Class. 
 BooL 
 
 ^a 
 
 Gopyriglit}J^_ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
THE SHIP 
 
 A PLAY IN THREE ACTS 
 
By 
 ST. JOHN G. ERVINE 
 
 NOVELS 
 
 Mrs, Martin's Man 
 Alice and a Family 
 Changing Winds 
 The Foolish Lovers 
 
 PLAYS 
 
 Mixed Marriage 
 
 The Magnanimous Lover 
 
 Jane Clegg 
 
 John Ferguson 
 
THE SHIP 
 
 A PLAY IN THREE ACTS 
 
 BY 
 
 ST. JOHN G. ERVINE 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1922 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
 ^<%- 
 
 Copyright, 1922, 
 By the MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Set up and printed. Published May, 1922. 
 
 Press of 
 
 J. J. Little & Ives Company 
 
 New York, U. S. A. 
 
 MAY 1 7 1922 
 
 0)CI.A674142 
 
To 
 FLORENCE LAMONT 
 
I wish to express my gratitude to Major 
 W. A. SiMNETT, M.B.E., Royal Engineers, for 
 the assistance he gave me in connexion with 
 technical details of shipbuilding. 
 
THE FIRST ACT 
 
 A room in John Thurlow's country-house, near the 
 shipbuilding town of Biggport. 
 
 THE SECOND ACT 
 The living-room of Jack Thurlow's farm. 
 
 THE THIRD ACT 
 
 Scene I. Same as Act I. 
 
 Scene II. A corner of the garden of John Thur- 
 low's country-house. 
 
 Scene III. Same as Scene I. 
 
 Five months elapse between Acts I and II; three 
 months between Acts II and III; five days between 
 Scene I and Scene II, Act III ; and a few hours be- 
 tween Scene II and Scene III, Act III. 
 
 The period is the immediate future. 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. 
 
 John Thurlow, her son, a shipbuilder. 
 
 Janet, his wife. 
 
 Jack, his son. 
 
 Hester, his daughter. 
 
 Captain Cornelius. 
 
 George Norwood. 
 
 Maid. 
 
ACT ONE 
 
THE FIRST ACT 
 
 The time is a Saturday afternoon in autumn, and the 
 scene is laid in John Thurlow's country-house, 
 chosen by him because it is easily accessible from 
 his shipyard at Bigg port. The room is hand- 
 somely furnished, without being conspicuously 
 artistic, for the Thurlows are people of taste, 
 conventional, perhaps, but not without the signs 
 of well-marked individuality. Prominently dis- 
 played in the room are models of ships, one of a 
 sixteenth-century mun-of-war in full sail, the other 
 of a quadruple-screw, coal-fed Atlantic liner of 
 the type of the ''Titanic." The pictures are mainly 
 of industrial subjects, and Mr. Thurlow is proud, 
 and justly proud, of his excellent collection of 
 etchings by Mr. Muirhead Bone, some of which 
 represent scenes in the Biggport shipyard. If 
 we could see into the dining-room, we should dis- 
 cover large frescoes in the modern manner, show- 
 ing the building of a ship from the laying of its 
 keel to the time when it is ready to take its trial 
 trip. 
 
 The long windows leading to the garden are open, 
 
 because the day is unexpectedly mild, and Old 
 
 Mrs. Thurlow, who is seated by the fire, likes 
 
 the windows to be open whenever possible. She 
 
 3 
 
4 The Ship 
 
 is an old woman, aged eighty-three, but she has 
 no intention of yielding to her years. She can 
 still read without glasses and her hearing is acute. 
 People exclaim at her resistance to the infirmities 
 of age, and Mr. Cobain, the Vicar, seldom omits 
 to say that she is a wonderfully well-preserved old 
 lady, a compliment zvhich she hardly appreciates 
 in those words because, so she says, it makes her 
 feel like jam. 
 Her daughter-in-law, Janet Thurlow, or Young 
 Mrs. Thurlow, a^ she is sometimes called 
 to distinguish her from her mother-in-law, is 
 seated by the tea-table on the other side of the 
 fire, but not in such a position as to obscure Old 
 Mrs. Thurlow's view of the garden. A Maid 
 is placing a tea-tray on the table, and Janet Thur- 
 low is supervising the operation. Young Mrs. 
 Thurlow is a soft, pliable luoman, with one belief 
 most firmly held, that happiness is only to be 
 obtained in this world, and probably in the next, 
 by those who never ''make a fuss" about any- 
 thing. She hates ''bother,'' and successfully 
 aruoids it by rarely offering opposition to any one, 
 and then only to a lesser person in order to 
 placate a greater one. Her family treat her as a 
 dear and lovable, but totally unimportant, person; 
 and since this treatment absolves her from a great 
 deal of "fuss" and "bother," she is content. Her 
 age is considerably less than that of her husband — 
 "Just tzventy years betzveen us, my dear!" she al- 
 ways says, as if the roundness of the figure atoned 
 
The Ship 5 
 
 for its size — for he, now sixty-two, married late 
 in life. 
 Hester Thurlow, her daughter, whose age is nine- 
 teen, is seen walking about the garden. The 
 Maid has placed the tray on the table, and Janet 
 is now pouring out the tea. 
 
 Janet. Thank you, Maggie ! {She turns and calls 
 to her daughter. ) Tea, Hester ! 
 
 Hester. All right, mother! {But she remains 
 where she is.) 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. When do you expect John, 
 Janet ? 
 
 Janet {as she hands a cup of tea to The Maid). 
 That's Mrs. Thurlow's! (The Maid carries it to Old 
 Mrs. Thurlow.) My dear, I never expect John at 
 any time. He's like the wind which bloweth where it 
 listeth. {Again to Hester.) Hester, your tea is get- 
 ting cold, dear! {To Old Mrs. Thurlow.) There's 
 nothing I dislike so much as tepid tea. (The Maid 
 goes out.) 
 
 Hester {entering). All the flowers are nearly dead. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. The autumn's almost over, 
 my dear! 
 
 Hester {taking a cup from the tray). I hate to see 
 them withering. 
 
 Janet. You should do what I do — pretend you 
 don't see them. 
 
 Hester {sitting beside her grandmother). But I 
 can't help seeing them. 
 
 Janet. Oh, yes, you can. Don't look! 
 
6 The Ship 
 
 Hester. Do you know what train Jack's coming 
 by, mother? I'd Hke to go and meet him. 
 
 Janet. No. He didn't say. ( To Old Mrs. Thur- 
 Low.) He's like the wind, too. 
 
 Hester. Perhaps he'll come with father and George 
 in the car. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Is George coming to-day? 
 
 Janet. Yes. John and he are bringing home a 
 model of the "Magnificent" to put along with those 
 two over there. {She indicates the other models by a 
 turn of her head.) 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. George reminds me very 
 much of your father, Hester, when he was a boy. 
 Always thinking of ships ! He ran away from school 
 once to see a boat launched from the Yard, and your 
 grandfather was going to thrash him for it, but I said 
 he'd much better apprentice him to shipbuilding. I 
 had great difficulty in making him consent — he wanted 
 your father to be a minister like himself! . . . 
 
 Hester. I can't imagine father as a minister. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, dear, nor could I. The 
 Yard was a very small one then. We little thought 
 John would own it one day. 
 
 Hester {full of pride). And now it's the biggest 
 shipyard in the world. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow {equally proud). Yes, that's 
 what your father has made of it. 
 
 Hester. Isn't it funny that Jack doesn't seem very 
 keen on shipbuilding. George likes the Yard much 
 better than Jack does. 
 
 Janet. Nonsense, Hester! How can anyone help 
 liking a thing which makes so much money? 
 
The Ship 7 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow (holding her cup out). May 
 I have some more tea? 
 
 Janet. Hester, your grandmother's cup, please! 
 
 Hester (passhig the cup on to her mother). I wish 
 father weren't so desperately anxious to have Jack in 
 the Yard. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Jack's his only son, my dear. 
 
 Hester. But that isn't Jack's fault, granny. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, but it's an explanation 
 of your father's wish. A man Hkes to think of his 
 work being carried on by his son. 
 
 Hester. You didn't think so when father wanted 
 to be a shipbuilder instead of a minister. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, my dear, that isn't quite 
 true. But I've always thought that people ought to 
 be allowed to find their own way as far as possible, 
 and I don't like to see a young man compelled to give 
 up his ambition for his father's. 
 
 Janet (passing Old Mrs. Thurlow's tea to her, 
 via Hester). Anybody can like anything. It's all a 
 question of making up your mind and not being fussy. 
 For years and years I couldn't eat tomatoes. Then I 
 said to myself, "This is ridiculous, this . . . this 
 prejudice against tomatoes!" and I forced myself to 
 eat them, although I was sick twice, and now I'm 
 really quite fond of them. 
 
 [The door opens, and Jack Thurlow enters. 
 He is a good-looking, honest, humourless, 
 rather priggish lad of twenty-one. He is 
 dressed with that cultivated carelessness 
 which is characteristic of the young man 
 
8 The Ship 
 
 in revolt against convention. His clothes 
 are of rough tweed, hut the tailoring is 
 good, and, although he would he very in- 
 dignant if he were told so, he takes as 
 much trouhle with his artistic tie as a 
 fashionable fop takes with his.] 
 Janet and Hester (simultaneously). Jack!! 
 Jack. I thought I'd surprise you. 
 Hester (meeting him half-way and embracing him). 
 Why didn't you tell us what train you were coming 
 by, and then I'd have met you? 
 
 Jack. I didn't know myself until the last minute. 
 I intended to go and find father and have a chat with 
 him — he isn't home yet, is he? 
 Hester. No, not yet. 
 
 Jack. And then I changed my mind and came 
 down by myself. (He goes to Janet and kisses her.) 
 Any tea, mother? 
 
 Janet. I'll get some more. Hester, darling, ring 
 the bell, will you? 
 
 [Hester does so, while Jack greets his grand- 
 mother.] 
 Jack. How are you, granny? (Kisses her.) 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. All the better for seeing 
 you, my dear. Sit here beside me and tell me what 
 you did in France. 
 
 [He sits heside her. 
 Hester (seating herself near them). Yes, do, Jack. 
 Your letters hardly told us anything. 
 
 [The Maid enters. 
 Janet. Some fresh tea for Mr. Jack, Maggie. 
 
The Ship 9 
 
 Maid {taking the tea-pot). Yes, ma'am. (Exit.) 
 
 Jack. I don't know that I did so very much, 
 granny, but I thought a good deal. I — I reviewed my 
 whole life. 
 
 Janet. My dear boy, how could you? You were 
 only there three weeks. 
 
 Jack. Yes, but I thought very hard. I felt discon- 
 tented, mother, and I asked myself a great many ques- 
 tions. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlov^. Did you get any answers, my 
 dear? 
 
 Jack. Well, yes, granny, I think so. The final 
 answer depends upon father to a great extent. When 
 is he coming home? 
 
 Janet. My dear, nobody ever knows when your 
 father is coming home, least of all me. 
 
 Hester. Did mother tell you that the Queen is go- 
 ing to launch the "Magnificent" ? 
 
 Janet. Of course I told him, Hester. As if I'd 
 forget a thing like that. (The Maid returns with the 
 tea-pot.) Ah, here's the tea! Thank you, Maggie! 
 
 [The Maid puts the pot on the table and goes 
 out.] 
 
 Hester. I'm so glad the Queen is coming on Mon- 
 day. George says father is sure to get a title. 
 
 Janet. I wonder if he ought to take it. People are 
 so suspicious of titles, even if they are taken innocently. 
 
 Jack. I don't suppose father wants one. Titles are 
 all right for people who haven't got anything else to 
 justify their existence. 
 
 Janet. Oh, darling, don't be so cynical. If your 
 
10 The Ship 
 
 father were to receive a peerage, you'd be the Honour- 
 able John Thurlow. (Passing his cup to him.) Here's 
 your tea! And you, Hester, you'd be the Honourable 
 Hester Thurlow. (Reflectively, as if she were tasting 
 the title.) It sounds rather nice. The Honourable 
 Hester Thurlow ! . . . Well, if the King offers a peer- 
 age to your father, my dears, I shall advise him to 
 accept it for your sakes. Parents should always put 
 their children's wishes before their own. Did I give 
 you any sugar, Jack ? 
 
 Jack. Yes, thank you, mother. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. What sort of questions did 
 you ask yourself in France, Jack ? 
 
 Jack. All sorts, granny. Questions about myself 
 and father and the Yard and . . . God ! 
 
 Janet. God ! I don't quite see the connection, dar- 
 ling. 
 
 Jack. Don't you, mother ? I do. You do, granny ? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I can understand you seeing 
 it. Jack. 
 
 Jack. I just reviewed my whole position, mother. 
 What am I doing in this world ? What am I here for ? 
 What's the good of me? What's God got to do with 
 rne? Things like that! 
 
 Janet. I never ask myself such questions. I should 
 feel as if I were taking a liberty. 
 
 Jack. But, mother, a man has to ask himself such 
 questions if he's going to understand life at all. 
 
 Janet. It isn't necessary to understand life. All 
 you've got to do is to live it. 
 
 Jack. What I want to get at is this. Here's God 
 and here am I! . . . (He indicates points on the floor.) 
 
The Ship II 
 
 Janet. Darling ! On the hearth-rug, too ! 
 
 Jack. I'm not trying to be funny, mother. Am I, 
 granny ? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, dear. But go on. I'm 
 impatient to hear what judgment you passed on God. 
 
 Jack (rebuffed). Oh, now you're making fun of 
 me, too. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow (patting him affectionately). 
 No, I'm not, Jack. But young men nowadays pull very 
 long faces, and really, dear, it isn't necessary. 
 
 Jack. But we've got to find out about things, 
 granny. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I know, but you needn't make 
 your enquiries as if you suspected the worst. 
 
 Jack. It's awful when you look at the world and see 
 what a mess it's in. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I remember hearing Thomas 
 Carlyle say something like that. He was very ill, poor 
 man. 
 
 Jack. Everything seems all wrong. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. And are you going to put 
 everything right, my dear? 
 
 Jack. I want to do what I can. 
 
 Janet. You'll be very busy, darling. 
 
 Jack (rising and standing with his back to the fire). 
 I've thought it all out, and it seems to me, granny, that 
 I've got to begin with myself. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. That's a great improvement 
 on most reformers. Jack, who generally want to begin 
 on other people. 
 
 Jack. Well, I'm going to begin with myself. The 
 rest ought to be easy. ( The boy's sincerity transcends 
 
12 The Ship 
 
 his priggishness as the speech proceeds.) When I was 
 in France, granny, I went up to part of the devastated 
 area — along the valley of the Somme, from Albert up 
 to Bapaume and Peronne — and I thought how horrible 
 it was that all those decent chaps went out to the War, 
 full of chivalry and idealism, and then came back, dis- 
 illusioned and embittered. I used to wonder why the 
 men who went to the War were so cynical about 
 women and politics and England — about everything. 
 And now I think I know. They feel as if they'd been 
 crucified and buried, but hadn't risen again. It must 
 have been ghastly to go through the things they 
 suffered, and then come home to all the old things made 
 worse. Well, I suppose they're done for, poor devils. 
 They've lost hope and faith, and they just don't care 
 any more about anything. But I've got all my hope, 
 granny, and I want to see if people like me can't put 
 things right — more right than they are now. I know 
 this sounds frightfully priggish, but I can't help that. 
 I feel that each one of us has got to begin here. (He 
 touches his breast as he speaks.) 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Have you found out yet what 
 is right? 
 
