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PLAYS

FOURTH SERIES ^

A BIT O' LOVE

THE FOUNDATIONS

THE SKIN GAiME

BY X

JOHN GALSWORTHY

NEW YORK

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

1920

Copyright, 1915, 1920, bt CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

PR

So H. W. MASSINGHAM

PERSONS OF THE PLAY

Michael Strangwat

Beatrice Strangwat

Mrs. Bradmere

Jim Bere

Jack Cremer

Mrs. Burlacombe

burlacombe

Trustaford

Jarland

Clyst

Freman

godleigh

Sol Potter

Morse, and Others

I\Tr Burlacombe Connie Trustaford GL.VDY3 Freman Mercy Jarland TiBBY Jarland Bobbie Jarland

SCENE: A VILLAGE OF THE WEST

The Action passes on Ascension Day.

ACT I. Str-vngway's rooms at Buel-^combe's. Morning.

ACT II.

SCEXE I. The Village Inn.

SCENE II. The same.

SCENE III. Outside the church. I Evening.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Straxgwat's rooms. SCENE II. Burlacombe's barn.

A BIT O' LOVE A PLAY IN THREE ACTS

I

ACT I A BIT 0' LOVE 3

Strangway. Good morning, Gladys; good morn- ing, Connie.

He turns to a hook-case on a table against the far wall, and taking out a book, finds his place in it. While he stands thus with his back to the girls, Mercy Jaeland comes in from the green. She also is about sixteen, with fair hair and china-blue eyes. SJie glides in quickly, hiding something behind her, and sits down on the seat next the door. And at once there is a whispering. Strangway. [Turning to them] Good morning, Mercy.

Mercy. Good morning, Mr. Strangway. Str-Os'GWay. Now, yesterday I was telling you what our Lord's coming meant to the world. I want you to understand that before He came there wasn't really love, as we know it. I don't mean to say that there weren't many good people; but there wasn't love for the sake of loving. D'you think you understand what I mean?

Mercy fidgets. Gladys's eyes are following a fly. Ivy. Yes, Mr. Strang^vay.

Strangway. It isn't enough to love people because they're good to you, or because in some way or other you're going to get something by it. "We have to love because we love loving. That's the great thing— without that we're nothing but Pagans. Gladys. Please, what is Pagans ?

4 A BIT O' LOVE ACT i

Strangway. That's what the first Christians called the people who lived in the villages and were not yet Christians, Gladys.

Mercy. We live in a village, but we're Christians.

Strangway. [With a smile] Yes, Mercy; and what is a Christian?

Mercy kicks afoot sideways against her neigh- bouTy froivns over her china-blue eyes, is silent; then, as his question passes on, makes a quick little face, wriggles, and looks behind her.

Strangway. Ivy.^

Ivy. 'Tis a man — whii — whii

Strangway. Yes .^ — Connie ?

CoNTs^E [Who speaks rather thickly, as if she had a permanent slight cold] Please, Mr. Strangway, 'tis a man whii goes to church.

Gladys. He 'as to be baptized — and confirmed; and — and — buried .

Ivy. 'Tis a man whii — whii's giide and

GiADYS. He don't drink, an' he don't beat his horses, an' he don't hit back.

Mercy. [Whispering] 'Tisn't your turn. [To Strang- way] 'Tis a man like us.

Ivy. I know what Mrs. Strangway said it was, 'cause I asked her once, before she went away.

Strangway. [Startled] Yes?

Ivy. She said it was a man whii forgave every- thing.

ACT I A BIT O' LOVE 5

Strangwat. Ah!

The note of a cuckoo comes travelling. The girls are gazing at Stilixgway, who seems to have gone of into a dream. They begin to fidget and whisper.

CoxxiE. Please, ^Mr. Strangway, father says if yii ^ hit a man and he don't hit yii back, he's no giide at all.

Mercy. When Tommy Morse wouldn't fight, us pinched him — he did squeal! [She giggles] Made me laugh !

Strangway. Did I ever tell you about St. Francis of Assisi?

I-VT. [Clasping her hands] No.

Strangway. Well, fie was the best Christian, I think, that ever lived— simply full of love and joy.

Ivy. I expect he's dead.

Strangway. About seven hundred years. Ivy.

I^-Y. [Softly] Oh!

Str-^ngway. Everything to him was brother or sis- ter— the sun and the moon, and all that was poor and weak and sad, and animals and birds, so that they even used to follow him about.

Mercy. I know ! He had crumbs in his pocket.

Strangway. No; he had love in his eyes.

Ivy. 'Tis like about Orpheus, that yii told us.

Strangway. Ah ! But St. Francis was a Christian, and Orpheus was a Pagan.

I\-r. Oh!

Strangway. Orpheus drew everything after him with music; St. Francis by love.

6 A BIT 0' LOVE act i

Ivy. Perhaps it was the same, really.

Strakgway. [Looking at his flute] Perhaps it was. Ivy.

Gladys. Did 'e 'ave a flute like yii ?

Ivy. The flowers smell sweeter when they 'ear music; they du.

[She holds up the glass of floivers.

Strangway. [Touching one of the orchis] ^Yhat's the name of this one?

The girls cluster, save Mercy, who is taking a stealthy interest in ichat she has behind her.

Connie. We call it a cuckoo, Mr. Strangway.

Gladys. 'Tis awful common down by the streams. We've got one medder where 'tis so thick almost as the goidie cups.

Strangw^ay. Odd ! I've never noticed it.

Ivy. Please, Mr. Strangway, yii don't notice when yii're walkin'; \ii go along like this.

[She holds up her face as one looking at the sky.

Strangway. Bad as that. Ivy ?

Ivy. Mrs. Strangway often used to pick it last spring.

Strangway. Did she ? Did she ?

[He has gone off again into a kind of dream.

Mercy. I like being confirmed.

Strangway. Ah! Yes. Now— What's that be- hind you, Mercy?

Mercy. [Engagingly producing a cage a little bigger than a mouse4rap, containing a skylark] My skylark.

ACT I A BIT 0' LOVE 7

Strangway. Wi^ai !

Mercy. It can fly; but we're goin' to clip its wings. Bobbie caught it.

Strangway. How long ago.''

Mercy. [Conscious of impending disaster] Yester- day.

Strangway. [White hot] Give me the cage ! Mercy. [Puckering] I want my skylark. [^45 he steps up to her and takes the cage — thoroughly alarmed] 1 gave Bobbie thrippence for it !

Strangway. [Producing a sixpence] There ! Mercy. [Throwing it down — passionately] I want' my skylark!

Strangway. God made this poor bird for the sky and the grass. And you put it in that! Never cage any wild thing ! Never !

Mercy. [Faint and sullen] I want my skylark. Strangway. [Taking the cage to the door] No ! [He holds up the cage and opens it] OS you go, poor thing !

[The bird flies out and away. The girls watch with round eyes the fling up of his arm, and the freed bird flying away. Ivy. I'm glad !

Mercy kicks her viciously and sobs. Strang- way comes from the door, looks at Mercy sobbiiig, and suddenly clasps his head. The girls watch him icith a queer mixture of wonder y alarm, and disapproval.

8 A BIT 0' LOVE act i

Gladys. [Whispering] Don't cry, Mercy. Bobbie'll soon catch yli another.

Strangway has dropped his hands, and is look- ing again at Mercy. Ivy »its with hands clasped, gazing at Str.^'GWAY. ]Mercy coniinues her artificial sobbing.

Strangway. [Quietly] The class is over for to-day.

Be goes up to Mercy, and holds out hi^ hand.

She does not take it, and runs out knuckling

her eyes. Strangway turns on his heel and

goes into the house.

Connie. 'Twasn't his bird.

Ivy. Skylarks belong to the sky. Mr. Strangway said so.

Gk^dys. Not when they'm caught, they don't.

I^^. They dii.

Connie. 'Twas her bird.

I\T^. He gave her sixpence for it.

Gladys. She didn't take it.

Connie. There it is on the ground.

Ivy. She might have.

Gl.\dys. He'll p'raps take my squirrel, tu.

Iv-Y. The bird sang— I 'card it! Right up in the sky. It wouldn't have sanged if it weren't glad.

Gladys. Well, Mercy cried.

Ivy. I don't care.

Gladys. 'Tis a shame! And I know something. Mrs. Strangway's at Durford.

CoN'NiE. She's — never!

Gladys. I saw her yesterday. An' if she's there

ACT I A BIT 0' LOVE 9

she ought to be here. I told mother, an' she said: "Yii mind yer business." An' when she goes in to market to-morrow she'm goin' to see. An' if she's really there, mother says, 'tis a fine tii-dii an' a praaper scandal. So I know a lot more'n yii dii.

[Ivy stares at her.

Connie. Mrs, Strangway told mother she was goin' to France for the wmter because her mother was ill.

Gladys. 'Tisn't winter now — Ascension Day. I saw her comin' out o' Dr. Desart's house. I know 'twas her because she had on a blue dress an' a proud liike. Mother says the doctor come over here tli often before Mrs. Strangway went away, just afore Christmas. They was old sweethearts before she married Mr. Strangway. [To Iyy] 'Twas yiire mother told mother that.

[I\'Y gazes at them more arid more wide-eyed.

Connie. Father says if Mrs. Bradmere an' the old Rector knew about the doctor, they wouldn't 'ave Mr. Strangway 'ere for curate any longer; because mother says it takes more'n a year for a glide wife to leave her 'usband, an' 'e so fond of her. But 'tisn't no business of ours, father says.

Gladys. Mother says so tli. She's praaper set against gossip. She'll know all about it to-morrow after market.

I\-Y. [Stamping her foot] I don't want to 'ear nothin' at all; I don't, an' I won't.

[A rather shame-faced silence falls on the girls.

10 A BIT 0' LOVE act i

Gladys. [In a quick whisper] 'Ere's Mrs. Burla- combe.

There enters from the house a stout motherly woman with a round grey eye and very red cheeks.

IVIrs. Burlacombe. Ivy, take Mr. Strangway his ink, or we'll never 'ave no sermon to-night. He'm in his thinkin' box, but 'tis not a bit o' ylise 'im thkikin' without 'is ink. [She hands her daughter an inkpot and blotting-pad. Ivy Takes them and goes out] What- ever's this.'' [She picks up the little bird-cage.

Gladys. 'Tis Mercy Jarland's. Mr. Strangway let her skylark go.

Mrs. Burlacombe. Aw ! Did 'e now ? Serve 'er right, bringin' an 'eathen bird to confirmation class.

Connie. I'll take it to her.

Mrs. Burlacombe. No. Yii leave it there, an' let Mr. Strangway dli what 'e likes with it. Bringin' a bird like that ! Well I never !

The girls, perceiving that they have lighted on stony soil, look at each other and slide towards the door.

Mrs. Burlacombe. Yes, jii just be off, an' think on what yii've been told in class, an' be'ave like Chris- tians, that's glide maids. An' don't jii come no more in the 'avenin's dancin' them 'eathen dances in my barn, naighther, till after yli'm confirmed — 'tisn't right. I've told Ivy I won't 'ave it.

Connie. Mr. Strangway don't mind — he likes us

ACT I A BIT O' L0\^ 11

to; 'twas Mrs. Strangway began teachin' us. He's goin' to give a prize.

Mrs. Buri^^combe. Yii just dU what I tell yii an' never mind Mr. Strang\^'ay — he'm tli kind to every- one. D'yli think I don't know how gells oughter be'ave before confirmation .' Yii be'ave like I did ! Now, goo ahn ! Shoo !

She hustles them out, rather as she might hustle

her chickens, and begins tidying the room.

There comes a wandering figure to the open

window. It is tliat of a man of about thirty -

five, of feeble gait, leaning the weight of all

one side of him on a stick. His dark face,

with black hair, one lock of which has gone

white, was evidently once that of an ardent

man. Now it is slack, weakly smiling, and

the brovm eyes are lost, and seem always to

be asking something to which there is no

answer.

'Mrs. Burh^combe. [With that forced cheerfidness

always assumed in the face of too great misfortune]

Well, Jim! better? [At the faint brightening of the

smile] That's right ! Yii'm gettin' on bravely. ^Yant

Parson ?

Jni. [Sodding and smiling, and speaking sloicly] I want to tell 'un about my cat.

[His face loses its smile. 'Mrs. Burlvcombe. Why ! what's she been diiin' then ? Mr. Strangway's busy. Won't I dii ? Jm. [Shakijig his head] No. I want to tell him.

12 A BIT O' LOVE act i

Mrs. Burlacombe. Whatever she been diiin'? Havin' kittens?

Jim. No. She'm lost.

Mrs. Burl.'^combe. Dearie me! Aw! she'm not lost. Cats be like maids; they must get out a bit.

Jim. She'm lost. Maybe he'll know where she'll be.

Mrs. Burlacombe. Well, well. I'll go an' find 'im.

Jim. He's a glide man. He's very glide.

Mrs. Burlacombe. That's certain zure.

Strangway. [Entering from the house] Mrs. Burla- combe, I can't think where I've put my book on St. Francis — the large, squarish pale-blue one ?

Mrs. Burlacombe. Aw ! there now ! I knli there was somethin' on me mind. Miss Willis she came in yesterday afterniine when yii was out, to borrow it. Oh ! yes — I said — I'm zure Mr. Strangway'U lend it 'ee. Now think o' that !

Strangway. Of course, Mrs. Burlacombe; very glad she's got it.

Mrs. Burlacombe. Aw ! but that's not all. When I tuk it up there come out a whole flutter o' little bits o' paper wi' little rhymes on 'em, same as I see yli writin'. Aw ! my glideness ! I says to meself, Mr. Strangway widn' want no one seein' them.

Strangway. Dear me ! No; certainly not!

Mrs. Burlacombe. An' so I putt 'em in your secretary.

Strangway. My — ah! Yes. Thank you; yes.

Mrs. Burlacombe. But I'll goo over an' get the blike for yii. 'T won't take me 'alf a minit.

ACT I A BIT 0' LOVE 13

She goes out on to the green. Jni Bere has come in.

Stilvxgway. [Gently] Well, Jim?

Jm. My cat's lost.

Str-A-NGWay. Lost?

Jni. Day before yesterday. She'm not come back. They've shot 'er, I think; or she'm caught in one o' they rabbit-traps.

Strangway. Oh! no; my dear fellow, she'll come back. I'll speak to vSir Herbert's keepers.

Jni. Yes, zurr. I feel lonesome without 'er.

Strangway. [With a faint smile — more to himself than to Jm] Lonesome! Yes! That's bad, Jim! That's bad !

Jim. I miss 'er when I sits thar in the avenin'.

Strangway. The evenings — They're the worst — and when the blackbirds sin^ in the morning.

Jm. She used to lie on my bed, ye know, zurr. [Strangway turns his face away, contracted with pain] She'm like a Christian.

Strangwj^y. The beasts are.

Jm. There's plenty folk ain't 'alf as Christian as 'er be.

Strangway, Well, dear Jim, I'll do my very best. And any time you're lonely, come up, and I'll play the flute to you.

Jm. [Wriggling slightly] Xo, zurr. Thank 'ee, zurr.

Strangway. AMiat — don't you like music?

Jm. Ye-es, zurr. [.4 figure passes the idndoic. Seeing it he says with his slow smile: "'Ere's Mrs.

y

14 A BIT 0' LOVE act i

Bradmere, comin' from the Rectory." [With queer 7nalice] She don't like cats. But she'm a cat 'erself, I think.

Str-'^'Gway. [With his smile] Jim ! Jim. She'm always tellin' me I'm liikin' better. I'm not better, zurr.

Strangway. That's her kindness. Jevi. I don't think it is. 'Tis laziness, an' 'avin' 'er own way. She'm very fond of 'er own way.

A knock on the door cuts off his speech. Fol- lowing closely on the knock, as though no doors were licensed to be closed against her, a grey-haired lady enters; a capable, brown- faced woman of seventy, whose every tone and movement exhales authority. With a nod and a "good morning" to Strangway she turns at once to Jem Bere. ;Mrs. Bradmere. Ah ! Jim; you're looking better. [Jiii Bere shakes his head. Mrs. Bradmere. Oh! yes, you are. Getting on splendidly. And now, I just want to speak to Mr. Strangway.

Jim Bere touches his forelock, and slowly, leaning on his stick, goes out. IMrs. Bradmere. [Waiting for the door to close] You know how that came on him? Caught the girl he was engaged to, one night, with another man, the rage broke something here. [She touches her forehead] Four years ago. Strangway. Poor fellow !

ACT I A BIT O' LOVE 15

IVIrs. Bradmere. [Looking at him sharply] Is your wife back?

Strangway. [Starting] No.

Mrs. Bradmere. By the way, poor Mrs. Cremer — is she any better.''

Strangway. No; going fast. \Yonderful — so patient.

Mrs. Bradmere. [With gruff sympathy] Um ! Yes. They know how to die! [With another sharp look at him] D'you expect your wife soon ?

Strangway. I — I — hope so.

]Mrs. Bradmere. So do I. The sooner the better.

Strangway. [Shrinking] I trust the Rector's not sufifering so much this morning ?

Mrs. Bradmere. Thank you ! His foot's very bad. As she speaks Mrs. BuRLACOiiBE returns with a large pale-blue hook in her hand.

!Mrs. Burlacombe. Good day, M'm! [Taking the hook across to Strangway] Miss "Willis, she says she'm very sorry, zurr.

Strangway. She was very welcome, Mrs. Bur- lacombe. [To Mrs. Bradmere] Forgive me — my sermoD. [Be goes into the house.

The two women gaze after Mm. Then, at once, as it were, draw into themselves, as if pre- paring for an encounter, and yet seem to expand as if losing the need for restraint.

Mrs. Bradmere. [Abruptly] He misses his wife very much, I'm afraid.

Mrs. Burlacombe. Ah! Don't he? Poor dear man; he keeps a terrible tight 'and over 'imself, but

16 A BIT O' LOVE act i

'tis suthin' cruel the way he walks about at night. He'm just like a cow when its calf's weaned. T'a^ gone to me 'eart truly to see 'im these months past. T'other day when I went up to dii his riime, I yeard a noise like this [she sniffs]; an' ther' 'e was at the wardrobe, snuffin' at 'er things. I did never think a man cud care for a woman so much as that.

Mrs. Bradmere. H'm !

]\Irs. Burlacombe. 'Tis funny rest — an' 'e comin' 'ere for quiet after that tearin' great London parish! 'E'm terrible absent-minded tii — don't take no inter- est in 'is flide. Yesterday, goin' on for one o'clock, 'e says to me, *T expect 'tis nearly breakfast-time, jNIts. Burlacombe!" 'E'd 'ad it twice already!

!Mrs. Br.\dmere. Twice ! Nonsense !

Mrs. Burl.\combe. Zurely ! I give 'im a nummit afore 'e gets up; an' 'e 'as 'is brekjus reg'lar at nine. Must feed un up. He'm on 'is feet all day, goin' to zee folk that widden want to zee an angel, they'm that busy; an' when 'e comes in 'e'll play 'is fliite there. He'm wastin' away for want of 'is wife. That's what 'tis. An' 'im so sweet-spoken, tii, 'tes a pleasure to year 'im — Never says a word !

INIrs. Bradmere. Yes, that's the kind of man who gets treated badly. I'm afraid she's not worthy of him, Mrs. Burlacombe.

jMrs. Burlacombe. [Plaiting her apron] 'Tesn't for me to zay that. She'm a very pleasant lady.

jVIrs. Bradmere. Too pleasant. What's this story about her being seen in Durford ?

ACT I A BIT 0' LOVE 17

Mrs. Burlacombe. Aw ! I dii never year no gossip, m'm.

Mrs. Bradmere. [Drily] Of course not ! But you see the Rector wishes to know.

Mrs. BtTRLAcoMBE. [Flustered] Well — folk will talk ! But, as I says to Burlacombe — "'Tes paltry," I says; and they only married eighteen months, and Mr. Strangway so devoted-like. 'Tes nothing but love, with 'im.

'Mrs,. BR.4.DMERE. Come!

Mrs. Burlacombe. There's puzzivantin' folk as'll set an' gossip the feathers off an angel. But I dli never listen.

IVIrs. Br.idmere. Now then, Mrs. Burlacombe.''

Mrs. BuRL.\coMBE. Well, they dii say as how Dr. Desart over to Durford and Mrs. Strangway was sweethearts afore she wer' married.

Mrs. Bradmere. I knew that. "VMio was it saw her coming out of Dr. Desart's house yesterdaj' ?

Mrs. Burlacombe. In a manner of spakin' 'tes Mrs. Freman that says 'er Gladys seen her.

Mrs. Bradmere. That child's got an eye like a hawk.

iSlRS. BURL.A.COMBE. 'Tcs wouderful how things dii spread. 'Tesn't as if us gossiped. Dii seem to grow- like in the naight.

IMrs. Bradmere. [To herself] I never liked her. That Riviera excuse, Mrs. Burlacombe — Very con- venient things, sick mothers. Mr. Strangway doesn't know ?

18 A BIT 0^ LOVE ACT i

Mrs. Burlacombe. The Lord forbid ! 'Twid send un crazy, I think. For all he'm so moony an' gentle- like, I think he'm a terrible passionate man inside. He've a-got a saint in 'im, for zure; but 'tes only 'alf-baked, in a manner of spakin'.

Mrs. Bradmere. I shall go and see Mrs. Fre- man. There's been too much of this gossip all the winter.

Mrs. Burlacombe. 'Tes unfortimate-like 'tes the Fremans. Freman he'm a gipsy sort of a feller; and he've never forgiven Mr. Strangway for spakin' to 'im about the way he trates 'is 'orses.

Mrs. Bradmere. Ah ! I'm afraid Mr. Strangway's not too discreet when his feelings are touched.

Mrs. Burlacombe. 'E've a-got an 'eart so big as the full miine. But 'tes no yiise expectin' tu much o' this world. 'Tes a funny place, after that.

Mrs. Bradmere. Yes, Mrs. Burlacombe; and I shall give some of these good people a rare rap over the knuckles for their want of charity. For all they look as if butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, they're an un-Christian lot. [Looking very directly at Mrs. Burl^icombe] It's lucky we've some hold over the village. I'm not going to have scandal. I shall speak to Sir Herbert, and he and the Rector will take steps.

Mrs. Burlacombe. [With covert Tnalice] Aw ! I dii hope 'twon't upset the Rector, an' 'is fiite so pop- tious !

Mrs. Bradmere. [Grimly] His foot'll be sound

ACT I A BIT 0' LOVE 19

enough to come down sharp. By the way, will you send me a duck up to the Rectory?

Mes. Burlacombe. [Glad to get avxiy] Zurely, m'm; at once. I've some luv'ly fat birds.

[5^ goes into the house. Mrs. Bradmere. Old puss-cat !

She turns to go, and in the doorway encounters a very little, red-cheeked girl in a peacock- blue cap, and pink frock, who curtsies stolidly. Mrs. BRADiiERE. Well, Tibby Jarland, what do you want here? Always sucking somethmg, aren't you? Getting no reply from Tibby Jarland, she passes out. Tibby comes in, looks round, takes a large sweet out of her mouth, con- templates it, and puts it back again. Then, in a perfunctory and very stolid fashion, she looks about the floor, as if she had been told to find something. While she is finding noth- ing and sucking her sweet, her sister Mercy comes in furtively, stiU frowning and vin- dictive. Mercy. \Miat! Haven't you found it, Tibby? Get along with 'ee, then !

She accelerates the stolid Tibby's departure with a smack, searches under the seat, finds and picks up the deserted sixpence. Then very quickly she goes to the door. But it is opened before she reaches it, and, finding herself caught, she slips behind the chintz

20 A BIT O' LOVE act i

idndow-curtain. A woman has entered, who is clearly the original of the large pho- tograph. She is not strictly pretty, but there is charm in her pale, resolute face, with its mocJcing lips, flexible brows, and greenish eyes, whose lids, square above them, have short, dark lashes. She is dressed in blue, and her fair hair is coiled up under a cap and motor-veil. She comes in swiftly, and closes the door behind her; becomes ir- resolute; the?!, suddenly deciding, moves to- wards the door into the house. Mercy slips from behind her curtain to make off, but at that mxyment the door into the house is opened, and she has at once to slip back again into covert. It is Ivy ivho has ap- peared.

Ivy. [Amazed] Oh! Mrs. Strangway !

Evidently disconcerted by this appearance, Beatrice Straxgway pulls herself together and confronts the child with a smile.

Beatrice. Well, Ivy — you've grown ! You didn't expect me, did yon ?

Ivy. No, Mrs. Strangway; but I hoped yu'd be comin' soon.

Beatrice. Ah ! Yes. Is Mr. Strangway in ?

Ivy. [Hypnotized by those faintly smiling lips] Yes — oh, yes ! He's writin' his sermon in the little room. He will be glad !

Beatrice. [Going a little closer, and never taking

ACT I A BIT 0' L0\^ 21

her eyes off the child] Yes. Now, Ivy, will you do something for me?

Ivy. [Fluttering] Oh, yes, Mrs. Strangway.

Beatrice. Quite sure.'*

Ivy. Oh, yes !

Beatrice. Are you old enough to keep a secret?

I\Tf. [Nodding] I'm fourteen now.

Beatrice. AYell, then — I don't want anybody but Mr. Strangway to know I've been here; nobody, not even your mother. D'you understand?

Ivy. [Troubled] No. Only, I can keep a secret.

Beatrice. Mind, if anybody hears, it will hurt — IMr. Strangway.

I\-Y. Oh! I wouldn't — hurt — him. Must yiX go away again? [Trembling towards her] I wish jli were goin' to stay. And perhaps some one has seen y\i — They

Beatrice. [Eastily] No, no one. I came motoring; like this. [She moves her veil to show how it can conceal her face] And I came straight down the little lane, and through the barn, across the yard.

Iv'Y. [Timidly] People dii see a lot.

Be-\trice. [Still with that hovering smile] I know, but — Now go and tell him quickly and quietly.

Ivy. [Stopping at the door] Mother's pluckm' a duck. Only, please, Mrs. Strangway, if she comes in even after \ii've gone, she'll know, because — because yii always have that particular nice scent.

Beatrice. Thank you, my child. I'll see to that. I-VY looks at her as if she would speak again.

22 A BIT O' LOVE ACT I

then turns suddenly, and goes out. Bea- trice's face darkens; she shivers. Tak- ing out a little cigarette case, she lights a cigarette, and watch-es the puffs of smoke toreathe about her and die away. The frightened Mercy peers out, spying for a chance to escape. Then from the house Strangway comes in. All his dreaminess is gone. Strangway. Thank God! [He stops at the look on her face] I don't understand, though. I thought you were still out there.

Beatrice. [Letting her cigarette fall, and putting her foot on it] No.

Strangway. You're staying ? Oh! Beatrice; come! We'll get away from here at once — as far, as far — anywhere you like. Oh ! my darling — only come ! If

3'ou knew

Beatrice. It's no good, Michael; I've tried and tried. Steangw^. Not ! Then, why — -^ Beatrice ! You

said, when you were right away — I've waited

Beatrice. I know. It's cruel — it's horrible. But I told you not to hope, Michael. I've done my best. All these months at Mentone, I've been wondering why I ever let you marry me — when that feeling wasn't dead !

Strangway. You can't have come back just to leave me again?

Beatrice. "When you let me go out there with

ACT I A BIT O' LOVE 23

mother I thought — I did think I would be able; and I had begun — and then — spring came !

Strangwat. Spring came here too! Never so — aching ! Beatrice, can't you ?

Beatrice. I've something to say.

Straxgway. No! No! No!

Beatrice. You see — I've — fallen.

Strangway. Ah! [Zn a voice sharpened by pain] \Miy, in the name of mercy, come here to tell me that ? Was he out there, then ?

[She shakes her head,

Beatrice. I came straight back to him.

Strangway. To Durford ?

Beatrice. To the Cross way Hotel, miles out — in my own name. They don't know me there. I told you not to hope, Michael. I've done my best; I swear it.

Strangway. My God !

Beatrice. It was your God that brought us to live near him!

Strangway. "\Miy have you come to me like this.'*

Beatrice. To know what you're going to do. Are you going to divorce me.'* We're in your power. Don't divorce me — Doctor and patient — you must know — it ruins him. He'll lose everything. He'd be disqualified, and he hasn't a penny without his work.

Strangway. "Why should I spare him ?

Beatrice. Michael, I came to beg. It's hard.

Strangway. No; don't beg ! I can't stand it.

24 A BIT 0' LOVE act i

Beatrice. [Recovering her pride] What are you going to do/ then? Keep us apart by the threat of a divorce? Starve us and prison us? Cage me up here with you? I'm not brute enough to ruin him.

Strangway. Heaven !

Beatrice. I never really stopped loving him. I never loved you, Michael.

Strangway. [Stunned] Is that true? [Beatrice benAs her head] Never loved me? Not — that night — on the river — not ?

Beatrice. [Under her breath] No.

Strangway. Were you lying to me, then? Kissing me, and — hating me?

Beatrice. One doesn't hate men like you; but it wasn't love.

Strangway. Why did you tell me it was?

Beatrice. Yes. That was the worst thing I've ever done.

Strangway. Do you think I would have married you ? I would have burned first ! I never dreamed you didn't. I swear it !

Beatrice. [Very low] Forget it !

Strangway. Did he try to get you away from me? [Beatrice gives him a swift look] Tell me the truth !

Beatrice. No. It was — I — alone. But — he loves me.

Strangway. One does not easily know love, it seems.

But her smile, faint, mysterious, pitying, is enough, and he turns away from her.

ACT I A BIT 0' LOVE 25

Beatrice. It was cruel to come, I know. For me, too. But I couldn't write. I had to know.

Strangway. Never loved me? Never loved me? That night at Tregaron? [At the look on her face] You might have told me before you went away ! WTiy keep me all these

Beatrice. I meant to forget him again. I did mean to. I thought I could get back to what I was, when I married you; but, you see, what a girl can do, a woman that's been married — can't.

Strangway. Then it was I — my kisses that — ! [He laughs] How did you stand them? [His eyes dart at her face] Imagination helped you, perhaps !

Beatrice. Michael, don't, don't! And — oh! don't make a public thing of it! You needn't be afraid I shall have too good a time! [He stays quite still and »iknt, and that ichich is writhing in him makes his face so strange that Beatrice stands aghust. At last she goes stumbling on in s])eech] If ever you Tvant to marry some one else — then, of course — that's only fair, ruin or not. But till then— till then— He's leaving Dur- ford, gomg to Brighton. No one need know. And you — this isn't the only parish in the world.

Straxgway. [Quietly] You ask me to help you live in secret with another man?

Beatrice. I ask for mercy.

Strangway. [As to himself] \Miat am I to do ?

Beatrice, ^^^lat you feel m the bottom of your heart.

Strangway. You ask me to help you live in sin ?

26 A BIT 0' LOVE act i

Beatrice. To let me go out of your life. You've only to do — nothing. [He goes, slowly, close to her.

Strangway. I want you. Come back to me! Beatrice, come back ! Beatrice. It would be torture, now. Strangway. [Writhing] Oh! Beatrice. Whatever's in your heart — do ! Strangway. You'd come back to me sooner than ruin him ? Would you ^

Beatrice. I can't bring him harm. Strangway. [Turning away] God ! — if there be one — help me ! [He stands leaning his forehead against ilie window. Suddenly his glance falls on the little bird- cage, still lying on the window-seat] Never cage any wild thing ! [He gives a laugh that is half a sob; then, turning to the door, says in a low voice] Go ! Go please, quickly ! Do what you will. I won't hurt you — can't — But — go ! [He opens the door.

Beatrice. [Greatly moved] Thank you !

She passes him with her head down, and goes out quickly. Strangway stands uncon- sciously tearing at the little bird-cage. And while he tears at it he utters a moaning sound. The terrified Mercy, peering from behind the curtain, and watching her chance, slips to the still open door; but in her haste and fright she knocks against it, and Strangway sees her. Before he can stop her she has fled out on to the green and away.

ACT I A BIT O' LOVE 27

While he stands there, paralysed, the door from

the house u opened, and Mrs. Burlacombe

approacJie^ him in a queer, hushed way.

Mrs. Burlacombe. [Her eyes mechanically fixed on

the twined bird-cage in his harids] 'Tis poor Sue Cremer,

zurr, I didn't 'ardly think she'd last thrli the momin'.

An' zure enough she'm passed away! [Seeing that he

has not taken in her words] Mr. Strangway — jii'm

feelin' giddy .^

Strangway. No, no! AMiat was it? You

said

Mrs. Burlacombe. 'Tes Jack Cremer. His wife's gone. 'E'm in a terrible way. 'Tes only yli, 'e ses, can dii 'im any glide. He'm in the kitchen.

Strangway. Cremer ? Yes ! Of course. Let

him

^Irs. Burlacombe. [>S/i:7/ staring at the twisted cage] YU ain't wantm' that — 'tes all twizzled. [She takes it from him] Sure yii'm not feelin' yer 'ead.^ Str^^'Gway. [With a resolute effort] No ! ;Mrs. Burlacombe. [Doubtfully] I'll send 'im in, then. [She goes.

When she is gone, Strangway passes his handkerchief across his forehead, and his lips move fast. He is standing motionless when Cresier, a big man in labourer s clothes, with a thick, broad face, and tragic, faithful eyes, comes in, and stands a little in from the closed door, quite dumb. Strangway. [After a moment's silence — going up to

28 A BIT 0' LOVE act i

him and laying a hand on his shoulder] Jack! Don't give way. If we give w^ay — we're done.

Crevier. Yes, zurr. [A quiver passes over his face.

Strangway. She didn't. Your wife was a brave woman. A dear woman.

Creaier. I never thought to liise 'er. She never told me 'ow bad she was, afore she tuk to 'er bed. 'Tis a dreadful thing to liise a wife, zurr.

Strangway. [Tightening his lips, that tremble] Yes. But don't give way ! Bear up. Jack !

Cre]vier. Seems funny 'er goin' blue-bell time, an* the sun shinin' so warm. I picked up an 'orse-shii yesterda}'. I can't never 'ave 'er back, zurr.

[His face quivers again.

Strangway. Some day you'll jom her. Thmk! Some lose their wuves for ever.

Cremer. I don't believe as there's a future life, zurr. I think we goo to sleep like the beasts.

Strangway. We're told otherwise. But come here ! [Drawing him to the unndow] Look ! Listen ! To sleep in that ! Even if we do, it won't be so bad. Jack, will it.?

Cremer. She wer' a glide wife to me — no man ciidn't 'ave no better wife.

Strangway. [Putting his hand out] Take hold — hard — harder ! I want yours as much as you want mine. Pray for me. Jack, and I'll pray for you. And we won't give way, will we?

Cremer. [To whom the strangeness of these words has given some relief] No, zurr; thank 'ee, zurr. 'Tes

ACT I A BIT 0' L0\^ ^9

no glide, I expect. Only, I'll miss 'er. Thank 'ee,

zurr; kindly.

He lifts his hand to his head, turns, and vn- certainly goes out to the kitchen. And Strangway stays where he is, not hwiring 2chat to do. Then blindly he takes up his flute, and hatless, hurries out into the air.

CURTAIN

ACT II

SCENE I

Ahoid seven o'clock in the taproovi of the village inn. The bar, with the appurtenances tJiereof, stretches across one end, and opposite is the porch door on to the green. The wall between is nearly all win- dow, with leaded panes, one wide-open casement whereof lets in the last of the sunlight. A narrow bench runs under this broad window. And this is all the furniture, save three spittoons.

GoDLEiGH, the innkeeper, a smallish man unth thick ruffled hair, a loquacious nose, and apple-red cheeks above a reddish-brown moustache, is reading the paper. To him enters Tibby Jabla>'D with a shilling in her mouth.

GoDLEiGH. Well, Tibby Jarland, whatVe >ii come for, then ? Glass o' beer ?

Tibby takes the shilling from her mouth and

smiles stolidly.

GoDLEiGH. [Twinkling] I shid zay glass o' 'arf an'

'arf's about yure form. [Tibby smiles more broadly]

Yu'm a praaper masterpiece. Well! 'Ave sister

31

32 A BIT O' LOVE act ii

Mercy borrowed ylire tongue ? [Tibby shakes her head] Aw, she 'aven't. Well, maid ?

Tibby. Father wants six clay pipes, please. GoDLEiGH. 'E dii, dii 'ee? YU tell ylire father 'e can't 'ave more'n one, not this avenin'. And 'ere 'tis. Hand up ylire shillin'.

Tibby reaches up her hand, parts with the

shilling, and receives a long clay pipe and

eleven pennies, hi order to secure the coins

in her pinafore she places the clay pipe in

her mouth. While she is still thus engaged,

Mrs. Bradmere enters the porch and coines

in. Tibby curtsies stolidly.

Mrs. Bradmere. Gracious, child ! What are you

doing here ? And what have you got in your mouth ?

Who is it? Tibby Jarland? [Tibby curtsies again]

Take that thing out. And tell your father from me

that if I ever see you at the inn again I shall tread

on his toes hard. Godleigh, you know the law about

children ?

Godleigh. [Cocking his eye, and not at all abashed] Surely, m'm. But she will come. Go away, my dear.

Tibby, Tiever talcing her eyes off jVIrs. Brad- mere, or the pipe from her viouth, has hacked stolidly to the door, and vanished. Mrs. Bradmere. [Eyeing Godleigh] Now, God- leigh, I've come to talk to you. Half the scandal that goes about the village begins here. [Slie holds up her finger to check expostulation] No, no — it's no

sc. I A BIT 0' LOVE 33

good. You know the value of scandal to your busi- ness far too well.

GoDLEiGH. Wi' all respect, m'm, I knows the vally of it to youm, tii.

Mes. Bradmere. What do you mean by that .'

GoDLEiGH. If there weren't no Rector's lady there widden' be no notice taken o' scandal; an' if there weren't no notice taken, twidden be scandal, to my thinkin'.

Mrs. Bradmere. [Winki?ig out a grim little smile] Very well ! You've given me your views. Now for mine. There's a piece of scandal gomg about that's got to be stopped, Godleigh. You turn the tap of it off here, or we'll turn your tap off. You know me. See?

Godleigh. I shouldn' never presume, m'm, to know a lady.

;Mrs. Bradmere. The Rector's quite determined, so is Su" Herbert. Ordinary scandal's bad enough, but this touches the Church. While IVIr. Strangway remains curate here, there must be no talk about him and his affairs.

Godleigh. [Cocking his eye] I was just thinkin' how to dti it, m'm. 'Twid be a brave notion to putt the men m chokey, and slit the women's tongues- like, same as they dii in outlandish places, as I'm told.

:Mrs. Bradmere. Don't talk nonsense, Godleigh; and mind what I say, because I mean it.

Godleigh. Make jiire mmd aisy, m'm — there'll be no scandal-monkeyin' here wi' my permission.

34 A BIT O' LOVE act ii

Mrs. Bradmere gives him a keen stare, but seeing him ^perfectly grave, nods her head with approval. Mrs. Bradmere. Good ! You know what's being said, of course ?

GoDLEiGH. [With respectful gravity] Yli'll pardon me, m'm, but ef an' in case yii was goin' to tell me, there's a riile in this 'ouse: "No scandal 'ere!"

Mrs. Bradmere. [Twinkling grimly] You're too smart by half, my man.

GoDLEiGH. Aw fegs, no, m'm — child in ylire 'ands.

IVIrs. Bradmere. I wouldn't trust you a yard.

Once more, Godleigh ! This is a Christian village,

and we mean it to remain so. You look out for

yourself.

The door opens to admit the farmers Trusta- ford a7id Burl^combe. They doff their hats to Mrs. Bradmere, who, after one more sharp look at Godleigh, moves to- wards the door. Mrs. Bradmere. Evenmg, Mr. Trustaford. [To Burlacombe] Burlacombe, tell your wife that duck she sent up was in hard training.

With one of her grim winks, and a nod, she goes. Trustaford. [Replacing a hat which is black, hard, and not very new, on his long head, above a long face, clean-shaved but for little whiskers] "What's the old grey mare want, then? [With a horse-laugh] 'Er's lukin' awful wise !

sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 35

GoDLEiGH. [Enigmatically] Ah !

Trustaford. [Sitting on the bench close to the bar] Drop o' whisky, an' potash.

BuRLACOMBE. [A tocitum, slim, yellowish man, in a worn soft hat] What's niise, Godleigh? Drop o' cider.

Godleigh. NUse? There's never no niise in this 'ouse. Aw, no! Not wi' my permission. [In imita- tion] This is a Christian village.

Trustaford. Thought the old grey mare seemed mighty busy. [To Burlacombe] 'Tes rather quare about the curate's wife a-comin' motorin' this mornin'. Passed me wi' her face all smothered up in a veil, goggles an' all. Haw, haw !

Burlacombe. Aye !

Trustaford. Off again she was in 'alf an hour. 'Er didn't give poor old curate much of a chance, after six months.

Godleigh. Havin' an engagement elsewhere — No scandal, please, gentlemen.

Bltilacombe. [Acidly] Never asked to see my missis. Passed me in the yard like a stone.

Trustaford. 'Tes a little bit riimoursome lately about 'er doctor.

Godleigh. Ah ! he's the favourite. But 'tes a dead secret, Mr. Trustaford. Don't yii never repate it — there's not a cat don't know it already !

Burlacombe frovmsy and Trustaford utters his laugh. The door is opened and Freman,

V

36 A BIT O' LOVE act ii

a dark gipsyish man in the dress of a farmer, comes in.

GoDLEiGH. Don't yii never tell Will Freman what 'e told me !

Freviax. Avenin' !

Trustaford. Avenin', Will; what's yiire glass o' trouble ?

Fremax. Drop o' cider, clove, an' dash o' gin. There's blood in the sky to-night.

BuRL.\coMBE. Ah ! We'll 'ave fine weather now, with the full o' the mline.

Freman. Dust o' wind an' a drop or tii, virst, I reckon. 'Eard t' nlise about curate an' 'is wife ?

GoDLEiGH. No, indeed; an' don't yii tell us. We'm Christians 'ere in this village.

Frem.an. 'T^in't no very Christian nlise, neither. He's sent 'er off to th' doctor. "Go an' live with un," 'e says; "my blessin' on ye." If 'er'd a-been mine, I'd 'a tuk the whip to 'er. Tarn Jarland's maid, she yeard it all. Christian, indeed ! That's brave Christianity! "Goo an' live with un!" 'e told 'er.

Burlacombe. No, no; that's not sense — a man to say that. I'll not 'ear that against a man that bides in my 'ouse.

Freman. 'Tes sure, I tell 'ee. The maid was hid-up, scared-like, behind the curtain. . At it they went, and parson 'e says: "Go," 'e says, "I won't kape 'ee from 'im," 'e says, "an' I won't divorce 'ee, as yii don't wish it!" They was 'is words, same as Jarland's

sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 37

maid told my maid, an' my maid told my missis. If that's parson's talk, 'tes funny work goin' to church. Trustafobd. [Brooding] 'Tes wonderful quare, zurel}'.

Frem-^jn". Tam Jarland's fair mad wi' curate for makin' free wi' his maid's skylark. Parson or no parson, 'e've no call to meddle wi' other people's praperty. He cam' pokin ' 'is nose into my affairs. I told un I knew a sight more 'bout 'orses than 'e ever would !

Trustaford. He'm a bit crazy 'bout bastes an* birds.

They have been so absorbed that iliey Jiave not noticed the entrance of Clyst, a youth with tousled hair, and a bright, quick, Celtic eye, who stands listening, with a bit of -paper in his hand.

Clyst. Ah ! he'm that zurely, Mr. Trustaford.

[He chuckles.

GoDLEiGH. Now, Tim Clyst, if an' in case 3'u've a-got some scandal on yer tongue, don't yii never unship it here. Yii go up to Rectory where 'twill be more relished-like.

Clyst. [Waving the paper] "Will y' give me a drink for thic, Mr. Godleigh ? 'Tes rale funny. Aw ! 'tes somethin' swate. Biitiful readiii'. Poetry. Rale spice. Yu've a luv'ly voice for readin', Mr. Godleigh.

Godleigh. [All ears and twinkle] Aw, what is it then?

38 A BIT 0' LOVE act ii

Clyst. Ah ! Yii want t'know tii much. -

[Putting the paper in his pocket. While he is speaking, Jim Bere has entered quietly, with his feeble step and smile, and sits down. Clyst. [Kindly] Hallo, Jim ! Cat come 'ome ? Jim Bere. No.

