I'll find you a husband. Leave it to me. And don't be in such a hurry to - leave your old dad if you are a free woman. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>quietly</i>). I'm marrying Walter Montgomery, father; but we're - not in any hurry. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Going to be obstinate, are you? All right, We'll see who'll win. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. You've already given a conditional consent. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Don't you worry about that. He may help to keep the Polygon set quiet - till I've put the business through. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Puts ink on table from sideboard.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. You'd use him and then throw him over afterwards. Father, you don't - mean that! - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. What do you know about business? I'd use the devil himself if I - thought he'd smooth my way to a bit of money. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. But this isn't money, is it? It's for the town. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Oh, yes, of course, it's the town. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Then you'd—— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Janet, the maid, opens the door right to Stephen's obvious relief.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Janet</b>. Mr. Bamford, Mr. Alcorn. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Ah, that's what I'm waiting for. Don't go beyond call, Lucy. I'll be - wanting you soon. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Lucy l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter r. Bamford and Alcorn.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Samuel Bamford is a wealthy shoddy manufacturer. He is a bachelor of - forty, a bon viveur and a sportsman. His shrewd ruddy face shows above a - white four-in-hand scarf, controlled by a horseshoe gold pin. He is well - covered with flesh, but not yet as gross as he probably will be in a few - years. His clothes are slightly sportsmanlike in cut and he wears spats. A - noticeably heavy gold chain crosses his stomach. Nathaniel Alcorn is tall, - spare and dark. His face is yellowish, with a drooping moustache. He wears - a frock coat, and his prosperity, though evident, is less ostentatious - than Bamford's.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Good-evening, gentlemen. (<i>To Janet.</i>) Send Mr. Smithson up when - he comes. No one else. Janet. Yes, sir. (<i>Exit Janet.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b> (<i>briskly</i>). Evening, Verity. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Bamford nods bluffly at Stephen.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Sit down. Any news? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Stephen sits c. above table, Bamford r. and Alcorn l. of table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b> (<i>producing letter from his pocket</i>). Yes, my brother's sent - this on. (<i>Hands letter to Stephen.</i>) From Sir Charles' agent. He's - abroad, Sir Charles. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Yes, confound him. How dare he be abroad when we want him? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Stephen reads the letter.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>looking up</i>). Dodging duns. (<i>To Bamford.</i>) You've seen - this? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>gloomily</i>). Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b> (<i>equally gloomily</i>). It's not encouraging. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>returning the letter to Alcorn</i>). What isn't encouraging? - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. Why, this. (<i>Reading the letter.</i>) "Speaking for myself - alone, I consider it extremely improbable that Sir Charles will consent to - a sale of the Polygon to your company." (<i>Leaves letter on the table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. There's nothing to be afraid of there. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. I don't know so much about that. These land owning fellows know - they're no good at business. They leave it to their agents, and if the - agent writes like that, you can take it he knows. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. He knows all right. Sir Charles isn't a business man, but his agent - is. If there's a chance of selling, that agent wants a top price; - naturally he writes that way to bluff us into raising our offer. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. You've a head on your shoulders, Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>to Bamford</i>). It all depends on what you told us. If your - information's correct, they'll be only too glad to sell. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. Yes. It's you that told us Sir Charles is in low water. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. He's dropped a pot of money lately. It's a well known fact. I - know one bookie that's taken ten thousand off him in the season, and he's - not the only one. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b> (<i>sanctimoniously</i>). Deplorable wastrel. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Eh? Oh, aye! (<i>Ironically.</i>) Lamentable prodigality. Shocking - extravagance, isn't it, Alcorn? - </p> - <p> - But it suits our book. The faster he goes the pace the better for us, so - you might as well be decently grateful instead of getting mealy mouthed - over it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Me and Alcorn were arguing coming along here what's to be done - with the land. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. Aye, but as I told him, the first thing is to get possession of - the land. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Now, don't you worry about that, Alcorn. The land's as good as ours - at our own price. Sir Charles 'ull jump at it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Well, I'm for building on it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. And I'm not so sure. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Of course you're on my side, Verity? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Your side? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. For building. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. No. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. What, and you a builder! - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I've finished building now. I'm getting old. I've made my money. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. I'm out for making an open space of it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. You're a blooming philanthropist. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. No, he's not. It's a pity you missed our last meeting. You don't - grasp the idea yet. We buy the land from Sir Charles. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Then we create a demand in the town for a recreation ground. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. And you back it up in the Council. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. And Alcorn as borough surveyor approves officially. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. We force the town to buy from us. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. And get a quick return of our capital with a clinking profit. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>obstinately</i>), Well, I thought it was houses. Houses are - safe, and you'd easier raise a cry for houses than playing fields. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Depends how you go about it. Work it proper and you could get them - yelling like kids for a municipal service of flying machines. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Smithson, r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Smithson</b>. Good evening, gentlemen all. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Stephen grunts and rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. } Good evening - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. } Good evening - </p> - <p> - (<i>Stephen gives Smithson his chair, and takes the vacant one r. c. of - table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. Sorry I'm late, but I've been employing my time well. Sowing the - seed. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Been getting at the voters? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Smithson sits between Alcorn and Stephen.</i>) Smiths. Yes, one or - two. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You've been wasting time. I've collared a man who'll bring in voters - by the score. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. Who might that be, Mr. Verity? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Young Montgomery. The parson lad. For all their talk, the Church - still has a big hold on the poorer classes. It'll pay to have that boy on - our side. He'll talk to them in the Polygon, too. Bamford. Aye. Good man, - that, Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>to Smithson</i>). There's a letter you'd better read. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Smithson reads it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>sullenly; emerging from a silent sulk</i>). I thought it was - houses. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, it isn't. It 'ud take too much capital to cover the Polygon - with houses. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. It was houses. You've altered it. I ought to have been told. No - one told me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b> (<i>looking up from the letter</i>). He'll come round. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>taking it personally; indignantly</i>). Who'll come round? I - won't come round. Houses it was and houses it's going to be. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>moving Smithson to give Alcorn the letter. Alcorn pockets it. - Dryly.</i>) We spoke of Sir Charles. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Oh! - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>, (<i>tentatively</i>). I fancy, myself, houses would be a safer - battle-cry with the people, Mr. Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Damn the people. Who cares for the people? - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b> (<i>rising</i>). I really must protest. Such language! (<i>He seems - genuinely shocked.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>impatiently</i>). It's so silly to talk as if the people - mattered. Government by the people! Any fool can lead 'em where he wants. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b> (<i>sitting</i>). We must consider their feelings a bit. Think of - the rates. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Oh, we'll consider their feelings all right. We must make 'em feel - what we want 'em to feel.. Then they'll vote for what we want and kid - themselves we do it for their sake. That's how to consider their feelings. - When I was a lad there was a trout stream ran through Carrington. It's a - sewer now, but there were trout in it then and I've caught 'em by tickling - their bellies. That's the way to catch voters, Mr. Alcorn. Tickle 'em. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. Yes, but the trout died. The voter lives to vote next time. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Go on tickling. I'm an old hand and I've never known it fail. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. You're not attending to me. I say houses. Smithson says houses. - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b> (<i>in alarm</i>). Oh, no, I don't. Indeed I don't. I only say - houses 'ull bring votes quicker than playing fields. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. I suppose you couldn't shout houses and make it the other thing - afterwards? - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. I'm surprised at you, Mr. Alcorn. (<i>Very righteously.</i>) I - stand for purity in municipal life. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Yes. Always be honest with your electors. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Alcorn's got none. He's a permanent official with a certain job, or - he'd know better. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. If I provide a quarter of the capital, I've a right—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You've every right, Mr. Bamford, and we shall do nothing without your - approval. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Then I approve houses. As a ratepayer— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>definitely</i>). Only, if it's houses, I can't go on. (<i>Consternation.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. (<i>frightened</i>). We can't do without your influence. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>grudgingly</i>). No, we can't do without Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Our share of what 'ull go on the rates is a flea bite. Our profit - 'ull cover it a hundred times. I don't deny the town needs houses, needs - 'em badly, only I haven't the capital for houses. My money's tied up and - I'm not touching it. The money I'm putting into this isn't my own. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Alcorn writes on a scrap of paper and passes it to Smithson, who - reads, nods, and passes it to Stephen.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Who's is it, if it's a fair question? Ste. My daughter's. I'll - want it back quick. Alcorn. Your daughter's got money, then? Bamford (<i>very - interested</i>). Your daughter's? Nice looking girl, your daughter. (<i>Slight - pause.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Well, I'm using my own money and——(<i>Irritably.</i>) - </p> - <p> - What's that you're passing round? Another secret from me? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>blandly</i>). No. (<i>Passing him the paper.</i>) Bamford (<i>reading</i>). - "Make Bamford Mayor next year." (<i>He looks up at each in turn.</i>) Um. - Well. Bamford's willing. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. I think it's very suitable. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes. We'll call it a recreation ground, eh, Mr. Mayor-Elect? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. I'm not a favourite with the psalmsinging set, you know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. I've got them in my pocket. They'll be squared all right. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. If I say mayor, you'll be mayor. You make a bit on the mayoral - allowance, you know. Needn't spend above half of it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. All right. No need to say more. It's a recreation ground and damn - the expense. (<i>The tension passes.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Right. Got those papers with you, Alcorn? Alcorn. Yes. (<i>Fussily - producing and smoothing the typewritten articles of association.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Your signature's wanted, Bamford. Bamford (<i>examining the paper</i>). - Land Development Syndicate, Ltd. Sounds well, anyhow. Hullo! What's this? - Registered Offices, London Wall, E.C. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. My brother's office in London. Bamford. Why? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Wouldn't do to have a local address here. Some busybody 'ud smell it - out. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. I see. (<i>Suspiciously.</i>) What does his brother get out of - it? - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. Nothing; and he's put down three of his clerks for one share - apiece to make up the statutory seven shareholders. Those are their - signatures above Smithson's and mine. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Bamford nods.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>dipping pen</i>). There's a pen. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Bamford signs.</i>) - </p> - <p> - I'll witness. (<i>Calling off l.</i>) Lucy! - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. I deliver this as my act and deed. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Stephen signs without sitting. Enter Lucy, l. All rise.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Did you call, father? - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b> (<i>advancing and speaking with the respect due to a capitalist</i>). - Good evening, Miss Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>stepping back, and interposing impatiently</i>). Oh, never mind - all that; sit down, Lucy. (<i>Pushing her into his vacated chair and - pointing to the papers, handing pen.</i>) Write your name there. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>vaguely</i>). My name? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes. Can't you hear? See what it is? Lucy. No. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Bamford's eyes are set on Lucy with the air of a butcher appraising a - sheep.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>impatiently</i>). Oh, never mind. It 'ud take a week to make you - understand. You've some money lying at the bank. Mine's all tied up. I - want yours for a bit, so just sign your name there. (<i>Lucy signs.</i>) - Say "I deliver this as my act and deed." - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. I deliver this as my act and deed. (<i>To Stephen.</i>) It's your - deed really, you know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'll witness. (<i>Signs.</i>) Right. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>reading</i>). The Land Development Syndicate, Ltd. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Stephen takes the paper from under her eyes, folds and hands it to - Alcorn.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You'll see to that, now? - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. Yes. You're our partner, Miss Verity. Lucy (<i>standing</i>). But - what's it all about? - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. That's right, Miss Verity. Sign first and ask afterwards. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. We're buying up the Polygon. Going to make a playing field of it. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Bamford down r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. And presenting it to the town? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Stephen alone doesn't look awkward.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. Well—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>curtly</i>). Yes, it 'ull come to the town. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>sentimentally</i>). How noble of you!' Oh, thank you! Thank you - so much for letting me take a share in this—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>interrupting</i>). Yes; now you go and have your supper. It's - getting late. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Lucy, l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, that concludes the business for tonight, gentlemen. Nothing - more to be done till we hear from Sir Charles. (<i>Puts chair back up - stage.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. No, that's all. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>finally</i>). Good night, then. - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. Good night, Verity. (<i>Crosses r.</i>). - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. Good night. (<i>Shakes hands and crosses R.</i>) . .. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Smithson opens the door r. Alcorn follows him, pausing and looking - back at Bamford.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. Coming, Bamford? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. No, I want a word with Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>, (<i>suspiciously</i>). Business, eh, Mr. Bamford? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Not about the Company. (<i>Glancing involuntarily after Lucy.</i>) - Something else. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Smithson and Alcorn.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, Bamford? Have anything? I've a better port downstairs than the - Polygon toffs can run to. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. No, thanks. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Stephen looks relieved, Bamford sits. Their positions reproduce those - of Stephen and Walter at the opening.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>taking his pipe from the mantelpiece</i>). I'll have a pipe, if - you don't mind. Well, what's up with you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>jerking his thumb towards the left door</i>). It's about her. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Aye? Well, I like a man that comes to the point sharp. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Perhaps you wouldn't call me a marrying man? (<i>Sitting below - fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You've not done it yet that I know of. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Never too late to mend. I'm a bit struck with that daughter of - yours, Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I noticed you were when I mentioned she had money. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Well, I'm the last man to deny that money's a very important - thing in life. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. It's a useful thing to have about the house. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. I was thinking we might come to an arrangement. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. It's not impossible.. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Eh! - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Only she's a bit young. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Meaning to say I'm a bit old, eh? I'm sound and hearty. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. So's t'other fellow, and more her age. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>rising</i>). The other fellow?' - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>remaining seated</i>). Aye. You thought you were being smart, - didn't you? Seeing a good thing and dashing at it prompt; but you're the - second man to come to me to-night over Lucy, for all that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>anxiously</i>). Is she promised? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. No. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>relieved</i>). Ah! - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. The man that weds my daughter takes a tidy bit of money with her. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. It'll find some more of its own kidney if she brings it to me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. To tell you the truth, Sam, I'm not struck on the idea of losing her - at all. But she's got a fancy in her head and it's one I don't cotton to. - Best cure might be to put you there instead and be sure of her not making - a fool of herself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Then I'm not too late. (<i>Sits again.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You're the best man up to now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Well—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. See here, Sam. It's like this. That girl can look high. Question is, - are you high enough? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Which way? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Money. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Depends what you call high. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes... (<i>half apologetically.</i>) I've a right to know before I - put it to her. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>after slight hesitation</i>). Well, I'll tell you this: you - know what my father left? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. There's more to-day. (<i>They exchange looks.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>rising with resolution</i>). That 'ull do. (<i>Opens left door.</i>) - Lucy, come back a minute. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>rises in alarm</i>). I'm not what you call a parlour ladies' - man. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'll stand by you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Lucy.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Now then. (<i>Crosses r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. You want me? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>indicating Bamford</i>). He does. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>awkwardly</i>). Yes, I do, Miss Verity. That's just what I do. - I want you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Lucy is puzzled.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>looking at her</i>). Well? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>turning from one to the other</i>). You want me. I'm here. What - do you want me for? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>l.</i>). For better or for worse. (<i>Giggling genially.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>freezing</i>). I don't understand you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>roughly</i>). Don't play stupid now. You understand him well - enough. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. But—— (<i>Looking appealingly at Stephen.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Here's your chance, my girl. Here's your answer to the other fellow. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. I have given him my answer. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, you can give, Mr.. Bamford his and say yes. He's got money. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>eagerly</i>). Yes, I've got money and I spend it. I'll give - you the time of your life. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Don't spoil this evening for me, Mr. Bamford. You've made me so - happy, so grateful to you all for letting me help in your charity. I only - knew to-night how rich I am. It frightened me—the thought of so much - money. I was afraid of it... of my unworthiness. Until you showed me the - way to use it well. I was proud that I... and now... father, this isn't - fair of you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. What isn't fair? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Why didn't you tell Mr. Bamford? (<i>To Bamford.</i>) I'm engaged. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>r.c.</i>). Don't lie. You're not. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>bravely</i>). I choose to consider myself engaged. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. He's a pauper. Look here, my girl, you're rebellious to-night. I'm - master here. I'm not the sort of fool to let you twist me round your - little finger. Don't think because you're twenty-one and got a thousand a - year (<i>the sum moves Bamford visibly</i>) that you'll ride rough-shod - over me. (<i>More gently.</i>) You've got to be sensible. (<i>Smacks - table.</i>) You've got to do what I tell you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. You shall have your carriage and dress yourself as much as you - like; and what's more, marry me and you'll be. Mayoress of Carrington in - November. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Wait a minute, Bamford, not so fast. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. What's the matter? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>crossing l.</i>). Engaged, if you like, but no wedding till the - Polygon deal's complete. The profits on that are mine. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Of course they are. I'll hand over your share when we've sold to - the town. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Sold! Profit! I thought—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Never mind what you thought. (<i>Goes up to Lucy.</i>) That wasn't - meant for your ears. You'd better go back to the other room now. I'll talk - to you after Mr. Bamford's gone. (<i>Indicating her to exit.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. I hope. Mr. Bamford will remember I'm engaged. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. He'll remember you're going to be—to him. (<i>Crosses down r. - above, table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Father, I've obeyed you long enough. I'm twenty-one now, and I'm - going to take my own way. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>doubtfully</i>). I don't like the look of this, Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Look of what? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. She's a bit of a Tartar, isn't she? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. That's nothing to what I can do when I'm roused, Mr. Bamford. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Pssh! It's the first time she's broken out like this. She'll be tame - enough next time you come. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>viciously</i>). Don't make too sure of that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'm not afraid of that. It's a pity if a man can't do as he likes - with his own flesh and blood. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b> (<i>warily</i>). Best sleep on it before you say more, Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>going to Lucy</i>): Yes. Go to bed, Lucy, and say over to - yourself, I'm going to marry Mr. Bamford. Then you'll get used to the - idea. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. But I'm not. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Aren't you? We'll see. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Yes, we will. (<i>At exit l.</i>) - </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 III - </h2> - <p> - <i>Archibald Vining's house in the Polygon the following afternoon. The - room is large and lofty with the air of serene mellowness common to old - houses. The door is r., behind the large mantelpiece. Behind is a French - window, beyond which the-garden is seen. The room is panelled; its - incidental trappings suggest occupants hardly able to live up to their - surroundings; the furniture is faded; the carpet worn. Walter sits on a - chair to the r. of the window against the wall. Down l. is his father - Augustus Montgomery at an escritoire. On a large settee placed crosswise - l. sit Mrs. Montgomery and Mrs. Vining. Archibald Vining is posed with an - elbow on the mantelpiece, looking across at Montgomery. The ladies gaze at - him with admiration. Montgomery Senior is sixty, rather bald, weak-faced, - futile, dressed in light grey morning coat and trousers. Vining is ruddy, - irascible, with white moustache and grey hair, in black morning coat and - grey trousers. The women are both rather foolish. Mrs. Montgomery is stout - and Mrs. Vining lean, but there is otherwise not much to choose between - them in age, which is about fifty, or anything else. Their dress is - conventional without being fashionable or expensive. They live next door - and Mrs. Montgomery has come in without a hat. The light is of a sunny - afternoon and there is no fire. Marjorie Vining, a tall athletic girl, - sits by the window c., with a tennis racket, looking, increasingly bored.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0093.jpg" alt="0093 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0093.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <b>Vining</b> (<i>dictating</i>). "Your rumoured intention to sell the Polygon"—got - that, Montgomery? - </p> - <p> - <b>Montgomery</b>. Yes. (<i>Looking up timidly.</i>) Excuse me, Vining, I can't - help saying it again, but are you quite sure we form a quorum? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>assertively</i>). Of course we do, my dear fellow. Don't distress - yourself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. (<i>desperately</i>). But—but there are five houses in the - Polygon and only two are represented here. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. We know the views of the rest. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. Vin</b>. Their views are ours. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Quite so. Allow for unavoidable absentees, and your scruples vanish. - Shall I proceed? - </p> - <p> - (<i>Approval from settee. Montgomery bends and writes.</i>) - </p> - <p> - "Dear Sir,—At an indignation meeting of your tenants in the Polygon——" - </p> - <p> - (<i>Montgomery writes at intervals, when others talk.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. Archibald, have we any right to be indignant with Sir Charles? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. We <i>are</i> indignant, aren't we? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. Yes. But will Sir Charles quite like us to tell him so? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>, (<i>pathetically</i>). It's deucedly—beg pardon—it's - hard to be diplomatic. How would "protest meeting" do? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Too political. Let "indignation" stand. We must show him he's roused - the sleeping lion. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>, (<i>acquiescent</i>). I'll underline it if you like. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. No! No! Firmness, my dear Monty, firmness, not ostentation. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M</b>. (<i>gushingly to Mrs. Vining</i>). What a man of affairs Mr. - Vining is! - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>filling his chest</i>). I flatter myself I put things through, - Mrs. Montgomery. Now, Monty! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. (<i>reading</i>). "At the indignation meeting—um—held on - the—um—it was resolved to respectfully address——" - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. Oh! - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>reprovingly</i>). Well, Cecilia? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>, (<i>puzzled</i>). That's in order, I think. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Quite. Go on. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. But, Archibald, to address a split infinitive to a baronet! - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. I stand corrected. Thanks, Cecilia. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. I don't quite see————— - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>moving him to write</i>). It was resolved respectfully to address—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>, (<i>correcting and reading</i>). To address a letter to you on the - subject of your rumoured intention to sell the Polygon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Correct, I think? (<i>Approval from the settee.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. (<i>proceeding</i>). It is our hope that should this information be - correct, bracket, which we hesitate to believe, bracket, you will - reconsider your decision to give over to the hands of the jerry builder - the only residences in Carrington habitable by persons of refinement. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Excellent. (<i>Approval from settee. Vining crosses l. to above - Montgomery and takes letter; patronisingly.</i>) You write a clerkly hand, - Monty. (<i>Picks up pen.</i>) I'll sign as the oldest resident present. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Montgomery swallows a protest, remaining seated, Vining signs, bending - over.</i>) - </p> - <p> - What a pity Sir Charles is abroad. We shall be kept waiting for his reply. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. You got his address from Dunkerly? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>putting envelope before him</i>). Yes. <i>Hotel Métropole</i>, - Monte Carlo. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Montgomery writes and encloses letter. Vining goes to French window - and opens it.</i>) - </p> - <p> - I'll have this posted at once. (<i>Calls.</i>) Pilling! - </p> - <p> - (<i>He returns. Montgomery crosses r. and sits above fireplace.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. Ah, well! That's settled.. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>sitting at desk</i>). Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. (<i>rises</i>). Jolly glad to hear it. I'm fed up. Come out and play - tennis, Walter. (<i>Puts chair down c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Not this afternoon, Marjorie. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Oh, be a sport. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Some other time. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. It's always some other time with you, now. I'm forgetting what you - look like in flannels. You'll lose all your form if you don't practice a - bit. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I'm afraid I must let it go. (<i>Rises and crosses l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. It's pure slacking. Don't be so beastly serious, if you are in - Orders. Come and be a muscular Christian on the lawn. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Something more serious to-day, Marjorie. Mar. Oh, rot! What's the - good of having the courts if you don't use 'em? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. They certainly might be used more by you young people. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. They might be used by hundreds of people if—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mar</b>. Oh, blow, you're getting on your hobby horse again. I'm going to - practice putting if you won't give me a game. You are a rotter. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Marjorie c. to l. Pilling appears c. from l. in his - shirt-sleeves.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>closes desk and crosses up l.c.</i>). Oh, Pilling, just post this - letter at once. Are your hands clean? - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b> (<i>inspecting his very black hands</i>). Not very, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Go and wash them and come back for it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b>. Yes, sir. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Pilling vanishes to r. Vining crosses to fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M</b>. I can't understand Sir Charles wanting to sell at all. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. No. What would Carrington be without the Polygon? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>quietly</i>). I'm not sure that it wouldn't be a good deal - better off, Mrs. Vining. - </p> - <p> - (<i>They all stare at him astonished.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. What an extraordinary thing to say. Why, we <i>are</i> Carrington. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. We've always lived in the Polygon. We've taken root, Carrington's - gone on its way—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. A precious bad way, too. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. Other times, other manners, Vining. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Carrington has no manners—but the Polygon has stood aloof. - Thank God we leisured people have no connection with the town roughs. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Then how can you say you <i>are</i> Carrington? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. We are the best people in Carrington, sir. Do you judge a place by - its quality or by the counting of heads? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I wish I could make you see their point of view, Mr. Vining. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>snorting</i>). Their point of view. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>quietly</i>). They have one, you know. Before that letter goes - to Sir Charles, I'd like to try—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M. Walter</b>, remember what the Polygon means to all of us. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. It's a survival, mother. It's out of date in the midst of a modern - manufacturing town. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>, (<i>pathetically</i>). But—but, Walter, it means so - tremendously much to us all. It may be out of date, but I did hope it was - going to last our time. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. It's <i>got</i> to last our time. (<i>Sincerely.</i>) I'm not a - deeply religious man, but I get reverent when I think of the Polygon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M</b>. That's just it. We all love the Polygon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. The five houses. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. Chatsworth. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. Apsley House. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M</b>. Marlborough Lodge. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Kenilworth and Abbotsford. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. And our gardens. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. And the tennis ground in the middle. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Which nobody uses except Marjorie. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. Are we to lose it <i>all?</i> - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>with appropriate chest expansion</i>). Not if Archibald Vining - can prevent it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. You make it very hard for me to go on. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Then don't go on. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. (<i>crosses c.</i>). I must. Father, Mr. Vining, you—all of - you—are wrapped up in the Polygon. You hardly go out of it except to - the station. | - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. There's nothing else in Carrington to go to. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Thank goodness we've no business to take us into those mean streets. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. You haven't, Mr. Vining, but I have. I see the other side of the - picture, if you don't. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Well, my dear boy, every town has its back stairs. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>sits c.</i>). Carrington's all back stairs, and cramped stairs - they are. There's no breathing space. What right have we to monopolize the - air? We've room to move about—so much room that you need never go - out of the Polygon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. We pay for the privilege, don't we? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Yes, you pay for it in money and they pay for the lack of it in - health. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. If there's overcrowding it's a matter for the town authorities to - deal with. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. They want to deal with it. They want the Polygon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. They can't have it. They must know it 'ud be cutting off their nose - to spite their face. The Polygon's essential to Carrington. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Why? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. It <i>is</i> Carrington. I tell you this, young man, Carrington's - last state would be worse than its first if you took us away. We—we - circulate money. We give the place a tone. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. It's a tone the place could do without. It could do without your - money. We are not Carrington. The factories are the essential Carrington. - Mr. Vining, (<i>rising and taking a step to r. c.</i>) let me show you - what it's like—whole families living—no, not living—pigging - in a single room. Rooms cut up amongst two or three families. All in - Carrington, our neighbours in Christian Carrington. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Thanks. I'm not the sort of man to put my head into a noose. I prefer - to keep out of infection. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>appealingly</i>). Don't send that letter to Sir Charles. Don't - try to influence his decision. The workpeople can't move out of the town. - They must live near their work. You can move. Dividends can reach you - anywhere just as easily. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. Move of ourselves! Never! - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M. Walter</b>, you don't understand what you're asking us to do. You're - young. You can change easily, because you're young and restless. But when - you've lived in a house that's dear to you till it's become part of your - life, you can't leave it in your old age. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Walter crosses above settee.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. I can't leave my garden. You know that. No other garden would mean - the same to me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. My dear friends, you needn't worry. Carrington would never let us go. - Walter's got hold of the wrong end of the stick. We're an institution. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. How do you know? Did you ever ask them what they think of us? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. I'll ask Pilling. You'll see. (<i>Crosses up c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I shouldn't advise you to. I know Pilling's home. He's a wife and - child. They all live in one room. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Why, I pay the man twenty-two shillings a week. What does he live - like that for? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. He's no choice. Pilling 'ull tell you what Carrington thinks of - the Polygon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. He's a long time washing his hands. (<i>Goes up to window and looks - off r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. But you're not going to send that letter now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Certainly we are. (<i>Returns r.c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. But—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. I think we're all agreed on that? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Quite. No stone unturned. That fellow who's coming, what's his name—you - know, Walter—that alderman—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Verity? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Verity. That's it. We must make sure of the town authorities. A - little affability goes a long way with people of that sort. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. Yes. He's not the type of man you're accustomed to meet in my - drawing-room, Mrs. Montgomery, still—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. It's in a good cause, Mrs. Vining. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M</b>. He's an architect, isn't he? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. He's a builder who's his own architect. That's why his houses fall - to pieces. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M</b>. That's what I say. An architect. Almost a professional man. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. But you mustn't pin your faith on Verity. He's, the last man—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Walter, as a Churchman, I am always willing to accept your views on - religious matters. But when it comes to worldly questions, permit me to - have an opinion of my own. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Pilling appears and knocks on the window without advancing into the - room.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Oh, Pilling! - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b> (<i>in c.o.</i>). Yes, sir? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Come in. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Pilling advances a foot and stands awkwardly near the window.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b>. Letter ready, sir? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>absently</i>). Yes, yes. (<i>Montgomery rises gets letter from - mantel; hands it to Vining.</i>) There you are. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Up to Pilling, who turns to go.</i>) - </p> - <p> - One moment, Pilling, I want to ask you something. Can you tell me how - people in the town talk of the Polygon? - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b>. How they talk, sir? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Yes. What's the general opinion of us? Pilling. It's not for the - likes of me to talk against the gentry. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. They <i>do</i> talk against us, then? - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b> (<i>awkwardly</i>). Well, sir——- (<i>He pauses.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>helping him out</i>). Tell them how you live, Pilling. - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b>. You can tell that as well as me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>impatiently</i>). Yes, yes, but that's not the point. Doesn't - your class feel what a privilege it is to have us living in your midst? - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b> (<i>earnestly</i>). <i>I'd</i> be badly off without you, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. You'd be sorry to lose us, eh? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Of course <i>he</i> would. A gardener's no use if there's nothing - to garden. Only Carrington's not a garden city. It's a manufacturing town. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. (<i>with back to fire, to Pilling</i>). Supposing now you weren't a - gardener? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Yes. What's the common view of us? - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b>. Well, sir, it 'ud seem to me against nature if the town had no - quality in it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>turning triumphantly to Walter</i>). You see? (<i>Patronising - Pilling.</i>) You're perfectly right, Pilling. I've noticed it before. (<i>Talking - at the ladies.</i>) The masses always have this instinctive clinging to - their superiors. They know we're the source of all prosperity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b> (<i>shyly</i>). There's queer talk, sometimes, sir. <i>I</i> know - gentlemen are different from us, but there's men in this town wanting to - tell me we're all born equal—asking your pardon, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. You know better than that, Pilling. - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b>. Yes, mum. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. You could never get on without us. - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b>. No, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Be honest, man. No one's going to hurt you for it. Tell us the - truth, about the overcrowding and the waste of valuable space in the - Polygon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. Yes. Tell us the truth, Pilling, and say you know how necessary we - are. - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b>. You're bread and butter to me, mum, and I know it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. There you are, Walter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>impatiently</i>). But he's an exception. He's - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>interrupting</i>). You've got the letter, Pilling. - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b>. Yes, sir. (<i>Turning, then courageously.</i>) There's no denying - as the overcrowding's something cruel. I wouldn't say a word of it, not to - you, sir, if I didn't know and see and suffer it. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Montgomery sits again below fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. That'll do, Pilling. - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b>. Yes, sir. (<i>Turns to go.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>to Vining, crossing above sofa c.</i>). You heard that. Won't - you wait? Wait till Verity's been. You'll catch the same post. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>pause</i>). Give me the letter, Pilling, I'll keep it back a - little. - </p> - <p> - <b>Pilling</b>. Yes, sir.. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Pilling, c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Thank you, Mr. Vining. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Maid announces Mr. Verity. Maid withdraws Stephen is dressed as Act - II, and very sure of himself, except at odd moments.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>patronisingly</i>). Ah, Mr. Verity. Pleased to see you. (<i>Advancing.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>up R. c., shaking hands; very formally</i>). How do you do? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. You know us all, I think? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>dryly</i>). By sight. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>hurriedly</i>). Yes. Sit down, won't you? (<i>Sits above fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Stephen does so, uncomfortably, c. Walter stands R. end of settee.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Now come to business, Mr. Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. What we want to see you about is this confounded rumour of the - Polygon's being up for sale for building lots. No doubt you've heard it? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I've heard tell of it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Have you thought about it at all? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I've thought a lot. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. Well, what do you think, Mr. Verity? Could anything be more absurd? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>nodding his head towards Walter</i>). Ask him. He knows what I - think. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Mr. Verity's of my opinion, father. Vin. We don't want your - opinion, sir. You're full up with all sorts of idiotic modern - sentimentalism about the poor. It all comes of the Church meddling with - secular matters instead of minding its own business. Mr. Verity's a man of - sense. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Thank you; but I don't know that I can do anything. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M</b>. (<i>sweetly</i>). Oh, but I'm sure you can, Mr. Verity. You've - such influence in the town. You're a man of weight. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. If I am, madam, what had the town to do with Sir Charles selling the - Polygon? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. How can the town get on without the Polygon? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M</b>. I'm sure you, as an architect, Mr. Verity, must feel the - importance of preserving such fine examples as these are of old Georgian - mansions. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. So many links with the historic past. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>impatiently</i>). It 'ud be a blue ruin for the town. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. Sheer catastrophe. You're a leading personage here, Mr. Verity—alderman - and so on. Of course you have the interest of the town at heart. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>with faint irony</i>). As much as you have yourselves, I dare - say. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>recovering first from the slight general embarrassment</i>). Er, - yes. Now, don't you think a petition from the Town Council to Sir Charles - might do the trick? You see, the Polygon's the backbone of the place. I - can't for the life of me imagine what Sir Charles is thinking of. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. The price. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. Now, that's ungenerous of you, Mr. Verity. Sir Charles would never - be so selfish. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>stolidly</i>). Think not? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. V</b>. He wouldn't turn us out for money. (<i>Vining and Montgomery are - not so sure.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. It's hard times for the rich. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. (<i>timidly</i>). Yes, I suppose it is. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>with aggression</i>). It is. I know. I'm rich. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>pompously</i>). I agree with you. We people of independent means - have been hard hit lately. What with the differential income tax and the - super tax, we—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. We all think we'd like to pay the super tax, don't we? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Er—yes—we can rely on your sending that petition then? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Can you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. I thought you said so. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I don't remember. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Dash it, Verity, we men of property must hang together. In a little - matter of this sort I'm sure you'll come in with us. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes? Well, I'm sorry to disoblige you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M</b>. But surely as an architect—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>interrupting</i>). Now it's no use of you talking. I've said my - say. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. But you must have some reason. This is really most extraordinary. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Is it? What's extraordinary in a man getting back a bit of his own? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Have we offended you, Mr. Verity? I'm very sorry. You speak as if you - had some grudge against us. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Grudge? I hate the sight of you if that's your meaning. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>, (<i>rising</i>). This is simply staggering. Why, Mr. Verity, we've - always been good neighbours, I hope. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>still sitting</i>). You've kept yourselves to yourselves, if - that's what you call being good neighbours. Who've you been good - neighbours to? The shopkeepers? You don't deal with them if you can help - it. London's your mark when you've money to spend, and that's not every - day of the week. How often have you got your hand down for a local - charity? Folks get sick and tired of coming to ask. You buttoned up your - pockets so tight. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Other people, at least, don't share your views, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Ask 'em. (<i>Rising.</i>) You silly little set of genteel paupers, - who did you think you were? (<i>Ladies rise.</i>) We weren't good enough - for you. You lived in the Polygon; we lived in the town, and you held your - noses too high to see us if you met us, which wasn't often, because you - stuck inside your private preserve and didn't have truck with us vulgar - folk outside. We weren't your class. You patronising snobs, do you fancy I - can't see through your getting me here and soaping me to send your - petition from the town for you? The town can go to blazes for all you - care, so long as you're left alone in your nice big gardens. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>rises and goes up to door R.</i>) Mr. Verity, I'm sorry to have - to remind you there are ladies present. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I can see 'em. That's why I'm letting you down so easy. I'd let it - rip if you'd the courage to turn 'em out and meet me man to man. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M</b>. (<i>moving towards door</i>). We'll go. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>, (<i>r., timidly</i>). I'd rather you didn't, my dear. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes. He'd rather you stayed, and kept a stopper on my tongue. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Vining opens door and signs to ladies to go.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>coming to r. of Verity</i>). No, mother. Mr. Verity, don't let - us lose our tempers about this. It's too important for petty feelings. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>indignantly</i>). Petty feelings, indeed! - </p> - <p> - (<i>The ladies stand by door, irresolute.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>appealingly</i>). Oh, don't split hairs over words. The town's - crying for fresh air and health. The town wants to buy the Polygon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. The town does? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Yes, didn't you know? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>looking at Stephen</i>). So it's the town? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>as Stephen doesn't answer</i>). Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M</b>. (<i>up by door, r., dropping to Montgomery by fire</i>). Augustus, - don't you think, after all, we ought perhaps to—— (<i>Hesitating.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>l. c. fiercely</i>). To what, Mrs. Montgomery? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M</b>. Well, I'm sure there's something in what Mr. Verity and Walter - say. (<i>Sits in armchair above fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. Come, this is weakness, my dear. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. No compromise, Mrs. Montgomery. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M</b>. I shall never feel at ease again when I think of the overcrowding - in the town. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Then don't think of it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M</b>. I can't help thinking of it now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>, (<i>to Walter</i>). Oh, dear, I do wish you'd kept your mouth - closed. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. And my eyes closed, and my nose closed, and gone about Carrington - without looking at it. No, father, I meant to stir your conscience, and - I'm glad I've done it. (<i>Sits.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Well, I must admit—hang it, Verity, if people are crowded why - don't you build 'em houses? It's your trade. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. No land. - </p> - <p> - (<i>About here Pilling appears c. with some garden stuff in his hand, and - Mrs. Vining exit with him for some consultation.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. There's land enough outside. Why can't the town expand outwards? To - hear you talk about the Polygon the town might have a wall round it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. Yes, there's lots of moorland about the place. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Quite so. Lots of moor. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. Well, then! - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Shooting moor. Sir Charles' shooting moor. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Well, what difference do a few acres more or less make to a shooting - moor? Surely he'd rather sell you some of that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Think so? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. I'm certain of it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sitting on settee</i>). You're wrong, then. He's holding on for a - rise. He's held on to this till the value went up. Land here in the - centre's' worth more, than land outside. This is ripe. The other isn't. - That's why he'll sell this. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>r. c.</i>). Well, if that's really so—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>grimly</i>). It's really so. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>with-an air of finality</i>). All I can say is I shall most - certainly have to revise my opinion of Sir Charles. (<i>Crosses down L.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Pilling is visible through the window working a mowing machine in the - garden; he passes and repasses at intervals.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Did you think your tin pot rents paid Sir Charles to let land like - this lie idle? - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. He likes to have us here. We're desirable tenants. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Pardon me. As a property owner I know. Desirable tenants are paying - tenants. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Do you insinuate that we don't pay? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You don't pay a profitable price. He can make a little gold, mine of - the Polygon. Land values in the town have been going up all the time. He's - cute enough to know it, or his agent is. The only question is, will our - price tempt him or is he able to be greedy and wait a bit longer till the - land's worth more. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. And you mean to tell me we've been living on the edge of a volcano - all these years? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You've been living in Sir Charles' almshouses for decayed gentlefolk. - That's our name for it in the town. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Sir! - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>calmly</i>). It's the truth. What did it matter to him how little - he got out of you meantime? He knew very well it's a fortune waiting for - him whenever he wants it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mont</b>. I'd no idea of this. (<i>Sits below fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You know now. If you hadn't been so busy with thinking what nice - people you were and what nasty brutes lived outside you'd have found it - out for yourselves. Not one of you's on lease. You can all be turned out - at six months' notice. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. We trusted to Sir Charles' sense of honour. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I wouldn't trust him with sixpence, and I'm a sound Tory at that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. I still think you're wrong, sir. You've given us your view. We're - much obliged. (<i>Sits l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sneering</i>). You'd be more obliged if I'd given you your - petition. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Your view was unexpected. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Was it? (<i>Turning to Walter.</i>) I thought he'd told you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Unexpectedly strong. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You've not heard the half of it. You've been the bane of the town. - It's a working town and it does the working man no good to have the sight - of a lot of idle people living well and doing nothing for it. Breeds - discontent. Makes him ask questions. That's what you've been to us. A - public nuisance. Easy game for every agitator to have his shy at. Do you - think we employers loved you? They didn't mind us. They could see we - worked for our living. But you set of do-nothing wastrels—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>c.</i>). Mr. Verity! (<i>Vining rises and goes up to back, - returns, then round to R. c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. What's to do? You've been saying the same to them yourself, haven't - you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I did my best to gild the pill. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, I'm not a parson. I haven't the gift of using big words for - little 'uns and talking sweetly about Hell. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>dropping r. of Walter to below him</i>). Well, now look here, Mr. - Verity, you needn't suppose that I'm influenced in the slightest by your - extremely forcible language, but a possible compromise occurs to me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Does it? I thought I heard you say just now "no compromise." - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>r. c.</i>). This is a compromise of my own suggesting, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'm not the compromising sort. Still, go ahead. What's your idea? - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. It's this, sir. I grant you we're drones, and I can see there's - something in what you say about the sight of a few idle people taking a - lot of room, though I take exception to the way you put it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>drily</i>). Aye. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. (<i>r. c.</i>). Now we've an affection for these houses of ours. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Of Sir Charles'. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Yes, of Sir Charles'. We're attached to the bricks and mortar. You - can understand it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I never thought you'd shift willing. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Just so. We're not willing to shift. But my idea is this. We're all - old people, and our families have married off. There's no young blood in - the Polygon, except Walter here and my daughter, to use those tennis - courts and croquet lawns of ours. They're pleasant to walk about in and - it's a real sacrifice to part with them. But I propose writing to Sir - Charles suggesting that if (<i>crossing to l. c. and back; returns to l. - for end of speech</i>) he cares to sell you some building land outside the - town we will sacrifice our lawns for a park if he will leave our bricks - and mortar standing till—till we old fogies have done with them. How - does that strike you, Mr. Verity? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. It strikes me your motto will do for me as Well as for you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. My motto? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. No compromise, Mr. Vining. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Mr. Verity, surely it's a fair offer. It's generous. It's—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Indeed! If that's your notion of generosity—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. It's my last word. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>rises</i>). Then I need stay no longer. (<i>Moves towards door.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>rises</i>). Oh, but—— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Maid announces, "Miss Verity." Enter Lucy. Exit Maid.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You! What are you doing here? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>crosses up r. c.</i>). I came to see Walter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. But—I locked you up. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. As you see, I've escaped. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Locked you up! - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Oh, yes. Father does things like that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Come home, girl. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Not yet. I'm a rebel to-day. You locked me up because I refused to - marry Mr. Bamford—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. What! - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. And I've escaped to tell the truth about you and—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Hold your tongue. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. No. I'm going to tell Walter all I know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sneering</i>). He's welcome to all <i>you</i> know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. He's welcome to all I know and all I am. - </p> - <p> - <b>Mrs. M. Walter</b>, what does this mean? (<i>Rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. I have never heard a more immodest speech. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Miss Verity and I are engaged. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You're not. You agreed last night that you weren't. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. That was before you had thrown me at Bamford's head. I'm engaged to - Walter, and I've things to tell him, things I've discovered about—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Be quiet, will you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. No. This is no time for concealment. We've got beyond all that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You've nothing to conceal. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Then why do you try to stop my mouth? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I don't. I'm here on business. I've no time for girls' foolishness. - Vining, can we go somewhere to draft that letter? (<i>Crosses down to - Vining.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. Letter? What letter? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. The compromise. - </p> - <p> - <b>Vin</b>. I thought you said—— (<i>Crossing slowly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Never mind what I said. Shall we go? Lucy. Yes, go, while I tell - Walter all I know. Ste. Tell him what you like now. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Stephen with Vining.</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 IV. - </h2> - <p> - <i>Verity's dining-room as Act II a week later. Bamford and Stephen enter - from r. Stephen just pocketing his watch.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0092.jpg" alt="0092 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0092.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <b>Stephen</b>. You're a bit early for the meeting, Sam. (<i>Crosses to c. above - table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Bamford</b>. Yes; fact is, I wanted a word with you alone about that other - matter. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Lucy? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. (<i>r. c.</i>). Aye. I'm a bit uneasy about it, Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. No need to be. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Well, I am. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Natural enough, I dare say. When a young man's fancy turns to - thoughts of love it churns up his inside a bit. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. 'Tisn't that. I'm not a young man. (<i>Crosses l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You're young enough for all marriageable purposes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. I'm doubtful if I'm the right man to make that girl happy. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You're going to be Mayor, aren't you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. And you promised her a carriage? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. And as much dressing as she's a mind to? Bam. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sits above table</i>). Then what's troubling you? What else does - any female woman want? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. (<i>sits l. of table</i>). Eh! I dunno! They're a grasping lot, - women.. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Damn you, Sam, do you fancy my girl's not been well brought up? - You're as good as telling me she's not good enough for you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Nay, I'm not; I'm only thinking I may not be good enough for her. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'm best judge of that. The thing's settled. We said it once, you and - I, and we're not weathervanes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. (<i>resignedly</i>). Yes, I suppose it's settled. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. That's all right, then. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Maid announces Mr. Smithson. Enter Smithson, Maid exit.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Ah, good evening, Smithson. (<i>Rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. Good evening, Verity. (<i>Shakes hands.</i>) Evening, Bamford. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Good evening. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>to Smithson</i>). Seen anything of Alcorn? Smiths. Yes. He's gone - round to the Post Office on his way here to see if a letter's been - forwarded from the London office. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, sit you down. - </p> - <p> - (<i>They sit at table. Stephen head, Smithson r. and Bamford l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - I've a bit of news for you gentlemen. - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. Yes? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I've been paying a call—afternoon call on some friends of mine - in the Polygon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. What! - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Take it easy, Sam. (<i>Chuckles.</i>) Aye, they wanted the Council to - petition Sir Charles not to sell. Tried to get me to do it for 'em. - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. Good, that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, we'd a little talk, Mr. Vining and I, and we come to a sort of - a compromise. - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. Compromise? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Compromise! Verity? I don't like that word. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Finish was, they've written to Sir Charles asking him to sell the - town their grass plat—tennis courts and what-not—if he'll - leave their houses alone. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Verity, I don't like this. Ask me, it sounds like treachery to the - company. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Treachery be hanged. I drafted the letter myself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. That makes it worse. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Don't be stupid, Sam. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. (<i>indignantly</i>). Stupid! I say, Verity—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Put yourself in Sir Charles' place. He's got an offer, the company's - offer, cash down for the whole Polygon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. Aye. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, say he has got a soft spot for his tenants there, old tenants, - doesn't want to turn them out, that sort of thing. - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. Quite likely. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Then he gets their letter. Sees they're ready to lose their tennis - courts. All right, says he, if they're a slack back set of weaklings to - propose that of themselves, I shan't have any trouble in getting shut of - them altogether. Their rents aren't worth having. But the company's - offer's a sound ready cash affair. He's a bit short of the ready, isn't - he? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Aye. Above a bit. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. So when he sees they'll shift without trouble, being weak enough to - offer a compromise before they're even asked for one, he'll take a flying - jump at our offer, and there you are. And a good afternoon's work I call - it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Verity, I apologize. You're the dandiest schemer I ever saw, and I've - seen some warm members in my time. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, they sent for me. I didn't think this out. I just saw the - chance while I was there. - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. You don't let much pass you, Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I take my brains along when I go calling of an afternoon on my swell - friends. I'd like to bet that letter Alcorn's fetching says "Yes" to our - offer. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. It's odds on, or I'd take you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Maid announces Mr. Walter Montgomery. Enter Walter. Exit Maid.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Hullo! Oh, damn! - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>r. c.</i>). Good evening, Mr. Verity. Good evening. I hope I - don't interrupt business. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Young man, you appear to have a lot of time on your hands. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. It's an important part of my business to visit my parishioners, - Mr. Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Humph! Our turn for your parochial attentions soon comes round again. - You were here a week ago. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. On my own business that time, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. What is it this time? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. You're sure I'm not interrupting you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'm sure you are. Go on. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I've come to put you on your guard. You led me to suppose, and I - in turn told Mr. Vining, that the town authorities were proposing to buy - the Polygon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. And aren't they? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. As an Alderman you ought to know that better than I do. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Never mind what I know. The question is, what do you know? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Oh, we fellows who go into the Church don't know much. You told me - yourself we go there because we're chicken-hearted fools without an ounce - of sense or fight in us. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Can't you make him cut the cackle, Verity? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Cackling's a professional failing, Mr. Bamford. We get the talking - habit in the pulpit. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. You're not in the pulpit now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. No, sir. In the pulpit I'm in good company—my own. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. What the—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. In this room I'm in the company of certain members of a rascally - syndicate who hope to buy the Polygon cheap from Sir Charles and sell dear - to the town when they've carefully engineered a public demand. - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. Who told you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Tch, Smithson! Where the devil did you raise this cock and bull - story? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Oh, I don't think it was the devil. On the <i>contrary</i>, in - fact, Mr. Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Come to facts. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Facts? Shall I give you names? (<i>Strolls round back to - fireplace.</i>) I regret the absence of Mr. Alcorn and Miss Verity, but—well, - gentlemen, you're found out. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>pause</i>). And if we are? (<i>Rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>, (<i>to Stephen</i>). And if we are, some one's blabbed. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. (<i>to Stephen</i>). And you're the only one who pays afternoon calls - in the Polygon. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>bending over table, beneath his breath</i>). Fools! (<i>Aloud.</i>) - Do you think I foul my own nest? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Then if it isn't you, who is it? Tell me that. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Stephen looks first at Bamford, then Smithson, then suddenly moves to - door l. and calls.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Lucy! Lucy! Come here! (<i>Returns above table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. That's the worst of having a woman in the thing. They will talk. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. How could she talk? She knew nothing. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Lucy enters.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>l.</i>). Funny how things get about, isn't it? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>up l.</i>). <i>Did</i> you call me, father? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>to Walter, still ignoring Lucy</i>). Get about? How many have you - told? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Oh, I've told nobody. Secrets cease to be valuable when they're - told, and I don't mind telling you this secret's going to be a valuable - lever to me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>to Lucy</i>). You've been talking to him. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>up l.</i>). Yes. I told him all you told me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I didn't tell you anything. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Oh, yes. You and Mr. Bamford. (<i>Stephen turns on Bamford.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. I? I never breathed. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. You squabbled together about the profits. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. We <i>did</i> say something. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. And you pieced it out from that? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Um! smart girl, Verity. Chip of the old block. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Bit too smart this time. I hope she'll never play <i>you</i> a trick - like that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Yes, by Gad. I hadn't thought of that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Well, gentlemen? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Oh, I'll attend to you. Look here, Sam—Smithson, I'll tackle - this chap. Just go into the other room there, will you? (<i>Pushes - Smithson to go below table.</i>) I've a private word for the parson. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Can I smoke there? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>r. c.</i>). Aye. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt l., Bamford and Smithson. Walter before fireplace, Lucy c, - above table, Stephen r. of table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - Now, Mr. Montgomery, my lad, what sort of a trick do you call this to play - on your future father-in-law? You've a queer idea of tact, you have. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. It wasn't my intention to be tactful, sir. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You're not improving your chances of marrying my daughter, you know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. How do you know I want to marry her? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Walter! - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Why, you told me so yourself, the other night. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Lucy sits in armchair l. above fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Since then, you see, I've made discoveries. If a man is known by - the company he keeps, the same applies to a woman. The woman I'm going to - marry doesn't, help to form a robbery syndicate along with Messieurs - Alcorn, Smithson and Bamford. So if you thought to buy my silence by - giving me your daughter, you made a bad mistake. No. Bamford's the man for - her. Partners in scoundrelism, partners in life. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Bamford l. and crosses r. c.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. What do you want now? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. (<i>apologetically, crossing r.</i>). All right. I only want my pipe. - Left it in my overcoat. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Mr. Bamford, I congratulate you. (<i>Holding out hand.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Eh? On what? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>, On being my successful rival for the hand of Miss Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. What's this? Was <i>he</i> the other you spoke of? (<i>To Stephen.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>to Lucy</i>). Don't be afraid. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. (<i>to Walter</i>). Who told you about me? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Oh, news soon gets round. (<i>Lightly.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. (<i>r. c.</i>). Does it? Well, there's two sorts of news. Correct - news and incorrect news. Both sorts gets round, but incorrect news gets - round most. See what I mean? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sternly</i>). I don't. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. (<i>to Stephen</i>). You will. (<i>To Walter.</i>) Look here, have - you given her up? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. You wouldn't have me stand in your way, would you? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. So you <i>have</i> given her up. Why? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Oh, I had my reasons. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Had you now? I'd like to hear those reasons. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. That's not quite fair to the lady, I think. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. No. He's out of it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Is he? I take no man's leavings without I know why he left 'em. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. It's all square, man. She's yours now. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. I beg to differ. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>angrily</i>). What? - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>rises to go</i>). The goods needn't be on exhibition while the - sale proceeds. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Stephen points her angrily to chair l. She sits.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Here, sit down. Now, Sam, what's it all about? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. I'd as lief tell you when you're by yourself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I thought so. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You can speak now. We're all concerned in this. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I beg your pardon. I've ceased to—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>his back to the right door</i>). Now, Sam? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>sitting below fire</i>). Oh, very well. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. (<i>r. c., awkwardly</i>). Well, I've been thinking things over. The - married state and—well—— - </p> - <p> - (<i>Hesitating.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>grimly</i>). Yes, go on. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. (<i>desperately</i>). It means giving up too much. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>c.</i>). And a good thing, too, Sam Bamford. How much longer do - you think you'll last at the pace you go? You're cracking up already—not - half the man you were. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>icily</i>). Think how nice it would be to have me for a nurse. I - warm father's carpet slippers beautifully, don't I, and my gruel's a - dream. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. There's many a long day between me and carpet slippers and gruel. I - like roving about, Verity, and that's a fact. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Didn't you think of that before? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. I spoke hurried. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. It's time you settled down. You won't lose much that a thousand a - year and home comforts don't match. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. I'm rich enough. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You didn't talk like that on Tuesday. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. (<i>irritably</i>). I tell you, I've thought things over. Fact is, I - didn't half like the way she answered you back. A man gets enough worries - in his working day. When he gets home he wants peace and no back answers. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. She's all right now. It was having him asking (<i>indicating Walter</i>) - that made her proud. He's thrown her over—not good enough for him. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. And she's not good enough for me, either. I can be a bit particular - myself. I like 'em quiet. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. She's as quiet as they make 'em. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Father, I absolutely and finally decline to marry Mr. Bamford. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. I ask you, does that sound like a quiet life? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, damme, Sam Bamford, you can't get a thousand a year without - paying a tax on it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. You can pay too much tax if you get a woman thrown in with a razor - instead of a tongue. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>disgustedly</i>). I thought you were a man of your word. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. And I thought you cracked to be a friend of mine. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I am your friend. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Perhaps; but as a rule when a man's as anxious as you are to sell an - article I begin to think there's something wrong with the goods. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Didn't I tell you on Tuesday I didn't want her to marry at all? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Didn't Sir Charles' agent write me he wouldn't want to sell? And you - know what you said about that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. But I'm not selling. I'm giving. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Yes, and nobody ever knew you to give away anything worth having. - What's he given her the chuck for, if it comes to that? He knows - something. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Yes. I know something, Mr. Bamford. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>raps table</i>). I'm not going to be played about with like this. - I never asked either of you to come after my daughter. You came because - you liked, but you'll not cry off when you like. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. What do you mean now? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. <i>One</i> of you's going to marry her. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. It won't be me, then. I don't want any woman with a temper of her - own. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I tell you she hasn't got a temper. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b> (<i>rises</i>). I've got a tongue. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Be quiet. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. I won't be quiet while you wrangle over me like—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>thundering</i>). Go to your room. I'll tame you. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Lucy deliberately sits down.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. There you are, Verity. Regular spitfire. Too late to send her away - now. I know what she is. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>rising</i>). So do I. She's a monstrous woman with an - abnormally developed bump of business capacity and I absolutely decline to - marry any member of a syndicate of avaricious thieves formed to swindle—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>interrupting</i>). She's no more business capacity than a flea - and I'll take her off the syndicate to-night, if that 'ull please you. Now - then, which of you is it to be? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. I don't wish to quarrel with you, Verity. I've told you I'm taking - none. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>briskly</i>). All right. Then you marry young Montgomery, Lucy. (<i>Moves - L. above table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. He says he won't have me while I'm in the Syndicate. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'll get you out of that. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. You can't do that, Verity. (<i>Moves to table R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Can't I? I will, though. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. You'll upset the whole thing. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'll look after that. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Maid announces Mr. Alcorn. Enter Alcorn; exit Maid r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Ah! Got the letter, Alcorn? - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. Yes. I don't understand it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Just a moment. (<i>Opens door l. and calls.</i>) Smithson! - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Smithson.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I'd better go. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You've no need. You know so much about it you can stay and listen to - the rest. (<i>Gets chair.</i>) - </p> - <p> - (<i>Stephen sits at head of table. Bamford, Smithson, Alcorn sit as in Act - II. Lucy stands r., Walter sits below fire.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Alcorn</b>. Well, gentlemen, he won't sell. (<i>Taking out letter.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Refuses to sell? What does this mean? - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>, (<i>to Bamford</i>). And you assured us he was broke. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. So he was, absolutely broke. I don't understand it at all. . - </p> - <p> - <b>Al</b>. No more do I. Listen to this. (<i>Reading letter.</i>) "I regret my - inability to entertain the offer made by your company. I have reason to - believe that owing to overcrowding the land is urgently wanted and that - the town authorities wish to deal with the matter themselves. I am having - the tennis lawns, etc., valued independently and the town may then - purchase at the valuation. I shall, however, not disturb my old tenants in - the Polygon, this letter referring only to the open space now used as - tennis lawns." Now what in thunder do you make of that? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>looking at Walter</i>). You? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. A letter to Monte Carlo only costs tuppence-halfpenny. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. But hang it, Verity, the town isn't buying. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. On the contrary, Sam, the town is. The overcrowding is a scandal. We - must have some fresh air. - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. Oh, don't talk like a blooming philanthropist again. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'm talking like a blooming alderman. - </p> - <p> - <b>Al</b>. This isn't a town's meeting. It's a company meeting. Stick to company - business. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. The company has no further business. The company is wound up. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Damned if it is. This letter doesn't end all. It's your fault, - Verity. You shouldn't have gone to the Polygon. You over-reached yourself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. This would still have happened, Sam, in any case. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. I don't see it. Why? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Mr. Montgomery can tell you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Well, it's not all up. Let's have what he offers. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. He doesn't offer us anything. He offers it to the town. - </p> - <p> - <b>Al</b>. And the town must buy. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. The town shall buy. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Yes; well I said houses. Let's make it houses. Model dwellings as - ugly as hell, for the Polygon toffs to look at every time they poke their - noses out of doors. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Don't be spiteful, Sam. We've had a licking, but don't bear malice. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Thank you, Mr. Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Oh, I'd forgotten you were there. Oblige me by going into that room - for two minutes. You can wait in there till we're through. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. But what have I to wait for? (<i>Rises.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Sorry to occupy your valuable, time, but you're going to wait. You'll - find a fire. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Walter l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - That chap's wasted as a curate. (<i>Sits.</i>) He's beaten me! Me licked - by a bricking curate! - </p> - <p> - <b>Al</b>. But I don't understand. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Oh, he got hold of our company idea, told Sir Charles and smashed our - plans. That's all. Nothing very serious. We're out of pocket for a few - expenses that won't hurt any of us, and we've missed a good piece of - plunder. Well, the thing to do now is to turn round and do the handsome - over that recreation ground. <i>Our</i> idea for the benefit of the town! - <i>My</i> negotiations with the Polygon! If we can't get cash by it, - gentlemen, let us get credit. - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>.. And what about the rates? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, what about them? More fresh air, less ill health. Less ill - health, less poverty. Less poverty, fewer paupers. That recreation ground - 'ull pay for itself in less than no time. If there's going to be any - barging about the rates we'll raise the money by subscription, and for two - pins I'll head the list myself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Al</b>. It's a queer finish to our plans. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. It is a finish, Alcorn. We're knocked out, and we've got to take it - with a big, broad smile and nobody will even so much as guess we've meant - anything but the square thing all the time. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. That curate 'ull talk. Curates are always talking. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. No, he won't. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. You can't stop an old woman gossiping. Gab's a parson's - stock-in-trade. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. He's no old woman. He's a wide-awake young man and he's going to - marry my daughter—if she's free. That'll shut his mouth for him. - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. Well, we'll leave that to you, Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. You can, safely. - </p> - <p> - <b>Al</b>. It's been a lot of trouble all for nothing. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Rises; general rise.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, we're good sportsmen, I hope, and the Carrington recreation - ground 'ull be an everlasting monument to our civic enterprise and public - spirit. - </p> - <p> - <b>Al</b>. Aye, I'm beginning to feel good already. - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. It's a disappointment, Verity. Ah, well, we can't win every time. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. No. Better luck next time. Good night, Smithson. (<i>Takes chair up - stage.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. Good night. Good night all. - </p> - <p> - <b>Al</b>. I'm coming your way. - </p> - <p> - <b>Smiths</b>. Come along then. (<i>Crosses r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Al</b>. Good night. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exeunt Smithson and Alcorn, r.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. I'm glad they've gone. Something to put to you, Verity, private. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. About her? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Her? No. I've said my say about that, and you need her to shut the - curate's mouth. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'll shut his mouth without that if you want her. It's a thousand a - year, you know. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. The auction recommences, Mr. Bamford. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Don't fret yourself, Miss Verity. I'm not bidding. You've had my last - word, Verity. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well, what's this you want to say? - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. About me being mayor. That stands, of course? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. No, it doesn't. (<i>Above table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. But—— - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. That was a contract made by a company that's wound up. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. But, hang it, I'd counted on being mayor. I've mentioned it to one or - two. (<i>Goes above table R.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. All right, then. There's your mayoress. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Is that the price? - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. There's your mayoress. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. I won't be haggled over. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Miss Verity, it's not you. If I wanted to marry I dunno as I'd look - an inch further. It's—I'm not the marrying sort and that's top and - bottom of it. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Sam, I'll be mayor myself if it's only for the fun of opening that - recreation ground to the public and making a speech about the anxious - negotiating the Council had to do before they brought off this great - scheme and conferred an inestimable boon on the deserving working classes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Oh, if you're putting up for mayor, I retire. I can't fight a man of - your weight. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Fight be hanged. We're good friends. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Aye. You've got your man in there. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Well! (<i>Pause.</i>) Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. It's very sweet of you not to want to marry me, Mr. Bamford. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. Ask me to the wedding. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes, you should be good for a thumping present after this. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. I'll stand my corner. You've to tackle the curate. I'll be off. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Good night. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. Good night, and thank you. - </p> - <p> - <b>Bam</b>. It's <i>me</i> that's thankful. Good night. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Exit Bamford. Stephen crosses to left door, opens it and calls.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Now, Mr. Montgomery. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Enter Walter. Lucy rises, l.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Well, sir? (<i>Crosses to r. below table.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>c. above table</i>). Are you or are you not going to marry my - daughter? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. That depends. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I'll tell you something. The syndicate's bust. In fact, there never - was a syndicate. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. You mustn't ask me to believe that, sir. You gave the thing away - yourself. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. (<i>impressively</i>). There never was a syndicate. A limited company - isn't a limited company till it's registered. We weren't registered. You - understand? You can't go telling people about a syndicate that never - existed. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b> (<i>smiling</i>). That sounds reasonable. I shan't tell. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. Yes. Well, what about my daughter? - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. I thought you objected to me. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I did. But I begin to think there's more in you than meets the eye. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Thanks for the compliment. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. I do wish you weren't a curate, though. - </p> - <p> - (<i>Crosses to fire.</i>) There's nothing in the Church for a smart man. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. There are plenty of prizes in the Church. - </p> - <p> - <b>Lucy</b>. And Walter's going to win them, father. (<i>Up to Walter.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. Yes. - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. He's not won much yet. - </p> - <p> - <b>Walter</b>. This is all the prize I want, Mr. Verity. (<i>Takes her hand.</i>) - </p> - <p> - <b>Ste</b>. She's not a bad start, either. You've got round me, and it takes a - bit of doing. (<i>Crosses to Walter.</i>) Look here, my lad, I come of a - long lived stock and you'll disappoint me if I don't see you a bishop - before I die. I'll come to the Palace, Lucy, and hang my hat up some day. - (<i>Going to exit to leave them 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 Graft, by Harold Brighouse - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAFT *** - -***** This file should be named 55291-h.htm or 55291-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/2/9/55291/ - -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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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graft, by Harold Brighouse
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-
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-
-Title: Graft
- A Comedy in Four Acts
-
-Author: Harold Brighouse
-
-Release Date: August 7, 2017 [EBook #55291]
-
-Language: English
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-
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- GRAFT
- </h1>
- <h3>
- A Comedy In Four Acts
- </h3>
- <h2>
- By Harold Brighouse
- </h2>
- <h4>
- London: Samuel French Publisher
- </h4>
- <h3>
- 1913
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /> <br /> <br /> <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/0005.jpg" alt="0005 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0005.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> ACT I </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> ACT II </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ACT III </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ACT IV. </a>
- </p>
- <h1>
- GRAFT
- </h1>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- ACT I
- </h2>
- <p>
- <i>A small room on the first floor, awkwardly overcrowded with the entire
- furniture of a cottage, a pile of which is stacked in the left corner and
- covered with a sheet; the plain iron bed is right, the window coming
- between its foot and the pile of furniture; table centre; three plain
- upright chairs and one wicker armchair before the fire; fireplace left;
- opposite it right a kitchen dresser well stocked with crockery; pans and
- kettle about the fireplace. For all the uncomfortable crowding the room is
- bright and well kept. Door right. It is 7 p.m. on a September evening, and
- the approach of dusk is noticed gradually.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>Jim Pilling, a gardener, has finished tea and sits in his shirt-sleeves
- before the débris of the meal facing spectator lighting a briar pipe. Jim
- is thirty, clean looking, dressed in his rough working clothes without
- coat or his combined collar and "dicky" and red tie, which hangs with the
- coat behind the door. Sally Pilling is transferring the last of the table
- utensils to a tray which she puts on the bed; then removing the white
- cloth and shaking crumbs into the fire; a red cloth is underneath. Sally
- is of the pale complexion usual to a country girl living in a town; she
- dresses neatly and has an apron on; Dick, a thin boy of eight, in a blue
- sailor suit, gets off his chair at the table.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0091.jpg" alt="0091 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0091.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <b>Dick</b>. Can I go out and play now, mother?