 Jack. I think so. We're all too artificial. We've 
 got to lead a more natural life ! . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. The first people to say that, 
 my dear, were Adam and Eve, and the result was that 
 they were put out of the Garden of Eden. 
 
 Janet. If I'd been Eve I should simply have re- 
 fused to go. I always thought she was a little too 
 acquiescent. 
 
The Ship 13 
 
 Jack. I used to watch the peasants working in the 
 fields in France, and while I was watching them I sud- 
 denly realised what I've often suspected, that the cause 
 of all our troubles is machinery ! 
 
 Janet. Machinery ! 
 
 Hester. What on earth do you mean ? 
 
 Jack. Machines defile people. A man in a fac- 
 tory isn't a man. He isn't even a machine — he's the 
 servant of a machine. Think of all the factories in 
 Biggport pouring their muck into the river, and then 
 think of what the river must have been like before the 
 factories were built! Well, everything in the world 
 now is like that. When I was in the devastated area, 
 I realised that a machine-driven world could never 
 be anything else but hideous, that it must become more 
 and more hideous. All those beautiful fields, so care- 
 fully cultivated by the peasants, were smashed and 
 ripped and brutally defiled by machinery, and the only 
 people who were doing anything to restore them to life 
 again were the peasants working with their hands. 
 
 Janet. My dear, you're talking like Tolstoy. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I don't think machines matter 
 much, Jack. It's people who matter. Guns don't 
 usually go off by themselves, and anyhow a peasant's 
 spade is a machine. 
 
 Jack. I know that we must have machinery in our 
 lives, but I protest against this servitude to machines. 
 Nobody gets any fun out of his work now. We're all 
 machine-minders or loafers. 
 
 Hester. But, Jack, you're working with your hands 
 now — in the Yard. 
 
14 The Ship 
 
 Jack. Fm going to leave the Yard. 
 
 Hester and Old Mrs. Thurlow (simultaneously). 
 Leave the Yard ! ! 
 
 Jack. Yes. 
 
 Janet. But you can't leave it. Your father won't 
 let you. And the Queen coming on Monday, too ! 
 
 Jack. Father's big ships are just as wrong as the 
 Biggport factories. I object to these floating hotels, 
 as he calls them, because they make the sea like a dirty, 
 neurotic, modern city. 
 
 Janet. That's just sentimentality. Jack. A modern 
 city isn't half so dirty as the mediaeval cities were. I 
 know. I've read all about it in Mr. Wells's "History 
 of the World." We don't have plagues ! . . . 
 
 Jack. Or poems. The mediaeval people may not 
 have had good drains, mother, but they had great 
 poets. 
 
 Janet. Well, I may be a Philistine, but I'd rather 
 be sanitary than be inspired. "Romeo and Juliet" 
 would be very little consolation to me if I were suffer- 
 ing from smallpox. I often think it would have done 
 Shakespeare good if he'd been less exalted and more 
 hygenic, living that stuffy life in Stratford. And if 
 there'd been more machinery in his day, there wouldn't 
 be any doubt about who wrote his plays. We'd know. 
 
 Jack. Perhaps there wouldn't be any plays. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, yes, there would, my 
 dear. One's difficulty with a genius is, not how to en- 
 courage hirn, but how to keep him in order. I think 
 your mother's right. 
 
 Hester. What are you going to do when you leave 
 the Yard, Jack? 
 
The Ship 15 
 
 Jack. I talked the subject over with a man I met 
 in France. His name's Cornelius, and he's an ex- 
 officer, rather at a loose end. He'll come into partner- 
 ship with me in a farm, and I want father to give me 
 the money ! . . . 
 
 Janet. You're going to be a farmer ! 
 
 Jack. Yes, mother. I want to grow things. 
 
 Janet. You know you're simply flying in the face 
 of Providence — to say nothing of your father ! 
 
 Jack. That's another point. I've realised for some 
 time past that father has a much stronger will than I 
 have, and in the Yard I'm simply a sounding-board for 
 his opinions. I seem to have no will of my own there — 
 just his will. You understand me, don't you, granny? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I think so, dear. But I won- 
 der whether it isn't better to express the will of greater 
 people than ourselves than to insist on expressing our 
 own. 
 
 Jack. No, no, granny, no! Let's each express our 
 own will. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. There'd be frightful con- 
 fusion if we did. Jack. 
 
 Jack. Well, confusion is better than slavery. I 
 have a right to my own life and thoughts, but I can't 
 have them under father. He's too much for me. 
 
 Janet. Nonsense, Jack. I've been married to your 
 father for twenty-two years, and I've proved that it's 
 quite easy to get on with him. Just do what he tells 
 you, and he's perfectly reasonable. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. My dear, you're very young 
 and I'm very old, and sometimes I think that the very 
 old understand the very young better than anyone else, 
 
i6 The Ship 
 
 because you're so near the beginning and we're so near 
 the end. I want you to believe that I'm tr)4ing to 
 understand your point of view when I say it's better 
 to go on than to go back ! . . . 
 
 Jack. Not always, granny! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, but nearly always. Peo- 
 ple like your father haven't finished their work — 
 they're only midway through it. But you think, 
 because you see the confusion of a half -completed job, 
 that it's a bungled job. You said something just now 
 about the bitterness which fills the young men who 
 came back from the War, but you don't seem to real- 
 ise that an ideal which cannot survive a blow. . . . 
 
 Jack. A terrible blow, granny. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, dear, a very terrible 
 blow, but surely the only ideal worth having is the one 
 which survives all blows ? To me, the most wonderful 
 thing in the world is not the young man beginning life 
 with ideals — we all do that — but the old man dying 
 with them undiminished. So few do that. Your 
 father's an idealist — oh, yes, he is — with a passion for 
 ships. He has suffered many blows to his faith in 
 ships, but he's kept his faith. Whenever he was 
 knocked down', he got up again. My son will never 
 give in to anything, and if I were a boy I should be 
 proud to serve such a man. 
 
 Jack. But I don't believe in his faith, granny. I 
 don't believe in it ! . . . 
 
 [The door opens, and The Maid enters. 
 
 Maid. The master and Mr. Norwood have just 
 come, ma'am. They've got a big case with them. 
 
The Ship 17 
 
 [Before Janet can make any reply to this 
 announcement, John Thurlow enters. 
 The Maid retires. John Thurlow is 
 a tall, bearded man, a-ged sixty-two, de- 
 liberate in his ways, but very definite 
 and authoritative in speech. He is 
 affectionate in a manner that is almost 
 condescending, and, in spite of his 
 appearance of coolness, is full of pos- 
 sessive fury which ranges from great 
 passion to mere sentimentality. His love 
 for his mother is very marked: he even 
 uses a different and gentler tone in 
 speaking to her than he uses in speaking 
 to the others.] 
 John. Hester! . . . Hilloa, Jack, you back again? 
 Jack (from whom some of the confidence has now 
 evaporated). Yes, father. 
 
 John. Well, go and help George, will you? We've 
 brought home the model of the "Magnificent," and it's 
 too heavy for him alone. 
 
 Jack (going towards the door). Very good, father. 
 John (as Jack passes him). Had a good holiday? 
 Jack. Yes, thank you. (Exit.) 
 John (as he kisses his wife). He looks well, doesn't 
 he? 
 
 Janet. Yes. Have you had any tea, John? 
 John (kissing Hester, who has gone to him). I 
 don't want any, thanks. (To Hester.) Well, young 
 woman, what do you want ? 
 Hester. Nothing, daddy. 
 
i8 The Ship 
 
 John. God bless my soul, child, are you ill ? 
 
 Hester (Tmth a pout). Oh, daddy! 
 
 John (putting her aside and going to his mother). 
 Do you hear that, mother ? Hester has got everything 
 she wants. Lucky girl ! 
 
 Hester. Daddy, you aren't a bit funny when you 
 try to be. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, my dear, my dear, you 
 mustn't be disrespectful to your parents' wit. Humour 
 thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long 
 in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee. 
 
 John (sitting beside his mother). And what have 
 you been doing to-day? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Thinking about you, my dear. 
 
 John. Well, you couldn't have employed your time 
 better. Could she, Hester? 
 
 Hester. Father, you are a conceited old man ! . . . 
 
 John. Ummmm, not so very old, my dear, not so 
 very old! Why, your granny's only eighty-three. 
 That's all, mother. (Old Mrs. Thurlow pats him 
 affectionately.) And everybody knows eighty-three's 
 nothing. Never had an ache in your life, had you ? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Only those you caused me, 
 John. 
 
 John. That's a nice thing to say! . . . (The door 
 is opened by The Maid to admit Jack and George.) 
 Ah, here comes the "Magnificent" ! 
 
 [He goes half-way towards the door to meet 
 Jack and George Norwood, who enter 
 in that order, carrying a model of the 
 ''Magnificent'^ between them. It is in a 
 glass case, and is about four feet long. 
 
The Ship 19 
 
 The "Magnificent" is unlike any ship 
 now sailing the sea. It has not got any 
 funnels or masts, for example, but has 
 ventilation shafts where funnels would 
 ordinarily be, and trellis-work poles 
 used chiefly for wireless telegraphy 
 where masts might be expected. The 
 principal differences between her and, 
 say, the "Olympic'' are not outwardly 
 observable. To eyes accustomed to 
 coal-fed liners, she looks unfinished, ugly 
 even.] 
 John (indicating the table in the centre of the 
 room). Put her down there. Gently, gently! . . . 
 (as Jack seems to stumble). 
 
 Jack. She's heavy. (George and he put the model 
 on the table.) Isn't she, George? 
 
 [George Norwood, aged twenty-four, is a 
 
 firm-willed young man, older in mind 
 
 than he is in years, with plenty of 
 
 imagination in shipbuilding, but very 
 
 little in anything else. He regards 
 
 John Thurlow with feelings akin to 
 
 idolatry.] 
 
 George. Oh, I don't think so. (The idolatrous 
 
 young man would gladly strain himself lifting the 
 
 model of any boat built by John Thurlow.) She 
 
 doesn't feel heavy to me. I could have carried her in 
 
 myself, only the Chief wouldn't let me. He said I 
 
 might hurt myself, Mrs. Thurlow (this is to Janet), 
 
 but really he was afraid I might drop her ! He wasn't 
 
 thinking of me. Were you, Chief ? 
 
20 The Ship 
 
 John (to his mother). That's how these brats in 
 the Yard talk to me, mother. They think I've got 
 swelled head because I've built the swiftest ship in 
 the world, and so they try to take me down a peg or 
 two. Some of them think they can build ships better 
 than I can! . . . 
 
 George. Oh, no, we don't, sir. If we can build 
 them as well as you do, we'll feel content. 
 
 John. Will you? If you don't build 'em better 
 than I do, you won't be worth a damn. Will they, 
 mother ? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, dear. 
 
 John. What will be the good of me dying to make 
 room for you fellows if you don't improve on me? (He 
 turns to his mother.) Come and have a look at her, 
 mother. (He gives his arm to Old Mrs. Thurlow 
 and leads her to the model.) Isn't she a beauty? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, she's a bonny boat. 
 
 Janet. But she hasn't got any funnels. 
 
 John. No, my dear, she hasn't. We've abolished 
 funnels. They belong to the Dark Ages when people 
 burned coal. We burn oil. 
 
 Hester (pointing to the ventilation shafts). But 
 aren't those funnels, daddy? 
 
 George (eager to explain to her). No, Hester, 
 those are the ventilators. These poles are principally 
 for wireless telegraphy, but they will serve any useful 
 purpose that a mast serves. 
 
 Janet. I think she looks ugly — as if she hadn't any 
 clothes on. 
 
 John. Ugly! She's beautiful. Isn't she, mother? 
 
The Ship 21 
 
 (He does not wait for a reply.) You're like everybody 
 else, Janet. You say a thing's ugly until you get used 
 to it, and then you think anything that's different from 
 it is hideous. If you'd seen the first real steamship 
 you'd have thought her ugly because she wasn't like 
 that old sailing-ship there! (He indicates the man- 
 of-war.) 
 
 Janet. Well, she may be very wonderful, but I 
 think she looks ugly. 
 
 John. Looks! What are looks compared with ac- 
 tion? There isn't a ship in the world that can go 
 through the water as the "Magnificent" will. Look at 
 her shape! Not an inch of wasted space in her. I 
 reckon I know something about aesthetics, and I say 
 that boat's beautiful. Do you see her keel? In coal- 
 fed boats that space was wasted — full of bilge- water — 
 and all this space above it was occupied by bunkers full 
 of coal, difficult to stow and shift, and filthily dirty. 
 And what else had you? Boilers, and furnaces, tak- 
 ing up a tremendous amount of room. Waste space, 
 all of it I Well, I've changed all that. I put oil where 
 the bilge-water used to go, poured into the ship cleanly 
 through a hose-pipe, and I put passengers where the 
 coal-bunkers used to be. This ship will be able to 
 replenish her fuel from oil-ships at sea. Think of 
 that ! She'll carry three thousand passengers and land 
 them in New York four days after she leaves South- 
 ampton. 
 
 Hester. She isn't as big as I thought she'd be, 
 daddy. 
 
 John. No, she's not big. I don't believe in big 
 
22 The Ship 
 
 ships. Big ships mean big harbours and trouble in 
 turning. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Won't the going be rough, 
 John? 
 
 John. No, mother. She'll do twenty-eight knots 
 an hour without a quiver. George, I believe she'll do 
 over thirty, without much shaking — not any more than 
 you'd get on a Cunarder or a White Star. 
 
 George. I think you're right, sir! 
 
 John (to Old Mrs. Thurlov^). Of course, 
 George really thinks that oil- fed ships are obsolete 
 already. Don't you, George? He's all for electric- 
 ity! . . . 
 
 George. That'll come, sir. Oil's too dear and too 
 difficult to get. 
 
 John. Well, that'll have to be your job in the world, 
 George, yours and Jack's. My business is with oil- 
 driven ships. Isn't it disgusting to think that some of 
 the best oil-wells in the world are in the hands of a 
 lot of damned Arabs? I can't imagine why the Lord 
 wanted to put 'em in the Garden of Eden. If He'd 
 only had the sense to put 'em in the neighbourhood 
 of Southampton! . . . 
 
 Janet. John, John, dear! That is not the way to 
 speak of the inscrutable designs of Providence. Be- 
 fore Hester, too! 
 