All nod, and speak to him kindly. And Jnr Bere smiles at them, and his eyes ask of them the question, to which there is no an- swer. And after that he sits motionless and silent, and they talk as if he were not there. GoDLEiGH. \Miat's all this, now — no scandal in my 'ouse !

Clyst. 'Tes awful peculiar — like a drame. Mr. Burlacombe 'e don't like to hear tell about drames. A guess a won't tdl 'ee, arter that. Fresian. Out wi' it, Tim.

Clyst. 'Tes powerful thirsty to-day, Mr. Godleigh. GoDLEiGH. [Drawing him some cider] Yii're all wild cat's talk, Tim; yii've a-got no tale at all. Clyst. [Moving for the cider] Aw, indade ! Godleigh. No tale, no cider ! Clyst. Did ye ever year tell of Orphus ? Trustaford. AMiat? The old vet.: up to Dray- leigh ?

Clyst. Fegs, no; Orphus that lived in th' old time, an' drawed the bastes after un wi' his music, same as curate was tellin' the maids.

sc. I A BIT 0' LOVE 39

Freman. I've 'eard as a gipsy over to Yellacott could dii that wi' 'is viddle.

Clyst. 'Twas no gipsy I see'd this artemiine; 'twas Orphus, dowTi to Mr. Burlacombe's long medder; settin' there all dark on a stone among the dimsy- white flowers an' the cowflops, wi' a bird upon 'is 'ead, playin' his whistle to the ponies.

Freman. [Excitedly] YU did never zee a man wi' a bird on 'is 'ead. Clyst. Didn' I?

Freman. What sort o' bird, then? YU tell me that.

Trustaford. Praaper old barndoor cock. Haw, haw!

GoDLEiGH. [Soothingly] 'Tesa vairy-tale; us mustn't be tli partic'lar.

Burlacombe. In my long medder? WTiere were yii, then, Tim Clyst?

Clyst. Passin' down the lane on my bike. Won- derful sorrowful-fine music 'e played. The ponies they did come round 'e — yu cud zee the tears runnin' down their chakes; 'twas powerful sad. 'E 'adn't no 'at on. "^ Freman. [Jeering] No; 'e 'ad a bird on 'is 'ead.

Clyst. [With a silencing grin] He went on playin'

an' playin'. The ponies they never muved. An' all

the dimsy- white flowers they waved and waved, an'

the wind it went over 'em. Gav' me a funny feelin'.

GoDLEiGH. Clyst, yli take the cherry bun !

Clyst. \Miere's that cider, Mr. Godleigh ?

f

40 A BIT O' LOVE act ii

GoDLEiGH. [Bending over the cider] Yu've a -'ad tii much already, Tim.

The door is opened, and Tam Jarland appear*. He walks rather unsteadily; a man with a heavy jowl, arid sullen, strange, epileptic- looking eyes.

Clyst. [Pointing to J.uiland] 'Tis Tam Jarland there 'as the cargo aboard.

Jarland. Avenin', all ! [To Godleigh] Pint o' beer. [To Jni Bere] Avenin', Jim.

[Jim Bere looks at him and smiles.

Godleigh. [Serving him after a moment's hesitation] 'Ere 3' 'are, Tam. [To Clyst, who has taken out his paper again] 'SVhere'd yii get thiccy paper ?

Clyst. [Putting down his cider-mug empty] Yiire tongue dii watter, don't it, Mr. Godleigh? [Holding out his mug] No zider, no poetry. 'Tis amazin' sor- rowful; Shakespeare over again. "The boy stude on the burnin' deck."

Freman. Yii and yer yap !

Clyst. Ah ! Yii wait a bit. When I come back down t'lane again, Orphus 'e was vanished away; there was naught in the field but the ponies, an' a praaper old magpie, a-top o' the hedge. I zee some- thin' white in the beako' the fowl, so I giv' a "Whisht," an' *e drops it smart, an' off 'e go. I gets over bank an' picks un up, and here't be.

[He holds out his mug.

BxjRLACOMBE. [Tartly] Here, give 'im 'is cider. Rade it yiireself, ye young teasewings.

sc. I A BIT 0' L0\^ 41

Cltst, having secured Ms cider, drinks it off.

Holding up th£ paper to the light, he makes

as if to begin, then slides his eye round,

tantalizing.

Clyst. 'Tes a pity I bain't dressed in a white gown,

an' flowers in me 'air.

Frzji-^n. Read it, or we'll 'ave jii out o* this. Clyst. Aw, don't 'ee shake my nerve, now !

He begins reading with mock heroism, in his soft, high, burring voice. Thus, in his rus- tic accent, go the lines:

God lighted the zun in 'eaven far. Lighted the virefly an' the ztar. My 'eart 'E lighted not !

God lighted the vields fur lambs to play, Lighted the bright strames, 'an the may. My 'eart 'E hghted not !

God lighted the mline, the Arab's way. He lights to-morrer, an' to-day. My *eart 'E 'ath vorgot !

When he has finished, there is silence. Then Teustaford, scratching his head, speaks: Trustaford. 'Tes amazin' funny stuff. Frem.^x. [Looking over Clyst's shoulder] Be danged ! 'Tes the curate's 'andwritin'. 'Twas curate wi' the ponies, after that.

Clyst. Fancy, now ! Aw, Will Freman, an't yii bright !

42 A BIT O' LOVE act ii

Freman. But 'e 'adn't no bird on 'is 'ead.

Clyst. Ya-a5, 'e 'ad.

Jarland. [In a dull, threatening voice] 'E 'ad my maid's bird, this arterniine. 'Ead or no, and parson or no, I'll gie 'im one for that.

Freaiax. Ah! And 'e meddled wi' my 'orses.

Trustaford. I'm thinkin' 'twas an old cuckoo bird 'e 'ad on 'is 'ead. Haw, haw!

GoDLEiGH. "His 'eart she 'ath vorgot!"

Frejiax. 'E's a fine one to be tachin' our maids convirmation.

GoDLEiGH. Would ye 'ave it the old Rector then? Wi' 'is gouty shoe? Rackon the maids wid rather 'twas curate; eh, Mr. Burlacombe?

BuRLACOMBE. [Abruptly] Curate's a glide man.

Jarland. [With the comatose ferocity of drink] I'll be / even wi' un. <\j Freman. [Excitedly] Tell 'ee one thing— 'tes not a proper man o' God to 'ave about, wi' 'is llise goin's on. Out vrom 'ere he oughter go.

Burlacombe. You med go further an' fare worse.

j Freman. W^hat's 'e diiin', then, lettin' 'is wife run off ?

\J Trust.^ford. [Scratching his head] If an' in case 'e

can't kape 'er, 'tes a funnj' way o' diiin' things not to

divorce 'er, after that. If a parson's not to dii the

Christian thing, whii is, then?

Burlacombe. 'Tes a bit immoral-like to pass over a thing like that. 'Tes funny if women's goin's on's to be encouraged. V Freman. Act of a coward, I zav.

sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 43

BuRLACOMBE. The curate ain't no coward.

Froi.^js:. He bides in yiire house; "tes natural for yii to stand up for un; I'll wager Mrs. Burlacombe don't, though. My missis was fair shocked. "Will," she says, "if yli ever make vut to let me go like that, I widden never stay wi' yii," she says.

Trust.ajord. 'Tes settin' a bad example, for zure.

BuRL.\coMBE. 'Tes all very aisy talkin'; what shiide 'e dii, then ?

Frkm-\x. [ExciUdly] Go over to Durford and say to that doctor: "Yii come about my missis, an' zee what 1*11 dii to 'ee." An' take 'er 'ome an' zee she don't misbe'ave again.

Clyst. 'E can't take 'er ef 'er don' want t' come — I've 'card lawyer, that lodged wi' us, say that.

Freii.\x. All right then, 'e ought to 'ave the law of 'er and 'er doctor; an' zee 'er goin's on don't prosper; 'e'd get damages, tii. But this way 'tes a nice ex- ample he'm settin' folks. Parson indade ! My missis an' the maids they won't goo near the church to-night, an' I wager no one else won't, neither.

J-\RLAXD. [Lurching icith his pewter up to Godleigh] The beggar ! Ill be even wi' un.

Godleigh. [Looking at him in doubt] 'Tes the last, then. Tarn.

Having received his beer, Jarlaxd stands, lean- ing against the bar, drinking.

Burlacombe. [Suddenly] I don' goo with what curate's diiin' — 'tes tii soft 'earted; he'm a miiney kind o' man altogether, wi' 'is flute an' 'is poetry;

44 A BIT 0' LOVE act ii

but he*ve a-lodged in my 'ouse this year an' more, and always 'ad an 'elpin' 'and for every one. I've got a likin' for him an' there's an end of it.

Jarl^nd. The coward !

Trustaford. I don' trouble nothin' about that. Tarn Jarland. [Turning to Burlacombe] ^Vhat gits me is 'e don't seem to 'ave no zense o' what's his own praperty.

Jarland. Take other folk's property fast enough! [He saws the air with his empty pewter. The others have all turned to him, drawn by the fascination that a man in liquor has for his fellow-men. The hell for church has begun to ring, the sun is down, and it is getting dusk.] He wants one on his crop, an' one in 'is belly; 'e wants a man to take an' gie un a glide hidin' — zame as he oughter give 'is fly-be-night of a wife. [Str-^ngway in his dark clothes has entered, and stands by the door, his lips compressed to a colourless line, his thin, darkish face grey-white] Zame as a man wid ha' gi'en the doctor, for takin' what isn't his'n.

All but Jarland have seen Strangway. He steps forward, J.\rkand sees him now; his jaw drops a little, and he is silent.

Strangway. I came for a little brandy, Mr. God- leigh — feeling rather faint. Afraid I mightn't get through the service.

GoDLEiGH. [With professional cow.posure] ^larteil's Three Star, zurr, or 'Ennessy's.'

Strangway. [Looking at Jarland] Thank you; I believe I can do without, now. [He turns to go.

sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 45

In the deadly silence, Godleigh touches the

arm of Jarland, who, leaning against the

bar with the pewter in his hand, is staring

with his strange lowering eyes straight at

Straxgway.

Jarland. [Galvanized by the touch into drunken rage]

Lave me be — I'll talk to un — parson or no. I'll tache

un to meddle wi' my maid's bird. I'll tache un to

kape 'is thievin' 'ands to 'imself.

[Strangway turns again. Clyst. Be quiet, Tarn.

Jarland. [Never loosing Strangway unth his eyes — like a bull-dog who sees red] That's for one chake; zee un turn t'other, the white-livered biity ! WTiii lets another man 'ave 'is wife, an' never the sperit to go vor un !

BuRLACOMBE. Shame, Jarland; quiet, man!

They are all looking at Strangway, ivho, under Jarland's drunken insults is stand- ing rigid, with his eyes closed, and his hands hard clenched. The church bell has stopped slow ringing, and begun its five mimdes* hurrying note. Trust AFORD. [Rising, arul trying to hook his arm into Jarland's] Come away, Tam; yii've a-'ad tii much, man.

Jarland. [Shaking him off] Zee, 'e darsen't touch me; I might 'it un in the vace an' 'e darsen't; 'e's afraid — like 'e was o' the doctor.

He raises the pewter as though to fling it, but

46 A BIT O' LOVE act ii

it is seized by Godleigh from behind, and falls clattering to the floor. Strangway has not moved.

Jabland. [Shaking his fist almost in his face] Liike at un, liike at iin ! A man wi' a slut for a wife

As he utters the word **wife'* Strangway seizes the outstretched fist, and with a ju- jitsu movement, draws him into his clutch, helpless. And as they sivay and struggle in the open window, with the false strength of fury he forces Jarland through. There is a crash of broken glass from outside. At the sound Strangway comes to him- self. A look of agony passes over his face. His eyes light on Jiai Bere, tcho has suddenly risen, and stands feebly clapping his hands. Strangway rushes out.

Excitedly gathering at the wiruloWy they all speak at once.

Clyst. Tarn's hatchin' of ylire cucumbers, Mr. Godleigh.

Trustaford. 'E did crash; haw, haw!

Freman. 'Twas a brave throw, zlirely. "VMiii wid a' thought it?

Clyst. Tarn's crawlin' out. [Leaning through urin- doiv] Hallo, Tarn — 'ow's t' base, old man ?

Freman. [Excitedly] They'm all comin* up from churchyard to zee.

SC. I

A BIT O' LOVE

47

Trtjstaford. Tarn dii liike wonderful aztonished; haw, haw ! Poor old Tarn !

Clyst. Can yii zee curate? Rackon 'e'm gone into church. Aw, yes; gettin' a bit dimsy— sarvice lime. ["^ moment's hush.

Trtjstaford. Well, I'm jiggered. In 'alf an hour he'm got to prache.

GoDLEiGH. 'Tes a Christian village, boys.

Feebly, quietly, Jim Bere laughs. There is silence; but the bell is heard still ringing.

CURTAIN.

SCENE n

The same — in daylight dying fast. A lamp is burning on the bar. A chair hxis been 'placed in the centre of the room, facing the bench under the yyindow, on which are seated from right to left, Godleigh, Sol Potter the village shopman, Trustaford, BuRLAcoMBE, Freman, Jim Bere, and Morse the blacksmith. Clyst is squatting on a stool by the bar, and at the other end Jarland, sobered and lowering, leans against the lintel of the porch lead- ing to the door, round which are gathered five or six sturdy fellows, dumb as fishes. No one sits

48 A BIT O' LOVE act ii

in the chair. In the unnatural silence that reigns, the distant sound of the wheezy church organ and voices s^inging can be heard.

Trustaford. [After a prolonged clearing of his throat] What I mean to zay is that 'tes no yiise, not a bit o' yiise in the world, not diiin' of things prop- erly. If an' in case we'm to carry a resolution dis- approvin' o' curate, it must all be done so as no one can't zaj' nothin'.

Sol Potter. That's what I zay, Mr. Trustaford; ef so be as 'tis to be a village meetin', then it must be all done proper.

Freman. That's right, Sol Potter. I purpose Mr. Sol Potter into the chair. Whii seconds that.^

A silence. Voices from among the dumh-as- jishes: "I du."

Clyst. [Excitedly] Yii can't putt that to the meetin'. Only a chairman can putt it to the meetin'. I pur- pose that Mr. Burlacombe — bein' as how he's chair- man o' the Parish Council — take the chair.

Freman. Ef so be as I can't putt it, yM can't putt that neither.

Trustaford. 'Tes not a bit o' yiise; us can't 'ave no meetin' without a chairman.

GoDLEiGH. Us can't 'ave no chairman without a meetin' to elect un, that's zUre. [A silence.

Morse. [Heavily] To my way o' thinkin', Mr. God- leigh speaks zense; us must 'ave a meetin' before us can 'ave a chairman.

Clyst. Then what we got to dii's to elect a meetin'.

sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 49

BuKLACOMBE. [Sourlij] Yu'll not find no procedure for that.

Voices from among the dumb-as -fishes : "Mr. Burlacombe 'e oughter know."

Sol Pottee. [Scratching his head — icith heavy so- lemnity] 'Tes my belief there's no other way to dli, but to elect a chairman to call a meetin'; an' then for that meetin' to elect a chairman.

Clyst. I purpose Mr. Burlacombe as chairmem to call a meetin'.

Frem-*n. I purpose Sol Potter.

GoDLEiGH. Can't 'ave tU propositions together before a meetin'; that's apple-pie ziire var zurtain. Voice from among the dumb-as-fishes : "There ain't no meetin' yet, Sol Potter zays."

Trustafoed. Us must get the rights of it zettled some'ow. 'Tes like the darned old chicken an' the egg — meetin' or chairman — which come virst ."'

Sol Potter. [Conciliating] To my thinkin' there shid be another way o' duin' it, to get round it like with a circuml>endibus. 'T'all comes from takin' different \'iise, in a manner o' spakin'.

Fremax. Yu goo an' zet in that chair.

Sol Potter. [With a glance at Burl.a.combe— modestly] I shid'n never like fur to dli that, with ^Ir. Burlacombe zettin' there.

Burlacombe. [Rising] 'Tes all darned fiilishness.

Amidst an uneasy shufflement of feet he moves to the door, and goes out into the darkness.

50 A BIT 0' LOVE act ii

Clyst. [Seeing his candidate thus depart] Rackon curate's pretty well thrli by now, I'm goin' to zee. [.45 he passes Jahiand] 'Ow's ta base, old man ?

[He goes out. One of the dumh-as-fishes moves from the door and Jills the space left on the bench by Buela- combe's departure.

Jarland. Dam all this puzzivantin' ! [To Sol Pot- ter] Goo an' zet in that chair.

Sol Potter. [Rising and going to the chair; there he stands, changing from one to the other of his short broad feet and sweating from modesty and worth] 'Tes my duty now, gentlemen, to call a meetin' of the parishioners of this parish. I beg therefore to de- clare that this is a meetin' in accordance with my duty as chairman of this meetin' which elected me chairman to call this meetin'. And I purceed to vacate the chair so that this meetin' may now purceed to elect a chairman.

He gets up from the chair, and wiping the sweat from his brow, goes back to his seat.

Freman. Mr. Chairman, I rise on a point of order.

Godleigh. There ain't no chairman.

Freman. I don't give a darn for that. I rise on a point of order.

Godleigh. 'Tes a chairman that decides points of order. 'Tes certain yii can't rise on no points what- ever till there's a chairman.

Teustaford. 'Tes no yiise yiire risin', not the least

sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 51

bit in the world, till there's some one to zet j'li down again. Haw, haw !

Voice from the dumb-as-fishes : **AIr. Trusta-

ford 'e's right."

Freman. ^^llat I zay is the chairman ought never

to 'ave vacated the chair till I'd risen on my point of

order. I purpose that he goo and zet down again.

GoDLEiGH. Yii can't purpose that to this meetin';

yii can only purpose that to the old meetin' that's

not zettin' any longer.

Freman. [Excitedly] I don' care what old meetin' 'tis that's zettin'. I purpose that Sol Potter goo an' zet in that chair again, while I rise on my point of order.

Trustaford. [Scratching his head] 'Tesn't regular — but I guess j'ii've got to goo, Sol, or us shan't 'ave no peace.

Sol Potter, still wiping his brow, goes back to the chair. Morse. [Stolidly— to Fresian] Zet down, "Will Fre- man. [He pulls at him with a blacksmith's arm. Frejian. [Remaining erect with an effort] I'm not a-goin' to zet down till I've arisen.

Jarland. Now then, there 'e is in the chair. "VMiat's yiire point of order?

Freman. [Darting his eyes here and there, and fling- ing his hand up to his gipsy-like head] 'Twas — 'twas — Darned ef y' 'aven't putt it clean out o' my 'ead.

Jarl.\nd. We can't wait for yiire points of order. Come out o' that chair, Sol Potter.

52 A BIT O' LOVE act ii

Sol Potter rises and is about to vacate the chair.

Freala-N. I know ! There ought to 'a been minutes taken. YU can't 'ave no meetin' without minutes. ^\^len us comes to electin' a chairman o' the next meetin', 'e won't 'ave no minutes to read.

Sol Potter. 'Twas only to putt down that I was elected chairman to elect a meetin' to elect a chair- man to preside over a meetin' to pass a resolution dalin' wi' the curate. That's aisy set down, that is.

Freman. [Mollified] We'll 'ave that zet down, then, while we're electin' the chairman o' the next meetin'.

[A silence.

Trustaford. Well then, seein' this is the praaper old meetin' for carryin' the resolution about the curate, I purpose Mr. Sol Potter take the chair.

Frem.\n. I purpose Mr. Trustaford. I 'aven't a-got nothin' against Sol Potter, but seein' that he elected the meetin' that's to elect 'im, it might be said that 'e was electin' of himzelf in a manner of spakin'. Us don't want that said.

Morse. [Amid meditative grunts frmn the dumh-as- fishes] There's some-at in that. One o' they tu pur- posals must be putt to the meetin'.

Freman. Second must be putt virst, fur zlire.

Trustaford. I dunno as I wants to zet in that chair. To hiss the curate, 'tis a ticklish sort of a job after that. Vurst comes afore second, Will Freeman.

Freman. Second is amendment to virst. 'Tes the amendments is putt virst.

sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 53

Trustaford. 'Ow's that, Mr. Godleigh? I'm not particular eggzac'Iy to a dilly zort of a point like that.

Sol Potter. [Scratching his head] 'Tes a very nice point, for ziire.

Godleigh. 'Tes undoubtedly for the chairman to decide.

Voice from the duvib-as-fishes : "But there ain't no chairman yet."

Jarland. Sol Potter's chairman.

Freniax. No, 'e ain't.

Morse. Yes, 'e is — 'e's chairman till this second old meetin' gets on the go.

Fremax. I deny that. "\Miat dii yii say, Mr. Trustaford 'i

Trustaford. I can't 'ardly tell. It dii zeem a darned long-sufferin' sort of a business altogether.

[.4 silence.

Morse. [Slowly] Tell 'ee what 'tis, us shan't dii no glide like this.

Godleigh. 'Tes for Mr. Freman or Mr. Trustaford, one or t'other to withdraw their motions.

Trustaford. [After a pause, with cautious generos- ity] I've no objections to withdrawin' mine, if Will Freman'll withdraw his'n.

Freniax. I won't never be be'indhand. If Mr. Trustaford withdraws, I withdraws mine.

Morse. [With relief] That's zensible. Putt the motion to the meetin'.

54 A BIT O' LOVE act ii

Sol Potter. There ain't no motion left to putt.

[Sile?ic£ of consternatioru [In the confusion Jm Bere is seen to stand up. GoDLEiGH. Jim Bere to spake. Silence for Jim ! Voices. Aye ! Silence for Jim ! Sol Potter. Well, Jim ? Jm. [Smiling and slow] Nothin' diiin'. Trustaford. Bravo, Jim! Yii'm right. Bestzense

yet !

[Applause from the dumh-as-fishes.

[With his smile brightening, Jm resumes his seat. Sol Potter. [Wiping his brow] Dii seem to me, gentlemen, seem' as we'm got into a bit of a tangle in a manner of spakin', 'twid be the most zimplest and vairest way to begin all over vrom the beginnin', so's t'ave it all vair an* square for every one.

In the uproar of "Aye" and "No," it is no- ticed that Tibet Jarl.a.nd is standing in front of her father with her finger, for want of something better, in her mouth. TiBBT. [7m her stolid voice] Please, sister Mercy says, curate 'ave got to "Lastly." [Jarland picJcs her up, and there is silence.] An' please to come quick. Jarland. Come on, mates; quietly now!

[He goes out, and all begin to follow him.

Morse. [Slowest, save for Sol Potter] 'Tes rare

lucky us was all agreed to hiss the curate afore us

began the botherin' old meetin', or us widn' 'ardly

'ave 'ad time to settle what to dii.

sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 55

Sol Potter. [Scratching his head] Aye, 'tes rare lucky, but I dunno if 'tes altogether reg'lar.

CUBTAIN.

SCENE m

The village green before the churchyard and the yew- trees at the gate. Into the pitch dark under the yews, light comes out through the half -open church door. Figures are lurking, or moving stealthily — people loaiting and listening to the sound of a voice speaking in the church words that are inau- dible. Excited whispering and faint giggles come from the deepest yew-tree shade, made ghostly by the white faces and the frocks of young girls con- tinually flitting up and back in the blackness. A girl's figure comes flying out from the porch, down the path of light, and joins the stealthy group.

Whisperixg Voice of Mercy. TMiere's 'e got to now, Gladys.^

Whispering Voice of Gladys. 'E've just finished.

Voice of Coxxie. \Miu pushed t'door open ?

Voice of Gladys. Tim Clyst~I giv' it a little push, meself.

56 A BIT O' LOVE act ii

Voice of Connie. Oh!

Voice of Gladys. Tim Clyst's gone in !

Another Voice. 0-o-o-h !

Voice of Mercy. Whli else is there, tii.?

Voice of Gladys. Ivy's there, an' old Mrs. Pot- ter, an' tu o' the maids from th'Hall; that's all as ever.

Voice of Connie. Not the old grey mare.'*

Voice of Gladys. No. She ain't ther'. 'Twill just be th'ymn now, an' the Blessin'. Tibby gone for 'em.^*

Voice of Mercy. Yes.

Voice of Connie. Mr. Burlacombe's gone in home, I saw 'im pass by just now — 'e don' like it. Father don't like it neither.

Voice of Mercy. Mr. Strangway shouln' 'ave taken my skylark, an' thrown father out o' winder. 'Tis goin' to be awful fun ! Oh !

She jwnj)S -up and down in the darkness. And a voice from far in the shadow says: "Hsssh! Quiet, yU maids!" The voice has ceased speaking in the church. There is a moment's dead silence. The voice speaks again; then from the wheezy little organ come the first faint chords of a hymn.

Gladys. "Nearer, my God, to Thee!" Voice of Mercy. 'Twill be funny, with no one *ardly singin'.

sc. Ill A BIT O' LOVE 57

The sound of the old hymn sung by just six voices comes out to them rather sweet and clear.

Gl.\dys. [Softly] 'Tis pretty, tu. Why\ They're only singin' one verse !

A moment's silence, and the voice speaks, uplifted, pronouncing the Blessing: "The

peace of God " As the last words

die away, dark figures frovi the inn ap- proach over the grass, till quite a crowd seems standing there loithout a word spoken. Then from out the church porch come the congregation. Tm Clyst first, hastily lost among the waiting figures in the dark; old Mrs. Potter, a half -blind old lady groping her way and perceiving nothing out of the ordinary; the two maids from the Hall, self-conscious and scared, scut- tling along. Last, Ivy Burl.\combe quickly, and starting back at the dim, half -hidden crowd.

Voice of Gladys. [Whispering] Ivy ! Here, quick ! Ivy sways, darts off towards the voice, and is lost in the shadoio.

Voice of Fremax. [Low] Wait, boys, till I give signal.

Two or three squirks and giggles; Tm Clyst's voice: "Ya-as! Don't 'ee tread on my toe!" A soft, frightened "0-o-h!" frrnn a girl. Some quick, excited whisperings:

58 A BIT 0' LOVE act ii

"Luke!" "Zee there!" "He's comin'!" And then a 'perfectly dead silence. The figure of Straxgway w seen in his dark clothes, passing from the vestry to the church porch. He stands plainly visible in the lighted porch, locking the door, then steps forward. Just as he reaches the edge of the porch, a low hiss breaks the silence. It swells very gradually into a long, hissing groan. Straxgway stands motionless, his hand over his eyes, staring into the dark- ness. A girVs figure can be seen to break out of the darkness and rush away. When at last the groaning has died into sheer ex- pectancy, Straxgway drops his hand.

Str,\xgway. [In a low voice] Yes ! I'm glad. Is Jarland there?

Froiax. He's 'ere — no thanks to yU ! Hsss !

[The hiss breaks out again, then dies away.

L\rl-\xd's Voice. [Threatening] Try if yii can dii it again.

Straxgway. No, Jarland, no! I ask you to for- give me. Humbly !

[A hesitating silence, broken by muttering.

Clyst's Voice. Bravo!

A Voice. That's vair!

A Voice. *E's afraid o' the sack— that's what 'tis.

A Voice. [Groaning] 'E's a praaper coward.

A Voice. Whii funked the doctor .^

Clyst's Voice. Shame on 'ee, then!

sc. Ill A BIT O' LOVE 59

Strangway. You're right — all of j'ou ! I'm not fit ! An uneasy and excited muttering and whisper- ing dies away into renewed silence. StrjlSGWAY. AMiat I did to Tarn Jarland is not the real cause of what you're doing, is it? I understand. But don't be troubled. It's all over. I'm going — you'll get some one better. Forgive me, Jarland. I can't see your face — it's verj' dark.

Freman's Voice. [Mocking] Wait for the full miine.

GoDLEiGH. [Very low] "My 'eart 'E lighted not!" Strangway. [Starting at the sound of his own words thus mysteriously given him out of the darkness] Who- ever found that, please tear it up ! [After a moment's silence] Many of you have been very kind to me. You won't see me again — Good-bye, all !

He stands for a second motionless, then moves

resolutely doum into the darkness so peopled

with shadows.

Uncertain Voices as he passes. Good-bye, zurr!

Good luck, zurr ! [He has gone.

Clyst's Voice. Three cheers for Mr. Strangway !

And a queer, strangled cheer, with groans still

threading it, arises.

CURTAIN.

ACT III

SCENE I

In the BuRL-\coMBEs' hall-sittingroom the curtains are drawn, a lamp burns, and the door stands open. BuRLACOMBE and his icife are hovering there, listening to the sound of mingled cheers and groaning.

Mrs. Burlacombe. Aw ! my giideness — what a thing t'appen ! I'd siiner 'a lost all me ducks. [She makes towards the inner door] I can't never face 'im.

Burlacombe. 'E can't expect nothin' else, if 'e act like that.

Mrs. Burl-\combe. 'Tes only dliin' as 'e'd be done by.

BuRL-A-COMBE. Aw ! Yu Can't go on forgivin' 'ere, an' forgivin' there. 'Tesn't nat'ral.

Mrs. Burlacombe. 'Tes the mischief 'e'm a par- son. 'Tes 'im bein' a lamb o' God — or 'twidden be so quare for 'im to be forgivin'.

Burlacombe. Yii goo an' make un a glide 'ot drink.

Mrs. Buri^\combe. Poor soul ! AMiat'll 'e dli now, I wonder? [Under her breath] 'E's comin' !

She goes hurriedly. Burlacombe, with a 61

62 A BIT O' LOVE act hi

startled look hack, wavers and makes to

Jolloic her, hut stops undecided in the inner

doorway. Stil-^-NGWAY comes in Jrom the

darkness. He turns to the window and

drops overcoat and hat and the church key

on the window-seat, looking about him as

men do when too hard driven, and never

fixing his eyes long enough on anything to

see it. BuRL.\coMBE, closing the door into

the house, advances a step. At the sound

Stbasgw AY faces round.

BuRLACOMBE. I wanted for yii to know, zurr, that

me an' mine 'adn't nothin' to dii wi' that darned

fuUshness, just now.

Straxgway. [With a ghost of a smile] Thank you, Burlacombe. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter a bit.

Burlacombe. I 'ope yii won't take no notice of it. Like a lot o' silly bees they get. [After an uneasy pause] Yu'll excuse me spakin' of this mornin', an' what 'appened. 'Tes a brave pity it cam' on yii so sudden-like before yn 'ad time to think. 'Tcs a sort o' thing a man shude zet an' chew upon. Certainly 'tes not a bit o' yiise goin' against human nature. Ef yii don't stand up for yiireself there's no one else not goin' to. 'Tes yiire not 'avin' done that 'as made 'em so rampageous. [Stealing another look at Strang- way] Yii'll excuse me, zurr, spakin' of it, but 'tes amazin' sad to zee a man let go his own, without a word o' darin'. 'Tes as ef 'e 'ad no passions-like.

sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 68

Strangway. Look at me, Burlacombe.

BuRLACOMBE looks up, trying hard to keep his eyes on Strangway 's, that seem to hum in his thin face. Strangway. Do I look like that? Please, please! [He touches his breast] I've too much here. Please !

Burlacombe. [With a sort of startled respect] Well, zurr, 'tes not for me to zay nothin', certainly.

He turns and after a slow look hack at Strang- way goes out, Strangway. [To himself] Passions! No passions! Ha!

The Older door is opened and Ivy Burlacombe appears^ and, seeing him, stops. Then, coming softly towards him, she speaks timidly.

Ivy. Oh! Mr. Strangway, Mrs. Bradmere's comin* from the Rectory. I ran an' told 'em. Oh! 'twas awful.

Strangway starts, stares at her, and turning on his heel, goes into the house. Ivy's face is all puckered, as if she were on the point of tears. There is a gentle scratching at the door, which has not heen quite closed.

Voice of Gladys. [Whispering] Ivy ! Come on ! Ivy. I won't.

Voice of Mercy. Yii must. Us can't dii with- out yii.

64 A BIT O' LOVE act hi

Ivy. [Going to the door] I don't want to. Voice of Gladys. ** Naughty maid, she won't come out," Ah ! du 'ee !

Voice of Connie. Tim Clyst an' Bobbie's comin'; us'll only be six anyway. Us can't dance "figure of eight" without yii.

Ivy. [Stamping her foot] I don't want to dance at all ! I don't.

Mercy. Aw! She's temper. Yli can bang on tambourine, then !

Gladys. [Running in] Quick, Ivy ! Here's the old grey mare comin' down the green. Quick.

With whispering and scuffling, gurgling and squeaking, the reluctant Ivy's hand is caught and she is jerked away. In their haste they have left the door open behind them. Voice of Mrs. Bradmere. [Outside] W'lio's that? She knocks loudly, and rings a hell; then, without waiting, comes in through the open door. Noting the overcoat and hat on the window-sill she inoves across to ring the hell. But as she does so, Mrs. Burlacombe, followed by BuRLACOMBE, com^s in from the house. Mrs. Bradmere. This disgraceful business ! Where's Mr. Strangway ? I see he's in.

Mrs. Burlacombe. Yes, m'm, he'm in— but— but Burlacombe du zay he'm terrible upzet.

Mrs. Bradmere. I should think so. I must see him — at once.

sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 65

Mrs. Buelacombe. I doubt bed's the best place for 'un, an' a glide 'ot driiik. Burlacombe zays he'm like a man standin' on the edge of a cliff, and the laste tipsy o' wind might throw un over.

]\Irs. Br-\dmere. [To Burlacombe] You've seen him, then?

Burlacombe. Yeas; an' I don't like the liike of un — not a little bit, I don't.

Mrs. Burlacombe. [Almost to herself] Poor soul; 'e've a-'ad tu much to try un this yer long time past. I've a-seen 'tis sperrit comin' thru 'is body, as y\l might zay. He's torn to bits, that's what 'tis.

Burlacombe. 'Twas a praaper cowardly thing to hiss a man when he's down. But 'twas natural tli, in a manner of spakin'. But 'tesn't that troublin' 'im. 'Tes m here [touching his forehead], along of his wife, to my thinkin'. They zay 'e've a-known about *er afore she went away. Think of what 'e've 'ad to kape in all this time. 'Tes enough to drive a man silly after that. I've a-locked my gun up. I see a man luke like that once before — an' sure enough 'e was dead in the mornin' !

Mrs. Br.\dmere. Nonsense, Burlacombe ! [To Mrs. Burlacombe] Go and tell him I want to see him — must see him. [Mrs. Burlacombe goes into the house] And look here, Burlacombe; if we catch any one, man or woman, talking of this outside the village, it'll be the end of their tenancy, whoever they may be. Let them all know that. I'm glad he threw that

66 A BIT 0' LOVE act hi

drunken fellow out of the window, though it was a little

BuRL.\coMBE. Aye! The niispapers would be praaper glad of that, for a tiddy bit o' nlise.

]VIrs. Bradmere. My goodness ! Yes ! The men are all up at the inn. Go and tell them what I said — it's not to get about. Go at once, Burlacombe.

BuRLACOMBE. Must be a turrable job for 'im, every one's knowin' about 'is wife like this. He'm a proud man tii, I think. 'Tes a funny business altogether !

Mrs. Bradmere. Horrible ! Poor fellow ! Now, come ! Do your best, Burlacombe !

Burlacombe touches his forelock and goes. Mrs. Bradmere stands quite still, think- ing. Then going to the photograph, she stares up at it.

Mrs. Bradmere. You baggage !

Strangway has come in noiselessly, and is standing just behind her. She turns, and sees him. There is something so still, so startlingly still in his figure and white face, that she cannot for tlie moment find her voice.

Mrs. Bradmere. [At last] This is most distressing. I'm deeply sorry. [Then, as he does not answer, she goes a step closer] I'm an old woman; and old women must take liberties, you know, or they couldn't get on at all. Come now ! Let's try and talk it over calmly and see if we can't put things right.

SC. I

A BIT O' LOVE 67

Str-OsGWAy. You were very good to come; but I would rather not.

Mrs. Bradmere. I know you're in as grievous trouble as a man can be.

Strangway. Yes.

Mrs. Br-\dmere. [With a Utile sound of sympathy] ^Miat are you— thirty-five ? I'm sLxty-eight if I'm a day — old enough to be your mother. I can feel what you must have been through all these months, I can indeed. But you know you've gone the wrong way to work. We aren't angels down here below! And a son of the Church can't act as if for himself alone. The eyes of every one are on him.

Strangway. [Taking the church key from the icindow- sill] Take this, please.

Mrs. Bradmere. Xo, no, no! Jarland deserved all he got. You had great provocation

Strangway. It's not Jarland. [Holding out the key] Please take it to the Rector. I beg his forgiveness. [Touching his breast] There's too much I can't speak of — can't make plain. Take it to him, please.

Mrs. Bradmere. :Mr. Strangway— I don't accept this. I am sure my husband— the Church— will never accept

Str-\:n*gway. Take it !

Mrs. Bradmere. [Almost unconsciously taking it] Mmd! We don't accept it. You must come and talk to the Rector to-morrow. You're overwrought. You'll see it all in another light, then.

68 A BIT O' LOVE act m

Strangway. [With a strange smile] Perhaps. [Lift- ing the blind] Beautiful night! Couldn't be more beautiful !

Mrs. Bradmere. [Startled — softly] Don't turn away from those who want to help you! I'm a grumpy old woman, but I can feel for you. Don't try and keep it all back, like this ! A woman would cry, and it would all seem clearer at once. Now won't you let me ?

Strangw^ay. No one can help, thank you.

IVIrs. Bradmere. Come ! Things haven't gone beyond mending, really, if you'll face them. [Point- ing to the photograph] You know what I mean. We dare not foster immorality.

Strangway. [Quivering as at a jahbed nerve] Don't speak of that!

Mrs. Bradmere. But think what you've done, Mr. Strangway ! If you can't take your wife back, surely you must divorce her. You can never help her to go on like this in secret sin.

Strangway. Torture her — one way or the other .'^

Mrs. Bradmere. No, no; I want you to do as the Church — as all Christian society would wish. Come I You can't let this go on. My dear man, do your duty at all costs !

Strangway. Break her heart?

Mrs. Bradmere. Then you love that woman — more than God !

Strangway. [His face quivering] Love!

Mrs. Bradmere. They told me — Yes, and I can

6c. I A BIT O' LO^^ 69

see you*re in a bad way. Come, pull yourself to- gether! You can't defend what you're doing.

Strangway. I do not try.

Mhs. Bradmere. I must get you to see ! My father was a clergyman; I'm married to one; I've two SODS in the Church. I know what I'm talking about. It's a priest's business to guide the people's lives.

Strangway. [Very loiv] But not mine ! No more !

!Mrs. Bradmere. [Looking at him shrewdly] There's something very queer about you to-night. You ought to a see doctor.

Stra^'gway. [A smile coming arid going on his lips] If I am not better soon

IMrs. Bradmere. I know it must be terrible to feel that everybody — [A convulsive shiver passes over Str-Otgway, and he shrinks against the door] But come ! Live it down ! \With anger growing at his silence] Live it down, man I You can't desert your post — and let these villagers do what they like with us.^ Do you realize that you're letting a woman, who has treated you abominably — yes, abominably — go scot-free, to live comfortably with another man '■! ^y WTiat an example !

STR.A.NGWAY. Will you, please, not speak of that !

Mrs. Bradmere. I must ! This great Church of ours is based on the rightful condemnation of wrong- doing. There are times when forgiveness is a sin, Michael Strangway. You must keep the whip hand. Yoy Bjyst fight j

P

TO A BIT O' LOVE act hi

Strangway. Fight! [Touching Jiis heart] My fight is here. Have you ever been in hell? For months and months — burned and longed; hoped against hope; killed a man in thought day by day? Never rested, for love and hate? I — condemn! I — judge! No! It's rest I have to find— somewhere — somehow — rest! And how — how can I find rest?

IVIes. Bradmere. [JVho has listened to his outburst in a sort of coma] You are a strange man! One of these days you'll go off your head if you don't take care.

Strangw^\y. [Smiling] One of these days the flowers will grow out of me; and I shall sleep.

Mrs. Bradmere stares at his smiling face a

long moment in silence, then with a little

sound, half sniff, half snort, she goes to the

door. There she halts.

Mrs. Bradmere. And you mean to let all this go

on — Your wife

Str.\kgway. Go ! Please go !

Mrs. Bradmere. Men like you have been bur- ied at cross-roads before now ! Take care ! God punishes !

Strangway. Is there a God ?

Mrs. Bradmere. Ah ! [With finality] You must see a doctor.

Seeing that the look on his face does not change, she opens the door, and hurries away into the moonlight. Strangway crosses the room to where his wife's

sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 71

'picture hangs, and stands before if, his hands grasping the frame. Then he takes it from the wall, and lays it face upwards on the window-seat. Straxgwat. [To himself] Gone! ^liat is there, now?

The sound of an owVs hooting is floating in, and of voices from the green outside the inn. Str.^-gway. [To himself] Gone! Taken faith — hope — life !

Jni Bere comes wandering into the open doorway. Jm Bere. Glide avenin', zurr.

At his slow gait, with his feeble smile, he comes

in, and standing by the window-seat beside

the long dark coat that still lies there, he

looks down at Straxgwat with his lost

eyes.

Jm. Yii threw un out of winder. I cud 'ave, once,

I cud. [Str.aa'GWay neither moves nor speaks; and

Jm Bere goes on with his unimaginably slow speech]

They'm laughin' at yii, zurr. An' so I come to tell

'ee how to dii. 'Twas full miine — when I caught

'em, him an' my girl. I caught 'em. [With a strange

and awful flash of fire] I did; an' I tuk un [He takes

up Str-\xgway's coat and grips it with his trembling

hands, as a man grips another's neck] like that — I

tuk un.

72 A BIT O' LOVE act hi

As the coat falls, like a body out of which the breath has been squeezed, Strangway, rising, catches it.

Strangway. [Gripping the coat] And he fell !

He lets the coat fall on the floor, and puts his foot on it. Then, staggering back, he leans against the window.

3m. YU see, I loved 'er — I did. [The lost look comes back to his eijes] Then somethin' — I dunno — and — and — [He lifts his hand and passes it up and down his side] 'Twas like this for ever.

[Theij gaze at each other in silence.

I Jim. [At last] I come to tell yii. They'm all laughin'

V at yii. But jii'm strong — yu go over to Durford to that doctor man, an' take un like I did. [He tries again to make the sign of squeezing a mans neck] They can't laugh at yii no more, then. Tha's what I come to tell yii. Tha's the way for a Christian man to dii. Glide naight, zurr. I come to tell yee.

Strangway motions to him in silence. And, very slowly, Jim Bere passes out.

The voices of men coming doion the green are heard.

Voices. Giide naight. Tarn. Giide naight, old Jim!

Voices. Giide naight, Mr. Trustaiord. 'Tes a won- derful fine miine.

sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 73

Voice of Trustaford. Ah! 'Tes a brave miine for th' poor old curate !

Voice. "My 'eart 'E lighted not!"

Trustaford's laugh, and the rattling, fainter and fainter, of wheels. A spasm seizes on Stila-NGWay's face, as he stands there by the open door, his hand grips his throat; he looks from side to side, as if seeking a way of escape.

CURTAIN.

SCENE II

The BuRLACOMBEs' high and nearly empty barn. A lantern is hung by a rope that lifts the bales of straw y to a long ladder leaning against a rafter. This gives all the light there is, save for a slender track of moonlight, slanting in from the end, ivhere the two great doors are not quite closed. On a rude bench in front of a feiv remaining, stacked, square- cut bundles of last years hay, sits Tibby Jarl.\xd, a bit of apple in her mouth, sleepily beating on a tambourine. W'ith stockinged feet Gk\dys, Ivy, Connie, and Mercy, Tim Clyst, and Bobbie

74 A BIT 0' LOVE act hi

JARL.VXD, a boy of fifteen, are dancing a truncated ''Figure of Eight"; and their shadoics are danc- ing alongside on the iralls. Shoes aiid some apples hare been thrown dou-n close to the side door through which they hare come in. Sow and then Ivr, the smallest and best of the dancers, ejaculates words of direction, and one of the youths grunts or breathes loudly out of the co?ifusion of his mind. Save for this arid the dumb beat and jingle of the sleepy tarnbourine, there is no sound. The dance comes to its end, but the drowsy Tibby goes on beating. Mercy. That'll dli, Tibby; we're finished. Ate \i.ire apple. [The stolid Tibby eats her apple.

