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BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 VILLA RUBEIN, and Other Stories 
 
 THE ISLAND PHARISEES 
 
 THE MAN OF PROPERTY 
 
 THE COUNTRY HOUSE 
 
 FRATERNITY 
 
 THE PATRICIAN 
 
 THE DARK FLOWER 
 
 THE FREELANDS 
 
 BEYOND 
 
 five tales 
 saint's progress 
 tatterdemalion 
 
 A COMMENTARY 
 
 A MOTLEY 
 
 THE INN OP TRANQUILLITY 
 
 THE LITTLE MAN, and Other Satires 
 
 A SHEAF 
 
 ANOTHER SHEAF 
 
 ADDRESSES IN AMERICA: 1919 
 
 plays: FIRST SERIES 
 
 and Separately 
 THE SILVER BOX 
 JOY 
 STRIFE 
 
 plays: SECOND SERIES 
 
 and Separately 
 
 THE ELDEST SON 
 THE LITTLE DREAM 
 JUSTICE 
 
 plats: THIRD SERIES 
 
 and Separately 
 
 THE FUGITIVE 
 THE PIGEON 
 THE MOB 
 
 plays: FOURTH SERIES 
 
 and Separately 
 A BIT O' LOVE 
 THE FOUNDATIONS 
 THE SKIN GAME 
 
 MOODS, SONGS, AND DOGGERELS 
 MEMORIES. Illustrated. 
 
PLAYS 
 
 FOURTH SERIES 
 BY 
 
 JOHN GALSWORTHY 
 
PLAYS 
 
 FOURTH SERIES 
 
 A BIT O' LOVE 
 
 THE FOUNDATIONS 
 
 THE SKIN GAME 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN GALSWORTHY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1920 
 
^, 
 
 
 Copyright, 1915, 1920, bt 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 ©C1.D 54e^83 
 
^0 
 
 H. W. MASSINGHAM 
 
PERSONS OF THE PLAY 
 
 Michael Strangway 
 
 Beatrice Strangway 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere 
 
 Jim Bere 
 
 Jack Cremer 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe 
 
 Burlacombe 
 
 Tbustaford 
 
 Jarland 
 
 Clyst 
 
 Freman 
 
 Godleigh 
 
 Sol Potter 
 
 Morse, and Others 
 
 Ivy Burlacombe 
 Connie Trustaford 
 Gladys Freman 
 Mercy Jarland 
 Tibby Jarland 
 Bobbie Jarland 
 
SCENE: A VILLAGE OF THE WEST 
 
 The Action passes on Ascension Day. 
 
 ACT I. Strangway's rooms at Burlacombe's. Morning. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. The Village Inn. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. 
 
 SCENE III. Outside the church. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. Strangway's rooms. 
 SCENE II. Burlacombe's barn. 
 
 Evening. 
 
A BIT O' LOVE 
 
 A PLAY m THREE ACTS 
 
ACT I 
 
 It is Ascension Day in a village of the West. In the 
 low panelled hall-sittingroom of the Burlacombes' 
 farmhouse on the village green, Michael Strang- 
 WAY, a clerical collar round his throat and a dark 
 Norfolk jacket on his back, is playing the flute 
 before a very large framed photograph of a woman, 
 which is the only picture on the walls. His age is 
 about thirty -five; his figure thin and very upright 
 and his clean-shorn face thin, upright, narrow, with 
 long and rather pointed ears; his dark hair is 
 brushed in a coxcomb off his forehead. A faint 
 smile hovers about his lips that Nature has made 
 rather full and he has made thin, as though keeping 
 a hard secret; but his bright grey eyes, dark round 
 the rim, look out and upwards almost as if he were 
 being crucified. There is something about the whole 
 of him that makes him seen not quite present. A 
 gentle creature, burnt within. 
 
 A low, broad window above a window-seat forms the 
 background to his figure; and through its lattice 
 panes are seen the outer gate and yew-trees of a 
 churchyard and the porch of a church, bathed in 
 May sunlight. The front door at right angles to the 
 
 Cojpyright 1915, hy Charles Scribner's Sons. 
 1 
 
2 A BIT O' LOVE act i 
 
 window-seat y leads to the village greeny and a door 
 on the left into the house. 
 It is the third movement of Veracini's violin sonata that 
 Strangway plays. His back is turned to the door 
 into the house, and he does not hear when it is opened, 
 and Ivy Burlacombe, the farmer's daughter, a girl 
 of fourteen, small and quiet as a mouse, comes in, 
 a prayer-book in one hand, and in the other a glass 
 of water, with wild orchis and a bit of deep pink 
 hawthorn. She sits down on the vnndow-seat, and 
 having opened her book, sniffs at the flowers. Com- 
 ing to the end of the movement Strangway stops, 
 and looking up at the face on the wall, heaves a 
 long sigh. 
 
 Ivy. [From the seat] I picked these for yii, Mr. 
 Strangway. 
 
 Strangway. [Turning with a start] Ah! Ivy. 
 Thank you. [He puts his flute down on a chair against 
 the far wall] Where are the others ? 
 
 As he speaks, Gladys Freman, a dark gip- 
 syish girl, and Connie Trustaford, a fair, 
 stolid, blue-eyed Saxon, both about sixteen, 
 come in through the front door, behind which 
 they have evidently been listening. They too 
 have prayer-books in their hands. They 
 sidle past Ivy, and also sit down under the 
 window, 
 
 Gladys. Mercy's comin', Mr. Strangway. 
 
ACT I A BIT 0' LOVE 3 
 
 Strangway. Good morning, Gladys; good morn- 
 ing, Connie. 
 
 He turns to a hook-case on a table against the 
 far wally and taking out a book, finds his 
 'place in it. While he stands thus with his 
 hack to the girls, Mercy Jarland comes in 
 from the green. She also is about sixteen, 
 with fair hair and china-blue eyes. She 
 glides in quickly, hiding something behind 
 her, and sits down on the seat next the door. 
 And at once there is a whispering. 
 Strangway. [Turning to them] Good morning, 
 Mercy. 
 
 Mercy. Good morning, Mr. Strangway. 
 Strangway. Now, yesterday I was telling you what 
 our Lord's coming meant to the world. I want you 
 to understand that before He came there wasn't really 
 love, as we know it. I don't mean to say that there 
 weren't many good people; but there wasn't love for 
 the sake of loving. D'you think you understand what 
 I mean.'^ 
 
 Mercy fidgets. Gladys's eyes are following 
 a fly. 
 Ivy. Yes, Mr. Strangway. 
 
 Strangway. It isn't enough to love people because 
 they're good to you, or because in some way or other 
 you're going to get something by it. We have to love 
 because we love loving. That's the great thing — 
 without that we're nothing but Pagans. 
 Gladys. Please, what is Pagans? 
 
4 A BIT O' LOVE act i 
 
 Strangway. That's what the first Christians called 
 the people who lived in the villages and were not yet 
 Christians, Gladys. 
 
 Mercy. We live in a village, but we're Christians. 
 
 Strangway. [With a smile] Yes, Mercy; and what 
 is a Christian? 
 
 Mercy kicks afoot sideways against her neigh- 
 hour, frowns over her china-blue eyes, is 
 silent; then, as his question passes on, 
 makes a quick little face , wriggles, and looks 
 behind her. 
 
 Strangway. Ivy.^ 
 
 Ivy. *Tis a man — whii — whii 
 
 Strangway. Yes ? — Connie ? 
 
 Connie [Who speaks rather ihickly, as if she had a 
 permanent slight cold] Please, Mr. Strangway, 'tis a 
 man whii goes to church. 
 
 Gladys. He 'as to be baptized — and confirmed; 
 and — and — buried . 
 
 Ivy. 'Tis a man whii — whii's giide and 
 
 Gladys. He don't drink, an' he don't beat his 
 horses, an' he don't hit back. 
 
 Mercy. \Whispering] 'Tisn't your turn. [To Strang- 
 way] 'Tis a man like us. 
 
 Ivy. I know what Mrs. Strangway said it was, 
 'cause I asked her once, before she went away. 
 
 Strangway. [Startled] Yes.' 
 
 Ivy. She said it was a man whU forgave every- 
 thing. 
 
ACT I A BIT O' LOVE 5 
 
 Strangway. Ah! 
 
 The note of a cuckoo comes travelling. The 
 girls are gazing at Strangway, who seems 
 to have gone off into a dream. They begin 
 to fidget and whisper. 
 
 Connie. Please, Mr. Strangway, father says if yii 
 hit a man and he don't hit yii back, he's no glide at all. 
 
 Mercy. When Tommy Morse wouldn't fight, us 
 pinched him — he did squeal! [She giggles] Made me 
 laugh ! 
 
 Strangway. Did I ever tell you about St. Francis 
 of Assisi? 
 
 Ivy. [Clasping her hands] No. 
 
 Strangway. Well, he was the best Christian, I 
 think, that ever lived — simply full of love and joy. 
 
 Ivy. I expect he's dead. 
 
 Strangway. About seven hundred years. Ivy. 
 
 Ivy. [Softly] Oh ! 
 
 Strangway. Everything to him was brother or sis- 
 ter — the sun and the moon, and all that was poor 
 and weak and sad, and animals and birds, so that 
 they even used to follow him about. 
 
 Mercy. I know ! He had crumbs in his pocket. 
 
 Strangway. No; he had love in his eyes. 
 
 Ivy. 'Tis like about Orpheus, that yii told us. 
 
 Strangway. Ah ! But St. Francis was a Christian, 
 and Orpheus was a Pagan. 
 
 Ivy. Oh! 
 
 Strangway. Orpheus drew everything after him 
 with music; St. Francis by love. 
 
6 A BIT O' LOVE act i 
 
 Ivy. Perhaps it was the same, really. 
 
 Strangway. [Looking at his flute] Perhaps it was. 
 Ivy. 
 
 Gladys. Did 'e 'ave a flute like yii.'' 
 
 Ivy. The flowers smell sweeter when they 'ear 
 music; they dii. 
 
 [She holds up the glass of flowers. 
 
 Strangway. [Touching one of the orchis] What's the 
 name of this one? 
 
 The girls cluster, save Mercy, who is talcing 
 a stealthy interest in what she has behind 
 her. 
 
 Connie. We call it a cuckoo, Mr. Strangway. 
 
 Gladys. 'Tis awful common down by the streams. 
 We've got one medder where 'tis so thick almost as 
 the goldie cups. 
 
 Strangway. Odd ! I've never noticed it. 
 
 Ivy. Please, Mr. Strangway, yli don't notice when 
 yii're walkin'; yli go along like this. 
 
 [She holds up her face as one looking at the sky. 
 
 Strangway. Bad as that. Ivy? 
 
 Ivy. Mrs. Strangway often used to pick it last 
 spring. 
 
 Strangway. Did she? Did she? 
 
 [He has gone off again into a kind of dream. 
 
 Mercy. I like being confirmed. 
 
 Strangway. Ah! Yes. Now — What's that be- 
 hind you, Mercy? 
 
 Mercy. [Engagingly producing a cage a little bigger 
 than a mouse-trap, containing a skylark] My skylark. 
 
ACT I A BIT O' LOVE 7 
 
 Strangway. What! 
 
 Mercy. It cau fly; but we're goin' to clip its wings. 
 Bobbie caught it. 
 
 Strangway. How long ago? 
 
 Mercy. [Conscious of impending disaster] Yester- 
 day. 
 
 Strangway. [White hot] Give me the cage ! 
 Mercy. [Puckering] I want my skylark. [As he steps 
 up to her and takes the cage — thoroughly alarmed] I gave 
 Bobbie thrippence for it ! 
 
 Strangway. [Producing a sixpence] There ! 
 Mercy. [Throwing it down — passionately] I want 
 my skylark ! 
 
 Strangway. God made this poor bird for the sky 
 and the grass. And you put it in that! Never cage 
 any wild thing ! Never ! 
 
 Mercy. [Faint and sullen] I want my skylark. 
 Strangway. [Taking the cage to the door] No! 
 [He holds up the cage and opens it] Off you go, poor 
 thing ! 
 
 [The bird flies out and away. 
 The girls watch with round eyes the fling 
 up of his arm, and the freed bird flying 
 away. 
 Ivy. I'm glad ! 
 
 Mercy kicks her viciously and sobs. Strang- 
 way comes from the door, looks at Mercy 
 sobbing, and suddenly clasps his head. The 
 girls watch him icith a queer mixture of 
 wonder, alarm, and disapproval. 
 
8 A BIT O' LOVE act i 
 
 Gladys. [Whispering] Don't cry, Mercy. Bobbie'll 
 soon catch yli another. 
 
 Strangway has dropped his hands, and is look- 
 ing again at Mercy. Ivy sits loith hands 
 clasped, gazing at Str.\ngway. Mercy 
 continues her artificial sobbing. 
 
 Strangway. [Quietly] The class is over for to-day. 
 
 He goes up to Mercy, and holds out his hand. 
 
 She does not take it, and runs out knuckling 
 
 her eyes. Strangway turns on his heel and 
 
 goes into the house. 
 
 Connie. 'Twasn't his bird. 
 
 Ivy. Skylarks belong to the sky. Mr. Strangway 
 said so. 
 
 Gladys. Not when they'm caught, they don't. 
 
 Ivy. They dii. 
 
 Connie. 'Twas her bird. 
 
 Iyy. He gave her sixpence for it. 
 
 Gladys. She didn't take it. 
 
 Connie. There it is on the ground. 
 
 Ivy. She might have. 
 
 Gladys. He'll p'raps take my squirrel, tii. 
 
 I\Tr. The bird sang — I 'eard it! Right up in the 
 sky. It wouldn't have sanged if it weren't glad. 
 
 Gladys. Well, Mercy cried. 
 
 Ivy. I don't care. 
 
 Gladys. 'Tis a shame ! And I know something. 
 Mrs. Strangway's at Durford. 
 
 Connie. She's — never! 
 
 Gladys. I saw her yesterday. An' if she's there 
 
ACT I A BIT 0' LOVE 9 
 
 she ought to be here. I told mother, an* she said: 
 "YU mind yer business." An' when she goes in to 
 market to-morrow she'm goin' to see. An' if she's 
 really there, mother says, 'tis a fine tU-dii an' a praaper 
 scandal. So I know a lot more'n yii dii. 
 
 [Ivy stares at her. 
 
 Connie. Mrs. Strangway told mother she was goin' 
 to France for the winter because her mother was ill. 
 
 Gladys. 'Tisn't winter now — Ascension Day. I 
 saw her comin' out o' Dr. Desart's house. I know 
 'twas her because she had on a blue dress an' a proud 
 luke. Mother says the doctor come over here tu 
 often before Mrs. Strangway went away, just afore 
 Christmas. They was old sweethearts before she 
 married Mr. Strangway. [To Ivy] 'Twas ylire mother 
 told mother that. 
 
 [Ivy gazes at them more and more wide-eyed, 
 
 Connie. Father says if Mrs. Bradmere an' the old 
 Rector knew about the doctor, they wouldn't 'ave 
 Mr. Strangway 'ere for curate any longer; because 
 mother says it takes more'n a year for a gude wife 
 to leave her 'usband, an' 'e so fond of her. But 
 'tisn't no business of ours, father says. 
 
 Gladys. Mother says so tu. She's praaper set 
 against gossip. She'll know all about it to-morrow 
 after market. 
 
 Ivy. [Stamping her foot] I don't want to 'ear nothin' 
 at all; I don't, an' I won't. 
 
 [A rather shame-faced silence falls on the girls. 
 
10 A BIT 0' LOVE act i 
 
 Gladys. [In a quick whisper] 'Ere's Mrs. Burla- 
 combe. 
 
 There enters from the house a stout motherly 
 woman with a round grey eye and very red 
 cheeks. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Ivy, take Mr. Strangway his 
 ink, or we'll never 'ave no sermon to-night. He'm in 
 his thinkin' box, but 'tis not a bit o' yiise 'im thinkin' 
 without 'is ink. [She hands her daughter an inkpot and 
 blotting-pad. Ivy Takes them and goes out] What- 
 ever's this ? " [She picks up the little bird-cage. 
 
 Gladys. 'Tis Mercy Jarland's. Mr. Strangway let 
 her skylark go. 
 
 INIrs. Burlacombe. Aw! Did 'e now.? Serve 'er 
 right, bringin' an 'eathen bird to confirmation class. 
 
 Connie. I'll take it to her. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. No. Yii leave it there, an' let 
 Mr. Strangway dii what 'e likes with it. Bringin' a 
 bird like that ! Well I never ! 
 
 The girlsy perceiving that they have lighted on 
 stony soily look at each other and slide towards 
 the door, 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Yes, yii just be off, an* think 
 on what yii've been told in class, an' be'ave like Chris- 
 tians, that's glide maids. An' don't yii come no more 
 in the 'avenin's dancin' them 'eathen dances in my 
 barn, naighther, till after yii'm confirmed — 'tisn't right. 
 I've told Ivy I won't 'ave it. 
 
 Connie. Mr. Strangway don't mind — he likes us 
 
ACT I A BIT O' LOVE 11 
 
 to; 'twas Mrs. Strangway began teachin' us. He's 
 goin' to give a prize. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Yu just dii what I tell yii an* 
 never mind Mr. Strangway — he'm tii kind to every- 
 one. D'yii think I don't know how gells oughter 
 be'ave before confirmation ? YU be'ave like I did ! 
 Now, goo ahn ! Shoo ! 
 
 She hustles them out, rather as she might hustle 
 her chickens, and begins tidying the room. 
 There comes a wandering figure to the open 
 window. It is thai of a man of about thirty- 
 five, of feeble gait, leaning the weight of all 
 one side of him on a stick. His dark face, 
 with black hair, one lock of which has gone 
 white, was evidently once that of an ardent 
 man. Now it is slack, weakly smiling, and 
 the brown eyes are lost, and seem always to 
 be asking something to which there is no 
 answer. 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. [With that forced cheerfidness 
 always assumed in the face of too great misfortune] 
 Well, Jim! better? [At the faint brightening of the 
 smile] That's right ! Yii'm gettin' on bravely. Want 
 Parson ? 
 
 Jim. [Nodding and smiling, and speaking slowly] I 
 want to tell 'un about my cat. 
 
 [His face loses its smile. 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Why! what's she been duin' 
 then.? Mr. Strangway's busy. Won't I dii.'' 
 Jim. [Shaking his head] No. I want to tell him. 
 
12 A BIT O' LOVE act i 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Whatever she been diiin'? 
 Havin' kittens? 
 
 Jim. No. She'm lost. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Dearie me! Aw! she'm not 
 lost. Cats be like maids; they must get out a bit. 
 
 Jim. She'm lost. Maybe he'll know where she'll be. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Well, well. I'll go an' find 'im. 
 
 Jim. He's a glide man. He's very glide. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. That's certain zure. 
 
 Strangway. [Entering from the house] Mrs. Burla- 
 combe, I can't think where I've put my book on St. 
 Francis — the large, squarish pale-blue one ? 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Aw ! there now ! I knli there 
 was somethin' on me mind. Miss Willis she came in 
 yesterday afterniine when yli was out, to borrow it. 
 Oh! yes — I said — I'm zure Mr. Strangway'U lend 
 it 'ee. Now think o' that ! 
 
 Strangway. Of course, Mrs. Burlacombe; very 
 glad she's got it. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Aw ! but that's not all. When 
 I tuk it up there come out a whole flutter o' little 
 bits o' paper wi' little rhymes on 'em, same as I see 
 yli writin'. Aw ! my glideness ! I says to meself, 
 Mr. Strangway widn' want no one seein' them. 
 
 Strangway. Dear me ! No; certainly not! 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. An' so I putt 'em in your 
 secretary. 
 
 Strangway. My — ali! Yes. Thank you; yes. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. But I'll goo over an' get the 
 blike for yli. 'T won't take me 'alf a minit. 
 