 John. The next thing I'm going to do, mother, is 
 to abolish pilots. In a year or two, this boat will be 
 steered by wireless telegraphy. Some fellow sitting 
 in an office in New York will guide her along a per- 
 fectly straight course into her berth. Lord, isn't it 
 
The Ship 23 
 
 wonderful what progress we've made with boats? A 
 hundred years ago, there weren't any steamships, and 
 now we've got the "Magnificent." 
 
 [While he is speaking, they return to their 
 places, except Hester and George who 
 remain by the model. Jack goes to the 
 window and shuts it.] 
 
 Janet. Supposing she were to sink! . . . 
 
 John. Don't be silly, Janet! She can't sink. She's 
 unsinkable. You could dig a hole in her side as high 
 as a house and she wouldn't sink. 
 
 George (illustrating from the model). You see, 
 Mrs. Thurlow, we can isolate any part of her in a 
 few seconds by pressing a lever here on the bridge. 
 
 John. We've got the sea under control at last, 
 Janet. I think I will have some tea. 
 
 Janet. Oh, John, you are provoking! Why 
 couldn't you say so when I asked you before? 
 
 John. I didn't want it then, but I want it now. 
 You'll have some, George, won't you? 
 
 George. Well, thanks, if you're having some! . . . 
 
 John. Right! (The Maid enters.) Oh, here is 
 , Maggie! Maggie, bring up some more tea. Indian 
 tea, and very strong. None of that wishy-washy China 
 stuff! 
 
 Maid. Yes, sir. (Exit.) 
 
 John. I like to taste the tannin in my tea. Well, 
 Jack, how's France ? I hope you're glad to get home 
 again. 
 
 Jack. Yes, father, I am. 
 
 John. I hope the French people knocked some of 
 
24 The Ship 
 
 the notions out of your head. Eh? (Jack laughs a 
 little nervously.) It's time you settled down, my boy, 
 and got rid of cranky ideas. When did you get back? 
 
 Jack. Only a little while ago. 
 
 John. Oh! Why didn't you come down to the 
 Yard? You could have motored home with George 
 and me . . .. and the "Magnificent." (Suddenly, as 
 if remembering a thing forgotten.) Damn ! 
 
 Hester. Father, you swear like a flapper! 
 
 John. George, we forgot to stop at Sanderson's. 
 
 George. So we did. I ought to have remembered. 
 Shall I go back again? 
 
 John. Yes, do. 
 
 Janet. But he hasn't had any tea, poor thing! 
 
 John. He doesn't want any tea. Take the car, 
 George. You'll be back in half-an-hour. 
 
 Hester. I'll come too. 
 
 George. Oh, good ! 
 
 Hester. Go and get the car ready, while I put on 
 my hat and coat. The garden's the quickest way. 
 
 George (as he goes out by the windows which 
 Jack opens for him) . Right you are ! 
 
 [Hester goes out by the door, as Jack 
 closes the windows behind George.] 
 
 John. That girl orders George about as if she 
 owned him. 
 
 Janet. I think they're very suited to each other. 
 
 John. What's that? 
 
 Janet. George and Hester! I think they're very 
 suited to each other. 
 
 John. I daresay, but George oughtn't to think of 
 
The Ship 25 
 
 marriage for a long time yet. He's got a lot of work 
 to do before he gets married. And Hester's young. 
 She can wait. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. People say it's better to 
 marry young, John. 
 
 John. No, it isn't, mother. Marriage makes young 
 men timid and careful just when their adventurous 
 quality is most useful. 1 didn't get married until I 
 was . . . What age was I, Janet? 
 
 Janet. Forty. You were forty and I was twenty. 
 I sometimes wish you'd been younger, John. 
 
 John. Why? 
 
 Janet. Well! . . . Oh, I don't know! 
 
 John. Of course you don't. I was exactly the 
 right age for you. Every man ought to be twenty 
 years older than his wife. If he doesn't start off with 
 that advantage, what hope has he of keeping her in 
 order? If I had married when I was George's age, I 
 shouldn't have been able to concentrate my mind on 
 my work. I soon realised that, and so I put marriage 
 clean out of my thoughts until I was sure of my posi- 
 tion. Then I looked around and I saw you, Janet, 
 and my mind was made up in a moment {He sits on 
 the arm of her chair and fondles her.) You were 
 very young and pretty and timid when I first knew 
 you. 
 
 Janet (all aglow). Oh, John, I wasn't timid. 
 
 John. Oh, yes, you were! That's why I liked 
 you. You remember, don't you, mother, how I came 
 home and told you about her ? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I do, indeed. You said to 
 
26 The Ship 
 
 me, "Mother, that girl's afraid of me. I shall marry 
 her." 
 
 John. That's right. And so I did. And I'm not 
 sorry. 
 
 [He kisses Janet. Jack gets up and goes 
 towards the garden during this speech. 
 As he passes the chair where his parents 
 are, John catches hold of him by the 
 arm.] 
 
 John. Well, Jack? 
 
 Jack. Well, father? 
 
 John. You're not in love, I hope. 
 
 Jack. No, father. {Then with an effort.) Father, 
 I want to say something to you. 
 
 John {getting up). Yes, my boy. Shall we go 
 upstairs ? 
 
 Jack. I've been telling granny and mother about it 
 already. 
 
 John. Oh! You haven't been getting into a mess, 
 have you? 
 
 Jack. No, father! . . . 
 
 John. Well, you look damned solemn! What's up? 
 
 Jack. You know what I think of things — what you 
 call my cranky notions. 
 
 John {with comic despair). Oh, yes, indeed I do. 
 
 Jack. Well, father, I'm serious about them. I'm 
 not just a crank. I've thought things out, and I . . . 
 I want to leave the Yard. 
 
 John. Leave the Yard ! What do you mean? 
 
 Jack. I want to leave it for good. 
 
 John. Oh! And may I ask why? 
 
The Ship 27 
 
 Janet. Jack thinks there's something wrong with 
 the principle of the Yard. 
 
 Jack. It isn't only the Yard, father. It's the whole 
 mechanical civilisation. All these big factories and 
 mills and workshops are all wrong! . . . 
 
 John. Oh, that stuff again! I thought you'd got 
 over that. 
 
 Jack. I know you think I'm a fool, father. You've 
 never taken me very seriously, but I'm in earnest. I 
 hate this servitude to machines. It's degrading. 
 
 John. I don't know what the devil you're talking 
 about. Do you understand him, mother? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I understand a great many 
 things, John, of which I do not approve. 
 
 John. Well, what does he mean? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Jack's a reactionary! . . . 
 
 Jack. No, granny! . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, yes, my dear, you are. 
 You condemn all that mankind has done for more 
 than a century because you don't like the look of it. 
 And you've persuaded yourself to believe that a man 
 who spends his Hfe ploughing fields is somehow en- 
 joying a better life than a man in a factory. Per- 
 haps he is, although I've not noticed that peasants are 
 any more noble-minded than other people. But, my 
 dear, you're making a very great mistake if you think 
 that mankind is going to scrap your father's 
 ships! . . . 
 
 John. Scrap my ships ! . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow {rebuking him). Hush, 
 John! I am speaking. 
 
28 The Ship 
 
 John (abashed). I beg your pardon, mother! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. We've got to go on, Jack. It 
 isn't any good arguing about progress, for that de- 
 pends very largely on the person who is mak'ing it. I 
 daresay most of us mean well, but I'm old-fashioned 
 enough to think that we ought to leave our affairs in 
 the hands of our betters. 
 
 Jack. But who are our betters, granny? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Those who prove themselves 
 to be. We can't all be great, my dear, but we should 
 try to recognise those who are. My son is a great 
 man. 
 
 Jack. I know that, granny, but a man can be great 
 and wrong at the same time. You're wrong, father! 
 All the people who make men less than machines are 
 wrong. I'm not clever enough to prove it to you, but 
 can't you see that this mania for bigness, these big 
 cities, big engines, and big empires are destroying 
 human beings. We can't feed ourselves in England 
 now, in spite of our progress, and when the next war 
 comes, we'll starve to death in the midst of magnifi- 
 cent machines. 
 
 John. Wait a minute! I don't quite get the hang 
 of this. Do you think this boat is all wrong, as you 
 say? 
 
 Jack. Yes, father! 
 
 John. Oh! And why? 
 
 Jack. She's a luxury ship. All your improvements 
 are simply to provide more luxuries for the passen- 
 gers. Swimming-baths and theatres and cafes and 
 cinemas and libraries and daily newspapers and ball- 
 
The Ship 29 
 
 rooms and magnificent private suites for millionaires. 
 Thaf s all ! The men who used to work that ship {he 
 points to the mar-vessel) were sailors, but youVe abol- 
 ished sailors, father, and put swimming-bath attend- 
 ants in their place. I don't call it progress to take a 
 decent seaman and turn him into a waiter, cadging 
 for tips. 
 
 Janet. I don't approve of the tipping system— no 
 woman does — but I don't see why people shouldn't 
 be comfortable at sea, just where they need it most. 
 
 Jack. Well, that's what I think. It doesn't mat- 
 ter to me whether the "Magnificent" is the swiftest 
 and most comfortable ship in the world if the men 
 she carries aren't worth carrying. I'm for men against 
 machines from this on. That's what I mean, father. 
 
 John. I see. 
 
 Jack. So I'm going to leave the Yard. 
 
 John. Yes? 
 
 Jack. And try to discover a better way of living. 
 
 John. Oh, yes! 
 
 Jack. I thought perhaps you'd understand my point 
 of view, father. 
 
 John (with rising fury). Your point of view! 
 Do you understand mine? 
 
 Jack. I try to understand you, father! . . . 
 
 John. Do you see that ship? (He points to the 
 model of the ''Magnificentr) She's just a machine 
 to you— a luxury-ship. Eh? That's so, isn't it? 
 Isn't it? 
 
 Jack. Yes, father. 
 
 John. Do you know what she is to 9ne? No! 
 
30 The Ship 
 
 That doesn't occur to you. You can stand there and 
 . . . and insult my boat! . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. John, dear ! 
 
 John. No, mother, no. {To Jack.) I love this 
 boat. My whole life and soul have gone into her. And 
 you make little of her, call her a luxury-ship, a ma- 
 chine. But she's something more than a machine, 
 Jack. She's a living, breathing thing. Why, a ship is 
 as sensitive as a young girl. And this beautiful thing 
 that I've made — my God, how dare you insult my ship ! 
 
 Jack. I have a right to my opinions, father. 
 
 John. Your opinions! There are too many opin- 
 ions in the world, and yours isn't much better than 
 most of them. On your own ground of argument, 
 my boat is doing a great work! She's helping to 
 make people friendly by bringing them together and 
 making neighbours of them. 
 
 Jack. You don't make people friendly, father, just 
 by making neighbours of them. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. We've certainly fought more 
 wars with France than we have with Patagonia, and 
 I sometimes think we could live more happily with 
 the Irish if they were further away. 
 
 John. I don't understand this kind of talk. It's 
 enough for me that my ships are good ships. You in- 
 tend to leave the Yard, Jack — to have nothing more 
 to do with it? 
 
 Jack. Yes. 
 
 John. And when I die, who's going to carry it on? 
 
 Jack. Someone else will have to do that, if it's to 
 be carried on. 
 
The Ship 31 
 
 John. You don't see my point, Jack. A Thurlow 
 made this ship and made the Yard where she was 
 built. A Thurlow raised it from nothing to be the 
 greatest shipyard in the world. We have a name, and 
 I made that name. 
 
 Jack. Yes, father, I realise that. 
 
 John. I want that name maintained. You talk 
 about understanding things. Do you understand the 
 pride I had in creating the Yard, and my desire that 
 my son and my son's son should continue it and make 
 it greater than I made it? Do you understand that? 
 When you were born, the first thought that came into 
 my head was that you'd build ships as I'd built them. 
 I didn't think of you as a child: I thought of you as 
 a shipbuilder — the head of Thurlow's! . . . 
 
 Jack. I've never wished to build ships, father. 
 
 John. What has your wish got to do with it? 
 You're my son to whom I pass on my work as I pass 
 on my life. 
 
 Jack* But I'm not only your son. I'm myself. I 
 have a right to my own life. 
 
 John. No one has any right to his life. No one in 
 the world has a right to his life. Haven't you learned 
 that yet? What da you want to do^ — if you leave the 
 Yard? 
 
 Janet. He wants to buy a farm. 
 
 John. A farm! 
 
 Jack. Yes, father. I want to go on the land with 
 a friend of mine. 
 
 John. And you want me to give you the money 
 for it, eh? 
 
32 The Ship 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. He hasn't any of his own, 
 John. 
 
 John. No. NO. Not one half-penny! You've 
 got to come back to the Yard, Jack. 
 
 Jack. I can't, father. 
 
 John. You've got to, my boy. 
 
 Jack. Won't George do? 
 
 John. You're my son. George isn't. I want you. 
 
 Jack. Is that why ? Because I'm your son. 
 
 John. Yes. 
 
 Jack. Then I won't go back. 
 
 John. You'll do what I tell you. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Is that wise, John? 
 
 John. I don't care whether it is or not. I will 
 have a Thurlow at the head of Thurlow's. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. It's foolish, my dear, to force 
 the right opinions on the wrong people. 
 
 [The door opens, and Hester enters. 
 
 Hester. Father, do come for a drive. George's 
 got the car at the door, and he wants to say some- 
 thing to you. 
 
 John. Why can't he coine here and say it? 
 
 Hester. Well, he thinks he'll feel more confident 
 in the open air. As a matter of fact, daddy, he wants 
 to marry me. 
 
 John. Then tell him the answer's "No." 
 
 Hester. Don't be silly, father! I've just told him 
 that it's "Yes." Come and cheer him up. He looks 
 frightfully miserable. 
 
The Ship 33 
 
 Janet. If you hadn't prevented him from having 
 his tea, John, this wouldn't have happened. 
 
 Hester. Oh, yes, it would, mother. Come along, 
 daddy ! 
 
 [She goes out. 
 
 John. Jack, my boy, don't let's quarrel. You see, 
 you're my son, and I ... I love you. That's why 
 George won't do. {He goes out.) 
 
 Jack. I can't stand up to him, granny! I can't 
 stand up to him. 
 
 Janet. Then why try? 
 
 Jack. I must think for myself, mother. I can't 
 stay here and be dominated like this. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. It's very wrong to make peo- 
 ple do things they don't want to do, even when those 
 things are right. Very wrong. I've always believed // 
 that if a man wanted to go to hell and were com- 
 pelled to go to heaven, he'd end by turning heaven 
 into hell. Very wrong! Very wrong! Your views, 
 Jack, are rather silly, but no one can make you realise 
 how silly they are so well as you can. It's a pity you 
 don't like ships . . . very beautiful things, ships . . . 
 but since you don't and your father won't give you the 
 money to buy your farm, I'm afraid I shall have to 
 give it to you. 
 
 Jack (eagerly). You will, granny? 
 
 Janet. My dear, you mustn't. John will be very 
 angry. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I'm too old now to mind 
 whether people are angry with me or not. I spent most 
 of my life in helping John to get his desire. I think 
 
34 The Ship 
 
 I must spend the rest of it in helping Jack to get his. 
 That's the chief thing, isn't it, to get your desire, even 
 when it disappoints you. 
 