Clyst. [In his teasing, excitable voice] Yli maids don't dance 'alf's well as us du. Bobbie 'e's a great dancer. 'E dance vine. I'm a glide dancer, meself. Gi-\DYS. A'n't yii conceited just.^ Clyst. Aw ! Ah I Yii'll give me kiss for that^ [He chases, but cannot catch that slippery white figure] Can't she glimmer!

Mercy. Gladys I Up ladder I

Clyst. Yli go up ladder; I'll catch 'ee then. Xaw,

yli maids, don't yli give her succour. That's not vair.

[Catching hold of ^Mercy. 2rho gives a little squeal.

Connie. Mercy, don't I ^Mrs. Burlacombe'll hear.

Ivy. go an' peek.

[I\'Y goes to the side door and peers through.

Clyst. [Aba?idoning the chase arid picking up an

apple — they all have the joyous irresponsibility that

sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 75

attends forbidden doings] Ya-as, this is a glide apple.

Luke at Tibby !

TiBBY, overcome by drowsiness, has fallen back into the hny, asleep. Gladys, leaning against the hay breaks into humming:

"There cam' three diikes a-ridin', a-ridin', a-ridin'. There cam' three diikes a ridin' With a ransy- tansy tay!"

Clyst. Us 'as got on vine; us'll get prize for our dancin'.

CoNTs'iE. There won't be no prize if Mr. Strangway goes away. 'Tes funny 'twas Mrs. Strangway started us.

I^T. [From the door] 'Twas wicked to hiss him.

[A moment's hiLsh.

Clyst. 'Twasn't I.

Bobbie. I never did.

Gl-\dys. Oh ! Bobbie, yii did ! Yli blew in my ear.

Clyst. 'Twas the praaper old wind in the trees. Did make a brave noise, zurely.

Mercy. 'E shuld'n' 'a let my skylark go.

Clyst. [Out of sheer contradictoriness] Ya-as, 'e shiide, then. AMiat dli yii want with th' birds of the air.' They'm no glide to yii.

I\^. [Mournfully] And now he's goin' away.

Clyst. Ya-as; 'tes a pity. He's the best man I ever seen since I was comin' from my mother. He's a glide man. He'm got a zad face, sure enough, though.

76 A BIT O' LOVE act hi

Ivy. Glide folk always 'ave zad faces.

Clyst. I knii a glide man — 'e sold pigs — very glide man: 'e 'ad a blidiful bright vace like the miine. [Touching his stomach] I was sad, meself, once. 'Twas a funny scrabblin'-like feelin'.

Gladys. If 'e go away, whli's goin' to finish us for confirmation ?

Connie. The Rector and the old grey mare.

Mercy. I don' want no more finishin'; I'm con- firmed enough.

Clyst. Ya-as; yu'm a blity.

Gladys. Suppose we all went an' asked 'im not to go?

Ivy. 'Twouldn't be no glide.

Connie. Where's 'e goin' ?

Mercy. He'll go to London, of course.

Ivy. He's so gentle; I think 'e'U go to an island, where there's nothin' but birds and beasts and flowers.

Clyst. Aye ! He'm awful fond o' the dumb things.

Ivy. They're kind and peaceful; that's why.

Clyst. Aw! Yli see tii praaper old tom cats; they'm not tli peaceful, after that, nor kind naighther.

Bobbie. [Surprisingly] If 'e's sad, per'aps 'e'll go to 'Eaven.

Ivy. Oh ! not yet, Bobbie. He's tli young.

Clyst. [Following his own thoughts] Ya-as. 'Tes a funny place, tli, nowadays, judgin' from the papers.

Gladys. Wonder if there's dancin' in 'Eaven?

sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 77

Ivy. There's beasts, and flowers, and waters, and trees — 'e told us.

Clyst. Naw ! There's no dumb things in 'Eaven. Jim Bere 'e says there is ! 'E thinks 'is old cat's there.

Ivy. Yes. [Dreamily] There's stars, an' owls, an' a man playin' on the flute. Where 'tes glide, there must be miisic.

Clyst. Old brass band, shuldn' wonder, like th' Salvation Army.

Ivy. [Putting up her hands to an imaginary pipe] No; 'tis a boy that goes so; an' all the dumb things an' all the people goo after 'im — like this.

She marches slowly, playing her imaginary pipe, and one by one they all fall in behind her, padding round the barn in their stock- inged feet. Passing the big doors. Ivy throws them open. An' 'tes all like that in 'Eaven.

She stands there gazing out, still playing on her imaginary pipe. And they all stand a inoment silent, staring into the moonlight. Clyst. 'Tes a glory -be full miine to-night 1 Ivy. a goldie-cup — a big one. An' millions o' little goldie-cups on the floor of 'Eaven.

Mercy. Oh! Bother 'Eaven! Let's dance "Clap- perclaws" ! Wake up, Tibby !

Gl-\dys. Clapperclaws, clapperclaws ! Come on, Bobbie — make circle !

Clyst. Clapperclaws ! I dance that one fine.

78 A BIT O' LOVE act hi

Ivy. [Taking the tambourine] See, Tibby; like this. She hums and beats gently, then restores the tambourine to the sleepy Tibby, who, wak- ing, has placed a piece of apple in her mouth.

Connie. 'Tes awful difficult, this one. Ivy. [Illustrating] No; yii just jump, an' clap yiire *ands. Lovely, lovely!

Clyst. Like ringin' bells ! Come ahn !

Tibby begins her droicsy beating. Ivy hums the tune; they dance, and their shadows dance again upon the walls. When she has beaten but a few moments on the tambourine, Tibby is overcome once more by sleep and falls back again into her nest of hay, with her little shoed feet just visible over the edge of the bench. Ivy catches up the tambourine, and to her beating and humming the dancers dance on.

Suddenly Gl,\dys stops like a wild animal surprised, and cranes her neck toicards the side door.

Connie. [Whispering] What is it? Gladys. [Whispering] I hear — some one — comin' across the yard.

She leads a noiseless scamper towards the shoes. Bobbie Jarl.\nd shins up the ladder and seizes the lantern. Ivy drops the tambourine. They all fly to the big doors, and vanish into

ec. II A BIT O' LO\TS 79

the moonlight, puUing the doors nearly to again after them.

There is the sound of scrabbling at the latch of the side door, and Strangway comes into the nearly dark barn. Out in the night the owl is still hooting. He closes the door, and that sound is lost. Like a man walk- ing in his sleep, he goes up to the ladder, takes the rope in his hand, and makes a noose. He can be Jieard breathing, and in the darkness the motiojis of his hands are dimly seen, freeing his throat and putting the noose round his neck. He stands sway- ing to and fro at the foot of the ladder; then, with a sigh, sets his foot on it to mount. One of the big doors creaks arid opens in the wind, letting in a broad path of moon- light.

Strangway stops; freeing his neck from the noose, he walks quickly up the track of moonlight, whitened from head to foot, to close the doors.

The sound of his boots on the bare floor has awakened Tibby Jarland. Struggling Old of her hay nest she stands staring at his whitened figure, and bursts suddenly into a icail.

Tibby. 0-oh ! Mercy I ^Miere are yii ? I'm frightened I I'm frightened ! O-oooo !

80 A BIT O' LOVE act m

Strangway. [Turning — startled] Who's that? WTio is it?

TiBBY. 0-oh ! A ghosty ! Oo-ooo ! Strangway. [Going to her quickly] It's me, Tibby — Tib — only me!

Tibby. I see'd a ghosty.

Strangway. [Taking her up] No, no, my bird, you didn't ! It was me.

Tibby. [Burying her face against him] I'm frighted. It was a big one. [She gives tongue again] 0-o-oh !

Strangway. There, there ! It's nothing but me. Look!

Tibby. No. [She peeps out all the same.

Str.\ngway. See ! It's the moonhght made me all white. See ! You're a brave girl now ? Tibby. [Cautiously] I want my apple.

She points towards her nest. Strangway car- ries her there, picks up an apple, and gives it her. Tibby takes a bite. Tibby. I want my tambouline. Strangway. [Giving her the tambouriney and carry- ing her back into the track of moonlight] Now we're both ghosties ! Isn't it funny ? Tibby. [Doubtfully] Yes.

Strangway. See! The moon's laughing at us! See ? Laugh then !

Tibby, tambourine in one hand and apple in the other, smiles stolidly. He sets her doirn on the ladder, and stands, holding her level with him.

sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 81

TiBBY. [Solemnly] I'se still frightened.

Strangway. No! Full moon, Tibby! Shall we wish for it?

Tibby. Full miine.

Strangway. Moon ! We're wishing for you. Moon, moon !

Tibby. Mline, we're wishin' for yii !

Strangway. ^^^lat do you wish it to be?

Tibby. Bright new shillin' !

Straxgw^ay. a face.

Tibby. Shillin', a shillin' !

Strangw^ay. [Taking out a shilling and spinning it so that it falls into her pinafore] See ! Your wish comes true.

Tibby. Oh! [Putting the shilling in her mouth] Miine 's still there !

Strangway. Wish for me, Tibby !

Tibby. Miine, I'm wishin' for yii !

Stil\ngway. Not yet !

Tibby. Shall I shake my tambouline?

Strangway. Yes, shake your tambouline.

Tibby. [Shaking her tambourine] Miine, I'm shakin' at yii.

Strangway lays his hand suddenly on the rope, and swings it up on to the beam,

Tibby. \Miat d'yu dU that for ?

Strangway. To put it out of reach. It's better

Tibby. Why is it better? [She stares up at him.

Strangway. Come along, Tibby I [He carries her to

82 A BIT O' LOVE act hi

the big doors, and sets her doivn] See ! All asleep ! The birds, and the fields, and the moon !

TiBBY. Miine, miine, we're wishing for yli !

Strangway. Send her your love, and say good- night.

TiBBY. [Blowing a kiss] Good-night, miine !

From the barn roof a little white dove's feather comes floating doum in the wind. Tibby follows it with her hand, catches it, and holds it up to him.

Tibby. [Chuckling] Liike. The mline's sent a bit o' love!

Strangway. [Taking the feather] Thank you, Tibby ! I want that bit o' love. [Very faint, comes the sound of music] Listen !

Tibby. It's Miss "Willis, playin' on the pianny !

Strangway. No; it's Love; walking and talking in the world.

Tibby. [Dubiously] Is it.^

Strangway. [Pointing] See ! Everything coming out to listen! See them, Tibby! All the little things with pointed ears, children, and birds, and flowers, and bunnies; and the bright rocks, and — men! Hear their hearts beating! And the wind listening !

Tibby. I can't hear — nor I can't see !

Strangway. Beyond — [To himself] They are — they must be; I swear they are! [Then, catching sight of Tibby's amazed eyes] And now say good-bye to me.

sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 88

TiBBY. Where yii goin' ? Strangway. I don't know, Tibby. Voice of Mercy. [Distant and cautious] Tibby ! Tibby ! ^^^le^e are yii ?

Str-AA'gway. Mercy calling; run to her!

Tibby starts off, turns back and lifts her face.

He bends to kiss her, and flinging her artns

round his neck, she gives him a good hug.

Then, knuckling the sleep out of her eyes,

she runs. Strangway stands, uncertmn. There is a

sound of heavy footsteps; a man clears his

throat, close by.

Strangway. "\Mio's that?

Crenier. Jack Cremer. [The big man s figure appears out of the shadow of the barn] That yii, zurr ?

Strangway. Yes, Jack. How goes it.'

Crez^ier. 'Tes empty, zurr. But I'll get on some'ow.

Stil^jntgway. You put me to shame.

Crelier. No, zurr. I'd be killin' meself, if I didn' feel I must stick it, like yii zaid.

They stand gazing at each other in the moon- light.

Strangway. [Very low] I honour you.

Cremer. "\Miat's that? [Then, as Strangway does not answer] I'll just be walkin' — I won' be goin' 'ome to-night. 'Tes the full miine — lucky.

Strangway. [Suddenly] Wait for me at the cross-

S4 A BIT O' LOVE act hi

roads, Jack. I'll come with you. Will you have me, brother ?

Creivier. Sure! Strangway. Wait, then. Cremer. Aye, zurr.

With his heavy tread Creimer passes on. And

Strangway leans against the lintel of the

door, looking at the moon, that, quite fidl

and golden, hangs not far above the straight

horizon, where the trees stand small, in a

row.

Strangway. [Lifting his hand in the gesture of

prayer] God, of the moon and the sun; of joy and

beauty, of loneliness and sorrow — give me strength to

go on, till I love every living thing !

He moves away , following Jack Cremer. The full moon shines; the owl hoots; and some one is shaking Tibby's tambourine.

THE END

THE FOUNDATIONS

(AN EXTRAVAGANT PLAY)

CAST OF THE ORIGINAL PRODUCTION

Royalty Theatre, June, 1917

Lord William Dromond y, M.P.

PouLDER {his butler)

James {first footman)

Henry {second footman)

TnoiL^ {third footman)

Charles (fourth footman)

The Press .

Lemmy (a plumber)

Lady William Dromondy

Miss Stokes

Old Mrs. Lemmy

Little Anne

Little Aida

Mr. Dawson Milward Mr. Sidney Paxton Mr. Stephen T. Ewart Mr. Allan Jeayes ^ii. William Lawrence Mr. Robert Lawlor Mr. La-v^Tence Hanray Mr. Dennis Eadie Miss Lydia Bilbrooke Miss Gertrude Sterroll Miss Esme Hubbard Miss Babs Farren Miss Dinka Starace

PERSONS OF THE PLAY

Lord William Dhomondt, M.P. Lady Willl^j^ Dbomoxdt Little Axxe

Mis3 Stokes

Mr. Fouldeb

James

He>-ry

Thomas

Charles

The Press

LZMMY

Old Mrs. Lemmt

Little Aida

The Duke op Exeter

Some Anti-Sweatees; Some Sweated Woe Crowd

and a

SCENES

SCENE I. The cellar at Lord 'William Dromondt's in Park Lane.

SCENE II. The room of old Mrs. Lemmy in Bethnal Green.

SCENE III. Ante-room of the hall at Lord William Dro- mondt's.

The Action 'passes continuously between 8 and 10.30 of a summer evening, some years after the Great War.

ACT I

Lord William Dromondy's mansion in Park Lane. Eight o'clock of the evening. Little Axne Dromoxdy arid the large footmaUy James, gaunt and grim, discovered in the wine cellar » by light of gas. J.\2kiES, in plush breeches, is selecting wine,

L. AxNE. James, are j'ou really James?

J-^iES. No, my proper name's John.

L. Anne. Oh! [A pause] And is Charles's an im- proper name too ?

J.AMES. His proper name's Mark.

L. Anne. Then is Thomas Matthew ?

James. Miss Anne, stand clear o' that bin. You'll put your foot through one o' those 'ock bottles.

L. An-n-e. Xo, but James — Henry might be Luke, really ?

J.AMES. Now shut it. Miss Anne !

L. An-n-e. Who gave you those names.'* Not your godfathers and godmothers?

James. Poulder. Butlers think they're the Al- mighty. [Gloomily] But his name's Bartholomew.

L. An-n-e. Bartholomew Poulder ? It's rather jolly.

James. It's hidjeous.

L. AN^^-E. ^^'hich do you like to be called— John or James ?

CopyrigfU, 1920, by Ckarlet Scribner'a Son$ 1

2 THE FOUNDATIONS act i

James. I don't give a darn.

L. Anne. What is a darn?

James. Tain't in the dictionary.

L. Anne. Do you like my name.^ Anne Dro- mondy ? It's old, you know. But it's funny, isn't it "^

Ja]vies. [Indifferently] It'll pass.

L. Anne. How many bottles have you got to pick out.?

James. Thirty-four.

L. Anne. Are they all for the dinner, or for the people who come in to the Anti-Sweating Meeting afterwards .?

James. All for the dinner. They give the Sweated — tea.

L. Anne. All for the dinner.? They'll drink too much, won't they .?

James. We've got to be on the safe side. . L. Anne. Will it be safer if they drink too much? James pauses in the act of dusting a bottle to look at her, as if^sus-pecting irony. [Sniffing] Isn't the smell delicious here — like the taste of cherries when they've gone bad — [She sniffs again] and mushrooms; and boot blacking

James. That's the escape of gas.

L. Anne. Has the plumber's man been?

James. Yes.

L. Anne. Which one?

James. Little blighter I've never seen before.

L. Anne. 'What is a little blighter? Can / see?

James. He's just gone.

ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 3

L. Anne. [Straying] Oh ! . . . James, are these really the foundations ?

James. You might 'arf say so. There's a lot under a woppin' big house like this; you can't hardly get to the bottom of it.

L. AxxE. Everything's built on something, isn't it.' And what's that built on ?

James. Ask another.

L. Anne. If you wanted to blow it up, though, you'd have to begin from here, wouldn't you.'

James. WTio'd want to blow it up ?

L. Aknt:. It ivould make a mess in Park Lane.

James. I've seen a lot bigger messes than this'd make, out in the war.

L. AxxE. Oh ! but that's years ago ! Was it like this in the trenches, James ?

James. [Grimly] Ah ! 'Cept that you couldn't lay your 'and on a bottle o' port when j'ou wanted one.

L. Anne. Do you, when you want it, here?

J-OIES. [On guard] I only suggest it's possible.

L. Anne. Perhaps Poulder does.

J-\2^iES. [Icily] I say nothin' about that.

L. Anne. Oh ! Do say something !

James. I'm ashamed of you, Miss Anne, pumpin' me !

L. Anne. [Reproachfully] I'm not pumpin' ! I only want to make Poulder jump when I ask him.

J-\iiES. [Gri?mi7ig] Try it on your own responsibility, then; don't bring me in !

L. Ants'E. [Switching off] James, do you think there's going to be a bloody revolution ?

4 THE FOUNDATIONS act i

James. [Shocked] I shouldn't use that word, at your age.

L. AxNE. "\Miy not.^ Daddy used it this morning to Mother. [Imitating] "The coimtry's in an a-^^iil state, darling; there's going to be a bloody revolution, and we shall all be blown sky-high." Do you like Daddy?

James. [Taken aback] Like Lord William? What do you think? We chaps would ha' done anything for him out there in the war.

L. Anne. He never says that — he always says he'd have done anything for you !

James. Well — that's the same thing.

L. Anne. It isn't — it's the opposite. "What is class hatred, James?

James. [Wisely] Ah ! A lot o' people thought when the war was over there'd be no more o' that. [He snig- gers] Used to amuse me to read in the papers about the wonderful unitj' that was comin'. I could ha' told 'em different.

L. Anne. Why should people hate? / like every- body.

James. You know such a lot o' people, don't you?

L. Anne. Well, Daddy likes everybody, and Mother likes everybody, except the people wdio don't like Daddy. I bar Miss Stokes, of course; but then, who wouldn't ?

James. [With a touch of philosophy] That's right — w^e all bars them that tries to get something out of us.

L. Anne. Who do you bar, James ?

ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 5

J.\^iES. Well — [Enjoying the luxury of thought] — Speaking generally, I bar everybody that looks down their noses at me. Out there in the trenches, there'd come a shell, and orf'd go some officer's head, an' I'd think: That might ha' been me — we're all equal in the sight o' the stars. But when I got home agam among the torfs, I says to meself: Out there, ye know, t/ou filled a hole as well as me; but here you've put it on again, with mufti.

L. AxN'E. James, are your breeches made of mufti ?

J.AJMES. [Contemplating hi^ legs with a certain con- tempt] Ah! Footmen were to ha' been off; but Lord William was scared we wouldn't get jobs in the rush. We're on his conscience, and it's on my conscience that I've been on his long enough — so, now I've saved a bit, I'm goin' to take meself orf it.

L. Anne. Oh ! Are you going ? Where ?

James. [Asse7nbling tfie last bottles] Out o' Blighty!

L. Anne. Is a little blighter a little Englishman ?

James. [Embarrassed] Well — 'e can be.

L. Anne. [Musing] James — we're quite safe down here, aren't we, in a revolution? Only, we wouldn't have fun. Which would you rather — be safe, or have fun?

J.oies. [Grimly] Well, I had my bit o' fun in the war.

L. Anne. I like fun that happens when you're not looking.

JAiiES. Do you? You'd ha' been just suited.

L. Anne. James, is there a future life ? Miss Stokes says so.

6 THE FOUNDATIONS act i

James. It's a belief, In the middle classes.

L. Anne. What are the middle classes ?

James. Anything from two 'undred a year to super- tax.

L. Anne. Mother says they're terrible. Is Miss Stokes middle class ?

Jajvies. Yes.

L. Anne. Then I expect they are terrible. She's awfully virtuous, though, isn't she .'

James. 'Tisn't so much the bein' virtuouS; as the lookin' it, that's awful.

L. Anne. Are all the middle classes virtuous ? Is Poulder ?

James. [Dubiously] Well. . . . Ask him !

L. Anne. Yes, I will. Look !

From an empty bin on the ground level she picks up a lighted taper, burnt abnost to the end.

JAifES. [Contemplating it] Careless !

L. Anne. Oh ! And look ! [She poinis to a rounded metal object lying in the bin, close to where the taper icas] It's a bomb !

She is about to pick it up when James takes her by the waist and puis her aside.

James. [Sternly] You stand back there! I don't like the look o' that !

L. Anne. [With intense interest] Is it really a bomb ? ^Vhat fun !

James. Go and fetch Poulder while I keep an eye on it.

ACT I

THE FOUNDATIONS

L. Anne. [On tiptoe of excitement] If only I can make him jump ! Oh, James ! we needn't put the light out, need we ?

James. No. Clear off and get hun, and don't you come back.

L. Anxe. Oh ! but I must ! I found it ! Jaaies. Cut along. L. Anne. Shall we bring a bucket ? jAiiES. Yes. [Anne flies off.

[Gazing at the object] Near go! Thought I'd seen enough o' them to last my time. That little gas blighter ! He looked a rum 'un, too — one o' these 'ere Bolshies.

In the presence of this grim object the liahits

of the past are too much for him. He sits on

the ground, leaning against one of the bottle

baskets, keeping his eyes on the bomb, his

large, lean, gorgeous body spread, one elbow

on his plush knee. Taking out an empty

pipe, he places it mechanically, bowl down,

between his lips. There enter, behind him,

as from a communication trench, Poulder,

in swallow-tails, with Little Anne behind

him.

L. Anne. [Peering round him — ecstatic] Hurrah!

Not gone off yet! It can't — can it— while James is

sitting on it?

Poulder. [Very broad and stout, with square shoul- ders, a large ruddy face, and a small mouth] No noise. Miss. James !

8 THE FOUNDATIONS act i

James. Hallo!

PouLDER. What's all this?

J.\MES. Bomb !

PouLDER. Miss Anne, off you go, and don't you

L. AxNE. Come back again ! I know ! [She flies.

James. [Extending his hand icUh the pipe in it] See !

PouLDER. [Severely] You've been at it again ! Look here, you're not in the trenches now. Get up ! What are your breeches goin' to be like ? You might break a bottle any moment !

J.oiES. [Rising with a jerJc to a sort of "Attention!'''] Look here, you starched antiquity, you and I and that bomb are here in the sight of the stars. If you don't look out I'll stamp on it and blow us all to glory! Drop your civilian swank !

PouLDER. [Seeing red] Ho! Because you had the privilege of fightin' for your country, you still think you can put it on, do you.^ Take up your wine! 'Pon my word, you fellers have got no nerve left !

James makes a sudden swoop, lifts the bomb and poises it in both hands. Poulder recoils against a bin and gazes at the object.

jAiiES. Put up your hands !

Poulder. I defy you to make me ridiculous.

James. [Fiercely] Up with 'em !

Poulder's hands go up in an uncordrollable spasm, ivhich he subdues almost instantly, pulling them down again.

James. Very good. [He lowers tlie bomb.

Poulder. [Surprised] I never lifted 'em.

James. You'd have made a first-class Boche,

ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 9

Poulder. Take the bomb yourself; you're In charge of this section.

Poulder. [Poviing] It's no part of my duty to carry menial objects; if you're afraid of it I'll send 'Enry.

James. Afraid ! You 'Op o' me thumb !

From the *^ communication trench'' appears Little Anne, followed by a thin, sharp^ sallow-faced man of thirty-five or so, and another Footman, carrying a wine-cooler.

L. Anne. I've brought the bucket, and the Press.

Press. [In front of Poulder's round eyes and mouth] Ah, major domo, I was just taking the names of the Anti-Sweating dinner. [He catches sight of the bomb in James's hand] By George! What A.l. irony! [He brings out a note-book and writes] "Highest class dining to relieve distress of lowest class — bombed by same!'* Tippmg ! [He rubs his hands].

Poulder. [Drawing himself up] Sir.'' This is pres- ent ! [He indicates Anne with the flat of his hand.]

L. Anne. I found the bomb.

Press. [Absorbed] By Jove! This is a piece of luck ! [He writes.

Poulder. [Observing him] This won't do — it won't do at all !

Press. [Writing — absorbed] "Beginning of the Brit- ish Revolution!"

Poulder. [To James] Put it in the cooler. 'Enry, 'old up the cooler. Gently! Miss Anne, get be'ind the Press.

James. [Grimly — holding the bomb above the cooler] It

10 THE FOUNDATIONS act i

won't be the Press that'll stop Miss Anne goin' to 'Eaven if one o' this sort goes off. Look out! I'm goin' to drop it.

All recoil. Henry put^ the cooler down and backs away.

L. Anne. [Dancing forward] Oh! Let me see! I missed all the war, you know !

James lowers the bomb into the cooler.

PoULDER. [Regaining courage — to The Press, who is scribbling in his note-book] If you mention this before the police lay their hands on it, it'll be contempt o' Court.

Press. [Struck] I say, major domo, don't call in the police! That's the last resort. Let me do the Sherlocking for you. Who's been down here?

L. Anne. The plumber's man about the gas — a little blighter we'd never seen before.

Jaaies. Lives close by, in Royal Court Mews — No. 3. I had a word with him before he came down. Lemmy his name is.

Press. "Lemmy!" [Noting the address] Right-o!

L. Anne. Oh ! Do let me come \\4th you !

PouLDER. [Barring the way] I've got to lay it all before Lord William.

Press. Ah ! What's he like ? ;.- / '

PouLDER. [With dignity] A gentleman, sir.

Press. Then he won't want the police in.

PouLDER. Nor the Press, if I may go so far as to say so.

Press. One to you ! But I defy you to keep this

ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 11

from the Press, major dome. This is the most sig- nificant thing that has happened in our time. Guy Fawkes is nothing to it. The foundations of Society reeling! By George, it's a second Bethlehem!

[He writes.

PouLDER. [To James] Take up your wine and follow me. 'Enry, bring the cooler. Miss Anne, precede us. [ro The Press] You defy me? Very well; Fm goin' to lock you up here.

Press. [Uneasy] I say — this is medieval.

[He attempts to pass.

PouiiDER. [Barring tlie way] Not so! James, put him up in that empty 'ock bin. We can't have dinner disturbed in any way.

James. [Putting his hands on The Press's shoulders] Look here — go quiet ! I've had a grudge against you yellow newspaper boys ever since the war — frothin' up your daily hate, an' makin' the Huns desperate. You nearly took my life five hundred times out there. If you squeal, I'm goin' to take yours once — and that'll be enough.

Press. That's awfully unjust. I'm not yellow !

James. Well, you look it. Hup.

Press. Little Lady Anne, haven't you any authority with these feUows.^

L. AxxE. [Resisting Poulder's pressure] I won't go ! I simply must see James put him up !

Press. Now, I warn you all plainly — there'll be a leader on this.

[He tries to holt, hut is seized hy James.

12 THE FOUNDATIONS act i

James. [Ironically] Ho!

Press. My paper has the biggest Influence

James. That's the one! Git up in that 'ock bin, and mind your feet among the claret.

Press. This is an outrage on the Press.

James. Then it'll wipe out one by the Press on the Public — an' leave just a million over ! Hup !

PoxjLDER. 'Enry, give 'im an 'and.

The Press mountSy assisted by James and Hentiy.

L. Anne. [Ecstatic] It's lovely !

Poulder. [NervoiLsly] Mmd the '87 ! Mind !

James. Mind your feet in Mr. Poulder's favourite

wme

A Woman's voice is heard^ as from the depths of a cave, calling "Anne ! Anne /" L. Anne. [Aghast] Miss Stokes — I must hide !

She gets behind Poulder. The three Servants achieve dignified positions in front of the bins. The voice comes nearer. The Press sits dangling his feet, grinniTig. Miss Stokes appears. She is a woman of forty - Jive and terribly good manners. Her greyish hair is rolled back off her forehead. She is in a high evening dress, and in the dim light radiates a startled composure. Miss S. Poulder, where is Miss Anne .^

[Anne lays hold of the backs of his legs. Poulder. [Wincing] I am not in a position to in- form you, Miss.

ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 13

!Miss S. They told me she was down here. And what is all this about a bomb ?

PouLDER. [Lifting his hand in a calming manner] The crisis is past; we have it in ice, Miss. 'Enry, show Miss Stokes ! [Henry indicates the cooler.

Miss S. Good gracious ! Does Lord William know ? PoxiLDER. Not at present, Miss. IVIiss S. But he ought to, at once. PoULDER. We 'ave 'ad complications. Miss S. [Catching sight of the legs of The Press] Dear me ! "What are those ?

James. [Gloomily] The complications.

Miss Stokes puts up her gl^isses and stares at them. Press. [Cheerfully] Miss Stokes, would you kindly tell Lord William I'm here from the Press, and would like to speak to him ?

Miss S. But — er — why are you up there? James. 'E got up out o' remorse, Miss. Miss S. ^Miat do you mean, James? Press. [Warmly] Miss Stokes, I appeal to you. Is it fan- to attribute responsibility to an unsigned jour- nalist for what he has to say?

James. [Sepulchrdly] Yes, when you've got 'un in a nice dark place.

I^Iiss S. James, be more respectful! We owe the Press a very great debt.

James. I'm goin' to pay it, Miss.

iMiss S. [At a loss] Poulder, this is really most

PouLDER. I'm bound to keep the Press out of temp-

14 THE FOUNDATIONS act i

tation, Miss, till I've laid it all before Lord William. 'Enry, take up the cooler. James, watch 'im till we get clear, then bring on the rest of the wine and lock up. Now, Miss.

Miss S. But where is Anne ?

Press. Miss Stokes, as a lady !

Miss S. I shall go and fetch Lord William !

PouLDER. We will all go. Miss.

L. Anne. [Rushing out from behind his legs] No — me !

She eludes Miss Stokes and vanishes, folloiced

by that distracted but still icelUmannered lady.

Poulder. [Looking at his watch] 'Enry, leave the cooler, and take up the wine; tell Thomas to lay it out; get the champagne into ice, and 'ave Charles 'andy in the 'all in case some literary bounder comes punctual. [Henry takes up the icine and goes.

Press. [Above his head] I say, let me down. This is a bit undignified, you know. My paper's a great organ.

Poulder. [After a moment's hesitation] Well — take 'im down, James; he'll do some mischief among the bottles.

James. 'Op off your base, and trust to me.

The Press slides off the bins edge, is received by James, and not landed gently.

Poulder. [Contemplating him] The mcident's closed; no ill-feeling, I hope.^

Press. No-o.

Poulder. That's right. [Clearing his throat] Wliile we're waitin' for Lord William — if you're interested in

ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 15

wine — [Philosophically] you can read the history of the times in this cellar. Take 'ock. [He points to a bin] Not a bottle gone. German product, of course. Now, that 'ock is 'avin' the time of its life — maturin' grandly; got a wonderful chance. About the time we're bringin' ourselves to drink it, we shall be havin' the next great war. With luck that 'ock may lie there another quar- ter of a century, and a sweet pretty wme it'll be. I only hope I may be here to drink it. Ah ! [He shakes h is h€ad\—hMi look at claret ! Times are hard on claret. "We're givin' it an awful doin'. Now, there's a Ponty Canny [He points to a bin] — if we weren't so 'opelessly allied with France, that ^iue would have a reasonable future. As it is — none ! We drink it up and up; not more than sixty dozen left. And where's its equal to come from for a dinner wine — ah! I ask you.^ On the other hand, port is steady; made in a Httle country, all but the cobwebs and the old boot flavour; guaran- teed by the British Navy; we may 'ope for the best with port. Do you drink it ?

Press. ^Mien I get the chance.

PouLDER. Ah! [Clears his throat] I've often wanted to ask: "\Miat do they pay you — if it's not indelicate.? [The Press shrugs his shoulders. Can you do it at the money ?

[The Press shakes his head. Still — it's an easy life ! I've regretted sometimes that I didn't have a shot at it myself; mfluencm' other people without disclosin' your identity — something very attractive about that. [Lowering his voice] Be-

I

16 THE FOUNDATIONS act i

tween man and man, now — what do you think of the situation of the country — these processions of the un- employed— the Red Flag an' the Marsillaisy in the streets — all this talk about an upheaval ?

Press. Well, speaking as a Socialist

PoLTLDER. \/istounded\ Why, I thought your paper was Tory ! Press. So it is. That's nothmg ! PouLDER. [Open-moiUhed] Dear me ! [Pointing to the bomb] So you really think there's something in this ? Jaaies. [Sepulchrally] 'Igh explosive. Press. [Taking out his note-hook] Too much, any- way, to let it drop.

[A 'pleasant voice calls "Poulder ! Hallo /" PouLDER. [Forming a trumpet with his hand] Me Lord!

As Lord William appears, James, overcome

by reminiscences, salutes, and is mechanically

ansioered. Lord William has ''charm.''

His hair and moustache are crisp and just

beginning to grizzle. His hearing is free,

easy, and only faintly armoured. He will

go far to meet you any day. He is in full

evening dress.

Lord W. [Cheerfully] I say, Poulder, what have you

and James been doing to the Press? Liberty of the

Press — it isn't what it was, but there is a limit. Where

is he?

He turns to James hetioeen whom and himself there is still the freemasonry of the trenches.

ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 17

J-A3JLES. [Pointing to Poulder] Be'ind the parapet, me Lord.

The Press moves out from where he has in- voluntarily been screened by Poulder, who looks at J.oiEs severely. Lord WiLLiAii hides a smile. Press. Very glad to meet you, Lord ^Yilliam. My presence down here is quite involuntary.

Lord W. [With a charming smih] I know. The Press has to put its — er — to go to the bottom of every- thing. AMiere's this bomb, Poulder ? Ah !

[He looks into the wine cooler. Press. [Taking out his note-book] Could I have a word with you on the crisis, before dinner, Lord WiUiam.^

Lord W. It's time you and James were up, Poulder. [Indicating the cooler] Look after this; tell Lady "William I'll be there in a minute. Poulder. Very good, me Lord.

He goes, followed by Ja^ies carrying the cooler.

As The Press turns to look after them. Lord

WiLLL\:vi catches sight of his back.

Lord W. I must apologise, sir. Can I brush you ?

Press. [Dusting himself] Thanks; it's only behind.

[He opens his note-book] Now, Lord William, if you'd

kindly outline your views on the national situation;

after such a narrow escape from death, I feel they

might have a moral effect. My paper, as you know,

is concerned with the deeper aspect of things. By the

way, what do you value your house and collection at ?

18 THE FOUNDATIONS act i

Lord W. [Twisting his little moustache] Really — I can't ! Really !

Press. Might I say a quarter of a million — lifted in two seconds and a haK — hundred thousand to the second. It brings it home, you know.

Lord W. No, no; dash it ! No !

Press. [Disappointed] I see — not draw attention to yoiu- property in the present excited state of public feeling ? Well, suppose we approach it from the view- point of the Anti-Sweating dinner. I have the list of guests — very weighty !

Lord W. Taken some lifting — wouldn't they?

Press. [Seriously] May I say that you designed the dinner to soften the tension, at this crisis? You saw that case, I suppose, this morning, of the woman dying of starvation in Bethnal Green?

Lord "VV. [Desperately] Yes — yes! I've been horri- bly affected. I always knew this slump would come after the war, sooner or later.

Press. [Writijig] "... had predicted slump."

Lord W. You see, I've been an Anti-Sweating man for years, and I thought if only we could come together now. . . .

Press. [Xoddijig] I see — I see! Get Society inter- ested in the Sweated, through the dinner. I have the menu here. [He produces it.

Lord W. Good God, man — more than that ! I want to show the people that we stand side by side with them, as we did in the trenches. The whole thing's too jolly awful. I lie awake over it.

[He ivalks up and down.

ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 19

Press. [Scrihhling] One moment, please. I'll just get that down — "Too jolly awful — lies awake over it. Was wearing a white waistcoat with pearl buttons." [At a si^n of resentment from his victim] I want the human touch, Lord William— it's eveniihmg in my paper. \Miat do you say about this attempt to bomb you?

Lord W. Well, m a way I thmk it's d— d natural. Press. [Scribbling] "Lord William thought it d— d natural."

Lord W. [Overhearing] No, no; don't put that down. ^Miat I mean is, I should like to get hold of those fellows that are singing the Marseillaise about the streets — fellows that have been m the war— real sports they are, you know — thorough good chaps at bottom — and say to them: "Have a feelmg heart, boys; put yourself m my position." I don't believe a bit they'd want to bomb me then.

[He icalks up and doicn. Press. [Scribbling and muttering] "The idea of

brotherhood " D'you mind my sa\ing that.^

Word brotherhood — always effective — always

[He irrites. Lord W. [Bewildered] "Brotherhood!" Well, it's pure accident that I'm here and they're there. All the same, I can't pretend to be starving. Can't go out into Hyde Park and stand on a tub, can I .^ But if I could only show them what I feel— they're such good chaps — poor devils.

Press. I quite appreciate! [He icrites] "Camel and needle's eve." You were at Eton and Oxford ? Your

20 THE FOUNDATIONS act i

constituency I know. Clubs ? But I can get all that. Is it yoiu- view that Christianity is on the up-grade, Lord William.^

Lord W. [Dubimi^] "VMiat d'you mean by Christi- anity— loving-kindness and that .^ Of course I think that dogma's got the knock. [He walks.

Press. [Writing] "Lord William thought dogma had got the knock." I should like you just to develop your definition of Christianity. "Loving-kindness" — strikes rather a new note.

Lord W. Neic? What about the Sermon on the Mount ?

Press. [Writing] " Refers to Sermon on Mount." I take it you don't belong to any Church, Lord William ?

Lord W. [Exasperated] Well, really — I've been bap- tised and that sort of thing. But look here

Press. Oh ! you can trust me — I shan't say any- thing that you'll regret. Now, do you consider that a religious revival would help to cjuiet the country ?

Lord W. Well, I think it would be a deuced good thing if everybody were a bit more kind.

Press. Ah! [Mming] I feel that your views are strikingly origmal. Lord William. If you could just open out on them a little more.^ How far would you apply kindness in practice ?

Lord W. Can j-ou apply it in theory.^

Press. I believe it is done. But would you allow yourself to be blown up with impunity ?

Lord W^ Well, that's a bit extreme. But I quite s\Tnpathise with this chap. Imagine yourself in his shoes. He sees a huge house, all these bottles, us swill-

ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 21

ing them down; perhaps he's got a starving wife, or consumptive kids.

Press. [Writing and murmuring] Um-m! "Kids."

Lord W. He thinks: "But for the grace of God, there swill I. Why should that blighter have every- thing and I nothing?" and all that.

Press. [Writing] "And all that." [Eagerhj] Yes?

Lord W. And gradually — you see — this contrast — becomes an obsession with him. "There's got to be an example made," he thinks; and — er — he makes it, don't you know?

Press. [Writin-g] Ye-es? And — when you're the example ?

Lord W. Well, you feel a bit blue, of course. But my point is that you quite see it.

Press. From the other world. Do you believe in a future life. Lord William? The public took a lot of interest in the question, if you remember, at the time of the war. It might revive at any moment, if there's to be a revolution.

Lord W. The wish is always father to the thought, isn't it?

Press. Yes! But — er — doesn't the question of a future life rather bear on j'our point about kindness ? If there isn't one — why be kind ?

Lord W. Well, I should say one oughtn't to be kind for any motive — that's self-interest; but just because one feels it, don't you know.

Press. [Writing vigoroudy] That's very new — very new !

Lord W. [Simply] You chaps are wonderful.

22 THE FOUNDATIONS act i Press. [Doubtfully] You mean we're — weVe

Lord W. No, really. You have such a d — d hard time. It must be perfectly beastly to interview fel- lows like me.

Press. Oh ! Not at all, Lord William. Not at all. I assure you compared with a literary man, it's — it's almost heavenly.

Lord W. You must have a wonderful knowledge of things.

Press. [Bridling a little] "Well — I shouldn't say that.

Lord W. I don't see how you can avoid it. You turn your hands to everything.

Press. [Modestl?/] Well — yes, yes.

Lord W. I say : Is there really going to be a revolu- tion, or are you making it up, you Press .^

Press. We don't know. We never know whether we come before the event, or it comes before us.

Lord W. That's very deep — very deep. D'you

mind lending me your note-book a moment. I'd like

to stick that down. All right, I'll use the other end.

[The Press hands it hypnotically.

Lord W. [Jotting] Thanks awfully. Now what's your real opinion of the situation?

Press. As a man or a Press man ?

Lord W. Is there any difference ?

Press. Is there any connection ?

Lord W. Well, as a man.

Press. As a man, I think it's rotten.

Lord W. [Jotting] "Rotten." And as a pressman ?

Press. [Smiling] Prime.

ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 23

Lord W. What! Like a Stilton cheese. Ha, ha!

[He is about to icrite.

Press. My stunt, Lord William. You said that.

[He jots it on his cuff.

Lord W. But look here! Would you say that a strong press movement would help to quiet the country ?

Press. Well, as you ask me. Lord William, I'll tell you. No newspapers for a month would do the trick.

Lord W. [Jotting] By Jove ! That's brilliant.

Press. Yes, but I should starve. [He suddenly looks up, and his eyes, like gimlets, bore their way into Lord WiLLLOi's pleasant, troubled face] Lord William, you could do me a real kindness. 'Authorise me to go and interview the fellow who left the bomb here; I've got his address. I promise you to do it most discreetly. Fact is — well — I'm in low water. Since the war we simply can't get sensation enough for the new taste. Now, if I could have an article headed: "Bombed and Bomber" — sort of double inter\aew, you know, it'd very likely set me on my legs again. [Very earnestly] Look ! [He holds out his frayed ivristbands.

Lord W. [Grasping his hand] My dear chap, cer- tainly. Go and mterview this bhghter, and then bring him round here. You can do that for me. I'd very much like to see him, as a matter of fact.

Press. Thanks awfully; I shall never forget it. Oh! might I have my note-book.^

[Lord Willloi hands it back.

Lord W. And look here, if there's anything — when

a fellow's fortunate and another's not

[He puts his hand into his breast pocket.

24 THE FOUNDATIONS act i

Press. Oh, thank you ! But you see, I shall have to write you up a bit. Lord William. The old aris- tocracy— you know what the public still expects; if

you were to lend me money, you might feel

Lord W. By Jove! Never should have dreamt

Press. No ! But it wouldn't do. Have you a pho- tograph of yourself. Lord W. Not on me.

Press. Pity ! By the way, has it occurred to you that there may be another bomb on the premises ? Lord W. Phew ! I'll have a look.

He looks at his watch, and begins hurriedly searching the bins, bending down and going on his knees. The Press reverses the note- book again and sketches him. Press. [To himself] Ah! That'll do. "Lord Wil- liam examines the foundations of his house."

A voice calls ''Bill /" The Press snaps the

note-book to, and looks up. There, where the

*' communication trench" runs in, stands a

tall and elegant woman in the extreme of

evening dress.

[With presence of mind] Lady William? You'll find

Lord William— Oh ! Have you a photograph of him ?

Lady \7. Not on me.

Press. [Eyeing her] Er — no — I suppose not — no. Excuse me ! [He sidles past her and is gone.

Lady W. [With lifted eyebrows] Bill ! Lord W. [Emerging, dusting his knees] Hallo, Nell ! I was just making sure there wasn't another bomb.

ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 25

Lady W. Yes; that's why I came down. Who was that person?

Lord W. Press.

Lady W. He looked awfully yellow. I hope you haven't been giving yourself away.

Lord W. [Dubiously] Well, I don't know. They're like corkscrews.