ACT I A BIT O' LOVE 13 
 
 She goes out on to the green. Jim Bere has 
 come in. 
 
 Strangway. [Gently] Well, Jim? 
 
 Jim. My cat's lost. 
 
 Strangway. Lost.? 
 
 Jim. Day before yesterday. She'm not come back. 
 They've shot 'er, I think; or she'm caught in one o' 
 they rabbit- traps. 
 
 Strangway. Oh! no; my dear fellow, she'll come 
 back. I'll speak to Sir Herbert's keepers. 
 
 Jim. Yes, zurr. I feel lonesome without 'er. 
 
 Strangway. [With a faint smile — more to himself 
 than to Jim] Lonesome ! Yes ! That's bad, Jim ! 
 That's bad ! 
 
 Jim. I miss 'er when I sits thar in the avenin'. 
 
 Strangway. The evenings — They're the worst — 
 and when the blackbirds sing in the morning. 
 
 Jim. She used to lie on my bed, ye know, zurr. 
 [Strangway turns his face away, contracted with 
 pain] She'm like a Christian. 
 
 Strangway. The beasts are. 
 
 Jim. There's plenty folk ain't 'alf as Christian as 
 'er be. 
 
 Strangway. Well, dear Jim, I'll do my very best. 
 And any time you're lonely, come up, and I'll play 
 the flute to you. 
 
 Jim. [Wriggling slightly] No, zurr. Thank 'ee, zurr. 
 
 Strangway. What — don't you like music? 
 
 Jim. Ye-es, zurr. [A figure passes the windoic. 
 Seeing it he says with his slow smile: "'Ere's Mrs. 
 
14 A BIT O' LOVE act i 
 
 Bradmere, comin* from the Rectory." [With queer 
 malice] She don't like cats. But she'm a cat 'erself, 
 I thiiik. 
 
 Strangway. [With his smile] Jim ! 
 Jim. She'm always tellin' me I'm llikin' better. I'm 
 not better, zurr. 
 
 Strangway. That's her kindness. 
 Jm. I don't think it is. 'Tis laziness, an' 'avin' 
 'er own way. She'm very fond of 'er own way. 
 
 A knock on the door cuts off his speech. Fol- 
 lowing closely on the knock, as though no 
 doors were licensed to be closed against her, 
 a grey-haired lady enters; a capable, broion- 
 faced woman of seventy, whose every tone and 
 Tnovement exhales authority. With a nod 
 and a **good morning^' to Strangway she 
 turns at once to Jevi Bere. 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Ah! Jim; you're looking better. 
 [Jim Bere shakes his head. 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Oh! yes, you are. Getting on 
 splendidly. And now, I just want to speak to Mr. 
 Strangway. 
 
 Jim Bere touches his forelocky and slowly, 
 leaning on his stick, goes out. 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [Waiting for the door to close] You 
 know how that came on him? Caught the girl he 
 was engaged to, one night, with another man, the 
 rage broke something here. [She touches her forehead] 
 Four years ago. 
 Strangway. Poor fellow ! 
 
ACT I A BIT 0' LOVE 15 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [Looking at Mm sharply] Is your 
 wife back? 
 
 Strangway. [Starting] No, 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. By the way, poor Mrs. Cremer — 
 is she any better.'^ 
 
 Strangway. No; going fast. Wonderful — so patient. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [With grvff sympathy] Um ! Yes. 
 They know how to die ! [With another sharp look at 
 him] D'you expect your wife soon ? 
 
 Strangway. I — I — hope so. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. So do I. The sooner the better. 
 
 Strangway. [Shrinking] I trust the Rector's not 
 suffering so much this morning ? 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Thank you ! His foot's very bad. 
 As she speaks Mrs. Burlacokbe returns with 
 a large pale-blue book in her hand. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Good day, M'm! [Taking the 
 book across to Strangway] Miss Willis, she says she'm 
 very sorry, zurr. 
 
 Strangway. She was very welcome, Mrs. Bur- 
 lacombe. [To Mrs. Bradmere] Forgive me — my 
 sermon. [He goes into the house. 
 
 The two women gaze after him. Then, at once, 
 as it were, draw into themselves, as if pre- 
 paring for an encounter, and yet seem to 
 expand as if losing the need for restraint. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [Abruptly] He misses his wife very 
 much, I'm afraid. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Ah! Don't he? Poor dear 
 man; he keeps a terrible tight 'and over 'imself, but 
 
16 A BIT O' LOVE act i 
 
 'tis suthin' cruel the way he walks about at night. 
 He'm just like a cow when its calf's weaned. 'T'as 
 gone to me 'eart truly to see 'im these months past. 
 T'other day when I went up to dli his rlime, I yeard 
 a noise like this [she sniffs]; an' ther' 'e was at the 
 wardrobe, snuffin' at 'er things. I did never think a 
 man cud care for a woman so much as that. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. H'm ! 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. 'Tis funny rest — an* 'e comin' 
 'ere for quiet after that tearin' great London parish ! 
 'E'm terrible absent-minded tii — don't take no inter- 
 est in 'is flide. Yesterday, goin' on for one o'clock, 
 'e says to me, "I expect 'tis nearly breakfast- time, 
 Mrs. Burlacombe!" 'E'd 'ad it twice already! 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Twice! Nonsense! 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Zurely ! I give 'im a nummit 
 afore 'e gets up; an' 'e 'as 'is brekjus reg'lar at nine. 
 Must feed un up. He'm on 'is feet all day, goin' to 
 zee folk that widden want to zee an angel, they'm 
 that busy; an' when 'e comes in 'e'U play 'is flUte 
 there. He'm wastin' away for want of 'is wife. That's 
 what 'tis. An' 'im so sweet-spoken, tii, 'tes a pleasure 
 to year 'im — Never says a word ! 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Yes, that's the kind of man who 
 gets treated badly. I'm afraid she's not worthy of 
 him, Mrs. Burlacombe. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. [Plaiting her apron] 'Tesn't for 
 me to zay that. She'm a very pleasant lady. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Too pleasant. What's this story 
 about her being seen in Durford ? 
 
ACT I A BIT O' LOVE 17 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Aw ! I dii never year no 
 gossip, m'm. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [Drily] Of course not! But you 
 see the Rector wishes to know. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. [Flustered] Well — folk will talk ! 
 But, as I says to Burlacombe — "'Tes paltry," I says; 
 and they only married eighteen months, and Mr. 
 Strangway so devoted-like. 'Tes nothing but love, 
 with 'im. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Come ! 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. There's puzzivantin' folk as'll 
 set an' gossip the feathers off an angel. But I dii 
 never listen. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Now then, Mrs. Burlacombe? 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Well, they dii say as how Dr. 
 Desart over to Durford and Mrs. Strangway was 
 sweethearts afore she wer' married. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. I knew that. Who was it saw 
 her coming out of Dr. Desart's house yesterday .^^ 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. In a manner of spakin' 'tes 
 Mrs. Freman that says 'er Gladys seen her. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. That child's got an eye like a 
 hawk. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. 'Tes wonderful how things dii 
 spread. 'Tesn't as if us gossiped. Dii seem to grow- 
 like in the naight. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [To herself] I never liked her. 
 That Riviera excuse, Mrs. Burlacombe — Very con- 
 venient things, sick mothers. Mr. Strangway doesn't 
 know? 
 
18 A BIT O' LOVE act i 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. The Lord forbid! 'Twid send 
 un crazy, I think. For all he'm so moony an' gentle- 
 like, I think he'm a terrible passionate man inside. 
 He've a-got a saint in 'im, for zure; but 'tes only 
 *alf-baked, in a manner of spakin'. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. I shall go and see Mrs. Fre- 
 man. There's been too much of this gossip all the 
 winter. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. 'Tes unfortunate-like 'tes the 
 Fremans. Freman he'm a gipsy sort of a feller; and 
 he've never forgiven Mr. Strangway for spakin' to 
 'im about the way he trates 'is 'orses. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Ah ! I'm afraid Mr. Strangway's 
 not too discreet when his feelings are touched. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. 'E've a-got an 'eart so big as 
 the full miine. But 'tes no yiise expectin' tii much 
 o' this world. 'Tes a funny place, after that. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Yes, Mrs. Burlacombe; and I 
 shall give some of these good people a rare rap over 
 the knuckles for their want of charity. For all they 
 look as if butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, 
 they're an un-Christian lot. [Looking very directly at 
 Mrs. Burlacombe] It's lucky we've some hold over 
 the village. I'm not going to have scandal. I shall 
 speak to Sir Herbert, and he and the Rector will 
 take steps. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. [With covert malice] Aw ! I dii 
 hope 'twon't upset the Rector, an' 'is fUte so pop- 
 tious! 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [Grimly] His foot'll be sound 
 
ACT I A BIT O' LOVE 19 
 
 enough to come down sharp. By the way, will you 
 send me a duck up to the Rectory? 
 
 Mrs. Buelacombe. [Glad to get away] Zurely, m'm; 
 at once. I've some luv'Iy fat birds. 
 
 [She goes into the house. 
 Mbs. Bradmere. Old puss-cat ! 
 
 She turns to go, and in the doorway encounters 
 a very little, red-cheeked girl in a peacock- 
 blue cap, and pink frock, who curtsies 
 stolidly, 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Well, Tibby Jarland, what do you 
 want here? Always sucking something, aren't you? 
 Getting no reply from Tibby Jarland, she 
 passes out. Tibby comes in, looks round, 
 takes a large sweet out of her mouth, con- 
 templates it, and puts it back again. Then, 
 in a perfunctory and very stolid fashion, she 
 looks about the floor, as if she had been told 
 to find something. While she is finding noth- 
 ing and sucking her sweet, her sister Mercy 
 comes in furtively, still frowning and vin- 
 dictive. 
 Mercy. What! Haven't you found it, Tibby? 
 Get along with 'ee, then ! 
 
 She accelerates the stolid Tibby's departure with 
 a smack, searches under the seat, finds and 
 picks up the deserted sixpence. Then very 
 quickly she goes to the door. But it is 
 opened before she reaches it, and, finding 
 herself caught, she slips behind the chintz 
 
20 A BIT O' LOVE act i 
 
 window-curtain. A woman has entered, 
 who is clearly the original of the large pho- 
 tograph. She is not strictly pretty, but 
 there is charm in her pale, resolute face, 
 with its mocking lips, flexible brows, and 
 greenish eyes, whose lids, square above them, 
 have short, dark lashes. She is dressed in 
 blue, and her fair hair is coiled up under 
 a cap and motor -veil. She comes in swiftly, 
 and closes the door behind her; becomes ir- 
 resolute; then, suddenly deciding, moves to- 
 wards the door into the house. Mercy 
 slips from behind her curtain to make off, 
 but at that moment the door into the house 
 is opened, and she has at once to slip back 
 again into covert. It is Ivy who has ap- 
 peared. 
 
 Ivy. [Amazed] Oh ! Mrs. Strangway ! 
 
 Evidently disconcerted by this appearance, 
 Beatrice Strangway pulls herself together 
 and confronts the child with a smile. 
 
 Beatrice. Well, Ivy — you've grown ! You didn't 
 expect me, did you ? 
 
 Ivy. No, Mrs. Strangway; but I hoped jii'd be 
 comin' soon. 
 
 Beatrice. Ah! Yes. Is Mr. Strangway in? 
 
 Ivy. [Hypnotized by those faintly smiling lips] Yes 
 — oh, yes ! He's writin' his sermon in the little room. 
 He will be glad ! 
 
 Beatrice. [Going a little closer, and never taking 
 
ACT I A BIT O' LOVE 21 
 
 her eyes of the child] Yes. Now, Ivy, will you do 
 something for me? 
 
 Ivy. [Fluttering] Oh, yes, Mrs. Strangway. 
 
 Beatrice. Quite sure.'* 
 
 Ivy. Oh, yes ! 
 
 Beatrice. Are you old enough to keep a secret.'* 
 
 Ivy. [Nodding] I'm fourteen now. 
 
 Beatrice. Well, then — I don't want anybody but 
 Mr. Strangway to know I've been here; nobody, not 
 even your mother. D'you understand ? 
 
 Ivy. [Troubled] No. Only, I can keep a secret. 
 
 Beatrice. Mind, if anybody hears, it will hurt — 
 Mr. Strangway. 
 
 Ivy. Oh ! I wouldn't — hurt — him. Must yii go 
 away again.'' [Trembling towards her] I wish yii were 
 goin* to stay. And perhaps some one has seen jii — 
 They 
 
 Beatrice. [Hastily] No, no one. I came motoring; 
 like this. [She moves her veil to show how it can conceal 
 her face] And I came straight down the little lane, 
 and through the barn, across the yard. 
 
 Ivy. [Timidly] People dii see a lot. 
 
 Beatrice. [Still with that hovering smile] I know, 
 but — Now go and tell him quickly and quietly. 
 
 Ivy. [Stopping at the door] Mother's pluckin' a duck. 
 Only, please, Mrs. Strangway, if she comes in even 
 after yii've gone, she'll know, because — because yii 
 always have that particular nice scent. 
 
 Beatrice. Thank you, my child. I'll see to that. 
 Ivy looks at her as if she would speak again^ 
 
22 A BIT 0' LOVE act i 
 
 iken turns suddenly^ and goes out. Bea- 
 trice's face darkens; she shivers. Tak' 
 ing out a little cigarette case, she lights a 
 cigarettCy and watches the puffs of smoke 
 wreathe about her and die away. The 
 frightened Mercy peers out, spying for a 
 chance to escape. Then from the hou^e 
 Strangway comes in. All his dreaminess 
 is gone. 
 Strangway. Thank God! [He stops at the look on 
 her face] I don't understand, though. I thought you 
 were still out there. 
 
 Beatrice. [Letting her cigarette fall, and putting her 
 foot on it] No. 
 
 Strangway. You're staying ? Oh ! Beatrice; come ! 
 We'll get away from here at once — as far, as far — 
 anywhere you like. Oh ! my darlmg — only come ! If 
 
 you knew 
 
 Beatrice. It's no good, Michael; I've tried and 
 tried. 
 Strangway. Not ! Then, why— ? Beatrice ! You 
 
 said, when you were right away — I've waited^" 
 
 Beatrice. I know. It's cruel — it's horrible. But 
 I told you not to hope, Michael. I've done my best. 
 All these months at Mentone, I've been wondering 
 why I ever let you marry me — when that feeling 
 wasn't dead ! 
 
 Strangway. You can't have come back just to 
 leave me again.'* 
 
 Beatrice. When you let me go out there with 
 
ACT I A BIT 0' LOVE 23 
 
 mother I thought — I did think I would be able; and 
 I had begun — and then — spring came ! 
 
 Strangway. Spring came here too! Never so — 
 aching ! Beatrice, can't you ? 
 
 Beatrice. I've something to say. 
 
 Strangway. No! No! No! 
 
 Beatrice. You see — I've — fallen. 
 
 Strangway. Ah! [In a voice sharpened by pain] 
 Why, in the name of mercy, come here to tell me 
 that? Was he out there, then? 
 
 [She shakes her head, 
 
 Beatrice. I came straight back to him. 
 
 Strangway. To Durford ? 
 
 Beatrice. To the Crossway Hotel, miles out — in 
 my own name. They don't know me there. I told 
 you not to hope, Michael. I've done my best; I 
 swear it. 
 
 Strangway. My God ! 
 
 Beatrice. It was your God that brought us to live 
 near himl 
 
 Strangway. Why have you come to me like this? 
 
 Beatrice. To know what you're going to do. Are 
 you going to divorce me? We're in your power. 
 Don't divorce me — Doctor and patient — you must 
 know — it ruins him. He'll lose everything. He'd 
 be disqualified, and he hasn't a penny without his 
 work. 
 
 Strangway. Why should I spare him ? 
 
 Beatrice. Michael, I came to beg. It's hard. 
 
 Strangway. No; don't beg ! I can't stand it. 
 
U A BIT O' LOVE ACTi 
 
 Beatrice. [Recovering her pride] What are you 
 going to do, 'then? Keep us apart by the threat of 
 a divorce? Starve us and prison us? Cage me up 
 here with you? I'm not brute enough to ruin him. 
 
 Strangway. Heaven! 
 
 Beatrice. I never really stopped loving him. I 
 never loved you, Michael. 
 
 Strangway. [Stunned] Is that true? [Beatrice 
 bends her head] Never loved me? Not — that night 
 — on the river — not ? 
 
 Beatrice. [Under her breath] No. 
 
 Strangway. Were you lying to me, then ? Kissing 
 me, and — hating me ? 
 
 Beatrice. One doesn't hate men like you; but it 
 wasn't love. 
 
 Strangway. Why did you tell me it was? 
 
 Beatrice. Yes. That was the worst thing I've 
 ever done. 
 
 Strangway. Do you think I would have married 
 you? I would have burned first! I never dreamed 
 you didn't. I swear it ! 
 
 Beatrice. [Very loio] Forget it ! 
 
 Strangway. Did he try to get you away from me ? 
 [Beatrice gives him a swift look] Tell me the truth! 
 
 Beatrice. No. It was — I — alone. But — he loves 
 me. 
 
 Strangway. One does not easily know love, it 
 seems. 
 
 But her smile, faint, mysterious, pitying, is 
 enough, and he turns away from her. 
 
ACT I A BIT O' LOVE 25 
 
 Beatrice. It was cruel to come, I know. For me, 
 too. But I couldn't write. I had to know. 
 
 Strangway. Never loved me? Never loved me? 
 That night at Tregaron? [At the look on her face] 
 You might have told me before you went away! 
 Why keep me all these 
 
 Beatrice. I meant to forget him again. I did 
 mean to. I thought I could get back to what I was, 
 when I married you; but, you see, what a girl can 
 do, a woman that's been married — can't. 
 
 Strangway. Then it was I — my kisses that — ! 
 [He laughs] How did you stand them? [His eyes dart 
 at her face] Imagination helped you, perhaps ! 
 
 Beatrice. Michael, don't, don't! And — oh! don't 
 make a public thing of it! You needn't be afraid I 
 shall have too good a time! [He stays quite still and 
 silent, and that which is writhing in him makes his face 
 so strange that Beatrice stands aghast. At last she 
 goes stumbling on in speech] If ever you want to marry 
 some one else — then, of course — that's only fair, ruin 
 or not. But till then— till then — He's leaving Dur- 
 ford, going to Brighton. No one need know. And 
 you — this isn't the only parish in the world. 
 
 Strangway. [Quietly] You ask me to help you live 
 in secret with another man? 
 
 Beatrice. I ask for mercy. 
 
 Strangway. [As to himself] What am I to do ? 
 
 Beatrice. What you feel in the bottom of your 
 heart. 
 
 Strangway. You ask me to help you live in sin ? 
 
26 A BIT 0' LOVE act i 
 
 Beatrice. To let me go out of your life. You've 
 only to do — nothing. [He goes, slowly, close to her. 
 
 Strangway. I want you. Come back to me! 
 Beatrice, come back ! 
 Beatrice. It would be torture, now. 
 Strangway. [Writhing] Oh! 
 Beatrice. Whatever's in your heart — do ! 
 Strangway. You'd come back to me sooner than 
 ruin him ? Would you ? 
 
 Beatrice. I can't bring him harm. 
 Strangway. [Turning away] God ! — if there be one 
 — help me ! [He stands leaning his forehead against the 
 window. Suddenly his glance falls on the little bird- 
 cage, still lying on the loindow-seat] Never cage any 
 wild thing ! [He gives a laugh thai is half a sob; then, 
 turning to the door, says in a low voice] Go ! Go please, 
 quickly ! Do what you will. I won't hurt you — can't 
 — But — go ! [He opens the door. 
 
 Beatrice. [Greatly moved] Thank you ! 
 