 Jack (kneeling beside her). Granny, dear! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow (patting him gently). My 
 poor little boy! 
 
ACT TWO 
 
THE SECOND ACT 
 
 The scene is laid in what was formerly the kitchen of 
 a comfortable farmhouse: a large, airy, well-lit 
 room now chiefly used as a combined sitting- and 
 dining-room. It is furnished in the bare, austere 
 and self-conscious fashion which is characteristic 
 of the various Peasant Crafts societies and or- 
 ganisations for the revival of medicevalism in rural 
 districts. There is the maximum of artistic oddity 
 and the minimum of comfort, for the designer of 
 the furniture was obsessed by the idea that peas- 
 ants, when they made things in a clumsy, incM- 
 cient manner, did so, not because they were inex- 
 pert, but to express some deeply-felt, though not 
 clearly-articulated, theory about art. The tables 
 and chairs are not polished or stained in any way. 
 The plain, unvarnished wood, like the plain, un- 
 varnished truth (about which we hear so much, 
 of which we hear so little) is good enough for the 
 Peasant Crafts societies. The floor is uncarpeted, 
 the only concession to the mollycoddled being an 
 occasional mat. The curtains have stencilled de- 
 signs on them, and are quite pretty. 
 
 The time is five months after the date of the first 
 act, and the signs of spring can be seen through 
 the windows and the door when it is opened. 
 37 
 
38 The Ship 
 
 The day is Sunday, and the work of the farm, 
 therefore, is more or less at a standstill. That 
 is why Jack Thurlow is able to sit at a small 
 writing-table in one of the windozvs, smoking a 
 pipe as he composes a letter. He is dressed 
 in a brown corduroy suit, and wears brown gai- 
 ters above his thick-soled brown boots. His shirt 
 is khaki- colored, and it is open at the throat, thus 
 relieving him of the necessity of wearing a neck- 
 tie. He looks healthy and tanned, which is ex- 
 actly how he ought to look, for he has spent most 
 of the past five months in the open-air. He has 
 rather more confidence in himself now than he 
 had in the first act, and he is certainly happy. He 
 writes ai few words, then picks up the letter and, 
 leaning back in his chair, reads it through. 
 
 A clock in the room strikes three. 
 
 Then the door opens, and Captain James Cornelius 
 enters from the garden. Cornelius is eight years 
 older than Jack but his manner is less serious, 
 more casual, and he might pardonably be con- 
 sidered the younger of the two men were it not 
 for the look of knowledge in his eyes. Although 
 his manner is less serious than that of Jack, 
 it is in many ways more definite and author- 
 itative. He has not commanded a company in 
 France without obtaining the airs of a man used 
 to being obeyed without argument. The authority 
 in his tone, however, is more than counterbalanced 
 by the lack of hope in his heart. Chiefly, he feels 
 that there is very little use in striving for any- 
 
The Ship 39 
 
 thing — for even if the desired object is obtained it 
 mill probably not be worth having. 
 
 Jack. Finished ? 
 
 Cornelius. Yes. {Seating himself.) I suppose 
 your people will be here soon? 
 
 Jack. Mother said they'd arrive about three. 
 
 Cornelius. How many are coming? 
 
 Jack. The whole lot. My grandmother — you'll 
 Ifke her, Corney. She's a darling — and my father and 
 mother — you've met my mother, haven't you ? 
 
 Cornelius. Yes. Anybody else? 
 
 Jack. My sister and the man she's engaged to. 
 They're going to be married soon. His name's Nor- 
 wood — George Norwood — a very clever fellow. I'm 
 glad he's going to marry Hester. He's so keen on^ 
 shipbuilding that father'll probably become reconciled 
 to my refusal to go into the Yard. 
 
 Cornelius. I hope your old man will be civil to 
 us. I've got a hell of a wind up about him coming 
 here. 
 
 Jack. Why ? 
 
 Cornelius. Well, he doesn't like you being a 
 farmer, and he's sure to think it's my fault. People 
 always think I'm to blame for anything that goes 
 wrong. The C. O. of my battalion used to blame me 
 if the Boche broke through. 
 
 Jack. You needn't worry about father. He's a 
 great chap; domineering, of course, but he's a great 
 chap. I'm very fond of my father. 
 
 Cornelius. That's damned funny, isn't it? What 
 
40 The Ship 
 
 I can't understand about you is your choosing to live 
 like a farm laborer, messing about with cows and 
 hens, when you might be the head of the biggest ship- 
 yard in the world. 
 
 Jack. My dear Corney, I've explained myself to 
 you dozens of times. 
 
 Cornelius. Yes, I know you have, and I don't 
 want you to do it again. But merely telling me why 
 you do a thing, doesn't explain it. The only conclu- 
 sion I can come to about you. Jack, is that you're off 
 your head. (Jack laughs good-naturedly.) No, but 
 seriously, old chap, I'm not joking — I think you're 
 potty. Do you think I'd spend my time looking after 
 a lot of damned cows if I could get the job you've 
 chucked? Good Lord, no! Cows are such silly fools, 
 to start cff with. They look at you in a sloppy, re- 
 proachful way, and suspect you of evil intentions. 
 And then you have to get up and milk them at a ridic- 
 ulous hour of the morning. I can't think why Noah 
 let 'em in the Ark. They'd much better have been 
 drowned. 
 
 Jack. Don't grouse, Corney. 
 
 Cornelius. I'm not grousing, Jack. I'm bewil- 
 dered. Here have we been working like niggers for 
 four months, getting very little for it, and you go 
 about like John the Baptist — ^as if you've heard a voice 
 from heaven telling you to milk cows. (He gets up 
 and looks about the room for a moment or tmo,) I 
 say where's the whisky? 
 
 Jack {awkwardly). Oh, I put it away. Do you 
 want some? 
 
 Cornelius. Yes, I'd like a tot. Where is it? 
 
The Ship 41 
 
 Jack. I put it in the pantry. 
 
 Cornelius. That was silly of you. I've got to go 
 and fetch it back again. 
 
 Jack (as Cornelius goes towards the pantry 
 door) . Corney, I . . . Fm not preaching or anything, 
 but do you really want it? 
 
 Cornelius. Yes. I shouldn't ask for it, if I didn't 
 want it. Why? 
 
 Jack. Oh, nothing ! Only you've had three drinks 
 this morning already. 
 
 Cornelius. Have I? 
 
 Jack. Yes. 
 
 Cornelius. You're jolly good at arithmetic, Jack. 
 I didn't think I'd had as many as that. 
 
 Jack. I don't want you to imagine that I'm trying 
 to interfere with you ! . . . 
 
 Cornelius. No, no, of course not. 
 
 Jack. Only, it doesn't do you any good, Corney, 
 not the amount you take. 
 
 Cornelius. No, I suppose it doesn't. It's habit, 
 you know ! That's all ! We used to drink a lot during 
 the War, what with hospitality and feeling fed-up and 
 trying to keep our courage going. 
 
 Jack. Your courage? 
 
 Cornelius. Yes. I was twenty when I went out 
 to France for the first time, and chaps my age couldn't 
 stand shell-fire so well as the older ones could. I used 
 to be horribly afraid I'd turn funky in front of the 
 men — a lot of youngsters felt like that — and so we 
 used to take a tot to keep our courage up. See ? 
 
 Jack. Yes. 
 
 Cornelius. Then a tot wasn't enough, and after a 
 
42 The Ship 
 
 while we had to be half-drunk before we could go 
 through with the job. I know youngsters who went 
 wrong through trying to keep their courage up like 
 that — drunkards, poor devils! I didn't realise that I 
 was going the same way ! Thanks very much, Jack, 
 for telling me about it. 
 
 Jack. That's all right, old chap. I meant to say 
 something before this, only I thought you might think 
 I was preaching to you. It's an awkward thing to talk 
 about, even to a friend. 
 
 Cornelius. Yes. Yes, it is. Jolly awkward ! 
 {He goes back to his seat.) How long do you think 
 it'll be before we make any profit out of this cow 
 business ? 
 
 Jack. I don't know. We may clear our expenses 
 by the end of the year. 
 
 Cornelius. Good God! 
 
 Jack. It's slow, of course, but after all our wants 
 are simple. 
 
 Cornelius. They'd have to be, wouldn't they? 
 Why, it was much more profitable fighting the old 
 Boche. 
 
 Jack. You're always talking about profit. 
 
 Cornelius. Well, of course, I am. The only thing 
 that reconciles me to associating with cows is the 
 profit I think I'm going to make out of 'em. This 
 chair's damned uncomfortable! . . . (Goes to another 
 one.) I don't think there's much in farming, you know 
 — not this sort anyhow — sheep-farming perhaps! . . . 
 I say. Jack, let's go to Australia. 
 
 Jack. I'm quite happy here, Corney. 
 
The Ship 43 
 
 Cornelius. Yes, you're very easily made happy. 
 Do you know, I don't think another tot would do me 
 any harm? (Going towards the pantry.) 
 Jack {coldly). Very well. 
 Cornelius. It's in here, isn't it? 
 Jack. Yes. 
 
 Cornelius. Only just a tot, you know! That's 
 all! {He goes into the pantry.) 
 
 [Jack hends over his letter again, and pres- 
 ently Cornelius, carrying the whisky- 
 bottle and a tumbler, returns.] 
 Cornelius. Have some. Jack? {As he pours a 
 good stiff tot into the tumbler.) 
 Jack. No, thanks! 
 
 Cornelius. I thought you wouldn't, so I didn't 
 bring a glass for you. {He squirts soda into the 
 glass.) Well, cheerio, Jack ! 
 
 [The noise of a motor-car is heard outside. 
 Jack. Here they are! 
 
 Cornelius. Oh, God! {Gulps down the whisky.) 
 [Jack goes out. Cornelius having Unished 
 his whisky, stands in an irresolute 
 manner for a few moments, and then 
 goes towards the door through which 
 Jack has just gone. Before he can 
 reach it, however. Jack returns with 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow on his arm. Cor- 
 nelius goes back to the centre of the 
 room.] 
 Jack {pausing in the doorway to call to Janet, not 
 yet visible). This way, mother. {To Old Mrs. 
 
44 The Ship 
 
 Thurlow, as they enter.) This is Captain Cornelius, 
 granny. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow (shaking hands with Cor- 
 nelius). How do you do, Captain Cornelius? 
 
 Cornelius. Quite well, thank you. Won't you sit 
 down? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow (seating herself). Thank 
 you. I've often heard about you from Jack. 
 
 Cornelius. Yes, he's a great chap for writing let- 
 ters, old Jack. 
 
 [Janet appears in the doorway. 
 
 Janet. Is this it? 
 
 Jack. Yes, mother. (Meeting her and bringing her 
 forward.) You know Cornelius, don't you? 
 
 Janet (greeting Cornelius). Oh, yes, I know 
 Captain Cornelius. We met in Biggport, didn't we? 
 Jack, dear, your father is swearing terribly over that 
 car. Go and help him. 
 
 Jack. Very well, mother. 
 
 Janet. And be tactful, darling. Agree with every- 
 thing he says, even if you don't. He's not been very 
 well lately. 
 
 Jack. All right, mother. (Exit.) 
 
 Janet. I always think such a lot can be done with 
 tact. Don't you, Captain Cornelius? 
 
 Cornelius. Oh, yes ! Yes, of course ! Quite ! 
 
 Janet. Neither my husband nor my son are at all 
 tactful and that makes things very awkward. (To 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow.) What a nice farm this is, 
 mother ! So agricultural ! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Do you like farming, Cap- 
 tain Cornelius? 
 
The Ship 45 
 
 Cornelius. Oh, yes. It's all right, you know. I 
 mean to say, if you can't get anything better ! . . . 
 
 [John Thurlow enters, followed by Jack. 
 
 Jack. This is Cornelius, father. 
 
 John. How do you do? 
 
 Cornelius. Quite well, thank you. Jolly sort of 
 weather, isn't it? 
 
 John. Quite. (Gazes about him. There is a pause 
 for a moment.) 
 
 Cornelius. Would you like a tot, sir? 
 
 John. Tot? 
 
 Cornelius. Yes, a tot of whisky, sir. 
 
 John. No, thanks! What's happened to George 
 and Hester? 
 
 Janet. I think they've had tyre trouble on the 
 road, John. {To Jack.) George's bought a lovely 
 Httle two-seater. 
 
 John. It's a most extraordinary thing, but when- 
 ever we go out motoring with that couple, they always 
 have tyre trouble and get left behind. 
 
 Jack. Why didn't they come in your car, father? 
 There was plenty of room. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow, Jack dear, I thought you'd 
 retired to the country in order to study people and dis- 
 cover the meaning of life. 
 
 Jack. Yes, granny? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. You don't appear to have 
 discovered much. 
 
 John. Do you mean to say they have this tyre 
 trouble on purpose? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Of course they do. I 
 shouldn't think much of George if they didn't. 
 
46 The Ship 
 
 John. Well, I think it's very silly. Janet and I 
 never had any tyre trouble when we were engaged. 
 
 Janet. No, dear, and we hadn't got a motor-car 
 either. We had to content ourselves with bicycles, and 
 being engaged on a bicycle is very agitating. {To 
 Jack.) They've fixed the date of their marriage, and 
 it's to be almost immediately. Your father was 
 against it, of course, but Hester said she'd go into a 
 decline or run away or something if he didn't con- 
 sent, so he gave in. Hester's a very determined girl. 
 
 John. It wasn't Hester who made me consent. It 
 was my mother, who gave me the only sensible reason 
 for consenting that was offered to me. Hester's de- 
 termination had nothing whatever to do with it. It 
 was my determination. Wasn't it, mother? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow {smiling). Yes, my dear. 
 You always get your own way. 
 
 Janet. I suspect you find this sort of life very dif- 
 ferent from the army, Captain Cornelius. 
 
 Cornelius. Yes, it is a bit, but not so much as 
 you'd think. There's a lot of digging, of course, and 
 when I'm out early, I always feel as if it were "stand- 
 to." Only this morning, when I heard a lark singing 
 in the meadow just outsidf, I found myself thinking 
 of something that happened to me once in the line — 
 a queer sort of thing. It'll sound a bit sloppy, I ex- 
 pect, to you, but it was one of those funny little things 
 — nothing in them, you know — but they get you . . . 
 see? . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes? 
 
 Cornelius. It's nothing much really, but once. 
 