Lady W. ^^^lat did he ask you ?

Lord W. What didn't he.^

Lady W. W^ell, what did you tell him ?

Lord W. That I'd been baptised — but he promised not to put it down.

Lady W. Bill, you are absurd.

[She gives a light little laugh.

Lord W. I don't remember anything else, except that it was quite natural we should be bombed, don't you know.

Lady W. Why, what harm have we done ?

Lord W. Been born, my dear. [Suddenly serious] I say, Nell, how am I to tell what this fellow felt when he left that bomb here.''

Lady W. "WTiy do you want to.'*

Lord W. Out there one used to know what one's men felt.

Lady W. [Staring] My dear boy, I really don't think you ought to see the Press; it always upsets you.

Lord W. Well! Why should you and I be going to eat ourselves silly to improve the condition of the sweated, when

Lady W. [Calmly] When they're going to "im-

26 THE FOUNDATIONS act i

prove" ours, if we don't look out. We've got to get in first, Bill.

Lord W. [Gloomily] I know. It's all fear. That's it ! Here we are, and here we shall stay — as if there'd never been a war.

Lady W. Well, thank heaven there's no "front" to a revolution. You and I can go to glory together this time. Compact ! Anything that's on, I'm to share in.

Lord W. Well, in reason.

Lady W. No, in rhyme, too.

Lord W. I say, your dress !

Lady W. Yes, Poulder tried to stop me, but I wasn't going to have you blown up without me.

Lord W. You duck. You do look stunning. Give us a kiss !

Lady W. [Starting back] Oh, Bill ! Don't touch me — your hands !

Lord W. Never mmd, my mouth's clean.

Theij stand about a yard apart, and bending their faces towards each other ^ kiss on the lips.

L. Anne. [Appearing suddenly from the *' communi- cation trench,'* and tip-toeing silently between them] Oh, Mum ! You and Daddy are wasting time ! Dinner's ready, j^ou know !

CURTAIN

ACT II

The single room of old IVIrs. LEMiiY, in a small grey house in Bethnal Green, the room of one cumbered by little save age, and the crockery debris of the past. A bed, a cupboard, a coloured portrait of Queen Victoria, and— of all things —a fiddle, hanging on the wall. By the side of old Mrs. LoDnr in her chair is a pile of corduroy troupers, her day's sweated sewing, and a small table. She sits with her back to the window, through which, in tlie last of the light, the opposite side of tlie little grey street is visible under the evening sky, where hangs one white cloud shaped like a horned beast. She is still sewing, and her lips move. Being old, and lonely, she has that habit of talking to herself, distressing to those who cannot overhear. From the smack of her tongue she was once a West Country cottage woman; from the look of her creased, parchmenty face, she ivas once a pretty girl with black eyes, in which there is still much vitality. The door is opened with diffi- culty and a little girl enters, carrying a pile of un- finished corduroy trousers nearly as large as herself. She puts them down against the wall, and advances. She is eleven or twelve years old ; large-eyed, dark- haired, and sallow. Half a woman of this and 27

28 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii

halj of another world, except when as now, she is as irresponsible a bit of life as a little flowering weed growing out of a wall. She stands looking at Mrs. Lemmy with dancing eyes.

L. AiDA. I've brought yer to-morrer's trahsers. Y'nt yer finished wiv to-dy's ? I want to tyke 'em.

Mrs. L. No, me dear. Drat this last one — me old f engers ! L. AiDA. I learnt some poytry to-dy — I did. Mrs. L. Well, I never ! L. AiDA. [Reciting with unction]

"Little lamb who myde thee.' Dost thou know who myde thee. Gyve thee life and byde thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gyve thee clothing of delight. Softest clothing, woolly, bright; G;y^'e thee such a tender voice, Myking all the vyles rejoice.

Little lamb who myde thee.' Dost thou know who myde thee?" Mrs. L. Tes wonderful what thmgs they tache yu nowadays.

L. AiDA. When I grow up I'm goin' to 'ave a revol- ver an' shoot the people that steals my jools.

^Irs. L. Deary-me, wherever du yu get yure no- tions ?

L. AiDA. An' I'm goin' to ride on an 'orse be'ind a man; an' I'm goin' to ryce trynes in my motor car.

ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 29

Mrs. L. [Dryly] Ah ! Yu*um gwine to be very busy, that's sartin. Can you sew ?

L. AiDA. [With a smile] Nao.

Mrs. L. Don' they tache yu that, there?

L. AiDA. [Blending contempt and a lingering curi- osity] Nao.

Mrs. L. Tes wonderful genteel.

L. AiDA. I can smg, though.

Mrs. L. Let's 'ear yu, then.

L. AiDA. [Shaking her head] I can ply the planner. I can ply a tune.

Mrs. L. Whose planner.^

L. AiDA. Mrs. Brahn's when she's gone aht.

Mrs. L. Well, j^ are-gettm' edjucation ! Du they tache yu to love yure neighbours ?

L. xA.iDA. [Ineffably] Nao. [Straying to the vnndow] Mrs. Lemmy, what's the moon ?

Mrs. L, The mune.'' Us yused to zay 'twas made o' crame cheese.

L. AiDA. I can see it.

Mrs. L. Ah ! Don' yu never go wishin' for it, me dear.

L. AiDA. I daon't.

Mrs. L. Folks as wish for the mune never du no gude.

L. AiDA. [Craning end, brilliant] I'm goin' dahn in the street. I'll come back for yer trahsers.

Mrs. L. Well, go yu, then, an' get a breath o' fresh air in joire chakes. I'll sune 'a feneshed.

30 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii

L. AiDA. [Solemnly] I'm goin' to be a dancer, I am.

She rushes suddenly to the door, pulls it open,

and is gone.

IVIrs. L. [Looking after her, and talking to herself]

Ah! 'Er've a-got all 'er troubles before 'er! "Little

lamb, u made 'ee?" [Cackling] 'Tes a fminy world, tu !

[She sings to herself.

"There is a green 'ill far away Without a city wall, Where our dear Lord was crucified, 'U died to save us all."

The door is opened, and Le:mmy comes in ; a little man with a stuhhle of dark moustache and spiky dark hair; large, peculiar eyes he has, and a look of laying his ears hack, a look of doubting, of perversity with laughter up the sleeve, that grows on those who have to do with gas and water. He shuts the door. Mrs. L. Well, Bob, I 'aven't a-seen yu this tu weeks.

Lemmy comes up to his mother, and sits down

on a stool, sets a tool-hag betioeen his knees,

and speaks in a cockney voice.

Lemmy. Well, old lydy o' leisure! Wot would y'

'ave for supper, if yer could choose — salmon wivaht

the tin, an' tipsy cyke ?

Mrs. L. [Shak-ing her head and smiling blandly] That's showy. Toad in the 'ole I'd 'ave — and a glass o* port wine.

ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 31

LEiNCkiY. Providential. [He opens a tool-bag] "Wot d'yer think I've got yer?

ISIrs. L. I 'ope yu've a-got yureself a job, my son !

Lemmy. [With his peculiar smile] Yus, or I couldn't 'ave afforded yer this. [He takes out a bottle] Not 'arf ! This'll put the blood into yer. Pork wine — once in the cellars of the gryte. We'll drink the ryyal family in this.

[He apostrophises the portrait of Queen Victoria.

Mrs. L. Ah! She was a praaper gude queen. I see 'er once, when 'er was bein' hurried.

LEiiMY. Ryalties — I got nothin' to sy agynst 'em in this country. But the Styte 'as got to 'ave its pipes seen to. The 'ole show's gom' up pop. Yer'll wyke up one o' these dyes, old lydy, and find yerself on the roof, wiv nuflSn' between yer an' the grahnd.

Mrs. L. I can't tell what yu'm talkm' about.

Lemmy. We're goin' to 'ave a triumpherat in this country— Liberty, Equality, Fraternity; an' if yer arsk me, they won't be in power six months before they've cut each other's throats. But I don't care — I want to see the blood flow! [Dispassionately] I don' care 'oose blood it is. I want to see it flow !

IVIrs. L. [Indulgently] Yu'm a funny boy, that's sartin.

Lemmy. [Carving at the cork vdth a knife] This 'ere cork is like Sasiety— rotten; it's old — old an' moulderin'. [He holds up a bit of cork on the point of the knife] Crumblin' under the wax, it is. In goes the screw an' out comes the cork. [With unction] — an' the blood

32 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii

flows. [Tipping the bottle , he lets a drop fall into the middle of hw hand, and licks it up. Gazing with queer and doubting commiseration at his mother] Well, old dear, wot shall we 'ave it aht of — the gold loving-cup, or — what? *Ave yer supper fust, though, or it'll go to yer 'ead! [He goes to the cupboard and takes out a dish in which a little bread is sopped in a little milk] Cold pap ! 'Ow can yer ? 'Yn't yer got a kipper in the *ouse?

Mrs. L. [Adjuiring the bottle] Port wine! 'Tis a brave treat! I'll 'ave it out of tlie "Present from Margitt," Bob. I tuk 'ee therr by excursion when ya was six months. Yu 'ad a shrimp an' it choked yu praaperly. Yu was always a squeamy little feller. I can't never think 'ow yu managed in the war-time, makin' they shells.

Lemmy, ivho has brought to the table two mugs

and blown the dust out of them, fills them

urith port, and hands one to his mother, who

is eating her bread and milk.

Lemmy. Ah! Nothin' worried me, 'cept the want

o* soap.

Mrs. L. [Cackling gently] So it du still, then! Luke at yure face. Yu never was a clean boy, like Jim.

5^^ puts out a thin finger and touches his cheek, whereon is a black smudge. Lemmy. [Scrubbing his cheek with his sleeve] All right ! Y'see, I come stryte 'ere, to get rid o' this.

[He drinks.

ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 33

Mrs. L. [Eating her bread and milk] 'Tes a pity yu'm not got a wife to see't yu wash yureself.

Lemmy [Goggling] Wife! Not me — I daon't want ter myke no food for pahder. "Wot oh ! — they said, time o' the war — ye're fightin' for yer children's 'eritage. Well, wot's the 'eritage like, now we've got it ? Empty as a shell before yer put the 'igh explosive in. Wot's it like? [Warming to /zw theme] Like a prophecy in the pj'pers — not a bit more substantial.

IVIrs. L. [Slightly hypywtised] How 'e du talk ! The gas goes to yure 'ead, I think !

Lemmy. I did the gas to-dy in the cellars of an 'ouse where the wine was mountains 'igh. A regiment couldn't 'a drunk it. Marble pillars in the 'all, butler broad as an observj'tion balloon, an' four conscientious khaki footmen. "VMien the guns was roarin' the talk was all for no more o' them glorious weeds — style an* luxury was orf. See wot it is naow. You've got a bare crust in the cupboard 'ere, I works from 'and to mouth in a glutted market — an' there they stand abaht agyne in their britches in the 'ouses o' the gryte. I was reg'lar overcome by it. I left a thing in that cel- lar— I left a thing. . . . It'll be a bit ork'ard for me to-morrer. [Drinks from his mug.

Mrs. L. [Placidly, feeling the warmth of the little she has drunk] What thing ?

Lemmy. Wot thing.' Old lydy, ye're like a winkle afore yer opens 'er — I never see anything so peaceful. 'Ow d'yer manage it .'

Mrs. L. Settin' 'ere and thenkin*.

S4 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii

Lemmy. Wot abaht ?

Mrs. L. We-el — Money, an' the works o' God. Lemmy. Ah ! So yer give me a thought sometimes. IMrs. L. [Lifting her mug] Yu ought never to ha' spent yure money on this, Bob ! LoEViY. I thought that meself. IVIrs. L. Last time I 'ad a glass o' port wine was the day yure brother Jim went to Ameriky. [Smacking her lips] For a teetotal drink, it du warm 'ee !

Lem^iy. [Raising his mug] Well, 'ere's to the British revolution ! 'Ere's to the conflygrytion in the sky !

Mrs. L. [Comfortably] So as to kape up therr, 'twon't du no 'arm.

LEiEviY goes to the windoio and unhooks his fiddle ; he stands with it halfway to his shoulder. Suddenly he opens the window and leans out. A confused murmur of voices is heard, and a snatch of the Marseil- laise, sung by a girl. Then the shuffling tramp of feet, and figures are pass^ing in the street. Lemmy. [Turning — excited] Wot'd I tell yer, old lydy t There it is — there it is ! Mrs. L. [Placidly] What is?

LEMiiY. The revolution. [He cranes out] They've got it on a barrer. Cheerio ! Voice. [Answering] Cheerio!

Lemmy. [Leaning out] I sy — you 'yn't tykin' the body, are yer? Voice. Nao.

ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 35

Leaoiy. Did she die o' starvytion — O.K. ? Voice. She bloomin' well did; I know 'er brother. LEiMY. Ah ! That'll do us a bit o' good ! Voice. Cheerio ! LE^rMY. So long ! Voice. So long !

The girVs voice is heard again in the distance singing the Marseillaise. The door is flung open and Little Aid a comes running in again. Lemmy. 'Alio, little Aida !

L. Aida. 'Alio, I been follerin' the corfin. It's bet- ter than an 'orse dahn ! J^Irs. L. What coffin .^

L. Aida. ^^^ly, 'er's wot died o' starvytion up the street. They're gom' to tyke it to 'Yde Pawk, and 'oiler.

Mrs. L. Well, never yu mind wot they*m goin' to du. Yu wait an' take my trousers like a gude gell.

She puts her mug aside and takes up her un- finished pair of trousers. But the vnne has entered her fingers, and strength to push the needle through is lacking. Lemmy. [Tuning his fiddle] Wot'll yer 'ave, little Aida? "Dead March in Saul" or "When the fields was white wiv dysies"?

L. Aida. [With a hop and a hrilliant smile] Aoh

yus ! " \Mien the fields "

Mrs. L. [With a gesture of despair] Deary me ! I 'aven't a-got the strength !

36 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii

Lemmy. Leave 'em alone, old dear! No one' 11 be goin' aht wivaht trahsers to-night 'cos yer leaves that one undone. Little Aida, fold 'em up !

Little Aida methodically folds the jive finished 'pairs of trousers into a pile. Lemmy begins playing. A smile comes on the face of Mrs. Lemmy, who is rubbing her fingers. Little Aida, trousers over arm, goes and stares at Lemmy playing. Lemmy. [Stopping] Little Aida, one o' vese dyes yer'll myke an actress. I can see it m yer fyce !

[Little Aida looks at him wide-eyed.

Mrs. L. Don't 'ee putt things into 'er 'ead. Bob !

Lemmy. 'Tyn't 'er 'ead, old lydy — it's lower. She

wants feedin' — feed 'er an' she'll rise. [He strikes into

the '* Machichi"] Look at 'er naow. I tell yer there's

a fortune in 'er.

[Little Aida has put out her tongue. Mrs. L. I'd suner there was a gude 'eart in 'er than any fortune.

L. Aida. [Hugging her pile of trousers] It's thirteen pence three farthin's I've got to bring yer, an' a penny aht for me, mykes twelve three farthin's. [With the same little hop and sudden smile] I'm goin' to ride back on a bus, I am.

Lemmy. Well, you myke the most of it up there; it's the nearest you'll ever git to 'eaven.

Mrs. L. Don' yu discourage 'er, Bob; she'm a gude little thing, an't yu, dear ? L. Aida. [Simply] Yus.

ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 37

Lem3IY. Not 'arf. Wot c'her do wiv yesterdy's penny ?

L. AiDA. Movies. Lemmy. An' the dy before ? L. Aid A. Movies.

Lemmy. Wot'd I tell yer, old lydy — she's got vicious tystes, she'll finish in the theayter yet. Tyke my tip, little Aida; you put every penny into yer foundytions, yer'll get on the boards quicker that wy. Mrs. L. Don' \'u pay no 'eed to his talk. L. Aida. I daon't.

Lemmy. Would yer like a sip aht o' my mug ? L. Aida. [Brilliant] Yus.

Mrs. L. Not at ^'^u•e age, me dear, though it is teetotal.

Little Aida puis her head on one side, like a dog trying to understand. Lemmy. W'ell, 'ave one o' my gum-drops.

[Holds out a paper. Little Aida, brilliant, takes a flat, dark sub- stance from it, and puts it in her mouth. Give me a kiss, an' I'll give yer a penny.

Little Aida shakes her head, and leans out of window. Muwer, she daon't know the valyer of money. Mrs. L. Never mind 'im, me dear. L. Aida. [Sucking the gum-drop — with difficulty] There's a taxi-cab at the corner.

Little Aida runs to the door. A figure stands in the dooncay ; she skids round him and out. The Press comes in.

38 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii

Lemmy. [Duhiotisly] Wot — oh!

Press. Mr. Lemmy?

Lemmy. The syme.

Press. I'm from the Press.

Lemmy. Blimy.

Press. They told me at your place you were very likely here.

LEiorsr. Yus — I left Downin' Street a bit early to-dy ! [He hcangs the fiddle-stri?igs pompously.

Press. [Taking out his note-hook and writing] "Fid- dles while Rome is burning!" jMt. Lemmy, it's my business at this very critical time to find out v,-hat the nation's thinking. Now, as a representative working man

Lemmy. That's me.

Press. You can help me. WTiat are your views ?

Lemmy. [Putting down fiddle] Voos ? Sit dahn !

The Press sits on the stool which Lemmy has vacated. The Press — my Muvver. Seventy-seven. She's a wonder; 'yni yer, old dear.^

Press. Very happy to make your acquaintance. Ma'am. [He writes] "^Irs. Lemmy, one of the veterans

of industry " By the way, I've just passed a lot

of people following a coffin.

Lemmy. Centre o' the cyclone — cyse o' starvji;ion; you 'ad 'er in the pyper this mornin'.

Press. Ah, yes ! Tragic occurrence. [Looking at the trousers] Hub of the Sweated Industries just here. I especially want to get at the heart

ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 39

I^Irs. L. Twasn't the 'eart, 'twas the stomach.

Press. [Writing] "Mrs. Lemmy goes straight to the pomt."

Lemmy. Mister, is it my voos or Muvver's yer want ?

Press. Both.

Lemmy. 'Cos if yer get Muvver's, yer won't 'ave time for mine. I tell yer stryte [ConfidentiaUy] she's got a glawss o' port wine in 'er. Naow, mind yer, I'm not anxious to be intervooed. On the other 'and,

anyfink I might 'ave to sy of valyer There is a

clawss o' politician that 'as nuffin to sy Aoh ! an'

daon't 'e sy it just ! I dunno wot pyper yer repre- sent

Press. [Smiling] Well, Mr. Lemmy, it has the big- gest influ

Lemmy. They all *as that; dylies, weeklies, evenin's, Sundyes; but it's of no consequence — my voos are open and above-board. Naow, wot shall we begin abaht.'

Press. Yourself, if you please. And I'd like you to know at once that my paper wants the human note, the real heart-beat of thmgs.

Lemmy. I see; sensytion! Well, 'ere am I — a fust- clawss plumber's assistant — in a job to-dy an' out to- morrer. There's a 'eart-beat in that, I tell yer. 'Go knows wot the morrer 'as for me !

Press. [Writing] "The great human issue — Mr. Lemmy touches it at once."

Lem^iy. I sy — keep my njTne aht o' this; I don' go in fer self-advertisement.

40 THE FOUNDATIONS act it

Press. [Writing] "True working-man — modest as usual."

Lemmy. I daon't want to embarrass the Gover'- ment. They're so ticklish ever since they got the 'abit, war-time, o' mindin' wot people said.

Press. Right-o!

Lemmy. For instance, suppose there's goin' to be a

revolution [The Press writes with energy.

'Ow does it touch me? Like this: I my go up — I cawn't come dahn; no more can Muvver.

Mrs. L. [Surprisingly] Us all goes do-v^Ti into the grave.

Press. *'Mrs. Lemmy interjects the deeper note."

Lemmy. Naow, the gr\i:e — they can come dahn, but they cawn't go up ! See ! Put two an' two together, an' that's 'ow it touches me. [He utters a throaty laugh] 'Ave yer got that?

Press. [Quizzical] Not go up ? What about bombs, Mr. Lemmy?

Lemmy. [Dubiom] Wot abaht 'em? I s'pose ye're on the comic p>T)ers ? 'Ave yer noticed wot a weak- ness they 'ave for the 'orrible ?

Press. [Writing] "A grim humour peeped out here and there through the earnestness of his talk."

[He sketches Lemmy's profile.

Lemmy. We 'ad an explosion in my factory time o' the war, that would just ha' done for you comics. [He meditates] Lord! They was after it too,— they an' the Sundyes; but the Censor did 'em. Strike me, I could tell yer thmgs !

ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 41

Press. That's what I want, 'Mi. Lemmy; tell me things !

LEMiiY. [Mming] It's a funny world, ATi't it ? 'Ow we did blow e-ach other up ! [Getting up to admire] 1 sy, I shall be syfe there. That won't betry me ano- n\Tniety. ^^^ly ! I looks like the Prime Minister !

Press. [Rather hurt] You were going to tell me things.

LEiGiY. Yus, an' they'll be the troof, too.

Press. I hope so; we don't

Lemmy. Wot oh!

Press. [A little confiised] We always try to verify

Lemmy. Yer leave it at tryin', daon't yer ? Never, mind, ye're a gr\i:e institootion. Blimy, yer do have jokes wiv it, spinnin' rahnd on yer own tyles, denyin' to-dy wot ye're goin' to print to-morrer. Ah, well ! Ye're like all of us below the line o' comfort — live dangerously — every dy yer last. That's wy I'm inter- ested in the future.

Press. Well now — the future. [Writing] "He proph- esies."

Lemmy. It's sj-f er, H-n't it ? [He wink^] No one never looks back on prophecies. I remembers an editor — spring o' 1915 — stykin' his reputytion the war'd be over in the follerin' October. Increased 'is circulj'tion abaht 'arf a milUon by it. 1917 — an' war still on — 'ad 'is readers gone back on 'im ? Nao ! They was in- creasin' like rabbits. Prophesy wot people want to believe, an' ye're s^'fe. Xaow, I'll styke my reputytion on somethin', you tyke it dahn word for word. This

42 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii

country's goin' to tlie dawgs Naow, 'ere's the

sensytion — unless we gets a new religion.

Press. Ah ! Now for it — yes ?

LEiiMY. In one word: "Kindness." Daon't mistyke me, nao sickly sentiment and nao patronizin'. Me as kind to the millionaire as 'im to me. [Fills his mug and drinks.]

Press. [Struck] That's queer ! Kindness ! [Writing] "Extremes meet. Bombed and bomber breathing the same music."

Le^imy. But 'ere's the interestin' pynt. Can it be done wivaht blood .^

Press. [Writing] "He doubts."

Lemmy. No daht wotever. It cawn't! Blood — and — kindness ! Spill the blood o' them that aren't kind — an' there ye are !

Press. But pardon me, how are you to tell .''

LEi£MY. Blimy, they leaps to the heye !

Press. [Laying down his note-book] I say, let me talk to you as man to man for a moment.

Lem^iy. Orl right. Give it a rest !

Press. Your sentiments are familiar to me. I've got a friend on the Press who's very keen on Christ and kindness; and wants to strangle the last king with the — hamstrings of the last priest.

Le:mmy. [Greatly intrigued] Not 'arf ! Does 'e ?

Press. Yes. But have you thought it out .'^ Because he hasn't.

Lemmy. The difficulty is — where to stop.

Pbess. Where to begin.

ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 43

Lemmy. Lawd ! I could begin almost anj'where. Why, every month abaht, there's a cove turns me aht of a job 'cos I daon't do just wot 'e likes. They'd 'ave to go. I tell yer stryte — the Temple wants cleanin' up.

Press. Ye-es. If I wrote what I thought, I should get the sack as quick as you. D'you say that justifies me in shedding the blood of my bosses ?

Lemmy. The yaller Press 'as got no blood — 'as it? You shed their ile an' vinegar — that's wot you've got to do. Stryte — do yer believe in the noble mission o' the Press?

Press. [Enigmatically] Mr. Lemmy, I'm a Press- man.

Lemmy. [Goggling] I see. Not much! [Gently jog- ging his mother s elbow] Wyke up, old lydy !

For Mrs. Lemmy, who has been sipping placidly at her port, is nodding. The evening has drawn in. Lemmy strikes a match on his trousers and lights a candle. Blood an' kindness — that's what's wanted — 'specially blood ! The 'istory o' me an' my family'll show yer that. Tyke my bruwer Fred — crushed by burycrats. Tyke Muvver 'erself. Talk o' the wrongs o' the peo- ple ! I tell yer the foundytions is rotten. [He empties the bottle into his mother s mug] Daon't mind the mud at the bottom, old lydy — it's all strengthenm' ! You tell the Press, Muvver. She can talk abaht the pawst.

Press. [Taking up his note-book, and becoming again his professional self] Yes, Mrs. Lemmy ? "Age and Youth — Past and Present "

44 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii

Mrs. L. Were yu talkin' about Fred? [The port has warmed her veins, the colour in her eyes and cheeks has deepened] My son Fred was always a gude boy — never did nothin' before 'e married. I can see Fred [She bends forward a little in her chair, looking straight before her] comin' in wi' a pheasant 'e'd found — terrible 'e was at findin' pheasants. When father died, an' yu was comin'. Bob, Fred 'e said to me: "Don't yu never cry. Mother, I'll look after 'ee." An' so 'e did, till 'e married that day six months an' tuke to the drink in sorrer. 'E wasn't never the same boy again — not

Fred. An' now 'e's in That. I can see poor Fred

She slowly wipes a tear out of the comer of an eye with the back of her finger.

Press. [Puzzled] In— That. ^

Lemmy. [Sotto voce] Come orf it! Prison! 'S wot she calls it.

Mrs. L. [Cheerful] They say life's a vale o' sorrows. Well, so 'tes, but don' du to let yureself thenk so.

Press. And so you came to London, Mrs. Lemmy .''

Mrs. L. Same year as father died. With the four o' them — that's my son Fredj an' my son Jim, an' my son Tom, an' Alice. Bob there, 'e was bom in London — an' a praaper time I 'ad of et.

Press. [Writing] "Her heroic struggles with pov- erty "

Mrs. L. Worked in a laundry, I ded, at fifteen shellin's a week, an' brought 'em all up on et till Alice 'ad the gallopin' consumption. I can see poor Alice wi' the little red spots in 'er cheeks — an' I not knowin'

ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 45

wot to du wi' her — but I always kept up their buryin' money. Funerals is very dear; ]Mr. Lemmy was six pound ten.

Press. "High price of 'Mr. Lemmy."

IMrs. L. I've a-got the money for when my time come; never touch et, no matter 'ow things are. Bet- ter a little goin' short here below, an' enter the king- dom of 'eaven independent.

Press. [Writing] "Death before dishonour — heroine of the slums. Dickens — Betty Higden."

IMrs. L. No, sir. Mary Lemmy. I've seen a-many die, I 'ave; an' not one grievin*. I often says to meself : [With a little laugh] "Me dear, when ya go, ya go 'appy. Don' yu never fret about that," I says. An' so I will; I'll go 'appy.

She stays quite still a moment, and behind her Lemmy draws one finger across his face. [Smiling] "Yure old fengers'U 'ave a rest. Think o' that!" I says. "'Twill be a brave change." I can see myself lyin' there an' duin' nothm'.

Again a -pause, ichile Mrs. Lemmy sees herself doing nothing.

Lemmy. Tell abaht Jim, old lydy.

IVIrs. L. My son Jim 'ad a family o' seven in six years. "I don' know 'ow 'tes. Mother," 'e used to say to me; "they just sim to come!" That was Jim — never knu from day to day what was comin'. "Therr's another of 'em dead," 'e used to say, "'tes funny, tu." "Well," I used to say to 'im; "no won- der, poor little things, livin' in they model dwellin's.

46 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii

Therr's no air for 'em," I used to say. "Well," 'e used to say, "what can I du. Mother? Can't afford to live in Park Lane." An' 'e tuke an' went toAmeriky. [Her voice for the first time is truly doleful] An' never came back. Fine feller. So that's my four sons — One's dead, an' one's in — That, an' one's in Ameriky, an' Bob 'ere, poor boy, 'e always was a talker.

LEiEMY, who has re-seated himself in the win- doio and taken up his fiddle, twangs the strings.

Press. And now a few words about your work, Mrs. Lemmy.^

^Irs. L. Well, I sews.

Press. [Writing] "Sews." Yes?

IMrs. L. [Holding up her unfinished pair of troupers] I putt in the button'oles, I stretches the flies, I lines the crutch, I putt on this bindin', [She holds up the calico that binds the top] I sews on the buttons, I presses the seams — Tuppence three farthin's the pair.

Press. Twopence three farthings a pair ! Worse than a penny a line !

Mrs. L. In a gude day I gets tliru four pairs, but they'm gettin' plaguey 'ard for my old fengers.

Press. [Writirig] "A monumental figure, on whose labour is built the mighty edifice of our industrialism."

Lemmt. I sy — that's good. Yer'll keep that, won't yer ?

IMrs. L. I finds me o^ti cotton, tuppence three farthin's, and other expension is a penny three farthin's.

Press. And are you an exception, Mrs. Lemmy ?

ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 47

Mes. L. \Miat's that?

Lemniy. Wot price the uvvers, old b'dy? Is there a lot of yer sewin' yer iingers orf at tuppence 'ypenny the pah- ?

Mrs. L. I can't tell j'u that. I never sees nothin' in 'ere. I pays a penny to that little gell to bring me a dozen pair an' fetch 'em back. Poor little thing, she'm 'ardly strong enough to carry 'em. Feel! They'm very 'eavA' !

Press. On the conscience of Society !

LEiorr. I sy — put that dahn, won't yer ?

Press. Have things changed much since the war, IVIrs. Lenimy.^

!Mrs. L. Cotton's a lot dearer.

Press. All round, I mean.

IMrs. L. Aw ! Yu don' never get no change, not in my profession. [She oscillates the trousers] I've a-been in trousers fifteen year; ever since I got tu old for laundry.

Press. [Writing] "For fifteen years sewn trousers.'* ^^^lat would a good week be, !Mrs. Lemmy ?

'Mrs. L. 'Tes a very gude week, five shellm's.

LE^^niY. [From the window] Bloomin' millionairess, Muvver. She's lookin' forward to 'eaven, where vey don't wear no trahsers.

Mrs. L. [With spirit] 'Tidn' for me to zay whether they du. An' 'tes on'y when I'm a bit low-sperrity- like as I wants to go therr. 'VMiat I am a-lukin' for- ward to, though, 'tes a day in the country. I've not a-had one since before the war. A kind lady brought

48 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii

me in that bit of 'eather; 'tes wonderful sweet stuff when the 'oney's in et. When I was a little gell I used to zet in the 'eather gatherin' the whorts, an' me little mouth all black wi' eatin' them. 'Twas in the 'eather I used to zet, Sundays, courtin'. All flesh is grass — an' 'tesn't no bad thing — grass.

Press [Writing] "The old paganism of the country." What is your view of life, Mrs. Lemmy?

LiaiMY. [Suddenly] Wot is 'er voo of life.'' Shall I tell yer mine ? Life's a disease — a blinkin' oak-apple ! Daon't myke no mistyke. An' 'uman life's a jTimour- ous disease; that's all the difference. "VMiy — wot else can it be ? See the bloomin' promise an' the blighted perfonnance — different as a 'eadline to the noos inside. But yer couldn't myke Muvver see vat — not if yer talked to 'er for a week. Muvver still believes in fings. She's a country gell; at a 'undred and fifty she'll be a country gell, won't yer, old lydy ?

Mrs. L. Well, 'tesn't never been 'ome to me in London. I lived in the country forty year — I did my lovin' there; I hurried father therr. Therr bain't nothin' in life, yu know, but a bit o' lovin' — all said an' done; bit o' lovin', with the wind, an' the stars out.

LEioiY. [In a loud apologetic whisper] She 'yn't often like this. I told yer she'd got a glawss o' port in 'er.

Mrs. L. 'Tes a brave pleasure, is lovin'. I likes to zee et in young folk. I likes to zee 'em kissin'; shows the 'eart in 'em. 'Tes the 'eart makes the world go round; 'tesn't nothin' else, in my opinion.

Press. [Writing] " — sings the swan song of the heart."

ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 49

]Mrs. L. [Overhearing] No, I never yeard a swan sing— never! But I tell 'ee what I 'ave 'eard; the gells singin' in th' orchard 'angin' up the clothes to dry, an' the cuckoos callm' back to 'em. [Smiling] There's a-many songs in the country — the 'eart is free- like m th' country !

Lemmy. [Sotto voce] Gi' me the Strand at ar' past nine.

Press. [Writing] "Town and country "

Mrs. L. 'Tidn't like that m London; one day's jest like another. Not but what therr's a 'eap o' kind- 'eartedness 'ere.

LEaniY. [Gloomily] Kmd-'eartedness ! I daon't fink ! "Boys an' gells come out to play."

[He plays the old tune on his fiddle.

Mrs. L. [Singing] " Boys an' gells come out to play. The mune is shinm' bright as day." [She laughs] I used to sing like a lark when I was a gell.

[Little Aida enters.

L. Aida. There's 'undreds foUerin' the corfin. 'Yn't you goin', IMr. Lemmy — it's dahn your wy !

Lemmy. [Dubiously] Well yus— I s'pose they'll miss me.

L, Aida. Aoh ! Tyke me !

Press. What's this ?

Lemmy. The revolution in 'Yde Pawk.

Press. [Struck] Li Hyde Park? The very thing. I'll take you down. My taxi's waiting.

L. Aida. Yus; it's breathin' 'ard, at the corner.

50 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii

Press. [Looking at his watch] Ah ! and Mrs. Lemmy. There's an Anti-Sweating Meeting going on at a house in Park Lane. We can get there in twenty minutes if we shove along. I want you to tell them about the trouser-making. You'll be a sensation !

Lemmy. [To himself] Sensytion! 'E cawn't keep orf it !

Mrs. L. Anti-Sweat. Poor fellers ! I 'ad one come to see me before the war, an' they'm still goin' on? Wonderful, an't it.^

Press. Come, Mrs. Lemmy; drive in a taxi, beauti- ful moonlit night; and they'll give you a splendid cup of tea.

Mrs. L. [Unmoved] Ah! I cudn't never du with- out my tea. There's not an avenin' but I thinks to meself : Now, me dear, ya've a-got one more to fennish, an' then yu'U 'ave yure cup o' tea. Thank you for callin', all the same.

Le:mmy. Better siccumb to the temptytion, old lydy; joyride wiv the Press; marble floors, pillars o' gold; conscientious footmen; lovely lydies; scuppers runnin' tea! An' the revolution goin' on across the wy. 'Eaven's nuffink to Pawk Lyne.

Press. Come along, Mrs. Lemmy !

Mrs. L. [Seraphically] Thank yu. I'm a-feelin' very comfortable. 'Tes wonderful what a drop o' wine'll du for the stomach.

Press. A taxi-ride !

Mrs. L. [Placidly] Ah! I know 'em. They'm very busy things.

ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 51

Lemmy. Muvver shuns notority. [Sotto voce to The Press] But you watch me ! I'll rouse 'er.

He takes up his fiddle and sits on the window seat. Above the little houses on the opposite side of the street, the moon has risen in the dark bliie sky, so that the cloud shaped like a beast seems leaping over it. Lem^iy plays the first notes of the Marseillaise. A black cat on the window-sill outside looks in, hunch- ing its back. Little Aida barks at her. Mrs. Lemimy struggles to her feet, sweeping the empty dish and spoon to the fioor in the effort.

The dish ran avry wiv the spoon ! That's right, old lydy I [He stops playing.

INIrs. L. [Smilijig, and moving her Jmnds] I like a bit o' music. It du that muve 'ee.

Press. Bravo, Mrs. Lemmy. Come on !

Lemiiy. Come on, old dear ! We'll be in time for the revolution yet.

INIrs. L. 'Tes 'earin' the Old 'Undred agam !

Lemmy. [To The Press] She ':sTi't been aht these two years. [To his mother, wJio has put up her hands to her head] Nao, never mind yer 'at. [To The Press] She 'jTi't got none ! [Aloud] No West-End lydy wears anj^fink at all m the evenin' !

INIrs. L. 'Ow'm I lukm'. Bob?

Lemmy. Fust-clawss; yer've got a colour fit to toast

52 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii

by. We'll show 'em yer've got a kick in yer. [He takes her arm] Little Aida, ketch 'old o' the sensytions.

[He indicates the trousers. The Press takes Mrs. Lemmy's other arm. Mrs. L. [With an excited little laugh] Quite like a geU!

Andy smiling between her son and The Press, she passes out; Little Aida, with a fling of her heels and a wave of the trousers, follows,

CURTAIN

ACT III

An octagon ante-room off the hall at Lord William Dromondy's. a shining room lighted by gold can- delabra, with gold-curtained 'pillars, through which the shining hall and a little of the grand stairway are visible. A small table icith a gold-coloured cloth occupies the very centre of the room, which has a polished parquet floor and high white walls. Gold- coloured doors on the left. Opposite these doors a yyindow with gold-coloured curtains looks out on Park Lane. Lady William is standing restlessly between the double doors and the arch which leads to the hall. James is stationary by the double doors, from behind which come sounds of speech and ap- plause.

PouLDER. [Entering from the hall] His Grace the Duke of Exeter, my lady.

His Grace enters. He is old, and youthful, with a high colour and a short rough white heard. Lady William advances to meet him. PouLDER stands by. Lady W. Oh ! Father, you are late. His G. Awful crowd in the streets, Nell. TheyVe got a coflBn — couldn't get by. 53

54 THE FOUNDATIONS act m

Lady W. Coffin? Whose?

His G. The Government's I should think — no flowers, by request. I say, have I got to speak?

Lady W. Oh ! no, dear.

His G. H'm! That's unlucky. I've got it here. [He looks down his cuff] Found something I said in 1914 — just have done.

Lady W. Oh! If you've got it — James, ask Lord William to come to me for a moment. [James vanishes through the door. To The Duke] Go in, Grand-dad; they'll be so awfully pleased to see you. I'll tell Bill.

His G. Where's Anne?

Lady W. In bed, of course.

His G. I got her this — rather nice?

He has taken from his breast-pocket one of those street toy-men that jump head over heels on your hand; he puts it through its paces.

Lady W. [Much interested] Oh ! no, but how sweet ! She'll simply love it.

Poulder. If I might suggest to Your Grace to take it in and operate it. It's sweated. Your Grace. They — er — make them in those places.

His G. By Jove! D'you know the price, Poulder?

Poulder. [Interrogatively] A penny, is it? Some- thing paltry. Your Grace !

His G. Wliere's that woman who knows everything; Miss Munday ?

Lady W. Oh ! She'll be in there, somewhere.

His Grace moves on, and passes through the doors. The sound of applause is heard.

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 55

PouLDER. [Discreetly] Would you care to see the bomb, my lady ?

Lady W. Of course — first quiet moment.

PouLDER. I'll bring it up, and have a watch put on it here, my lady.

Lord Willia^i comes through the double doors, foUmced hij J.ames. Poulder retires.

Lord W. Can't you come, Nell ?

L.A.DY W. Oh ! Bill, your Dad wants to speak.

Lord W. The deuce he does— that's bad.

Lady W. Yes, of course, but you must let him; he's found something he said in 1914.

Lord W. I knew it. That's what they'll say. Standmg stock still, while hell's on the jump around us.

Lady W. Never mind that; it'll please him; and he's got a lovely little sweated toy that turns head over heels at one penny.

Lord W. H'm ! \Yell, come on.

Lady W. No, I must wait for stragglers. There's sure to be an editor in a hurry.

Poulder. [Announcing] Mis-ter Gold-rum!

Lady ^Y. [Sotto voce] And there he is ! [She advances to meei a thiuy straggling man in eyeglasses^ who is smil- ing absently] How good of you !

iVlR. G. Thanks awfully. I just— er— and then I'm afraid I must — er — Things look very — Thanks — Thanks so much.

He straggles through the doors, and is enclosed by Jambs. Poulder. Miss Mun-day.

56 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi

Lady W. There! I thought she was in She

really is the most unexpected woman! How do you do ? How awfully sweet of you !

Miss M. [An elderly female schoolboy] How do you do? There's a spiflSng crowd. I believe things are really going Bolshy. How do you do. Lord William ? Have you got any of our people to show ? I told one or two, in case — they do so simply love an outing.

James. There are three old chips in the lobby, my Lord.

Lord W. What.'' Oh! I say! Bring them in at once. Why — they're the hub of the whole thing.

James. [Going] Very good, my Lord.

Lady W. I am sorry. I'd no notion; and they're such dears always.

Miss M. I must tell you what one of them said to me. I'd told him not to use such bad language to his wife. "Don't you worry. Ma !" he said, "I expect you can do a bit of that yourself !"

Lady W. How awfully nice ! It's so like them.

Miss M. Yes. They're wonderful.

Lord W. I say, why do we always call them they?

Lady W. [Puzzled] Well, why not?

Lord W. They I

Miss M. [Strv/;k] Quite right, Lord William ! Quite right! Another species. They! I must remember that. They I [She passes on.

Lady W. [AbaiU to follow] Well, I don't see; aren't they?

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 57

Lord W. Never mind, old girl; follow on. They'll come in with me.

Miss Muxday and Lady Williasi 'pass through the double doors. PouLDER. [Anrwuncing] Some sweated workers, my Lord.

There enter a tall, thin, oldish woman ; a short, thin, very lame man, her husband ; and a stoutish middle-aged icoman with a rolling eye and gait, all very poorly dressed, with lined and heated faces.

Lord W. [SJmking hands] How d'you do ! De- lighted to see you all. It's awfully good of you to have come.

L.a:vie M. Mr. and Mrs. Tomson. We 'ad some trouble to find it. You see, I've never been in these parts. We 'ad to come in the oven; and the bus-bloke put us dahn ^Tong. Are you the proprietor .^

Lord W. [Modestly] Yes, I— er

Lame M. You've got a nice plyce. I says to the missis, I says: *"E's got a nice plyce 'ere," I says; "there's room to turn rahnd."

Lord W. Yes— shall we .?

La3ie M. An' Mrs. Anna way she says: "Shouldn't mind Hvlq' 'ere meself," she says; "but it must cost 'im a tidy penny," she says.

Lord W. It does — it does; much too tidv. Shall

Mrs. Ann. [Rolling her eye] I'm very pleased to

58 THE FOUNDATIONS act iii

'ave come. I've often said to 'em: "Any time you want me," I've said, *'I'd be pleased to come." LoKD W. Not so pleased as we are to see you. Mbs. Ann. I'm sure you're very kind. James. [From the double doors, through which he has received a message] Wanted for your speech, my Lord. Lord W. Oh! God! Poulder, bring these ladies and gentleman in, and put them where everybody can — where they can see everybody, don't you know.

[He goes out hurriedly through the double doors. Lame M. Is 'e a lord ? Poulder. He is. Follow me.

He moves towards the doors, the three workers

follow.

Mrs. Ann. [Stojpping before James] You 'jTi't one,

I suppose? [James stirs no muscle.

Poulder. Now please. [He opens the doors. The

voice of Lord Willl^m speaking is heard] Pass in.

The Three Workers pass in, Poulder and James /o//oir them. The doors are not closed, and through this aperture comes the voice of Lord Willl\m, punctuated and supported by decorous applause. Little Anne runs in, and listens at the win- dow to the confused and distant murmurs of a crowd. Voice of Lord W. We propose to move for a fur- ther advance in the chain-making and — er — er — match- box industries. [Applause. Little Anne runs across to the door, to listen.

ACT III

THE FOUNDATIONS

59

[On rising voic£] I would conclude with some genera! remarks. Ladies and gentlemen, the great natural, but — er — artificial expansion which trade experienced the first years after the war has — er — collapsed. These are hard times. We who are fortunate feel more than ever — er — responsible — [He stammers, loses the thread of his thoughts. — Applause] — er — responsible — [The thread still eludes him] — er

L. Anne. [PoigTiantly] Oh, Daddy !

Lord W. [Desperately] In fact — er — you know how — er — responsible we feel.

L. Anne. Hooray! [Applause,

There float in through the tcindows the hoarse and distant sounds of the Marseillaise^ as sung hy London voices.