 She passes him with her head down, and goes 
 out quickly. Strangway stands uncon- 
 sciously tearing at the little bird-cage. And 
 while he tears at it he utters a moaning 
 sound. The terrified Mercy, peering from 
 behind the curtain, and watching her 
 chance, slips to the still open door; but 
 in her haste and fright she knocks against 
 it, and Strangway sees her. Before he can 
 stop her she has fled out on to the green 
 and away. 
 
ACT I A BIT O' LOVE 27 
 
 While he stands there, paralysed, the door from 
 
 the house is opened, and Mes. Burlacombe 
 
 approaches him in a queer, hushed way, 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. [Her eyes mechanically fixed on 
 
 the twisted bird-cage in his hands] 'Tis poor Sue Cremer, 
 
 zurr, I didn't 'ardly think she'd last thru the mornin'. 
 
 An' zure enough she'm passed away ! [Seeing that he 
 
 has not taken in her words] Mr. Strangway — yii'm 
 
 feelin' giddy.** 
 
 Strangway. No, no! What was it? You 
 
 said 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. 'Tes Jack Cremer. His wife's 
 gone. 'E'm in a terrible way. 'Tes only yii, 'e ses, 
 can dii 'im any glide. He'm in the kitchen. 
 Strangway. Cremer? Yes! Of course. Let 
 
 him 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. [Still staring at the twisted cage] 
 YU ain't wantin' that — 'tes all twizzled. [She takes it 
 from him] Sure yii'm not feelin' yer 'ead ? 
 Strangway. [With a resolute effort] No ! 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. [Doubtfully] I'll send 'im in, 
 then. [She goes. 
 
 When she is gone, Strangway passes his 
 handkerchief across his forehead, and his 
 lips move fast. He is standing motionless 
 when Cremer, a big man in labourer s 
 clothes, with a thick, broad face, and tragic, 
 faithful eyes, comes in, and stands a little 
 in from the closed door, quite dumb. 
 Strangway. [After a moment's silence — going up to 
 
28 A BIT 0' LOVE act i 
 
 him and laying a hand on his shoulder] Jack ! Don't 
 give way. If we give way — we're done. 
 
 Cremer. Yes, zurr. [A quiver passes over his face, 
 
 Strangway. She didn't. Your wife was a brave 
 woman. A dear woman. 
 
 Cremer. I never thought to liise 'er. She never 
 told me 'ow bad she was, afore she tuk to 'er bed. 
 'Tis a dreadful thing to llise a wife, zurr. 
 
 Strangway. [Tightening his lips, that tremble] Yes. 
 But don't give way ! Bear up. Jack ! 
 
 Cremer. Seems funny 'er goin' blue-bell time, an' 
 the sun shinin' so warm. I picked up an 'orse-shU 
 yesterday. I can't never 'ave 'er back, zurr. 
 
 [His face quivers again. 
 
 Strangway. Some day you'll join her. Think! 
 Some lose their wives for ever. 
 
 Cremer. I don't believe as there's a future life, 
 zurr. I think we goo to sleep like the beasts. 
 
 Strangway. We're told otherwise. But come here ! 
 [Drawing him to the window] Look ! Listen ! To sleep 
 in that! Even if we do, it won't be so bad. Jack, 
 will it.? 
 
 Cremer. She wer' a glide wife to me — no man 
 didn't 'ave no better wife. 
 
 Strangway. [Putting his hand out] Take hold — 
 hard — harder! I want yours as much as you want 
 mine. Pray for me. Jack, and I'll pray for you. 
 And we won't give way, will we? 
 
 Cremer. [To whom the strangeness of these words 
 has given some relief] No, zurr; thank 'ee, zurr. 'Tes 
 
ACT I A BIT O* LOVE 29 
 
 no glide, I expect. Only, I'll miss 'er. Thank 'ee, 
 
 zurr; kindly. 
 
 He lifts his hand to his head, turns, and un~ 
 certainly goes out to the kitchen. And 
 Strangway stays lohere he is, not knoiving 
 what to do. Then blindly he takes up his 
 flute, and hatless, hurries out into the 
 air, 
 
 CUBTAIN 
 
ACT II 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 About seven o'clock in the taproom of the village inn. 
 The bar, with the appurtenances thereof ^ stretches 
 across one end, and opposite is the porch door on 
 to the green. The wall between is nearly all win- 
 dow ^ with leaded panes, one wide-open casement 
 whereof lets in the last of the sunlight. A narrow 
 bench runs under this broad loindow. And this is 
 all the furniture^ save three spittoons. 
 
 GoDLEiGH, the innkeeper, a smallish man with thick 
 ruffled hairy a loquacious nose, and apple-red cheeks 
 above a reddish-brown moustache, is reading the 
 paper. To him enters Tibby Jarland with a 
 shilling in her mouth. 
 
 GoDLEiGH. Well, Tibby Jarland, what've yii come 
 for, then? Glass o' beer? 
 
 Tibby takes the shilling from her mouth and 
 
 smiles stolidly. 
 
 GoDLEiGH. [Tunnkling] I shid zay glass o' 'arf an' 
 
 'arf's about yiire form. [Tibby smiles more broadly] 
 
 Yii'm a praaper masterpiece. Well! *Ave sister 
 
 31 
 
32 A BIT O' LOVE act ii 
 
 Mercy borrowed yiire tongue ? [Tibby shakes her head] 
 Aw, she 'aven't. Well, maid ? 
 
 Tibby. Father wants six clay pipes, please. 
 GoDLEiGH. 'E dli, dii 'ee? Yu tell yiire father *e 
 can't 'ave more'n one, not this avenin'. And 'ere 'tis. 
 Hand up yiire shillin'. 
 
 Tibby reaches up her hand, parts tvith the 
 
 shilling, and receives a long clay pipe and 
 
 eleven pennies. In order to secure the coins 
 
 in her pinafore she places the clay pipe in 
 
 her mouth. While she is still thus engaged, 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere enters the porch and comes 
 
 in. Tibby curtsies stolidly. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Gracious, child ! What are you 
 
 doing here ? And what have you got in your mouth ? 
 
 Who is it.^ Tibby Jarland? [Tibby curtsies again] 
 
 Take that thing out. And tell your father from me 
 
 that if I ever see you at the inn again I shall tread 
 
 on his toes hard. Godleigh, you know the law about 
 
 children ? 
 
 Godleigh. [Cocking his eye, and not at all abashed] 
 Surely, m'm. But she will come. Go away, my 
 dear. 
 
 Tibby, never talcing her eyes of Mrs. Brad- 
 mere, or the pipe from her mouth, has 
 backed stolidly to the door, and vanished. 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [Eyeing Godleigh] Now, God- 
 leigh, I've come to talk to you. Half the scandal 
 that goes about the village begins here. [She holds 
 up her finger to check expostulation] No, no — it's no 
 
sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 33 
 
 good. You know the value of scandal to your busi- 
 ness far too well. 
 
 GoDLEiGH. Wi* all respect, m'm, I knows the vally 
 of it to yourn, tii. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. What do you mean by that? 
 
 GoDLEiGH. If there weren't no Rector's lady there 
 widden' be no notice taken o' scandal; an' if there 
 weren't no notice taken, twidden be scandal, to my 
 thinkin'. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [Winking out a grim little smile] 
 Very well ! You've given me your views. Now for 
 mine. There's a piece of scandal going about that's 
 got to be stopped, Godleigh. You turn the tap of it 
 off here, or we'll turn your tap off. You know me. 
 See.? 
 
 Godleigh. I shouldn' never presume, m'm, to know 
 a lady. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. The Rector's quite determined, 
 so is Sir Herbert. Ordinary scandal's bad enough, 
 but this touches the Church. While Mr. Strangway 
 remains curate here, there must be no talk about 
 him and his affairs. 
 
 Godleigh. [Cocking his eye] I was just thinkin* 
 how to du it, m'm. 'Twid be a brave notion to putt 
 the men in chokey, and slit the women's tongues- 
 like, same as they dii in outlandish places, as I'm told. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Don't talk nonsense, Godleigh; 
 and mind what I say, because I mean it. 
 
 Godleigh. Make yiire mind aisy, m'm — there'll be 
 no scandal-monkejan' here wi' my permission. 
 
34 A BIT 0' LOVE act ii 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere gives him a keen starcy hut 
 seeing him perfectly grave, nods her head 
 with approval. 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Good! You know what's being 
 said, of course ? 
 
 GoDLEiGH. [With respectful gravity] YU'll pardon 
 me, m'm, but ef an' in case yii was goin' to tell me, 
 there's a riile in this 'ouse: "No scandal 'ere!" 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [Twinkling grimly] You're too 
 smart by half, my man. 
 
 GoDLEiGH. Aw fegs, no, m'm — child in yiire 'ands. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. I wouldn't trust you a yard. 
 
 Once more, Godleigh! This is a Christian village, 
 
 and we mean it to remain so. You look out for 
 
 yourself. 
 
 The door opens to admit the farmers Trusta- 
 FORD and Burlacombe. They doff their 
 hats to Mrs. Bradmere, who, after one 
 more sharp look at Godleigh, jnoves to- 
 wards the door. 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Evening, Mr. Trustaford. [To 
 Burlacombe] Burlacombe, tell your wife that duck 
 she sent up was in hard training. 
 
 With one of her grim winks, and a nod, she 
 goes. 
 Trustaford. [Replacing a hat which is black, hard, 
 and not very new, on his long head, above a long face, 
 clean-shaved but for little whiskers] What's the old 
 grey mare want, then? [With a horse-laugh] 'Er's 
 lukin' awful wise ! 
 
sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 35 
 
 GoDLEiGH. [Enigmatically] Ah! 
 
 Trustaford. [Sitting on the bench close to the bar] 
 Drop o' whisky, an' potash. 
 
 BuRLACOMBE. [A tacitum, slim, yellowish man, in 
 a worn soft hat] What's niise, Godleigh? Drop o* 
 cider. 
 
 Godleigh. NUse? There's never no nlise in this 
 *ouse. Aw, no ! Not wi' my permission. [In imita- 
 tion] This is a Christian village. 
 
 Trustaford. Thought the old grey mare seemed 
 mighty busy. [To Burlacombe] 'Tes rather quare 
 about the curate's wife a-comin' motorin' this mornin'. 
 Passed me wi' her face all smothered up in a veil, 
 goggles an' all. Haw, haw ! 
 
 Burlacombe. Aye ! 
 
 Trustaford. Off again she was in 'alf an hour. 
 'Er didn't give poor old curate much of a chance, 
 after six months. 
 
 Godleigh. Havin' an engagement elsewhere — No 
 scandal, please, gentlemen. 
 
 Burlacombe. [Acidly] Never asked to see my missis. 
 Passed me in the yard like a stone. 
 
 Trustaford. 'Tes a little bit riimoursome lately 
 about 'er doctor. 
 
 Godleigh. Ah ! he's the favourite. But 'tes a dead 
 secret, Mr. Trustaford. Don't yii never repate it — 
 there's not a cat don't know it already ! 
 
 Burlacombe frowns, and Trustaford utters 
 his laugh. The door is opened and Freman, 
 
36 A BIT 0' LOVE act ii 
 
 a dark gipsyish man in the dress of a farmer , 
 comes in. 
 
 GoDLEiGH. Don't yii never tell Will Freman what 
 'e told me ! 
 
 Freman. Avenin' ! 
 
 Trustaford. Avenin', Will; what's yiire glass o' 
 trouble ? 
 
 Freman. Drop o' cider, clove, an' dash o* gin. 
 There's blood in the sky to-night. 
 
 BuRLAcoMBE. Ah! We'll 'ave fine weather now, 
 with the full o' the miine. 
 
 Freman. Dust o' wind an' a drop or tli, virst, I 
 reckon. 'Eard t' niise about curate an' 'is wife ? 
 
 GoDLEiGH. No, indeed; an' don't yii tell us. We'm 
 Christians 'ere in this village. 
 
 Freman. 'T^ain't no very Christian nlise, neither. 
 He's sent 'er off to th' doctor. "Go an' live with 
 un," 'e says; "my blessin' on ye." If 'er'd a-been 
 mine, I'd 'a tuk the whip to 'er. Tam Jarland's 
 maid, she yeard it all. Christian, indeed ! That's 
 brave Christianity! "Goo an' live with un!" 'e 
 told 'er. 
 
 Burlacombe. No, no; that's not sense — a man to 
 say that. I'll not 'ear that against a man that bides 
 in my 'ouse. 
 
 Freman. 'Tes sure, I tell 'ee. The maid was hid-up, 
 scared-like, behind the curtain. At it they went, and 
 parson 'e says: "Go," 'e says, "I won't kape 'ee from 
 'im," 'e says, "an' I won't divorce 'ee, as yii don't 
 wish it!" They was 'is words, same as Jarland's 
 
sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 37 
 
 maid told my maid, an' my maid told my missis. If 
 that's parson's talk, 'tes funny work goin' to church. 
 Trustaford. [Brooding] 'Tes wonderful quare, 
 zurely. 
 
 Freman. Tam Jarland's fair mad wi' curate for 
 makin' free wi' his maid's skylark. Parson or no 
 parson, 'e've no call to meddle wi' other people's 
 praperty. He cam' pokin' 'is nose into my affairs. 
 I told un I knew a sight more 'bout 'orses than 'e 
 ever would ! 
 
 Trustaford. He'm a bit crazy 'bout bastes an' 
 birds. 
 
 They have been so absorbed that they have not 
 noticed the entrance of Clyst, a youth with 
 tousled hairy and a bright^ quick, Celtic eye, 
 who stands listening, with a bit of paper in 
 his hand. 
 
 Cltst. Ah ! he'm that zurely, Mr. Trustaford. 
 
 [He chuckles, 
 
 GoDLEiGH. Now, Tim Clyst, if an' in case yli've 
 a-got some scandal on yer tongue, don't yii never 
 unship it here. YU go up to Rectory where 'twill 
 be more relished-like. 
 
 Clyst. [Waving the paper] Will y' give me a drink 
 for thic, Mr. Godleigh.? 'Tes rale funny. Aw! 'tes 
 somethin' swate. Butiful readin'. Poetry. Rale 
 spice. Yii've a luv'ly voice for readin', Mr. Godleigh. 
 
 GoDLEiGH. [All ears and tunnkle] Aw, what is it 
 then? 
 
38 A BIT O' LOVE act ii 
 
 Clyst. Ah! Yii want t'know tu much. 
 
 [Putting the paper in his pocket. 
 While he is speaking, Jim Bere ha^ entered 
 quietly, with his feeble step and smile, and 
 sits down. 
 Clyst. [Kindly] Hallo, Jim ! Cat come 'ome ? 
 Jim Bere. No. 
 
 All nod, and speak to him kindly. And Jim 
 Bere smiles at them, and his eyes ask of 
 them the question, to which there is no an- 
 swer. And after that he sits motionless and 
 silent, and they talk as if he were not 
 there. 
 Godleigh. What's all this, now — no scandal in my 
 'ouse ! 
 
 Clyst. 'Tes awful peculiar — like a drame. Mr. 
 Burlacombe *e don't like to hear tell about drames. 
 A guess a won't tdl 'ee, arter that. 
 Freman. Out wi' it, Tim. 
 
 Clyst. 'Tes powerful thirsty to-day, Mr. Godleigh. 
 Godleigh. [Drawing him some cider] Yii're all wild 
 cat's talk, Tim; yii've a-got no tale at all. 
 Clyst. [Moving for the cider] Aw, indade ! 
 Godleigh. No tale, no cider ! 
 Clyst. Did ye ever year tell of Orphus.'^ 
 Trustaford. What? The old vet.: up to Dray- 
 leigh ? 
 
 Clyst. Fegs, no; Orphus that lived in th' old time, 
 an' drawed the bastes after un wi' his music, same as 
 curate was tellin* the maids. 
 
sc. I A BIT 0' LOVE 39 
 
 Freman. I've 'eard as a gipsy over to Yellacott 
 could dii that wi' 'is viddle. 
 
 Clyst. 'Twas no gipsy I see'd this arterniine; 'twas 
 Orphus, down to Mr. Burlacombe's long medder; 
 settin' there all dark on a stone among the dimsy- 
 white flowers an' the cowflops, wi' a bird upon 'is 
 *ead, playin' his whistle to the ponies. 
 
 Freman. [Excitedly] Yii did never zee a man wi' a 
 bird on 'is 'ead. 
 
 Clyst. Didn' I? 
 
 Freman. What sort o' bird, then? YU tell me 
 that. 
 
 Trustaford. Praaper old barndoor cock. Haw, 
 haw! 
 
 Godleigh. [Soothingly] 'Tesa vairy-tale; us mustn't 
 be tu partic'lar. 
 
 BuRLACOMBE. In my long medder? Where were 
 yii, then, Tim Clyst? 
 
 Clyst. Passin' down the lane on my bike. Won- 
 derful sorrowful-fine music 'e played. The ponies 
 they did come round 'e — yii cud zee the tears runnin* 
 down their chakes; 'twas powerful sad. 'E 'adn't no 
 'at on. 
 
 Freman. [Jeering] No; 'e 'ad a bird on 'is 'ead. 
 
 Clyst. [With a silencing grin] He went on playin* 
 an' playin'. The ponies they never miived. An' all 
 the dimsy-white flowers they waved and waved, an' 
 the wind it went over 'em. Gav' me a funny feelin*. 
 
 Godleigh. Clyst, yii take the cherry bun ! 
 
 Clyst. Where's that cider, Mr. Godleigh? 
 
40 A BIT O' LOVE act n 
 
 GoDLEiGH. [Bending over the cider] YU've a -'ad til 
 much already, Tim. 
 
 The door is opened, and Tam Jarland appears. 
 He walks rather unsteadily; a man with a 
 heavy jowl, and sullen, strange, epileptic- 
 looking eyes. 
 
 Clyst. [Pointing to Jarland] 'Tis Tam Jarland 
 there 'as the cargo aboard. 
 
 Jarland. Avenm', all ! [To Godleigh] Pint o' beer. 
 [To Jim Bere] Avenin', Jim. 
 
 [Jim Bere looks at him and smiles. 
 
 Godleigh. [Serving him after a moment's hesitation] 
 'Ere y'are, Tam. [To Clyst, who has taken out his 
 paper again] Where'd yii get thiccy paper ? 
 
 Clyst. [Putting down his cider-mug empty] Yiire 
 tongue du watter, don't it, Mr. Godleigh? [Holding 
 out his mug] No zider, no poetry. 'Tis amazin' sor- 
 rowful; Shakespeare over again. "The boy stude on 
 the burnin' deck." 
 
 Freman. Yii and yer yap ! 
 
 Clyst. Ah ! Yii wait a bit. When I come back 
 down t'lane again, Orphus 'e was vanished away; 
 there was naught in the field but the ponies, an' a 
 praaper old magpie, a-top o' the hedge. I zee some- 
 thin' white in the beako' the fowl, so I giv' a "Whisht," 
 an' e drops it smart, an' off 'e go. I gets over bank 
 an' picks un up, and here't be. 
 
 [He holds out his mug. 
 
 BuRLACOMBE. [Tartly] Here, give 'im 'is cider. 
 Rade it yiireself, ye young teasewings. 
 
sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 41 
 
 Clyst, having secured his cider, drinks it off. 
 
 Holding up the paper to the light, he makes 
 
 as if to begin, then slides his eye round, 
 
 tantalizing. 
 
 Clyst. 'Tes a pity I hain't dressed in a white gown, 
 
 an' flowers in me 'air. 
 
 Freman. Read it, or we'll 'ave yii out o' this. 
 Clyst. Aw, don't 'ee shake my nerve, now ! 
 
 He begins reading with mock heroism, in his 
 soft, high, burring voice. Thus, in his rus- 
 tic accent, go the lines: 
 
 God lighted the zun in *eaven far. 
 Lighted the virefly an' the ztar. 
 My *eart 'E lighted not ! 
 
 God lighted the vields fur Iambs to play. 
 Lighted the bright strames, 'an the may. 
 My 'eart 'E lighted not ! 
 