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Jim rises and crosses l. with chair.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. Yes. (<i>She crosses to door and takes down from a hook his sailor
- hat.</i>) Here's your hat. (<i>Dick comes to her; she secures it on his
- head with an elastic band.</i>) Don't go far from the door, Dick. I'll
- shout you when it's bedtime.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. And don't get playing in the road—keep on the footpath.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Dick</b>. Yes, dad. (<i>He runs out as Sally opens: the door.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. Don't get run over now.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. The young <i>'</i>un misses the country. (<i>Sits in armchair above
- fire.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b> (<i>closing door</i>). We all do that, Jim.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Aye. Streets are no sort of playground for a growing child. Did you
- get out while he was at school this afternoon?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b> (<i>gathering up tea-things</i>). Oh, yes. There's not the cleaning
- to do in a single room to keep me in it all day.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. No; better for you to get out a bit.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b> (<i>dully</i>). It's no pleasure walking in the streets.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Not when there's shops to look at?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. You can get tired of shops. (<i>Tea-things on tray.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. You're no true woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. I'm no town's woman. (<i>Crosses to Jim.</i>) I miss the flowers
- and the green. I'm pining for the country, Jim.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. And I'm same way, only I do get the smell of the earth in Mr.
- Vining's garden and it's not so bad for me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b> (<i>wistfully standing above his chair</i>). I'd dearly love to see
- that garden, Jim.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. I know you would; but they're that strict about the Polygon. No
- getting in unless you've business.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. It does seem hard when there's not a park nor so much as a blade of
- grass in the whole blessed town except the Polygon. (<i>Puts tray on bed.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. The old days were the best, Sally, on the estate where we were born.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. We didn't know it, either, till Sir Charles began to sack his men.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. No; many a time I've grumbled at the work there and the pay. It's a
- judgment on me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. You weren't sacked for grumbling. (<i>Shaking cloth in fire.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>bitterly</i>). No. I was sacked because Sir Charles lost so much
- money on the turf he couldn't keep six gardeners any longer—and me
- the one to go because we'd only our Dick and t'others had more childer.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b> (<i>mildly surprised at his tone</i>). Gentlemen will have their
- sport, Jim. It might be worse. You dropped lucky into a job. (<i>Folds
- cloth and puts in dresser drawer.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Aye, the job's all right, and Mr. Vining's a good gentleman to work
- for—pay's better than the country an' all, though I can't get stuff
- to thrive in Mr. Vining's garden as I'd wish. (<i>Rises.</i>) Town air
- kills 'em. Yes, we'd do all right, Sally, if (<i>looking round as if caged</i>)—if
- there was room to live. That's what we want—room to live. We've our
- sticks for a proper house eating their heads off in yon corner (<i>indicating
- the pile</i>), and I've wages enough to pay rent for a house and no one
- 'ull take it from me. There's not a house to let in all Carrington, nor
- like to be but what there's plenty waiting for it before our turn come,
- and we've waited three years now.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b> (<i>consoling him</i>). Never mind, Jim. We've got our privacy.
- We've a room to ourselves.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>She crosses to cupboard, gets work out and puts on table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>hotly</i>). A room! One room! (<i>Cooling.</i>) Aye, but you're
- right. Let's be thankful for small mercies. (<i>Sits.</i>) I mind it
- looked like we shouldn't even find a room when we came seeking. But it's
- hard to live decent in here, and it's harder on Dick than us. Eat and
- sleep an all in one room's not a Christian way of life.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>A knock at the door. Sally opens it. Walter Montgomery stands without.
- He is a curate, twenty-eight years old, athletic in build, clean-shaven,
- with a bright manner and a strong jaw.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. May I come in? Good evening, Mrs. Pilling.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. Surely, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Walter. Sally closes the door, adroitly taking her apron off as
- she does so and hanging it up. Jim makes for his coat.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Good evening, Mr. Pilling. (<i>Seeing his objective.</i>) You're
- all right as you are.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Shirt-sleeves don't seem respectful, sir. Walter (<i>genially</i>)..
- Rubbish. It's a pity if you can't be cool in your own room.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>apologetically</i>). The fire does make it hot in here.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. And we must have a fire to boil the kettle, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Walter looks at the closed window, but, having experience, makes no
- suggestion. Jim knocks his pipe out on the fire-bar.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>seeing him, but too late to stop him</i>). Oh, don't do that—here,
- try a pipe of mine. (<i>Delving in his coat tails for pouch and offering
- it.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>shyly</i>). Well, sir——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Go on, man. (<i>Jim accepts and fills his pouch; Sally dusts a
- chair with the corner of the table cloth.</i>) Now you know that chair
- didn't need dusting, Mrs. Pilling. (<i>He sits.</i>) Well, how's the
- garden, Mr. Pilling?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Oh, nicely, sir, nicely.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Yes. So I thought when I had a look at it over the hedge. (<i>Turning
- to Sally.</i>) I live next door to Mr. Vining, you know, Mrs. Pilling.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. Oh, but he can't get the garden to suit him, sir. (<i>Sits R. of
- table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Oh! How's that?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Thanks. (<i>Returning pouch. Walter fills a pipe and lights up.</i>)
- This air's ruination to a garden, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. You put up a jolly good fight against it, then. My father's garden
- looks pretty mean compared with yours.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>shyly</i>). Well, sir, you see, your father will try and look
- after his himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Yes. He's awfully attached to his garden.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>with a touch of patronage</i>). And he doesn't do it badly—for
- an amateur, as you might say, but—well, he makes mistakes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b> (<i>protestingly</i>). Jim!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Oh, that's all right, Mrs. Pilling. Dick keeping well?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b> (<i>formally</i>). Oh, yes, thank you, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I saw him outside as I came in. I fancied the little chap looked
- pale.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>gravely</i>). He does look pale.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Anything the matter?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. No, sir, no... only this.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>vaguely</i>). This?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. This room—living in one room and nothing but streets to run
- about in.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. You can't keep a child inside, sir. 'Tisn't natural. The streets if
- it's fine and the stairs when it's wet out.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. None too safe, Mrs. Pilling, either of 'em.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. But what are you to do?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>hopelessly</i>). Nothing, I suppose.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Folks can't thrive cramped up the way we are. If garden stuff won't
- go in the air, it can't be good for humans.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>A knock at the door. Without waiting for Sally, who starts towards
- door, Stephen Verity enters. He is fifty, iron grey, with a good deal of
- iron in his composition, though just now concerned more with the velvet
- glove than the mailed fist. A selfmade man, he is cynical, domineering,
- dryly humorous at times, an ugly customer if crossed, with a strong jaw
- and tightly closed lips. Dressed in morning coat and grey trousers with
- very square toed boots, turned down collar, black tie. His coat is good
- solid broadcloth, but the cut is palpably local.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Stephen</b> (<i>off</i>). Are ye in, Pilling? (<i>He enters and sees Walter.
- Sally and Walter rise—grimacing at Walter.</i>) Oh! (<i>He stops
- short in doorway.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>with deference nicely regulated some degrees lower than that he
- showed Walter</i>). Come in, Mr. Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>holding out hand</i>). How do you do, Mr. Verity?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>shaking hands and speaking with laboured politeness</i>). How do
- you do, Mr. Montgomery? (<i>Dropping his hand—sneeringly.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- [<i>He appropriates the wicker chair. Walter sits edgeways on the table.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- I didn't expect to find you here. What are you doing? Looking after their
- souls?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>pleasantly</i>). I dropped in for a chat and a smoke, before
- going on to keep my appointment at your house. What are you doing? (<i>Sits
- l. of table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'm looking after their bodies, only some of them won't see it.
- Pilling's a tough nut to crack.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Not gathered him in yet?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. No, but I shall. He's one of your flock. It takes time to get hold of
- these fellows who come in from the country, (<i>spitefully</i>) where the
- squire and the parson spell omnipotence. He'll change his tune yet,
- though.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>shaking his head</i>). I'm not the changing sort.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>confidently</i>). You will be. A year or two more of this room
- and you'll be ripe for anything.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b> (<i>lifting the tray</i>). We're ripe now for a change from this.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Don't go, Mrs. Pilling.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. I can get my turn at the sink for washing up now.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. That can wait. I want to ask you something.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b> (<i>replacing the tray</i>). Yes, sir? (<i>Sits r. of table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>after brief pause</i>). Well, now, Mrs. Pilling, what would you
- say we need most in Carrington?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b> (<i>promptly</i>). Fresh air.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You've hit the nail on the head. Trust a woman to be sensible when
- health's at stake. I've a piece of news for you. There's talk of getting a
- recreation ground for Carrington.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>interested—sincerely</i>). Indeed! I hadn't heard. It's a
- most interesting thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. And about time too. (<i>Sits below fire.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sentimentalizing</i>). Yes, you'll be able to take Mrs. Pilling
- down for a stroll on a summer's evening or a Sunday afternoon and watch
- little Dick play about on the soft grass breathing the fresh air and
- fancying yourselves back in the country again. No need to have Dick
- running about in the streets then.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>curtly</i>). When?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, nothing's settled yet, of course. I'm bringing it up at the
- next Council meeting and I've a backing on both sides. Alderman Verity's a
- power in Carrington, I don't mind telling you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. I don't know about your power, sir. What I'm wondering is how it 'ull
- strike my boss.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. It sounds excellent.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>suspiciously</i>). And where might your land be, Mr. Verity?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Ah, that's a secret yet.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Um. Recreation ground two mile away's no use to my lad and you'll not
- find land nearer.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. It'll not be five minutes from your door.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Walter turns interestedly from one to the other.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Then you'll have to burrow for it or hang it in the air.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. No, we shan't. The land we have in view's built on at present.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Lots of good that 'ull do—turning people out of house and home
- to make a playing field, when houses are so scarce an' all.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Yes. To my mind it's more housing accommodation that's most urgent
- here, Mr. Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. We'll get neither without we're helped. There'll be a lot of
- opposition.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Surely not.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Oh, yes, there will. We Progressives can't carry anything in the
- Council unless there's a big force of public opinion at our backs.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>confidently</i>). You won't lack that if you've a practicable
- plan.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>hotly</i>). Practicable! Nothing ever is practicable to some folk
- that means spending public money and putting up the rates. They're too
- shortsighted to see that a healthy town pays best in the end.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>reasonably</i>). Still, such things as rates have to be
- considered, I suppose.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>hotly</i>). Oh, yes. Consider the purses of the ratepayers and
- consider the health of the people and the danger of little children
- playing in the street and ask your religion which consideration weighs
- heaviest.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>a little warmly</i>). Really, Mr. Verity, I needn't consult my
- religion. My common sense is sufficient to put me on your side—if
- you really are right in believing there can be two sides to such a
- question.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Don't you make any doubt about that. There'll be two sides right
- enough.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Well, can <i>I</i> do anything? Will you accept my help?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes, yours—and yours, Pilling, and every man's who'll say a
- word for us.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>A motor horn heard violently below the window—a few masculine
- curses and feminine shrieks—which Sally echoes as she leaps to
- window and puts it up.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. Dick's in the street. (<i>She flies across from window and out at
- door.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>with the air of a conjuror</i>). There you are! Street accident.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Jim follows Sally, but is met at the door by a very irate taxi-cabman
- carrying Dick in one hand and by the slack of his trousers, followed by
- Sally. The Chauffeur is a Cockney, about thirty, clean shaven, with the
- usual oily pallid complexion—dark—with black leather leggings
- and a bottle green great-coat with red facings. His number is on an
- enamelled plate, which is reversed.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>with more threat than anxiety</i>). Have you hurt him?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Chauffeur</b>. 'Urt? Nah. Aw'm a hexpert droiver, aw am.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>He puts Dick on his feet. Dick seeks refuge behind his mother s skirts
- and pulls at them with one hand, curiously watching the Chauffeur all the
- time. Pilling takes jug from washstand r. and exit for water.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- Pulled up in foive yard. Bet it ain't no bloomin' fault of 'is 'es not
- 'urt.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b> (<i>threateningly</i>). If you'd killed my boy I'd have——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Chauff</b>. (<i>interrupting</i>). Cheese it, missus. 'E's only froightened.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Dick</b>. I'm not hurt, mother.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Chauff</b>. No, bet yer would be if yer got what yer bloomin' well arsked for.
- Yer came as near to it as bone is to flesh.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Sally sits on stool r, with Dick, examining his bruised knee.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>stepping forward pompously</i>). Now then, my man——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Chauff</b>. Aw'm not yer man. (<i>To Sally.</i>) Nah aw' give yer warning,
- missus, to look after 'im.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Jim returns with water, which he puts by Sally r. She washes the knee.</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>quietly</i>). Isn't it your business to look after the safety
- of pedestrians?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Chauff</b>. (<i>acknowledging the Church by a quieter reply</i>). What roight
- 'ad 'e to-be in the middle of the rowd? Ain't the poivement woide enough
- for 'im to ply 'opscotch? (<i>He addresses Walter.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>r</i>). Look here, that's my kid, and if you've anything to say
- you can say it to me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Chauff</b>. Aw've this to sy. Yer tell 'im to keep to the poivements. 'E
- moight 'ave bin in 'eaven nah if aw wasn't a hexpert droiver. There's more
- kids to the square foot in this tahn than any place aw've struck. People
- moike a fair 'obby of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>importantly</i>). You'd better be careful what you say. You don't
- know who you're talking to.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Chauff</b>. (<i>with infinite scorn</i>). Fat lot aw care. Yer nothing but a
- crowd of dead-aloive provincials. Don't suppose yer ever saw a taxi-keb
- till me and my mate come dahn from London. A 'ackney keb is news to yer in
- these parts. (<i>Up to Stephen.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>boiling over</i>). I'm an alderman of this town and if you don't
- talk to me respectfully I'll have your license cancelled. You're not fit
- to have one.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Chauff</b>. Ho! Blimey, not fit to 'ave a license, ain't aw? Aw've druv a dook
- in my keb. And yer a tahn councillor, are yer? Yus. Yer bloomin' well look
- it and aw can't say wuss than that.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'll pay you out for this. I'll report you to your employer.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Chauff</b>. (<i>indignantly</i>). Employer be blowed. Aw'm my own boss. Bought
- my keb, aw did. Thet's enterprise. Don't know what enterprise means dahn
- here, do yer?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>, What's your number? I'll report you to the police. (<i>Goes to window
- and looks out.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Chauff</b>. Yus, yer do. Aw'll tell yer where 'e is. On the 'Igh Street with a
- stopwatch in his fat hand, trying to cop me exceedin' the limit, and aw've
- never druv above ten moile for fear of the kids.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Jim goes up to door.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I demand to know your number.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Chauff</b>. (<i>making sure that it is reversed</i>). Never you moind my
- number. My name's Walker. Fair fed up with this tahn, aw am. Aw'm used to
- drivin' gentlemen. Aw druv a bally commercial abart all yesterday and the
- blighter tipped me tuppence.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Jim indicates door.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes. Aw'm going. My keb 'ull carry me to London now (<i>moves a bit
- towards door</i>), and yer rowds reek of kids. Aw've killed none yet and
- aw don't want to. Aw reckon 'oss kebs are good enough for Carrington.
- P'raps they train 'em to step loightly on the kids or else they're funeral
- 'osses in their spare toime and never learn to go faster.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>almost frenzied</i>). You... insolent... Cockney... cad.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Chauff</b>. (<i>crossing back to Stephen</i>). Foine language from a tahn
- alderman with the Church lookin' on an' all. Aw am among the nobs. Abart
- toime aw cleared when a tahn 'as a bally hobject the loikes of you for an
- alderman. Aw wouldn't be seen droiv-ing yer not for a quid a moile and
- disinfectin' free.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Stephen looks pugnacious. Walter steps between them.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. If you're going to London, Mr. Walker—I think you said
- Walker—hadn't you better go?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Chauff</b>. (<i>at door</i>). Yus, and aw'll droive quick for once through
- Carrington and charnce it. The kids 'ad better look aloive. (<i>Looking
- back at Stephen.</i>) Aw'll tell 'em when aw droive into the old garage in
- the Westminster Rowd abaht meetin' a real loive alderman. They'll be
- sending rand from Fleet Street to interview me abaht it.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Chauffeur, leaving door open.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>closing door—to Walter</i>). I'm sorry you've been spoken to
- like that in my room, sir. Civil tongues don't cost nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>smiling</i>). That's a type of modern progress. The new man,
- Mr. Pilling.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Then I'd as lief have the old.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. That's where you're wrong, Jim Pilling. This fellow's up-to-date.
- He'd never be content to let his children play in the streets. He'd——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. No. He'd drive over them.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Dick</b> (<i>who's been clutching Sally's skirts, staring</i>). Boo hoo!
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Sally bends down.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>all ostentatious sympathy</i>). What's to do?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Dick</b>. My knee's hurting. (<i>Holding it up.</i>) I falled on it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b> (<i>examining it</i>). It's only bruised.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>looking at the knee</i>). Got any plaster?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. I think so. (<i>Opens drawer in the dresser and searches.</i>) I
- ought to have.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>watches her</i>). What's that?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. That's no good. Corn plaster. There's Beecher's Pills and Wood's
- Sarsaperilla and every mortal thing except the one you want.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>reprovingly</i>). Patent medicines, Mrs. Pilling. (<i>Back to
- fire.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Dick on stool, watching Sally.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b> (<i>justifying herself</i>). They've all got the Government stamp,
- sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>who has taken out a pocket hook, eyeing Dick with what he thinks
- is benevolence</i>). I generally have some plaster in my pocket. (<i>But
- he looks in vain.</i>) No, none there. Sorry, Mrs. Pilling.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. I'd better take him to the chemist's. (<i>She gets a purse from the
- dresser.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Dick</b>. Don't want no chemists. Want my supper.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. You'll have your supper when we get back. Come and see the man who
- lives behind the big red bottles.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Dick consents to go. Exeunt Sally and Dick.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>triumphantly</i>). Anybody got anything to say against a
- recreation ground <i>now</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Neither of us ever had, I hope.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You'd a lot to say about the rates.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. And I didn't see the use of pulling houses down to make room where
- houses are scarce.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. We shan't pull down many.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. It'll be a small ground then. (<i>Sits R. of table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>with quiet triumph</i>). About ten acres.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. You'll have to pull down streets on streets to find ten acres.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. We shall pull down just five houses. (<i>Sits L. of table.</i>) No
- more and no less.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Five houses!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>startled</i>). Five, Mr. Verity?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>with bluster</i>). Yes. Five houses, I said.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>puzzled</i>). Then you must be thinking of—oh, but that's
- ridiculous.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. And why is it ridiculous, Mr. Montgomery?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. The Polygon's the only place that applies to.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, why shouldn't I be thinking of the Polygon?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Are you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes..
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. But the Polygon is——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>interrupting</i>). I'll tell you what the Polygon, is.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>quietly</i>). It's my home, Mr. Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>with gusto</i>). Yes, it's the home of the leisured and
- privileged class of Carrington. It's five big houses with a kind of a
- square of tennis lawn in the middle of them and a great big garden behind
- each. It's the only apology for a breathing space we have and it's bang in
- the middle of the town. You've got great gates to it marked "private" and
- a lodge keeper to watch 'em and see none of the common herd get in to soil
- your sacred air by breathing it in their vulgar lungs. It's a shame and a
- scandal for the land to be wasted on you and it's not going to be wasted
- much longer.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>without passion</i>). To the people who live there, it's——-
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>interrupting</i>). They're about twenty all told. Who are they to
- get in the way of the thousands that live crowded up like rabbits outside?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. They happen to be able to afford it, Mr. Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sarcastically</i>). Yes. They're well-to-do, so they've the right
- to monopolize the air.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>mildly</i>). Yes, yes. But you do put things so violently.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>glancing at Jim for approval</i>). I feel 'em violently.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>half apologetically</i>). You must remember this is quite a new
- idea to me, and for the moment it seems iconoclastic, if you don't mind my
- saying so.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sneering</i>). Yes. Like all your class, you don't like new
- ideas. I'll say nothing about your Church, though that don't like new
- things either.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Jim rises.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. If you'll only give me a moment to think, Mr. Verity.... I'm
- trying my best to see the matter from your standpoint. Meantime, I don't
- know that you'll improve things by fulminating against the Church.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>blustering</i>). I shan't do myself any good by truckling to it,
- either. The Church was here before I was. It was here when Carrington was
- a little village and it's stood by and let the place grow into one huge
- slum. If we waited for the Church to give us a lead, we'd wait for all
- eternity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>smiling</i>). But you're not addressing the Church, you know.