The Ship 47 
 
 when my company was in the line and having a thin 
 time, this thing happened. The old Boche was strafing 
 hard every two hours, and he did that for three days. 
 We knew what was up, of course — he was going to 
 raid us, and wanted to frighten the wits out of us first. 
 And he did raid us ! It was about half -past two in the 
 morning — rotten time to raid anybody — and just be- 
 fore he came over, he gave us a terrific barrage. We 
 retaliated, and there was a frightful row going on. I 
 was standing just in front of a dug-out in a sunken 
 road, waiting for the barrage to lift, and i could see 
 the Boche stuff going over into a field. It was a jolly 
 fine sight, too — old Fritz was very good at artillery, 
 jolly good he was — great clouds of golden sparks fly- 
 ing about and thick black smoke — I should have en- 
 joyed watching it if it had been a bit further off! 
 There was an awful row going on — our guns and 
 their guns clattering away Hke the deuce — and then 
 suddenly it stopped. That sometimes happened— dur- 
 ing a bombardment, all the guns would be silent at the 
 same time just for a moment or two — awful uncanny 
 sort of silence, really. Well, that happened then! A 
 fearful banging and exploding all round you, and 
 then suddenly, dead silence, just for a moment. And 
 in that moment, I heard a lark singing ! You know — 
 just going up and . . . singing! Well, I nearly cried. 
 It was so decent! . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, my dear, that's what it 
 was — it was decent! 
 
 Cornelius. It kept one going, you know. You 
 thought to yourself "Well, everything isn't rotten!" 
 
48 The Ship 
 
 And then the guns started again, and the row, and after 
 a while the barrage Hfted, and the Boche came over in 
 a funk, and we were in a worse funk, and there was 
 a filthy mess. But I forgot all about the mess some- 
 how. I kept on thinking about that lark, singing as 
 if there weren't any war. And when I heard the other 
 one this morning, I thought of that time I'd listened 
 to another lark, and without thinking what I was say- 
 ing, I shouted out to him, "Hillo, old chap, at it 
 again!" Awfully sloppy, really! . . . 
 
 [The noise of a motor-car is heard outside. 
 
 Janet. There they are. I expect they've got over 
 their tyre trouble. Come and be introduced. Captain 
 Cornelius. 
 
 Cornelius. Right you are, Mrs. Thurlow! (They 
 go out.) 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Captain Cornelius seems a 
 nice sort of man. I suppose you and he are very 
 good friends. Jack? 
 
 Jack. Yes, we're very good friends. He doesn't 
 quite see things from my point of view. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Doesn't he? 
 
 Jack. No. He's always talking about profit. I 
 don't mean that he's a money-grubber — he isn't — but 
 he thinks of this farm merely as a means of making 
 money. 
 
 John. Doesn't everybody do that? 
 
 Jack. I suppose most people do, but I think a man 
 ought to put the pleasure he gets out of his work first, 
 and the profit second. 
 
 John. What I can't understand about you idealists 
 
The Ship 49 
 
 and back-to-the-landers is that you always talk like 
 cheap society women. Give me pleasure! Give me 
 pleasure ! ! Give me pleasure ! ! ! I see no reason why 
 a man's job should provide him with entertainment. 
 All work, whatever it is, is either a punishment or a 
 mania! I build ships because I have a craving to 
 build ships. My work gives me pain and power and 
 pride, but it doesn't give me pleasure. I get that out 
 of golf. 
 
 Jack. I get pleasure out of my work. 
 
 John. So you think ! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Well, dear, if he thinks he 
 gets it, that's almost as good as getting it. My ex- 
 perience has been that we pay for every moment of 
 pleasure with a moment of pain. 
 
 Jack. Isn't that a very dismal doctrine, granny ? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, my dear, because even in 
 the pain, we always have some recollection of the 
 pleasure. Do you think Captain Cornelius will con- 
 tinue to work here. Jack? 
 
 Jack. He can't very well help himself. He hasn't 
 any means apart from this farm. 
 
 John. If it hadn't been for your grandmother, he 
 wouldn't have been able to come here at all. I haven't 
 forgiven you yet, mother, for giving Jack the money 
 for this place. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. You were very naughty and 
 tyrannical, John. I had to teach you a lesson. I've 
 had a lot of trouble with you lately, both about Jack 
 and about Hester. 
 
 John. But you got your way, as usual. I don't 
 
50 The Ship 
 
 mind admitting that, now there's nobody here but 
 Jack. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. It's very nice to get your 
 way. Very nice! 
 
 Jack. I suppose the "Magnificent" is nearly ready 
 for her trial trip, father. 
 
 John. She won't be long now. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Your father's not been at all 
 well lately. Jack. Dr. Jordan says he's been working 
 too hard. 
 
 John. Oh, Jordan's an old woman. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow (laughing). So am I, dear. 
 
 John. Yes, but not that sort of old woman. The 
 kind of old woman I mean is generally a man. I sup- 
 pose you never think of coming back to the Yard, 
 Jack? 
 
 Jack. No, father. I'm very happy here. 
 
 [Janet followed by Hester, George Nor- 
 wood and Cornelius in that order, re- 
 turns.] 
 
 Janet. Captain Cornelius has been showing us the 
 cows and chickens, and Hester's made George promise 
 to buy her a cow when they're married. 
 
 George. I can't think what you want a cow for 
 when you've got a motor-car. 
 
 Janet. Oh, I always think a cow's such a nice 
 thing to have about the house. 
 
 Hester. Besides we'll be able to have our own but- 
 ter and cream and milk. 
 
 George. Yes, but who's going to milk the cow? 
 Me, I suppose. 
 
The Ship 51 
 
 Cornelius. It's not so easy to lose your temper 
 with a dairy as it is with a cow. I say, would anyone 
 like a tot ? 
 
 [He flourishes the whisky-bottle. General 
 murmurs of ''No, thanks/' Everyone, 
 except Cornelius, is now seated.] 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. You don't seem very fond 
 of farming, Captain Cornelius? 
 
 John. You'd rather be doing bigger work, eh? 
 Cornelius. I don't know ! It's not easy to find 
 bigger work. If you tell people you fought in the 
 War, they use it as evidence against you: They 
 think you must be an idiot because you didn't get a 
 soft job in a Government office. Farming's better 
 than nothing, of course. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I'd like to see over the farm. 
 Won't you show it to me, Jack? 
 
 Jack. Certainly, granny! (Offering his arm to 
 her.) You will all come, won't you? 
 
 Hester. Rather! Come along, George. (Hester 
 and George go out.) 
 Jack. Corney, will you bring mother? 
 Cornelius. I'd love to. 
 
 [Old Mrs. Thurlow and Jack go out. 
 
 John. Janet, you go along with Jack. I've changed 
 
 my mind, Cornelius — I will have a tot of that whisky. 
 
 You and I'll have one together, eh? We'll catch you 
 
 up, Janet. 
 
 Cornelius. Oh, but Mrs. Thurlow! . . . 
 Janet. Don't bother about me. Captain Cornelius. 
 I'll be quite all right with the others. (Exit.) 
 
52 The Ship 
 
 [Cornelius fetches the whisky-bottle to the 
 table where John Thurlow is now sit- 
 ting with his back to the door and win- 
 dows.] 
 Cornelius (pouring out the whisky). Say when, 
 sir! 
 
 John (when enough has been poured out). 
 Thanks ! 
 
 Cornelius. Soda ? 
 
 John. Thank you! (Cornelius pours a little of 
 the soda into the glass.) Good heavens, man, it's 
 nearly neat! 
 
 Cornelius (holding up the glass and examining 
 it). Neat! There's no such thing as neat whisky 
 nowadays ! If you have any more soda, it'll taste 
 like buttermilk. 
 
 John. Well, I like buttermilk. Fill it up! 
 
 [Cornelius does so, and then pours out a 
 stiff whisky, with very little soda in it, 
 for himself.] 
 John. You take a pretty stiff glass, Cornelius. 
 There's half a tumbler of raw whisky there! 
 
 Cornelius (raising his glass). Here's luck, sir! 
 John (raising his). Thank you. Same to you! 
 
 [They drink. Cornelius almost empties 
 his glass.] 
 John (putting his glass down and taking out his 
 pipe). So you're not very keen on farming, Cor- 
 nelius? 
 
 Cornelius. No, Vm not keen! . . . 
 
 John. What made you take it up? 
 
 Cornelius. Well, mostly it was Jack. I was in 
 
The Ship 53 
 
 France when he was there, doing a job, and he talked 
 a lot of stuff about leading a natural life that didn't 
 interest me very much. I'd had rather more than my 
 share of the open-air, and I was looking forward to a 
 long, comfortable, fuggy life. But when he began 
 to talk about farming — well, I'd done some digging, 
 you know, and I thought I might as well do that as 
 anything else. 
 
 John. Do you see any prospect of success in this 
 business ? 
 
 Cornelius. It depends on what you mean by suc- 
 cess. There isn't a great fortune in it, but I daresay 
 there's a decent living, once you've got going. Of 
 course, it's slow. 
 
 John. Is Jack content with it? 
 
 Cornelius. Oh, quite ! I sometimes think he'd be 
 annoyed if it were a financial success. 
 
 John. That's nonsense. He couldn't carry on if 
 it didn't pay. 
 
 Cornelius. No, I know that. But he'll be content 
 so long as he can keep himself out of it. Jack's very 
 clever, of course, but he hasn't any common sense. 
 I've seen fellows like him in the War. They nearly 
 always got a posthumous V. C. If they didn't get the 
 Victoria Cross, they were dead certain to get the 
 wooden one. I've no ambition of that sort. All I 
 want is a reasonably decent time. I don't want to in- 
 fluence anybody or to improve anyone's mind, the way 
 Jack does, and I don't want a terrific amount of re- 
 sponsibility. I just want a good time. That's all. It 
 isn't much! 
 
 John. What do you mean by a good time? 
 
54 The Ship 
 
 Cornelius. Well, enough money not to have to 
 bother about things, and not too much work. (Fin- 
 ishes his whisky.) Have another, sir? 
 
 John. No, thanks! I haven't finished this. But 
 don't let me prevent you from having one. (Cor- 
 nelius helps himself to a second glass of whisky.) 
 You'll have trouble in getting a job where there's 
 plenty of money and little work. 
 
 Cornelius. Yes, I've noticed that. 
 
 John. H'm! And you don't see any likelihood of 
 getting a reasonably decent time on this farm, eh? 
 
 Cornelius. As far as I can see, I'm in for a lot 
 of work and very little money. I asked Jack, just be- 
 fore you came, when he thought we'd begin to make 
 a profit, and he said we might clear our expenses by 
 the end of the year. That's damned encouraging, 
 isn't it? 
 
 John. Aren't you a bit indiscreet in telling people 
 you want a soft job? 
 
 Cornelius. I suppose I am, but I'm not going to 
 make any pretence about it. Anyhow, you can't give 
 me a soft job, so there's no good my trying to humbug 
 you. I couldn't build a ship to save my life. Was 
 Jack any good at it? 
 
 John. He was pretty good, as far as he'd gone. 
 
 Cornelius. Mind you, Mr. Thurlow, I don't advo- 
 cate soft jobs for everybody. No ! Only for people 
 who went to the War. That's all ! You see, we 
 chaps had our experience of life crowded into less 
 time than most people. See? (He is now slightly 
 drunk.) It took you about twenty-five years to learn 
 
The Ship 55 
 
 what we had to learn in four years. See ? Well, there 
 ought to be some compensation for that, oughtn't 
 there? And I think the compensation should be a 
 good time. That's what I'm out for, as comfortable 
 and easy a time as possible. A cushy life — that's what 
 I want. 
 
 John (rather outraged by this). That's not a 
 very noble attitude. Captain Cornelius. 
 
 Cornelius. I know it's not. I've given up being 
 noble. When 1 went out to France first, my head 
 was stuffed with noble sentiments. Didn't take me 
 long to get rid of 'em when I got there. Do you know, 
 I read ''Henry the Fifth" before I went out — you know, 
 Shakespeare— and I swallowed all that rot about "We 
 few, we happy few, we band of brothers." (Drinks.) 
 I expected to find everybody full of Christian charity 
 — except the old Boche, of course! I hadn't been 
 there five minutes before I found there was as much 
 intrigue at the Front as there was in England. Every- 
 body trying to get everybody else's job, except the 
 fools like Jack, who got all the dirty and dangerous 
 work to do. Do you know what the private soldier's 
 opinion of human nature is, sir? 
 
 John. No. What is it? 
 
 Cornelius. **I'm all right. To hell with you!" 
 That's about it, don't you think? Barring the fools, 
 of course. 
 
 John. Is that your view? 
 
 Cornelius. It is now, but it wasn't always my 
 view. 
 
 John. H'm! (He sits back in his chair and 
 
56 The Ship 
 
 contemplates Cornelius who finishes his whisky.) 
 
 Cornelius. Shall we go and join the others? 
 
 John. In a minute or two. (Leaning forward with 
 his arms resting on the table. Both men are sitting 
 with their hacks to the door and windows.) Has Jack 
 ever spoken to you about the shipyard? 
 
 Cornelius. Oh, yes, he's talked a lot about it. He's 
 got some damned funny opinions about machinery, old 
 Jack! 
 
 John. Listen to me, Cornelius ! I want him back 
 in the Yard. I've no belief in this tomfoolery of a 
 farm, but even if I had, I want him back. My rea- 
 sons are more easily felt than explained, and anyhow 
 they don't particularly matter to you. I want him 
 back. That's the main point. You're tired of this 
 business. That's so, isn't it? 
 
 Cornelius. Yes, that's quite right. 
 
 John. Well, now, I'm prepared to make a bargain 
 with you. If this farm is a failure, Jack'U come 
 back to the Yard. I know him! He can't stand up 
 to a failure. He must have success. 
 
 Cornelius. But it won't fail. 
 
 John. It can be made to* fail. 
 
 [Jack Thurlow comes to the doorway as 
 John says this. He stops and listens, 
 unperceived.] 
 
 Cornelius. What do you mean? 
 
 John. It can be made to fail. If you'll make it 
 fail, I'll give you a thousand pounds. 
 
 Cornelius. What ? 
 
The Ship 57 
 
 John. I'll give you a thousand pounds if you make 
 this farm fail within the next twelve months. 
 
 Cornelius. My dear Mr. Thurlow, I'm pretty far 
 gone, I know, but not quite so far gone as that. Let- 
 ting a pal down — oh, my dear sir! . . . 
 
 John. You won't be letting him down. You'll be 
 doing him a good turn — curing him of a romantic de- 
 lusion — and bringing him back to his proper place. 
 
 Cornelius. I daresay you could find a good excuse, 
 Mr. Thurlow, for your share in the business, but I 
 shouldn't be able to find one for mine. Oh, no ! 
 
 John. A thousand pounds — that's a pretty good 
 excuse, isn't it, for a man who wants an easy time and 
 plenty of money? 
 
 Cornelius. A thousand pounds is very nice, but 
 damn it . . . oh, no, no! 
 
 John. Well, I'll give you five hundred if you'll 
 clear out at once and leave Jack on his own. 
 
 Cornelius. Five hundred! 
 
 John. Yes. That involves you in nothing that you 
 aren't already willing to do. A thousand if you'll 
 stay and ruin the farm: five hundred if you'll clear 
 out at once and leave Jack to ruin it himself. 
 
 Jack (from the door). Well, Corney, what are 
 you going to do? 
 