Lord W. There is a feeling in the air — that I for one should say dehberately was — er — a feeling in the air — er — a feeling in the air

L. Anne. [Agonized] Oh, Daddy ! Stop !

[James enters, and closes the door behind him,

James. Look here ! 'Ave I got to report you to Miss Stokes .^

L. Anne. No-o-o !

James. Well, I'm gom' to.

L. Anne. Oh, James, be a friend to me ! I've seen nothing yet.

James. No; but you've eaten a good bit, on the stairs. What price that Peach Melba .'

L. Anne. I can't go to bed till I've digested it — can I ? There's such a lovely crowd in the street !

60 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi

James. Lovely? Ho!

L. Anne. [Wheedling] James, you couldn't tell Miss Stokes! It isn't m you, is it.^ James. [Grinning] That's right. L. Anne. So— I'll just get under here. [She gets under the table] Do I show ? James. [Stooping] Not 'arf !

[PouLDER enters from the hall. PouLDER. AMiat are you doin' there ? James. [Between him and the table — raising himself] Thinkm'.

PouLDER purses his moulh to repress his feel- ings. PouLDER. My orders are to fetch the bomb up here for Lady William to inspect. Take care no more writers stray in.

James. How shall I know 'em ? PouLDER. Well — either very bald or very hairy. James. Right-o ! [Ee goes.

PouLDER, with his hack to the table, busies himself vnth the set of his collar. PouLDEB. [Addressing an imaginary audience — in a low but important voice] The — ah— situation is seerious.

It is up to us of the — ah — leisured classes

The face of Little Anne is poked out close to his legs, and tiUs upwards in wonder towards the bow of his waistcoat. to— ah — keep the people down. The olla polloi are

clamourin'

Miss Stokes appears from the haU, betu?een the pillars.

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 61

Miss S. Poulder !

PouLDER. [Making a volte face towards the table] Miss?

Miss S. "VMiere is Anne?

Poulder. [Vexed at the disturbance of his speech] Ex- cuse me, Miss — to keep track of Miss Anne is fortu- nately no part of my dooties.

Miss S. She really is naughty.

Poulder. She is. K she was mine, I'd spank her. The smiling face of Little Anne becomes visi- ble again close to his legs.

Miss S. Not a nice word.

Poulder. No; but a pleasant haction. Miss Anne's the limit. In fact, Lord and Lady "William are much too kind-'earted all round. Take these sweated work- ers; that class o' people are quite 'opeless. Treatin' them as your equals, shakin' 'ands with 'em, givin' 'em tea — it only puffs 'em out. Leave it to the Church, I say.

Miss S. The Church is too busy, Poulder.

Poulder. Ah! That "Purity an' Future o' the Race Campaign." I'll tell you what I think's the dan- ger o' that. Miss. So much purity that there won't be a future race. [Expanding] Purity of 'eart's an ex- cellent thing, no doubt, but there's a want of nature about it. Same with this Anti-Sweatmg. Unless you're anxious to come down, you must not put the * lower classes up.

Miss S. I don't agree with you at all, Poulder.

Poulder. Ah! You want it both ways, Miss, I should imagine you're a Liberal.

62 THE FOUNDATIONS act iii

Miss S. [Horrified\ Oh, no ! I certainly am not. PoxjLDER. Well, I judged from your takin' cocoa. Funny thing that, about cocoa — how it still runs through the Liberal Party ! It's virtuous, I suppose. Wine, beer, tea, coffee — all of 'em vices. But cocoa — you might drink a gallon a day and annoy no one but yourself ! There's a lot o' deep things in life. Miss ! Miss S. Quite so. But I must find Anne.

[She recedes. PouLDER. [Suavely] Well, I wish you every success; and I hope you'll spank her. This modern education — there's no fruitiness in it.

L. Anne. [From under the table] Poulder, are you virtuous ? Poulder. [Jumping] Good Ged ! L. Anne. D'you mind my asking.? I promised James I would. Poulder. Miss Anne, come out!

[The four footmen appear in the hally Henry

carrying the mine cooler,

James. Form fours — by your right — quick march!

[They enter, marching down right of table.

Right mcline— Mark time ! Left turn ! 'Alt ! 'Enry,

set the bomb ! Stand easy !

Henry places the wine cooler on the table and

covers it with a blue embroidered Chinese mat,

which has occupied the centre of the tablecloth.

Poulder. Ah ! You will 'ave your game ! Thomas,

take the door there! James, the 'all! Admit titles

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 63

an' bishops. No literary or Labour people. Charles and 'Enry, 'op it and 'ang about !

Charles and Hexry go out, the other too

move to their staiions. PouLDER stands by the table looking at the covered bomb. The hoarse and distant sounds of the Marseiilaise float in again from Park Lane. [Moved by some deep feeling] And this house an 'orspi- tal in the war ! I ask you — what was the good of all our sacrifices for the country ? No town 'ouse for four seasons — rustygettin' in the shires, not a soul but two boys under me. Lord William at the front, Lady Wil- liam at the back. And all for this! [He points sadly at the cooler] It comes of meddlin' on the Continent. I had my prognostications at the time. [ToJajmes] You remember my sayin' to you just before you joined up: "Mark my words — we shall see eight per cent, for our money before this is over!"

Jajies. [Sepidchrally] I see the eight per cent., but not the money.

Poulder. Hark at that !

The sounds of the Marseillaise grow louder. He shakes his head.

I'd read the Riot Act. They'll be lootin' this house neirt!

James. We'll put up a fight over your body: "Bar- tholomew Poulder, faithful unto death!" Have you insured your life ?

64 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi

PoULDER. Against a revolution ?

James. Act o' God ! ^Yhy not?

PouLDER. It's not an act o' God.

Ja^ies. It is; and I sympathise with it.

PouLDER. You — what?

James. I do — only — hands off the gov'nor.

PouLDER. Oh! Reelly! Well, that's something. I'm glad to see you stand behind him> at all events.

James. I stand in front of 'im when the scrap begins !

PouLDER. Do you insinuate that my heart's not in the right place ?

James. Well, look at it! It's been creepin* down ever smce I knew you. Talk of your sacrifices in the war — they put you on your honour, and you got stout on it. Rations — not 'arf !

PouLDER. [Staring at him] For independence, I've never seen your equal, James. You might be an Aus- tralian !

James. [Stiavely] Keep a civil tongue, or I'll throw you to the crowd ! [He comes fonoard to tlie table] Shall I tell you why I favomr the gov'nor ? Because, with all his pomp, he's a gentleman, as much as I am. Never asks you to do what he wouldn't do himself. What's more, he never comes it over you. If you get drunk, or — well, you understand me, Poulder — he'll just say: "Yes, yes; I know, James !" till he makes you feel he's done it himself. [Sinking his voice mysteriously] I've had experience with him, in the war and out. WTiy ! he didn't even hate the Huns, not as he ought. I tell you he's no Christian.

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 65

PouLDER. Well, for irreverence !

Jaaies. [Obstinately] And he'll never be. He's got too soft a heart.

L. Anne. [Beneath the table — shrilly] Hurrah !

PouLDER. [Jumping] Come out, Miss Anne !

James. Let 'er alone !

PouLDER. In there, under the bomb.''

James. [Contemptuoudy] Silly ass ! You should take 'em lying dowTi !

PouLDER. Look here, James ! I can't go on in this revolutionary spirit; either you or I resign.

James. Crisis in the Cabinet!

PouLDER. I give you your marchin' orders.

James. [Ineffably] ^Vhat's that you give me.^

Po^TLDER. Thomas, remove James!

[Thomas grins.

L. Anne. [Who, with open mouthy has crept out to see the fun] Oh ! Do remove James, Thomas ! PouLDER. Go on, Thomas !

Thomas takes one step towards James, who lays a hand on the Chinese mat covering the hornb.

James. [Grimly] If I lose control of meself

L. Anne. [Clapping her hands] Oh ! James ! Do lose control ! Then I shall see it go off !

James. [To Poulder] Well, I'll merely empty the pail over you !

PouLDEB. This is not becomin' !

[He walks out into the hall.

66 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi

James. Another strategic victory! What a Boche he'd have made. As you were, Tommy !

Thomas returns to the door. The sound of prolonged applause comes from within. That's a bishop. L. Anne. Why.?

James. By the way he's drawin'. It's the fine fightin' spirit m 'em. They were the backbone o' the war. I see there's a bit o' the old stuff left m you, Tommy.

L. Anne. [Scrutinizing the vMely-grinning Thomas] Where? Is it in his mouth.?

James. You've still got a sense of your superiors. Didn't you notice how you moved to Poulder's orders, me boy; an' when he was gone, to mine ? L. Anne. [To Thomas] March!

[The grinning Thomas remains immovable. He doesn't, James !

James. Look here. Miss Anne — your lights ought to be out before ten. Close in. Tommy !

[He and Thomas move towards her. L. Anne. [Dodging] Oh, no ! Oh, no ! Look !

The footmen stop and turn. There between the pillars stands Little Aida with the trousers, her face brilliant with surprise, James. Good Lord ! What's this ?

Seeing Little Anne, Little Aida approaches, fascinated, and the two children sniff at each other as it were like two little dogs walking round and round.

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 67

L. Anne. [Suddenly] My name's Anne; what's yours ?

L. AiDA. Aida.

L. Anne, Are you lost ?

L. Aida. Nao.

L. Anne. Are those trousers?

L. Aida. Yus.

L. Anne. WTiose?

L. Aida. Mrs. Lemmy's.

L. Anne. Does she wear them ?

[Little Aida smiles brilliantly.

L. Aida. Nao. She sews 'em.

L. Anne. [Touching the trousers] They are hard. James's are much softer; aren't they, James .^ [James deigns no reply] What shall we do.'* Would you like to see my bedroom ?

L. Aida. [With a hoy] Aoh, yus !

James. No.

L. Anne. WTiy not.^

James. Have some sense of what's fittin'.

L. Anne. Why isn't it fittin'? [To Little Aida] Do you like me?

L. Aida. Yus-s.

L. Anne. So do I. Come on !

[She takes Little Aida's hand.

James. [Between the pillars] Tommy, ketch 'em ! [Thomas retains them by the skirts.

L. Anne. [Feigning indifference] All right, then! [To Little Aida] Have you ever seen a bomb?

L. Aida. Nao.

I

68 THE FOUNDATIONS act m

L. Anne. [Going to the table and lifting a corner of the cover] Look !

L. AiDA. [Looking] What's it for?

L. Anne. To blow up this house.

L. AiDA. I daon't fink !

L. Anne. Why not?

L. AiDA. It's a beautiful big 'ouse.

L. Anne. That's why. Isn't it, James?

L. AiDA. You give the fing to me; I'll blow up our 'ouse — it's an ugly little 'ouse.

L. Anne. [Struck] Let's all blow up our own; then we can start fair. Daddy would like that.

L. AiDA. Yus. [Suddenly brilliant] I've 'ad a ride in a taxi, an' we're goin' 'ome in it agyne !

L. Anne. Were you sick ?

Little Aida. [Brilliant] Nao.

L. Anne. I was, when I first went in one, but I was quite young then. James, could you get her a Peche Melba ? There was one.

James. No.

L. Anne. Have you seen the revolution ?

L. Aida. Wot's that?

L. Anne. It's made of people.

L. Aida. I've seen the corfin, it's myde o' wood.

L. Anne. Do you hate the rich ?

L. Aida. [Ineffably] Nao. I hates the poor.

L. Anne. Why?

L. Aida. 'Cos they 'yn't got nuffin'.

L. Anne. I love the poor. They're such dears.

L. Aida. [Shaking her head with a broad smile] Nao.

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 69

L. Anne. "VMiy not ?

L. AiDA. I'd tyke and Lose the lot, I would.

L. Anne. Where.'*

L. AiDA. In the water.

L. AxxE. Like puppies.?

L. AiDA. Yus.

L. Anne. WTiy?

L. AiDA. Then I'd be shut of *em.

L. Anne. [Puzzled] Oh !

The voice of The Press is heard in the hall. ''Where's the little girlP" James. That's you. Come 'ere !

He puts a hand behind Little Aida's hack

and propels her towards the hall. The Press

enters with old Mrs. Lemmy.

Press. Oh! Here she is, major domo. I'm going

to take this old lady to the meeting; they want her on

the platform. Look after our friend, Mr. Lemmy

here; Lord William wants to see him presently.

L. Anne. [7m an awed whisper] James, it's the little blighter !

She dives again under the table. Lemmy enters. LEMirr. 'Ere ! 'Arf a mo' ! Yer said yer'd drop me at my plyce. Well, I tell yer candid — this 'jm't my plyce !

Press. That's all right, Mr. Lemmy. [He grins] They'll make you wonderfully comfortable, won't you, major domo ?

He passes on throicgh the room, to the door, itshering old Mrs. Lemmy and Little Aida.

70 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi

PouLDER bhcks Lemmy's tDapi with Chables and Henry behind him. PouiiDER. James, watch it; I'll report.

He moves away, folloicing The Press through the door. James between table and window. Thomas has gone to the door. Henry and Charles remain at the entrances to the hall. Lemmy looks dubiously around, his cockney assurance gradually returns. LEirMT. I think I knows the gas 'ere. This is where I came to-dy, 'jTi't it? Excuse my hesitytion — these little 'ouses is so much the syme ! James. [Gloomily] They are !

LEiiMY. {Looking at the four immovable footmen, till he concentrates on James] Ah ! I 'ad a word wiv you, 'adn't I.'^ You're the four conscientious ones wot's wyin' on your gov'nor's chest. 'Twas you I spoke to, wasn't it? [His eyes travel over them again] Ye're so monotonous. Well, ye're busy now, I see. I won't wyste yer time.

He turns towards the hall, hut Charles and Henry bar the way in silence. [Skidding a little, and regarding the four immovables once more] I never see such pytient men? Compared wiv yer, mountains is restless !

He goes to the table. James watches him.

Anne barks from underneath.

[Skidding again] Why! There's a dawg under there.

[Noting the grin on Thomas's face] Glad it amooses

yer. Yer want it, daon't yer, wiv a fyce like that?

ACT in THE FOUNDATIONS 71

Is this a ply wivaht words ? *Ave I got into the movies by mistyke? Turn aht, an' let's 'ave six penn'orth o' darkness. L. Anne. [From beneath the table] No, no f Not dark ! LENnrr. [Musingly] The dawg talks anywy. Come aht, Fido !

Little Anne emerges, and regards him with burning curiosity. I sy : Is this the hlest fashion o' receivin' guests ?

L. Anne. Mother always wants people to feel at home. ^Miat shall we do? Would you like to hear the speeches ? Thomas, open the door a little, do ! James. 'Umour 'er a couple o' inches, Tommy !

Thomas draws the door back stealthily an inch or so. L. Anne. [After applying her eye — in a loud whisper] There's the old lady. Daddy's looking at her trousers. Listen!

For Mrs. Lemmy's voice is floating faindy through: ''I putt in the buttonholes, I stretches the flies ; I 'enis the bottoms ; I lines the crutch ; I putt on this bindin' ; I sews on the buttons ; I presses the seams — Tuppence three farthins the pair. Lemmt. [In a hoarse whisper] That's it, old lydy: give it 'em ! L. Anne. Listen!

Voice of Lord W. We are indebted to our friends the Press for giving us the pleasure — er — pleasure of hearing from her own lips — the pleasure

72 THE FOUNDATIONS act iii

L. Anne. Oh! Daddy!

[Thomas abruptly closes the doors.

Lemmy. [To Anne] Now yer've done it. See wot comes o' bein' impytient. We was just gettin' to the marrer.

L. Anne. AYhat can we do for you now ?

Lemmy. [Pointing to Anne, and addressing James] Wot is this one, anj'wy ?

James. [Sejmlchrally] Daughter o' the house.

Lemmy. Is she insured agjTist 'er own curiosity?

L. Anne. "VMiy.^

Lemmy. As I daon't believe in a life beyond the gryve, I might be tempted to send yer there.

L. Anne. "VMiat is the gryve.?

Lemmy. Where little gells goes to.

L. Anne. Oh, when?

Lemmy. [Pretending to look at a watch, which is not there] W^ell, I dunno if I've got time to finish yer this minute. Sy to-morrer at 'arf past.

L. Anne. Half past what ?

Lemmy. [Despairingly] 'Arf past wot !

[The sound of applause is heard.

James. That's 'is Grace. 'E's gettin' wickets, too. [PouLDER entering from the door.

PouLDER. Lord William is slippin' in.

He makes a cabalistic sign loith his head. James crosses to the door. LEM\r3r looks dubiously at Poxtldeb.

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 73

Lemmt. [Suddenly — as to himself] Wot oh ! I am the portly one !

PouLDER. [Severely] Any such allusion aggeravates your offence.

Lemmy. Oh, ah ! Look 'ere, it was a corked bottle. Now, tyke care, tyke care, 'aughty ! Daon't curl yer lip ! I shall myke a clean breast o* my betryal when the time comes !

There is a slight movement of the door. Axne makes a dive towards the table but is arrested by PouLDER grasping her waistband. Lord William slips in, foUmced by The Press, on whom Jaiies and Tho^lis close the door too soon. Half of the Press. [Indignantly] Look out ! LoiES. Do you want him in or out, me Lord ? LEicnY. I sy, you've divided the Press; 'e was unanimous.

[The Footmen let The Press through. Lord W. [To The Press] I'm so sorry. Lemmy. Would yer like me to see to 'is gas.^ Lord W. So you're my friend of the cellars ? LEMiiY. [Uneasy] I daon't deny it.

[PouLDER begins removing Little Axne. L. Axxe. Let me stay. Daddy; I haven't seen any- thing yet! If I go, I shall only have to come down again when they loot the house. Listen !

The hoarse strains of the Marseillaise are again heard from the distance. Lord W. [Blandly] Take her up, Poulder !

74 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi

L. Anne. Well, I'm coming down again — and next time I shan't have any clothes on, you know.

They vanish between the pillars. Lord Wil- liam makes a sign of dismissal. The Foot- men file out.

Lemmy. [Admiringly] Luv'ly pyces !

Lord W. [Pleasantly] Now then; let's have our talk, Mr.

Lemmy. Lemmy.

Press. [Who has slipped his note-hook out] "Bombed and Bomber face to face "

Lemmy. [Uneasy] I didn't come 'ere agyne on me own, yer know. The Press betryed me.

Lord W. Is that old lady your mother ?

Lemmy. The syme. I tell yer stryte, it was for 'er I took that old bottle o' port. It was orful old.

Lord W. Ah! Port? Probably the '63. Hope you both enjoyed it.

Lemmy. So far — yus. Muwer'll suffer a bit to- morrer, I expect.

Lord W. I should like to do something for your mother, if you'll allow me.

Lemmy. Oh! I'll allow yer. But I dunno wot she'll sy.

Lord W. I can see she's a fine independent old lady ! But suppose you were to pay her ten bob a week, and keep my name out of it.^

Lemmy. Well, that's one wy o' you doin' somefink, 'yn't it?

Lord W. I giving you the money, of course.

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 75

Press. [Writing] "Lord William, with kingly gen- erosity "

Lemmt. [Drawing attention to The Press with his thumb] I sy — I daon't mind, meself — if you daon't

Lord W. He won't write anything to annoy me.

Press. This is the big thing, Lord William; it'll get the public bang in the throat.

Lemmy. [Confidentially] Bit dyngerous, '\Ti't it?— trustin' the Press .^ Their right 'ands never knows wot their left 'ands is writin'. [To The Press] 'Yn't that true, speakin' as a man ?

Press. ]NL'. Lemmy, even the Press is capable of gratitude.

Lem^iy. Is it.' I should ha' thought it was too im- portant for a little thmg like that. [To Lord Willl^m] But ye're quite right; we couldn't do wivaht the Press — there wouldn't be no distress, no corfin, no revolu- tion— 'cos nobody'd know nuffin' abaht it. WTiy! There wouldn't be no life at all on Earf in these dyes, wivaht the Press ! It's them wot says: "Let there be Light — an' there is Light."

Lord W. Umm! That's rather a new thought to me. [Writes on his cuff.]

LEinrY. But abaht Muvver, I'll teU yer 'ow we can arrjTige. You send 'er the ten bob a week wivaht s\dn' anj^fink, an' she'll fink it comes from Gawd or the Gover'ment — yer ca^Ti't tell one from t'other m Befnal Green.

Lord W. All right; we'll do that.

76 THE FOUNDATIONS act m

Lemmt. Will yer reely ? I'd like to shyke yer 'and. Lord William puts out his hand, which Leseviy grasps.

Press. [Writing] "The heart-beat of humanity was in that grasp between the son of toil and the son of leisure."

Lemmy. [Already ashamed of his emotion] 'Ere, 'arf a mo'! Which is which .^ Daon't forget I'm aht o' work; Lord William, if that's 'is nyme, is workin' 'ard at 'is Anti-Sweats ! Wish I could get a job like vat — jist suit me !

Lord W. That hits hard, Mr. Lemmy !

Lemmy. Daon't worry ! Yer cawn't 'elp bein' born in the purple !

Lord W. Ah ! Tell me, what would you do in my place ?

Lemmy. Why — as the nobleman said in 'is well- known wy: "Sit in me Club winder an' watch it ryne on the dam people !" That's if I was a average noble- man ! If I was a bit more noble, I might be tempted to come the kind-'earted on twenty thou' a year. Some prefers yachts, or ryce 'orses. But philanthropy on the 'ole is syfer, in these dyes.

Lord W. So you think one takes to it as a sort of insurance, Mr. Lemmy .5^ Is that quite fair.^

Lemmy. Well, we've all got a weakness towards bein' kind, somewhere abaht us. But the moment wealf comes in, we 'yn't wot I call single- 'carted. If yer went into the foundytions of your wealf — would yer feel like 'avin' any? It all comes from uvver people's 'ard, unpleasant lybour — it's all built on

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 77

Muv\^er as yer might sj\ An' if yer daon't get rid o* some of it in bein' kind — yer daon't feel sWe nor comfy.

Lord W. [Twisting his moustache] Your philosophy is very pessimistic.

LEiTMY. Well, I calls meself an optimist; I sees the worst of everyfink. Never disappjuted, can afford to 'ave me smile under the blackest sky. "When deaf is squeezin' of me windpipe, I shall 'ave a laugh in it! Fact is, if yer've 'ad to do wiv gas an' water pipes, yer can fyce anji&ng. [The distant Marseillaise blares up] 'Ark at the revolution !

Lord W. [Rather desperately] I know — hunger and all the rest of it ! And here am I, a rich man, and don't know what the deuce to do.

LiarMY. Well, I'll tell yer. Throw yer cellars open, an' while the populyce is gettin' drunk, sell all yer 'ave an' go an' live in Ireland; they've got the millennium chronic over there.

Lord Willloi utters a short, vexed laugh, and begins to walk about. That's speakin' as a practical man. Speakin' as a s\Tit — "Bruvvers, all I 'ave is yours. To-morrer I'm goin' dahn to the Lybour ExchjTige to git put on the wytin' list, syme as you !"

Lord W. But, d it, man, there we should be,

all together ! Would that help ?

LEiOiY. Nao; but it'd s\^'e a lot o' blood.

Lord William stops abruptly, and looks first at Le^imy, the7i at the cooler, still covered with the Chinese mat. Yer thought the Englishman could be taught to shed

78 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi

blood wiv syfety. Not 'im! Once yer git *im into an 'abit, yer cawn't git 'im out of it agyne. 'E'll go on sheddin' blood mechanical — Conservative by nyture. An' 'e won't myke nuffin' o' yours. Not even the Press wiv 'is 'oneyed words'll sty 'is 'and.

Lord W. And what do you suggest we could have done, to avoid trouble?

Lemmy. [Warming to his theme] I'll tell yer. If all you wealfy nobs wiv kepitel 'ad come it kind from the start after the war yer'd never 'a been 'earin' the Marseillaisy naow. Lord ! 'Ow you did talk abaht Unity and a noo spirit in the Country. Noo spirit! ^Vhy, soon as ever there was no djTiger from outside, yer stawted to myke it inside, wiv an iron 'and. Naow, you've been in the war an' it's given yer a feelin' 'eart; but most of the nobs wiv kepitel was too old or too important to fight. They weren't born agj-ne. So naow that bad times is come, we're 'owlin' for their blood.

Lord W. I quite agree; I quite agree. I've often said much the same thing.

Lemmy. Voice cryin' in the wilderness — ^I daon't sy we was yngels — there was faults on bofe sides. [He looks at The Press] The Press could ha' helped yer a lot. Shall I tell yer wot the Press did.? "It's vital," said the Press, "that the country should be united, or it will never recover." Nao strikes, nao 'uman nature, nao nuflSnk. Kepitel an' Lybour like the Siamese twins. And, fust dispute that come along, the Press orfs wiv its coat an' goes at it bald-'eaded.

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 79

An' wot abaht since? Sich a riot o' nymes called, in Press and Pawlyement — Unpatriotic an' outrygeous demands o' lybour. Blood-suckin' tyrannj^ o' Kepitel; thieves an' dawgs an' 'owlin Jackybines — gents throwin' books at each other; all the resources of edjucytion ex- hausted ! If I'd been Prime Minister I'd 'ave 'ad the Press's gas cut 'orf at the meter. Puffect liberty, of course, nao Censorship; just sy wot yer like — an' never be 'card of no more.

Turning suddenly to The Press, who has been scribbling in pace with this harangue, and now has developed a touch of writer s cramp. Why ! 'Is 'and's out o' breath ! Fink o' vet !

Lord W. Great tribute to your eloquence, Mr. Lemmy !

A sudden stir of applause and scraping of chairs is heard ; the meeting is evidently breaking up. Lady William comes in, followed by Mrs. Lemmy with her trousers, and Little Aida. Lemmy stares fixedly at this sudden radiant apparition. His gaze becomes as that of a rabbit regarding a snake. And suddenly he puts up his hand and wipes his brow. Lady William, going to the table, lifts one end of the Chinese mxtt, and looks at Leachy. Then she turns to Lord William. Lady W. BiU !

Lemmy. [To his mother — in a hoarse ichisper] She calls 'im Bill. 'Ow ! 'Yn't she IT?

80 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi

Lady W. [Apart] Have you spoken to him?

[Lord Willia:^! shakes his head,. Not ? TMiat have you been saying, then ? Lord W. Nothing, he's talked all the time. Lady W. [Very loic] WTiat a little caution ! Lord W. Steady, old girl! He's got his eye on you!

Lady William looks at Lemmy, whose eyes are still fixed on her.

Lady W. [With resolution] Well, 7'w going to tackle him.

She moves towards Levoiy, who again toipes his brow, and tarings out his hand.

Mrs. Lemmy. Don't 'ee du that. Bob. Yu must forgive 'im. Ma'am; it's 'is admiration. 'E was always one for the ladies, and he'm not used to seein' so much of 'em.

Lady W. Don't you think you owe us an explana- tion "^

Mrs. L. Speak up, Bob.

[But Lemmy ordy shifts his feet. My gudeness! 'E'v^e a-lost 'is tongue. I never knu that 'appen to 'e before.

Lord W. [Trying to break the embarrassment] No ill- feeling, you know, Lemmy.

[Bui Lemmy stiU only rolls his eyes.

Lady W. Don't you think it was rather — incon- siderate of you?

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 81

Lemmy. Muvver, tyke me aht, I'm feelin' fynte!

Spurts of the Marseillaise and the mutter of the crowd have been coining nearer ; and suddenly a knocking is heard. Poulder and James appear between the pillars, Poulder. The populace, me Lord ! Lady W. What!

Lord W. Where' ve you put 'em, Poulder? Poulder. They've put theirselves in the portico, me Lord.

Lord W. [Suddenly unping his broio] Phew ! I say, this is awful, Nell ! Two speeches in one evening. Nothing else for it, I suppose. Open the window, Poulder !

Poulder. [Crossing to the icindow] We are prepared for any sacrifice, me Lord. [He opens the vnndow.

Press. [Writing furiously] "Lady William stood like a statue at bay."

Lord W. Got one of those lozenges on you, Nell.'*

But Lady William has almost nothing on her. Lemmy. [Produmng a paper from his pocket] 'Ave one o' my gum drops ?

[He passes it to Lord William.

Lord W. [Unable to refuse, takes a large flat gum drop from the paper, and looks at it in embarrassment.] Ah ! thanks ! Thanks awfully !

Lemmy turns to Little Aida, and puts a gum drop in her mouth. A burst of murmurs from the crowd.

82 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi

James. [Towering above the wine cooler] If they get saucy, me Lord, I can always give 'em their own back. Lord "VY. Steady, James; steady !

He puts the gum drop absently in his mouth, and turns up to the open window.

Voice. [Outside] 'Ere they are — the bally pluto- crats. [Voices in chorus : '* Bread ! Bread .'"

Lord W. Poulder, go and tell the chef to send out anything there is in the house — nicely^ as if it came from nowhere in particular.

Poulder. Very good, me Lord. [Sotto voce] Any wine.'^ If I might suggest — German — 'ock.^

Lord W. What you like.

Poulder Very good, me Lord. [He goes.

Lord W. I say, dash it, Nell, m^^ teeth are stuck ! [He works his finger in his mouth.

Lady W. Take it out, darling.

Lord W. [Taking out the gum drop and looking at it] What the deuce did I put it m for?

Press. [Writing] "With inimitable coolness Lord William prepared to address the crowd."

[Voices in chorus : ''Bread I Bread /"

Lord W. Stand by to prompt, old gu-l. Now for it. This ghastly gum drop !

Lady William takes it from his agitated hand, and flips it through the window.

Voice. Dahn with the aristo [Chokes.

Lady W. Oh ! Bill — oh I It's gone into a mouth !

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 83

Lord W. Good God !

Voice. Wot's this? Throwin' things? Mind aht, or we'll smash yer winders !

As the voices in chorus chant : ''Bread ! Bread / " Little Anne, night-gowned, darts in from the hall. She is followed by Miss Stokes. They stand listening.

Lord W. [To the Crowd] My friends, you've come to the wrong shop. There's nobody in London more sympathetic with you. [The crowd laughs hoarsely. [Whispering] Look out, old girl; they can see your shoulders. [Lady William moves back a step. If I were a speaker, I could make you feel

Voice. Look at his white weskit ! Blood-suckers — fattened on the people!

[James dives his hand at the wine cooler.

Lord W. I've always said the Government ought

to take immediate steps

Voice. To shoot us dahn.

Lord W. Not a bit. To relieve the — er

Lady W. [Prompting] Distress.

Lord W. Distress, and ensure — er — ensure

Lady W. [Prompting] Quiet.

Lord W. [To her] No, no. To ensure — ensure

L. Axxe. [Agonized] Oh, Daddy!

Voice. 'E wants to syve 'is dirty great 'ouse.

Lord W. [Roused] D if I do !

[Rude and hoarse laughter from the crowd.

84 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi

J-\MES. [With fury] Me Lord, let me blow 'em to glory !

He raises the cooler and advances towards the vnndow.

Lord W. [Turning sharply on him] Drop it, James; drop it ! Press. [Jumping] No, no; don't drop it!

James retires crestfallen to the table, where he replaces the cooler.

Lord W. [Catching hold of his bit] Look here, I must have fought alongside some of you fellows in the war. Weren't we jolly well like brothers?

A Voice. Not so much bloomin' "Kamerad"; hand over yer 'ouse.

Lord W. I was born with this beastly great house, and money, and goodness knows what other entangle- ments— a wife and family

Voice. Bom with a wife and family !

[Jeers end laughter.

Lord W. I feel we're all in the same boat, and I want to pull my weight. If you can show me the way, I'll take it fast enough.

A Deep Voice. Step dahn then, an' we'll step up.

Another Voice. 'Ear, 'Ear!

[A fierce little cheer.

Lord W. [To Lady William — in despair] By George ! I can't get in anywhere ! Lady W. [Calmly] Then shut the window, Bill.

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 85

LEMiiY. [Who has been moving towards them slowly] Lemme sy a word to 'em.

All stare at him. Lemjiy approaches the win- dow, followed by Littke Aida. Poulder re-enters with the three other footmen. [At the window] Cheerio ! Cockies !

[The silence of surprise falls on the crowd. I'm one of yer. Gas an' water I am. Got more grievances an* out of employment than any of yer. I M'ant to see their blood flow, sjTne as you.

Press. [Writing] "Born orator — ready cockney wit — saves situation."

LEiGiY. Wot I sy is: Dahn wiv the country, dahu wiv everyfing. Begin agyne from the foundytions. [Nodding his head back at the room] But we've got to keep one or two o' these 'ere under glawss, to show our future generytions. An' this one is 'armless. His pipes is sahnd, 'is 'eart is good; 'is 'ead is not strong. 'Is 'ouse will myke a charmin' palace o' varieties where our children can come an' see 'ow they did it in the good old dyes. Yer never see sich waxworks as 'is butler and 'is four conscientious khaki footmen. "WTiy — wot d'yer think 'e 'as 'em for — fear they might be out-o'-works like you an' me. Nao ! Keep this one; 'e's a Flower. 'Arf a mo' ! I'll show yer my Muwer. Come 'ere, old lydy; and bring yer trahsers. [Mrs. Lemmy comes forward to the window] Tell abaht yer speech to the meetin'.

Mrs. Lemmy. [Bridling] Oh dear ! Well, I cam' in with me trousers, an' they putt me up on the pedestory

86 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi

at once, so I tole 'em. [Holding up the trousers] "I putt in the button'oles, I stretches the flies; I lines the crutch; I putt on this bindin', I presses the seams — Tuppence three farthin's a pair."

[.4 groan jroni the crowd.

Lemmy. [Showing her off] Seventy-seven! Wot's 'er income ? Twelve bob a week; seven from the Gov- er'ment, an' five from the sweat of 'er brow. Look at 'er ! 'Yn't she a tight old dear to keep it gom' ! No workus for 'er, nao fear ! The gryve rather !

Murmurs from the crowd, at whom Mrs. Lemmy is blandly smiling. You cawn't git below 'er — impossible! She's the foundytions of the country — an' rocky ':yTi't the word for 'em. Worked 'ard all 'er life, brought up a family and buried 'em on it. Twelve bob a week, an' seven when 'er fingers goes, which is very near. Well, naow, this torf 'ere comes to me an' says: "I'd like to do somefin' for yer muwer. 'Ow's ten bob a week?" 'e says. Naobody arst 'im — quite on 'is o^m. That's the sort 'e is. [Sinking his voice confidentially] Sorft. You brmg yer muwers 'ere, 'e'U do the syme for them. I giv yer the 'int.

Voice. [From the crowd] WTiat's 'is nyme ?

Lemmy. They calls 'im Bill.

Voice. Bill what ?

L. Anne. Dromondy.

Lady W. Anne!

Lemmy. Dromedary 'is nyme is.

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 87

Voice. [From the crotod] Three cheers for Bill Drom- edary.

Lemsit. I sy, there's veal an' 'am, an' pork wine at the back for them as wants it; I 'card the word passed. An' look 'ere, if yer want a flag for the revolution, tyke muvver's trahsers an' tie 'em to the corfin. Yer cawn't 'ave no more inspirin' banner. Ketch! [He throws the trousers out] Give Bill a double-barrel fust, to show there's no ill-feelin'. 'Ip, 'ip !

The crowd cheers, then slowly passes away, singing its hoarse version of the Marseillaise, till all that is heard is a faint murmuring and a distant barrel-organ playing the same tune.

Press. [Writing] ''And far up m the clear summer air the larks were singing."

Lord W. [Passing his hand over his hair, and blink- ing his eyes] James! Ready?

James. Me Lord !

L. Anne. Daddy!

Lady W. [Taking his arm] Bill 1 It's all right, old man — all right !

Lord W. [Blinldng] Those infernal larks ! Thought we were on the Somme again! Ah! Mr. Lemmy, [StiU rather dreamy] no end obliged to you; you're so decent. Now, why did you want to blow us up before dinner ?

Lemmy. Blow yer up? [Passing his hand over his hair in travesty] "Is it a dream? Then wykin' would be pyne."

88 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi

Mrs. Lemmy. Bo-ob ! Not so saucy, my boy !

Lemmy. Blow yer up ? Wot abaht it ?

Lady W. [Indicating the bomb] This, IVIr. Lemmy! Lemmy looks at ity and his eyes roll and goggle.

Lord W. Come, all's forgiven ! But why did you ?

Lemmy. Orl right! I'm goin' to tyke it awy; it'd a-been a bit ork'ard for me. I'll want it to-morrer.

Lord W. What! To leave somewhere else.'*

Lemmy. Yus, of course !

Lord W. No, no; dash it ! Tell us — what's it filled with?

Lemmy. Filled wiv ? Nuffin'. Wot did yer expect ? Toof-pahder ? It's got a bit o' my lead soldered on to it. That's why it's 'eavy !

Lord W. But what is it.^

Lemmy. Wot is it ? [His eyes are fearfvlly fixed on Lady William] I fought everybody knew 'em.

Lady W. IVIr. Lemmy, you must clear this up, please.

Lemmy. [To Lord William, with his eyes still fixed on Lady Willla^ — mysteriously] Wiv lydies present.? 'Adn't I better tell the Press.?

Lord W. All right; tell someone — anyone !

Lemmy goes down to The Press, who is read- ing over his last note. Everyone watches and listens with the utmost discretion, while he whispers into the ear of The Press, who shakes his head violently.

Press. No, no; it's too horrible. It destroys my whole

ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 89

Lemmy. Well, I tell yer it is.

[Whispers again viokntly. Press. No, no; I can't have it. All my article ! All my article ! It can't be — no !

Lemmy. I never see sich an obstinate thick-head! Yer 'yn't worvy of yer tryde.

He whispers still more violently and rrmkes

cabalistic signs. Lady William lifts the bomb from the cooler into the sight of all. Lord Willl\ii, seeing it for the first time in full light, bends double in silent laughter, and whispers to his wife. Lady Willlui drops the bomb and gives way too. Hearing the sound, Lemmy turns, and his goggling eyes pass them all in review. Lord and Lady WiLLL\ii in fits of laughter, Little Anne stamping her feet, for ^Iiss Stokes, red, but composed^ has her hands placed firmly over her pupil's eyes and ears ; Little Aida smiling brilliantly, Mrs. Lemmy blandly in sympathy, neither know- ing why; the Foltr Footmen in a row, smothering little explosions. Poulder, ex- tremely grave and redy The Press perfectly haggard, gnav:ing at his nails. Lemmy. [Turning to The Press] Blimy ! It amooses 'em, all but the genteel ones. Cheer oh ! Press ! Yer can always myke somefin' out o' nuffin' ? It's not the fust thing as 'as existed in yer imaginytion only. Press. No, d it; I'll keep it a bomb !

90 THE FOUNDATIONS act iii

Lemmy. [Soothingly] Ah ! Keep the sensyticn. Wot's the troof compared wiv that? Come on, Muvver! Come on. Little Aida! Time we was goin' dahn to 'Earf !

He goes up to the table, and still skidding a little at Lady William, takes the late bomb from ike cooleTy placing it under his arm. Mrs. Lemmy. Gude naight, sir; gude naight, ma'am; thank yu for my cup o' tea, an' all yure kindness.

She shakes hands with Lord and Lady Wil- liam, drops the curtsey of her youth before Mr. Poulder, and goes out folknved by Little Aida, who is looking back at Little Anne. Lemmy. [Turning suddenly] Aoh ! An' jist one fing ! Next time yer build an *ouse, daon't forget — it's the foundytions as bears the w\i:e.

With a wink that gives way to a last fascinated

look at Lady William, he passes out. All

gaze after them, except The Press, who is

tragically consulting his spifiicated notes.

L. Anne. [Breaking aicay from Miss Stokes and

rushing forward] Oh ! Mum ! what was it '^

curtain

THE SKIN GAME

(A tragi-co:medy)

Who touches pitch shall be defiled "

CHARACTERS

HlLLCRIST

Amy

Jill

Dawkeb

hornblower

Charles

Chloe

Rolf .

Fellows

Anna .

The Jackmans

An Auctioneeb A Solicitor Two Strangers

A Country Gentleman His Wife His Daughter His Agent A man newly-rich His Elder Son Wife to Charles His Younger Son Hillcrist's Butler Chloe' s Maid Man and Wife

ACT I. Hillcrist's Study.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A month later. An Auction Room. SCENE II. The same evening. Chloe's Boudoir.

ACT III.

SCENE I. The following day. Hili^crist's Study.

Morning. SCENE II. The Same. Evening.

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ACT I

Hillcrist's study. A pleasant room, with books in calf bindings, and signs that tJie Hillcrists have trav- elled, such as a large photograph of the Taj Mahal, of Table Mountain, and the Pyramids of Egypt. A large bureau [stage Right], devoted to the business of a country estaie. Tico foxes' vmslcs. Flowers in bowls. Deep armchairs. A large French window open [at Back], with a lovely view of a slight rise of fields and trees in August sunlight. A fine stone fireplace [stage Left]. A door [Left]. A door opposite [Right]. General colour effect — stone, and cigar-leaf brown, u:ith spots of bright colour.

[HiLLCRisT sits in a swivel chair at the bureau, busy icith papers. He has gout, and his left foot is encased accordingly. He is a thin, dried-up man of about fifty five, with a rather refiined, rather kindly, and rather cranky countenance. Close to him stands his very upstanding nineteen-year-old daughter Jill, with clubbed hair round a pretty, manly face.]

Jill. You know, Dodo, it's all pretty good rot iii these days.

HiLLCRisT. Cads are cads, Jill, even in these days. Jill, "\^'hat is a cad .^

Copyright, 19-20, by Charles Scribner'a Sana

1

2 THE SKIN GAME act i

HiLLCRiST. A self-assertive fellow, without a sense of other people.

Jill. Well, Old Hornblower I'll give you.

HiLLCRisT. I wouldn't take him.

Jill. Well, you've got him. Now, Charlie — Chearlie — I say — the importance of not being Charlie

HiLLCRiST. Good heavens ! do you know their Chris- tian names .'*

Jill. My dear father, they've been here seven years.

HiLLCRisT. In old days we only knew their Christian names from their tombstones.

Jill. Charlie Hornblower isn't really half a bad sport.

HnJXRiRT. About a c'_\ • f ^.i a bad sporL — I've jaiways thought out huntin^:-

JiLL. [Pulling his hav] Now, his wife — Chloe

HiT.LCRiST. [Whimsical] Gad ! your r^other'd have a ft if she knew you called her Cbloe.

Jill. It's a ripping name.

HiLLCRisT. Chloe! H'm! I had a spaniel once

Jill. Dodo, you're narrow. Buck up, old darling, •t won't do. Chloe has seen life, I'm pretty sure; that's attractive, anyway. No, mothers not in the room; don't turn your uneasy eyes.

HiU-CBiFr. Ilecilly, my df-ar. you are gciliug

Jill. The limit. Now, Koif

Hillcrist. Vv^hat's Rolf? Another dog?

Jill. Rolf Hornblower's a topper; he really is a nice boy.

ACT I THE SKIN GAME 3

HiLLCRiST. [With a sharp look] Oh! He's a nice boy?

Jill. Yes, darling. You know what a nice boy is, don't you ?

HiLLCRisT. Not in these days.

Jill. Well, I'll tell you. In the first place, he's not amorous

HiLLCRIST. WIi-jU W^^IK <^M:'s f-'ne rf-nfort.

Jill. Just a jolly good companion.

HiLLCRisT. To whom.^

Jill. Well, to anyone — me.

HiLLCRIST. W^ere.'^

Jill. Anywhere. You don't suppose I confine my- self to the home paddocks, do you? I'm naturally rangey. Father.

HiLLCRisT. [Ironically] You dci't s:.; .o!

JiT.L. In the sf^ond place, h - doesn't like discipline.

HiL .CRIST. Jup'ler! He doe:: -eem attraciive.

JjLL. I'T the third , lace, he bars liis father.

Hij/CFT'T. Is that c:i ential to nice girls too?

Jiu.. [With n tmrl of h'u-i hair] Fish not! Fourthly, he's got idc'as.

ITTl.LrT7isTr T kr-"/ i^^

.''iLi- ' i' iiiyLance, ite thinks — as I do

HiLLCRIST. Ah ! Good ideas.

Jill. [Pulling gently] Careful ! He thinks old people run the show too much. He says they oughtn't to, because they're so damtouchy. Are you damtouchy, darling ?

4^ THE SKIN GAME act i

HiLLCRiST. Well, I'm ! I don't know about

touchy.