- You're addressing a young and humble member of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You're all tarred with the same brush.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Not so black as our cloth, I hope. Some of us younger men try to
- be social reformers.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes. It's all very pretty and romantic, but when it comes to anything
- that touches you personally like this does you're as bad as the greediest
- tithe grabbing pluralist that ever robbed a starving farmer of his——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>touching Stephen's arm</i>). Mr. Verity, I'm a man that's slow to
- anger. But I've this to tell you. Mr. Montgomery's a clergyman and you're
- saying things to him that aren't proper to be said and that I'll hot have
- said in my room. (<i>Shrewdly.</i>) And you're not going the right way to
- get my vote for your recreation ground either. .
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>alarmed</i>). I apologize, Pilling. (<i>Rises.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>satisfied</i>). Ah!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>earnestly</i>). It's the wrongs of your class. I think of others,
- Pilling. I see what the motorman saw—streets crowded with little
- children, growing up in the gutter, playing in the dust—I can't help
- it. My tongue runs away with me when I think of it all.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Say no more, Mr. Verity. You're probably right about the Polygon.
- I dare say we are out of place there, but you couldn't expect me to take
- your view the moment it's sprung on me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>nodding</i>). I've a way of calling a spade a spade.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>A knock at the door. Jim opens it. A Man advances a foot into the
- room. Behind him is dimly seen a woman, both poorly dressed. The Man has a
- bundle tied up into a blue quilt on his shoulder; his voice is tired and
- hopeless.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Man</b>. Have you got any floor space to let in this room, mate?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. No. (<i>Trying to close the door. The Man's foot keeps it open.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Man</b>. Don't shut the door in our face. I've got the money to pay for it.
- I'll give you a week's rent now.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. It's no use. I'm not letting.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Man</b> (<i>pleading</i>). I'm in work, mate. Start at Bamford's factory o'
- Monday. A corner's all as we want.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. I tell you I've none to let.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Man</b>. Don't be so hard on a fellow. I can't get in nowhere.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. You'll not get in here.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Man</b> (<i>turning dejectedly</i>). Lodging-houses full up and getting late
- an' all. We've been looking all day.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>closes the door</i>). Get three or four of them a week. They find
- room somewhere in the end.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. What did he want? Floor space?
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Stephen crosses l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Aye. Lots of rooms about here with two or three families in 'em. Some
- one 'ull take them in if they look long enough.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I know. It's appalling.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. And ten acres in the Polygon with only five houses on 'em. (<i>Sits
- in armchair.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. All the more reason to build houses there and not waste it in
- playing fields.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Ah! So it is wasted now?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Yes. It's wasted now. I'm going to do my best to help you. (<i>Back
- to fire standing.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. That's good news, any way.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Don't count on me for much. But what I can do I will. I'm afraid I
- must go now. I've a call to make before I'm due at your house.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Right. See you later.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>to Jim</i>). Say good-night to Mrs. Pilling for me. (<i>Crossing
- R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Jim opens the door as Walter goes out.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- Good-night.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>rubbing his hands together</i>). Ah, glad I came. Good thing to
- rope in young Montgomery.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>sourly</i>). Good, is it?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. What else do you call it?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>aggressively</i>). Look here, Mr. Verity, you've been coming here
- calling yourself my friend. I knew well enough it was my vote you were
- after. Bless you, I don't mind. I know what even the real gentry 'ull do
- to get a man's vote. I've seen Sir Charles himself stand by and watch his
- wife kiss our Dick at election time. But I've finished with you now.
- You'll come here no more after this. (<i>Above table l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>staggered</i>). But... I don't understand. What have I done? (<i>Rises.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. It's not what you've done. It's what you're wanting to do.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'm wanting to provide a recreation ground for Dick to play in.
- Anything wrong in that?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. A lot. There's more important things than playing fields.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Oh, you're thinking of Montgomery's idea for houses.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. No, I'm not thinking of anybody's ideas. Thinking of ideas leads to
- mischief. I'm thinking of my bread and butter that you're taking from me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. You know very well where I work.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You're Mr. Vining's gardener, aren't you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Yes, and Mr. Vining lives in the Polygon. It's likely I'd vote for
- breaking up the Polygon, isn't it?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. But, my dear friend——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. I tell you I'm not your friend.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Mr. Vining will have to live somewhere. He won't cease to require a
- gardener.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Ever hear tell as a bird in the hand whacked two in the bush?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>scornfully</i>). If you're afraid of losing your employment.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>with conviction</i>). A working man's always afraid of that. I
- know what it's like to be out of a job.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>ingratiatingly, after a slight pause</i>). Well, now, I tell you
- what.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>.. Aye?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. We shall want somebody to look after the grass in the recreation
- ground.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Well?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. The Park Committee will want an experienced gardener—like you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Are you offering me the job?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. How do you know you'll be on any Park Committee? You might be fired
- out of the Council next November.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>with dignity</i>). I'm an alderman, Pilling. Aldermen stay in,
- they don't get fired.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. You're offering me this. Well and good. And what about all the other
- folk as find work in the Polygon? House servants and such like.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. The residents won't cease to want servants where they move to.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. And you can flit servants same as furniture, can't you? And servants
- haven't votes and I have. So you bribe me and they can go to the devil.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>backing in alarm</i>). Mr. Pilling!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Oh, I'm not blind, if I was brought up in the country. They didn't
- learn me there to vote against my master, either. I take Mr. Vining's
- money and——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. But man alive, how's he to know which way you vote? The ballot's
- secret.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>sceptically</i>). Oh, aye, we've heard that tale before.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>irritated</i>). But it is secret.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>unconvinced</i>). That's what they tell you. And if it is, it's
- not secret from me. I'd know how I voted. And I couldn't hold out my hand
- for wages from a man when I'd voted opposite to him. I'm not built that
- way.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>disgustedly</i>). Jim Pilling, I thought you'd more sense.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. I've a sense of right and wrong.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes, the sense that your employer's always right.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. It makes no matter if he's right or wrong. He's still my employer. A
- man can't vote against the gentleman that gives him bread and butter, and
- Mr. Vining's a real gentleman, mind you. (<i>With enthusiastic admiration</i>).
- I never saw him raise his hand to do a thing himself yet.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You're a fool, Pilling.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. I'm an honest fool, then.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Look here, if you won't take it from me, will you take it from Mr.
- Montgomery?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. I don't know. He's a young 'un. More like a man than a parson. Coming
- in here and smoking his pipe like you might do yourself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. But he is a parson—young Montgomery.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>grudgingly</i>). Aye. He's a man I trust.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Then if he tells you, will you vote for turning the Polygon into a
- playing ground?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b> (<i>confidently</i>). He won't.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. But if he does?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. I'll see.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Re-enter Sally and Dick.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Hullo! Patched the little man up?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Dick exhibits a black plaster about his knee.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'll get out of your way, Mrs. Pilling. I've an appointment to keep
- at home. Good-night. (<i>Crosses below table to door.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>,
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Good-night.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>turning at door, patting Dick's head</i>). Goodnight, Dick.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Dick doesn't respond. Exit Stephen.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. Good riddance and all. Now, Dick, you ought to have been in bed
- long ago. (<i>Takes Dick up to bed.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Dick</b>. Can't I come and watch you wash up?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. No, you can't. (<i>She begins to undress him.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Dick</b>. I want my supper.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. You can have it in bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. You don't like Verity, lass?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. And never did. What's he want with bothering round week after week?
- We're not his class.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. Vote's what he's after, and it's a marvel to me what they will do for
- votes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Sally</b>. You'll do yourself no good with him, Jim.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Jim</b>. I'm thinking so myself. He's a bit too keen on this recreation
- ground, Verity is. Been putting himself about something extraordinary. (<i>Crosses
- to fireplace, taking pipe.</i>) I fancy, you know, there's, something
- behind all this.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>The undressing of Dick advances.</i>)
- </p>
- <h3>
- CURTAIN.
- </h3>
- <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 II
- </h2>
- <p>
- <i>Stephen Verity's dining-room the same evening. The room has doors right
- and left. Window with drawn blind, r. Large table centre with chairs.
- Fireplace left. Solid-looking sideboard back centre. The furniture is
- solid, old-fashioned, and the atmosphere of the room is one of heavy
- comfort without ostentation. The room is a small one. No books anywhere.
- In an armchair before the fire is Stephen Verity. Walter Montgomery faces
- him in a highbacked chair. Stephen is smoking a large, well coloured
- briar.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0092.jpg" alt="0092 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0092.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <b>Stephen</b> (<i>removing the pipe</i>). So you think you're good enough to
- marry my daughter, do you? Walter. I ventured to think so.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Why?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Because I love her, Mr. Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. That the only reason?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. No.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. What are the others?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. She loves me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Did she tell you so?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Um! (<i>Slight pause; he smokes reflectively.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- That all?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>rather startled</i>). All what?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. All your reasons.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Yes, I think so.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. They're too few.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. But——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'll ask <i>you</i> something.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Yes?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. What do you want to get married for?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I'm in love.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. That's no reason. You curates, you're all alike—must be with
- marrying other folk so much. Infectious, I reckon. Church ought to be
- scheduled along with the other dangerous trades.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. You're laughing at me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. No, I'm not. Marriage isn't a laughing matter, I know.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Won't you give me your answer, Mr. Verity?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes. (<i>He rises, knocks at his pipe in the grate, puts it on the
- mantelpiece and goes himself to the door left. His deliberate movements
- cause Walter an agony, of which Stephen is quite aware. Stephen opens the
- door and calls.</i>) Lucy!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>off l.</i>). Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Come in here. (<i>He leaves the door open and goes below door. Enter
- Lucy Verity. She is twenty-one, pretty, dressed in a skirt and blouse,
- pointing to a very modest dress allowance. Her hair is plainly dressed.
- Obviously her father is her master, but she is not without indications of
- a will of her own. Walter rises as she enters.</i>) Here's a friend of
- yours. Tells me he wants to marry you.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Lucy crosses r. of table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>anxiously</i>). Yes, father.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. It's true, then? (<i>Motions her to sit.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Yes. (<i>Sits r. of table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, listen to me. He's a curate. Curates always marry young and
- have enormous families on no income. (<i>Walter makes an attempt to
- protest; Stephen proceeds unmoved.</i>) I advise you not to marry him. If
- he wants a wife, he'll not go begging one for long. There's always crowds
- of silly girls ready to help a chap to button his collar behind.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Mr. Verity, this isn't a joke to us.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I don't know that losing Lucy 'ud be a joke to me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I can very well believe that. But it's a thing that's bound to
- come to you sooner or later.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You're making a mistake. It isn't bound to come at all. My daughter's
- no need to find a man to keep her. She's a head on her shoulders and sense
- enough to know when she's well off. Who's going to look after my house if
- Lucy marries? Tell me that, young man.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I really haven't thought about it, Mr. Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. And I'm not going to.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. There'd be plenty of time to consider that. We're not proposing to
- get married to-morrow.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. 'Um. Very good of you. Want a long engagement, eh?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Moderately.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. And hope I'll be dead and out of your way first? (<i>Sitting behind
- table c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Father!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You hold your tongue. I'll get you to talk in a minute. (<i>To
- Walter.</i>) What do you want to wait for?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I'm hoping to get a living before long.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. So you <i>have</i> proposed on nothing a year. I thought as much.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>with excessive dignity</i>). I'm not without money, sir. I
- could afford to marry at once.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Could you now? And what might you call being not without money?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I've £150 a year.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You plutocrat! Lucy, do you hear that? He's £150 a year. Nice sort of
- marrying income, that is. Oh, but perhaps I'm wronging you. What's your
- father going to do for you when you marry?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I don't know. I haven't asked him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, give a guess at it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Nothing, probably. He gave me an expensive education.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Then he made a bad investment if it's only worth £150 a year to you
- to-day. I had no education and I'm worth—well, never mind. Lucy,
- tell him what I've been telling you to-night.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. What you told me?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Don't repeat my words like a fool. Go on. You've got your chance of
- talking now.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. But——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. So like a woman to be backward at tongue-wagging, isn't it?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>as if repeating a lesson</i>). You told me that mother left me
- money which you've, increased by investment till it's now capable of
- yielding £1,000 a year, and since my twenty-first birthday a week ago the
- money lies to my credit at the bank.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. That's right. Now, my gallant £3 a weeker, what have you got to say
- to that?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Of course I didn't know.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. No. I'll gamble you didn't. You fancied I lived in a small house
- because I couldn't afford a big 'un. That's a regular Polygon notion.
- You're used to their way of living up to your income and as much beyond as
- you've pluck for. When a man's worked as hard as I have he don't spend as
- fast as he earns. He sticks to what he's got.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I knew you were a successful man, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I've made my way. I began low and I'm no class now, bar what they
- think of me at the bank—and that's a fat lot more than they think of
- any fine Polygon gentlemen. Would you like to know where Lucy's bit comes
- from?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Really, I'm——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Her grandfather kept the <i>Black Bull</i>. That's where it was made,
- except what I've added to it. Stinks of beer, that money does. Pubs were a
- good thing in his time for a landlord that kept off the drink.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I've no doubt it was honestly made.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Aye, ye <i>would</i> think that now you fancy your chance of
- fingering it. It was made in the way of business same as my own was, and
- that means the best man won and he hadn't time to stand still and think
- about honesty. Too busy downing the other fellow for that. And now you've
- got it. That's me, sir, builder and contractor, and married a publican's
- daughter. Feeling as keen set on Lucy as you were?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I don't believe very much in artificial class distinctions, Mr.
- Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Don't you? Not in your business hours, you mean. Not so long as you
- remember you're a parson.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Father! (<i>Rises.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, what's the matter with you? Do you want to marry him?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You're a fool. You've £1,000 a year. You're an heiress. He's a
- pauper..
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I'm not a pauper, but I quite agree.
- </p>
- <p>
- From the worldly point of view——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. It's the only view I care-about. (<i>To Lucy.</i>) With your money
- you can look high.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Thanks, father. When I want to buy a husband, I'll let you know. I'm
- thinking of marrying one at present.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>immensely surprised</i>). Hullo! Showing spirit, are you? (<i>Rises.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. It's the first time, if I am.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. And it had better be the last, if you don't want to quarrel. I'm not
- one of these weak-kneed modern fathers that let themselves be browbeaten
- by their own children. Perhaps you think you'll get him whether I consent
- or not?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. I hope you will consent. (<i>Pause.</i>),
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'm not fond of curates, Lucy. It's a soft job, and a real man looks
- for a fighting chance in life.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I get plenty of fighting to do, Mr. Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Who do you fight with?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Evil, in every shape and form.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. 'Um, the devil's game for a few rounds yet.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. He's an old hand, and if we haven't knocked him out we're
- weakening his defence.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, I'll give you a chance of showing it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. In a good cause, I hope.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. The cause is all right. You're a parson. Got the good of the poor at
- heart and all that sort of thing?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I hope so.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes. (<i>Briskly.</i>) Well now, about Lucy.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Is that the fight?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'm coming to the fight. You say you love her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I do. (<i>Stephen is between them.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>to Lucy</i>). You love him?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Yes. (<i>Lucy r., Stephen c., Walter l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>holding up his hands evenly</i>). Quits so far. Income on the
- male side £150 a year. (<i>Surveys his right hand.</i>) Income on the
- female side £1,000. (<i>Depressing his left hand as if weighing the
- incomes in scales.</i>) Hullo! wo! something wrong there. Doesn't balance.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>bitterly</i>). Do you think I don't know it?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>dropping his hands</i>). Yes. You've hooked your fish, my boy.
- But you're a long way off landing her yet.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Tell me what you want me to do.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>curtly</i>). Earn her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Yes, but how? (<i>Steps forward.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. By fighting. By doing something for the good of the town. There's
- this proposal to buy up the Polygon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>eagerly</i>). Yes?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, now you know what you've to do. You know what Polygon people
- are and you know what the town needs.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. The town needs space and decent houses.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. That's what you've to rub into your Polygon set, and you'll not find
- 'em seeing it so easy.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. You can't blame them if they don't exactly welcome the idea of
- turning out and making fresh homes in their old age. It's only natural.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Oh, I'm not afraid of them. They'll not stop us. All you've to do is
- to make them see they're an obstacle to progress in this town. They're
- bound to see justice if they are narrow and selfish and too puffed up with
- pride to know the townspeople and——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. And they're my father and my friends, Mr. Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes, I knew you only disbelieved in class distinctions during
- business hours. Scratch the curate and find the hypocrite.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>keeping his temper smilingly</i>). As bad as all that?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. The moment I attack your class you're up in arms to defend 'em.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. No. They take up too much room in the Polygon. I never said they
- didn't. But they'll not want to go. And surely the whole thing depends on
- Sir Charles' readiness to sell.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes, but a willing Polygon will make a lot of difference, and if you
- want Lucy as bad as you say, here's your way to help yourself to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I don't see what Lucy has to do with it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Don't you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Well, do you? The town proposes to buy the Polygon for the people.
- It's an excellent project and my plain duty is to further it. I shan't
- fail in my duty merely because of the unpleasant unheaval in the lives of
- a few people who happen to be dear to me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Oh! Well, I don't want words, I want deeds. Succeed and I'll think
- about calling you son-in-law—if Lucy doesn't change her mind
- meantime.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I can't see why you insist on making a kind of bribe of Lucy when
- there's only one course open to me in any case.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>grimly</i>). I'm making sure of things.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Father, you don't doubt——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I always doubt an untried man. I doubt if he'll have the pluck to
- face old Vining in the Polygon—I doubt lots of things. Put it that
- I'm giving him some Dutch courage to stiffen his back.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>desperately</i>). I don't want Dutch courage. Is there any way
- of convincing you that I mean what I say?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. There's going and doing it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Very well, I will. (<i>Moving as if to go.</i>) Ste. (<i>stopping
- him</i>). Remember, you're not engaged to Lucy yet.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I understand. (<i>Crosses r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. That'll do, then. You know what you've to do. Good-night.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Yes. Good-night, Mr. Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Lucy moves towards right door.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>to Lucy</i>). You stay where you are. Say good-night to him while
- I've got my eye on you. He can find the front door without your help.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Lucy and Walter shake hands, R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Good-night.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Walter, r. A slight pause. Stephen eyes Lucy from head to foot
- before speaking. Lucy crosses and sits l. of table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>before fire, judicially</i>). It strikes me pretty forcibly I've
- brought a fool into the world. (<i>Sharply.</i>) How long's this been
- going on behind my back?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>with an air of standing up to him</i>). Nothing's gone on behind
- your back. I told Walter at once he must speak to you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Umph! If you'd told me you wanted help to send him about his business
- there'd have been some sense in it. But you backed him up. You showed,
- fight. You're getting proud, my girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. I've grown up, father.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Grown up, have you? All right. If you fancy you're too old to come to
- me for advice you can do without.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. You know I want your advice.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. So as you can do opposite, eh?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Oh, that's unjust, father. I never disobeyed you in my life.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>, And you'd better not begin now, or you and I will fall out. Ha! So
- you're grown up, are you? Yes, you've been a legal woman for a week. Only
- I've been a legal man for thirty years and you'll allow I know the world
- better than you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Of course.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Oh, you do agree to that, do you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Certainly.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, I tell you you'll be throwing yourself away on young
- Montgomery..(<i>Persuasively.</i>) He's not up to your weight, Lucy.
- Polygon type, he is. You know, shove all your goods in the shop window.
- Live in a big house for swank and get it dirt cheap because the
- neighbourhood's gone down. They're not solid.. Lucy, you and I together
- could buy up the whole, crowd of swells to-morrow..