 [John Thurlow and Cornelius start up, 
 the latter unsteadily.^ 
 
 Cornelius. I didn't know you were there, old 
 chap. 
 
 Jack. I came back to fetch you both, and overheard 
 
58 The Ship 
 
 father's generous offer. What are you going to do, 
 Corney? Father's waiting for your answer. 
 
 Cornelius. I think I'll take the five hundred, Mr. 
 Thurlow ! That's not playing low, Jack ! As a matter 
 of fact, old chap, if I was to stay on here, I'd really 
 be entitled to the thousand. I'm sure I'd ruin you. 
 
 Jack. You said you'd stand by me ! . . . 
 
 Cornelius. Yes, I know I did, and I'd like to, but 
 really. Jack, I hate the whole damned business. I 
 ought to have married a girl who could keep me in the 
 style I'm accustomed to. You'd much better go back 
 to your father's business! ... 
 
 Jack. No ! No ! Whatever else I do, I won't do 
 that. It isn't very honourable, father, to tempt my 
 friend to betray me ! . . . 
 
 Cornelius. Oh, I say. Jack! . . . 
 
 Jack. Didn't he offer you a thousand pounds to 
 make the farm fail so that I might go cringing back 
 to him? 
 
 Cornelius. He didn't mean that. 
 
 John. Oh, yes, I did. If I want a thing, I want 
 it. That's all ! I want my son back in my Yard, and 
 if I have to starve him into returning, then I'll starve 
 him! 
 
 Cornelius. Well, of course, that a point of view, 
 but it seems a damned silly one to me. 
 
 John. Perhaps, but it's my point of view, and 
 that's good enough for me. When I look at you two 
 young men, I wonder to myself what's to become of 
 this world. {To Cornelius.) You care for nothing 
 but what you call a good time. Easy eating, easy 
 drinking, easy everything, and no responsibility. 
 
The Ship 59 
 
 Cornelius (as if considering this statement). 
 Yes, I think that's a very fair statement of what I 
 want. 
 
 John. Your flippancy, Captain Cornelius, may 
 amuse fools, but it won't carry you very far. 
 
 Cornelius. Mr. Thurlow, will you believe that I'm 
 perfectly serious when I say I don't care where it 
 carries me? Do you think I haven't thought about 
 life, just as much as you and Jack here? (With a 
 sudden and startling burst of passion.) My God, man, 
 don't you realise what men like me have been through ? 
 . . . (He recovers himself.) I say, I'm awfully sorry! 
 I must be drunk. I didn't mean to break out on you 
 like that, Mr. Thurlow, but all the same, it's quite 
 true — I don't care a damn about anything. 
 
 John. That'll do the world a lot of good! 
 
 Cornelius. I don't care. I take no interest in the 
 world. If it's going to blazes, well, let it go. I don't 
 care ! The only thing I want at this minute is the five 
 hundred quid you're going to give me, and as soon as 
 I get it, I'll go off and have a thumping good time 
 while it lasts. See? Sorry, Jack! Sorry, old chap, 
 but this noble Hfe of yours — nothing in it. . . . Do 
 you know I believe I am drunk! I'm talking like a 
 poHtician, so I must be drunk! Do you mind, Mr. 
 Thurlow, letting me have that cheque, and then I'll 
 just go and have a sleep. 
 
 John. I'll send it to you. 
 
 Cornelius. You write it out now and give it to 
 Jack. He's straight. He's a fool, too, but he's straight. 
 He wouldn't be straight if he weren't a fool. I think 
 I'll go and have a sleep now. (He goes towards the 
 
6o The Ship 
 
 door, hut pauses half-way and turns towards them.) 
 Do you know, I lie awake at night hoping there's a 
 heaven, so that chaps Hke Jack may get some reward ? 
 You think that out! (He staggers towards the door, 
 turning to John Thurlow.) Did you say five hun- 
 dred pounds or guineas ? 
 
 John. Pounds! 
 
 Cornelius. Guineas would be better, but still . . . 
 pounds! (He goes off.) 
 
 Jack. Your machine-civilisation, father, made him 
 like that. 
 
 John. Don't be childish ! 
 
 Jack. And then you corrie here and make him 
 drunk and tempt him to betray me! . . . Oh, father, 
 Fm disappointed in you! . . . 
 
 [He sits down in dejection at the table, zuhile 
 his father goes towards the door leading 
 to the garden.] 
 
 John. I've done nothing I'm ashamed of. (At 
 the door.) Here's your grandmother! (Coming hur- 
 riedly to the table.) Jack, don't tell her about the 
 thousand pounds. 
 
 Jack. I thought you weren't ashamed, father! 
 
 John. I'm not, but I don't want her to know that! 
 [Old Mrs. Thurlow enters. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. John, dear, we're all waiting 
 for you. Why, what's the matter? 
 
 John. Oh, the usual argument, mother. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Where's Captain Cornelius? 
 
 John. He's tired, and he's gone to lie down for a 
 while. 
 
The Ship 6i 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I'm afraid you're not telling 
 the truth, John. I suspected there might be trouble 
 here, so I came myself instead of letting the others 
 come. What's the matter, Jack? 
 
 Jack. Ask father, granny. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. John? 
 
 John. It's nothing, mother. Let's go home. I 
 ought not to have come here. I'm not well, and Jack 
 and I are hopelessly out of sympathy with each other. 
 I shan't trouble you again. Jack ! . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. One minute, John! (Sitting 
 down.) I want to know wha>t*s happened. 
 
 John. Nothing of any consequence, mother. Let's 
 go home. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Jack? (Jack turns away, 
 without answering.) Jack, my dear, I'm speaking tO' 
 you. Don't you hear me? 
 
 Jack. I can't tell you, granny. Father must do 
 that. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. John, have you been doing 
 something of which Jack's ashamed? 
 
 John. I've done nothing that any father'd be 
 ashamed of! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. That's not my question, John ! 
 Have you done anything of which your son is 
 ashamed ? 
 
 John. Jack's sentimentality may make him think 
 so! . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Then you did do some- 
 thing? 
 
 JoHiJ (grudgingly). Yes. 
 
62 The Ship 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. What was it? 
 
 John. I . . . well, I offered Cornelius five hun- 
 dred pounds if he'd clear out of this and leave Jack 
 on his own. I thought then he wouldn't be able to 
 carry on the farm and he'd have to come back to the 
 Yard. Jack heard me making the offer, and there was, 
 a row. Cornelius is drunk. He's in there sleeping 
 it off. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Was that all you did ? 
 
 John (zuith a slight hesitation) , Yes, mother. 
 
 Old'Mrs. Thurlow. Is that all. Jack? 
 
 John. Don't you believe me, mother? 
 
 Old' Mrs. Thurlow. No, dear ! Is that all your 
 father did, Jack? 
 
 Jack (catching a look of appeal from his father). 
 Yes, granny. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. All those fierce looks for 
 that! Oh, my dear! (She gets up and goes to him.) 
 
 Jack (almost breaking down). Granny, I'm fright- 
 fully unhappy ! . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow (embracing him as if he were 
 a child) . Poor Jack ! You do so want to be a great 
 man and to assert yourself, don't you? Well, well, 
 you must be allowed to have your way until you get 
 tired of it. Come, come, make up your quarrel with 
 your father. And you, John, try nofto be so impatient 
 and domineering. You've behaved very stupidly. I 
 can't turn my back for a moment but you're blunder- 
 ing. You'll have to let Jack work this out for himself. 
 It's no good trying to force him. Come, Jack! (She 
 tries to lead him to his father.) 
 
The Ship 63 
 
 Jack (resisting her). No, granny, I can't . . . not 
 yet! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. My dear, you're being very 
 obstinate. You're almost as bad as your father. I 
 don't approve of what he did, but it hardly deserves so 
 much condemnation as this. I suppose you didn't do 
 anything else, John? 
 
 John. No, mother. I've told you I didn't. Cor- 
 nelius told me he was tired of the farm, but couldn't 
 give it up because he hadn't any money, and so I 
 offered him five hundred to clear out ! . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Five hundred pounds seems 
 a lot of money to give a man for doing what he wants 
 to do. 
 
 John. You know that I'd pay anything to get Jack 
 back again. 
 
 [The door opens and Cornelius enters. 
 
 Cornelius (to John). I say, couldn't you split 
 the difference between a thousand and five hundred! 
 . . . (Seeing Old Mrs. Thurlow.) Oh, I beg your 
 pardon! I didn't see you, Mrs. Thurlow! I'll come 
 back later. (He turns to go.) 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Captain Cornelius! 
 
 Cornelius (turning to her again). Yes, Mrs. 
 Thurlow ! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Come here! 
 
 Cornelius. It's awfully kind of you, Mrs. Thur- 
 low, but — well, to tell you the truth I'm not really in 
 a fit condition to 'sociate with ladies, so if you'll ex- 
 cuse me! . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I think I can bear your 
 
64 The Ship 
 
 society, Captain Cornelius, whatever your condition 
 may be. 
 
 Cornelius. Well, that's awfully nice of you, but 
 really. . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Sit down, please. 
 
 Cornelius. But the others aren't sitting down. {To 
 John and Jack, appealingly.) I say, is there a strafe 
 on? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow {indicating a chair). Sit here, 
 Captain Cornelius, beside me. {She sits down.) 
 
 Cornelius. Thanks awfully ! {He sits down.) I 
 say, won't you other chaps sit down? The solemn 
 way you're all standing about makes me feel as if I 
 were being court-martialled. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Don't trouble about them, 
 Captain Cornelius. Just listen to me! 
 
 Cornelius. Very good, Mrs. Thurlow ! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. My son made an offer of 
 money to you. 
 
 Cornelius. Yes. Yes, that's quite right — he did! 
 He offered me . . . 
 
 Jack {interrupting him). Five hundred pounds to 
 clear out of this and leave me on my own. And you 
 wanted a thousand ! 
 
 Cornelius. A thousand, yes. Yes, I wanted a 
 thousand! But wait a minute — that isn't quite . . . 
 I'm awfully sorry, Mrs. Thurlow, but I'm not really 
 myself, you know. What are we talking about? 
 
 Jack. Father offered you five hundred pounds to 
 chuck the farm, and you wanted a thousand. That's 
 all! 
 
The Ship 65 
 
 Cornelius (bewildered) . That's not right, is it? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Then what is right? 
 
 Jack. I overheard the offer, granny. There isn't 
 anything else. 
 
 Cornelius {rising and staggering towards Jack). 
 But . . . 
 
 Jack (very emphatically). You wanted a thousand 
 to clear out, and father wouldn't pay more than five 
 hundred. That's all. 
 
 Cornelius. Yes, that's right, Jack. That's quite 
 right! I thought perhaps he'd split the difference. 
 {Turning to Old Mrs. Thurlow.) That's quite right, 
 Mrs. Thurlow ! I'm sorry I interrupted little family 
 discussion! Very sorry! . . . {He staggers out 
 again). 
 
 John. Come, mother ! We'd better go. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I don't like to see you parting 
 like this ! The whole thing seems so queer ! Aren't 
 you going to give us any tea, Jack? 
 
 Jack. Yes, granny, I want to, but . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Aren't you being very hard 
 on your father, dear? 
 
 Jack. I'm sorry, granny! 
 
 John. I think we'd better not stay, mother. We 
 can get tea on the way back. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. But the others — won't they 
 think it odd ? 
 
 John. We can make some excuse. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Very well. I'm sorry our 
 excursion has ended like this. I don't quite under- 
 stand ! I thought you'd done something serious, John, 
 
66 The Ship 
 
 but ... I hoped you'd feel a little more charitable, 
 Jack. I'm very disappointed . . . 
 
 [Janet and Hester and George enter, 
 
 Janet. Aren't you coming to see the farm? 
 
 John. No, we're going home. 
 
 Janet. Going home ! Already ! 
 
 Hester. We've only just come, father. 
 
 John. We're going home, my dear. Jack and I 
 have had a disagreement, and we're going home. 
 George, you and Hester go on ahead, will you? 
 
 George. Very good, sir. (Going to Jack.) Good- 
 bye, Jack, old chap ! 
 
 Jack (shaking hands with him). Good-bye, 
 George. 
 
 George. Come on, Hester! (He goes out.) 
 
 Hester. But I don't want to go yet ! 
 
 John. Do as you're told. 
 
 Hester (after a moment's hesitation). Good-bye, 
 Jack. (She kisses him.) 
 
 Jack. Good-bye, Hester ! 
 
 Hester. I'll come and see you again soon. I think 
 it's a very nice farm. (Exit.) 
 
 Janet. What's happened? 
 
 John. Nothing. Come along, mother! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I'll come in a moment. 
 
 [John Thurlow turns to Janet, indicating 
 that she should go before him.] 
 
 Janet. But Jack — I want Jack I . . . 
 
 [Thurlow puts her arm in his and leads her 
 out. Old Mrs. Thurlow goes to Jack, 
 and puts her hand on his shoulder.] 
 
The Ship 67 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Was that really all, Jack? 
 Jack. Yes, granny! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Such a pity — such a pity! 
 (She kisses him.) 
 
 Jack (holding her to him). Granny, I'm not really 
 uncharitable ! . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Aren't you, dear? 
 Jack. No. Only! . . . Oh, well! (He turns 
 away from her.) 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Good-bye, my dear! 
 Jack. Good-bye, granny! 
 
 [She goes towards the door. She stops for 
 a moment, as if thinking, but does not 
 turn back. Then she goes out. 
 
 Jack stands still until he hears the 
 sound of the motors moving off. Then 
 he goes to the door and looks after 
 them.] 
 
ACT THREE 
 
THE THIRD ACT 
 
 Scene I 
 
 The scene is the same as that of the first act, but the 
 time is three months later than the second act, in 
 the early summer, and the afternoon sunshine 
 pouring through the open windows makes the 
 room look very attractive, particularly as the eye 
 rests here and there on bowls of flowers plucked 
 that morning. Old Mrs. Thurlow is sitting 
 alone, just out of the sunlight, but zveil within 
 sight of the garden. She is reading at random 
 in a book of verse by Edmund Waller, and as the 
 scene begins she finds this poem, entitled ''On the 
 Picture of a Fair Youth, taken after he was dead," 
 which she reads aloud: 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow {reading). 
 As gathered flowers, while their wounds are new, 
 Look gay and fresh, as on the stalk they grew; 
 Torn from the root that nourished them, awhile 
 (Not taking notice of their fate) they smile, 
 And, in the hand which rudely plucked them, show 
 Fairer than those that to their autumn grow ; 
 So love and beauty still that visage grace ; 
 Death cannot fright them from their wonted place. 
 
 71 
 
72 The Ship 
 
 Alive, the hand of crooked Age had marred 
 
 Those lovely features, which cold death has spared 
 
 [She puts down the book, and turns to a bowl 
 of Homers which she draws towards her. 
 She touches them very gently, and mur- 
 murs a line or two from Waller's poem. 
 Quoting.] 
 And, in the hand which rudely plucked them, show 
 Fairer than those that to their autumn grow. 
 