 God lighted the miine, the Arab's way. 
 He lights to-morrer, an' to-day. 
 My 'eart 'E 'ath vorgot ! 
 
 When he has finished, there is silence. Then 
 Trust AFORD, scratching his head, speaks: 
 Trustaford. 'Tes amazin' funny stuff. 
 Freman. [Looking over Clyst's shoulder] Be danged ! 
 'Tes the curate's 'andwritin'. 'Twas curate wi* the 
 ponies, after that. 
 
 Clyst. Fancy, now! Aw, Will Freman, an't yii 
 bright ! 
 
42 A BIT O' LOVE act ii 
 
 Freman. But *e 'adn't no bird on 'is 'ead. 
 
 Clyst. Ya-as, 'e 'ad. 
 
 Jarland. [In a dull, threatening voice] 'E 'ad my 
 maid's bird, this arternline. 'Ead or no, and parson 
 or no, I'll gie 'im one for that. 
 
 Freman. Ah! And 'e meddled wi' my 'orses. 
 
 Trustaford. I'm thinkin' 'twas an old cuckoo 
 bird 'e 'ad on 'is 'ead. Haw, haw ! 
 
 GoDLEiGH. "His 'eart she 'ath vorgot!" 
 
 Freman. 'E's a fine one to be tachin' our maids 
 convirmation. 
 
 GoDLEiGH. Would ye 'ave it the old Rector then? 
 Wi' 'is gouty shoe? Rackon the maids wid rather 
 'twas curate; eh, Mr. Burlacombe? 
 
 BuRLACOMBE. [Abruptly] Curate's a glide man. 
 
 Jarland. [With the comatose ferocity of drink] I'll be 
 even wi' un. 
 
 Freman. [Excitedly] Tell 'ee one thing — 'tes not a 
 proper man o' God to 'ave about, wi' 'is liise goin's on. 
 Out vrom 'ere he oughter go. 
 
 Burlacombe. You med go further an' fare worse. 
 
 Freman. What's 'e dliin', then, lettin' 'is wife run off ? 
 
 Trustaford. [Scratching his head] If an' m case 'e 
 can't kape 'er, 'tes a funny way o' dliin' things not to 
 divorce 'er, after that. If a parson's not to dii the 
 Christian thing, whii is, then? 
 
 Burlacombe. 'Tes a bit immoral-like to pass over 
 a thing like that. 'Tes funny if women's goin's on's 
 to be encouraged. 
 
 Freman. Act of a coward, I zay. 
 
sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 43 
 
 BuRLACOMBE. The curate ain't no coward. 
 
 Freman. He bides in yiire house; 'tes natural for 
 yii to stand up for un; I'll wager Mrs. Burlacombe 
 don't, though. My missis was fair shocked. "Will," 
 she says, *'if yii ever make vur to let me go like that, 
 I widden never stay wi' yii," she says. 
 
 Trustaford. 'Tes settin' a bad example, for zure. 
 
 Burlacombe. 'Tes all very aisy talkin'; what shiide 
 'e dii, then .^ 
 
 Freman. [Excitedly] Go over to Durford and say 
 to that doctor: "Yii come about my missis, an' zee 
 what I'll dii to 'ee." An' take 'er 'ome an' zee she 
 don't misbe'ave again. 
 
 Clyst. 'E can't take 'er ef 'er don' want t' come — 
 I've 'card lawyer, that lodged wi' us, say that. 
 
 Freman. All right then, 'e ought to 'ave the law of 
 'er and 'er doctor; an' zee 'er goin's on don't prosper; 
 'e'd get damages, tu. But this way 'tes a nice ex- 
 ample he'm settin' folks. Parson indade ! My missis 
 an' the maids they won't goo near the church to-night, 
 an' I wager no one else won't, neither. 
 
 Jarland. [Lurching with his pewter up to Godleigh] 
 The beggar ! I'll be even wi' un. 
 
 Godleigh. [Looking at him in doubt] 'Tes the last, 
 then, Tam. 
 
 Having received his beer, Jarland stands, lean- 
 ing againsjt the bar, drinking. 
 
 Burlacombe. [Suddenly] I don' goo with what 
 curate's diiin' — 'tes tii soft 'earted; he'm a miiney 
 kind o' man altogether, wi' 'is flute an' 'is poetry; 
 
44 A BIT 0' LOVE act ii 
 
 but he've a-lodged in my 'ouse this year an' more, 
 and always 'ad an 'elpin' 'and for every one. I've 
 got a likin' for him an' there's an end of it. 
 
 Jarland. The coward ! 
 
 Trustaford. I don' trouble nothin' about that, 
 Tam Jarland. [Turning to Burlacombe] What gits 
 me is 'e don't seem to 'ave no zense o' what's his 
 own praperty. 
 
 Jarland. Take other folk's property fast enough! 
 [He saws the air with his empty pewter. The others 
 have all turned to him, drawn by the fascination that a 
 man in liquor has for his fellow-men. The bell for 
 church has begun to ring^ the sun is doion, and it is 
 getting dv^k.\ He wants one on his crop, an' one in 
 'is belly; 'e wants a man to take an' gie un a glide 
 hidin' — zame as he oughter give 'is fly-be-night of a 
 wife. [Strangway in his dark clothes has entered, and 
 stands by the door, his lips compressed to a colourless 
 line, his thin, darkish face grey-white] Zame as a man 
 wid ha' gi'en the doctor, for takin' what isn't his'n. 
 
 All but Jarland have seen Strangway. He 
 steps forward, Jarland sees him now; his 
 jaw drops a little, and he is silent. 
 
 Strangway. I came for a little brandy, Mr. God- 
 leigh — feeling rather faint. Afraid I mightn't get 
 through the service. 
 
 GoDLEiGH. \With professional composure] Marteil's 
 Three Star, zurr, or 'Ennessy's ? 
 
 Strangway. [Looking at Jarl^^nd] Thank you; I 
 believe I can do without, now. [He turns to go. 
 
sc. I A BIT O* LOVE 45 
 
 In the deadly silence, Godleigh touches the 
 
 arm. of Jarland, who, leaning against the 
 
 bar with the pewter in his hand, is staring 
 
 with his strange lowering eyes straight at 
 
 Strangway. 
 
 Jarland. [Galvanized by the touch into drunken rage] 
 
 Lave me be — I'll talk to un — parson or no. I'll tache 
 
 un to meddle wi' my maid's bird. I'll tache un to 
 
 kape 'is thievin' 'ands to 'imself. 
 
 [Strangway turns again. 
 Clyst. Be quiet, Tarn. 
 
 Jarland. [Never loosing Strangway with his eyes — 
 like a bull-dog who sees red] That's for one chake; 
 zee un turn t'other, the white-livered biity ! Whii 
 lets another man 'ave 'is wife, an' never the sperit to 
 go vor un ! 
 
 BuRLACOMBE. Shame, Jarland; quiet, man! 
 
 They are all looking at Strangway, who, 
 under Jarland's drunken insults is stand- 
 ing rigid, with his eyes closed, and his hands 
 hard clenched. The church bell has stopped 
 slow ringing, and begun its Jive minutes* 
 hurrying note. 
 Trustaford. [Rising, and trying to hook his arm 
 into Jarland's] Come away, Tam; yii've a- 'ad tii 
 much, man. 
 
 Jarland. [Shaking him off] Zee, 'e darsen't touch 
 me; I might 'it un in the vace an' 'e darsen't; 'e's 
 afraid — like 'e was o' the doctor. 
 
 He raises the pewter as though to fling it, but 
 
46 A BIT O' LOVE act ii 
 
 it is seized by Godleigh from behind, and 
 falls clattering to the floor. Strangway has 
 not moved. 
 
 Jarland. [Shaking his fist almost in his face] Liike 
 at un, liike at un! A man wi' a slut for a wife 
 
 As he utters the word *'wife** Strangway 
 seizes the outstretched fist, and with a ju- 
 jitsu movement, draws him into his clutch, 
 helpless. And as they sway and struggle 
 in the open window, with the false strength 
 of fury he forces Jarland through. There 
 is a crash of broken glass from outside. 
 At the sound Strangway com£s to him- 
 self. A look of agony passes over his 
 face. His eyes light on Jevi Bere, who 
 has suddenly risen, and stands feebly 
 clapping his hands. Strangway rushes 
 out. 
 
 Excitedly gathering at the window, they all 
 speak at once. 
 
 Clyst. Tarn's hatchin' of yiire cucumbers, Mr. 
 Godleigh. 
 
 Trustaford. 'E did crash; haw, haw! 
 
 Freman. 'Twas a brave throw, ziirely. WhU wid 
 a' thought it? 
 
 Clyst. Tam's crawlin' out. [Leaiiing through win- 
 dow] Hallo, Tam — 'ow's t' base, old man ? 
 
 Freman. [Excitedly] They'm all comin' up from 
 churchyard to zee. 
 
sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 47 
 
 Trustaford. Tarn dii llike wonderful aztonished; 
 haw, haw ! Poor old Tarn ! 
 
 Clyst. Can yii zee curate? Rackon 'e'm gone 
 into church. Aw, yes; gettin' a bit dimsy — sarvice 
 time. [A moment's hush. 
 
 Trustaford. Well, I'm jiggered. In 'alf an hour 
 he'm got to prache. 
 
 GoDLEiGH. 'Tes a Christian village, boys. 
 
 Feebly, quietly, Jim Bere laughs. There is 
 silence; hut the hell is heard still ringing. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 SCENE n 
 
 The same — in daylight dying fast. A lamp is burning 
 on the bar. A chair has been placed in the centre 
 of the roo'n, facing the bench under the window^ 
 on which are seated from right to left, Godleigh, 
 Sol Potter the village shopman, Trustaford, 
 BuRLAcoMBE, Freman, Jim Bere, and Morse 
 the blacksmith. Clyst is squatting on a stool by 
 the bar, and at the other end Jarland, sobered and 
 lowering, leans against the lintel of the porch lead- 
 ing to the door, round which are gathered jive or 
 six sturdy fellows, dumb as fishes. No one sits 
 
48 A BIT O' LOVE act ii 
 
 in the chair. In the unnatural silence that reignsy 
 the distant sound of the wheezy church organ and 
 voices singing can he heard. 
 
 Trustaford. [After a prolonged clearing of his 
 throat] What I mean to zay Ls that 'tes no yiise, not 
 a bit o' yiise in the world, not diiin' of things prop- 
 erly. If an' in case we'm to carry a resolution dis- 
 approvin' o' curate, it must all be done so as no one 
 can't zay nothin'. 
 
 Sol Potter. That's what I zay, Mr. Trustaford; 
 ef so be as 'tis to be a village meetin', then it must 
 be all done proper. 
 
 Fri2Vian. That's right, Sol Potter. I purpose Mr. 
 Sol Potter into the chair. Whii seconds that.'* 
 
 A silence. Voices from among the dumb-as- 
 jishes: "I dii." 
 
 Clyst. [Excitedly] Yii can't putt that to the meetin'. 
 Only a chairman can putt it to the meetin'. I pur- 
 pose that Mr. Burlacombe — bein' as how he's chair- 
 man o' the Parish Council — take the chair. 
 
 Feeman. Ef so be as I can't putt it, yii can't putt 
 that neither. 
 
 Trustaford. 'Tes not a bit o' yiise; us can't 'ave 
 no meetin' without a chairman. 
 
 GoDLEiGH. Us can't 'ave no chairman without a 
 meetin' to elect un, that's ziire. [A silence. 
 
 Morse. [Heavily] To my way o' thinkin', Mr. God- 
 leigh speaks zense; us must 'ave a meetin' before us 
 can 'ave a chairman. 
 
 Clyst. Then what we got to dii's to elect a meetin*. 
 
sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 49 
 
 BuRLACOMBE. [Sourly] Yu'll not find no procedure 
 for that. 
 
 Voices from among the dumh-as-jishes : "Mr. 
 Burlacombe 'e oughter know." 
 
 Sol Potter. [Scratching his head — mth heavy so- 
 lemnity] 'Tes my belief there's no other way to dii, 
 but to elect a chairman to call a meetin'; an' then 
 for that meetin' to elect a chairman. 
 
 Clyst. I purpose Mr. Burlacombe as chairman to 
 call a meetin'. 
 
 Freivian. I purpose Sol Potter. 
 
 GoDLEiGH. Can't 'ave tu propositions together 
 before a meetin'; that's apple-pie ziire var zurtain. 
 Voice from among the dumh-as-jishes : "There 
 ain't no meetm' yet, Sol Potter zays." 
 
 Trustaford. Us must get the rights of it zettled 
 some'ow. 'Tes like the darned old chicken an' the 
 egg — meetin' or chairman — which come virst.'^ 
 
 Sol Potter. [Conciliating] To my thinkm' there 
 shid be another way o' diiin' it, to get round it like 
 with a circumbendibus. 'T'all comes from takin' 
 different viise, in a manner o' spakin'. 
 
 Freman. Yu goo an' zet in that chair. 
 
 Sol Potter. [With a glance at Burlacombe — 
 modestly] I shid'n never like fur to dii that, with 
 Mr. Burlacombe zettm' there. 
 
 Burlacombe. [Rising] 'Tes all darned fulishness. 
 
 Amidst an uneasy shufflement of feet he moves 
 to the door, and goes out into the darkness. 
 
50 A BIT O' LOVE act ii 
 
 Clyst. [Seeing his candidate thus depart] Rackon 
 curate's pretty well thrii by now, I'm goin' to zee. 
 [As he passes Jarland] 'Ow's ta base, old man ? 
 
 [He goes out. 
 One of the dumb-as-fishes moves from the door 
 and fills the space left on the bench by Burla- 
 combe's departure. 
 
 Jarland. Darn all this puzzivantin' ! [To Sol Pot- 
 ter] Goo an' zet in that chair. 
 
 Sol Potter. [Rising and going to the chair; there 
 he stands, changing from one to the other of his short 
 broad feet and sweating from modesty and worth] 'Tes 
 my duty now, gentlemen, to call a meetin' of the 
 parishioners of this parish. I beg therefore to de- 
 clare that this is a meetin' in accordance with my 
 duty as chairman of this meetin' which elected me 
 chairman to call this meetin'. And I purceed to vacate 
 the chair so that this meetin' may now purceed to 
 elect a chairman. 
 
 He gets up from the chair, and wiping the 
 sweat from his brow, goes back to his seat. 
 
 Freman. Mr. Chairman, I rise on a point of order. 
 
 Godleigh. There ain't no chairman. 
 
 Freman. I don't give a darn for that. I rise on 
 a point of order. 
 
 Godleigh. 'Tes a chairman that decides points of 
 order. 'Tes certain yU can't rise on no points what- 
 ever till there's a chairman. 
 
 Trustaford. 'Tes no yiise yiire risin', not the least 
 
sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 51 
 
 bit in the world, till there's some one to zet yii down 
 again. Haw, haw ! 
 
 Voice from the dumb-as-fishes : * * Mr. Trusta- 
 ford 'e's right." 
 
 Freman. What I zay is the chairman ought never 
 to 'ave vacated the chair till I'd risen on my point of 
 order. I purpose that he goo and zet down again. 
 
 GoDLEiGH. Yii can't purpose that to this meetin'; 
 yii can only purpose that to the old meetin' that's 
 not zettin' any longer. 
 
 Freman. [Excitedly] I don' care what old meetin' 
 'tis that's zettin'. I purpose that Sol Potter goo an' 
 zet in that chair again, while I rise on my point of 
 order. 
 
 Trustaford. [Scratching his head] 'Tesn't regular — 
 but I guess yii've got to goo, Sol, or us shan't 'ave 
 no peace. 
 
 Sol Potter, still wiping his brow, goes back 
 to the chair. 
 
 Morse. [Stolidly — to Freman] Zet down, Will Fre- 
 man. [He pulls at him with a blacksmith's arm. 
 
 Freman. [Remaining erect with an effort] I'm not 
 a-goin' to zet down till I've arisen. 
 
 Jarland. Now then, there 'e is in the chair. What's 
 yiire point of order? 
 
 Freman. [Darting his eyes here and there, and fling- 
 ing his hand up to his gipsy-like head] 'Twas — 'twas — 
 Darned ef y' 'aven't putt it clean out o' my 'ead. 
 
 Jarland. We can't wait for yiire points of order. 
 Come out o' that chair, Sol Potter. 
 
52 A BIT O' LOVE act n 
 
 Sol Potter rises and is about to vacate the 
 chair. 
 
 Freihan. I know ! There ought to 'a been minutes 
 taken. Yii can't 'ave no meetin' without minutes. 
 When us comes to electin' a chairman o' the next 
 meetin', 'e won't 'ave no minutes to read. 
 
 Sol Potter. 'Twas only to putt down that I was 
 elected chairman to elect a meetin' to elect a chair- 
 man to preside over a meetin' to pass a resolution 
 dalin' wi' the curate. That's aisy set down, that is. 
 
 Freman. [Mollified] We'll 'ave that zet down, then, 
 while we're electin' the chairman o' the next meetin'. 
 
 [A silence. 
 
 Trustaford. Well then, seein' this is the praaper 
 old meetin' for carryin' the resolution about the curate, 
 I purpose Mr. Sol Potter take the chair. 
 
 Freman. I purpose Mr. Trustaford. I 'aven't a-got 
 nothin' against Sol Potter, but seein' that he elected 
 the meetin' that's to elect 'im, it might be said that 
 'e was electin' of himzelf in a manner of spakin'. Us 
 don't want that said. 
 
 Morse. [Amid meditative grunts from the dumh-as- 
 fishes] There's some-at in that. One o' they tU pur- 
 posals must be putt to the meetin'. 
 
 Freman. Second must be putt virst, fur zlire. 
 
 Trustaford. I dunno as I wants to zet in that 
 chair. To hiss the curate, 'tis a ticklish sort of a job 
 after that. Vurst comes afore second. Will Freeman. 
 
 Freman. Second is amendment to virst. 'Tes the 
 amendments is putt virst. 
 
sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 53 
 
 Trustaford. 'Ow's that, Mr. Godleigh? I'm not 
 particular eggzac'ly to a dilly zort of a point like 
 that. 
 
 Sol Potter. [Scratching his head] 'Tes a very nice 
 point, for ziire. 
 
 Godleigh. 'Tes undoubtedly for the chairman to 
 decide. 
 
 Voice from the dumh-as-fishes : "But there 
 ain't no chairman yet." 
 
 Jarland. Sol Potter's chairman. 
 
 Freman. No, 'e ain't. 
 
 Morse. Yes, 'e is — 'e's chairman till this second 
 old meetin' gets on the go. 
 
 Freman. I deny that. What dU yii say, Mr. 
 Trustaford ? 
 
 Trustaford. I can't 'ardly tell. It dii zeem a 
 darned long-sufferin' sort of a business altogether. 
 
 [A silence. 
 
 Morse. [Slowly] Tell 'ee what 'tis, us shan't dU no 
 glide like this. 
 
 Godleigh. 'Tes for Mr. Freman or Mr. Trustaford, 
 one or t'other to withdraw their motions. 
 
 Trustaford. [After a pause, with cautious genercs- 
 ity] I've no objections to withdrawin' mine, if Will 
 Freman '11 withdraw his'n. 
 
 Freman. I won't never be be'indhand. If Mr. 
 Trustaford withdraws, I withdraws mine. 
 
 Morse. [With relief] That's zensible. Putt the 
 motion to the meetin*. 
 
54 A BIT O' LOVE act ii 
 
 Sol Potter. There ain't no motion left to putt. 
 
 [Silence of consternation. 
 [In the confusion Jim Bere is seen to stand up. 
 GoDLEiGH. Jim Bere to spake. Silence for Jim ! 
 Voices. Aye ! Silence for Jim ! 
 Sol Potter. Well, Jim ? 
 Jim. [Smiling and slow] Nothin' diiin'. 
 Trustaford. Bravo, Jim! Yii'm right. Bestzense 
 yet! 
 