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. I fell in love with Walter before I knew I'd a penny piece in the
- world. I don't think my money must make any difference.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Don't be silly. Money makes all differences. We're all born without
- pockets. It's pockets or no pockets that makes us rich or poor. Yesterday
- you didn't knew you'd a pocket and the Polygon looked big and young
- Montgomery, he looked big. I don't blame you. It looked a good thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. It looks the same to-day as it did yesterday.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Women are fools over money. I did think <i>you'd</i> more sense. (<i>Dogmatically.</i>)
- Money should, marry money. (<i>With rising irritation.</i>) It's all my
- eye to talk of throwing away your money on a penniless curate.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>rises</i>). I'm sorry to disagree. Obedience has its limits. I
- hope we shan't quarrel, father, but I'm a free woman now and I warn you—oh,
- I'm sorry.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Sorry, are you? I'm a hard man, Lucy. I'm a masterful man. I know
- that. But I'm a soft-hearted fool where you're concerned, or I'd let you
- marry the curate and suffer the consequences. But I've got ambitions for
- you if you've none for yourself. (<i>R.d.</i>) When you marry there's two
- things for it—money or birth—and you'll not find either in
- Polygon. They're a bad imitation of the real thing—about as near as
- the shoddy Bamford makes it to honest broadcloth. Not one of them with a
- handle to his name. (<i>Crosses to Lucy.</i>) If you must get married,
- I'll find you a husband. Leave it to me. And don't be in such a hurry to
- leave your old dad if you are a free woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>quietly</i>). I'm marrying Walter Montgomery, father; but we're
- not in any hurry.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Going to be obstinate, are you? All right, We'll see who'll win.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. You've already given a conditional consent.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Don't you worry about that. He may help to keep the Polygon set quiet
- till I've put the business through.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Puts ink on table from sideboard.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. You'd use him and then throw him over afterwards. Father, you don't
- mean that!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. What do you know about business? I'd use the devil himself if I
- thought he'd smooth my way to a bit of money.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. But this isn't money, is it? It's for the town.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Oh, yes, of course, it's the town.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Then you'd——
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Janet, the maid, opens the door right to Stephen's obvious relief.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Janet</b>. Mr. Bamford, Mr. Alcorn.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Ah, that's what I'm waiting for. Don't go beyond call, Lucy. I'll be
- wanting you soon.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Lucy l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter r. Bamford and Alcorn.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Samuel Bamford is a wealthy shoddy manufacturer. He is a bachelor of
- forty, a bon viveur and a sportsman. His shrewd ruddy face shows above a
- white four-in-hand scarf, controlled by a horseshoe gold pin. He is well
- covered with flesh, but not yet as gross as he probably will be in a few
- years. His clothes are slightly sportsmanlike in cut and he wears spats. A
- noticeably heavy gold chain crosses his stomach. Nathaniel Alcorn is tall,
- spare and dark. His face is yellowish, with a drooping moustache. He wears
- a frock coat, and his prosperity, though evident, is less ostentatious
- than Bamford's.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Good-evening, gentlemen. (<i>To Janet.</i>) Send Mr. Smithson up when
- he comes. No one else. Janet. Yes, sir. (<i>Exit Janet.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b> (<i>briskly</i>). Evening, Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Bamford nods bluffly at Stephen.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Sit down. Any news?
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Stephen sits c. above table, Bamford r. and Alcorn l. of table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b> (<i>producing letter from his pocket</i>). Yes, my brother's sent
- this on. (<i>Hands letter to Stephen.</i>) From Sir Charles' agent. He's
- abroad, Sir Charles.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Yes, confound him. How dare he be abroad when we want him?
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Stephen reads the letter.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>looking up</i>). Dodging duns. (<i>To Bamford.</i>) You've seen
- this?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>gloomily</i>). Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b> (<i>equally gloomily</i>). It's not encouraging.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>returning the letter to Alcorn</i>). What isn't encouraging?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. Why, this. (<i>Reading the letter.</i>) "Speaking for myself
- alone, I consider it extremely improbable that Sir Charles will consent to
- a sale of the Polygon to your company." (<i>Leaves letter on the table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. There's nothing to be afraid of there.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. I don't know so much about that. These land owning fellows know
- they're no good at business. They leave it to their agents, and if the
- agent writes like that, you can take it he knows.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. He knows all right. Sir Charles isn't a business man, but his agent
- is. If there's a chance of selling, that agent wants a top price;
- naturally he writes that way to bluff us into raising our offer.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. You've a head on your shoulders, Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>to Bamford</i>). It all depends on what you told us. If your
- information's correct, they'll be only too glad to sell.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. Yes. It's you that told us Sir Charles is in low water.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. He's dropped a pot of money lately. It's a well known fact. I
- know one bookie that's taken ten thousand off him in the season, and he's
- not the only one.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b> (<i>sanctimoniously</i>). Deplorable wastrel.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Eh? Oh, aye! (<i>Ironically.</i>) Lamentable prodigality. Shocking
- extravagance, isn't it, Alcorn?
- </p>
- <p>
- But it suits our book. The faster he goes the pace the better for us, so
- you might as well be decently grateful instead of getting mealy mouthed
- over it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Me and Alcorn were arguing coming along here what's to be done
- with the land.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. Aye, but as I told him, the first thing is to get possession of
- the land.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Now, don't you worry about that, Alcorn. The land's as good as ours
- at our own price. Sir Charles 'ull jump at it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Well, I'm for building on it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. And I'm not so sure.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Of course you're on my side, Verity?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Your side?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. For building.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. No.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. What, and you a builder!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I've finished building now. I'm getting old. I've made my money.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. I'm out for making an open space of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. You're a blooming philanthropist.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. No, he's not. It's a pity you missed our last meeting. You don't
- grasp the idea yet. We buy the land from Sir Charles.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Then we create a demand in the town for a recreation ground.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. And you back it up in the Council.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. And Alcorn as borough surveyor approves officially.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. We force the town to buy from us.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. And get a quick return of our capital with a clinking profit.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>obstinately</i>), Well, I thought it was houses. Houses are
- safe, and you'd easier raise a cry for houses than playing fields.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Depends how you go about it. Work it proper and you could get them
- yelling like kids for a municipal service of flying machines.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Smithson, r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smithson</b>. Good evening, gentlemen all.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Stephen grunts and rises.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. } Good evening
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. } Good evening
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Stephen gives Smithson his chair, and takes the vacant one r. c. of
- table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. Sorry I'm late, but I've been employing my time well. Sowing the
- seed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Been getting at the voters?
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Smithson sits between Alcorn and Stephen.</i>) Smiths. Yes, one or
- two.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You've been wasting time. I've collared a man who'll bring in voters
- by the score.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. Who might that be, Mr. Verity?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Young Montgomery. The parson lad. For all their talk, the Church
- still has a big hold on the poorer classes. It'll pay to have that boy on
- our side. He'll talk to them in the Polygon, too. Bamford. Aye. Good man,
- that, Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>to Smithson</i>). There's a letter you'd better read.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Smithson reads it.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>sullenly; emerging from a silent sulk</i>). I thought it was
- houses.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, it isn't. It 'ud take too much capital to cover the Polygon
- with houses.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. It was houses. You've altered it. I ought to have been told. No
- one told me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b> (<i>looking up from the letter</i>). He'll come round.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>taking it personally; indignantly</i>). Who'll come round? I
- won't come round. Houses it was and houses it's going to be.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>moving Smithson to give Alcorn the letter. Alcorn pockets it.
- Dryly.</i>) We spoke of Sir Charles.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Oh!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>, (<i>tentatively</i>). I fancy, myself, houses would be a safer
- battle-cry with the people, Mr. Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Damn the people. Who cares for the people?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b> (<i>rising</i>). I really must protest. Such language! (<i>He seems
- genuinely shocked.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>impatiently</i>). It's so silly to talk as if the people
- mattered. Government by the people! Any fool can lead 'em where he wants.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b> (<i>sitting</i>). We must consider their feelings a bit. Think of
- the rates.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Oh, we'll consider their feelings all right. We must make 'em feel
- what we want 'em to feel.. Then they'll vote for what we want and kid
- themselves we do it for their sake. That's how to consider their feelings.
- When I was a lad there was a trout stream ran through Carrington. It's a
- sewer now, but there were trout in it then and I've caught 'em by tickling
- their bellies. That's the way to catch voters, Mr. Alcorn. Tickle 'em.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. Yes, but the trout died. The voter lives to vote next time.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Go on tickling. I'm an old hand and I've never known it fail.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. You're not attending to me. I say houses. Smithson says houses.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b> (<i>in alarm</i>). Oh, no, I don't. Indeed I don't. I only say
- houses 'ull bring votes quicker than playing fields.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. I suppose you couldn't shout houses and make it the other thing
- afterwards?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. I'm surprised at you, Mr. Alcorn. (<i>Very righteously.</i>) I
- stand for purity in municipal life.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Yes. Always be honest with your electors.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Alcorn's got none. He's a permanent official with a certain job, or
- he'd know better.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. If I provide a quarter of the capital, I've a right——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You've every right, Mr. Bamford, and we shall do nothing without your
- approval.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Then I approve houses. As a ratepayer—
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>definitely</i>). Only, if it's houses, I can't go on. (<i>Consternation.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. (<i>frightened</i>). We can't do without your influence.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>grudgingly</i>). No, we can't do without Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Our share of what 'ull go on the rates is a flea bite. Our profit
- 'ull cover it a hundred times. I don't deny the town needs houses, needs
- 'em badly, only I haven't the capital for houses. My money's tied up and
- I'm not touching it. The money I'm putting into this isn't my own.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Alcorn writes on a scrap of paper and passes it to Smithson, who
- reads, nods, and passes it to Stephen.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Who's is it, if it's a fair question? Ste. My daughter's. I'll
- want it back quick. Alcorn. Your daughter's got money, then? Bamford (<i>very
- interested</i>). Your daughter's? Nice looking girl, your daughter. (<i>Slight
- pause.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- Well, I'm using my own money and——(<i>Irritably.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- What's that you're passing round? Another secret from me?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>blandly</i>). No. (<i>Passing him the paper.</i>) Bamford (<i>reading</i>).
- "Make Bamford Mayor next year." (<i>He looks up at each in turn.</i>) Um.
- Well. Bamford's willing.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. I think it's very suitable.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes. We'll call it a recreation ground, eh, Mr. Mayor-Elect?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. I'm not a favourite with the psalmsinging set, you know.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. I've got them in my pocket. They'll be squared all right.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. If I say mayor, you'll be mayor. You make a bit on the mayoral
- allowance, you know. Needn't spend above half of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. All right. No need to say more. It's a recreation ground and damn
- the expense. (<i>The tension passes.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Right. Got those papers with you, Alcorn? Alcorn. Yes. (<i>Fussily
- producing and smoothing the typewritten articles of association.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Your signature's wanted, Bamford. Bamford (<i>examining the paper</i>).
- Land Development Syndicate, Ltd. Sounds well, anyhow. Hullo! What's this?
- Registered Offices, London Wall, E.C.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. My brother's office in London. Bamford. Why?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Wouldn't do to have a local address here. Some busybody 'ud smell it
- out.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. I see. (<i>Suspiciously.</i>) What does his brother get out of
- it?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. Nothing; and he's put down three of his clerks for one share
- apiece to make up the statutory seven shareholders. Those are their
- signatures above Smithson's and mine.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Bamford nods.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>dipping pen</i>). There's a pen.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Bamford signs.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- I'll witness. (<i>Calling off l.</i>) Lucy!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. I deliver this as my act and deed.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Stephen signs without sitting. Enter Lucy, l. All rise.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Did you call, father?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b> (<i>advancing and speaking with the respect due to a capitalist</i>).
- Good evening, Miss Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>stepping back, and interposing impatiently</i>). Oh, never mind
- all that; sit down, Lucy. (<i>Pushing her into his vacated chair and
- pointing to the papers, handing pen.</i>) Write your name there.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>vaguely</i>). My name?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes. Can't you hear? See what it is? Lucy. No.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Bamford's eyes are set on Lucy with the air of a butcher appraising a
- sheep.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>impatiently</i>). Oh, never mind. It 'ud take a week to make you
- understand. You've some money lying at the bank. Mine's all tied up. I
- want yours for a bit, so just sign your name there. (<i>Lucy signs.</i>)
- Say "I deliver this as my act and deed."
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. I deliver this as my act and deed. (<i>To Stephen.</i>) It's your
- deed really, you know.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'll witness. (<i>Signs.</i>) Right.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>reading</i>). The Land Development Syndicate, Ltd.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Stephen takes the paper from under her eyes, folds and hands it to
- Alcorn.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You'll see to that, now?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. Yes. You're our partner, Miss Verity. Lucy (<i>standing</i>). But
- what's it all about?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. That's right, Miss Verity. Sign first and ask afterwards.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. We're buying up the Polygon. Going to make a playing field of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Bamford down r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. And presenting it to the town?
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Stephen alone doesn't look awkward.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. Well——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>curtly</i>). Yes, it 'ull come to the town.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>sentimentally</i>). How noble of you!' Oh, thank you! Thank you
- so much for letting me take a share in this——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>interrupting</i>). Yes; now you go and have your supper. It's
- getting late.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Lucy, l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, that concludes the business for tonight, gentlemen. Nothing
- more to be done till we hear from Sir Charles. (<i>Puts chair back up
- stage.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. No, that's all.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>finally</i>). Good night, then.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. Good night, Verity. (<i>Crosses r.</i>).
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. Good night. (<i>Shakes hands and crosses R.</i>) . ..
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Smithson opens the door r. Alcorn follows him, pausing and looking
- back at Bamford.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. Coming, Bamford?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. No, I want a word with Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>, (<i>suspiciously</i>). Business, eh, Mr. Bamford?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Not about the Company. (<i>Glancing involuntarily after Lucy.</i>)
- Something else.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exeunt Smithson and Alcorn.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, Bamford? Have anything? I've a better port downstairs than the
- Polygon toffs can run to.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. No, thanks.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Stephen looks relieved, Bamford sits. Their positions reproduce those
- of Stephen and Walter at the opening.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>taking his pipe from the mantelpiece</i>). I'll have a pipe, if
- you don't mind. Well, what's up with you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>jerking his thumb towards the left door</i>). It's about her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Aye? Well, I like a man that comes to the point sharp.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Perhaps you wouldn't call me a marrying man? (<i>Sitting below
- fire.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You've not done it yet that I know of.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Never too late to mend. I'm a bit struck with that daughter of
- yours, Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I noticed you were when I mentioned she had money.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Well, I'm the last man to deny that money's a very important
- thing in life.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. It's a useful thing to have about the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. I was thinking we might come to an arrangement.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. It's not impossible..
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Eh!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Only she's a bit young.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Meaning to say I'm a bit old, eh? I'm sound and hearty.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. So's t'other fellow, and more her age.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>rising</i>). The other fellow?'
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>remaining seated</i>). Aye. You thought you were being smart,
- didn't you? Seeing a good thing and dashing at it prompt; but you're the
- second man to come to me to-night over Lucy, for all that.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>anxiously</i>). Is she promised?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. No.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>relieved</i>). Ah!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. The man that weds my daughter takes a tidy bit of money with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. It'll find some more of its own kidney if she brings it to me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. To tell you the truth, Sam, I'm not struck on the idea of losing her
- at all. But she's got a fancy in her head and it's one I don't cotton to.
- Best cure might be to put you there instead and be sure of her not making
- a fool of herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Then I'm not too late. (<i>Sits again.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You're the best man up to now.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Well——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. See here, Sam. It's like this. That girl can look high. Question is,
- are you high enough?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Which way?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Money.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Depends what you call high.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes... (<i>half apologetically.</i>) I've a right to know before I
- put it to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>after slight hesitation</i>). Well, I'll tell you this: you
- know what my father left?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. There's more to-day. (<i>They exchange looks.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>rising with resolution</i>). That 'ull do. (<i>Opens left door.</i>)
- Lucy, come back a minute.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>rises in alarm</i>). I'm not what you call a parlour ladies'
- man.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'll stand by you.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Lucy.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- Now then. (<i>Crosses r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. You want me?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>indicating Bamford</i>). He does.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>awkwardly</i>). Yes, I do, Miss Verity. That's just what I do.
- I want you.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Lucy is puzzled.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>looking at her</i>). Well?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>turning from one to the other</i>). You want me. I'm here. What
- do you want me for?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>l.</i>). For better or for worse. (<i>Giggling genially.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>freezing</i>). I don't understand you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>roughly</i>). Don't play stupid now. You understand him well
- enough.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. But—— (<i>Looking appealingly at Stephen.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Here's your chance, my girl. Here's your answer to the other fellow.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. I have given him my answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, you can give, Mr.. Bamford his and say yes. He's got money.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>eagerly</i>). Yes, I've got money and I spend it. I'll give
- you the time of your life.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Don't spoil this evening for me, Mr. Bamford. You've made me so
- happy, so grateful to you all for letting me help in your charity. I only
- knew to-night how rich I am. It frightened me—the thought of so much
- money. I was afraid of it... of my unworthiness. Until you showed me the
- way to use it well. I was proud that I... and now... father, this isn't
- fair of you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. What isn't fair?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Why didn't you tell Mr. Bamford? (<i>To Bamford.</i>) I'm engaged.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>r.c.</i>). Don't lie. You're not.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>bravely</i>). I choose to consider myself engaged.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. He's a pauper. Look here, my girl, you're rebellious to-night. I'm
- master here. I'm not the sort of fool to let you twist me round your
- little finger. Don't think because you're twenty-one and got a thousand a
- year (<i>the sum moves Bamford visibly</i>) that you'll ride rough-shod
- over me. (<i>More gently.</i>) You've got to be sensible. (<i>Smacks
- table.</i>) You've got to do what I tell you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. You shall have your carriage and dress yourself as much as you
- like; and what's more, marry me and you'll be. Mayoress of Carrington in
- November.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Wait a minute, Bamford, not so fast.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. What's the matter?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>crossing l.</i>). Engaged, if you like, but no wedding till the
- Polygon deal's complete. The profits on that are mine.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Of course they are. I'll hand over your share when we've sold to
- the town.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Sold! Profit! I thought——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Never mind what you thought. (<i>Goes up to Lucy.</i>) That wasn't
- meant for your ears. You'd better go back to the other room now. I'll talk
- to you after Mr. Bamford's gone. (<i>Indicating her to exit.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. I hope. Mr. Bamford will remember I'm engaged.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. He'll remember you're going to be—to him. (<i>Crosses down r.
- above, table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Father, I've obeyed you long enough. I'm twenty-one now, and I'm
- going to take my own way.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>doubtfully</i>). I don't like the look of this, Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Look of what?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. She's a bit of a Tartar, isn't she?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. That's nothing to what I can do when I'm roused, Mr. Bamford.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Pssh! It's the first time she's broken out like this. She'll be tame
- enough next time you come.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>viciously</i>). Don't make too sure of that.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'm not afraid of that. It's a pity if a man can't do as he likes
- with his own flesh and blood.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b> (<i>warily</i>). Best sleep on it before you say more, Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>going to Lucy</i>): Yes. Go to bed, Lucy, and say over to
- yourself, I'm going to marry Mr. Bamford. Then you'll get used to the
- idea.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. But I'm not.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Aren't you? We'll see.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Yes, we will. (<i>At exit l.</i>)
- </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 III
- </h2>
- <p>
- <i>Archibald Vining's house in the Polygon the following afternoon. The
- room is large and lofty with the air of serene mellowness common to old
- houses. The door is r., behind the large mantelpiece. Behind is a French
- window, beyond which the-garden is seen. The room is panelled; its
- incidental trappings suggest occupants hardly able to live up to their
- surroundings; the furniture is faded; the carpet worn. Walter sits on a
- chair to the r. of the window against the wall. Down l. is his father
- Augustus Montgomery at an escritoire. On a large settee placed crosswise
- l. sit Mrs. Montgomery and Mrs. Vining. Archibald Vining is posed with an
- elbow on the mantelpiece, looking across at Montgomery. The ladies gaze at
- him with admiration. Montgomery Senior is sixty, rather bald, weak-faced,
- futile, dressed in light grey morning coat and trousers. Vining is ruddy,
- irascible, with white moustache and grey hair, in black morning coat and
- grey trousers. The women are both rather foolish. Mrs. Montgomery is stout
- and Mrs. Vining lean, but there is otherwise not much to choose between
- them in age, which is about fifty, or anything else. Their dress is
- conventional without being fashionable or expensive. They live next door
- and Mrs. Montgomery has come in without a hat. The light is of a sunny
- afternoon and there is no fire. Marjorie Vining, a tall athletic girl,
- sits by the window c., with a tennis racket, looking, increasingly bored.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0093.jpg" alt="0093 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0093.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <b>Vining</b> (<i>dictating</i>). "Your rumoured intention to sell the Polygon"—got
- that, Montgomery?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Montgomery</b>. Yes. (<i>Looking up timidly.</i>) Excuse me, Vining, I can't
- help saying it again, but are you quite sure we form a quorum?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>assertively</i>). Of course we do, my dear fellow. Don't distress
- yourself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. (<i>desperately</i>). But—but there are five houses in the
- Polygon and only two are represented here.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. We know the views of the rest.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. Vin</b>. Their views are ours.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Quite so. Allow for unavoidable absentees, and your scruples vanish.
- Shall I proceed?
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Approval from settee. Montgomery bends and writes.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- "Dear Sir,—At an indignation meeting of your tenants in the Polygon——"
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Montgomery writes at intervals, when others talk.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. Archibald, have we any right to be indignant with Sir Charles?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. We <i>are</i> indignant, aren't we?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. Yes. But will Sir Charles quite like us to tell him so?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>, (<i>pathetically</i>). It's deucedly—beg pardon—it's
- hard to be diplomatic. How would "protest meeting" do?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Too political. Let "indignation" stand. We must show him he's roused
- the sleeping lion.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>, (<i>acquiescent</i>). I'll underline it if you like.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. No! No! Firmness, my dear Monty, firmness, not ostentation.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M</b>. (<i>gushingly to Mrs. Vining</i>). What a man of affairs Mr.
- Vining is!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>filling his chest</i>). I flatter myself I put things through,
- Mrs. Montgomery. Now, Monty!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. (<i>reading</i>). "At the indignation meeting—um—held on
- the—um—it was resolved to respectfully address——"
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. Oh!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>reprovingly</i>). Well, Cecilia?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>, (<i>puzzled</i>). That's in order, I think.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Quite. Go on.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. But, Archibald, to address a split infinitive to a baronet!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. I stand corrected. Thanks, Cecilia.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. I don't quite see—————
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>moving him to write</i>). It was resolved respectfully to address——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>, (<i>correcting and reading</i>). To address a letter to you on the
- subject of your rumoured intention to sell the Polygon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Correct, I think? (<i>Approval from the settee.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. (<i>proceeding</i>). It is our hope that should this information be
- correct, bracket, which we hesitate to believe, bracket, you will
- reconsider your decision to give over to the hands of the jerry builder
- the only residences in Carrington habitable by persons of refinement.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Excellent. (<i>Approval from settee. Vining crosses l. to above
- Montgomery and takes letter; patronisingly.</i>) You write a clerkly hand,
- Monty. (<i>Picks up pen.</i>) I'll sign as the oldest resident present.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Montgomery swallows a protest, remaining seated, Vining signs, bending
- over.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- What a pity Sir Charles is abroad. We shall be kept waiting for his reply.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. You got his address from Dunkerly?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>putting envelope before him</i>). Yes. <i>Hotel Métropole</i>,
- Monte Carlo.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Montgomery writes and encloses letter. Vining goes to French window
- and opens it.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- I'll have this posted at once. (<i>Calls.</i>) Pilling!