 [The door opens and Jack Thurlow enters. 
 He wears the clothes in which zve saw 
 him in the second act. Old Mrs. Thur- 
 low rises eagerly to greet him.] 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Jack, dear, I'm so glad youVe 
 come. 
 
 Jack (kissing her). Is he very ill? 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. He's ill, of course, but he's 
 more troubled than ill. Dr. Jordan has forbidden him 
 to go on the "Magnificent's" maiden trip ! . . . 
 Jack. Good heavens! He must be pretty bad! 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. It's a terrible blow for him. 
 He's so proud of the "Magnificent," and this coming 
 on top of your desertion ! . . . 
 Jack. Desertion, granny! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. That's how he feels about it. 
 Jack. He doesn't say much, but I know that he broods 
 over it. You've never been to the Yard once since 
 the boat was launched. That hurts his pride, my dear ! 
 You take no interest in his greatest achievement, and 
 you're his only son. You've not been here since that 
 Sunday we went to see your farm. 
 Jack. I know! 
 
The Ship 73 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. It seems a little stubborn of 
 you, Jack! I didn't realise that you were so hard. I 
 thought that when Hester and George got married your 
 father'd feel less grieved about you, but I'm afraid he 
 doesn't. 
 
 Jack. Granny, you believe me, don't you, when I 
 say that I love my father? . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, dear, I do. 
 
 Jack. I'd gladly do anything in my power for him, 
 but I can't do this. It's against everything that I be- 
 lieve and feel, and when I think sometimes of going 
 back to the Yard, because I know he wants me to, 
 something inside me tells me I shall betray myself if 
 I go. Father can't see my point of view — won't see 
 it. Well, that can't be helped ! I'm sorry, but it can't 
 be helped. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Has Captain Cornelius left 
 you? 
 
 Jack. Yes, he's gone to Australia. I thought I 
 should miss him more than I do, but I've managed to 
 get on fairly well without him. I think my farm's 
 going to be a success. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I hope so, dear. 
 
 Jack (picking up her book). What are you read- 
 ing, granny? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Some of Edmund Waller's 
 poetry, Jack. A very charming poet — a little artificial, 
 perhaps, but very charming. 
 
 Jack. I don't read poetry. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, dear! Fve often noticed 
 that farmers seldom do. I'm rather anxious about you, 
 Jack. 
 
74 The Ship 
 
 Jack. About me? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, rm wondering whether 
 you'll always be a prig! 
 
 Jack. A prig! Me! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I like to think of young men 
 being very self-opinionated and revolutionary. They 
 ought to be saying wild things when they're twenty- 
 one, but I don't think they ought to be saying them 
 when they're thirty, and I'm sure they oughtn't to be 
 saying them when they're forty. What I'm sometimes 
 afraid of is that you'll still be saying when you're 
 middle-aged the things which were quite right for you 
 to be saying when you were a boy — and you know, 
 Jack, things which sound very clever at twenty-one 
 sound very silly at forty. 
 
 Jack. I'm not trying to be clever, granny. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Well, then, there's hope for 
 you, dear! I don't think anyone has a right to be a 
 clever young man after the age of thirty. 
 
 Jack. Why does father want to see me? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. It's about the "Magnifi- 
 cent" ! 
 
 Jack (impatiently). Oh, what's the use, granny! 
 I may be a prig and a fool and all the things you say 
 I am ... 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, no, dear, I didn't say you 
 were a prig or a fool. I only said I hoped you wouldn't 
 be either the one or the other. 
 
 Jack. Well, if I am, I am. I can't help it. And 
 it's perfectly useless for father to try to persuade me 
 to go back to the Yard. I won't go. 
 
The Ship 75 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. That isn't why your father 
 sent for you, Jack. 
 
 Jack. Oh! Then why did he send for me? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. He seems reconciled to the 
 fact that you won't return to the Yard — at least he 
 talks now as if he were! . . . (The door opens and 
 Janet enters.) Oh, here's your mother! 
 
 Janet (going to Jack and embracing him). Jack, 
 dear, your father's coming down. Promise me you'll 
 do what he wants ! 
 
 Jack. I must know what it is first. 
 
 Janet. Oh, why do you always expect your father 
 to explain things to you ! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. He wants you to take his 
 place on the "Magnificent" . . . 
 
 Janet (interrupting). Yes, dear, on her maiden 
 trip. He's been forbidden to go himself. Dr. Jor- 
 dan's very arbitrary, but of course he's a specialist, 
 and if he weren't arbitrary nobody would believe he 
 was a specialist! . . . 
 
 [The door opens and John Thurlow, wear- 
 ing a dressing-gown and bedroom slip- 
 pers, enters. He has a graver and more 
 haggard look than when we last saw 
 him.] 
 
 John. That you. Jack? 
 
 Jack. Yes, father! 
 
 John (sitting down). Feeling all right? 
 
 Jack. Yes, thank you. I'm sorry you're not well, 
 father ! 
 
 John (with nervotis irritability). Yes, yes, yes! 
 
76 The Ship 
 
 . . . {Recovering himself.) Has your grandmother 
 told you what I want you to do? 
 
 Jack. Partly, father, but I don't quite understand. 
 You want me to go on the "Magnificent" ! . . . 
 
 John. Yes — in my place. My illness has been a 
 bitter disappointment to me, Jack — one of the worst 
 blows I've ever had. I'd set my heart on going on 
 the "Magnificent's" maiden trip, but Jordan's abso- 
 lutely forbidden it. Overwork, he says! Nervous 
 breakdown! . . . Everybody who's had anything to 
 do with her will be there — except me, the man who 
 made her! . . . You don't realise how I've imagined 
 her sailing up New York Harbour, with all the other 
 ships sounding their syrens to welcome her. I've seen 
 myself — oh, a thousand times I've seen myself on the 
 bridge beside the captain, taking my ship to her berth ! 
 . . . And Jordan says I can't go, I mustn't go! . . . 
 {His weakened nerves almost cause him to break 
 down, hut after a moment of emotion, he recovers him- 
 self.) Oh, well, it can't be helped, can it? I'm dis- 
 appointed, but . . . {He makes a gesture of resigna- 
 tion.) It can't be helped! But if I don't go there 
 won't be a Thurlow on board ! You see, Jack ? There 
 won't be a Thurlow on board! That doesn't seem 
 right, does it? I ought to be there, but if I'm not 
 allowed to go, someone of my name ought to go, don't 
 you think? So I sent for you, Jack. I want you to 
 take my place. That's all! I won't ask you to come 
 back to the Yard — though God knows I'd give anything 
 to have you there. All I ask of you is that you'll 
 gratify me to this extent. You and I are the only 
 Thurlows left! . . . 
 
The Ship 77 
 
 Janet. Oh, John, there's granny and Hester . . . 
 and me! . . . 
 
 John. Fm talking about men — not women! (To 
 Jack.) If you don't go. Jack, I'll either have to go 
 myself . . . 
 
 Janet. You can't, dear! 
 
 John (ignoring the interruption). Or else the 
 "Magnificent" will take her maiden trip without a 
 Thurlow on board. 
 
 Jack. Would that matter, father? 
 
 John. Matter! . . . My best boat to go out for 
 the first time, and none of us on board ! You must 
 see that wouldn't be right. 
 
 Jack. Can't George go ? He's one of us now. 
 
 John. No, he's not. Hester's one of his family! 
 That's what's happened to her! You'll go, won't you, 
 Jack? 
 
 Jack. How long shall I be away? 
 
 John. Not more than a fortnight — ^three weeks at 
 the outside. 
 
 Jack. Three weeks ! Oh, I can't, father ! 
 
 John. Why — why can't you? 
 
 Jack. I can't leave my farm at this time of the 
 year for three weeks! . . . 
 
 John (losing control of himself). Damn your 
 farm ! What does it matter ? 
 
 Jack. It matters a great deal to me, father ! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. John, dear. Jack's farm is 
 just as important to him as your shipyard is to you. 
 I think you ought to make allowance for that. 
 
 John. Is he making any allowance for me? 
 
 Jack. I can't see why it's so important for a Thur- 
 
78 The Ship 
 
 low, to be on board. She won't sail any the better for 
 that. 
 
 John. That's the trouble with you ! You've never 
 been able to see anything but what you wanted to see. 
 
 Jack. I'm certainly not going to run the risk of 
 ruining my farm for a piece of sentimentality. That's 
 all it is, father. Sentimentality! 
 
 John. Does that make it any the less real? Do 
 you think that sentimentality, as you call it, doesn't 
 move a man's heart just as strongly as anything else? 
 My God, I wish I weren't sick! I wouldn't go, hat 
 in hand to you, my boy . . . not for anything . . . 
 not for anything! And then I'm refused because 
 you've got to make hay or feed your damned chickens. 
 Ha ! That's more important than my ship ! 
 
 Janet. Why don't you do something that your 
 father asks you. Jack? You seem always to be op- 
 posing him. 
 
 John. Yes, my own son — I daren't ask him to do 
 anything for me because he's certain to refuse! 
 Strangers! Oh, yes, they'll do things for me — glad 
 to do them. George Norwood would give his soul for 
 me. But my own son . . . my only son ... oh, no, 
 I mustn't expect him to do anything at all — except 
 refuse me everything I ask. 
 
 Jack. You always assume that what I'm doing 
 doesn't matter. Your whims are more important than 
 my work. I won't go, father ! 
 
 John (with bitter sarcasm). Ha! My only son! 
 
 Jack. You've done your best to spoil my farm. It 
 isn't any thanks to you that I've kept my end up. I 
 
The Ship 79 
 
 haven't forgotten all that happened when you came to 
 see me ! That cancelled a good deal of my obligation 
 to you. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Because your father offered 
 Captain Cornelius money to do what he'd already made 
 up his mind to do? Because of that, Jack? 
 
 Jack (after a moment's hesitation). Yes, granny! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. My dear, you're . . . vindic- 
 tive! 
 
 John. That isn't all, mother! I asked him not to 
 tell you, but I don't know that it matters very much. 
 I'm not ashamed of it! . . . 
 
 Jack. There's no need, father! . . , 
 
 John (to his mother). I offered Cornelius a thou- 
 sand pounds if he'd make the farm fail — so that I 
 could get Jack back to the Yard. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yo\i tried to bribe Captain 
 Cornelius to ruin Jack's farm? 
 
 John. Yes. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. But you said ... Jack, you 
 said . . . 
 
 John. I asked him not to tell you. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, John, that was mean of 
 you . . . mean! 
 
 John. I'm not ashamed of what I did. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Then why did you ask him 
 not to tell me? 
 
 John. Because I knew you wouldn't like it, and I 
 didn't want to hurt you. I've often not done a thing 
 — or kept it from you — not because I thought it was 
 wrong — I didn't — but because I knew you'd think it 
 
8o The Ship 
 
 was wrong, and I didn't want to hurt you. Every- 
 body does things hke that! That's moraHty . . . 
 hiding things that you don't think are wrong from 
 people who do think they're wrong! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow {going to Jack). Oh, and I've 
 misjudged you so, my dear! 
 
 Jack. It's all right, granny. I knew you didn't 
 understand. 
 
 [He leads her hack to her seat. 
 
 John. You won't take my place on the ''Magnifi- 
 cent," Jack? 
 
 Jack. No, father. I'd be willing to do so if it were 
 important, but it isn't ! 
 
 John. Isn't it horrible to have a son who belittles 
 everything that matters to you! 
 
 Janet. You'd better let George and Hester go, 
 John! 
 
 John. No, no! It must be either Jack or me ! And 
 since he won't go, well, I will ! 
 
 Janet. But Dr. Jordan says you mustn't go. 
 
 John. I don't care what Jordan says. Jack thinks 
 this wish of mine is just silly sentiment. Well, men 
 have died for silly sentiment, haven't they? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Don't be stupid, John! 
 
 John. Mother, you know me ! I swear that I'll go 
 on the "Magnificent," even if I'm carried on to her, 
 unless Jack takes my place. Now, Master Jack, what's 
 your answer to that ? 
 
 Janet. You'll die, if you go. 
 
 John. Well, I can die then — on my ship ! 
 
 [There is a slight pause. 
 
The Ship 8i 
 
 Jack. All right, father ! I'll go ! 
 
 John. You'll go ! . . . 
 
 Jack. Yes. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow (going to him). My dear, 
 that's very fine of you! {To her son.) You don't de- 
 serve it, John. 
 
 John. Thank you, Jack. (To his mother.) I may 
 not deserve it, mother, but I'm very grateful ! . . . 
 
 Janet. But what about the farm ? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Can't we get someone to look 
 after it for you, Jack, while you're away? 
 
 John. Yes, we can do that. I'll pay — whatever 
 it is. 
 
 Jack. I don't want you to pay, father. I'll manage 
 my own farm. 
 
 John. Very well, my boy. I can't tell you how glad 
 I am! . . . 
 
 Jack. There's no need to tell me. I'm not going 
 because I want to, but because you've forced me. 
 When am I to be ready? 
 
 John. She sails on Tuesday. 
 
 Jack. That gives me two days. 
 
 [He goes towards the door. 
 
 Janet. Aren't you going to stay to dinner, Jack ? 
 
 Jack. No, thanks, mother! I want to go home! 
 (Exit.) 
 
 Janet (hurrying after him). I can't let him go like 
 that! 
 
 [Old Mrs. Thurlow is back in the seat 
 where we saw her at the beginning of 
 the scene. She has picked up the volume 
 
82 The Ship 
 
 of Waller^s verses and is reading it 
 aloud. Her son sits at the table, vaguely 
 listening. ] 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow (reading.) 
 As gathered flowers, while their wounds are new, 
 Look gay and fresh, as on the stalk they grew ; 
 Torn from the root that nourished them, awhile 
 (Not taking notice of their fate) they smile, 
 And, in the hand which rudely plucked them, show 
 Fairer than those that to their autumn grow ; 
 So love and beauty still that visage grace ; 
 Death cannot fright them from their wonted place. 
 Alive, the hand of crooked Age had marred 
 Those lovely features, which cold death has spared. . . . 
 
 John (interrupting her). What's that, mother? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow (quoting) . . . the hand of 
 crooked Age had marred Those lovely features! . . . 
 Just a poem, my dear! I wonder if we old people are 
 ever quite fair to the young. 
 
 John. Are they ever fair to us? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Are any of us fair to each 
 other ? 
 
 John. I suppose you feel bitter against me, too, 
 mother, because I tried to bribe Cornelius? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Bitter, dear? 
 
 John. Yes. You said you were disappointed in 
 me. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow (going to him). My dear, I 
 don't love you only when you please me. I still love 
 you even when you disappoint me. That's what love's 
 for. isn't it? 
 
The Ship 83 
 
 [She turns his face up to hers and kisses 
 him.] 
 
 Scene II 
 
 The scene is a corner of the garden of Thurlow's 
 country-house five days later. The corner is 
 sunny, and John Thurlow often goes there for 
 warmth and air. There is a seat, shaded by a 
 tree, in the corner, and here, when the curtain 
 rises, John Thurlow is sitting. Old Mrs. 
 Thurlow comes to him from the house which 
 cannot he seen. 
 