Jill. He says there'll be no world fit to live in till we get rid of the old. We must make them climb a tall tree, and shake them off it.

HiLLCRiST. [Drily] Oh ! he says that !

Jilt. 0«^''\en\ ic,e, with the wa^^ tney stand on eacJi other's ri.,Iits, they'll spoil thj gai l.n lor the young.

HiLLCRiST. Does his father agree.''

Jill. Oh ! Rolf doesn't talk to him, his mouth's too large. Have you ever seen it, Dodo ?

HiLLCRiST. Of course.

Jill. It's considerable, isn't it.? Now yours is — reticent, darling. [Rumpling his hair.]

HiLLCRiST. It won't be in a minute. Do you realise that I've got gout.'*

Jill. Poor ducky! How Img have we been here. Dodo?

IIiLLCRiST. Since Elizabeth, an;> way.

Jill. [Looking at his foot] It has its drawl>acks. D'you thii)L Hornblower had a Father: ^ believe he was spontaneous. But, Dodo, why all this — this atti- tude to the Hornblowers ?

She purses her lips and makes a gesture as of pushing persons away.

HiLLCRiST. Because they're pushing.

Jill. That's only because we are, as mother would sa-y, and they're not — yet. But why not let them be J

HiLLCRiST. You can't.

Jill. Why?

ACT I THE SKIN GAME 5

HiLLCRiST. It takes generations to learn to live and let live, Jill. People like that take an ell when you give them an inch.

Jill. But if you gav^e them the ell, they wouldn't want the inch. Why shonM i^ r,^^ ^^.^ -^r^h i ^Vm ??a"mp r*

HiLLCRisT. Skin game? Where do you get your lingo?

Jill. Keep to the point, Dodo.

HiLLCRisT. Well, Jill, all life's a struggle between people at different stages of development, in different positions, with different amounts of social influence and property. And the only thing is to have rules of the game and keep them. New people like the Horn- blowers haven't learnt those rules; their only rule is to get all they can.

Jill. Darling, don't prose. They're not half as bad as you think.

Hillcrist. Well, when I sold Hornblower Long- meadow and the cottages, I certainly found him all right. All the same, he's got the cloven hoof. [Warm- ing up] His influence in Deep water is thoroughly bad; those potteries of his are demoralising — the whole atmosphere of the place is changing. It was a thou- sand pities he ever came here and discovered that clay. He's brought in the modern cutthroat spirit.

Jill. Cut our throat spirit, you mean. "What's your definition of a gentleman, Dodo ?

Hillcrist. [Uneasily] Can't describe — only feel it.

Jill. Oh ! Try !

HiLLCRLST. Well — er — I suppose you might say — a

6 THE SKIN GAME act i

man who keeps his form and doesn't let life scupper him out of his standards.

Jill. But suppose his standards are low.'

HiLLCRisT. [With some earnestness] I assume, of course, that he's honest and tolerant, gentle to the weak, and not self-seeking.

Jill. Ah! self-seeking.^ But aren't we all, Dodo.'^ / am.

Hillcrist. [With a smile] You !

Jill. [Scornfidly] Oh ! yes — too young to know.

Hillcrist. Nobody knows till they're under pretty heavy fire, Jill.

Jill. Except, of course, mother.

Hillcrist. How do you mean — mother.'*

Jill. Mother reminds me of England according to herself — always right whatever she does.

Hillcrist. Ye-es. Your mother is perhaps — the perfect woman

Jill. That's what I was saying. Now, no one could call you perfect. Dodo. Besides, you've got gout.

Hillcrist. Yes; and I want Fellows. Ring that bell.

Jill. [Crossing to the bell] Shall I tell you viy defini- tion of a gentleman? LA man who gives the Horn- blower his due^ [She rings the bell] And I think mother ought to calPon them. Rolf says old Hornblower resents it fearfully that she's never made a sign to Chloe the three years she's been here.

Hillcrist. I don't interfere with your mother in

ACT I

THE SKIN GAIVIE

such matters. She may go and call on the devil him- self if she likes.

Jill. I know you're ever so much better than she is.

HiLLCRiST. That's respectful.

Jill. You do keep your prejudices out of your phiz. But mother Hterally looks doT\Ti her nose. And she never forgives an "h." They'd get the "hell" from her if they took the "hinch."

HiLLCRisT. Jill — your language !

Jill. Don't slime out of it. Dodo. I say, mother ought to call on the Hornblowers. [No anstoer,

WeU.^

HiLLCRisT. Mj' dear, I always let people have the last word. It makes them — feel funny. Ugh! My foot ! [Ervter Fellows, Left.

Fellows, send into the \411age and get another bottle of this stuff.

Jill. I'll go, darlmg.

[she hlmcs him a kiss, and goes out at the window.

HiLLCRisT. And tell cook I've got to go on slops. This foot's worse.

Fellows. [Sympathetic] Indeed, sir.

HiLLCRiST. My third go this year. Fellows.

Fellows. Very annoying, sir.

HiLLCRisT. Ye — es. Ever had it.^

Fellows. I fancy I have had a twinge, sir.

HiLLCKisT. [Brightening] Have you.^ Where .^

Fellows. In my cork \\Tist, sir.

HiLLCRisT. Your what ?

Fellows. The wrist I draw corks with.

8 THE SKIN GAME act i

HiLLCRiST. [With a cackle] You'd have had more than a twinge if you'd lived with my father. H'm !

Fellows. Excuse me, sir — Vichy water corks, in my experience, are worse than any wine.

HiLLCRisT. [Ironically] Ah ! The country's not what it was, is it, Fellows ?

Fellows. Getting very new, sir. HiLLCRiST. [Feelingly] You're right. Has Dawker come ?

Fellows. Not yet, sir. The Jackmans would like to see you, sir.

HiLLCRiST. \^Tiat about ? Fellow^s. I don't know, sir. HiLLCRiST. Well, show them in. Fellows. [Going] Yes, sir.

HiLLCRiST turns his swivel chair round. The Jackmans come in. Ht, a big fellow about fijiyy in a labourer s dress, with eyes which have more in them than his tongue can ex- press ; she, a little woman with a worn face, a bright, quick glance, and a tongue to match. HiLLCRiST. Good mornmg, IMrs. Jackman! Morn- ing, Jackman! Haven't seen you for a long time. What can I do.^

[He draws in foot, and breath, with a sharp hissi Jackman. [In a down-hearted voice] We've had notice to quit, sir.

HiLLCRiST. [With emphasis] WTiat ! Jackjvian. Got to be out this week. Mrs. J. Yes, sir, indeed.

..CT I THE SKIN GA]ME 9

HiLLCRiST. Well, but when I sold Longmeadow and the cottages, it was on the express understandmg that there was to be no disturbance of tenancies.

^Irs. J. Yes, sir; but we've all got to go. 'Mrs. 'Arvey, and the Drews, an' us, and there isn't another cottage to be had anj^vhere in Deepwater.

HiLLCRiST. I know; I want one for my cowman. This won't do at all. "\Miere do you get it from ?

Jace3L\x. Mr. 'Ornblower, 'imself, sir. Just an hour ago. He come round and said: "I'm sorry; I want the cottages, and you've got to clear."

'Mrs. J. [Bitterly] He's no gentleman, sir; he put it so brisk. We been there thirty years, and now we don't know what to do. So I hope you'll excuse us coming round, sir.

HiLLCRiST. I should think so, indeed! H'm! [He rises and limps across to the firejjlace on his stick. To himself] The cloven hoof. By George ! this is a breach of faith. I'U WTite to him, Jackman. Confound it ! I'd certainly never have sold if I'd known he was going to do this.

JVIrs. J. No, sir, I'm sure, sir. They do say it's to do with the potteries. He wants the cottages for his workmen.

• HiLLCRiST. [Sharply] That's all very well, but he shouldn't have led me to suppose that he would make no change.

JACKiLA-N. [Heaiily] They talk about his havin' bought the Gentry to put up more chimneys there, and that's why he wants the cottages.

10 THE SKIN GAME act i

HiLLCRiST. The Gentry! Impossible!

Mrs. J. Yes, sir; it's such a pretty spot — looks beau- tiful from here. [She looks out throiigh the window] Loveliest spot in all Deepwater, I always say. And your father owned it, and his fjather before 'im. It's a pity they ever sold it, sir, beggin' your pardon.

HiLLCRisT. The Gentry ! [He rings the bell

Mrs. J. [Who has brightened up] I'm glad you're goin' to stop it, sir. It does put us about. We don't know where to go. I said to Mr. Hornblower, I said, "I'm sure Mr. Hillcrist would never 'ave turned us

out." An* 'e said: "Mr. Hillcrist be " beggin'

yom- pardon, sir. "Make no mistake," 'e said, "you must go, missis." He don't even know our name; an' to come it like this over us ! He's a dreadful new man, I think, with his overridin' notions. And sich a heavy- footed man, to look at. [With a sort of indulgent con- tempt] But he's from the North, they say.

[Fellows has entered. Left

Hillcrist. Ask Mrs. Hillcrist if she'll come.

Fellows. Very good, sir.

Hillcrist. Is Dawker here ?

Fellows. Not yet, sir. ' Hillcrist. I want to see him at once.

[Fellows retires.

Jackman. Mr. Hornblower said he was comm' on to see you, sir. So we thought we'd step along first.

Hillcrist. Quite right, Jackman.

Mrs. J. I said to Jackman: "Mr. Hillcrist'U stand up for U5, 1 know. He's a gentleman," I said. "This

ACT

THE SKIN GAIVIE

11

man," I said, "don't care for the neighbourhood, or the people; he don't care for anything so long as he makes his money, and has his importance. You can't expect it, I suppose," I said; [Bitierly] "havin' got rich so sudden." The gentry don't do things like that.

HiLLCRiST. [Abstracted] Quite, Mrs. Jackman, quite ! [To himself] The Gentry ! No !

Mrs. Htllceist enters. A well-dressed woman, with a firm, clear-cut face.

Oh ! Amy ! Mr. and Mrs. Jackman turned out of their cottage, and Mrs. Harvey, and the Drews. When I sold to Hornblower, I stipulated that they shouldn't be.

J^Irs. J. Our week's up on Saturday, ma'am, and I'm sure I don't know where we shall turn, because of course Jackman must be near his work, and I shall lose me washin' if we have to go far.

HiLLCRisT. [With decision] You leave it to me, Mrs. Jackman. Good morning ! Morning, Jackman ! Sorry I can't move with this gout.

Mrs. J. [For them both] I'm sure we're very sorry, sir. Good morning, sir. Good morning, ma'am; and thank you kindly. [They go out.

HiLLCRisT. Turning people out that have been there thirty years. I won't have it. It's a breach of faith.

Mrs. H. Do you suppose this Hornblower will care two straws about that Jack ?

Htllcrist. He must, when it's put to him, if he's got any decent feeling.

Mrs. H. He hasn't.

12 THE SKIN GAME act i

HiLLCRiST. [Suddenly] The Jackmans talk of his having bought the Gentry to put up more chimneys.

Mrs. H. Never! [At the window, looking out] Im- possible ! It would ruin the place utterly, besides cut- ting us off from the Duke's. Oh, no ! Miss MuUins would never sell behind our backs.

HiLLCRiST. Anyway I must stop his turning these people out.

Mrs. H. [With a little smile, almost contemptiious] You might have known he'd do something of the sort. You will imagine people are like yourself, Jack. You always ought to make Dawker have things in black and white.

HiLLCRiST. I said quite distinctly: "Of course you won't want to disturb the tenancies; there's a great shortage of cottages." Hornblower told me as dis- tinctly that he wouldn't. What more do you want ?

Mrs. H. a man like that thinks of nothing but the short cut to his own way. [Looking out of the window towards the rise] If he buys the Gentry and puts up chimneys, we simply couldn't stop here.

HiLLCRiST. My father would turn in his gi*ave.

Mrs. H. It would have been more useful if he'd not dipped the estate, and sold the Gentry. This Horn- blower hates us; he thinks we turn up our noses at him.

HiLLCRiST. As we do, Amy.

Mrs. H. Who wouldn't .5* A man without tradi- tions, who believes in nothing but money and push.

ACT I THE SKIN GA:ME 13

HiLLCRisT. Suppose he won't budge, can we do any- thing for the Jackmans ?

J^Ies. H. There are the two rooms Beaver used to have, over the stables. [Fellows enters.

Fellows. Mr. Dawker, sir.

Dawkee w a short, square, rather red-faced terrier of a man, in riding clothes and gaiters.

HiLLCRisT. Ah ! Dawker, I've got gout again.

Dawker. Very sorry, sir. How de do, ma'am ?

HiLLCRisT. Did you meet the Jackmans ?

Dawker. Yeh.

[He hardly ever quite finishes a wordy seeming to snap off their tails,

HiLLCRisT. Then you heard .^

Dawker. [Nodding] Smart man, Hornblower; never lets grass grow.

HiLLCRisT. Smart .^

Dawker. [Griniiin^] Don't do to underrate your neighbours.

Mrs. H. a cad— I call him.

Davtker. That's it, ma'am— got all the advantage.

HiLLCRisT. Heard anything about the Gentry, Dawker ?

Dawker. Hornblower wants to buy.

HiLLCRisT. Miss Mullins would never sell, would she.^

Dawker. She wants to.

HiLLCEisT. The deuce she does !

Dawker. He won't stick at the price either.

Mrs. H. WTiat's it worth, Dawker .»

14 THE SKIN GAME act i

Dawker. Depends on what you want it for.

Mrs. H. He wants it for spite; we want it for sen- timent.

Dawker. [Grinning] Worth what you like to give, then; but he's a rich man.

Mrs. H. Intolerable!

Dawker. [To Hillcrist] Give me your figure, sir. I'll try the old lady before he gets at her.

Hillcrist. [Pondering] I don't want to buy, unless there's nothing else for it. I should have to raise the money on the estate; it won't stand much more. I can't believe the fellow would be such a barbarian. Chimneys within three hundred yards, right in front of this house ! It's a nightmare.

Mrs. H. You'd much better let Dawker make sure. Jack.

Hillcrist. [Uncomfortable] Jackman says Hornblow- er's coming round to see me. I shall put it to him.

Dawker. Make him keener than ever. Better get in first.

Hillcrist. Ape his methods ! — Ugh! Confound this gout ! [He gets back to his chair with difficiUty] Look here, Dawker, I wanted to see you about gates

Fellows, [Entering] Mr. Hornblower.

HoRNBLowER e7iters — a man of medium height, thoroughly broadened, blown out, as it were, by success. He has thick, coarse, dark hair, just grizzled, very bushy eyebrows, a wide mouth. Be wears quite ordinary clothes, as if that department were in charge of someone

ACT I

THE SKtN GAIVIE

15

who knew about »uch things. He has a »mall rose in his buttonhole, and carries a Horn- burg hat, which one suspects will look too small on his head. HoRNBLOWER. Good morning ! good morning ! How are ye, Dawker ? Fine morning ! Lovely weather !

His vcnce has a curious blend in its tone of brass and oil, and an accent not quite Scotch nor quite North country. Haven't seen ye for a long time, HUlcrist.

HrLLCRisT. [Who has risen] Not since I sold you Longmeadow and those cottages, I believe.

HoRNBLOWER. Dear me, now! that's what I came about.

HiLLCRisT. [Subsiding again into his chair] Forgive me ! Won't you sit down ?

HoRXBLOWER. [Not sitting] Have ye got gout? That's unfortunate. I never get it. I've no disposi- tion that way. Had no ancestors, you see. Just me own drinkin' to answer for. Htllcrist. You're lucky.

HoRNBLOWER. I wonder if Mrs. HillcrLst thinks that ! Am I lucky to have no past, ma'am ? Just the future ?

Mrs. H. You're sure you have the future, Mr. Hornblower ?

HoRXBLOWER. [With a laugh] That's your aristo- cratic rapier thrust. You aristocrats are very hard people underneath your manners. Ye love to lay a body out. But I've got the future all right.

16 THE SKIN GAME act i

HiLLCRiST. [Meaningly] I've had the Jackmans here, Mr. Hornblower.

HoRNBLOWER. Who are they — man with the little spitfire wife ? ♦■?

HiLLCRisT. They're very excellent, good people, and they've been in that cottage quietly thirty years.

Hornblower. [Throwing cmt his forefinger — a favour- ite gesture] Ah ! ye've wanted me to stir ye up a bit. Deepwater needs a bit o' go put into it. There's gen- erally some go where I am. I daresay you wish there'd been no "come." [He laughs]. (?''■ Mrs. H. We certainly like people to keep their word, Mr. Hornblower.

Hillcrist. Amy!

Hornblower. Never mind, Hillcrist; takes more than that to upset me.

Mrs. Hillcrist exchanges a look unth Daw- ker, who slips out unobserved.

Hillcrist. You promised me, you know, not to change the tenancies.

Hornblow^er. Well, I've come to tell ye that I have. I wasn't expecting to have the need when I bought. Thought the Duke would sell me a bit down there; but devil a bit he will; and now I must have those cottages for my workmen. I've got important works, ye know.

Hillcrist. [Getting heated] The Jackmans have their importance too, sir. Their heart's in that cottage.

Hornblower. Have a sense of proportion, man. My works supply thousands of people, and mij heart's

ACT I THE SKm GAME 17

in them. What's more, they make my fortune. IVe got ambitions — I'm a serious man. Suppose I were to consider this and that, and every' Uttle potty objec- tion— where should I get to ? — nowhere !

HiLLCRiST. All the same, this sort of thing isn't done, you know.

HoRXBLOWEH. Not bv you because j'e've got no need to do it. Here ye are, quite content on what your fathers made for ye. Ye've no ambitions; and ye want other people to have none. How d'ye think your fathers got your land ?

HiLLCRiST. [Who has riseTi] Not by breaking their word.

HoRXBLO^^TiR. [Throxcing out his finger] Don't ye beheve it. They got it by breaking their word and tumin' out Jackmans, if that's their name, all over the place.

!Mrs. H. That's an insult, "Mr. Hornblower.

HoRXBLOWER. No; it's a repartee. If ye think so much of these Jackmans, build them a cottage your- selves; ye've got the space.

HiLLCRiST. That's beside the point. You promised me, and I sold on that understanding.

HoRXBLO'S^'ER. And I bought on the understandin' that I'd get some more land from the Duke.

HiLLCRiST. That's nothing to do with me.

HoRXBLOWER. Yc'll find it has; because I'm going to have those cottages.

HiLLCRiST. Well, I call it simply —

[He checks himself.

18 THE SKm GAME act i

HoRNBLOWER. Look here, Hillcrist, ye've not had occasion to understand men like me. I've got the guts, and I've got the money, and I don't sit still on it. I'm going ahead because I believe in meself. I've no use for sentiment and that sort of thing. Forty of your Jackmans aren't worth me little finger.

Hillcrist. [Angry] Of all the blatant things I ever heard said !

HoRNBLOWER. Well, as we're speaking plainly, I've been thinkin'. Ye want the village run your old- fashioned way, and I want it run mine. I fancy there's not room for the two of us here.

Mrs. H. AMien are you going ?

Horxblowt:r. Never fear, I'm not going.

Hillcrist. Look here, IVir. Hornblower— this in- fernal gout makes me irritable — puts me at a disad- vantage. But I should be glad if you'd kmdly explain yourself.

Hornblower. [With a great smile] Ca' canny; I'm fra' the North.

Hillcrist. I'm told you wish to buy the Gentry and put more of your chmineys up there, regardless of the fact [He points through the window] that it would utterly ruin the house we've had for generations, and all our pleasure here.

Hornblower. How the man talks! Why! Ye'd think he owned the sky, because his fathers built him a house v/ith a pretty view, where he's nothing to do but live. It's sheer want of something to do that gives ye your fine sentiments, Hillcrist.

ACT I THE SKIN GAiVIE 19

HiLLCRiST. Have the goodness not to charge me with idleness. Dawker — where is he? — [He shows the bureau] When you do the drudgery of your works as

thoroughly as I do that of my estate Is it true

about the Gentry ?

HoRXBLowER. Gospel true. If ye want to know, my son Chearlie is buym' it this very mmute.

Mrs. H. [Turning with a start] AMiat do you say.'*

HoRNBLOWER. Ay, he's with the old lady; she wants to sell, an' she'll get her price, whatever it is.

HiLLCRisT. [With deep a7iger] If that isn't a skin game, Mr. Hornblower, I don't know what is.

HoRXBLOWER. Ah! Ye've got a very nice expres- sion there. "Skin game !" Well, bad words break no bones, an' they're wonderful for hardenin' the heart. If it wasn't for a lady's presence, I could give ye a specimen or two.

Mrs. H. Oh! Mr. Hornblower, that need not stop you, I'm sure.

Hornblower. Well, and I don't know that it need. ,Ye're an obstruction — the like of you — ye're in my path. And anyone in my path doesn't stay there long; or, if he does, he stays there on my terms. And my terms are chimneys in the Gentry where I need 'em. It'll do ye a power of good, too, to knov/ that ye're not almighty.

HiLLCRiST. And that's bemg neighbourly !

Horxblow^er. And how have ye tried bein' neigh- bourly to me .^ If I haven't a wife, I've got a daugh- ter-in-law. Have ye called on her, ma'am ? I'm new.

20 THE SKIN GAME act i

and ye're an old family. Ye don't like me, ye think I'm a pushin' man. I go to chapel, an' ye don't like that. I make things and I sell them, and ye don't like that. I buy land, and ye don't like that. It threatens the view from your windies. Well, I don't like you, and I'm not goin' to put up with your atti- tude. Ye've had things your own way too long, and now ye're not going to have them any longer.

HiLLCRiST. Will you hold to your word over those cottages ?

HoRNBLOwER. I'm gom' to have the cottages. I need them, and more besides, now I'm to put up me new works.

HiLLCRisT. That's a declaration of war.

HoRNBLOWER. Ye never said a truer word. It's one or the other of us, and I rather think it's goin' to be me. I'm the risin' and you're the settin' sun, as the poet says.

HiLLCRiST. [Touching the hell] We shall see if you can ride rough-shod like this. We used to have decent ways of going about things here. You want to change all that. Well, we shall do our damnedest to stop you. [To Fellows at the door] Are the Jackmans still in the house ? Ask them to be good enough to come in.

HoRNBLOWER. [WUh the first »ign of uneasiness] I've seen these people. I've nothing more to say to them. I told 'em I'd give 'em five pounds to cover their moving.

HiLLCRiST. It doesn't occui- to you that people, however humble, like to have some say in their own fate.?

ACT I THE SKIN GAME 21

HoRXB LOWER. I never had any say in mine till I had the brass, and nobody ever will. It's all hj^oc- risy. You county folk are fair aw^ul hypocrites. Ye talk about good form and all that sort o' thing. It's just the comfortable doctrine of the man in the saddle; sentimental varnish. Ye're every bit as hard as I am, imderneath.

Mrs. H. [Who had been staiiding very still all this time] You flatter us.

HoRXBLOWER. Not at all. God helps those who 'elp themselves — that's at the bottom of all religion. I'm goin' to help meself, and God's going to help me.

[Mrs. H. I admire your knowledge.

HiLLCRiST. We are in the right, and God helps

HoRXBLOWER. Don't ye believe it; ye 'aven't got the energy.

!Mrs. H. Nor perhaps the conceit.

HoRXBLOWER. [Thwicing oid his forefinger] No, no; 'tisn't conceit to believe in yourself when ye've got reason to. [The Jackmaxs have entered.

HiLLCRisT. I'm very sorry, Mrs. Jackman, but I just wanted you to realise that I've done my best with this gentleman.

Mrs. J. [DouhtfuUy] Yes, sir. I thought if you spoke for us, he'd feel different-like.

HoRX'BL-owER. One cottage is the same as another, missis. I made ye a fair offer of five pounds for the moving.

Jackm-\x. [Slowly] We wouldn't take fifty to go out of that 'ouse. We brought up three children there, an' buried two from it.

2^ THE SKIN GAME act i

Mrs. J. [To Mrs. Hillcrist] We're attached to it like, ma'am.

Hillcrist. [To Hornblower] How would you like being turned out of a place you were fond of ?

Hornblower. Not a bit. But little considerations have to give way to big ones. Now, missis, I'll make it ten pounds, and I'll send a wagon to shift your things. If that isn't fair — ! Ye'd better accept, I shan't keep it open.

The Jackmans look at each other ; their faces show deep anger — and the question they ask each other is which will speak.

Mrs. J. We won't take it; eh, George ?

Jackman. Not a farden. We come there when we was married.

Hornblower. [Throwing out his finger] Ye're very improvident folk.

Hillcrist. Don't lecture them, Mr. Hornblower; they come out of this miles above you.

Hornblower. [Angry] Well, I wo^ going to give ye another week, but ye'll go out next Saturday; and take care ye're not late, or your things'U be put out — in the rain.

Mrs. H. [To Mrs. Jackman] We'll send down for your things, and you can come to us for the time being. Mrs. Jackman drops a curtsey ; her eyes stab Hornblower.

Jackman. [Heavily y clenching his fists] You're no gentleman ! Don't put temptation in my way, that's all.

ACT I THE SKIN GA:ME 23

HiLLCRisT. [In a low voice] Jackman !

HoRNBLOWER. [Triumphantly] Ye hear that? That's your protegee ! Keep out o' my way, me man, or I'll put the police on to ye for utterin' threats.

HiLLCRisT. You'd better go now, Jackman.

[The Jackm.\xs move to the door.

^Ies. J. [Turning] Maybe you'll repent it some day, sir. [They go out, Mrs. Hillcrist following.

HoRNBLOWER. We — ell, I'm sorry they're such un- reasonable folk. I never met people with less notion of which side their bread was buttered.

Hillcrist. And I never met anyone so pachyder- matous.

HoRXBLowER. ^^^lat's that, in Heaven's name ^ Ye needn' wrap it up in long words now your good lady's gone.

Hillcrist. [With dignity] I'm not going in for a slanging match. I resent your conduct much too deeply.

HoRNBLOWER. Look here, Hillcrist, I don't object to you personally; ye seem to me a poor creature that's bound to get left with your gout and your dignity; but of course ye can make yourself very disagreeable before ye're done. Now I want to be the movin' spirit here. I'm full of plans. I'm goin' to stand for Parliament; I'm goin' to make this a prosperous place. I'm a good-natured man if you'll treat me as such. Now, you take me on as a neighbour and all that, and I'll manage without chimneys on the Gentry. Is it a bargain.'* [He holds out his hand.

24 THE SKIN GAIVIE act i

HtLLCEisT. [Ignoring it] I thought you said you didn't keep your word when it suited you to break it ?

HoRNBLowEH. Now, dou't get on the high horse. You and me could be very good friends; but I can be a very nasty enemy. The chimneys will not look nice from that windie, ye know.

HiLLCEiST. [Deeply angry] Mr. Hornblower, if you think I'll take your hand after this Jackman business, you're greatly mistaken. You are proposing that I shall stand in with you while you tyrannise over the neighbourhood. Please realise that unless you leave those tenancies undisturbed as you said you would, we don't know each other.

Hornblower. Well, that won't trouble me much. Now, ye'd better think it over; ye've got gout and that makes ye hasty. I tell ye again: I'm not the man to make an enemy of. Unless ye're friendly, sure as I stand here Fll ruin the look of your place.

[The loot of a car is heard. There's my car. I sent Chearlie and his wife in it to buy the Gentry. And make no mistake — he's got it in his pocket. It's your last chance, HUlcrist. I'm not averse to you as a man; I think ye're the best of the fossils round here; at least, I think ye can do me the most harm socially. Come now !

[He holds out his hand again.

Htllcrist. Not if you'd bought the Gentry ten times over. Your ways are not mine, and I'll have nothing to do with you.

HoRXBLOWER. [Very angry] Really! Is that so? Very well. Now ye're goin' to learn something, an'

ACT I THE SKIN GAME £5

it's time ye did. D'ye realise that I'm very nearly round ye? [He draivs a circle slowly in the air] I'm at Uphill, the works are here, here's Longmeadow, here's the Gentry that I've just bought, there's only the Common left to give ye touch with the world. Now between you and the Common there's the high road. I come out on the high road here to your north, and I shall come out on it there to your west. When I've got me new works up on the Centry, I shall be makin' a trolley track between the works up to the road at both ends, so my goods will be running right round ye. How'll ye like that for a country place ?

For answer Hlllcrist, who is angry beyond the power of s^peech, icalks, forgetting to use his stick, up to the French window. While he stands there, with his hack to Horn- blower, the door L. is flung open, and Jill enters, preceding Charles, his wife Chloe, and Rolf. Charles is a goodish-looking, moustached young man of about twenty-eight, with a white rim to the collar of his waistcoat, and spats. He has his hand behind Chloe's back, as if to prevent her turning tail. She is rather a handsome young woman, with dark eyes, full red lips, and a suspicion of powder, a little under-dressed for the country. Rolf, who brings up the rear, is about twenty, with an open face and stiff ish butter-coloured hair. Jill run^ over to her father at the window. She has a bottle. Jill. [Sotio voce] Look, Dodo, I've brought the lot !

26 THE SKIN GAME act i

Isn't it a treat, dear Papa? And here's the stuflF. Hallo!

The exclamation is induced by the apprehension that there has been a row. Hillcrist gives a stiff little bow^ remaining where he is in the window. Jill stays close to him, staring from one to the other, then blocks him off and engages him in conversation. Charles has gone up to his father, who has remained maliciously still, where he delivered his last speech. Chloe and Rolf stand awkwardly waiting between the fireplace and the door. Hornblower. Well, Chearlie? Charles. Not got it. Hornblower. Not I

Charles. I'd practically got her to say she'd sell at three thousand five hundred, when that fellow Dawker turned up.

Hornblower. That bull-terrier of a chap! Why, he was here a while ago. Oh — ho ! So that's it !

Charles. I heard him gallop up. He came straight for the old lady, and got her away. What he said I don't know; but she came back looking wiser than an owl; said she'd think it over, thought she had other views.

Hornblower. Did ye tell her she might have her price .?

Charles. Practically I did.

Hornblower. Well.?*

Charles. She thought it would be fairer to put it

ACT I THE SKIN GAME 27

up to auction. There were other enquhies. Oh ! She's a leery old bird — reminds me of one of those pic- tures of Fate, don't you know.

HoRNBLOT^iiR. Auction ! Well, if it's not gone we'll get it yet. That damned little Dawker ! I've had a row with Hillcrist.

Charles. I thought so.

They are turning cautiously to look at E^ll- CRisT, when Jill steps forward .

Jill. [Flushed and determinedl That's not a bit sporting of you, Mr. Hornblower.

[At her icords Rolf comes forward too.

Hornblower. Ye should hear both sides before ye say that, missy.

Jill. There isn't another side to turning out the Jackmans after you'd promised.

Hornblower. Oh ! dear me, j^es. They don't mat- ter a row of gingerbread to the schemes I've got for betterin' this neighbourhood.

Jill. I had been standing up for you; now I won't.

HoRNBLOw*ER. Dear, dear ! ^^^lat'll become of me ?

Jill. I won't say anything about the other thing because I think it's beneath dignity to notice it. But to turn poor people out of their cottages is a shame.

Hornblower. Hoity me !

Rolf. [Suddeidy] You haven't been doing that, father ?

Charles. Shut up, Rolf !

Hornblower. [Turning on Rolf] Ha! Here's a league o' youth! My young whipper-snapper, keep

28 THE SKIN GAME act i

your mouth shut and leave it to your elders to know what's right.

Under the weight of this rejoinder Rolf stands biting his lips. Then he throws his head up.

Rolf. I hate it !

HoRNBLOWER. [With real venom] Oh! Ye hate it.^^ Ye can get out of my house, then.

Jill. Free speech, Mr. Hornblower; don't be vio- lent.

HoRXBLOWER. Yc'rc right, young lady. Ye can stay in my house, Rolf, and learn manners. Come, Chearlie !

Jill. [Quite softly] IVIr. Hornblower !

HiLLCRisT. [From the window] Jill !

Jill. [Impatiently] Well, what's the good of it.^ Life's too short for rows, and too jolly !

Rolf. Bravo!

Hornblower. [Who has shown a sign of weakening] Now, look here ! I will not have revolt in my family. Ye'll just have to learn that a man who's worked as I have, who's risen as I have, and who knows the world, is the proper judge of what's right and wrong. I'll answer to God for me actions, and not to you yoimg people.

Jill. Poor God !

Hornblower. [Genuinely shocked] Ye blasphemous young thing! [To Rolf] And ye're just as bad, ye young freethinker. I won't have it.

Hillcrist. [Who has come down. Right] Jill, I wish you would kindly not talk.

Jill. I can't help it.

ACT I THE SKIN GA:\IE 29

Charles. [Putting his arm through Hornblower's] Come along, father ! Deeds, not words. HoRXBLowER. Ay! Deeds!

Mrs. Hillcrist and Dawker have entered by tJie Frejich window. Mrs. H. Quite right !

[They all turn and look at her. HoRXBLOWER. Ah! So ye put your dog on to it. [He throws out his finger at Dawker] Very smart, that — I give ye credit.

Mrs. H. [Pointhig to Chloe, who has stood by her- self, forgotten and uncomfortable throughout the scene] May I ask who this lady is .'*

Chloe turns round startled, and her vanity bag slips down her dress to the floor. HoRNBLOWER. No, ma'am, ye may not, for ye know perfectly well.

Jill. I brought her in, mother [She moves to Chloe's side].

Mrs. H. Will you take her out again, then. Hillcrist. Amy, have the goodness to remem- ber

Mrs. H. That this is my house so far as ladies are concerned. Jill. Mother!

She looks astonished at Chloe, who, about to speak, does not, passing her eyes, loith a queer, half-scared expression, from Mrs. Hillcrist to Dawker. [To Chloe] I'm awfully sorry. Come on !

[They go out. Left. Rolf hurries after them,.

30 THE SKIN GAME act i

Charles. You've insulted my wife. WTiy? What do you mean by it ?

[Mrs. EQllcbist simply smiles.

HiLLCRisT. I apologise. I regret extremely. There is no reason why the ladies of your family or of mine should be involved in our quarrel. For Heaven's sake, let's fight liJke gentlemen.

HoRNBLowER. Catchwords — sneers! No; we'll play what ye call a skin game, Hillcrist, without gloves on; we won't spare each other. Ye look out for yourselves, for, iDegod, after this morning I mean business. And as for you, Dawker, ye sly dog, ye think yourself very clever; but I'll have the Gentry yet. Come, Chearlie ! They go ouU passing Jill, who is coming in again, in the doorway.

Hillcrist. Well, Dawker.^

Dawker. {Grinning] Safe for the moment. The old lady'll put it up to auction. Couldn't get her to budge from that. Says she don't want to be unneighbourly to either. But, if you ask me, it's money she smells !

Jill. [Advancing] Now, mother!

Mrs. H. Well?

Jill. Why did you insult her .''

Mrs. H. I think I only asked you to take her out.

Jill. Why.?* Even if she is Old Combustion's daughter-in-law ?

Mrs. H. My dear Jill, allow me to judge the sort of acquaintances I wish to make. [She looks at Dawker.

Jill. She's all right. Lots of women powder and touch up their lips nowadays. I think she's rather a good sort; she was awfully upset.

ACT I THE SKIN GAME SI

Mrs. H. Too upset.

Jill. Oh ! don't be so mysterious, mother. If you know somethmg, do spit it out !

:Mrs. H. Do you wish me to — er — "spit it out," Jack?

HiLLCRiST. Dawker, if you don't mind

Dawker, loiih a nod, parses away out of the French mindoic. Jill, be respectful, and don't talk like a bargee.

Jill. It's no good. Dodo. It made me ashamed. It's just as — as caddish to insult people who haven't said a word, in youi own house, as it is to be — old Homblower.

]Mrs. H. You don't know what you're talking about.

HiLLCRiST. What's the matter with young Mrs. Homblower ?

liiRS. H. Excuse me, I shall keep my thoughts to myself at present.

She looks coldly at Jill, a?id goes out through the French icindow.

HiLLCRiST. You've thoroughly upset your mother, Jill.

Jill. It's something Dawker's told her; I saw them. I don't like Dawker, father, he's so common.

HiLLCRisT. My dear, we can't all be uncommon. He's got lots of go. You must apologise to your mother.

Jill. [Shaking her clubbed hair] They'll make you do things you don't approve of. Dodo, if you don't look out. Mother's fearfully bitter when she gets her

32 THE SKIN GAME act i

knife in. If old Hornblower's disgusting, it's no reason we should be.

HiLLCRisT. So you think I'm capable — that's nice, Jill!

Jill. No, no, darling ! I only want to warn you solemnly that mother'll tell you you're fighting fair, no matter what she and Dawker do.

HiLLCRisT. [Smiling] Jill, I don't think I ever saw you so serious.

Jill. No. Because — [She swalloivs a lump in her throat] Well — I was just beginning to enjoy myself; and now — everything's going to be bitter and beastly, with mother in that mood. That horrible old man ! Oh, Dodo ! Don't let them make you horrid ! You're such a darling. How's your gout, ducky .^

HiLLCRisT. Better; lot better.

Jill. There, you see! That shows! It's going to be half interesting for you, but not for — us.

HiLLCRisT. Look here, Jill — is there anything be- tween you and young what's-his-name — Rolf.?

Jill. [Biting her Up] No. But — now it's all spoiled.

HiLLCRisT. You can't expect me to regret that.

Jill. I don't mean any tosh about love's young dream; but I do like being friends. I want to enjoy things. Dodo, and you can't do that when everybody's on the hate. You're going to wallow in it, and so shall I — oh ! I know I shall ! — we shall all wallow, and think of nothing but *'one for his nob."

HiLLCRisT. Aren't you fond of your home ?

Jill. Of course. I love it.

ACT I THE SKIN GAME 33

HiLLCRisT. Well, you won't be able to live in it unless we stop that ruffian. Chimneys and smoke, the trees cut down, piles of pots. Every kind of abomination. There! [Hepoi7its] Imagine! [He points through the French window, as if he could see those chim- 7ieys rising and marring the beauty of the fields] 1 was born here, and my father, and his, and his, and his. They loved those fields, and those old trees. And this barbarian, with his "improvement" schemes, forsooth ! I learned to ride in the Gentry meadows — prettiest spring meadows in the world; I've climbed every tree

there, ^\^ly my father ever sold ! But who

could have imagined this.^ And come at a bad mo- ment, when money's scarce. Jill. [Cuddling his arm] Dodo ! HiLLCRiST. Yes. But you don't love the place as I do, Jill. You youngsters don't love anything, I sometimes think.

Jill. I do. Dodo, I do !

HiLLCRisT. You've got it all before you. But you may live your life and never find anything so good and so beautiful as this old home. I'm not going to have it spoiled without a fight.

Conscious of having betrayed sentiment, he walks out at the French window, passing away to the Right. Jill, following to the vnndow, looks. Then throwing back her head, she clasps her hands behind it, Jill. Oh — oh — oh!

A voice behind her says, "Jill!" 5^ turns and starts back, leaning against the right tin-

34 THE SKIN GAME act i

tel of the vnndow. Rolf appears outside the windoio from Left, Who goes there ?

Rolf. [Buttressed against the Left lintel] Enemy — after Chloe's bag.

Jill. Pass, enemy ! And all's ill !

Rolf passes through the window, and retrieves the vanity bag from the floor where Chloe dropped it, then again takes his stand against the Left lintel of the French window.

Rolf. It's not gomg to make any difference, is it.^

Jell. You know it is.

Rolf. Sins of the fathers.

Jill. Unto the third and fourth generations. What sin has my father committed ?

Rolf. None, in a way; only, I've often told you I don't see why you should treat us as outsiders. We don't like it.

Jill. Well, you shouldn't be, then; I mean, he shouldn't be.

Rolf. Father's just as human as your father; he's wrapped up in us, and all his "getting on" is for us. Would you like to be treated as your mother treated Chloe? Your mother's set the stroke for the other big-wigs about here; nobody calls on Chloe. And why not? Why not? I think it's contemptible to bar people just because they're new, as you call it, and have to make their position instead of having it I'^ft them.

Jill. It's not because they're new, it's because — if your father behaved like a gentleman, he'd be treated like one.

ACT I THE SKIN GAME 35

Rolf. Would he ? I don't believe it. My father's a very able man; he thinks he's entitled to have influ- ence here. Well, everybody tries to keep him do^Ti. Oh! yes, they do. That makes him mad and more determined than ever to get his way. You ought to be just, Jill.

Jill. I am just.

Rolf. No, you're not. Besides, what's it got to do vvith Charlie and Chloe.^ Chloe's particularly harm- less. It's pretty sickening for her. Father didn't ex- pect people to call until Charlie married, but since

Jill. I think it's all very petty.

Rolf. It is — a dog-in-the-manger business; I did think you were above it.

Jill. How would you like to have your home spoiled ?

Rolf. I'm not gomg to argue. Only thmgs don't stand still. Homes aren't any more proof against change than anything else.

Jill. All right ! You come and try and take ours.

Rolf. We don't want to take your home.

Jill. Like the Jackmans' ?

Rolf. All right. I see you're hopelessly prejudiced.

[He turns to go.

Jill. [Just as he is vanishing — softly] Enemy ?

Rolf. [Turning] Yes, enemy.

Jill. Before the battle — let's shake hands.

They move from the lintels and grasp each other s hands in the centre of the French window.

CURTAIN

ACT II

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ACT II

SCENE I

A billiard room in a provincial hotel, ivhere things are bought and sold. The scene is set icell forward, and is not very broad ; it represents the auctioneer's end of the room, having, rather to stage Left, a narrow table icith two chairs facing the audience, where the auctioneer will sit and stajid. The table, which is set forward to the footlights, is littered with green- covered particulars of sale. The audience are in effect public and bidders. There is a door on the Left, level with the table. Along the back wall, behind the table, are two raised benches with two steps up to them, such as billiard rooms often have, divided by a door in the middle of a wall, which is panelled in oak. Late September sunlight is coming from a skylight (not visible) on to these seats. The stage is empty when the curtain goes up, but Dawker and Mrs. Hillcrist are just entering through the door at the back.

Dawker. Be out of their way here, ma'am. See old Hornblower with Chearlie?

[He points down to the audience.

40 THE SKIN GAME act ii

Mrs. H. It begins at three, doesn't it?

Dawker. They won't be over-punctual; there's only the Gentry selling. There's young jMts. Hornblower with the other boy — [Pointing] over at the entrance. I've got that chap I told you of down from town.

Mrs. H. Ah ! make sure quite of her, Dawker. Any mistake would be fatal.

Dawker. [Nodding] That's right, ma'am. Lot of people — always spare time to watch an auction — ever remark that.'* The Duke's agent's here; shouldn't be surprised if he chipped in.

Mrs. H. Where did j^ou leave my husband.?

Dawker. With Miss Jill, in the courtyard. He's coming to you. In case I miss him, tell him when I reach his limit to blow his nose if he wants me to go on; when he blows it a second time, I'll stop for good. Hope we shan't get to that. Old Hornblower doesn't throw his money away.

Mrs. H. What limit did you settle ?

Dawker. Six thousand!

Mrs. H. That's a fearful price. Well, good luck to you, Dawker !

Dawker. Good luck, ma'am. I'll go and see to that little matter of Mrs. Chloe. Never fear, we'll do them in somehow.

He winks, lays his finger on the side of his nose,

and goes out at the door. Mrs. Hillcrist mounts the two stepSy sits dotvn Right of the door, and put^ up a pair of long-handled glasses. Through the door be-

sc. I THE SKIN GA:\rE 41

hind her come Chloe and Rolf. She makes a sign for him to go, and shuts the door.

Chloe. [At the foot of the steps — in the gangway — in a slightly common accent] Mrs. Hillcrist !

IVIrs. H. [Xot quite starting] I beg your pardon?

Chloe. [AgaiJi] ]Mrs. Hillcrist

Mrs. H. WeU.5

Chloe. I never did you any harm.

Mrs. H. Did I ever say you did.^

Chloe. No; but you act as if I had.

IVIrs. H. I'm not aware that I've acted at all — as yet. You are nothing to me, except as one of your family.

Chole. 'Tisn't I that wants to spoil your home.

Mrs. H. Stop them then. I see your husband do^vTi there with his father.

Chloe. I — I have tried.

Mrs. H. [Looking at her] Oh ! I suppose such men don't pay attention to what women ask them.