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>He returns. Montgomery crosses r. and sits above fireplace.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. Ah, well! That's settled..
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>sitting at desk</i>). Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mar</b>. (<i>rises</i>). Jolly glad to hear it. I'm fed up. Come out and play
- tennis, Walter. (<i>Puts chair down c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Not this afternoon, Marjorie.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mar</b>. Oh, be a sport.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Some other time.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mar</b>. It's always some other time with you, now. I'm forgetting what you
- look like in flannels. You'll lose all your form if you don't practice a
- bit.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I'm afraid I must let it go. (<i>Rises and crosses l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mar</b>. It's pure slacking. Don't be so beastly serious, if you are in
- Orders. Come and be a muscular Christian on the lawn.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Something more serious to-day, Marjorie. Mar. Oh, rot! What's the
- good of having the courts if you don't use 'em?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. They certainly might be used more by you young people.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. They might be used by hundreds of people if——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mar</b>. Oh, blow, you're getting on your hobby horse again. I'm going to
- practice putting if you won't give me a game. You are a rotter.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Marjorie c. to l. Pilling appears c. from l. in his
- shirt-sleeves.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>closes desk and crosses up l.c.</i>). Oh, Pilling, just post this
- letter at once. Are your hands clean?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b> (<i>inspecting his very black hands</i>). Not very, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Go and wash them and come back for it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b>. Yes, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Pilling vanishes to r. Vining crosses to fire.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M</b>. I can't understand Sir Charles wanting to sell at all.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. No. What would Carrington be without the Polygon?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>quietly</i>). I'm not sure that it wouldn't be a good deal
- better off, Mrs. Vining.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>They all stare at him astonished.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. What an extraordinary thing to say. Why, we <i>are</i> Carrington.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. We've always lived in the Polygon. We've taken root, Carrington's
- gone on its way——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. A precious bad way, too.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. Other times, other manners, Vining.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Carrington has no manners—but the Polygon has stood aloof.
- Thank God we leisured people have no connection with the town roughs.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Then how can you say you <i>are</i> Carrington?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. We are the best people in Carrington, sir. Do you judge a place by
- its quality or by the counting of heads?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I wish I could make you see their point of view, Mr. Vining.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>snorting</i>). Their point of view.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>quietly</i>). They have one, you know. Before that letter goes
- to Sir Charles, I'd like to try——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M. Walter</b>, remember what the Polygon means to all of us.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. It's a survival, mother. It's out of date in the midst of a modern
- manufacturing town.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>, (<i>pathetically</i>). But—but, Walter, it means so
- tremendously much to us all. It may be out of date, but I did hope it was
- going to last our time.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. It's <i>got</i> to last our time. (<i>Sincerely.</i>) I'm not a
- deeply religious man, but I get reverent when I think of the Polygon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M</b>. That's just it. We all love the Polygon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. The five houses.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. Chatsworth.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. Apsley House.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M</b>. Marlborough Lodge.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Kenilworth and Abbotsford.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. And our gardens.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. And the tennis ground in the middle.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Which nobody uses except Marjorie.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. Are we to lose it <i>all?</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>with appropriate chest expansion</i>). Not if Archibald Vining
- can prevent it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. You make it very hard for me to go on.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Then don't go on.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. (<i>crosses c.</i>). I must. Father, Mr. Vining, you—all of
- you—are wrapped up in the Polygon. You hardly go out of it except to
- the station. |
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. There's nothing else in Carrington to go to.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Thank goodness we've no business to take us into those mean streets.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. You haven't, Mr. Vining, but I have. I see the other side of the
- picture, if you don't.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Well, my dear boy, every town has its back stairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>sits c.</i>). Carrington's all back stairs, and cramped stairs
- they are. There's no breathing space. What right have we to monopolize the
- air? We've room to move about—so much room that you need never go
- out of the Polygon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. We pay for the privilege, don't we?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Yes, you pay for it in money and they pay for the lack of it in
- health.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. If there's overcrowding it's a matter for the town authorities to
- deal with.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. They want to deal with it. They want the Polygon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. They can't have it. They must know it 'ud be cutting off their nose
- to spite their face. The Polygon's essential to Carrington.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Why?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. It <i>is</i> Carrington. I tell you this, young man, Carrington's
- last state would be worse than its first if you took us away. We—we
- circulate money. We give the place a tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. It's a tone the place could do without. It could do without your
- money. We are not Carrington. The factories are the essential Carrington.
- Mr. Vining, (<i>rising and taking a step to r. c.</i>) let me show you
- what it's like—whole families living—no, not living—pigging
- in a single room. Rooms cut up amongst two or three families. All in
- Carrington, our neighbours in Christian Carrington.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Thanks. I'm not the sort of man to put my head into a noose. I prefer
- to keep out of infection.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>appealingly</i>). Don't send that letter to Sir Charles. Don't
- try to influence his decision. The workpeople can't move out of the town.
- They must live near their work. You can move. Dividends can reach you
- anywhere just as easily.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. Move of ourselves! Never!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M. Walter</b>, you don't understand what you're asking us to do. You're
- young. You can change easily, because you're young and restless. But when
- you've lived in a house that's dear to you till it's become part of your
- life, you can't leave it in your old age.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Walter crosses above settee.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. I can't leave my garden. You know that. No other garden would mean
- the same to me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. My dear friends, you needn't worry. Carrington would never let us go.
- Walter's got hold of the wrong end of the stick. We're an institution.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. How do you know? Did you ever ask them what they think of us?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. I'll ask Pilling. You'll see. (<i>Crosses up c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I shouldn't advise you to. I know Pilling's home. He's a wife and
- child. They all live in one room.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Why, I pay the man twenty-two shillings a week. What does he live
- like that for?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. He's no choice. Pilling 'ull tell you what Carrington thinks of
- the Polygon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. He's a long time washing his hands. (<i>Goes up to window and looks
- off r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. But you're not going to send that letter now.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Certainly we are. (<i>Returns r.c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. But——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. I think we're all agreed on that?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Quite. No stone unturned. That fellow who's coming, what's his name—you
- know, Walter—that alderman——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Verity?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Verity. That's it. We must make sure of the town authorities. A
- little affability goes a long way with people of that sort.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. Yes. He's not the type of man you're accustomed to meet in my
- drawing-room, Mrs. Montgomery, still——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. It's in a good cause, Mrs. Vining.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M</b>. He's an architect, isn't he?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. He's a builder who's his own architect. That's why his houses fall
- to pieces.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M</b>. That's what I say. An architect. Almost a professional man.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. But you mustn't pin your faith on Verity. He's, the last man——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Walter, as a Churchman, I am always willing to accept your views on
- religious matters. But when it comes to worldly questions, permit me to
- have an opinion of my own.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Pilling appears and knocks on the window without advancing into the
- room.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- Oh, Pilling!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b> (<i>in c.o.</i>). Yes, sir?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Come in.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Pilling advances a foot and stands awkwardly near the window.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b>. Letter ready, sir?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>absently</i>). Yes, yes. (<i>Montgomery rises gets letter from
- mantel; hands it to Vining.</i>) There you are.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Up to Pilling, who turns to go.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- One moment, Pilling, I want to ask you something. Can you tell me how
- people in the town talk of the Polygon?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b>. How they talk, sir?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Yes. What's the general opinion of us? Pilling. It's not for the
- likes of me to talk against the gentry.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. They <i>do</i> talk against us, then?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b> (<i>awkwardly</i>). Well, sir——- (<i>He pauses.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>helping him out</i>). Tell them how you live, Pilling.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b>. You can tell that as well as me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>impatiently</i>). Yes, yes, but that's not the point. Doesn't
- your class feel what a privilege it is to have us living in your midst?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b> (<i>earnestly</i>). <i>I'd</i> be badly off without you, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. You'd be sorry to lose us, eh?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Of course <i>he</i> would. A gardener's no use if there's nothing
- to garden. Only Carrington's not a garden city. It's a manufacturing town.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. (<i>with back to fire, to Pilling</i>). Supposing now you weren't a
- gardener?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Yes. What's the common view of us?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b>. Well, sir, it 'ud seem to me against nature if the town had no
- quality in it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>turning triumphantly to Walter</i>). You see? (<i>Patronising
- Pilling.</i>) You're perfectly right, Pilling. I've noticed it before. (<i>Talking
- at the ladies.</i>) The masses always have this instinctive clinging to
- their superiors. They know we're the source of all prosperity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b> (<i>shyly</i>). There's queer talk, sometimes, sir. <i>I</i> know
- gentlemen are different from us, but there's men in this town wanting to
- tell me we're all born equal—asking your pardon, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. You know better than that, Pilling.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b>. Yes, mum.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. You could never get on without us.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b>. No, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Be honest, man. No one's going to hurt you for it. Tell us the
- truth, about the overcrowding and the waste of valuable space in the
- Polygon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. Yes. Tell us the truth, Pilling, and say you know how necessary we
- are.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b>. You're bread and butter to me, mum, and I know it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. There you are, Walter.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>impatiently</i>). But he's an exception. He's
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>interrupting</i>). You've got the letter, Pilling.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b>. Yes, sir. (<i>Turning, then courageously.</i>) There's no denying
- as the overcrowding's something cruel. I wouldn't say a word of it, not to
- you, sir, if I didn't know and see and suffer it.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Montgomery sits again below fire.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. That'll do, Pilling.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b>. Yes, sir. (<i>Turns to go.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>to Vining, crossing above sofa c.</i>). You heard that. Won't
- you wait? Wait till Verity's been. You'll catch the same post.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>pause</i>). Give me the letter, Pilling, I'll keep it back a
- little.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Pilling</b>. Yes, sir..
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Pilling, c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Thank you, Mr. Vining.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Maid announces Mr. Verity. Maid withdraws Stephen is dressed as Act
- II, and very sure of himself, except at odd moments.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>patronisingly</i>). Ah, Mr. Verity. Pleased to see you. (<i>Advancing.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>up R. c., shaking hands; very formally</i>). How do you do?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. You know us all, I think?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>dryly</i>). By sight.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>hurriedly</i>). Yes. Sit down, won't you? (<i>Sits above fire.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Stephen does so, uncomfortably, c. Walter stands R. end of settee.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- Now come to business, Mr. Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. What we want to see you about is this confounded rumour of the
- Polygon's being up for sale for building lots. No doubt you've heard it?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I've heard tell of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Have you thought about it at all?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I've thought a lot.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. Well, what do you think, Mr. Verity? Could anything be more absurd?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>nodding his head towards Walter</i>). Ask him. He knows what I
- think.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Mr. Verity's of my opinion, father. Vin. We don't want your
- opinion, sir. You're full up with all sorts of idiotic modern
- sentimentalism about the poor. It all comes of the Church meddling with
- secular matters instead of minding its own business. Mr. Verity's a man of
- sense.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Thank you; but I don't know that I can do anything.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M</b>. (<i>sweetly</i>). Oh, but I'm sure you can, Mr. Verity. You've
- such influence in the town. You're a man of weight.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. If I am, madam, what had the town to do with Sir Charles selling the
- Polygon?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. How can the town get on without the Polygon?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M</b>. I'm sure you, as an architect, Mr. Verity, must feel the
- importance of preserving such fine examples as these are of old Georgian
- mansions.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. So many links with the historic past.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>impatiently</i>). It 'ud be a blue ruin for the town.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. Sheer catastrophe. You're a leading personage here, Mr. Verity—alderman
- and so on. Of course you have the interest of the town at heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>with faint irony</i>). As much as you have yourselves, I dare
- say.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>recovering first from the slight general embarrassment</i>). Er,
- yes. Now, don't you think a petition from the Town Council to Sir Charles
- might do the trick? You see, the Polygon's the backbone of the place. I
- can't for the life of me imagine what Sir Charles is thinking of.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. The price.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. Now, that's ungenerous of you, Mr. Verity. Sir Charles would never
- be so selfish.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>stolidly</i>). Think not?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. V</b>. He wouldn't turn us out for money. (<i>Vining and Montgomery are
- not so sure.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. It's hard times for the rich.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. (<i>timidly</i>). Yes, I suppose it is.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>with aggression</i>). It is. I know. I'm rich.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>pompously</i>). I agree with you. We people of independent means
- have been hard hit lately. What with the differential income tax and the
- super tax, we——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. We all think we'd like to pay the super tax, don't we?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Er—yes—we can rely on your sending that petition then?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Can you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. I thought you said so.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I don't remember.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Dash it, Verity, we men of property must hang together. In a little
- matter of this sort I'm sure you'll come in with us.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes? Well, I'm sorry to disoblige you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M</b>. But surely as an architect——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>interrupting</i>). Now it's no use of you talking. I've said my
- say.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. But you must have some reason. This is really most extraordinary.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Is it? What's extraordinary in a man getting back a bit of his own?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Have we offended you, Mr. Verity? I'm very sorry. You speak as if you
- had some grudge against us.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Grudge? I hate the sight of you if that's your meaning.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>, (<i>rising</i>). This is simply staggering. Why, Mr. Verity, we've
- always been good neighbours, I hope.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>still sitting</i>). You've kept yourselves to yourselves, if
- that's what you call being good neighbours. Who've you been good
- neighbours to? The shopkeepers? You don't deal with them if you can help
- it. London's your mark when you've money to spend, and that's not every
- day of the week. How often have you got your hand down for a local
- charity? Folks get sick and tired of coming to ask. You buttoned up your
- pockets so tight.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Other people, at least, don't share your views, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Ask 'em. (<i>Rising.</i>) You silly little set of genteel paupers,
- who did you think you were? (<i>Ladies rise.</i>) We weren't good enough
- for you. You lived in the Polygon; we lived in the town, and you held your
- noses too high to see us if you met us, which wasn't often, because you
- stuck inside your private preserve and didn't have truck with us vulgar
- folk outside. We weren't your class. You patronising snobs, do you fancy I
- can't see through your getting me here and soaping me to send your
- petition from the town for you? The town can go to blazes for all you
- care, so long as you're left alone in your nice big gardens.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>rises and goes up to door R.</i>) Mr. Verity, I'm sorry to have
- to remind you there are ladies present.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I can see 'em. That's why I'm letting you down so easy. I'd let it
- rip if you'd the courage to turn 'em out and meet me man to man.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M</b>. (<i>moving towards door</i>). We'll go.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>, (<i>r., timidly</i>). I'd rather you didn't, my dear.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes. He'd rather you stayed, and kept a stopper on my tongue.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Vining opens door and signs to ladies to go.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>coming to r. of Verity</i>). No, mother. Mr. Verity, don't let
- us lose our tempers about this. It's too important for petty feelings.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>indignantly</i>). Petty feelings, indeed!
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>The ladies stand by door, irresolute.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>appealingly</i>). Oh, don't split hairs over words. The town's
- crying for fresh air and health. The town wants to buy the Polygon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. The town does?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Yes, didn't you know?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>looking at Stephen</i>). So it's the town?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>as Stephen doesn't answer</i>). Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M</b>. (<i>up by door, r., dropping to Montgomery by fire</i>). Augustus,
- don't you think, after all, we ought perhaps to—— (<i>Hesitating.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>l. c. fiercely</i>). To what, Mrs. Montgomery?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M</b>. Well, I'm sure there's something in what Mr. Verity and Walter
- say. (<i>Sits in armchair above fire.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. Come, this is weakness, my dear.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. No compromise, Mrs. Montgomery.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M</b>. I shall never feel at ease again when I think of the overcrowding
- in the town.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Then don't think of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M</b>. I can't help thinking of it now.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>, (<i>to Walter</i>). Oh, dear, I do wish you'd kept your mouth
- closed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. And my eyes closed, and my nose closed, and gone about Carrington
- without looking at it. No, father, I meant to stir your conscience, and
- I'm glad I've done it. (<i>Sits.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Well, I must admit—hang it, Verity, if people are crowded why
- don't you build 'em houses? It's your trade.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. No land.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>About here Pilling appears c. with some garden stuff in his hand, and
- Mrs. Vining exit with him for some consultation.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. There's land enough outside. Why can't the town expand outwards? To
- hear you talk about the Polygon the town might have a wall round it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. Yes, there's lots of moorland about the place.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Quite so. Lots of moor.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. Well, then!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Shooting moor. Sir Charles' shooting moor.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Well, what difference do a few acres more or less make to a shooting
- moor? Surely he'd rather sell you some of that.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Think so?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. I'm certain of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sitting on settee</i>). You're wrong, then. He's holding on for a
- rise. He's held on to this till the value went up. Land here in the
- centre's' worth more, than land outside. This is ripe. The other isn't.
- That's why he'll sell this.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>r. c.</i>). Well, if that's really so——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>grimly</i>). It's really so.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>with-an air of finality</i>). All I can say is I shall most
- certainly have to revise my opinion of Sir Charles. (<i>Crosses down L.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Pilling is visible through the window working a mowing machine in the
- garden; he passes and repasses at intervals.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Did you think your tin pot rents paid Sir Charles to let land like
- this lie idle?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. He likes to have us here. We're desirable tenants.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Pardon me. As a property owner I know. Desirable tenants are paying
- tenants.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Do you insinuate that we don't pay?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You don't pay a profitable price. He can make a little gold, mine of
- the Polygon. Land values in the town have been going up all the time. He's
- cute enough to know it, or his agent is. The only question is, will our
- price tempt him or is he able to be greedy and wait a bit longer till the
- land's worth more.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. And you mean to tell me we've been living on the edge of a volcano
- all these years?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You've been living in Sir Charles' almshouses for decayed gentlefolk.
- That's our name for it in the town.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Sir!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>calmly</i>). It's the truth. What did it matter to him how little
- he got out of you meantime? He knew very well it's a fortune waiting for
- him whenever he wants it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mont</b>. I'd no idea of this. (<i>Sits below fire.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You know now. If you hadn't been so busy with thinking what nice
- people you were and what nasty brutes lived outside you'd have found it
- out for yourselves. Not one of you's on lease. You can all be turned out
- at six months' notice.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. We trusted to Sir Charles' sense of honour.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I wouldn't trust him with sixpence, and I'm a sound Tory at that.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. I still think you're wrong, sir. You've given us your view. We're
- much obliged. (<i>Sits l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sneering</i>). You'd be more obliged if I'd given you your
- petition.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Your view was unexpected.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Was it? (<i>Turning to Walter.</i>) I thought he'd told you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Unexpectedly strong.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You've not heard the half of it. You've been the bane of the town.
- It's a working town and it does the working man no good to have the sight
- of a lot of idle people living well and doing nothing for it. Breeds
- discontent. Makes him ask questions. That's what you've been to us. A
- public nuisance. Easy game for every agitator to have his shy at. Do you
- think we employers loved you? They didn't mind us. They could see we
- worked for our living. But you set of do-nothing wastrels——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>c.</i>). Mr. Verity! (<i>Vining rises and goes up to back,
- returns, then round to R. c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. What's to do? You've been saying the same to them yourself, haven't
- you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I did my best to gild the pill.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, I'm not a parson. I haven't the gift of using big words for
- little 'uns and talking sweetly about Hell.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>dropping r. of Walter to below him</i>). Well, now look here, Mr.
- Verity, you needn't suppose that I'm influenced in the slightest by your
- extremely forcible language, but a possible compromise occurs to me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Does it? I thought I heard you say just now "no compromise."
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>r. c.</i>). This is a compromise of my own suggesting, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'm not the compromising sort. Still, go ahead. What's your idea?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. It's this, sir. I grant you we're drones, and I can see there's
- something in what you say about the sight of a few idle people taking a
- lot of room, though I take exception to the way you put it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>drily</i>). Aye.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. (<i>r. c.</i>). Now we've an affection for these houses of ours.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Of Sir Charles'.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Yes, of Sir Charles'. We're attached to the bricks and mortar. You
- can understand it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I never thought you'd shift willing.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Just so. We're not willing to shift. But my idea is this. We're all
- old people, and our families have married off. There's no young blood in
- the Polygon, except Walter here and my daughter, to use those tennis
- courts and croquet lawns of ours. They're pleasant to walk about in and
- it's a real sacrifice to part with them. But I propose writing to Sir
- Charles suggesting that if (<i>crossing to l. c. and back; returns to l.
- for end of speech</i>) he cares to sell you some building land outside the
- town we will sacrifice our lawns for a park if he will leave our bricks
- and mortar standing till—till we old fogies have done with them. How
- does that strike you, Mr. Verity?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. It strikes me your motto will do for me as Well as for you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. My motto?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. No compromise, Mr. Vining.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Mr. Verity, surely it's a fair offer. It's generous. It's——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Indeed! If that's your notion of generosity——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. It's my last word.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>rises</i>). Then I need stay no longer. (<i>Moves towards door.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>rises</i>). Oh, but——
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Maid announces, "Miss Verity." Enter Lucy. Exit Maid.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You! What are you doing here?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>crosses up r. c.</i>). I came to see Walter.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. But—I locked you up.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. As you see, I've escaped.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Locked you up!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Oh, yes. Father does things like that.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Come home, girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Not yet. I'm a rebel to-day. You locked me up because I refused to
- marry Mr. Bamford——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. What!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. And I've escaped to tell the truth about you and——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Hold your tongue.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. No. I'm going to tell Walter all I know.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sneering</i>). He's welcome to all <i>you</i> know.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. He's welcome to all I know and all I am.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Mrs. M. Walter</b>, what does this mean? (<i>Rises.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. I have never heard a more immodest speech.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Miss Verity and I are engaged.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You're not. You agreed last night that you weren't.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. That was before you had thrown me at Bamford's head. I'm engaged to
- Walter, and I've things to tell him, things I've discovered about——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Be quiet, will you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. No. This is no time for concealment. We've got beyond all that.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You've nothing to conceal.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Then why do you try to stop my mouth?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I don't. I'm here on business. I've no time for girls' foolishness.