 John {anxiously). Well, mother? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Nothing yet, dear. {She sits 
 down beside him.) 
 
 John. Damn George! What's he thinking about? 
 He knows I'm all pins and needles for the latest mes- 
 sages. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. My dear, you mustn't get so 
 excited. George probably has some very good reason 
 for not telephoning this morning. You had all the 
 messages up to yesterday evening! . . . 
 
 John. Yes, yes, I know, mother. I'm sorry, but 
 I'm so jumpy. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. You're very pleased, aren't 
 you, with her record so far? 
 
 John {with pleasure). Yes, I am. She's been won- 
 derful. Wonderful ! Three days out now ! She must 
 be nearly there. I can imagine her presently sighting 
 
84 The Ship 
 
 Nantucket, and all the passengers looking eagerly for 
 the flat American coast. I wish I were there! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Well, dear, you've almost 
 been there, what with wireless messages and your own 
 imagination. Why, you've almost seen her going 
 across ! 
 
 John. Yes, that's true. She's exceeded my hopes, 
 mother. It won't be easy to break her record. I 
 can't think why George doesn't send the latest mes- 
 sages. It's so funny to be late with them now. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. He's a little anxious about 
 Hester. 
 
 John. Anxious about Hester! What's there to be 
 anxious about? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, John, dear, don't you 
 guess ? 
 
 John. No. {Then as he understands.) Do you 
 mean to say . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, dear. Hester's going to 
 have a baby. 
 
 John. How strange that seems! My little Hester! 
 . . . We must have her here, mother. The baby ought 
 to be born in my house — my grandchild ought to be 
 born here. {Turning to her with a laugh.) Do you 
 realise that you'll be a great-grandmother? Great- 
 grandmother ! You know, you're beginning to get old. 
 You'll have to get a little more sedate in your ways, 
 mother. (Old Mrs. Thurlow gives a little laugh of 
 satisfaction.) And I shall be a grandfather! That 
 makes me feel a bit . . . ancient ! I hope to God it's 
 a boy. We'll have him in the Yard — a shipbuilder. 
 
The Ship 85 
 
 ha, ha, like his father! And his grandfather! Eh? 
 Where is Hester ? Is she here ? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Don't go to her yet? She's 
 with Janet. She came out this morning to tell us. 
 
 John. Janet'll be pleased, — as pleased as I am. It's 
 extraordinary, mother; I feel as proud as if I were 
 going to be a father instead of just a grandfather. 
 How do you account for that ? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I don't quite know, dear. I 
 felt like that about Jack and Hester, but that was 
 understandable. A granny has all the pleasures of 
 motherhood without any of the pains. I expect I shall 
 feel just the same about Hester's Httle child as I felt 
 about her— as I felt about you, dear. You are my 
 ships, all of you, going out on long, difficult journeys 
 to strange places, little ships and big ships that I made, 
 that I love. 
 
 John. You're a wonderful old woman, mother ! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, no, I'm not. I'm just 
 your mother. That's all. 
 
 John. Yes, but you're different from other men's 
 mothers. You're different altogether. I'm sixty-two, 
 but somehow you make me feel as if I were still a 
 boy. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Do I, dear? And aren't you 
 still a boy — with your enthusiasms and your impatience 
 and your wanting the impossible. 
 
 John. I've never wanted the impossible. I'm a 
 perfectly reasonable man— always have been. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, no, you haven't. I re- 
 member when you were a very little boy, John, I lifted 
 
86 The Ship 
 
 you up in my arms one evening, so that you could see 
 the sun set. And as it went down, I said to you, "Now, 
 dear, watch ! Going ! Going ! ! Gone ! ! !" And then 
 the sun set, and you turned to me, with extraordinary 
 confidence, and you said, "Do it again, mammy!" 
 John. And did you do it again? 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I had to pretend I could only 
 do it once a day. You've always been rather like that, 
 John! 
 
 John {very pleased). Ha, ha, that's a good story, 
 that ! Do it again, mammy ! That's good, that ! 
 
 [Old Mrs. Thurlow suddenly rises. 
 John. What is it, mother? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. I thought I heard someone! 
 . . . I'll go and see ! . . . 
 
 [She goes off, leaving him alone. He rises 
 and stretches, and then seats himself 
 more comfortably.] 
 John (to himself). Fancy my little Hester having 
 a baby ! She's only a child herself ! . . . 
 
 [Old Mrs. Thurlow returns. There is a 
 look of terrible grief on her face.] 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. John ! John I ! 
 John. My God, mother, what's wrong? 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, John, John ! . . . 
 John (going to her). Mother, what's happened? 
 [George Norwood, as distraught as Old 
 Mrs. Thurlow, enters. Old Mrs. 
 Thurlow sits down.] 
 George Norwood. Oh, sir ! 
 
 John. What's happened! What in the name of 
 God has happened? 
 
The Ship 87 
 
 George. The boat, sir . . . the "Magnificent" ! . . . 
 
 John. Yes. Yes! What about her? Why didn't 
 you send me the wireless messages sooner? 
 
 George. She's gone down, sir ! 
 
 John. Gone down! My ship . . . my ship . . . 
 sunk ! 
 
 George. Yes, sir. That's why I couldn't send a 
 message to you earlier. There weren't any from the 
 ship. She struck an iceberg and went down in twenty 
 minutes. We've just got the news from a rescuer. I 
 came out at once ! . . . 
 
 John {half -stunned) . My God! . . . My God, 
 she's gone down . . . my ship! {He looks about him 
 in a dased manner.) Oh, no! No, no. No, no, no, 
 NO ! It's not true, it's not true ! She couldn't sink. 
 She was unsinkable ! . . . 
 
 [Janet comes in, and the expression on 
 her face shows that she has heard the 
 news. ] 
 
 Janet. John ! John ! . . . 
 
 John {rising and going to her). It's not true, Janet. 
 It can't be true. 
 
 George. It is true, sir. I wish to God it weren't. 
 
 John. Oh, Janet, my ship! 
 
 Janet. John . . . my son! 
 
 John. Jack! Jack? What — what's happened to 
 Jack? 
 
 George. I think he's drowned, sir! 
 
 John. Drowned ! 
 
 [Janet, sobbing, turns away from him and 
 he stands, as if he zuere stunned, staring 
 uncomprehendingly at George, Then he 
 
88 The Ship 
 
 goes to George and touches him on the 
 sleeve. ] 
 John. My son! What did you say? 
 George. Oh, sir, he's been . . . 
 John. Drowned! {He sways a little and puts his 
 hand to his eyes.) Oh, my God! . . . my God! 
 
 [He turns to Old Mrs. Thurlow, mumbling 
 brokenly, and as she opens her arms to 
 him, he falls heavily into them.] 
 
 Scene III 
 
 The scene is the same as that of the first act, several 
 hours after the time of the second scene of this 
 act. The room is quite dark. Presently the door 
 opens, and John Thurlow, in his dressing-gown, 
 enters. He switches on one of the lights, and then 
 gases about the room until he sees the model of 
 the ''Magnificent.^' He goes to it and, with an 
 effort, lifts it from its place and carries it to the 
 table in the centre of the room, where he puts it 
 down. He stands looking at it for a few moments, 
 and then, sighing heavily, goes to the long win- 
 dows, and pulls back the curtains, admitting the 
 moonlight. He opens the windows and goes a 
 little way into the garden, but not out of sight of 
 the audience, zuhere he remains for a while. Then 
 he returns to the room, leaving the windows 
 wide open, and sits down at the table where the 
 model is. 
 
The Ship 89 
 
 John (almost fondling the model). What was 
 wrong? WJiat was wrong? 
 
 [He listens, almost as if he expected the boat 
 to ansiver. Then he gets up and goes 
 out of the room. In a few seconds he 
 returns, carrying a revolver, which he 
 examines, when he has re-seated himself, 
 to see whether it is loaded. Evidently he 
 is satisfied, for he rises and stands in the 
 attitude of a man taking farewell. He 
 lifts the revolver and looks at it in a 
 fascinated fashion, and then, with an 
 effort, raises it towards his head. But 
 before he can raise it far, he hears the 
 sound of footsteps, and he stops to listen. 
 Then he puts the revolver on the table 
 and, going swiftly to the switch, turns off 
 the light. He comes down again in the 
 dark and stands in the shadow. 
 
 The door opens, and Old Mrs. Thur- 
 Low, fully clothed, comes in. She stands 
 in the doorzmy, through which a beam of 
 light comes, and listens. Then she 
 speaks.] 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. John! (He does not an- 
 swer.) John. 
 
 [She turns on the light and sees him. 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. What's the matter? Why 
 didn't you answer? 
 
 John. I want to be alone, mother. Why haven't 
 you gone to bed? You're still dressed. 
 
90 The Ship 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, dear, Vm still dressed. 
 I've been with Janet. What are you doing, John ? 
 
 John. Thinking, mother ! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. You've moved the model. 
 
 John. Yes. I ... I wanted to look at it. I can't 
 understand what went wrong. I think and think and 
 think! . . . How's Janet? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. She's quieter now. Hester's 
 sitting with her. Poor Janet. 
 
 John. Yes . . . poor Janet! You heard what she 
 said to me? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Oh, my dear, she didn't know 
 what she was saying. (She sits near him.) 
 
 John. She's right, mother. I killed Jack just as 
 surely as if I'd stabbed him. I made him go against 
 his will. I forced him to . . . to his death ! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow (putting her arms about him 
 and drawing him close to her). You mustn't talk like 
 that, John ! Why, you're cold, dear ! You're shiver- 
 ing! (She looks across the room to the open win- 
 dows.) The windows are open. I'll go and shut them. 
 
 John. I'm not cold. 
 
 [He gets up and moves away and as he does 
 so, she sees the revolver lying on the 
 table. She picks it up.] 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow (horrified). John! 
 
 John (turning to her). What is it, mother? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow (holding out the revolver). 
 Oh, John, John ! . . . 
 
 [She sits dozvn, the revolver still in her hand, 
 unable to speak.] 
 
The Ship 91 
 
 John. Well, mother, I ... oh, what's the use, 
 mother ? I've lost everything, my ship, my son ! . . . 
 
 [He sits down by the model, on the other side 
 of the table, from her.] 
 
 John. You saw the last message George brought 
 to-night ? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes. 
 
 John. Do you remember what was in it? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. About Jack? 
 
 John. Yes. The message about the man who tried 
 to get him to leave the boat. Jack said to him, **My 
 father built this ship, and if he were here, he'd go down 
 with her. I've taken his place, and I must do what he 
 would wish." . . . Oh, my God, my God! 
 
 [He is unable to proceed for a moment or 
 tzvo. Then he gets up and goes to the 
 windows, and leans against one of them.] 
 
 John. It seems such a little while ago since he was 
 here. Five days! And now he's dead, tossing about 
 somewhere in the sea. . . . And I made him go. I 
 wouldn't listen to him. ... I wouldn't let him have 
 his life. ... I took it from him! . . . (Coming back 
 to Old Mrs. Thurlow.) Oh, mother, what am I to 
 do now? There's nothing left. All I've done is . . . 
 useless now. I've failed. Great machines, eating up 
 people's lives! That's what Jack said. I couldn't 
 understand him! I thought he was foolish! . . . I've 
 been wrong, mother ! We've all been wrong. We've 
 made men less than machines . . . that's what he said 
 . . . and I made him less than my machine . . . this 
 ship! . . . (He rests his hands on the model.) I 
 
92 The Ship 
 
 wonder why we always hunt the young . . . hunt 
 them ! . . . 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. John, you've never yielded to 
 anything, have you? 
 
 John. No, mother, not if I could help it. 
 
 Old Mrs. Tiiurlow. But you're yielding now. 
 
 John. Yielding? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes. You were wrong about 
 Jack, but he was wrong about you. Oh, my dear, if 
 you'd only met each other half-way. We old people 
 won't let the young live until they're old, too, and then 
 it's too late to live. We always behave as if we were 
 right and the other people were wrong, but none of us 
 are right and none of us are wrong. That's why we 
 have to meet each other half-way. Jack and you 
 wouldn't do that, John ! . . . 
 
 John. And I took his life from him. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, but you won't compen- 
 sate him by taking your own life. You owe him more 
 than that, John. You must pay him for your wrong 
 with your right. 
 
 John. How? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Go on with your work! 
 That's right. He'd have known it was right if he'd 
 lived. You've lost your ship, John. Well, build 
 another one. 
 
 John. I can't bring my son back to life. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. No, you can't do that. But 
 you can pass on your work to the next Thurlow. 
 
 John. The next Thurlow ! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes. There'll soon be another 
 Thurlow ! I told you this morning about Hester ! . . .,j 
 
The Ship 93 
 
 John (almost in a whisper). Hester! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. If Hester has a son, he will 
 build ships like you. And you'll teach him how to 
 build them, John? 
 
 John. My grandson ! 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. You've got to keep Thurlow's 
 where you put it until he is ready to take it from you. 
 And we won't make the same mistake about him that 
 we made about Jack, will we ? Come here, my dear ! 
 (She draws him dozun so that he is kneeling beside her 
 with his head on her shoulder.) We haven't any 
 right to run away, John. We must go on and face 
 things ! . . . 
 
 John. You've more courage than any of us, mother. 
 You're the real Thurlow — you always want to go on. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Well, it's better to go on, isn't 
 it, than to go back? I don't know where we're going 
 to, but we've got to go. 
 
 [They are silent for a moment or two. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Won't you go to bed now, 
 John? It's very late. 
 
 [He rises to his feet. 
 
 John. Very well, mother. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. You won't leave me, John ? 
 
 John. Leave you, mother? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes. You said I was the real 
 Thurlow — always wanting to go on. I don't want to 
 go alone, John. You won't leave me? 
 
 John. No, mother. 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow (handing the revolver to him). 
 Then will you please put this away somewhere and for- 
 get about it. 
 
94 The Ship 
 
 John. You trust me, mother? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. Yes, dear. 
 
 John (kissing her). Good-night. (He goes 
 towards the door and then turns to speak to her.) 
 Aren't you going to bed ? 
 
 Old Mrs. Thurlow. In a little while. Good-night, 
 dear. 
 
 John. Good-night, mother ! 
 
 [He goes out, and she remains for a few 
 moments in her seat, without stirring. 
 Suddenly she yields to her tears, and for 
 a moment or two she abandons herself 
 to grief. Then she recovers herself, and 
 gets up and goes to the open windows 
 and shuts them. But she does not drazv 
 the curtains. She stands for a moment 
 or two in the moonlight, looking into the 
 garden. Then she crosses the room to 
 where the switch is and turns out the 
 light. She opens the door and goes out 
 of the room, shutting the door behind her. 
 There is quietness. The play ends.\ 
 
Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: June 2009 
 
 PreservationTechnologies 
 
 A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 
 
 111 Thomson Park Drive 
 Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
 (724)779-2111 
 
,«,'>3RfiS«aS<Q>iH?>-