 [Applause from the dumb-a^ -fishes. 
 
 [With his smile brightening, Jim resumes his seat. 
 Sol Potter. [Wiping his brow] Du seem to me, 
 gentlemen, seein' as we'm got into a bit of a tangle 
 in a manner of spakin*, 'twid be the most zimplest 
 and vairest way to begin all over vrom the beginnin', 
 so's t'ave it all vair an' square for every one. 
 
 In the uproar of "Aye" and *'No," it is no- 
 ticed that TiBBY Jarland is standing in 
 front of her father with her finger, for want 
 of something better, in her mouth. 
 Tibet. [In her stolid voice] Please, sister Mercy says, 
 curate *ave got to "Lastly." [Jarland picks her up, 
 and there is silence.] An' please to come quick. 
 Jarland. Come on, mates; quietly now! 
 
 [He goes out, and all begin to follow him. 
 
 Morse. [Slowest, save for Sol Potter] 'Tes rare 
 
 lucky us was all agreed to hiss the curate afore us 
 
 began the botherin' old meetin', or us widn' 'ardly 
 
 'ave 'ad time to settle what to dii. 
 
sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 55 
 
 Sol Potter. [Scratching Ms head] Aye, 'tes rare 
 lucky, but I dunno if 'tes altogether reg'lar. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 SCENE III 
 
 The milage green before the churchjard and the yew- 
 trees at the gate. Into the pitch dark under the 
 yewsy light comes out through the half-open church 
 door. Figures are lurkingy or moving stealthily 
 — people waiting and listening to the sound of a 
 voice speaking in the church loords that are inau- 
 dible. Excited whispering and faint giggles come 
 from the deepest yew-tree shade, made ghostly by 
 the white faces and the frocks of young girls con- 
 tinually jiitting up and back in the blackness. 
 A girVs figure comes flying out from the porch, 
 down the path of light, and joins the stealthy 
 group. 
 
 Whispering Voice of Mercy. Where's 'e got to 
 now, Gladys? 
 
 Whispering Voice of Gladys. 'E've just finished. 
 
 Voice of Connie. Whii pushed t'door open ? 
 
 Voice of Gladys. Tim Clyst— I giv' it a little 
 push, meself. 
 
56 A BIT O' LOVE act ii 
 
 Voice of Connie. Oh! 
 
 Voice of Gladys. Tim Clyst's gone in ! 
 
 Another Voice. 0-o-o-h! 
 
 Voice of Mercy. Whii else is there, tu.? 
 
 Voice of Gladys. Ivy's there, an' old Mrs. Pot- 
 ter, an' tii o' the maids from th'Hall; that's all as 
 ever. 
 
 Voice of Connie. Not the old grey mare? 
 
 Voice of Gladys. No. She ain't ther'. 'Twill 
 just be th'ymn now, an' the Blessin'. Tibby gone 
 for 'em? 
 
 Voice of Mercy. Yes. 
 
 Voice of Connie. Mr. Burlacombe's gone in home, 
 I saw 'im pass by just now — 'e don' like it. Father 
 don't like it neither. 
 
 Voice of Mercy. Mr. Strangway shouln' 'ave 
 taken my skylark, an' thrown father out o' winder. 
 'Tis goin' to be awful fun ! Oh ! 
 
 She jumps up and down in the darkness. 
 And a voice from far in the shadow says: 
 "Hsssh! Quiet, yii maids!" The voice 
 has ceased speaJcing in the church. There 
 is a moment* s dead silence. The voice 
 speaks again; then from the wheezy little 
 organ come the first faint chords of a 
 hymn. 
 
 Gladys. "Nearer, my God, to Thee!" 
 Voice of Mercy. 'Twill be funny, with no one 
 'ardly singin'. 
 
SC. Ill 
 
 A BIT O' LOVE 57 
 
 The sound of the old hymn sung by just six 
 voices comes out to them rather sweet and 
 clear. 
 
 Gladys. [Softly] 'Tis pretty, tu. Why! They're 
 only singin' one verse ! 
 
 A moment's silence, and the voice speaks, 
 uplifted, pronouncing the Blessing: "The 
 
 peace of God " As the last words 
 
 die away, dark figures from the inn ap- 
 proach over the grass, till quite a crowd 
 seems standing there without a word spoken. 
 Then from out the church porch come the 
 congregation. Tim Clyst first, hastily lost 
 among the waiting figures in the dark; 
 old Mrs. Potter, a half-blind old lady ■ 
 groping her way and perceiving nothing 
 out of the ordinary; the two maids from 
 the Hall, self-conscious and scared, scut- 
 tling along. Last, Ivy Burlacombe quickly, 
 and starting hack at the dim, half-hidden 
 crowd. 
 
 Voice of Gladys. [Whispering] Ivy ! Here, quick ! 
 Ivy sways, darts of towards the voice, and is 
 lost in the shadow. 
 
 Voice of Freman. [Low] Wait, boys, till I give 
 signal. 
 
 Two or three squirks and giggles; Tim Clyst's 
 voice: "Ya-as! Don't 'ee tread on my 
 toe!" A soft, frightened "0-o-h!" from 
 a girl. Some quick, excited whisperings: 
 
58 A BIT O' LOVE act ii 
 
 "Luke!" "Zee there!" "He's comin'!" 
 And then a perfectly dead silence. The 
 figure of Strang way is seen in his dark 
 clothes, passing from the vestry to the church 
 porch. He stands plainly visible in the 
 lighted porch, locking the door, then steps 
 forward. Just as he reaches the edge of 
 the porch, a low hiss breaks the silence. It 
 swells very gradually into a long, hissing 
 groan. Strangway stands motionless, his 
 hand over his eyes, staring into the dark- 
 ness. A girVs figure can be seen to break 
 out of the darkness and rush away. When 
 at last the groaning has died into sheer ex- 
 pectancy, Strangway drops his hand. 
 
 Strangway. [In a low voice] Yes! I'm glad. Is 
 Jarland there.'' 
 
 Freman. He's 'ere — no thanks to yii ! Hsss ! 
 
 [The hiss breaks oid again, then dies away. 
 
 Jarland's Voice. [Threatening] Try if yii can du 
 it again. 
 
 Strangway. No, Jarland, no! I ask you to for- 
 give me. Humbly ! 
 
 [A hesitating silence, broken by muttering. 
 
 Clyst's Voice. Bravo! 
 
 A Voice. That's vair! 
 
 A Voice. 'E's afraid o' the sack — that's what 'tis. 
 
 A Voice. [Groaning] 'E's a praaper coward. 
 
 A Voice. Whii funked the doctor? 
 
 Clyst's Voice. Shame on 'ee, therr ! 
 
sc. Ill A BIT O' LOVE 59 
 
 Strangway. You're right — all of you ! I'm not fit ! 
 An uneasy and excited muttering and whisper- 
 ing dies away into renewed silence. 
 Strangway. What I did to Tarn Jarland is not the 
 real cause of what you're doing, is it? I understand. 
 But don't be troubled. It's all over. I'm going — 
 you'll get some one better. Forgive me, Jarland. 
 I can't see your face — it's very dark. 
 
 Freman's Voice. [MocJcing] Wait for the full 
 mline. 
 
 GoDLEiGH. [Very low] "My 'eart 'E lighted not!" 
 Strangway. [Starting at the sound of his own words 
 thus mysteriously given him out of the darkness] Who- 
 ever found that, please tear it up ! [After a momenVs 
 silence] Many of you have been very kind to me. 
 You won't see me again — Good-bye, all ! 
 
 He stands for a second motionless^ then moves 
 
 resolutely down into the darkness so peopled 
 
 with shadows. 
 
 Uncertain Voices as he passes. Good-bye, zurr ! 
 
 Good luck, zurr ! [He has gone. 
 
 Clyst's Voice. Three cheers for Mr. Strangway! 
 
 And a queer y strangled cheer , with groans still 
 
 threading it, arises. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
ACT III 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 In the BuRLACOMBEs' hall-sittingroom the curtains are 
 drawn, a lamp hums, and the door stands open. 
 BuRi^coMBE and his wife are hovering there, 
 listening to the sound of mingled cheers and 
 groaning, 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Aw! my gUdeness — what a 
 thing t'appen ! I'd siiner 'a lost all me ducks. [She 
 makes towards the inner door] I can't never face 'im. 
 
 Burlacombe. 'E can't expect nothin' else, if 'e act 
 like that. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. 'Tes only dliin' as 'e'd be done 
 
 by. 
 
 Burlacombe. Aw ! Yii can't go on forgivin' 'ere, 
 an' forgivin' there. 'Tesn't nat'ral. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. 'Tes the mischief 'e'm a par- 
 son. 'Tes 'im bein' a lamb o' God — or 'twidden be 
 so quare for 'im to be forgivin'. 
 
 Burlacombe. Yii goo an' make un a giide 'ot drink. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Poor soul ! What'll 'e dii now, 
 I wonder? [Under her breath] 'E's comin' ! 
 
 She goes hurriedly. Burlacombe, with a 
 61 
 
62 A BIT 0' LOVE ACT iii 
 
 startled look back, wavers and makes to 
 
 follow her, hut stops undecided in the inner 
 
 doorway. Strangway comes in from the 
 
 darkness. He turns to the window and 
 
 drops overcoat and hat and the church key 
 
 on the window-seat, looking about him as 
 
 men do when too hard driven, and never 
 
 fixing his eyes long enough on anything to 
 
 see it. BuRLACOMBE, closing the door into 
 
 the house, advances a step. At the sound 
 
 Strangway faces round. 
 
 BuRLACOMBE. I wanted for yii to know, zurr, that 
 
 me an' mine 'adn't nothin' to dii wi' that darned 
 
 fulishness, just now. 
 
 Strangway. [With a ghost of a smile] Thank you, 
 Burlacombe. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter a 
 bit. 
 
 Burlacombe. I 'ope yii won't take no notice of it. 
 Like a lot o' silly bees they get. [After an uneasy 
 pause] Yii '11 excuse me spakin' of this mornin', an' 
 what 'appened. 'Tes a brave pity it cam' on yii so 
 sudden-like before yii 'ad time to think. 'Tes a sort 
 o' thing a man shiide zet an' chew upon. Certainly 
 'tes not a bit o' yiise goin' against human nature. Ef 
 yii don't stand up for yiireself there's no one else not 
 goin' to. 'Tes yiire not 'avin' done that 'as made 
 'em so rampageous. [Stealing another look at Strang- 
 way] Yii'll excuse me, zurr, spakin' of it, but 'tes 
 amazin' sad to zee a man let go his own, without a 
 word o' darin'. 'Tes as ef 'e 'ad no passions-like. 
 
sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 68 
 
 Stkangway. Look at me, Burlacombe. 
 
 BuRLACOMBE looks up, trying hard to keep 
 his eyes on Strangway's, that seem to burn 
 in his thin face. 
 Strangway. Do I look like that? Please, please! 
 [He touches his breast] I've too much here. Please ! 
 
 Burlacombe. [With a sort of startled respect] Well, 
 zurr, 'tes not for me to zay nothin', certainly. 
 
 He turns and after a slow look back at Strang- 
 way goes out. 
 Strangway. [To himself] Passions! No passions! 
 Ha! 
 
 The outer door is opened and Ivy Burlacombe 
 appears^ and, seeing him, stops. Then, 
 coming softly towards him, she speaks 
 timidly. 
 
 Ivy. Oh ! Mr. Strangway, Mrs. Bradmere's comin' 
 from the Rectory. I ran an' told 'em. Oh! 'twas 
 awful. 
 
 Strangway starts, stares at her, and turning 
 on his heel, goes into the house. Ivy's face 
 is all puckered, as if she were on the point 
 of tears. There is a gentle scratching at the 
 door, which has not been quite closed. 
 
 Voice of Gladys. [Whispering] Ivy ! Come on ! 
 Ivy. I won't. 
 
 Voice of Mercy. YU must. Us can't dii with- 
 out yii. 
 
64 A BIT O' LOVE act hi 
 
 Ivy. [Going to the door] I don't want to. 
 Voice of Gladys. "Naughty maid, she won't come 
 out," Ah ! dU 'ee ! 
 
 Voice of Connie. Tim Clyst an' Bobbie's comin'; 
 us'll only be six anyway. Us can't dance "figure of 
 eight" without yli. 
 
 Ivy. [Stamping her foot] I don't want to dance at 
 all! I don't. 
 
 Mercy. Aw ! She's temper. Yii can bang on 
 tambourine, then ! 
 
 Gladys. [Running in] Quick, Ivy! Here's the old 
 grey mare comin' down the green. Quick. 
 
 With whispering and scufiing, gurgling and 
 squeaking, the reluctant Ivy's hand is caught 
 and she is jerked away. In their haste they 
 have left the door open behind them. 
 Voice of Mrs. Bradmere. [Outside] Who's that? 
 She knocks loudly, and rings a hell; then, 
 without waiiing, coTnes in through the open 
 door. 
 Noting the overcoat and hat on the window-sill 
 she moves across to ring the bell. But as 
 she does so, Mrs. Burlacombe, followed by 
 Bxjrlacombe, comes in from the house. 
 Mrs. Bradmere. This disgraceful business ! WTiere's 
 Mr. Strangway.'^ I see he's in. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. Yes, m'm, he'm in — but — but 
 Burlacombe dii zay he'm terrible upzet. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. I should think so. I must see 
 him — at once. 
 
sc. I A BIT 0' LOVE 65 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. I doubt bed's the best place 
 for 'un, an' a glide 'ot drink. Burlacombe zays he'm 
 like a man standin' on the edge of a cliflF, and the 
 laste tipsy o' wind might throw un over. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [To Burlacombe] You've seen 
 him, then? 
 
 Burlacombe. Yeas; an' I don't like the luke of 
 un — not a little bit, I don't. 
 
 Mrs. Burlacombe. [Almost to herself] Poor soul; 
 'e've a-'ad tii much to try un this yer long time 
 past. I've a-seen 'tis sperrit comin' thrii 'is body, 
 as yii might zay. He's torn to bits, that's what 
 'tis. 
 
 Burlacombe. 'Twas a praaper cowardly thing to 
 hiss a man when he's down. But 'twas natural tii, 
 in a manner of spakin'. But 'tesn't that troublin' 
 'im. 'Tes in here [touching his forehead], along of his 
 wife, to my thinkin'. They zay 'e've a-known about 
 'er afore she went away. Think of what 'e've 'ad 
 to kape in all this time. 'Tes enough to drive a man 
 silly after that. I've a-locked my gun up. I see a 
 man liike like that once before — an' sure enough 'e 
 was dead in the mornin' ! 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Nonsense, Burlacombe ! [To Mrs. 
 Burlacombe] Go and tell him I want to see him — 
 must see him. [Mrs. Burlacombe goes into the house] 
 And look here, Burlacombe; if we catch any one, 
 man or woman, talking of this outside the village, 
 it'll be the end of their tenancy, whoever they may be. 
 Let them all know that. I'm glad he threw that 
 
66 A BIT 0' LOVE act hi 
 
 drunken fellow out of the window, though it was a 
 little 
 
 BuELACOMBE. Aye ! The niispapers would be 
 praaper glad of that, for a tiddy bit o' niise. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. My goodness! Yes! The men 
 are all up at the inn. Go and tell them what I said 
 — ifs not to get about. Go at once, Burlaeombe. 
 
 BuRLACOMBE. Must be a turrable job for 'im, every 
 one's knowin' about 'is wife like this. He'm a proud 
 man tii, I think. 'Tes a funny business altogether ! 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Horrible! Poor fellow! Now, 
 come ! Do your best, Burlaeombe ! 
 
 BuRLACOMBE touches his forelock and goes. 
 Mrs. Bradmere stands quite still, think- 
 ing. Then going to the 'photography she 
 stares up at it. 
 
 Mbs. Bradmere. You baggage ! 
 
 Strangway has come in noiselessly, and is 
 standing just behind her. She turns, and 
 sees him. There is something so still, so 
 startlingly still in his figure and white face, 
 that she cannot for the moment find her 
 voice. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [At last] This is most distressing. 
 I'm deeply sorry. [Then, as he does not answer, she 
 goes a step closer] I'm an old woman; and old women 
 must take liberties, you know, or they couldn't get 
 on at all. Come now ! Let's try and talk it over 
 calmly and see if we can't put things right. 
 
sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 67 
 
 Strangway. You were very good to come; but I 
 would rather not. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. I know you're in as grievous 
 trouble as a man can be. 
 
 Strangway. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [With a little sound of sympathy] 
 What are you — thirty-five? I'm sixty-eight if I'm 
 a day — old enough to be your mother. I can feel 
 what you must have been through all these months, 
 I can indeed. But you know you've gone the wrong 
 way to work. We aren't angels down here below ! 
 And a son of the Church can't act as if for himself 
 alone. The eyes of every one are on him. 
 
 Strangway. [Talcing the church key from the window- 
 sill] Take this, please. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. No, no, no ! Jarland deserved 
 all he got. You had great provocation 
 
 Strangway. It's not Jarland. [Holding out the key] 
 Please take it to the Rector. I beg his forgiveness. 
 [Touching his breast] There's too much I can't speak 
 of — can't make plain. Take it to him, please. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Mr. Strangway — I don't accept 
 this. I am sure my husband — the Church — will never 
 accept 
 
 Strangway. Take it ! 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [Almost unconsciously taking it] 
 Mind! We don't accept it. You must come and 
 talk to the Rector to-morrow. You're overwrought. 
 You'll see it all in another light, then. 
 
68 A BIT O' LOVE act hi 
 
 Strangway. [With a strange smile] Perhaps. [Lift- 
 ing the blind] Beautiful night! Couldn't be more 
 beautiful ! 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [Startled — softly] Don't turn away 
 from those who want to help you ! I'm a grumpy 
 old woman, but I can feel for you. Don't try and 
 keep it all back, like this ! A woman would cry, and 
 it would all seem clearer at once. Now won't you 
 let me ? 
 
 Strangway. No one can help, thank you. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Come ! Things haven't gone 
 beyond mending, really, if you'll face them. [Poiiit- 
 ing to the photograph] You know what I mean. We 
 dare not foster immorality. 
 
 Strangway. [Quivering as at a jabbed nerve] Don't 
 speak of that ! 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. But think what you've done, Mr. 
 Strangway ! If you can't take your wife back, surely 
 you must divorce her. You can never help her to 
 go on like this in secret sin. 
 
 Strangway. Torture her — one way or the other.'* 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. No, no; I want you to do as tha 
 Church — as all Christian society would wish. Come I 
 You can't let this go on. My dear man, do your 
 duty at all costs ! 
 
 Strangway. Break her heart .'^ 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Then you love that woman — more 
 than God ! 
 
 Strangway. [His face quivering] Love ! 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. They told me — Yes, and I can 
 
sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 69 
 
 see you're in a bad way. Come, pull yourself to- 
 gether ! You can't defend what you're doing. 
 
 Strangway, I do not try. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. 1 7mist get you to see ! My father 
 was a clergyman; I'm married to one; I've two 
 sons in the Church. I know what I'm talking 
 about. It's a priest's business to guide the people's 
 lives. 
 
 Strangway. [Very low] But not mine ! No more ! 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [Looking at him shrewdly] There's 
 something very queer about you to-night. You ought 
 to a see doctor. 
 
 Strangway. [A smile coming and going on his lips] 
 If I am not better soon 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. I know it must be terrible to feel 
 that everybody — [A convulsive shiver passes over 
 Strangway, and he shrinks against the door] But 
 come! Live it down! [With anger growing at his 
 silence] Live it down, man ! You can't desert your 
 post — and let these villagers do what they like with 
 us.'* Do you realize that you're letting a woman, 
 who has treated you abominably — yes, abominably 
 — go scot-free, to live comfortably with another man ? 
 What an example ! 
 