- Vining, can we go somewhere to draft that letter? (<i>Crosses down to
- Vining.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. Letter? What letter?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. The compromise.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Vin</b>. I thought you said—— (<i>Crossing slowly.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Never mind what I said. Shall we go? Lucy. Yes, go, while I tell
- Walter all I know. Ste. Tell him what you like now.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Stephen with Vining.</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 IV.
- </h2>
- <p>
- <i>Verity's dining-room as Act II a week later. Bamford and Stephen enter
- from r. Stephen just pocketing his watch.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0092.jpg" alt="0092 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0092.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <b>Stephen</b>. You're a bit early for the meeting, Sam. (<i>Crosses to c. above
- table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bamford</b>. Yes; fact is, I wanted a word with you alone about that other
- matter.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Lucy?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. (<i>r. c.</i>). Aye. I'm a bit uneasy about it, Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. No need to be.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Well, I am.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Natural enough, I dare say. When a young man's fancy turns to
- thoughts of love it churns up his inside a bit.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. 'Tisn't that. I'm not a young man. (<i>Crosses l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You're young enough for all marriageable purposes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. I'm doubtful if I'm the right man to make that girl happy.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You're going to be Mayor, aren't you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. And you promised her a carriage?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. And as much dressing as she's a mind to? Bam. Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sits above table</i>). Then what's troubling you? What else does
- any female woman want?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. (<i>sits l. of table</i>). Eh! I dunno! They're a grasping lot,
- women..
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Damn you, Sam, do you fancy my girl's not been well brought up?
- You're as good as telling me she's not good enough for you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Nay, I'm not; I'm only thinking I may not be good enough for her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'm best judge of that. The thing's settled. We said it once, you and
- I, and we're not weathervanes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. (<i>resignedly</i>). Yes, I suppose it's settled.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. That's all right, then.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Maid announces Mr. Smithson. Enter Smithson, Maid exit.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- Ah, good evening, Smithson. (<i>Rises.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. Good evening, Verity. (<i>Shakes hands.</i>) Evening, Bamford.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Good evening.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>to Smithson</i>). Seen anything of Alcorn? Smiths. Yes. He's gone
- round to the Post Office on his way here to see if a letter's been
- forwarded from the London office.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, sit you down.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>They sit at table. Stephen head, Smithson r. and Bamford l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- I've a bit of news for you gentlemen.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. Yes?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I've been paying a call—afternoon call on some friends of mine
- in the Polygon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. What!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Take it easy, Sam. (<i>Chuckles.</i>) Aye, they wanted the Council to
- petition Sir Charles not to sell. Tried to get me to do it for 'em.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. Good, that.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, we'd a little talk, Mr. Vining and I, and we come to a sort of
- a compromise.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. Compromise?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Compromise! Verity? I don't like that word.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Finish was, they've written to Sir Charles asking him to sell the
- town their grass plat—tennis courts and what-not—if he'll
- leave their houses alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Verity, I don't like this. Ask me, it sounds like treachery to the
- company.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Treachery be hanged. I drafted the letter myself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. That makes it worse.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Don't be stupid, Sam.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. (<i>indignantly</i>). Stupid! I say, Verity——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Put yourself in Sir Charles' place. He's got an offer, the company's
- offer, cash down for the whole Polygon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. Aye.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, say he has got a soft spot for his tenants there, old tenants,
- doesn't want to turn them out, that sort of thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. Quite likely.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Then he gets their letter. Sees they're ready to lose their tennis
- courts. All right, says he, if they're a slack back set of weaklings to
- propose that of themselves, I shan't have any trouble in getting shut of
- them altogether. Their rents aren't worth having. But the company's
- offer's a sound ready cash affair. He's a bit short of the ready, isn't
- he?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Aye. Above a bit.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. So when he sees they'll shift without trouble, being weak enough to
- offer a compromise before they're even asked for one, he'll take a flying
- jump at our offer, and there you are. And a good afternoon's work I call
- it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Verity, I apologize. You're the dandiest schemer I ever saw, and I've
- seen some warm members in my time.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, they sent for me. I didn't think this out. I just saw the
- chance while I was there.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. You don't let much pass you, Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I take my brains along when I go calling of an afternoon on my swell
- friends. I'd like to bet that letter Alcorn's fetching says "Yes" to our
- offer.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. It's odds on, or I'd take you.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Maid announces Mr. Walter Montgomery. Enter Walter. Exit Maid.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Hullo! Oh, damn!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>r. c.</i>). Good evening, Mr. Verity. Good evening. I hope I
- don't interrupt business.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Young man, you appear to have a lot of time on your hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. It's an important part of my business to visit my parishioners,
- Mr. Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Humph! Our turn for your parochial attentions soon comes round again.
- You were here a week ago.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. On my own business that time, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. What is it this time?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. You're sure I'm not interrupting you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'm sure you are. Go on.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I've come to put you on your guard. You led me to suppose, and I
- in turn told Mr. Vining, that the town authorities were proposing to buy
- the Polygon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. And aren't they?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. As an Alderman you ought to know that better than I do.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Never mind what I know. The question is, what do you know?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Oh, we fellows who go into the Church don't know much. You told me
- yourself we go there because we're chicken-hearted fools without an ounce
- of sense or fight in us.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Can't you make him cut the cackle, Verity?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Cackling's a professional failing, Mr. Bamford. We get the talking
- habit in the pulpit.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. You're not in the pulpit now.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. No, sir. In the pulpit I'm in good company—my own.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. What the——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. In this room I'm in the company of certain members of a rascally
- syndicate who hope to buy the Polygon cheap from Sir Charles and sell dear
- to the town when they've carefully engineered a public demand.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. Who told you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Tch, Smithson! Where the devil did you raise this cock and bull
- story?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Oh, I don't think it was the devil. On the <i>contrary</i>, in
- fact, Mr. Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Come to facts.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Facts? Shall I give you names? (<i>Strolls round back to
- fireplace.</i>) I regret the absence of Mr. Alcorn and Miss Verity, but—well,
- gentlemen, you're found out.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>pause</i>). And if we are? (<i>Rises.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>, (<i>to Stephen</i>). And if we are, some one's blabbed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. (<i>to Stephen</i>). And you're the only one who pays afternoon calls
- in the Polygon.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>bending over table, beneath his breath</i>). Fools! (<i>Aloud.</i>)
- Do you think I foul my own nest?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Then if it isn't you, who is it? Tell me that.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Stephen looks first at Bamford, then Smithson, then suddenly moves to
- door l. and calls.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Lucy! Lucy! Come here! (<i>Returns above table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. That's the worst of having a woman in the thing. They will talk.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. How could she talk? She knew nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Lucy enters.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>l.</i>). Funny how things get about, isn't it?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>up l.</i>). <i>Did</i> you call me, father?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>to Walter, still ignoring Lucy</i>). Get about? How many have you
- told?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Oh, I've told nobody. Secrets cease to be valuable when they're
- told, and I don't mind telling you this secret's going to be a valuable
- lever to me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>to Lucy</i>). You've been talking to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>up l.</i>). Yes. I told him all you told me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I didn't tell you anything.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Oh, yes. You and Mr. Bamford. (<i>Stephen turns on Bamford.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. I? I never breathed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. You squabbled together about the profits.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. We <i>did</i> say something.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. And you pieced it out from that?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Um! smart girl, Verity. Chip of the old block.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Bit too smart this time. I hope she'll never play <i>you</i> a trick
- like that.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Yes, by Gad. I hadn't thought of that.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Well, gentlemen?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Oh, I'll attend to you. Look here, Sam—Smithson, I'll tackle
- this chap. Just go into the other room there, will you? (<i>Pushes
- Smithson to go below table.</i>) I've a private word for the parson.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Can I smoke there?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>r. c.</i>). Aye.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exeunt l., Bamford and Smithson. Walter before fireplace, Lucy c,
- above table, Stephen r. of table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- Now, Mr. Montgomery, my lad, what sort of a trick do you call this to play
- on your future father-in-law? You've a queer idea of tact, you have.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. It wasn't my intention to be tactful, sir.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You're not improving your chances of marrying my daughter, you know.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. How do you know I want to marry her?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Walter!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Why, you told me so yourself, the other night.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Lucy sits in armchair l. above fire.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Since then, you see, I've made discoveries. If a man is known by
- the company he keeps, the same applies to a woman. The woman I'm going to
- marry doesn't, help to form a robbery syndicate along with Messieurs
- Alcorn, Smithson and Bamford. So if you thought to buy my silence by
- giving me your daughter, you made a bad mistake. No. Bamford's the man for
- her. Partners in scoundrelism, partners in life.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Bamford l. and crosses r. c.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. What do you want now?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. (<i>apologetically, crossing r.</i>). All right. I only want my pipe.
- Left it in my overcoat.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Mr. Bamford, I congratulate you. (<i>Holding out hand.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Eh? On what?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>, On being my successful rival for the hand of Miss Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. What's this? Was <i>he</i> the other you spoke of? (<i>To Stephen.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>to Lucy</i>). Don't be afraid.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. (<i>to Walter</i>). Who told you about me?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Oh, news soon gets round. (<i>Lightly.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. (<i>r. c.</i>). Does it? Well, there's two sorts of news. Correct
- news and incorrect news. Both sorts gets round, but incorrect news gets
- round most. See what I mean?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>sternly</i>). I don't.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. (<i>to Stephen</i>). You will. (<i>To Walter.</i>) Look here, have
- you given her up?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. You wouldn't have me stand in your way, would you?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. So you <i>have</i> given her up. Why?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Oh, I had my reasons.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Had you now? I'd like to hear those reasons.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. That's not quite fair to the lady, I think.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. No. He's out of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Is he? I take no man's leavings without I know why he left 'em.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. It's all square, man. She's yours now.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. I beg to differ.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>angrily</i>). What?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>rises to go</i>). The goods needn't be on exhibition while the
- sale proceeds.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Stephen points her angrily to chair l. She sits.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Here, sit down. Now, Sam, what's it all about?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. I'd as lief tell you when you're by yourself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I thought so.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You can speak now. We're all concerned in this.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I beg your pardon. I've ceased to——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>his back to the right door</i>). Now, Sam?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>sitting below fire</i>). Oh, very well.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. (<i>r. c., awkwardly</i>). Well, I've been thinking things over. The
- married state and—well——
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Hesitating.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>grimly</i>). Yes, go on.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. (<i>desperately</i>). It means giving up too much.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>c.</i>). And a good thing, too, Sam Bamford. How much longer do
- you think you'll last at the pace you go? You're cracking up already—not
- half the man you were.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>icily</i>). Think how nice it would be to have me for a nurse. I
- warm father's carpet slippers beautifully, don't I, and my gruel's a
- dream.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. There's many a long day between me and carpet slippers and gruel. I
- like roving about, Verity, and that's a fact.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Didn't you think of that before?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. I spoke hurried.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. It's time you settled down. You won't lose much that a thousand a
- year and home comforts don't match.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. I'm rich enough.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You didn't talk like that on Tuesday.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. (<i>irritably</i>). I tell you, I've thought things over. Fact is, I
- didn't half like the way she answered you back. A man gets enough worries
- in his working day. When he gets home he wants peace and no back answers.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. She's all right now. It was having him asking (<i>indicating Walter</i>)
- that made her proud. He's thrown her over—not good enough for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. And she's not good enough for me, either. I can be a bit particular
- myself. I like 'em quiet.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. She's as quiet as they make 'em.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Father, I absolutely and finally decline to marry Mr. Bamford.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. I ask you, does that sound like a quiet life?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, damme, Sam Bamford, you can't get a thousand a year without
- paying a tax on it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. You can pay too much tax if you get a woman thrown in with a razor
- instead of a tongue.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>disgustedly</i>). I thought you were a man of your word.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. And I thought you cracked to be a friend of mine.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I am your friend.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Perhaps; but as a rule when a man's as anxious as you are to sell an
- article I begin to think there's something wrong with the goods.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Didn't I tell you on Tuesday I didn't want her to marry at all?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Didn't Sir Charles' agent write me he wouldn't want to sell? And you
- know what you said about that.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. But I'm not selling. I'm giving.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Yes, and nobody ever knew you to give away anything worth having.
- What's he given her the chuck for, if it comes to that? He knows
- something.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Yes. I know something, Mr. Bamford.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>raps table</i>). I'm not going to be played about with like this.
- I never asked either of you to come after my daughter. You came because
- you liked, but you'll not cry off when you like.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. What do you mean now?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. <i>One</i> of you's going to marry her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. It won't be me, then. I don't want any woman with a temper of her
- own.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I tell you she hasn't got a temper.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b> (<i>rises</i>). I've got a tongue.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Be quiet.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. I won't be quiet while you wrangle over me like——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>thundering</i>). Go to your room. I'll tame you.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Lucy deliberately sits down.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. There you are, Verity. Regular spitfire. Too late to send her away
- now. I know what she is.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>rising</i>). So do I. She's a monstrous woman with an
- abnormally developed bump of business capacity and I absolutely decline to
- marry any member of a syndicate of avaricious thieves formed to swindle——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>interrupting</i>). She's no more business capacity than a flea
- and I'll take her off the syndicate to-night, if that 'ull please you. Now
- then, which of you is it to be?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. I don't wish to quarrel with you, Verity. I've told you I'm taking
- none.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>briskly</i>). All right. Then you marry young Montgomery, Lucy. (<i>Moves
- L. above table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. He says he won't have me while I'm in the Syndicate.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'll get you out of that.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. You can't do that, Verity. (<i>Moves to table R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Can't I? I will, though.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. You'll upset the whole thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'll look after that.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Maid announces Mr. Alcorn. Enter Alcorn; exit Maid r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Ah! Got the letter, Alcorn?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. Yes. I don't understand it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Just a moment. (<i>Opens door l. and calls.</i>) Smithson!
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Smithson.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I'd better go.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You've no need. You know so much about it you can stay and listen to
- the rest. (<i>Gets chair.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Stephen sits at head of table. Bamford, Smithson, Alcorn sit as in Act
- II. Lucy stands r., Walter sits below fire.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Alcorn</b>. Well, gentlemen, he won't sell. (<i>Taking out letter.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Refuses to sell? What does this mean?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>, (<i>to Bamford</i>). And you assured us he was broke.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. So he was, absolutely broke. I don't understand it at all. .
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Al</b>. No more do I. Listen to this. (<i>Reading letter.</i>) "I regret my
- inability to entertain the offer made by your company. I have reason to
- believe that owing to overcrowding the land is urgently wanted and that
- the town authorities wish to deal with the matter themselves. I am having
- the tennis lawns, etc., valued independently and the town may then
- purchase at the valuation. I shall, however, not disturb my old tenants in
- the Polygon, this letter referring only to the open space now used as
- tennis lawns." Now what in thunder do you make of that?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>looking at Walter</i>). You?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. A letter to Monte Carlo only costs tuppence-halfpenny.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. But hang it, Verity, the town isn't buying.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. On the contrary, Sam, the town is. The overcrowding is a scandal. We
- must have some fresh air.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. Oh, don't talk like a blooming philanthropist again.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'm talking like a blooming alderman.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Al</b>. This isn't a town's meeting. It's a company meeting. Stick to company
- business.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. The company has no further business. The company is wound up.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Damned if it is. This letter doesn't end all. It's your fault,
- Verity. You shouldn't have gone to the Polygon. You over-reached yourself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. This would still have happened, Sam, in any case.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. I don't see it. Why?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Mr. Montgomery can tell you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Well, it's not all up. Let's have what he offers.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. He doesn't offer us anything. He offers it to the town.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Al</b>. And the town must buy.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. The town shall buy.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Yes; well I said houses. Let's make it houses. Model dwellings as
- ugly as hell, for the Polygon toffs to look at every time they poke their
- noses out of doors.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Don't be spiteful, Sam. We've had a licking, but don't bear malice.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Thank you, Mr. Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Oh, I'd forgotten you were there. Oblige me by going into that room
- for two minutes. You can wait in there till we're through.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. But what have I to wait for? (<i>Rises.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Sorry to occupy your valuable, time, but you're going to wait. You'll
- find a fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Walter l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- That chap's wasted as a curate. (<i>Sits.</i>) He's beaten me! Me licked
- by a bricking curate!
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Al</b>. But I don't understand.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Oh, he got hold of our company idea, told Sir Charles and smashed our
- plans. That's all. Nothing very serious. We're out of pocket for a few
- expenses that won't hurt any of us, and we've missed a good piece of
- plunder. Well, the thing to do now is to turn round and do the handsome
- over that recreation ground. <i>Our</i> idea for the benefit of the town!
- <i>My</i> negotiations with the Polygon! If we can't get cash by it,
- gentlemen, let us get credit.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>.. And what about the rates?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, what about them? More fresh air, less ill health. Less ill
- health, less poverty. Less poverty, fewer paupers. That recreation ground
- 'ull pay for itself in less than no time. If there's going to be any
- barging about the rates we'll raise the money by subscription, and for two
- pins I'll head the list myself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Al</b>. It's a queer finish to our plans.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. It is a finish, Alcorn. We're knocked out, and we've got to take it
- with a big, broad smile and nobody will even so much as guess we've meant
- anything but the square thing all the time.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. That curate 'ull talk. Curates are always talking.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. No, he won't.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. You can't stop an old woman gossiping. Gab's a parson's
- stock-in-trade.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. He's no old woman. He's a wide-awake young man and he's going to
- marry my daughter—if she's free. That'll shut his mouth for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. Well, we'll leave that to you, Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. You can, safely.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Al</b>. It's been a lot of trouble all for nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Rises; general rise.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, we're good sportsmen, I hope, and the Carrington recreation
- ground 'ull be an everlasting monument to our civic enterprise and public
- spirit.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Al</b>. Aye, I'm beginning to feel good already.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. It's a disappointment, Verity. Ah, well, we can't win every time.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. No. Better luck next time. Good night, Smithson. (<i>Takes chair up
- stage.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. Good night. Good night all.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Al</b>. I'm coming your way.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Smiths</b>. Come along then. (<i>Crosses r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Al</b>. Good night.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exeunt Smithson and Alcorn, r.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. I'm glad they've gone. Something to put to you, Verity, private.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. About her?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Her? No. I've said my say about that, and you need her to shut the
- curate's mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'll shut his mouth without that if you want her. It's a thousand a
- year, you know.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. The auction recommences, Mr. Bamford.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Don't fret yourself, Miss Verity. I'm not bidding. You've had my last
- word, Verity.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well, what's this you want to say?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. About me being mayor. That stands, of course?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. No, it doesn't. (<i>Above table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. But——
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. That was a contract made by a company that's wound up.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. But, hang it, I'd counted on being mayor. I've mentioned it to one or
- two. (<i>Goes above table R.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. All right, then. There's your mayoress.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Is that the price?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. There's your mayoress.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. I won't be haggled over.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Miss Verity, it's not you. If I wanted to marry I dunno as I'd look
- an inch further. It's—I'm not the marrying sort and that's top and
- bottom of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Sam, I'll be mayor myself if it's only for the fun of opening that
- recreation ground to the public and making a speech about the anxious
- negotiating the Council had to do before they brought off this great
- scheme and conferred an inestimable boon on the deserving working classes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Oh, if you're putting up for mayor, I retire. I can't fight a man of
- your weight.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Fight be hanged. We're good friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Aye. You've got your man in there.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Well! (<i>Pause.</i>) Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. It's very sweet of you not to want to marry me, Mr. Bamford.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. Ask me to the wedding.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes, you should be good for a thumping present after this.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. I'll stand my corner. You've to tackle the curate. I'll be off.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Good night.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. Good night, and thank you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Bam</b>. It's <i>me</i> that's thankful. Good night.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Exit Bamford. Stephen crosses to left door, opens it and calls.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Now, Mr. Montgomery.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Enter Walter. Lucy rises, l.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Well, sir? (<i>Crosses to r. below table.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>c. above table</i>). Are you or are you not going to marry my
- daughter?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. That depends.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I'll tell you something. The syndicate's bust. In fact, there never
- was a syndicate.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. You mustn't ask me to believe that, sir. You gave the thing away
- yourself.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. (<i>impressively</i>). There never was a syndicate. A limited company
- isn't a limited company till it's registered. We weren't registered. You
- understand? You can't go telling people about a syndicate that never
- existed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b> (<i>smiling</i>). That sounds reasonable. I shan't tell.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. Yes. Well, what about my daughter?
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. I thought you objected to me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I did. But I begin to think there's more in you than meets the eye.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Thanks for the compliment.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. I do wish you weren't a curate, though.
- </p>
- <p>
- (<i>Crosses to fire.</i>) There's nothing in the Church for a smart man.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. There are plenty of prizes in the Church.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Lucy</b>. And Walter's going to win them, father. (<i>Up to Walter.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. Yes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. He's not won much yet.
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Walter</b>. This is all the prize I want, Mr. Verity. (<i>Takes her hand.</i>)
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>Ste</b>. She's not a bad start, either. You've got round me, and it takes a
- bit of doing. (<i>Crosses to Walter.</i>) Look here, my lad, I come of a
- long lived stock and you'll disappoint me if I don't see you a bishop
- before I die. I'll come to the Palace, Lucy, and hang my hat up some day.
- (<i>Going to exit to leave them 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 Graft, by Harold Brighouse
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