Chloe. [With a flash of spirit] I'm fond of my hus- band. I

Mrs. H. [Looking at her steadily] I don't quite know why you spoke to me.

Chloe. [With a sort of pathetic sitUenriess] I only thought perhaps you'd like to treat me as a human being.

^Irs. H. Really, if you don't mind, I should like to be left alone just now.

Chloe. [U7ihappily acquiescent] CertaLmiyl I'll go to the other end.

42 THE SKIN GAME act ii

She moves to the Left, inounts the steps and sits

down. Rolf, looking in through the door, and seeing where she is, joins her. Mrs. Hillcrist re- settles herself a little further in on the Right. Rolf. [Bending over to Chloe, after a glance at Mrs. Hillcrist] Are you all right .^ Chloe. It's awfully hot.

She fans herself with the particulars of sale. Rolf. There's Dawker. I hate that chap ! Chloe. WTiere.^ Rolf. Down there; see.^

He points down to stage Right of the room. Chloe. [Draiving back in her seat with a little gasp] Oh!

Rolf. [Not noticing] Who's that next him, looking up here ?

Chloe. I don't know.

She has raised her auction programme suddenly, and sits fanning herself, car ef idly screening her face. Rolf. [Looking at her] Don't you feel well? Shall I get you some water ? [He gets up at her nod.

As he reaches the door, Hillcrist and Jill come in. Hillcrist passes him abstractedly with a nod, and sits down beside his wife. Jill. [To Rolf] Come to see us turned out.'' Rolf. [Emphatically] No. I'm looking after Chloe; she's not well.

Jill. [Glancing at her] Sorry. She needn't have come, I suppose ? [Rolf deigns no anstoer, and goes out.

sc. I THE SKIN GAME 43

Jill glances at Chloe, then at her parents talk- ing in low voices, and sits down next her father, who makes room for her.

Mrs. H. Can Dawker see you there, Jack?

[Hillcrist nods. AMiat's the time ?

Hillcrist. Three minutes to three.

Jill. Don't you feel beastly all down the backs of your legs, Dodo ?

Hillcrist. Yes.

Jill. Do you, mother ?

Mrs. H. No.

Jill. A wagon of old Hornblower's pots passed while we were in the yard. It's an omen.

Mrs. H. Don't be foolish, Jill.

Jill. Look at the old brute ! Dodo, hold my hand.

Mrs. H. Make sure you've got a handkerchief, Jack.

Hillcrist. I can't go beyond the six thousand; I shall have to raise every penny on mortgage as it is. The estate simply won't stand more, Amy.

He feels in his breast pocket, and pulls up the edge of his handkerchief.

Jill. Oh! Look! There's Miss MuUins, at the back; just come in. Isn't she a spidery old chip ?

Mrs. H. Come to gloat. Really, I think her not accepting your offer is disgusting. Her impartiality is all humbug.

Hillcrist. Can't blame her for getting what she can — it's human nature. Phew! I used to feel like this before a viva voce. "VMio's that next to Dawker?

Jill. WTiat a fish !

44 THE SKIN GAME act ii

Mrs. H. [To herself] Ah ! yes.

Her eyes slide round at Chloe, sitting motion- less and rather sunk in her seat, slowly fan- ning herself with the particulars of the sale. Jack, go and offer her my smellmg salts.

HiLLCRisT. [Taking tJie salts] Thank God for a human touch !

Mrs. H. [Taken aback] Oh! I

Jill. [With a quick look at her mother, snatching the salts] I will. [She goes over to Chloe vnth the salts] Have a sniff; j^ou look awfully white.

Chloe. [Looking up, startled] Oh! no thanks. I'm all right.

Jill. No, do ! You must. [Chloe takes them.

Jill. D'you mind letting me see that a minute.'^

She takes the particulars of the sale and studies it, but Chloe has buried the lower part of her face in her hand and the smelling salts bottle. Beastly hot, isn't it ? You'd better keep that.

Chloe. [Her dark eyes wandering and uneasy] Rolf's getting me some water.

Jill. "WTiy do you stay ? You didn't want to come, did you ^ [Chloe shakes Iter head.

All right! Here's your water.

She hands back the particulars and slides over

to her seat, passing Rolf in tJie gangway,

with her chin well up.

Mrs. Hillcrist, iclio has watched Chloe and

Jill and Dawtcer aiui his friend, jnakes an

Bc. I THE SKCs GAIME 45

enquiring movement with her hand, hut gets a disappointing answer.

Jill, ^^^lat's the time, Dodo?

HiLLCRisT. [Looking at his watch] Three minutes past.

Jill. [Sighing] Oh, hell!

HiLLCRIST. Jill!

Jill. Sorry, Dodo. I was only thinking. Look! Here he is ! Phew ! — isn't he ?

Mbs. H. 'Sh!

The Auctioneer comes in Left and goes to the table. He is a square, short, brown-faced, common-looking man, vyith dipped grey hair fitting him like a cap, and a clipped grey moustache. His lids come down over his quick eyes, till he can see you very sharply, and you can hardly see that he can see you. He can break into a smile at any moment, ichich has no connection with him, as it were. By a certain hurt look, hov:ever, when bidding is slow, he discloses that he is not merely an aiiclixmeer, hut has in him elements of the human being. He can xcink with anyone, and is dressed in a snuff-brown suit, with a perfectly unbuttoned waistcoat, a low, turned- down collar, and small black and v:hite sailor- knot tie. While he is settling his papers, the Hillcrists settle themselves tensely. Chloe has drunk her water and leaned back again, with the smelling salts to her nose. Rolf leans forward in the seat beside her, looking

46 THE SKIN GAIVIE act ii

sideways at Jill. A Solicitor, with a grey beard, has joined the Auctioneer at his table. Auctioneer. [Tapping the table] Sorry to disappoint you, gentlemen, but I've only one property to offer you to-day. No. 1, The Gentry, Deepwater. The second on the particulars has been withdrawn. The third — that's Bidcot, desirable freehold mansion and farmlands in the Parish of Kenway — we shall have to deal with next week. I shall be happy to sell it you then with- out reservation. [He looks again through the particidars in his handy giving the audience tiine to readjust them- selves to his statements] Now, gen'lemen, as I say, I've only the one property to sell. Freehold No. 1 — all that very desirable corn and stock-rearing and parklike residential land known as the Gentry, Deepwater, unique property — an A.l. chance to an A.l. audience. [With his smile] Ought to make the price of the three we thought we had. Now you won't mind listening to the conditions of sale; Mr. Blinkard'll read 'em, and they won't wirry you, they're very short.

He sits down and gives two little taps on the

table. The Solicitor rises and reads the conditions of sale in a voice which no one practically can hear. Just as he begins to read these conditions of sale, Gharles Hornblower enters at back. He stands a moment, glanc- ing round at the Hillcrists and twirling his moustache, then moves along to his wife and touches her. Gharles. Ghloe, aren't you well .'

sc. I THE SKIN GAME 47

In the start which she gives, her face is fully revealed to the audience. Charles. Come along, out of the way of these people.

Ee jerks his head towards the Hillcrists. Chloe gives a swift look doicn to the stage Right of the audience. Chloe. No; I'm all right; it's hotter there. Charles. [To Rolf] Well, look after her— I must go back.

Rolf nods. Ch.^rles slides hack to the door, with a glance at the Hillcrists, of whom !Mrs. Hillcrist has been watching like a lynx. He goes out, just as the Solicitor, finishing, sits down. Auctioneer. [Rising and tapping] Now, gen'lemen, it's not often a piece of land like this comes into the market. \Miat's that? [To a friend in front of him] No better land in Deepwater — that's right, Mr. Spicer. I know the village well, and a charming place it is; perfect locality, to be sure. Now I don't want to wirry you by singing the praises of this property; there it is — well-watered, nicely timbered — no reservation of the timber, gen'lemen — no tenancy to hold you up; free to do what you like with it to-morrow. You've got a jewel of a site there, too; perfect position for a house. It lies between the Duke's and Squire Hill- crist's — an emerald isle. [With his smile] No allusion to Ireland, gen'lemen — perfect peace in the Centry. Nothing like it in the county — a gen'leman's site, and you don't get that offered you every day. [Ee looks

48 THE SKIN GAME act ii

down towards Hornblower, stage Left] Carries the mineral rights, and as you know, perhaps, there's the very valuable Deepwater clay there. What am I to start it at? Can I say three thousand? Well, any- thing you like to give me. I'm not particular. Come now, you've got more time than me, I expect. Two hundred acres of first-rate grazin' and cornland, with a site for a residence unequalled in the county; and all the possibilities ! Well, what shall I say ?

[Bid from Spicer. Two thousand ? [With his smile] That won't hurt you, Mr. Spicer. Why, it's worth that to overlook the Duke. For two thousand ?

[Bid from Hornblower, stage Left. And five. Thank you, sir. Two thousand five hun- dred bid. [To a friend just below him. Come, Mr. Sandy, don't scratch your head over it.

[Bid from Dawker, stage Right. And five. Three thousand bid for this desirable prop- erty. Why, you'd think it wasn't desirable. Come along, gen'Iemen. A little spirit. [A slight pavse.

Jill. Why can't I see the bids. Dodo ?

HiLLCRisT. The last was Dawker's.

Auctioneer. For three thousand. [Hornblower] Three thousand five hundred? May I say four? [A hid from the centre] No, I'm not particular; I'll take hundreds. Three thousand six hundred bid. [Horn- blower] And seven. Three thousand seven hundred, and [He pauses, quartering the audience.

Jill. Who was that, Dodo ?

sc. I THE SKIN GAME 49

HiLLCRiST. Hornblower. It's the Duke in the centre.

Auctioneer. Come, gen'lemen, don't keep me all da\'. Four thousand may I say.? [Dawker] Thank you. We're beginning. And one.' [A hid from the centre] Four thousand one hundred. [Hornblower] Four thousand two hundred. May I have yours, sir ? [To Dawker] And three. Four thousand three hun- dred bid. No such site in the county, gen'lemen. I'm going to sell this land for what it's worth. You can't bid too much for me. [He smiles] [Horxblo\\tir] Four thousand five hundred bid. [Bid from the centre] And six. [Dawker] And seven. [Horxblower] And eight. Nine, may I say ? [But the centre has dried up] [Da"v\'xer] And nine. [Horxblower] Five thousand. Five thou- sand bid. That's better; there's some spirit in it. For five thousand.

[He pauses while he speaks to the Solicitob.

HiLLCRisT. It's a duel now.

Auctioneer. Now, gen'lemen, I'm not going to give this property away. Five thousand bid. [Dawker] And one. [Horxblower] And two. [Dawker] And three. Five thousand three hundred bid. And five, did you say, sir.' [Horxblower] Five thousand five hundred bid. [He looks at his particulars.

Jill. [Rather agonised] Enemy, Dodo.

Auctioneer. This chance may never come again. "How you'll regret it If you don't get it," as the poet says. May I say five thousand six hun-

50 THE SKIN GAME act ii

dred, sir? [Dawker] Five thousand six hundred bid. [HoRXB lower] And seven. [Dawker] And eight. For five thousand eight hundred pounds. We're gettin' on, but we haven't got the value yet.

A slight jpause, while he wipes his brow at the success of his oion efforts. Jill. Us, Dodo ?

HiLLCRisT nods. Jill looks over at Rolf, ichose

face is grimly set. Chloe has never moved.

Mrs. Hillcrist whispers to her hiishand.

Auctioneer. Five thousand eight hundred bid.

For five thousand eight hundred. Come along,

gen'lemen, come along. We're not beaten. Thank

you, sir. [Horxb lower] Five thousand nine hundred.

And — ? [Dawker] Six thousand. Six thousand bid.

Six thousand bid. For six thousand ! The Gentry —

most desirable spot in the county — going for the low

price of six thousand.

Hillcrist. [Muttering] Low ! Heavens ! Auctioneer. Any advance on six thousand .^ Come, gen'lemen, we haven't dried up.-* A little spirit. Six thousand? For six thousand? For six thousand pounds? Very well, I'm selling. For six thousand once — [He taps] For six thousand twice — [He taps]. Jill. [Ixnc] Oh ! we've got it !

Auctioneer. And one, sir ? [Hornblower] Six thou- sand one hundred bid.

The Solicitor touches his arm and says some- thing^ to which the Auctioneer responds with a nod.

sc. I THE SKLN GA:ME 51

Mrs. H. Blow your nose, Jack.

[HiLLCRisT blows his nose.

Auctioneer. For six thousand one hundred. [Daw- ker] And two. Thank you. [Horxblower] And three. For six thousand three hundred. [Da'^'KEr] And four. For sLx thousand four hundred pounds. This coveted property. For six thousand four hundred pounds. Why, it's giving it away, gentlemen. [A pause.

Mrs. H. Giving!

Auctioneer. Six thousand four hundred bid. [Horn- blower] And five. [Dawker] And six. [Hornblower] And seven. [Dawker] And eight.

A pause, during which, through the door Left, someone beckons to the Solicitor, who rises and confers.

HiLLCRiST. [Muttering] I've done if that doesn't get it.

Auctioneer. For six thousand eight hundred. For six thousand eight hundred — once — [He tups] twice — [He taps] For the last time. This dominating site. [Hornblower] And nine. Thank you. For six thou- sand nine hundred.

[HiLLCRiST has taken out his handkerchief.

Jill. Oh ! Dodo !

Mrs. H. [Quivering] Don't give in !

Auctioneer. Seven thousand may I say ? [Dawker] Seven thousand.

Mrs. H. [Whispers] Keep it down; don't show him.

Auctioneer. For seven thousand — going for seven

52 THE SKIN GAME act ii

thousand — once — [Taps] twice — [Taps] [Hornblower] And one. Thank you, sir.

HiLLCRisT blows his nose. Jill, iinth a choke, leans back in her seat and folds her arms tightly on her chest. IMrs. Hillcrist passes her handkerchief over her lips, sitting perfectly still. Hillcrist, too, is motionless. The Auctioneer has paused, and is talking to the Solicitor, who has returned to his seat. IVIrs. H. Oh ! Jack. Jill. Stick it. Dodo; stick it !

Auctioneer. Now, gen'lemen, I have a bid of seven thousand one hundred for the Gentry. And I'm in- structed to sell if I can't get more. It's a fair price, but not a big price. [To his friend Mr. Spicer] A thumpin' price .^ [With his smile] Well, you're a judge of thumpin', I admit. Now, who'll give me seven thousand two hundred? What, no one.'* Well, I can't make you, gen'lemen. For seven thousand one hundred. Once — [Taps] Twice — [Taps].

[Jill utters a little groan. Hillcrist. [Suddenly, in a queer voice] Two. Auctioneer. [Turning with surprise and looking up to receive Hillcrist's nod\ Thank you, sir. And two. Seven thousand two hundred. [He screws himself round so as to command both Hillcrist and Hornblower] May I have yours, sir? [Hornblower] And three. [Hillcrist] And four. Seven thousand four himdred. For seven thousand four hundred. [Hornblower] Five. [Hillcrist] Six. For seven thousand six hundred. [A

sc. I THE SKIN GAIME 53

pause] Well, gen'lemen, this is better, but a record property shid fetch a record price. The possibilities are enormous. [Horxblower] Eight thousand did you say, sir? Eight thousand. Going for eight thousand pounds. [Hillcrist] And one. [Horxblower] And two. [Hillcrist] And three. [Horxblower] And four. [Hill- crist] And five. For eight thousand five hundred. A wonderful property for eight thousand five hundred.

[He wipes his brow.

Jill. [Whispering] Oh, Dodo!

IVIrs. H. That's enough, Jack, we must stop some time.

AucnoxEER. For eight thousand five hundred. Once — [Taps] Twice — [Taps] [Horxblower] Six hun- dred. [Hillcrist] Seven. May I have yours, su-.^ [Horxblower] Eight.

Hillcrist. Nine thousand.

Mrs. Hillcrist looks at him, biting her lips, but he is quite absorbed.

Auctioxeer. Nine thousand for this astounding property, ^^^ly, the Duke would pay that if he realised he'd be overlooked. Now, sir.^ [To Horxblower. Ko response]. Just a little raise on that. [So response.] For nine thousand. The Gentry, Deepwater, for nine thousand. Once — [Taps] Twice — [Taps].

Jill. [Under her breath] Ours !

A Voice. [From far back in the centre] And five hundred.

AucTioxEER. [Surprised and throwing out his arms towards the voice] And five hundred. For nine thou-

54 THE SKIN GAIVDE act ii

sand fiv^e hundred. May I have 3'ours, sir ? [He looks at HoRNBLowER. No respojise.]

[The Solicitor speaks to him.

Mes. H. [Whispering] It must be the Duke again.

HiLLCRisT. [Passing his hand over his brow] That's stopped him, anyway.

Auctioneer. [Looking at Hillcrist] For nine thou- sand five hundred.^ [Hillcrist shakes his head.] Once more. The Centr}^ Deepwater, for nine thou- sand five hundred. Once — [Taps] Twice — [Taps] [He pauses and looks again at Horxblower and Hillcrist] For the last time — at nine thousand five hundred. [Taps] [With a look towards the bidder] Mr. Smalley. Well ! [JVith great satisfaction] That's that ! No more to-day, gen'lemen.

The Auctioneer and Solicitor busy them- selves. The room begins to empty.

Mrs. H. Smalley.^ Smalley.'^ Is that the Duke's agent ? Jack !

Hillcrist. [Coming out of a sort of coma, after the excitement he has been going through] What ! What !

Jill. Oh, Dodo ! How splendidly you stuck it !

Hillcrist. Phew ! WTiat a squeak ! I was clean out of my depth. A mercy the Duke chipped in again.

Mrs. H. [Looking at Rolf and Chloe, who are standing up as if about to go] Take care; they can hear you. Find Dawker, Jack.

Below, the Auctioneer and Solicitor take up

their papers, and move out Left. Hillcrist stretches himself, standing up, as

sc. I THE SKIN GAME 55

if to throxc off the strain. The door behind is opened, and Horxblower appears,

HoRNBLo^\Tai. Ye ran me up a pretty price. Ye bid very pluckily, Hillcrist. But ye didn't quite get my measure.

Hillcrist. Oh ! It was my nine thousand the Duke capped. Thank God, the Gentry's gone to a gentle- man !

HoRNBLOWER. The Duke ? [He laugJis] No, the Gen- try's not gone to a gentleman, nor to a fool. It's gone to me.

Hillcrist. \Miat!

Horxblower. I'm sorry for ye; ye're not fit to manage these things. Well, it's a monstrous price, and I've had to pay it because of your obstinacy. I shan't forget that when I come to build.

Hillcrist. D'you mean to say that bid was for

you.=*

Horxblower. Of course I do. I told ye I was a bad man to be up against. Perhaps ye'U believe me now.

Hillcrist. A dastardly trick!

Horxblower. [With venom] ^^^lat did ye call it — a skin game? Remember we're playin' a skin game, Hillcrist.

Hillcrist. [Clenching his fists] If we were younger men

Horxblower. Ay! 'Twouldn't look pretty for us to be at fisticuffs. We'll leave the fightin' to the young ones. [He glances at Rolf and Jill; suddenly throwing

56 THE SKIN GAME act ii

out his finger at Rolf] No makin' up to that young woman! I've watched ye. And as for you, missy, you leave mj^ boy alone.

Jill. [With suppressed passion] Dodo, may I spit in his eye or something ?

HiLLCRiST. Sit down.

Jill sits doicn. He stands between her and

HORNBLOWER.

You've won this round, sir, by a foul blow. We shall see whether you can take any advantage of it. I be- lieve the law can stop you ruining my property.

HoRNBLOWER. Make your mind easy; it can't. I've got ye in a noose, and I'm goin' to hang ye.

Mrs. H. [Suddenly] IVIr. Hornblower, as you fight foul — so shall we.

HiLLCRisT. Amy!

Mrs. H. [Paying no attention] And it will not be foul play towards you and yours. You are outside the pale.

Hornblower. That's just where I am, outside your pale all round ye. Ye're not long for Deepwater, ma'am. Make your dispositions to go; ye' 11 be out in six months, I prophesy. And good riddance to the neighbourhood. [They are all down on the level now.

Chloe. [Suddenly coining closer to Mrs. Hillcrist] Here are your salts, thank you. Father, can't you — ?

Hornblower. [Surprised] Can't I what.''

Chloe. Can't you come to an arrangement?

Mrs. H. Just so, Mr. Hornblower. Can't you.'

Hornblower. [Looking from one to the other] As

sc. I THE SKIN GAME 57

we're speakin' out, ma'am, it's your behaviour to my daughter-in-law — who's as good as you — and better, to my thinking — that's more than half the reason why I've bought this property. Ye've fair got my dander up. Now it's no use to bandy words. It's very for- givin' of ye, Chloe, but come along !

Mrs. H. Quite seriously, Mr. Hornblower, you had better come to an arrangement.

Horxblo\\t:r. Mrs. Hillcrist, ladies should keep to their own business.

IVIrs. H. I will.

HxLLCRiST. Amy, do leave it to us men. You young man [He speaks to Rolf] do you support your father's trick this afternoon ?

Jill looks round at Rolf, who tries to speak, when Hornblower breaks in.

Hornblower. My trick? And what d'ye call it, to try and put me own son against me.^

Jill. [To Rolf] Well.^

Rolf. I don't, but

Hornblower. Trick? Ye young cub, be quiet. Mr. Hillcrist had an agent bid for him — I had an agent bid for me. Only his agent bid at the beginnin', an' mine bid at the end. TSTiat's the trick in that?

[He laughs.

Hillcrist. Hopeless; we're in different worlds.

Hornblower. I wish to God we were ! Come you, Chloe. And you, Rolf, you follow. In six months I'll have those chimneys up, and me lorries runnin' round ye.

58 THE SKIN GAME act ii

IMrs. H. Mr. Hornblower, if you build

HoRXBLOwER. [Looking at Mrs. Hillcrist] Ye know — it's laughable. Ye make me pay nine thou- sand five hundred for a bit o' land not worth four, and ye think I'm not to get back on ye. I'm goin' on with as little consideration as if ye were a family of black- beetles. Good afternoon ! Rolf. Father!

Jill. Oh, Dodo ! He's obscene. Hillcrist. Mr. Hornblower, my compliments.

Hornblower, with a stare at Hillcrist's half-smiling face, takes Chloe's arm, and half drags her towards the door on the Left. But there, in the opened doonvay, are stand- ing Dawker and a Straxger. They move just out of the icay of the exit, looking at Chloe, icho sivays and very nearly falls. Hornblower. Vshyl Chloe! What's the matter.? Chloe. I don't know; I'm not well to-day.

[She pidls herself together icith a great effort. Mrs. H. [Who has exchanged a nod with Dawker and the Stranger] IVIr. Hornblower, you build at your peril. I warn you.

Hornblower. [Turning round to speak] Ye thiuk yourself very cool and very smart. But I doubt this is the first time ye've been up against realities. Now, I've been up against them all my life. Don't talk to me, ma'am, about peril and that sort of nonsense; it makes no impression. Yoiu* husband called me pachy- dermatous. I don't know Greek, and Latin, and all

sc. I THE SKIN GAiVIE 59

that, but I've looked it out in the dictionary, and I find it means thick-skinned. And I'm none the worse for that when I have to deal with folk Uke you. Good afternoon.

He draws Cbiob forward, and they 'pass throitgk Uie door, foUmoed quickly by Rolf. Mrs. H. Thank you, Dawker.

She moves up to Dawker and the Stranger, Left, and they talk. Jill. Dodo ! It's awful !

HiLLCRisT. Well, there's nothing for it now but to smile and pay up. Poor old home! It shall be his wash-pot. Over the Gentry will he cast his shoe. By Gad, JUl, I could cry !

Jill. [Pointing] Look! Chloe's sitting down. She nearly fainted just now. It's something to do with Dawker, Dodo, and that man with him. Look at mother! Ask them! HiLLCRisT. Dawker!

Dawker comes to him, followed by Mrs. Hill-

CRIST.

TMiat's the mystery about young Mrs. Hornblower? Dawker. No mystery. HiLLCRisT. "Well, what is it.^ Mrs. H. You'd better not ask. HiLLCRiST. I wish to know. ^1k3. H. Jill, go out and wait for us. Jill. Nonsense, mother ! Mrs. H. It's not for a girl to hear. Jill. Bosh ! I read the papers every day.

60 THE SKIN GAME act ii

Dawker. It's nothin' worse than you get there, any- way.

Mrs. H. Do you wish j'^our daughter

Jill. It's ridiculous. Dodo; you'd think I was mother at my age.

Mrs. H. I was not so proud of my knowledge.

Jill. No, but you had it, dear.

HiLLCRisT. What is it — what is it.'* Come over here, Dawker.

Dawker goes to him, Right, and speaks in a low voice. What ! [Again Dawker speaks in a low voice.

Good God !

Mrs. H. Exactly!

Jill. Poor thing — whatever it is !

Mrs. H. Poor thing ?

Jill. What went before, mother.^

Mrs. H. It's what's coming after that matters, luckily.

HiLLCRisT. How do you know this.'^

Dawker. My friend here [He points to the Stranger] was one of the agents.

HiLLCRisT. It's shocking. I'm sorry I heard it.

Mrs. H. I told you not to.

HiLLCRiST. Ask j^our friend to come here.

Dawker beckons, and the Stranger joins the group. Are you sure of what you've said, sir.?

Stranger. Perfectly. I remember her quite well; her name then was

Hillcrist. I don't want to know, thank you. I'm

sc. I THE SKIN GAME 61

truly sorry. I wouldn't wish the knowledge of that about his womenfolk to my worst enemy. This mustn't be spoken of. [Jill hugs his arm.

jVIrs. H. It will not be if Mr. Hornblower is wise. If he is not wise, it must be spoken of.

HiLLCRisT. I say no. Amy. I won't have it. It's a dirty weapon. Who touches pitch shall be defiled.

IMrs. H. "Well, what weapons does he use against us.'^ Don't be quixotic. For all we can tell, they know it quite well already, and if they don't they ought to. Anj-way, to know this is our salvation, and we must use it.

Jell. [Sottovoce] Pitch! Dodo! Pitch!

Dawker. The threat's enough! J.P. — Chapel — Future member for the constituency

HiLLCRiST. [A little more doubtfully] To use a piece of knowledge about a woman — it's repugnant. I — I won't do it.

Mrs. H. If you had a son tricked into marrying such a woman, would you wish to remain ignorant of it.5»

HiLLCRiST. [Struck] I don't know — I don't know.

Mrs. H. At least you'd like to be in a position to help him, if you thought it necessary .^

HiLLCRiST. Well — that — perhaps.

IMrs. H. Then you agree that Mr. Hornblower at least should be told. WTiat he does wath the knowledge is not our affair.

HiLLCRiST. [Ualj to the Stranger and half to Daw- kee] Do you realise that an imputation of that kind may be ground for a criminal libel action .-*

6^2 THE SKIN GAME act ii

Stranger. Quite. But there's no shadow of doubt; not the faintest. You saw her just now ?

HiLLCRisT. I did. [Revolting again] No; I don't like it.

Dawker has drawn the Stranger a step or two away, and they talk together.

Mrs. H. [In a loto voice] And the ruin of our home ? You're betraying your fathers, Jack.

HiLLCRisT. I can't bear bringing a woman into it..

Mrs. H. We don't. If anyone brings her in, it will be Hornblower himself.

HiLLCRiST. We use her secret as a lever.

Mrs. H. I tell you quite plainly: I will only con- sent to holding my tongue about her, if you agree to Hornblow^er being told. It's a scandal to have a woman like that in the neighbourhood.

Jill. Mother means that, father.

HiLLCRiST. Jill, keep quiet. This is a very bitter position. I can't tell what to do.

Mrs. H. You must use this knowledge. You owe it to me — to us all. You'll see that when you've thought it over.

Jill. [Softly] Pitch, Dodo, pitch !

IMrs. H. [Furioiisly] Jill, be quiet !

HiLLCRiST. I was brought up never to hurt a woman. I can't do it. Amy — I can't do it. I should never feel like a gentleman again.

Mrs. H. [Coldly] Oh ! Very well.

HiLLCRiST. What d'you mean by that ?

Mrs. H. I shall use the know^ledge in my own way.

sc. I THE SKIN GAJME 63

HrLLCRisT. [Staring at her] You woiiUl — against my wishes ?

jMrs, H. I consider it my dutj\

HiLLCRisT. If I agree to Hornblower being told

:Mrs. H. That's aU I want.

HiLLCEiST. It's the utmost I'll consent to, Amy; and don't let's have any humbug about its being morally necessary. We do it to save our skins.

!Mrs. H. I don't know what you mean by humbug ?

Jlll. He means humbug, mother.

HiLLCRiST. It must stop at old Hornblower. Do you quite understand ?

Mrs. H. Quite.

Jill. Will it stop ?

'Mrs. H. Jill, if you can't keep your impertinence to yourself

HiLLCRiST. Jill, come with me.

[He turns towards door, Bach.

Jill. I'm sorry, mother. Only it is a skin game, isn't it?

Mjts. H. You pride youself on plain speech, Jill. I pride myself on plain thought. You will thank me afterwards that I can see realities. I know we are bet- ter f)eople than these Hornblowers. Here we are going to stay, and they — are not.

Jill. [LooJdng at her with a sort of unwilling admira- tion] Mother, you're wonderful ! . HiLLCRiST. Jill!

Jill. Coming, Dodo.

She turns and runs to the door. They go out.

64 THE SKIN GAME act ii

Mrs. Hillcrist, vnth a long sigh, draws herself up, fine and proud.

Mrs. H. Dawker ! [He comes to her,

I shall send him a note to-night, and word it so that he will be bound to come and see us to-morrow morn- ing. Will you be in the study just before eleven o'clock, with this gentleman ?

Dawker. [Nodding] We're going to wire for his partner. I'll bring him too. Can't make too sure. [Slie goes firmly up the steps and out.

Dawker. [To the Stranger, with a wink] The Squire's squeamish — too much of a gentleman. But he don't count. The grey mare's all right. You wire to Henry. I'm off to our solicitors. We'll make that old rhinoceros sell us back the Gentry at a decent price. These Hornblowers — [Laying his finger on his nose] We've got 'em !

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SCENE n

Chloe's boudoir at Iialf-pasi seven the same evening. A pretty room. No pictures on the wallsy hut two mirrors. A screen and a luxurious couch on the fireplace side, stage Left. A door rather Right oj Centre Back, opening inwards. A French window. Right forward. A writing table. Right Back. Elec- tric light burning.

Chloe, in a tea-gown, is standing by the fonvard end of the sofa, very still, and very pale. Her lips are parted, and her large eyes stare straight before them as if seeing ghosts. The door is opened noiselessly and a Woman's face is seen. It peers at Chloe, vanishes, and the door is closed. Chloe raises her hands, covers her eyes with tJwm, drops them with a quick gesture, and looks round her. A knock. With a swift movement she slides on to the sofa, and lies prostrate, with eyes closed.

Chloe. [Feebly] Come in !

Her '^LMD enters ; a trim, contained figure of uncertain years, in a black dress, with the face which was peering in. Yes, Anna ?

Anna. Aren't you going in to dinner, ma'am? Chloe. [With closed eyes] Xo. 67

68 THE SKIN GAME act ii

Anna. Will you take anythmg here, ma'am ?

Chloe. I'd like a biscuit and a glass of champagne. The Maid, wiio is standing between sofa and door, smiles, Chloe, with a swift look, catches the smile. Why do you smile ?

Anna. Was I, ma'am.?

Chloe. You know you were. [Fiercely] Are you paid to smile at me.''

Anna. [Immxyvable] No, ma'am. Would you like some eau de Cologne on your forehead ?

Chloe. Yes.— No.— What's the good .? [Clasping her forehead] My headache won't go.

Anna. To keep lying down's the best thing for it.

Chloe. I have been — hours.

Anna. [With the smile] Yes, ma'am.

Chloe. [Gathering herself up on the sofa] Anna! Why do you do it ?

Anna. Do what, ma'am?

Chloe. Spy on me.

Anna. I — never! I !

Chloe. To spy ! You're a fool, too. What is there to spy on ?

Anna. Nothing, ma'am. Of course, if you're not satisfied with me, I must give notice. Only — if I were spying, I should expect to have notice given me. I've been accustomed to ladies who wouldn't stand such a thing for a minute.

Chloe. [Intently] Well, you'll take a month's wages and go to-morrow. And that's all, now.

[iiNNA inclines her head and goes out.

sc. II THE SKIN GAME 69

Chloe, with a sort of moan, turns over and bvries her face in the cushion. Chloe. [Sitting up] If I could see that man — if only

— or Dawker

She springs up and goes to the door, but hesi- tates, and comes hack to the head of the sofa, as Rolf conies in. During this scene the door is again opened stealthily, an inch or two. Rolf. How's the head ?

Chloe. Beastly, thanks. I'm not going in to dinner. Rolf. Is there anything I can do for you ? Chloe. No, dear boj\ [Suddenly looking at him] You don't want this quarrel with the Hillcrists to go on, do you, Rolf ? Rolf. No; I hate it.

Chloe. Well, I think I might be able to stop it. Will you slip round to Dawker's — it's not five minutes — and ask him to come and see me.

Rolf. Father and Charlie wouldn't

Chloe. I know. But if he comes to the window here while you're at dinner, I'll let him in, and out, and nobody'd know.

Rolf. [Astonished] Yes, but what — I mean how

Chloe. Don't ask me. It's worth the shot— that's all. [Looking at her wrist-watch] To this window at eight o'clock exactly. First long window on the ter- race, tell him.

Rolf. It's nothing Charlie would mind.^ Chloe. No; only I can't tell him — he and father are so mad about it all.

70 THE SKIN GAME act ii

Rolf. If there's a real chance

Chloe. [Going to the. window and opening it] This way, Rolf. If you don't come back I shall know he's coming. Put your watch by mine. [Looking at his watch] It's a minute fast, see !

Rolf. Look here, Chloe

Chloe. Don't wait; go on.

She almost pushes him out through the window, closes it after him, draws the curtains again, standi a minute, thinking hard ; goes to the hell and rings it ; then, crossing to the writing table. Right Back, she takes out a chemist's jyreseription.

[Anna cames in. Chloe. I don't want that champagne. Take this to the chemist and get him to make up some of these cachets quick, and bring them back yourself. Anna. Yes, ma'am; but you have some. C^LOE. They're too old; I've taken two — the strength's out of them. Quick, please; I can't stand this head.

Anna. [Taking the prescription — with her smile] Yes,

ma'am. It'll take some time — j'ou don't want me.^

Chloe. No; I want the cachets. [Anna goes out.

Chloe looks at her lorist-watch, goes to the

writing-table, which is old-fashioned, with a

secret drawer, looks round her, dives at the

secret drawer, takes out a roll of notes and a

tissue paper parcel. She counts the notes:

" Three hundred." Slips them into her breast

8c. II THE SKIN GAME 71

and unwraps the little parcel. It contains pearls. She slips them, too, into her dress ^ looks round startled, replaces the drawer, and regains her place on the sofa, lying prostrate as the door opens, and Hornblower comes in. She does not open her eyes, and lie stands looking at her a moment before speak- ing. Hornblower. [Almost softly] How are ye feelin', Chloe?

Chloe. Awful head !

Hornblower. Can ye attend a moment ? I've had a note from that woman. [Chloe sits up.

Hornblo\vt:r. [Reading] "I have something of the utmost importance to tell you in regard to your daugh- ter-in-law. I shall be waiting to see you at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning. The matter is so utterly vital to the happiness of all your family, that I cannot imagine you will fail to come." Now, what's the meaning of it? Is it sheer impudence, or lunacy, or what ? Chloe. I don't know.

Hornblower. [Not unkindly] Chloe, if there's any- thing— ye'd better tell me. Forewarned's forearmed. Chloe. There's nothing; unless it's — [With a quick look at him] — Unless it's that my father was a — a bankrupt.

Hornblower. Hech! Many a man's been that. Ye've never told us much about your family. Chloe. I wasn't very proud of him.

72 THE SKIN GAIME act ii

HoRNBLowER. Well, ye're not responsible for your father. If that's all, it's a relief. The bitter snobs! I'll remember it in the accomit I've got with them.

Chloe. Father, don't say anything to Charlie; it'll only worry him for nothing.

HoRXBLOWER. Na, no, I'll not. If I went bankrupt, it'd upset Chearlie, I've not a doubt. [He laughs. Looking at her shrewdly] There's nothing else, before I answer her .^ [Chloe shakes her head.

Ye're sure ?

Chloe. [With an effort] She may invent things, of course.

HoRNBLowER. [Lost in his feud feeling] Ah! but there's such a thing as the laws o' slander. If they play pranks, I'll have them up for it.

Chloe. [Timidly] Couldn't you stop this quarrel, father ? You said it was on my account. But I don't want to know them. And they do love their old home. I like the girl. You don't really need to build just there, do you ? Couldn't you stop it ? Do !

Horxblower. Stop it.'* Now I've bought.'* Na, no ! The snobs defied me, and I'm going to show them. I hate the lot of them, and I hate that little Dawker worst of all.

Chloe. He's only their agent.

HoBXBLOW^ER. He's a part of the whole dog-in-the- manger system that stands in my way. Ye're a woman, and ye don't understand these things. Ye wouldn't believe the struggle I've had to make my money and get my position. These county folk talk soft sawder.

sc. II THE SKIN GAME 73

but to get anything from them's like gettin' butter out of a dog's mouth. If they could drive me out of here by fair means or foul, would they hesitate a moment ? Not they ! See what they've made me pay; and look at this letter. Selfish, mean lot o' hypocrites ! Chloe. But they didn't begin the quarrel. HoRXBLOWER. Not opculy; but underneath they did —that's their way. They began it by thwartin' me here and there and everj^here, just because I've come mto me own a bit later than they did. I gave 'em their chance, and they wouldn't take it. Well, I'll show 'em what a man like me can do when he sets his mind to it. I'll not leave much skin on them.

In the intensity of his feeling he has lost sight of her face, alive with a sort of agony of doubt, whether to plead with him further, or what to do. Then, xdth a sivift glance at her wrist- watch, she falls back on the sofa and closes her eyes. It'll give me a power of enjoyment seein' me chimneys go up in front of their windies. That was a bonnie thought— that last bid o' mme. He'd got that roused up, I believe he never would a' stopped. [Looking at her] I forgot your head. Well, well, ye'U be best fyin* quiet. [The gong sounds.

Shall we send ye something in from dinner ?

Chloe. No; I'll try to sleep. Please tell them I don't want to be disturbed.

HoRNBLowER. All right. I'll just answer this note. [He sits down at her writing-table.

74 THE SKIN GAIME act ii

Chloe starts up from the sofa feverishly, loolc- ing at her tvatch, at the window, at her watch ; then softly crosses to the window and opens it. HoRNBLOWER. [Finishing] Listen ! [He turns round towards the sofa] Hallo ! ^Miere are ye ? Chloe. [At the window] It's so hot. HoRNBLOWER. Here's what I've said:

"jMadam, — You can tell me nothing of my daugh- ter-in-law which can affect the happiness of my family. I regard your note as an imper- tinence, and I shall not be with you at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning.

"Yours truly '*

Chloe. [With a suffering movement of her head] Oh !

— Well ! [The gong is touehed a second time.

HoRNBLOWER. [Crossing to the door] Lie ye down, and get a sleep. I'll tell them not to disturb ye; and I hope ye'll be all right to-morrow. Good-night, Chloe. ChIiOE. Good-night. [He goes out.

After a feverish turn or two, Chloe returns to the open loindow and waits there, half screened hy the curtains. The door is opened inch by inch, and Anna's head peers round. See- ing where Chloe is, she slips in and passes behind tJie screen. Left. Suddenly Chloe backs in from the icindow. Chloe. [In a low voice] Come in.

[She darts to the door and locks it.

sc. II THE SKIN GAME 75

Dawker has come in through the loindow and stands regarding her with a half smile. Dawker. Well, young woman, what do you want of me ?

In the presence of this man of her own class, there conies a distinct change in Chix)e's voice and manner ; a sort of frank common- ness, adapted to the man she is dealing with, but she keeps her voice low. Chloe. You're making a mistake, you know. Dawker. [With a broad grin] No. I've got a mem- ory for faces.

Chloe. I say you are.

Da\\tler. [Turning to go] If that's all, you needn't 'ave troubled me to come.

Chloe. No. Don't go ! [With a faint smile] You are playing a game with me. Aren't you ashamed ? What harm have I done j^ou ? Do you call this cricket ? Dawker. No, my girl — business. Chloe. [Bitterly] What have I to do with this quar- rel.^ I couldn't help their falling out. Dawker. That's your misfortune. Chloe. [Clasping her hands] You're a cruel fellow if you can spoil a woman's life who never did you an ounce of harm.

Dawker. So they dont know about you. That's all right. Now, look here, I serve my employer. But I'm flesh and blood, too, and I always give as good as I get. I hate this family of yours. There's no name too bad for 'em to call me this last month, and no

76 THE SKIN GA]ME act ii

looks too black to give me. I tell you frankly, I hate 'em.

Chloe. There's good in them same as in you.

Dawker. [With a grin] There's no good Hornblower but a dead Hornblower.

Chloe. But — but I'm not one.

Dawker. You'll be the mother of some, I shouldn't wonder.

Chloe. [Stretching out her hand — pathetically] Oh! leave me alone, do ! I'm happy here. Be a sport ! Be a sport !

Dawker. [Disconcerted for a second] You can't get at me, so don't try it on.

Chloe. I had such a bad time in old days.

Dawker shakes his head ; his grin has dis- appeared and his face is like wood.

Chloe. [Panting] Ah! do! You might! You've been fond of some woman, I suppose. Think of her !

Dawker. [Decisively] It won't do, Mrs. Chloe. You're a pawn in the game, and I'm going to use you.

Chloe. [Despairingly] What is it to you? [With a sudden touch of the tigress] Look here! Don't you make an enemy of me. I haven't dragged through hell for nothing. Women like me can bite, I tell you.

Dawker. That's better. I'd rather have a woman threaten than whine, any day. Threaten away ! You'll let 'em know that you met me in the Prom- enade one night. Of course you'll let 'em know that, won't you ? — or that

sc. II THE SKIN GAIVIE 77

Chloe. Be quiet! Oh! Be quiet! [Taking from her bosom the notes and the pearls] Look ! There's my sav- ings— there's all I've got! The pearls'll fetch nearly a thousand. [Holding it out to him] Take it, and drop me out — won't you ? AVon't you ?

Da'w^ker. [Passing his tongue over his lips — with a hard little laugh] You mistake your man, missis. I'm a plain dog, if you like, but I'm faithful, and I hold fast. Don't try those games on me.

Chloe. [Losing control] You're a beast ! — a beast ! a cruel, cowardly beast ! And how dare you bribe that woman here to spy on me ? Oh ! yes, you do; you know you do. If you drove me mad, you wouldn't care. You beast !

Dawker. Now, don't carry on! That won't help you.

Chloe. WTiat d'you call it — to dog a woman dovm like this, just because you happen to have a quarrel with a man ?

Dawker. "Who made the quarrel ? Not me, missis. You ought to know that in a row it's the weak and helpless — we won't say the innocent — that get it in the neck. That can't be helped.

Chloe. [Regarding him intently] 1 hope your mother or your sister, if you've got any, may go through what I'm going through ever since you got on my track. I hope they'll know what fear means. I hope they'll love and find out that it's hanging on a thread, and —

and Oh ! you coward, you persecuting coward !

Call yourself a man !

78 THE SKIN GAME act ii

Dawker. [With his grin] Ah ! You look quite pretty like that. By George! you're a handsome woman when you're roused.

Chloe's passion fades out as quickly as it

blazed up. She sinks doicn on the sofa,

shudders, looks liere and there, and theyi for

a moment up at him.

Chloe. Is there ani/thing you'll take, not to spoil

my life ? [Clasping her hands on her breast ; under her

breath] Me.?

Dawker. [Wiping his brmc] By God! That's an offer. [He recoils towards the window] You — 3'ou touched me there. Look here! I've got to use you and I'm going to use you, but I'll do my best to let you down as easy as I can. No, I don't want anything you can give me — that is — [He wipes his brow again] I'd like it — but I won't take it.

[Chloe buries her face in her hands.

There ! Keep your pecker up; don't cry. Good-night !

[He goes through the window.