 Strangway. Will you, please, not speak of that ! 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. I must! This great Church of 
 ours is based on the rightful condemnation of wrong- 
 doing. There are times when forgiveness is a sin, 
 Michael Strangway. You must keep the whip hand. 
 You must fight ! 
 
70 A BIT 0' LOVE act hi 
 
 Strangway. Fight! [Touching his heart] My fight 
 is here. Have you ever been in hell? For months 
 and months — burned and longed; hoped against hope; 
 killed a man in thought day by day? Never rested, 
 for love and hate? I — condemn! I — judge! No! 
 It's rest I have to find — somewhere — somehow — rest! 
 And how — how can I find rest? 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. [Who has listened to his outburst 
 in a sort of coma] You are a strange man ! One of 
 these days you'll go off your head if you don't take 
 care. 
 
 Strangway. [Smiling] One of these days the flowers 
 will grow out of me; and I shall sleep. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere stares at his smiling face a 
 
 long moment in silence, then with a little 
 
 sound, half sniff, half snort, she goes to the 
 
 door. There she halts. 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. And you mean to let all this go 
 
 on — Your wife 
 
 Strangway. Go ! Please go ! 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Men like you have been bur- 
 ied at cross-roads before now ! Take care ! God 
 punishes ! 
 
 Strangway. Is there a God ? 
 
 Mrs. Bradmere. Ah ! [With finality] You must see 
 a doctor. 
 
 Seeing that the look on his face does not change, 
 she opens the door, and hurries away into 
 the moonlight. 
 Strangway crosses the room to where his wife's 
 
sc. 1 A BIT O' LOVE 71 
 
 'picture hangs, and stands before it, his hands 
 grasping the frame. Then he takes it from 
 the wall, and lays it face upwards on the 
 window-seat. 
 Strangway. [To himself] Gone ! What is there, 
 now? 
 
 The sound of an owVs hooting is floating in, 
 and of voices from the green outside the 
 inn. 
 Strangway. [To himself] Gone! Taken faith — 
 hope — life ! 
 
 Jim Bere comes wandering into the open 
 doorway. 
 Jim Bere. Glide avenin', zurr. 
 
 At his slow gait, with his feeble smile, he comes 
 
 in, and standing by the window-seat beside 
 
 the long dark coat that still lies there, he 
 
 looks down at Strangway with his lost 
 
 eyes. 
 
 Jim. YU threw un out of winder. I cud 'ave, once, 
 
 I cud. [Strangway neither moves nor speaks; and 
 
 Jim Bere goes on with his unimaginably sloiv speech] 
 
 They'm laughin' at yii, zurr. An' so I come to tell 
 
 *ee how to dli. 'Twas full miine — when I caught 
 
 'em, him an' my girl. I caught 'em. [With a strange 
 
 and awf id flash of fire] I did; an' I tuk un [He takes 
 
 up Strangway's coat and grips it with his trembling 
 
 hands, as a man grips another's neck] like that — I 
 
 tuk un. 
 
72 A BIT O' LOVE act hi 
 
 As the coat falls, like a body out of which the 
 breath has been squeezed, Strangway, rising, 
 catches it. 
 
 Strangway. [Gripping the coat] And he fell ! 
 
 He lets the coat fall on the floor, and puts his 
 foot on it. Then, staggering back, he leans 
 against the window. 
 
 Jim. YU see, I loved 'er — I did. [The lost look comes 
 hack to his eyes] Then somethin' — I dunno — and — 
 and — [He lifts his hand and passes it up and down 
 his side] 'Twas like this for ever. 
 
 [They gaze at each other in silence. 
 
 Jim. [At last] I come to tell yii. They'm all laughin' 
 at yii. But yii'm strong — yii go over to Durford to 
 that doctor man, an' take un like I did. [He tries 
 again to make the sign of squeezing a man's neck] They 
 can't laugh at yii no more, then. Tha's what I come 
 to tell yii. Tha's the way for a Christian man to dii. 
 Giide naight, zurr. I come to tell yee. 
 
 Strangway motions to him in silence. And, 
 very slowly, Jim Bere passes out. 
 
 The voices of men coming down the green are 
 heard. 
 
 Voices. Giide naight, Tam. Giide naight, old 
 Jim! 
 
 Voices. Giide naight, Mr. Trustaford. 'Tes a won- 
 derful fine miine. 
 
sc. I A BIT O' LOVE 73 
 
 Voice of Trust aford. Ah! Tes a brave miine 
 for th' poor old curate ! 
 
 Voice. "My 'eart 'E lighted not!" 
 
 Trustaford's laugh, and the rattling, fainter 
 and fainter, of wheels. A spasm seizes on 
 Strangway's face, as he stands there by the 
 open door, his hand grips his throat; he 
 looks from side to side, as if seeJcing a way 
 of escape. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 The BuRLACOMBEs' high and nearly empty barn. A 
 lantern is hung by a rope that lifts the bales of 
 straw, to a long ladder leaning against a rafter. 
 This gives all the light there is, save for a slender 
 track of moonlight, slanting in from the end, where 
 the two great doors are not quite closed. On a rude 
 bench in front of a few remaining, stacked, square- 
 cut bundles of last year's hay, sits Tibby Jarland, 
 a bit of apple in her mouth, sleepily beating on a 
 tambourine. With stockinged feet Gladys, Ivy, 
 Connie, and Mercy, Tim Clyst, and Bobbie 
 
74 A BIT O' LOVE act hi 
 
 Jarland, a boy of fifteen, are dancing a truncated 
 *' Figure of Eight"; and their shadows are danc- 
 ing alongside on the walls. Shoes and some apples 
 have been thrown down close to the side door through 
 which they have come in. Now and then Ivy, the 
 smallest and best of the dancers, ejaculates words 
 of direction, and one of the youths grunts or 
 breathes loudly out of the confusion of his mind. 
 Save for this and the dumb beat and jingle of the 
 sleepy tambourine, there is no sound. The dance 
 comes to its end, but the drowsy Tibby goes on 
 beating. 
 Mercy. That'll dii, Tibby; we're finished. Ate 
 yiire apple. [The stolid Tibby eats her apple. 
 
 Clyst. [In his teasing, excitable voice] YU maids 
 don't dance 'alf's well as us dii. Bobbie 'e's a great 
 dancer. 'E dance vine. I'm a glide dancer, meself. 
 Gladys. A'n't yii conceited just? 
 Clyst. Aw! Ah! Yu'll give me kiss for that. 
 [He chases, but cannot catch that slippery white figure] 
 Can't she glimmer ! 
 
 Mercy. Gladys ! Up ladder ! 
 
 Clyst. Yii go up ladder; I'll catch 'ee then. Naw, 
 
 yii maids, don't yii give her succour. That's not vair. 
 
 [Catching hold of Mercy, who gives a little squeal. 
 
 Connie. Mercy, don't! Mrs. Burlacombe'll hear. 
 
 Ivy, go an' peek. 
 
 [Ivy goes to the side door and peers through. 
 
 Clyst. [Abandoning the chase and picking up an 
 
 apple — they all have the joyous irresponsibility that 
 
sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 75 
 
 attends forbidden doings] Ya-as, this is a gude apple. 
 
 Luke at Tibby ! 
 
 TiBBY, overcome by drowsiness, has fallen 
 back into the hay, asleep. Gladys, leaning 
 against the hay breaks into humming: 
 
 "There cam' three diikes a-ridin', a-ridin', a-ridin'. 
 There cam' three diikes a ridin' 
 With a ransy- tansy tay ! " 
 
 Clyst. Us 'as got on vine; us'll get prize for our 
 dancin'. 
 
 Connie. There won't be no prize if Mr. Strangway 
 goes away. 'Tes funny 'twas Mrs. Strangway started 
 us. 
 
 Ivy. [From the door] 'Twas wicked to hiss him. 
 
 [A momenVs hush. 
 
 Clyst. 'Twasn't L 
 
 Bobbie. I never did. 
 
 Gladys. Oh! Bobbie, yii did! Yu blew in my 
 ear. 
 
 Clyst. 'Twas the praaper old wind in the trees. 
 Did make a brave noise, zurely. 
 
 Mercy. 'E shuld'n' 'a let my skylark go. 
 
 Clyst. [Out of sheer contradictoriness] Ya-as, 'e 
 shiide, then. What dii yii want with th' birds of the 
 air.^ They'm no glide to yii. 
 
 Ivy. [Mournfully] And now he's goin' away. 
 
 Clyst. Ya-as; 'tes a pity. He's the best man I 
 ever seen since I was comin' from my mother. He's 
 a glide man. He'm got a zad face, sure enough, though. 
 
76 A BIT O' LOVE act hi 
 
 , Ivy. Glide folk always 'ave zad faces. 
 
 Clyst. I knii a glide man — 'e sold pigs — very glide 
 man: 'e 'ad a blidiful bright vace like the mline. 
 [Touching his stomach] I was sad, meself, once. 'Twas 
 a funny scrabblin'-like feelin'. 
 
 Gladys. If 'e go away, whli's goin' to finish us for 
 confirmation ? 
 
 Connie. The Rector and the old grej' mare. 
 
 Mercy. I don' want no more finishin'; I'm con- 
 firmed enough. 
 
 Clyst. Ya-as; jii'm a buty. 
 
 Gladys. Suppose we all went an' asked 'im not 
 to go? 
 
 Ivy. 'Twouldn't be no gUde. 
 
 Connie. Where's 'e goin' ? 
 
 Mercy. He'll go to London, of course. 
 
 Ivy. He's so gentle; I think 'e'U go to an island, 
 where there's no thin' but birds and beasts and flowers. 
 
 Clyst. Aye ! He'm awful fond o' the dumb things. 
 
 Ivy. They're kind and peaceful; that's why. 
 
 Clyst. Aw! Yli see tli praaper old tom cats; 
 they'm not tli peaceful, after that, nor kind 
 naighther. 
 
 Bobbie. [Surprisingly] If 'e's sad, per'aps 'e'U go 
 to 'Eaven. 
 
 Ivy. Oh ! not yet, Bobbie. He's tli young. 
 
 Clyst. [Following his own thoughts] Ya-as. 'Tes 
 a funny place, tli, nowadays, judgin' from the 
 papers. 
 
 Gladys. Wonder if there's dancin' in 'Eaven? 
 
sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 77 
 
 Ivy. There's beasts, and flowers, and waters, and 
 trees — 'e told us. 
 
 Clyst. Naw! There's no dumb things in 'Eaven. 
 Jim Bere 'e says there is ! 'E thinks 'is old cat's 
 there. 
 
 Ivy. Yes. [Dreamily] There's stars, an' owls, an' a 
 man playin' on the flute. Where 'tes glide, there 
 must be miisic. 
 
 Clyst. Old brass band, shuldn' wonder, like th' 
 Salvation Army. 
 
 Ivy. [Putting up her hands to an imaginary pipe] 
 No; 'tis a boy that goes so; an' all the dumb things 
 an' all the people goo after 'im — like this. 
 
 She inarches slowly, playing her imaginary 
 pipe, and one by one they all fall in behind 
 her, padding round the barn in their stock- 
 inged feet. Passing the big doors, Ivy throws 
 them open. 
 An' 'tes all like that in 'Eaven. 
 
 She stands there gazing out, still playing on 
 her imaginary pipe. And they all stand a 
 moment silent, staring into the moonlight, 
 Clyst. 'Tes a glory-be full miine to-night I 
 Ivy. a goldie-cup — a big one. An' millions o' little 
 goldie-cups on the floor of 'Eaven. 
 
 Mercy. Oh! Bother 'Eaven! Let's dance "Clap- 
 perclaws" ! Wake up, Tibby ! 
 
 Gladys. Clapperclaws, clapperclaws! Come on, 
 Bobbie — make circle ! 
 
 Clyst. Clapperclaws ! I dance that one fine. 
 
•yg A BIT O* LOVE ACT m 
 
 Ivy. [Taking the tambourine] See, Tibby; like this. 
 
 She hums and beats gently, then restores the 
 
 tambourine to the sleepy Tibby, who, wak- 
 
 ing^ has placed a piece of apple in her 
 
 mouth, 
 
 Connie. 'Tes awful diflScult, this one. 
 Ivy. [Illustrating] No; yii just jump, an' clap yiire 
 'ands. Lovely, lovely ! 
 
 Clyst. Like ringin' bells ! Come ahn ! 
 
 Tibby begins her drowsy beating. Ivy hums 
 the tune; they dance, and their shadows 
 dance again upon the loalls. When she has 
 beaten but a few moments on the tambourine, 
 Tibby is overcome once more by sleep and 
 falls back again into her nest of hay, with 
 her little shoed feet just visible over the edge 
 of the bench. Ivy catches up the tambourine, 
 and to her beating and humming the dancers 
 dance on. 
 
 Suddenly Gladys stops like a wild animal 
 surprised, and cranes her neck towards the 
 side door. 
 
 Connie. \Whispering] What is it? 
 Gladys. [Whispering] I hear — some one — comin* 
 across the yard. 
 
 She leads a noiseless scamper towards the shoes. 
 Bobbie Jarland shins up the ladder end 
 seizes the lantern. Ivy drops the tambourine. 
 They all fly to the big doors, and vanish into 
 
ec. II A BIT O' LOVE 79 
 
 the moonlight, 'pulling the doors nearly to 
 again after them. 
 
 There is the sound of scrabbling at the latch 
 of the side door, and Strangway conies into 
 the nearly dark barn. Out in the night 
 the owl is still hooting. He closes the door, 
 and that sound is lost. Like a man walk- 
 ing in his sleep, he goes up to the ladder, 
 takes the rope in his hand, and makes a 
 noose. He can be heard breathing, and in 
 the darkness the motions of his hands are 
 dimly seen, freeing his throat and putting 
 the noose round his neck. He stands sway- 
 ing to and fro at the foot of the ladder; then, 
 with a sigh, sets his foot on it to mount. 
 One of the big doors creaks and opens in 
 the wind, letting in a broad path of moon- 
 light. 
 
 Strangway stops; freeing his neck from the 
 noose, he walks quickly up tJie track of 
 moonlight, whitened from head to foot, to 
 close the doors. 
 
 The sound of his boots on the bare floor has 
 awakened Tibby Jarland. Struggling 
 out of her hay nest she stands staring at his 
 whitened figure, and bursts suddenly into 
 a wail. 
 
 Tibby. 0-oh! Mercy! Where are yii? I'm 
 frightened ! I'm frightened ! O-oooo ! 
 
80 A BIT O' LOVE act hi 
 
 Strangway. [Turning — startled] WTio'sthat? Who 
 is it? 
 Tibet. 0-oh ! A ghosty ! Oo-ooo ! 
 Strangway. [Going to her quickly] It's me, Tibby 
 — Tib — only me ! 
 
 Tibby. I see'd a ghosty. 
 
 Strangway. [Taking her up] No, no, my bird, you 
 didn't ! It was me. 
 
 Tibby. [Burying her face against him] I'm frighted. 
 It was a big one. [She gives tongue again] 0-o-oh! 
 
 Strangway. There, there! It's nothing but me. 
 Look! 
 
 Tibby. No. [She peeps out all the same. 
 
 Strangway. See ! It's the moonlight made me all 
 white. See ! You're a brave girl now ? 
 Tibby. [Cautioushj] I want my apple. 
 
 She points towards her nest. Strangway car- 
 ries her there, picks up an apple, and gives 
 it her. Tibby takes a bite. 
 Tibby. I want my tambouline. 
 Strangway. [Giving her the tambourine, and carry- 
 ing her back into the track of moonlight] Now we're 
 both ghosties ! Isn't it funny ? 
 Tibby. [Doubtfully] Yes. 
 
 Strangway. See ! The moon's laughing at us ! 
 See } Laugh then ! 
 
 Tibby, tambourine in one hand and apple in 
 the other, smiles stolidly. He sets her doivn 
 on the ladder^ and stands^ holding her level 
 with him. 
 
sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 81 
 
 TiBBY. [Solemnly] I'se still frightened. 
 
 Strangway. No ! Full moon, Tibby ! Shall we 
 wish for it? 
 
 Tibby. Full miine. 
 
 Strangway. Moon ! We're wishing for you. Moon, 
 moon! 
 
 Tibby. Miine, we're wishin' for yii ! 
 
 Strangway. What do you wish it to be ? 
 
 Tibby. Bright new shillin' ! 
 
 Strangway. A face. 
 
 Tibby. Shillin', a shUlin' ! 
 
 Strangway. [Taking out a shilling and spinning it so 
 that it falls into her pinafore] See ! Your wish comes 
 true. 
 
 Tibby. Oh ! [Putting the shilling in her mouth] 
 MUne's still there ! 
 
 Strangway. Wish for me, Tibby ! 
 
 Tibby. Mune, I'm wishin' for yii ! 
 
 Strangway. Not yet ! 
 
 Tibby. Shall I shake my tambouline ? 
 
 Strangway. Yes, shake your tambouline. 
 
 Tibby. [Shaking her tambourine] Miine, I'm shakin' 
 at yii. 
 
 Strangway lays his hand suddenly on the 
 ropey and swings it up on to the beam. 
 
 Tibby. What d'yu du that for? 
 
 Strangway. To put it out of reach. It's better 
 
 Tibby. Why is it better ? [She stares up at him. 
 
 Strangway. Come along, Tibby ! [He carries her to 
 
82 A BIT O' LOVE act hi 
 
 the big doors, and sets her doivn] See! All asleep! 
 The birds, and the fields, and the moon ! 
 
 TiBBY. Mline, miine, we're wishing for yii ! 
 
 Strangway. Send her your love, and say good- 
 night. 
 
 TiBBY. [Blowing a kiss] Good-night, miine ! 
 
 From the barn roof a little white dove's feather 
 comes floating down in the wind. Tibby 
 follows it with her hand, catches it, and holds 
 it up to him. 
 
 Tibby. [ChucJcling] Liike. The miine's sent a bit 
 o' love! 
 
 Strangway. [Taking the feather] Thank you, Tibby ! 
 I want that bit o' love. [Very faint, comes the sound 
 of music] Listen ! 
 
 Tibby. It's Miss Willis, playin' on the pianny ! 
 
 Strangway. No; it's Love; walking and talking 
 in the world. 
 
 Tibby. [Dubiously] Is it? 
 
 Strangway. [Pointing] See! Everything coming 
 out to listen! See them, Tibby! All the little 
 things with pointed ears, children, and birds, and 
 flowers, and bunnies; and the bright rocks, and — 
 men ! Hear their hearts beating ! And the wind 
 listening ! 
 
 Tibby. I can't hear — nor I can't see ! 
 
 Strangway. Beyond — [To himself] They are — 
 they must be; I swear they are ! [Then, catching 
 sight of Tibby's amazed eyes] And now say good-bye 
 to me. 
 
sc. II A BIT O' LOVE 83 
 
 TiBBY. Where yli goin' ? 
 Strangway. I don't know, Tibby. 
 Voice of Mercy. [Distant and cautious] Tibby! 
 Tibby ! Where are yii ? 
 
 Strangway. Mercy calling; run to her! 
 
 Tibby starts off, turns back and lifts her face. 
 
 He bends to kiss her, and flinging her arms 
 
 round his neck, she gives him a good hug. 
 
 Then, knuckling the sleep out of her eyes, 
 
 she runs. 
 Strangway stands, uncertain. There is a 
 
 sound of heavy footsteps; a man clears his 
 
 throat, close by. 
 
 Strangway. Who's that.?* 
 
 Cremer. Jack Cremer. [The big man* s figure appears 
 out of the shadow of the barn] That yii, zurr ? 
 
 Strangway. Yes, Jack. How goes it? 
 
 Cremer. 'Tes empty, zurr. But I'll get on 
 some'ow. 
 
 Strangway. You put me to shame. 
 
 Cremer. No, zurr. I'd be killin' meself, if I didn' 
 feel I must stick it, like yii zaid. 
 
 They stand gazing at each other in the moon- 
 light. 
 
 Strangway. [Very low] I honour you. 
 
 Cremer. What's that? [Then, as Strangway does 
 not answer] I'll just be walkin' — I won' be goin' 'ome 
 to-night. 'Tes the full miine — lucky. 
 
 Strangway. [Suddenly] Wait for me at the cross- 
 
84 A BIT O' LOVE act hi 
 
 roads, Jack. I'll come with you. Will you have me, 
 brother ? 
 Cremer. Sure! 
 Strangway. Wait, then. 
 Cremer. Aye, zurr. 
 
 With his heavy tread Cremer passes on. And 
 
 Strangway leans against the lintel of the 
 
 door, looking at the moon, that, quite full 
 
 and golden, hangs not far above the straight 
 
 horizon, where the trees stand smaU, in a 
 
 row. 
 
 Strangway. [Lifting his hand in the gesture of 
 
 prayer] God, of the moon and the sun; of joy and 
 
 beauty, of loneliness and sorrow — give me strength to 
 
 go on, till I love every living thing ! 
 
 He moves away, following Jack Cremer. The 
 full moon shines; the owl hoots; and some 
 one is shaking Tibby's tambourine. 
 
 THE END 
 
THE FOUNDATIONS 
 
 (AN EXTRAVAGANT PLAY) 
 
CAST OF THE ORIGINAL PRODUCTION 
 
 Royalty Theatre, June, 1917 
 
 Lord William Dromond y, M.P. 
 
 PouLDER {his butler) 
 
 James (first footman) 
 
 Henry (second footman) 
 
 Thomas (third footman) 
 
 Charles (fourth footman) 
 
 The Press . 
 
 Lemmy (a plumber) 
 
 Lady William Dromondy 
 
 Miss Stokes 
 
 Old Mrs. Lemmy 
 
 Little Anne 
 
 Little Aida 
 
 Mr. Dawson Milward 
 Mr. Sidney Paxton 
 Mr. Stephen T. Ewart 
 Mr. Allan Jeayes 
 Mr. William Lawrence 
 Mr. Robert Lawlor 
 Mr. Lawrence Hanray 
 Mr. Dennis Eadie 
 Miss Lydia Bilbrooke 
 Miss Gertrude Sterroll 
 Miss Esme Hubbard 
 Miss Babs Farren 
 Miss Dinka Starace 
 
PERSONS OF THE PLAY 
 
 Lord William Dromondt, M.P. 
 
 Lady William Dromondy 
 
 Little Anne 
 
 Miss Stokes 
 
 Mr. Pouldee 
 
 James 
 
 Henry 
 
 Thomas 
 
 Charles 
 
 The Press 
 
 Lemmy 
 
 Old Mrs. Lemmy 
 
 Little Aida 
 
 The Duke of Exeter 
 
 Some Anti-Sweaters; Some Sweated Workers; and a 
 Crowd 
 
SCENES 
 
 SCENE I. The cellar at Lord William Dromondt's in Park 
 Lane. 
 
 SCENE II. The room of old Mrs. Lemmt in Bethnal Green. 
 
 SCENE III. Ante-room of the hall at Lord William Dro- 
 mondt's. 
 
 The Action passes continuously between 8 and 10.30 of a 
 summer evening^ some years after the Great War. 
 
ACT I 
 
 Lord William Dromondy's mansion in Park Lane. 
 Eight o'clock of the evening. Little Anne 
 Dromondy and the large footman^ James, gaunt 
 and griviy discovered in the wine cellar, by light 
 of gas. James, in plush breeches, is selecting wine. 
 
 L. Anne. James, are you really James? 
 
 James. No, my proper name's John. 
 
 L. Anne. Oh! [A pause] And is Charles's an im- 
 proper name too ? 
 
 James. His proper name's Mark. 
 
 L. Anne. Then is Thomas Matthew? 
 
 James. Miss Anne, stand clear o' that bin. You'll 
 put your foot through one o' those 'ock bottles. 
 
 L. Anne. No, but James — Henry might be Luke, 
 really ? 
 
 James. Now shut it. Miss Anne ! 
 
 L. Anne. Who gave you those names? Not your 
 godfathers and godmothers? 
 
 James. Poulder. Butlers think they're the Al- 
 mighty. [Gloomily] But his name's Bartholomew. 
 
 L. Anne. Bartholomew Poulder ? It's rather jolly. 
 
 James. It's hidjeous. 
 
 L. Anne. Which do you like to be called — John or 
 James ? 
 
 Copyright, 1920, by Charles Scribner't Sona 
 1 
 
2 THE FOUNDATIONS act i 
 
 James. I don't give a darn. 
 
 L. Anne. What is a darn ? 
 
 James. 'Tain't in the dictionary. 
 
 L. Anne. Do you like my name? Anne Dro- 
 mondy ? It's old, you know. But it's funny, isn't it ? 
 
 James. [Indifferently] It'll pass. 
 
 L. Anne. How many bottles have you got to pick 
 out? 
 
 James. Thirty -four. 
 
 L. Anne. Are they all for the dinner, or for the 
 people who come in to the Anti-Sweating Meeting 
 afterwards ? 
 
 James. All for the dinner. They give the Sweated 
 — tea. 
 
 L. Anne. All for the dinner? They'll drink too 
 much, won't they ? 
 
 James. We've got to be on the safe side. 
 
 L. Anne. Will it be safer if they drink too much? 
 
 James pauses in the act of dusting a bottle to 
 
 look at her, as if suspecting irony. 
 
 [Sniffing] Isn't the smell delicious here — like the taste 
 
 of cherries when they've gone bad — [She sniffs again] 
 
 and mushrooms; and boot blacking 
 
 James. That's the escape of gas. 
 
 L. Anne. Has the plumber's man been? 
 
 James. Yes. 
 
 L. Anne. Which one? 
 
 James. Little blighter I've never seen before. 
 
 L. Anne. What is a little blighter ? Can I see ? 
 
 James. He's just gone. 
 
ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 3 
 
 L. Anne. [Straying] Oh! . . . James, are these 
 really the foundations ? 
 
 James. You might 'arf say so. There's a lot under 
 a woppin' big house like this; you can't hardly get to 
 the bottom of it. 
 
 L. Anne. Everything's built on something, isn't it ? 
 And what's that built on.'* 
 
 James. Ask another. 
 
 L. Anne. If you wanted to blow it up, though, 
 you'd have to begin from here, wouldn't you.^* 
 
 James. Who'd want to blow it up ? 
 
 L. Anne. It would make a mess in Park Lane. 
 
 James. I've seen a lot bigger messes than this'd 
 make, out in the war. 
 
 L. Anne. Oh! but that's years ago! Was it like 
 this in the trenches, James ? 
 
 James. [Grimly] Ah! 'Cept that you couldn't lay 
 your 'and on a bottle o' port when you wanted one. 
 
 L. Anne. Do you, when you want it, here ? 
 
 James. [On guard] I only suggest it's possible. 
 
 L. Anne. Perhaps Poulder does. 
 
 James. [Icily] I say nothin' about that. 
 
 L. Anne. Oh ! Do say something ! 
 
 James. I'm ashamed of you. Miss Anne, pumpin' me ! 
 
 L. Anne. [Reproaehfidly] I'm not pumpin' ! I only 
 want to make Poulder jump when I ask him. 
 
 James. [Grinning] Try it on your own responsibility, 
 then; don't bring me in ! 
 
 L. Anne. [Switching off] James, do you think there's 
 going to be a bloody revolution ? 
 
4 THE FOUNDATIONS act i 
 
 James. [Shocked] I shouldn't use that word, at your 
 age. 
 
 L. Anne. Why not? Daddy used it this morning 
 to Mother. [Imitating] "The country's in an awful 
 state, darling; there's going to be a bloody revolution, 
 and we shall all be blown sky-high." Do you like 
 Daddy.? 
 
 James. [Taken aback] Like Lord William.? What 
 do you think.? We chaps would ha' done anything 
 for him out there in the war. 
 
 L. Anne. He never says that — he always says he'd 
 have done anything for you ! 
 
 James. Well — that's the same thing. 
 
 L. Anne. It isn't — it's the opposite. "What is class 
 hatred, James? 
 
 James. [Wisely] Ah ! A lot o' people thought when 
 the war was over there'd be no more o' that. [He snig- 
 gers] Used to amuse me to read in the papers about 
 the wonderful unity that was comin*. I could ha* 
 told 'em different. 
 
 L. Anne. Why should people hate? / like every- 
 body. 
 
 James. You know such a lot o' people, don't you? 
 
 L. Anne. Well, Daddy likes everybody, and Mother 
 likes everybody, except the people who don't like 
 Daddy. I bar Miss Stokes, of course; but then, who 
 wouldn't ? 
 
 James. [With a touch of philosophy] That's right — 
 we all bars them that tries to get something out of us, 
 
 L. Anne. Who do you bar, James ? 
 
ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 5 
 
 James. WeW— [Enjoying the luxury of thought] — 
 Speaking generally, I bar everybody that looks down 
 their noses at me. Out there in the trenches, there'd 
 come a shell, and orf'd go some orficer's head, an' I'd 
 think: That might ha' been me — we're all equal in the 
 sight o' the stars. But when I got home again among 
 the torfs, I says to meself: Out there, ye know, you 
 filled a hole as well as me; but here you've put it on 
 again, with mufti. 
 
 L. Anne. James, are your breeches made of mufti ? 
 
 James. [Co7itemplating his legs with a certain con- 
 tempt] Ah ! Footmen were to ha' been off; but Lord 
 William was scared we wouldn't get jobs in the rush. 
 We're on his conscience, and it's on my conscience 
 that I've been on his long enough — so, now I've saved 
 a bit, I'm goin' to take meself orf it. 
 
 L. Anne. Oh ! Are you going ? Where ? 
 
 James. [Assembling the last bottles] Out o' Blighty! 
 
 L. Anne. Is a little blighter a little Englishman ? 
 
 James. [Embarrassed] Well — 'e can be. 
 
 L. Anne. [Musing] James — we're quite safe down 
 here, aren't we, in a revolution.^ Only, we wouldn't 
 have fun. Which would you rather — be safe, or have 
 fun.? 
 
 James. [Grimly] Well, I had my bit o' fun in the war. 
 
 L. Anne. / like fun that happens when you're not 
 looking. 
 
 James. Do you.? You'd ha' been just suited. 
 
 L. Anne. James, is there a future life ? Miss Stokes 
 says so. 
 
6 THE FOUNDATIONS act i 
 
 James. It's a belief, in the middle classes. 
 
 L. Anne. What are the middle classes ? 
 
 James. Anything from two 'undred a year to super- 
 tax. 
 
 L. Anne. Mother says they're terrible. Is Miss 
 Stokes middle class ? 
 
 James. Yes. 
 
 L. Anne. Then I expect they are terrible. She's 
 awfully virtuous, though, isn't she ? 
 
 James. 'Tisn't so much the bein' virtuous, as the 
 lookin' it, that's awful. 
 
 L. Anne. Are all the middle classes virtuous.'^ Is 
 Poulder ? 
 
 James. [Dubiously] Well. . . . Ask him ! 
 
 L. Anne. Yes, I will. Look! 
 
 From an empty bin on the ground level she 
 picks up a lighted taper, burnt almost to 
 the end. 
 
 James. [Contemplating it] Careless ! 
 
 L. Anne. Oh ! And look ! [She points to a rounded 
 metal object lying in the bin, close to where the taper 
 was] It's a bomb ! 
 
 She is about to pick it up when James takes 
 her by the waist and puts her aside. 
 
 James. [Sternly] You stand back there ! I don't 
 like the look o' that ! 
 
 L. Anne. [With intense interest] Is it really a bomb ? 
 What fun ! 
 
 James. Go and fetch Poulder while I keep an eye 
 on it. 
 
ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 7 
 
 L. Anne. [On tiptoe of excitement] If only I can 
 make him jump ! Oh, James ! we needn't put the 
 light out, need we ? 
 
 James. No. Clear off and get him, and don't you 
 come back. 
 L. Anne. Oh ! but I must ! I found it ! 
 James. Cut along. 
 L. Anne. Shall we bring a bucket? 
 James. Yes. [Anne flies off. 
 
 [Gazing at the object] Near go! Thought I'd seen 
 enough o' them to last my time. That little gas 
 blighter ! He looked a rum 'un, too — one o' these 'ere 
 Bolshies. 
 
 hi the presence of this grim object the habits 
 
 of the past are too much for him. He sits on 
 
 the ground, leaning against one of the bottle 
 
 baskets, keeping his eyes on the bomb, his 
 
 large, lean, gorgeous body spread, one elbow 
 
 on his plush knee. Taking out an empty 
 
 pipe, he places it mechanically, bowl down, 
 
 between his lips. There enter, behind him, 
 
 as from a communication trench, Poulder, 
 
 in swallow-tails, with Little Anne behind 
 
 him. 
 
 L. Anne. [Peering round him — ecstatic] Hurrah ! 
 
 Not gone off yet! It can't — can it — while James is 
 
 sitting on it? 
 
 Poulder. [Very broad and stout, with square shoiil- 
 ders, a large ruddy face, and a small mouth] No noise. 
 Miss. James ! 
 
THE FOUNDATIONS act i 
 
 James. Hallo! 
 
 PouLDER. What's all this? 
 
 James. Bomb! 
 
 PouLDER. Miss Anne, off you go, and don't you 
 
 L. Anne. Come back again ! I know ! [She flies. 
 
 James. [Extending his hand with the pipe in it] See ! 
 
 Poulder. [Severely] You've been at it again ! Look 
 
 here, you're not in the trenches now. Get up ! What 
 
 are your breeches goin' to be like ? You might break 
 
 a bottle any moment ! 
 
 James. [Rising with a jerk to a sort of ''Attention!"] 
 Look here, you starched antiquity, you and I and that 
 bomb are here in the sight of the stars. If you don't 
 look out I'll stamp on it and blow us all to glory! 
 Drop your civilian swank ! 
 
 Poulder. [Seeing red] Ho! Because you had the 
 privilege of fightin' for your country, you still think 
 you can put it on, do you? Take up your wine! 
 Ton my word, you fellers have got no nerve left ! 
 
 James makes a sudden swoop, lifts the bomb 
 and poises it in both hands. Poulder 
 recoils against a bin and gazes at the object. 
 James. Put up your hands ! 
 Poulder. I defy you to make me ridiculous. 
 James. [Fiercely] Up with 'em ! 
 
 Poulder's hands go up in an uncontrollable 
 
 spasm, which he subdues almost instantly, 
 
 pulling them doum again. 
 
 James. Very good. [He lowers the bomb. 
 
 Poulder. [Surprised] I never lifted 'em. 
 
 James. You'd have made a first-class Boche, 
 
ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 9 
 
 Poulder. Take the bomb yourself; you're in charge 
 of this section. 
 
 Poulder. [Pouting] It's no part of my duty to 
 carry menial objects; if you're afraid of it I'll send 
 'Enry. 
 
 James. Afraid ! You 'Op o' me thumb ! 
 
 From the "communication trench'* appears 
 Little Anne, followed by a thin, sharp, 
 sallow-faced man of thirty-five or so, and 
 another Footman, carrying a wine-cooler. 
 
 L. Anne. I've brought the bucket, and the Press. 
 
 Press. [In front of Poulder's round eyes and mouth] 
 Ah, major domo, I was just taking the names of the 
 Anti-Sweating dinner. [He catches sight of the bomb 
 in James's ^anc?] By George! What A.l. irony! [He 
 brings out a note-book and writes] "Highest class dining 
 to relieve distress of lowest class — bombed by same ! " 
 Tipping ! [He rubs his hands]. 
 
 Poulder. [Drawing himself up] Sir? This is pres- 
 ent ! [He indicates Anne with the flat of his hand.] 
 
 L. Anne. I found the bomb. 
 
 Press. [Absorbed] By Jove! This is a piece of 
 luck ! [He writes. 
 
 Poulder. [Observing him] This won't do — it won't 
 do at all ! 
 
 Press. [Writing — absorbed] "Beginning of the Brit- 
 ish Revolution!" 
 
 Poulder. [To James] Put it in the cooler. 'Enry, 
 'old up the cooler. Gently! Miss Anne, get be'ind 
 the Press. 
 
 James. [Grimly — holding the bomb above the cooler] It 
 
10 THE FOUNDATIONS act i 
 
 won't be the Press that'll stop Miss Anne goin' to 
 'Eaven if one o' this sort goes off. Look out! I'm 
 goin' to drop it. 
 
 All recoil. Henry pvis the cooler down and 
 backs away. 
 
 L. Anne. [Dancing forward] Oh! Let me see! I 
 missed all the war, you know ! 
 
 James lowers the bomb into the cooler. 
 
 PouLDER. [Regaining courage — to The Press, who 
 is scribbling in his note-book] If you mention this before 
 the police lay their hands on it, it'll be contempt o' 
 Court. 
 
 Press. [Struck] I say, major domo, don't call in 
 the police! That's the last resort. Let me do the 
 Sherlocking for you. Who's been down here? 
 
 L. Anne. The plumber's man about the gas — a 
 little blighter we'd never seen before. 
 
 James. Lives close by, in Royal Court Mews — No. 3. 
 I had a word with him before he came down. Lemmy 
 his name is. 
 
 Press. "Lemmy!" [Noting the address] Right-o! 
 
 L. Anne. Oh ! Do let me come with you ! 
 
 PouLDER. [Barring the way] I've got to lay it all 
 before Lord William. 
 
 Press. Ah! What's he like? 
 
 PouLDER. [With dignity] A gentleman, sir. 
 
 Press. Then he won't want the police in. 
 
 PoTJLDER. Nor the Press, if I may go so far as to 
 say so. 
 
 Press. One to you! But I defy you to keep this 
 
ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 11 
 
 from the Press, major domo. This is the most sig- 
 nificant thing that has happened in our time. Guy 
 Fawkes is nothing to it. The fomidations of Society 
 reeling! By George, it's a second Bethlehem! 
 
 [He vyrites. 
 
 PouLDEB. [To James] Take up your wine and follow 
 me. 'Enry, bring the cooler. Miss Anne, precede us. 
 [To The Press] You defy me? Very well; I'm goin' 
 to lock you up here. 
 
 Press. [Uneasy] I say — this is medieval. 
 
 [He attempts to pass. 
 
 PouLDER. [Barring the way] Not so! James, put 
 him up in that empty 'ock bin. We can't have dinner 
 disturbed in any way. 
 
 James. [Putting his hands on The Press's shoulders] 
 Look here — go quiet ! I've had a grudge against you 
 yellow newspaper boys ever since the war — frothin' 
 up your daily hate, an' makin' the Huns desperate. 
 You nearly took my life five hundred times out there. 
 If you squeal, I'm goin' to take yours once — and that'll 
 be enough. 
 
 Press. That's awfully unjust. I'm not yellow ! 
 
 James. Well, you look it. Hup. 
 
 Press. Little Lady Anne, haven't you any authority 
 with these fellows.'^ 
 
 L. Anne. [Resisting Poulder's pressure] I won't 
 go ! I simply must see James put him up ! 
 
 Press. Now, I warn you all plainly — there'll be a 
 leader on this. 
 
 [He tries to baity but is seized by James. 
 
12 THE FOUNDATIONS act i 
 
 James. [Ironically] Ho! 
 
 My paper has the biggest influence 
 
 James. That's the one! Git up in that 'ock bin, 
 and mind your feet among the claret. 
 Press. This is an outrage on the Press. 
 James. Then it'll wipe out one by the Press on the 
 Public — an' leave just a million over ! Hup ! 
 Poulder. 'Enry, give 'im an 'and. 
 
 The Press mounts, assisted by James and 
 Henry. 
 L. Anne. [Ecstatic] It's lovely ! 
 Poulder. [Nervously] Mind the '87 ! Mind ! 
 James. Mind your feet in Mr. Poulder's favourite 
 wine! 
 