Chloe. [Springing up] Ugh ! Rat in a trap ! Rat !

She stands listening ; flies to the door, unlocks it, and, going back to the sofa, lies down and closes her eyes. Charles comes in very quietly and stands over her, looking to see if she is asleep. She opens her eyes. Charles. Well, Clo ! Had a sleep, old girl ? Chloe. Ye — es.

Charles. [Sitting on the arm of the sofa and caressing her] Feel better, dear ?

Chloe. Yes, better, Charlie.

sc. II THE SKIN GAME 79

Ch.\rles. That's right. Would you like some soup ?

Chloe. [With a shudder] No.

Charles. I say— what gives you these heads? You've been very on and off all this last month.

Chloe. I don't know. Except that — except that I am, going to have a child, Charlie.

Cil\rles. After all! By Jove! Sure?

Chloe. [Nodding] Are you glad?

Charles. Well— I suppose I am. The guv*nor will be mighty pleased, anyway.

Chloe. Don't tell him — yet.

Charles. All right! [Bending over and drawing her to him] My poor girl, I'm so sorry you're seedy. Give us a kiss.

Chloe puts up her face and kisses him pas- sionately. I say, you're like fire. You're not feverish?

Chloe. [With a laugh] It's a wonder if I'm not. Charlie, are you happy with me ?

Charles. What do you think ?

Chloe. [Leaning against him] You wouldn't easily believe things against me, would you?

Charles. ^Miat! Thinking of those Hillcrists? What the hell that woman means by her attitude

towards you "\Mien I saw her there to-day, I had

all my work cut out not to go up and give her a bit of my mind.

Chloe. [Watching him stealthily] It's not good for me, now I'm like this. It's upsetting me, Charlie. ' Charles. Yes; and we won't forget. We'll make 'em pay for it.

80 THE SKIN GAME act ii

Chloe. It's wretched in a little place like this. I say, must you go on spoiling their home ?

Charles. The woman cuts you and insults you. That's enough for me.

Chloe. [Timidly] Let her. / don't care; I can't bear feeling enemies about, Charlie, I — get nervous — I

Charles. My dear girl! What is it.?

[He looks at her intently.

Chloe. I suppose it's — being like this. [Suddenly] But, Charlie, do stop it for my sake. Do, do !

Charles. [Patting her arm] Come, come; I say, Chloe ! You're making mountains. See things in pro- portion. Father's paid nine thousand five hundred to get the better of those people, and you want him to chuck it away to save a woman who's insulted you. That's not sense, and it's not business. Have some pride.

Chloe. [Breathless] I've got no pride, Charlie. I want to be quiet — that's all.

Charles. Well, if the row gets on your nerves, I can take you to the sea. But you ought to enjoy a fight with people like that.

Chloe. [With calculated bitterness] No, it's nothing, of course — what / want.

Charles. Hallo ! Hallo ! You are on the jump !

Chloe. If you want me to be a good wife to you, make father stop it.

Charles. [Standing up] Now, look here, Chloe, what's behind this ?

sc. II THE SKIN GAJVIE 81

Chloe. [Faintly] Behind?

Ch^^rles. You're carrying on as if — as if you were really scared! We've got these people. We'll have them out of Deepwater in six months. It's absolute ruination to their beastly old house; we'll put the chim- neys on the very edge, not three hundred yards off, and our smoke'll be drifting over them half the time. You won't have this confounded stuck-up woman here much longer. And then we can really go ahead and take our proper place. So long as she's here, we shall never do that. We've only to drive on now as fast as we can.

Chloe. [TVith a gesture] I see.

Charles. [Again looking at her] If you go on like this, you know, I shall begin to think there's some- thing you

Chloe [softly] Charlie ! [He comes to her.

Love me !

Charles. [Embracing her] There, old girl ! I know women are funny at these times. You want a good night, that's all.

Chloe. You haven't finished dinner, have you? Go back, and I'll go to bed quite soon. Charlie, don't stop loving me.

Charles. Stop ? Not much.

While he is again embracing her, Anna steals from behind the screen to the door, opens it noiselessly, and passes through, but it clicks as she shuts it.

Chloe. [Starting violently] Oh — h !

82 THE SKIN GAME act ii

Charles. What is it ? What is it ? You are nervy, my dear.

Chloe. [Looking round with a little laugh] I don't know. Go on, Charlie. I'll be all right when this head's gone.

Charles. [Stroking her forehead arid looking at her doubtfully] You go to bed; I won't be late coming up. He turns and goes, blowing a kiss from the doorway. When lie is gone, Chloe gets up and stands in precisely the attitude in which she stood at the beginning of the Act, thinking , and thinking. And the door is opened, and the face of the IMaid peers round at her.

CURTAIN

k

ACT III

ACT III

SCENE I

Morning

HiLLCRiST*s study next morning.

Jill, coming from Left, looks in at the open «

French window. Jill. [Speaking to Rolf, invisible] Come in here. There's no one. *

She goes in. Rolf join^ her, coming from the garden. Rolf. Jill, I just wanted to say — ^Need we?

[Jill nods. Seeing you yesterday — it did seem rotten. Jill. We didn't begin it. Rolf. No; but you don't understand. If you'd

made yourself, as father has

Jill. I hope I should be sorry. Rolf. [Reproachfully] That isn't like you. Really he can't help thinking he's a public benefactor.

Jill. And we can't help thinking he's a pig. Sorry !

Rolf. If the survival of the fittest is right

Jill. He may be fitter, but he's not going to survive. Rolf. [Distracted] It looks like it, though. Jill. Is that all you came to say.^ 85

86 THE SKIN GAME act m

Rolf. No. Suppose we joined, couldn't we stop it ?

Jill. I don't feel like joining.

JRoLF. We did shake hands.

Jill. One can't fight and not grow bitter.

Holt. / don't feel bitter.

Jill. Wait; you'll feel it soon enough.

Rolf. Why.^ [Attentively] About Chloe? Idothmk your mother's manner to her is

Jill. Well?

Rolf. Snobbish. [Jill laughs.

She may not be your class; and that's just why it's snobbish.

Jill. I think you'd better shut up.

Rolf, ^^^lat my father said was true; your mother's rudeness to her that day she came here, has made both him and Charlie ever so much more bitter.

[Jill whistles the Habanera from ''Carmen.'' [Staring at her, rather angrily] Is it a whistling matter?

Jill. No.

Rolf. I suppose you want me to go ?

Jill. Yes.

Rolf. All right. Aren't we ever going to be friends again ?

Jill. [Looking steadily at him] I don't expect so.

Rolf. That's very — horrible.

Jill. Lots of horrible things in the world.

Rolf. It's our business to make them fewer, Jill.

Jill. [Fiercely] Don't be moral.

Rolf. [HuH] That's tie last thing I want to be. I only want to be friendly.

6c. I THE SKIN GAME 87

Jill. Better be real first.

Rolf. From the big point of view

Jill. There isn't any. We're all out for our own. And why not ?

Rolf. By jove, you have got

Jill. Cynical.^ Your father's motto — "Every man for himself." That's the winner — hands down. Good- bye! Rolf. JiU! Jill!

Jill. [Putting her hands behind her hacTd hums] — *Tf auld acquaintance be forgot

And days of auld lang s\Tie''

Rolf. Don't!

With a pained gesture he goes out towards Left,

through the French windov). Jill, who has broken off the song, stands with her hands clenched and her lips quivering.

[Fellows enters Left. Fellows. Mr. Dawker, Miss, and two gentlemen. Jill. Let the three gentlemen in, and me out.

[She passes him and goes out Left.

And immediately Dawker and the Two

Strangers come in.

Fellows. I'll inform Mrs. Hillcrist, sir. The Squire

is on his rounds. [He goes out Left.

The Three Men gather in a discreet knot at

the big bureau, having glanced at the two

doors and the open French window.

Dawker. Now this may come into Court, you

know. If there's a screw loose an^'w^here, better men-

88 THE SKIN GAME act in

tion it. [To Second Steangek] You knew her person- ally?

Second S. What do you think? I don't take girls on trust for that sort of job. She came to us highly recommended, too; and did her work very well. It was a double stunt — to make sure — wasn't it, George ?

First S. Yes; we paid her for the two visits.

Second S. I should know her in a minute; striking looking girl; had something in her face. Daresay she'd seen hard times.

FmsT S. We don't want publicity.

Dawker. Not likely. The threat'!! do it; but the stakes are hea\^" — and the man's a slogger; we must be able to push it home. If you can both swear to her, it'll do the trick.

Second S. And about — I mean, we're losing time, you know, coming down here.

Dawker. [With a nod at First Stranger] George here knows me. That'll be all right. I'll guarantee it well worth your while.

Second S. I don't want to do the girl harm, if she's married.

Dawker. No, no; nobody wants to hurt her. We just want a cinch on this fellow till he squeals.

They separate a little as Mrs. Hillcrist enters from Right.

Dawker. Good mommg, ^la'am. My friend's part- ner. Hornblower coming ?

Mrs. H. At eleven. I had to send up a second note, Dawker.

Dawker. Squire not in ?

sc. I THE SKIN GAME 89

Mrs. H. I haven't told him.

Dawtler. [Nodding] Our friends might go in here [Pointing Right] and we can use *em as we want 'em.

Mrs. H. [To the Strangers] Will you make your- selves comfortable ?

She holds the door open, and they pass her into the room. Right,

Dawker. [Showing document] I've had this drawn and engrossed. Pretty sharp work. Conveys the Centrj", and Longmeadow, to the Squire at four thou- sand five hundred. Now, ma'am, suppose Hornblower puts his hand to that, he'll have been done in the eye, and six thousand all told out o' pocket. You'll have a very nasty neighbour here.

Mrs. H. But we shall still have the power to dis- close that secret at any time.

Dawker. Yeh ! But things might happen here you could never bring home to him. You can't trust a man like that. He isn't goin' to forgive me, I know.

Mrs. H. [Regarding him keenly] But if he signs, we couldn't honourably

Dawker. No, ma'am, you couldn't; and Fm sure I don't want to do that girl a hurt. I just mention it because, of course, you can't guarantee that it doesn't get out.

Mrs. H. Not absolutely, I suppose.

A look passes between them, which neither of them has quite sanctioned. There's his car. It always seems to make more noise than any other.

Dawker. He'll kick and flounder — but you leave

90 THE SKIN GAME act m

him to ask what you want, ma'am; don't mention this [He puts the deed back into his pocket]. The Gentry's no mortal good to him if he's not going to put up works; I should say he'd be glad to save what he can. Mrs. Hillcrist inclines her head. Fellows enters Left.

Fellows. [Apologetically] Mr. Hornblower, ma'am; by appointment, he says.

Mrs. H. Quite right, Fellows.

Hornblower comes in, and Fellows goes out.

HoRXBLowER. [Withoid salutation] I've come to ask ye point blank what ye mean by writing me these let- ters. [He takes out two letters] And we'll discuss it in the presence of nobody, if ye please.

IMrs. H. Mr. Dawker knows all that I know, and more.

HoRNBLOw^ER. Docs he } Very well ! Your second note says that my daughter-in-law has lied to me. Well, I've brought her, and what ye've got to say — if it's not just a trick to see me again — ye'll say ^ her face. [He takes a step towards the wincbw.

ISIrs. H. Mr. Hornblower, you had better decide that after hearing what it is — we shall be quite ready to repeat it in her presence; but we want to do as little harm as possible.

Hornblower. [Stopping] Oh! ye do! Well, what lies have ye been hearin' ? Or what have ye made up ? You and Mr. Dawker.^ Of course ye know there's a law of libel and slander. I'm not the man to stop at that.

sc. I THE SKIN GAME 91

Mrs. H. [Calmly] Are you familiar with the law of divorce, Mr. Hornblower ?

HoRNBLOWER. [Taken aback] No, I'm not. That is

IVIrs. H. Well, you know that misconduct is re- quired. And I suppose you've heard that cases are arranged.

Horxblowt:r. I know it's all very shocking — what about it.^

I^Irs. H. When cases are arranged, Mr. Hornblower, the man who is to be divorced often visits an hotel with a strange woman. I am extremely sorry to say that your daughter-in-law, before her marriage, was in the habit of being employed as such a woman.

HoRXBLOWER. Ye dreadful creature !

Dawker. [Quickly] All proved, up to the hilt !

HoRXBLO^'^ER. I don't believe a word of it. Ye're lyin' to save your skins. How dare ye tell me such monstrosities.^ Dawker, I'll have ye in a crimmal court.

Dawker. Rats! You saw a gent with me yester- day.' Well, he's employed her.

HoRXBLOWER. A put-up job ! Conspiracy !

Mrs. H. Go and get your daughter-m-law.

Hornblower. [With the first sensation of being in a net] It's a foul shame — a lymg slander !

Mrs. H. If so, it's easily disproved. Go and fetch her.

Hornblower. [Seeing them unmoved] I will. I don't believe a word of it.

92 THE SKIN GAME act hi

Mrs. H. I hope you are right.

HoRNBLowER Qoes out by the French window, Dawker slips to the door Right, opens it, and speaks to those within. Mrs. Hillcrist stands moistening her lips, and passing her handkerchief over them. Hornblower re- turns, preceding Chloe, strung up to hard- ness and defiance. Hornblower. Now then, let's have this impudent story torn to rags. Chloe. \Miat story ^ Hornblower. That you, my dear, were a woman —

it's too shockin' — I don't know how to tell ye

Chloe. Go on !

Hornblower. Were a woman that went with men, to get them their divorce. Chloe. Who says that?

Hornblower. That lady [Sneering] there, and her bull-terrier here.

Chloe. [Facing Mrs. Hillcrist] That's a charita- ble thing to say, isn'^ it? Mrs. H. Is it true? Chloe. No.

Hornblower. [Furiously] There! I'll have ye both on your knees to her ! Dawker. [Opening the door. Right] Come in.

The First Stranger comes in. Chloe, v)iih a visible effort, turns to face him. First S. How do you do, Mrs. Vane? Chloe. I don't know you.

sc. I THE SKIN GAJME 93

First S. Your memory is bad, ma'am. You knew me yesterday well enough. One day is not a long time, nor are three years. Chloe. ^^^lo are you .''

First S. Come, ma'am, come ! The Custer case. Chloe. I don't know you, I say. [To Mrs. Hill- crist] How can you be so vile .^

First S. Let me refresh your memory, ma'am. [Producing a notehooh] Just on three years ago: "Oct. 3.

To fee and expenses Mrs. Vane with iMr. C , Hotel

Beaulieu, Twenty pounds. Oct. 10, Do., Twenty pounds." [To Hornblo'vv'er] AYould you like to glance at this book, sir .^ You'll see they're genuine entries.

HoRXBLOWER makes a motion to do so, but checks himself and looks at Chloe. Chloe. [Hysterically] It's all lies — lies! First S. Come, ma'am, we wish you no harm. Chloe. Take me away. I won't be treated like this. Mrs. H. [In a low voice] Confess. Chloe. Lies!

HoRXBLOWER. Were ye ever called Vane ? Chloe. No, never.

She makes a movement tovmrds tJie window^ hut Dawker is in the way, and she halts. First S. [Opening the door, Right] Henry.

The Second Stranger comes in quickly. At sight of him Chloe throws 2ip her hands, gasps, breaks down, stage Left, and stands covering her face uoith her hands. It is so

94 THE SKIN GAME act m

complete a confession that Hornblower stands staggered; and, taking out a coloured handkerchierf, icipes his brow. Datvker. Are you convinced ? HoRXBLowER. Take those men away. Dat^tcer. If you're not satisfied, we can get other evidence; plenty.

Hornblotvt:r. [Looking at Chloe] That's enough. Take them out. Leave me alone with her.

[Dawker takes tliem out Right. Mrs. Hillcrist passes Hornblower and goes out at the zvindow. Hornblower nuyves down a step or two towards Chloe. Hornblower. My God !

Chloe. [With a7i outburst] Don't tell Charlie ! Don't tell Charlie !

Hornblower. Chearlie ! So that was your manner of life. [Chloe niters a moaning sound.

So that's what ye got out of by marryin' into my family ! Shame on ye, ye Godless thing ! Chloe. Don't tell Charhe !

Hornblower. And that's all ye can say for the wreck ye've ^Tought. My family, my works, my future ! How dared ye !

Chloe. If you'd been me !

Hornblower. An' these Hillcrists. The skin game of it!

Chloe. [Breathless] Father! Hornblower. Don't call me that, woman ! Chloe. [Desperate] I'm going to have a child.

sc. I THE SKIN GAME 95

HoRNB LOWER. God ! Ye are !

Chloe. Your grandchild. For the sake of it, do what these people want; and don't tell anyone — Don't tell Charlie!

HoRXBLOWER. [Again wiping his forehead] A secret between us. I don't know that I can keep it. It's horrible. Poor Chearlie !

Chloe. [Suddenly fierce] You must keep it, you shall ! I won't have him told. Don't make me des- perate ! I can be — I didn't live that life for nothing.

Horxblower. [Staring at her revealed in a new light] Ay; ye look a strange, wild woman, as I see ye. And we thought the world of ye !

Chloe. I love Charlie; I'm faithful to him. I can't live without him. You'll never forgive me, I know;

but Charlie ! [Stretching ovi her hands.

Horxblower makes a bewildered gesture with his large hands.

Horxblower. I'm all at sea here. Go out to the car and wait for me.

[Chloe passes him and goes oid. Left. [Muttering to himself] So I'm down ! Me enemies put their heels upon me head ! Ah ! but we'll see yet !

He goes up to the window and beckons towards the Right.

(Mrs. Hillcrist comes in. What d'ye want for this secret ?

Mrs. H. Nothing.

Horx:blower. Indeed! Wonderful! — the trouble ye've taken for — nothing.

96 THE SKIN GAME act m

Mrs. H. If you harm us we shall harm you. Any use whatever of the Gentry

HoRNBLOWER. For which ye made me pay nine thousand five hundred pounds.

Mrs. H. We will buy it from you.

HoRNBLOW^ER. At what price ?

Mrs. H. The Gentry at the price Miss MuUins would have taken at first, and Longmeadow at the price you gave us — four thousand five hundred alto- gether.

HoRNBLOWER. A fine price, and me six thousand out of pocket. Na, no ! I'll keep it and hold it over ye. Ye daren't tell this secret so long as I've got it.

Mrs. H. No, Mr. Hornblower. On second thoughts, you mu^t sell. You broke your word over the Jack- mans. We can't trust you. We would rather have our place here ruined at once, than leave you the power to ruin it as and when you like. You will sell us the Gentry and Longmeadow now, or you know what will happen.

Hornblower. [Writhing] I'll not. It's blackmail.

Mrs. H. Very well then! Go yoiu* own way and we'll go ours. There is no witness to this conversation.

Hornblower. [Veno7nx)usly] By heaven, ye're a clever woman. Will ye swear by Almighty God that you and your family, and that agent of yours, won't breathe a word of this shockin' thing to mortal soul.

Mrs. H. Yes, if you sell.

Hornblower. Where's Dawker ?

Mrs. H. [Going to the door. Right] Mr. Dawker !

[Dawker comes in.

sc. I THE SKIN GAJVIE 97

HoRNBLOWER. I suppose ve've got your iniquity ready. PDa\\'KER grins and produces tlie document.

It's mighty near conspiracy, this. Have ye got a Testament ?

IVIrs. H. My word will be enough, IVIr. Hornblower.

HoRXBLOWER. Yc'll pardon me — I can't make it solemn enough for you.

IVIrs. H. Very well; here is a Bible.

[She takes a small Bible from the bookshelf.

Dawker. [Spreading document on bureau] This is a short conveyance of the Gentry and Longmeadow — recites sale to you by Miss Mullins of the first, John Hillcrist of the second, and whereas you have agreed for the sale to said John Hillcrist, for the sum of four thousand five hundred pounds, in consideration of the said sum, receipt whereof, you hereby acknowledge you do convey all that, etc. Sign here. I'll witness.

Hornblower. [To jMrs. Hillcrist] Take that Book in your hand, and swear first. I swear by Almighty God never to breathe a word of what I know concerning Chloe Hornblower to any living soul.

IVIrs. H. No, IVIr. Hornblower; you will please sign

first. We are not in the habit of breaking our words.

HoRXBLowER, after a furious look at them,

seizes a pen, runs his eye again over the deed,

and signs, Dawker witnessing.

To that oath, IVIr. Hornblower, we shall add the words,

"So long as the Hornblower family do us no harm."

Hornblower. [With a snarl] Take it in your hands, both of ye, and together swear.

Mrs. H. [Taking the Book] I swear that I will

98 THE SKIN GAME act hi

breathe no word of what I know concerning Chloe Hornblower to any living soul, so long as the Horn- blower family do us no harm.

Dawker. I swear that too.

Mrs. H. I engage for my husband.

Hornblower. Where are those two fellows.'*

Dawker. Gone. It's no business of theirs.

Hornblower. It's no business of any of ye what has happened to a woman in the past. Ye know that. Good-day !

He gives them a deadly looky and goes outy L^t, followed by Dawker.

Mrs. H. [With her hand on the Deed] Safe !

Hillcrist enters at the French window, fol- lowed by Jill. [Holding up the Deed] Look ! He*s just gone ! I told you it was only necessary to use the threat. He caved in and signed this; we are sworn to say nothing. AYe've beaten him. [Hillcrist studies the Deed.

Jill. [Awed] We saw Chloe in the car. How did she take it, mother.^

Mrs. H. Denied, then broke down when she saw our witnesses. I'm glad you were not here. Jack.

Jill. [Suddenly] I shall go and see her.

Mrs. H. Jill, you will not ; you don't know what she's done.

Jill. I shall. She must be in an awful state.

HiTJiCRiST. My dear, you can do her no good.

Jill. I think I can, Dodo.

Mrs. H. You don't understand human nature.

sc. I THE SKIN GAIVIE 99

We're enemies for life with those people. You're a little donkey if you think an}i:hing else.

Jill. I'm going, all the same.

Mrs. H. Jack, forbid her.

HiLLCRisT. [Lifting an eyehroic\ Jill, be reasonable.

Jill. Suppose I'd taken a knock like that. Dodo, I'd be glad of friendliness from someone.

Mrs. H. You never could take a knock like that,

Jill. You don't know what you can do till you try, mother.

HiLLCRiST. Let her go. Amy. I'm sorry for that young woman.

]Mes. H. You'd be sorry for a man who picked your pocket, I believe.

HiLLCRiST. I certainly should! Deuced little he'd get out of it, when I've paid for the Gentry.

Mrs. H. [Bitterly] Much gratitude I get for saving you both our home !

Jill. [Disarmed\ Oh! Mother, we are grateful. Dodo, show your gratitude.

HiLLCRiST. Well, my dear, it's an intense relief. I'm not good at sho-^^g my feelings, as you know. "What d'you want me to do ? Stand on one leg and crow .'

Jill. Yes, Dodo, yes ! Mother, hold him while I — [Suddenly she Istops, and all the fun goes out of her] No ! I can't — I can't help thinking of her.

Curtain faUs for a Minute.

SCENE n Evening

When it rises again, the room is empty and dark, save for moordighi coming in through the French window, which is open.

The figure of Chloe, in a black cloak, appears outside in the moonlight ; she peers in, moves past, comes hack, hesitatingly enters. The cloak, fallen hack, reveals a white evening dress ; and that magpie figure stands poised watchfidly in the dim light, then flaps unhappily Left and Right, as if she could not keep still. Suddenly she stands listening,

Rolf's Voice. [Outside] CUoe ! Chloe !

[He appears,

Chloe. [Going to the window] What are you doing here ?

Rolf. What are you ? I only followed you.

Chloe. Go away !

Rolf. What's the matter.? Tell me!

Chloe. Go away, and don't say anji:hing. Oh! The roses! [She has put her nose into some roses in a howl on a big stand close to the window] Don't they smell lovely ?

Rolf. What did Jill want this afternoon.'' 100

sc. II THE SKEs G.A:ME 101

Chloe. I'll tell you nothing. Go away ! Rolf. I don't like leaving you here in this state. Chloe. ^Miat state .^ I'm all right. Wait for me down in the drive, if you want to.

[Rolf starts to go, stops, looks at her, and does go. Chloe, icith a little moaning sound, flutters again, magpie-like, up and down, then stands by the window listening. Voices are heard. Left. She darts out of the window and awqjj to the Right, as Hillcrist and Jill ccmie in. They have timied up the electric light, and come down in front of the fireplace, where Hillcrist sits in an armchair, and Jill on ike arm of it. They are in undress evening attire. Hillcrist. Now, tell me.

Jill. There isn't much. Dodo. I was in an awful fimk for fear I should meet any of the others, and of course I did meet Rolf, but I told him some lie, and he took me to her room — boudoir, they call it — isn't boudoir a *'dug-out" word.^

Hillcrist. [Meditatively] The sulking room. Well ? Jill. She was sitting like this. [She buries her chin in her hands, with her elbows on her knees] And she said in a sort of fierce way: "What do you want?" And I said: "I'm awfully sorry, but I thought you might like it."

Hillcrist. Well.'

Jill. She looked at me hard, and said: "I suppose vou know all about it." And I said: "Only vaguely,"

SCENE n

Evening

Wheii it rises again, the room is eiufty and dark, save for moonlight coming in through the French window y which is open.

The figure of Chloe, in a black cloak, appears outside in the moonligJU ; she peers in, moves past, comes back, hesitatingly enters. The cloak, fallen back, reveals a white evening dress ; and that magpie figure stands poised watchfidly in the dim light, then flaps unhappily Left ajid Right, as if she could not keep still. Suddenly she stands listening,

Rolf's Voice. [Oviside]C\AoQ\ Chloe?

[He appears.

Chloe. [Going to the window] What are you doing here ?

Rolf. "\Miat are you ? I only followed you.

Chloe. Go away !

Rolf. WTiat's the matter.? Tell me!

Chloe. Go away, and don't say anjiJimg. Oh! The roses ! [She has pvt her nose into some roses in a bowl on a big stand close to the windmc] Don't they smell lovely?

Rolf. WTiat did Jill want this afternoon.? 100

U

% m ^ M m ^«t

SC. II

THE SKIN GA:ME

101

Chloe. I'll tell you nothing. Go away ! Rolf. I don't like leaving you here in this state. Chloe. "SMiat state .^ I'm all right. Wait for me down in the drive, if you want to.

[Rolf starts to go, stops, looks at her, and does go. Chloe, trith a Utile moaning sound, flutters again, magpie-like, up and doicn, then stands by the icindoic listeiiing. Voices are heard. Left, She darts out of the window and away to the Right, as Hillcrist and Jill come in. They have turned up the electric light, and come down in front of the fireplace, where Hillcrist &its in an armchair, and Jill on the arm of it. They are in undress evening attire. Hillcrist. Now, tell me.

Jill. There isn't much, Dodo. I was in an awful funk for fear I should meet any of the others, and of course I did meet RoK, but I told him some lie, and he took me to her room — boudoir, they call it — isn't boudoir a "dug-out" word?

EQllcrist. [Meditatively] The sulking room. Well ? Jill. She was sitting like this. [She buries her chin in her hand^, icith her elbows on her knees] And she said in a sort of fierce way: "What do you want?" And I said: "I'm a^-fully sorry, but I thought you might like it." Hillcrist. Well?

Jill. She looked at me hard, and said: "I suppose vou know all about it." And I said: "Only- vaguely,"

102 THE SKIN GAiVIE act hi

because of course I don't. And she said: "Well, it was decent of you to come." Dodo, she looks like a lost soul. AMiat ha^ she done .^

Htllcrist. She committed her real crime when she married yoimg Hornblower without telling him. She came out of a certain world to do it.

Jill. Oh ! [Staring in front of her] Is it very awful in that world, Dodo?

HiLLCRisT. [Uneasy] I don't know, Jill. Some can stand it, I suppose; some can't. I don't know w^hich sort she is.

Jill. One thing I'm sure of: she's awfully fond of Chearlie.

HiLLCRisT. That's bad; that's very bad.

Jill. And she's frightened, horribly. I think she's desperate.

HiLLCRisT. Women like that are pretty tough, Jill; don't judge her too much by your own feelings.

Jill. No; only — Oh! it was beastly; and of course I dried up.

HiLLCRiST. [Feelingly] H'm ! One always does. But perhaps it was as well; you'd have been blundering in a dark passage.

Jill. I just said: "Father and I feel awfully sorry; if there's anji:hing we can do "

Hillcrist. That was risky, Jill.

Jill. [Disconsolately] I had to say something. I'm glad I went, anyw-ay. I feel more human.

Hillcrist. We had to fight for our home. I should have felt like a traitor if I hadn't.

sc. II THE SKIN GAME 103

Jill. I'm not enjoying home to-night, Dodo.

HiLLCRisT. I never could hate properly; it's a con- founded nuisance.

Jill. Mother's fearfully bucked, and Dawker's sim- ply oozing triumph. I don't trust him, Dodo; he's too — not pugilistic — the other one with a pug — naceous.

HiLLCRiST. He is rather.

Jill. I'm sure he wouldn't care tuppence if Chloe committed suicide.

HiLLCRisT. [Rising uneasily] Nonsense ! Nonsense !

Jill. I wonder if mother would.

HiLLCRiST. {Turning his face towards the window] What's that.'' I thought I heard — [Louder] Is there anybody out there?

No answer. Jill springs up and runs to the window.

Jill. You ! [She dives through to the Right, and returns, holding Chloe's hand and drawing her forward] Come in ! It's only us ! [To Hillcrist] Dodo !

Hillcrist. [Fluttered, but making a show of courtesy] Good evening ! Won't you sit down ?

Jill. Sit down; you're all shaky.

She makes Chloe sit down in the armchair, out of which they have risen, then locks the door, and closing the windows, draws the curtains hastily over them.

Hillcrist. [Awkward and expectant] Can I do any- thing for you ?

Chloe. I couldn't bear it — he's coming to ask you

104 THE SKIN GAME act iii

HiLLcmsT. Who?

Chloe. My husband. [She draws in Iter breath with a long shudder, then seems to seize her courage in her hands] I've got to be quick. He keeps on asking — he knows there's something.

HiLLCRiST. Make your mind easy. We shan't tell him.

Chloe. [Appealing] Oh! that's not enough. Can't you tell him something to put him back to thinking it's all right? I've done him such a wrong. I didn't realise till after — I thought meeting him was just a piece of wonderful good luck, after what I'd been through. I'm not such a bad lot — not really.

She stops from the over-quivering of her lips. Jill, standing beside tJie chair, strokes her shoulder. Hillcrist stands very still, pain- fully biting at a finger. You see, my father went bankrupt, and I was in a shop till

Hillcrist. [Soothingly, and to prevent disclosures] Yes, yes; yes, yes!

Chloe. I never gave a man away or did anything

I was ashamed of — at least — I mean, I had to make

my living in all sorts of ways, and then I met Charlie.

Again she stopped froin the quivering of her

lips.

Jill. It's all right.

Chloe. He thought I was respectable, and that was such a relief, you can't think, so — so I let him.

Jill. Dodo ! It's awful !

Hillcrist. It is !

sc. II THE SKIN GAME 105

Chloe. And after I married him, you see, I fell in love. If I had before, perhaps I wouldn't have dared — only, I don't know — you never know, do you ? When there's a straw gomg, you catch at it.

Jill. Of course you do.

Chloe. And now, you see, I*m going to have a child.

Jill. [AgJmst] Oh ! Are you ?

HiLLCRisT. Good God !

Chloe. [DuUy] I've been on hot bricks all this month, ever since — that day here. I knew it was in the wind. What gets in the wind never gets out. [She rises and throws out her arms] Never! It just blows here and there [Desolately] and then blows home. [Her voice changes to resentment] But I've paid for being a fool — 'tisn't fun, that sort of life, I can tell you. I'm not ashamed and repentant, and all that. If it wasn't for him! I'm afraid he'll never forgive me; it's such a disgrace for him — and then, to have his child ! Being fond of him, I feel it much worse than anythmg I ever felt, and that's saymg a good bit. It is.

Jill. [Energetically] Look here ! He smiply mustn't find out.

Chloe. That's it; but it's started, and he's bound to keep on because he knows there's something. A man isn't going to be satisfied when there's something he suspects about his wife. Charlie wouldn't — never. He's clever, and he's jealous; and he's coming here.

[She stops, and looks round imldly, listening.

Jill. Dodo, what can we say to put him clean off the scent?

Hillcrist. Anything in reason.

106 THE SKIN GAME act m

Chloe. [Catching at ihU straw] You will ! You see, I don't know what I'll do. I've got soft, being looked after — he does love me. And if he throws me off, I'll go under — that's all.

HiLLCRiST. Have you any suggestion ?

Chloe. [Eagerly] The only thing is to tell him some- thing positive, something he'll believe, that's not too bad — like my having been a lady clerk with tiiose peo- ple who came here, and having been dismissed on sus- picion of taking money. I could get him to believe that wasn't true.

Jill. Yes; and it isn't — that's splendid ! You'd be able to put such conviction into it. Don't you think so, Dodo."^

HiLLCRiST. Anything I can. I'm deeply sorry.

Chloe. Thank you. And don't say I've been here, will you? He's very suspicious. You see, he knows that his father has re-sold that land to you; that's what he can't make out — that, and my coming here this morning; he knows something's being kept from him; and he noticed that man with Dawker yesterday. And my maid's been spying on me. It's in the air. He puts two and two together. But I've told him there's nothing he need worry about; nothing that's true.

HiLLCRiST. WTiat a coil !

Chloe. I'm very honest and careful about money. So he won't believe that about me, and the old man wants to keep it from Charlie, I know.

HiLLCRiST. That does seem the best way out.

sc. II THE SKIN GAME 107

Chloe. [Wiih a touch of defiance] I'm a true wife to him.

Jill. Of course we know that.

HiLLCRiST. It's all unspeakably sad. Deception's

horribly against the grain — but

Chloe. [Eagerly] ^Yhen I deceived him, I'd have deceived God Himself— I was so desperate. You've xi^^^r.^ ' een right down in the mud. You can't under- staua -hat I've been through.

HiLLCRiST. Yes, yes. I daresay I'd have done the

same. I should be the last to judge

[Chloe covers her eyes with her hands. There, there ! Cheer up !

[He puts his hand on her arm, Jill. [To herself] DarlmgDodo! Chloe. [Starting] There's somebody at the door. I must go; I must go.

She runs to tJie window and slips through the curtains.

[The handle of the door is again turned. Jill. [Dismayed] Oh! It's locked— I forgot.

She springs to the door, unlocks and opens it, while HiLLCRiST goes to the bureau and sits down. It's all right, Fellows; I was only saymg somethmg rather important.

Fellows. [Coming in a step or two and closing the door behind him] Certainly, Miss. IVIr. Charles 'Orn- blower is in the hall. Wants to see you, sir, or Mrs. Hillcrist.

108 THE SKIN GAME act m

Jill. What a bore ! Can you see him. Dodo ? HiLLCRiST. Er — yes. I suppose so. Show him in here, Fellows.

As Fellows goes out, Jill runs to the vrindow, but has no time to do more than adjust the curtains and spring over to stand by her father, before Charles comes in. Though in evening clothes, he is white and dishevelled for so spruce a young man, Charles. Is my wife here? Hillcrist. No, sir. Charles. Has she been .? Hillcrist. This morning, I believe, Jill? Jill. Yes, she came this morning. Charles. [Staring at her] I know that — now^ I mean? Jill. No. [Hillcrist shakes his head.

Charles. Tell me what was said this morning. Hillcrist. I was not here this morning. Charles. Don't try to put me off. I know too much. [To Jill] You. Jill. Shall I, Dodo?

Hillcrist. No; I will. Won't you sit down? Charles. No. Go on. HiLLCRiST. [Moistening his lips] It appears, Mr.

Hornblower, that my agent, Mr. Dawker

Charles, who is breathing hard, utters a sound of anger. — that my agent happens to know a firm, who in old days employed your wife. I should greatly prefer not

sc. II THE SKIN GAME 109

to say any more, especially as we don't believe the story. Jill. No; we don't. Charles. Go on !

HiLLCRisT. [Getting wp] Come! If I were you, I should refuse to listen to anything against my wife. Charles. Go on, I tell you.

HiLLCRisT. You insist? Well, they say there was some question about the accounts, and your wife left them under a cloud. As I told you, we don't believe it. Charles. [Passionately] Liars !

[He makes a rush for the door, Hillcrist. [Startitig] \\Tiat did you say.'* Jill. [Catching his arm] Dodo ! [Sotto voce] We axe, you know.

Charles. [Turning back to them] Why do you tell me that lie ? When I've just had the truth out of that little scoundrel! My wife's been here; she put you up to it.

The face of Chloe is seen transfixed between the curtains, 'parted by her hcmds. She — she put you up to it. Liar that she is — a living lie. For three years a living lie !

Hillcrist, tvhose face alone is turned towards the curtains, sees that listening face. His hand goes up from uncontrollable emotion. And hasn't now the pluck to tell me. I've done with her. I won't own a child by such a woman.

With a little sighing sound Chloe drops the curtain and vanishes.

110 THE SKIN GAME act m

HiLLCRisT. For God's sake, man, think of what you're saying. She's in great distress.

Charles. And what am I?

Jill. She loves you, you know.

Charles. Pretty love! That scoundrel Dawker told me — told me — Horrible! Horrible!

HiLLCRiST. I deeply regret that our quarrel should have brought this about.

Charles. [With intense bitterness] Yes, you've smashed my life.

Unseen by them, Mrs. Hillcrist has entered and stands by the door. Left.

Mrs. H. Would you have wished to live on in ignorance.^ [TheTj all turn to look at her.

Charles. [With a torithing movement] I don't know. But — you — you did it.

Mrs. H. You shouldn't have attacked us.

Charles. WTiat did we do to you — compared with this .5

Mrs. H. All you could.

Hillcrist. Enough, enough! What can we do to help you ?

Charles. Tell me where my wife is.

Jill draws the curtains apart — the vnndmo is open — Jill looks out. They wait in silence,

Jill. We don't know.

Charles. Then she was here ?

Hillcrist. Yes, sir; and she heard you.

Charles. All the better if she did. She knows how I feel.

sc. II THE SKIN GAME 111

HiLLCRiST. Brace up; be gentle with her. Charles. Gentle ? A woman who — who

HiLLCRiST. A most unhappy creature. Come ! Charles. Damn your sympathy !

He goes out into the 7noonlight, passing away, Left. Jill. Dodo, we ought to look for her; I'm awfully afraid.

HiLLCRiST. I saw her there — listening. With child !

Who knows where things end when they once begin .'^

To the gravel pit, Jill; I'll go to the pond. No, we'll

go together. [They go out.

Mrs. HiLLCRiST comes down to the fireplace,

rings the bell and stands there, thinking.

Fellows enters.

Mrs. H. I want someone to go down to Mr.

Dawker's.

Fellows. Mr. Dawker is here, ma'am, waitin' to see you.

Mrs. H. Ask him to come in. Oh! and Fellows, you can tell the Jackmans that they can go back to their cottage.

Fellows. Very good, ma'am. [He goes out.

Mrs. HiLLCRiST searches at the bureau, finds and takes out the deed. Dawker comes in ; he has the appearance of a man whose tem- per has been badly ruffled. Mrs. H. Charles Homblower — how did it happen? Dawker. He came to me. I said I knew nothing. He wouldn't take it; went for me, abused me up hill

112 THE SKIN GAME act m

aii3 down dale; said he knew everything, and then he began to threaten me. Well, I lost my temper, and I told him.

Mrs. H. That's very serious, Dawker, after our promise. My husband is most upset.

Dawker. [Sullenly] It's not my fault, ma'am; he shouldn't have threatened and goaded me on. Besides, »it's got out that there's a scandal; common talk in the village — not the facts, but quite enough to cook their goose here. They'll have to go. Better have done with it, anyway, than have enemies at your door.

Mrs. H. Perhaps; but — Oh! Dawker, take charge of this. [She hands him the deed] These people are desperate — and — I'm Hot sure of my husband when his feelings are worked on.

[The sound of a car stopping.

Dawker. [At the window, looldng to the Left] Horn- blower's, I think. Yes, he's getting out.

Mrs. H. [Bracing herself] You'd better wait, then.

Dawker. He mustn't give me any of his sauce; I've had enough.

The door is opened and Hornblower enters, pressing so on the Jieels of Fellows that the announcement of his name is lost.

Hornblower. Give me that deed ! Ye got it out of me by false pretences and treachery'. Ye swore that nothing should be heard of this. Why ! me own servants know !

Mrs. H. That has nothing to do with us. Your son came and wrenched the knowledge out of iVIr. Dawker by abuse and threats; that is all. You will

sc. II THE SKIN GAME lis

kindly behave yourself here, or I shall ask that you be shown out.

HoR^-BLowER. Give me that deed, I say ! [He sud- deTily turns on Dawker] Ye little ruffian, I see it in your pocket.

The end indeed is projecting from Dawker's breast pocket. Dawkbr. [Seeing red] Now, look 'ere, 'Omblower, I stood a deal from your son, and 111 stand no more.

HoRNBLowzR. [To 'Mbs. Hillcrist] I'll ruin your place yet ! [To Dawkzr] Ye give me that deed, or I'll throttle ye.

He closes on Dawker, and makes a snatch at the deed. Dawker springs at him, and the two stand sicaying, trying for a grip at each others throats. ^Mrs. Hillcrist tries to cross and reach the belly but is shut off by their swaying struggle. Suddenly Rolf appears in the window, looks wildly at the struggle, and seizes Dawker's hands, which have reached Horxblower's throat. Jill, who is following ^ rushes up to him and clutches his arm. Jill. Rolf ! All of you ! Stop ! Look !

Dawker's hand relaxes, and he is strung round. Horxblower staggers and recovers himself, gasping for breath. All turn to the vnndowy outside which in the moonlight Hill- crist and Charles Horxblower have Chloe's motionless body in their arms. In the gravel pit. She's just breathing; that's all.

114 THE SKIN GA]ME act m

Mrs. H. Bring her in. The brandy, Jill ! HoRXBLowER. No. Take her to the car. Stand back, young woman ! I want no help from any of ye. Rolf — Chearlie — take her up.

They lift and hear her away. Left. Jill fol- lows. Hillcrist, ye've got me beaten and disgraced here- abouts, ye've destroyed my son's married life, and ye've killed my grandchild. I'm not staying in this cursed spot, but if ever I can do you or yours a hurt, I will.

Dawker. [Muttering] That's right. Squeal and threaten. You began it.

Hillcrist. Dawker, have the goodness! Horn- blower, in the presence of what may be death, with all my heart I'm sorry. Horxblower. Ye hj-pocrite !

He fosses them with a certain dignity, and goes

out at the window, following to his car. Hillcrist, who has stood for a moment stock- stiU, goes sloidy forward and sits in his stoivel chair. ^Irs. H. Dawker, please tell Fellows to telephone to Dr. Robinson to go round to the Hornblowers at once. Dawker, fingering the deed, and with a noise that sounds like "The cur!" goes out, Left. [At the fireplace] Jack! Do you blame me? Hillcrist. [Motionless] No. Mrs. H. Or Dawker.^ He's done his best. Hillcrist. No. INIrs. H. [Approaching] What is it ?

sc. II THE SKIN GAIME 115

HiLLCRiST. Hj-pocrite!

[Jill comes running in at the icindow. Jill. Dodo, she's moved; she's spoken. It may not be so bad. Hillceist. Thank God for that !

[Fellows erders. Left. Fellows. The Jackinans, ma'am. HiLLCRisT. Who ? ^Mlat's this ?

The jACKJkLOs's have erUeredy standing close to the door. Mrs. J. We're so glad we can go back, sir — ma'am, we just wanted to thank you.

There is a silence. They see thai they are not welcome. Thank you kindly, sir. Good-night, ma'am.

[They shuffle md. HiLLCRiST. I'd forgotten their existence. [He gets up] What is it that gets loose when you begm a fight, and makes you what you think you're not.' ^^^lat blind- ing evil! Begin as you may, it ends in this — skin game ! Skin game !

Jill. [Rushing to hiui] It's not you, Dodo; it's not you, beloved Dodo.

HiLLCRisT. It is me. For I am, or should be, mas- ter in this house!

;Mrs. H. I don't understand.

HiLLCRiST. ^^^len we began this fight, we had clean hands— are they clean now.' What's gentility worth if it can't stand fire.'

CURTAIN

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