 A Woman's voice is heard, as from the depths 
 of a cave, calling *^Anne ! Anne /" 
 L. Anne. [Aghast] Miss Stokes — I must hide ! 
 
 She gets behind Poulder. The three Servants 
 achieve dignified 'positions in front of the 
 bins. The voice comes nearer. The Press 
 sits dangling his feet, grinning. Miss 
 Stokes appears. She is a woman of forty- 
 five and terribly good manners. Her greyish 
 hair is rolled back off her forehead. She is 
 in a high evening dress, and in the dim light 
 radiates a startled composure. 
 Miss S. Poulder, where is Miss Anne ? 
 
 [Anne lays hold of the backs of his legs. 
 Poulder. [Wincing] I am not in a position to in- 
 form you, Miss. 
 
ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 13 
 
 Miss S. They told me she was down here. And 
 what is all this about a bomb ? 
 
 PouLDER. [Lifting his hand in a calming manner] 
 The crisis is past; we have it in ice, Miss. 'Enry, show 
 Miss Stokes ! [Henry indicates the cooler. 
 
 Miss S. Good gracious ! Does Lord William know .? 
 PouLDER. Not at present, Miss. 
 Miss S. But he ought to, at once. 
 PouLDER. We 'ave 'ad complications. 
 Miss S. [Catching sight of the legs of The Press] 
 Dear me ! What are those ? 
 
 James. [Gloomily] The complications. 
 
 Miss Stokes puts up her glasses and stares 
 at them. 
 Press. [Cheerfully] Miss Stokes, would you kindly 
 tell Lord William I'm here from the Press, and would 
 like to speak to him ? 
 
 Miss S. But— er— why are you up there? 
 James. 'E got up out o' remorse, Miss. 
 Miss S. What do you mean, James ? 
 Press. [Warmly] Miss Stokes, I appeal to you. Is 
 it fan- to attribute responsibility to an unsigned jour- 
 nalist for what he has to say ? 
 
 James. [Sepulchrally] Yes, when you've got 'im in 
 a nice dark place. 
 
 Miss S. James, be more respectful! We owe the 
 Press a very great debt. 
 
 James. I'm goin' to pay it. Miss. 
 
 Miss S. [At a loss] Poulder, this is really most 
 
 PoULDER. I'm bound to keep the Press out of temp- 
 
14 THE FOUNDATIONS act i 
 
 tation. Miss, till I've laid it all before Lord William. 
 'Enry, take up the cooler. James, watch 'im till we 
 get clear, then bring on the rest of the wine and lock 
 up. Now, Miss. 
 
 Miss S. But where is Anne ? 
 
 Press. Miss Stokes, as a lady ! 
 
 Miss S. I shall go and fetch Lord William ! 
 
 PouLDER. We will all go. Miss. 
 
 L. Anne. [Rushing out from behind his legs] No — me ! 
 
 She eludes Miss Stokes and vanishes, followed 
 
 by that distracted but still well-mannered lady. 
 
 Poulder. [Looking at his watch] 'Enry, leave the 
 cooler, and take up the wine; tell Thomas to lay it 
 out; get the champagne into ice, and 'ave Charles 
 'andy in the 'all in case some literary bounder comes 
 punctual. [Henry takes up the wine and goes. 
 
 Press. [Above his head] I say, let me down. This 
 is a bit undignified, you know. My paper's a great 
 organ. 
 
 Poulder. [After a moment's hesitation] Well — take 
 'im down, James; he'll do some mischief among the 
 bottles. 
 
 James. 'Op off youj* base, and trust to me. 
 
 The Press slides off the bin's edge, is received 
 by James, and not landed gently. 
 
 Poulder. [Contemplating him] The mcident's closed; 
 no ill-feeling, I hope? 
 
 Press. No-o. 
 
 Poulder. That's right. [Clearing his throat] While 
 we're waitin' for Lord William — if you're interested in 
 
ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 15 
 
 wine — [Philosophically] you can read the history of the 
 times in this cellar. Take *ock. [He points to a bin] 
 Not a bottle gone. German product, of course. Now, 
 that 'ock is 'avin' the time of its life — maturin' grandly; 
 got a wonderful chance. About the time we're bringin* 
 ourselves to drink it, we shall be havin' the next great 
 war. With luck that 'ock may lie there another quar- 
 ter of a century, and a sweet pretty wine it'll be. I 
 only hope I may be here to drink it. Ah ! [He shakes 
 his head] — but look at claret ! Times are hard on claret. 
 We're givin' it an awful doin'. Now, there's a Ponty 
 Canny [He points to a bin] — if we weren't so 'opelessly 
 allied with France, that wine would have a reasonable 
 future. As it is — none ! We drink it up and up; not 
 more than sixty dozen left. And where's its equal to 
 come from for a dinner wine — ah! I ask you.^* On 
 the other hand, port is steady; made in a little country, 
 all but the cobwebs and the old boot flavour; guaran- 
 teed by the British Navy; we may *ope for the best 
 with port. Do you drink it ? 
 
 Press. When I get the chance. 
 
 PouLDER. Ah ! [Clears his throat] I've often wanted 
 to ask: What do they pay you — if it's not indelicate.? 
 [The Press shrugs his shoulders. 
 Can you do it at the money ? 
 
 [The Press shakes his head. 
 Still — it's an easy life ! I've regretted sometimes that 
 I didn't have a shot at it myself; influencin' other 
 people without disclosm' your identity — something 
 very attractive about that. [Lowering his voice] Be- 
 
16 THE FOUNDATIONS act i 
 
 tween man and man, now — what do you think of the 
 situation of the country — these processions of the un- 
 employed — the Red Flag an' the Marsillaisy in the 
 streets — all this talk about an upheaval ? 
 
 Press. Well, speaking as a Socialist 
 
 PouLDER. l/istounded] Why, I thought your paper 
 was Tory ! 
 Press. So it is. That's nothing ! 
 PouLDER. [Open-mouthed] Dear me ! [Pointing to the 
 bomb] So you really think there's something in this ? 
 X-ynES. [Sepulchrally] Tgh explosive. 
 Press. [Taking out his note-book] Too much, any- 
 way, to let it drop. 
 
 [A pleasant voice calls **Poulder ! Hallo /" 
 PouLDER. [Forming a trumpet with his hand] Me 
 Lord! 
 
 As Lord William appears y Limes, overcome 
 
 by reminiscences, salutes, and is mechanically 
 
 answered. Lord William has "charm.'* 
 
 His hair and moustache are crisp and just 
 
 beginning to grizzle. His bearing is free, 
 
 easy, and only faintly armoured. He will 
 
 go far to meet you any day. He is in full 
 
 evening dress. 
 
 Lord W. [Cheerfully] I say, Poulder, what have you 
 
 and James been doing to the Press? Liberty of the 
 
 Press — it isn't what it was, but there is a limit. Where 
 
 is he.'* 
 
 He turns to James between whom and himself 
 there is still the freemasonry of the trenches. 
 
ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 17 
 
 James. [Pointing to Poulder] Be'ind the parapet, 
 me Lord. 
 
 The Press moves out from where he has in- 
 voluntarily been screened by Poulder, who 
 looks at James severely. Lord William 
 hides a smile. 
 Press. Very glad to meet you. Lord William. My 
 presence down here is quite involuntary. 
 
 Lord W. [With a charming smile] I know. The 
 Press has to put its — er — to go to the bottom of every- 
 thing. Where's this bomb, Poulder.? Ah! 
 
 [He looks into the wine cooler. 
 Press. [Talcing out his note-book] Could I have a 
 word with you on the crisis, before dinner. Lord 
 William.? 
 
 Lord W. It's time you and James were up, Poulder. 
 [Indicating the cooler] Look after this; tell Lady William 
 I'll be there in a minute. 
 Poulder. Very good, me Lord. 
 
 He goes, followed by James carrying the cooler. 
 
 As The Press turns to look after them. Lord 
 
 William catches sight of his back. 
 
 Lord W. I must apologise, sir. Can I brush you ? 
 
 Press. [Dusting himself] Thanks; it's only behind. 
 
 [He opens his note-book] Now, Lord William, if you'd 
 
 kindly outline your views on the national situation; 
 
 after such a narrow escape from death, I feel they 
 
 might have a moral effect. My paper, as you know, 
 
 is concerned with the deeper aspect of things. By the 
 
 way, what do you value your house and collection at ? 
 
18 THE FOUNDATIONS act i 
 
 Lord W. [Twisting his little moustache] Really — I 
 can't ! Really ! 
 
 Press. Might I say a quarter of a million — lifted in 
 two seconds and a half — hundred thousand to the 
 second. It brings it home, you know. 
 
 Lord W. No, no; dash it ! No ! 
 
 Press. [Disappointed] I see — not draw attention to 
 your property in the present excited state of public 
 feeling ? Well, suppose we approach it from the view- 
 point of the Anti-Sweating dinner. I have the list of 
 guests — very weighty ! 
 
 Lord W. Taken some lifting — wouldn't they? 
 
 Press. [Seriously] May I say that you designed the 
 dinner to soften the tension, at this crisis? You saw 
 that case, I suppose, this morning, of the woman dying 
 of starvation in Bethnal Green? 
 
 Lord W. [Desperately] Yes — yes! I've been horri- 
 bly affected. I always knew this slump would come 
 after the war, sooner or later. 
 
 Press. [Writing] "... had predicted slump." 
 
 Lord W. You see, I've been an Anti-Sweating man 
 for years, and I thought if only we could come together 
 now. . . . 
 
 Press. [Nodding] I see — I see! Get Society inter- 
 ested in the Sweated, through the dinner. I have the 
 menu here. [He produces it. 
 
 Lord W. Good God, man — more than that ! I 
 want to show the people that we stand side by side 
 with them, as we did in the trenches. The whole 
 thing's too jolly awful. I lie awake over it. 
 
 [He walks up and down. 
 
ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 19 
 
 Press. [Scribbling] One moment, please. I'll just 
 get that down — "Too jolly awful — lies awake over it. 
 Was wearing a white waistcoat with pearl buttons." 
 [At a sign of resentment from his victim] I want the 
 human touch, Lord William — it's everything in my 
 paper. What do you say about this attempt to bomb 
 you? 
 
 Lord W. Well, in a way I think it's d — d natural. 
 
 Press. [Scribbling] "Lord William thought it d — d 
 natural." 
 
 Lord W. [Overhearing] No, no; don't put that 
 down. What I mean is, I should like to get hold of 
 those fellows that are singing the Marseillaise about 
 the streets — fellows that have been in the war — real 
 sports they are, you know — thorough good chaps at 
 bottom — and say to them: "Have a feeling heart, 
 boj^s; put yourself in my position." I don't believe 
 a bit they'd want to bomb me then. 
 
 [He walks up and donm. 
 
 Press. [Scribbling and muttering] "The idea of 
 
 brotherhood " D'you mind my saying that? 
 
 Word brotherhood — always effective — always 
 
 [He writes. 
 
 Lord W. [Be^vildered] "Brotherhood!" Well, it's 
 pure accident that I'm here and they're there. All 
 the same, I can't pretend to be starving. Can't go 
 out into Hyde Park and stand on a tub, can I? But 
 if I could only show them what I feel — they're such 
 good chaps — poor devils. 
 
 Press. I quite appreciate! [He writes] "Camel and 
 needle's eye." You were at Eton and Oxford ? Your 
 
20 THE FOUNDATIONS act i 
 
 constituency I know. Clubs ? But I can get all that. 
 Is it your view that Christianity is on the up-grade, 
 Lord William? 
 
 Lord W. [Dubious] What d'you mean by Christi- 
 anity — loving-kmdness and that? Of course I think 
 that dogma's got the knock. [He walks. 
 
 Press. [Writing] "Lord William thought dogma 
 had got the knock." I should like you just to develop 
 your definition of Christianity. "Loving-kindness" — 
 strikes rather a new note. 
 
 Lord W. New? What about the Sermon on the 
 Mount ? 
 
 Press. [Writing] "Refers to Sermon on Mount." I 
 take it you don't belong to any Church, Lord William ? 
 
 Lord W. [Exasperated] Well, really — I've been bap- 
 tised and that sort of thing. But look here 
 
 Press. Oh! you can trust me — I shan't say any- 
 thing that you'll regret. Now, do you consider that 
 a religious revival would help to quiet the country ? 
 
 Lord W. Well, I think it would be a deuced good 
 thing if everybody were a bit more kind. 
 
 Press. Ah! [Musing] I feel that your views are 
 strikingly original. Lord William. If you could just 
 open out on them a little more ? How far would you 
 apply kindness m practice ? 
 
 Lord W. Can you apply it in theory? 
 
 Press. I believe it is done. But would you allow 
 yourself to be blown up with impunity? 
 
 Lord W. Well, that's a bit extreme. But I quite 
 sympathise with this chap. Imagine yourself in his 
 shoes. He sees a huge house, all these bottles, us swill- 
 
ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 21 
 
 ing them down; perhaps he's got a starving wife, or 
 consumptive kids. 
 
 Press. [Writing and murmuring] Um-m! "Kids." 
 
 Lord W. He thinks: "But for the grace of God, 
 there swill I. Why should that blighter have every- 
 thing and I nothing?" and all that. 
 
 Press. [Writing] "And all that." [Eagerly] Yes.? 
 
 Lord W. And gradually — you see — this contrast — 
 becomes an obsession with him. "There's got to be 
 an example made," he thinks; and — er — he makes it, 
 don't you know? 
 
 Press. [Writing] Ye-es? And — when you're the 
 example ? 
 
 Lord W. Well, you feel a bit blue, of course. But 
 my point is that you quite see it. 
 
 Press. From the other world. Do you believe in 
 a future life, Lord William? The public took a lot 
 of interest in the question, if you remember, at the 
 time of the war. It might revive at any moment, if 
 there's to be a revolution. 
 
 Lord W. The wish is always father to the thought, 
 isn't it ? 
 
 Press. Yes! But — er — doesn't the question of a 
 future life rather bear on your point about kindness ? 
 If there isn't one — why be kind ? 
 
 Lord W. Well, I should say one oughtn't to be 
 kind for any motive — that's self-interest; but just 
 because one feels it, don't you know. 
 
 Press. [Writing vigorously] That's very new — very 
 
 new 
 
 Lord W. [Simply] You chaps are wonderful. 
 
22 THE FOUNDATIONS act i 
 
 Press. [Doubtfully] You mean we're — we're 
 
 Lord W. No, really. You have such a d — d hard 
 time. It must be perfectly beastly to interview fel- 
 lows like me. 
 
 Press. Oh ! Not at all. Lord William. Not at all. 
 I assure you compared with a literary man, it's — it's 
 almost heavenly. 
 
 Lord W. You must have a wonderful knowledge of 
 things. 
 
 Press. [Bridling a little] Well — I shouldn't say that. 
 
 Lord W. I don't see how you can avoid it. You 
 turn your hands to everything. 
 
 Press. [Modestly] Well — yes, yes. 
 
 Lord W. I say: Is there really going to be a revolu- 
 tion, or are you making it up, you Press? 
 
 Press. We don't know. We never know whether 
 we come before the event, or it comes before us. 
 
 Lord W. That's very deep — very deep. D'you 
 
 mind lending me your note-book a moment. I'd like 
 
 to stick that down. All right, I'll use the other end. 
 
 [The Press hands it hypnotically. 
 
 Lord W. [Jotting] Thanks awfully. Now what's 
 your real opinion of the situation.?^ 
 
 Press. As a man or a Press man ? 
 
 Lord W. Is there any difference ? 
 
 Press. Is there any connection ? 
 
 Lord W. Well, as a man. 
 
 Press. As a man, I think it's rotten. 
 
 Lord W. [Jotting] "Rotten." And as a pressman .'^ 
 
 Press. [Smiling] Prime. 
 
ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 23 
 
 Lord W. What ! Like a Stilton cheese. Ha, ha ! 
 
 [He is about to write. 
 
 Press. My stunt. Lord William. You said that. 
 
 [He jots it on his cuff. 
 
 Lord W. But look here! Would you say that a 
 strong press movement would help to quiet the country ? 
 
 Press. Well, as you ask me. Lord William, I'll tell 
 you. No newspapers for a month would do the trick. 
 
 Lord W. [Jotting] By Jove ! That's brilliant. 
 
 Press. Yes, but I should starve. [He suddenly looks 
 up, and his eyes, like gimlets, bore their way into Lord 
 William's pleasant, troubled face] Lord William, you 
 could do me a real kindness. Authorise me to go and 
 interview the fellow who left the bomb here; I've got 
 his address. I promise j^ou to do it most discreetly. 
 Fact is — well — I'm in low water. Since the war we 
 simply can't get sensation enough for the new taste. 
 Now, if I could have an article headed: "Bombed and 
 Bomber" — sort of double interview, you know, it'd 
 very likely set me on my legs again. [Very earnestly] 
 Look ! [He holds out his frayed wristbands. 
 
 Lord W. [Grasping his hand] My dear chap, cer- 
 tainly. Go and interview this blighter, and then 
 bring him round here. You can do that for me. I'd 
 very much like to see him, as a matter of fact. 
 
 Press. Thanks awfully; I shall never forget it. Oh ! 
 might I have my note-book .?* 
 
 [Lord William hands it back. 
 
 Lord W. And look here, if there's anything — when 
 
 a fellow's fortunate and another's not 
 
 [He puts his hand into his breast pocket. 
 
24 THE FOUNDATIONS act i 
 
 Press. Oh, thank you! But you see, I shall have 
 to write you up a bit, Lord William. The old aris- 
 tocracy — you know what the public still expects; if 
 
 you were to lend me money, you might feel 
 
 Lord W. By Jove ! Never should have dreamt 
 
 Press. No ! But it wouldn't do. Have you a pho- 
 tograph of yourself. 
 Lord W. Not on me. 
 
 Press. Pity! By the way, has it occurred to you 
 that there may be another bomb on the premises "^ 
 Lord W. Phew ! I'll have a look. 
 
 He looks at his watch, and begins hurriedly 
 searching the bins, bending down and going 
 on his knees. The Press reverses the note- 
 book again and sketches him. 
 Press. [To himself] Ah! That'll do. "Lord Wil- 
 liam examines the foundations of his house." 
 
 A voice calls ''Bill!'* The Press snaps the 
 
 note-book to, and looks up. There, where the 
 
 ''communication trench'* runs in, stands a 
 
 tall and elegant woman in the extreme of 
 
 evening dress. 
 
 [With presence of mind] Lady William.'^ You'll find 
 
 Lord William — Oh! Have you a photograph of him? 
 
 Lady v7. Not on me. 
 
 Press. [Eyeing her] Er — no — I suppose not — no. 
 Excuse me ! [He sidles past her and is gone. 
 
 Lady W. [With lifted eyebrows] Bill ! 
 Lord W. [Emerging, dusting his knees] Hallo, Nell I 
 I was just making sure there wasn't another bomb. 
 
ACT I THE FOUNDATIONS 25 
 
 Lady W. Yes; that's why I came down. Who M^as 
 that person? 
 
 Lord W. Press. 
 
 Lady W. He looked awfully yellow. I hope you 
 haven't been giving j^ourself away. 
 
 Lord W. [Dubioiisly] Well, I don't know. They're 
 like corkscrews. 
 
 Lady W. What did he ask you ? 
 
 Lord W. What didn't he? 
 
 Lady W. Well, what did you tell him? 
 
 Lord W. That I'd been baptised — but he promised 
 not to put it down. 
 
 Lady W. Bill, you are absurd. 
 
 [She gives a light little laugh. 
 
 Lord W. I don't remember anything else, except 
 that it was quite natural we should be bombed, don't 
 you know. 
 
 Lady W. Why, what harm have we done ? 
 
 Lord W. Been born, my dear. [Suddenly serious] 
 I say, Nell, how am I to tell what this fellow felt when 
 he left that bomb here? 
 
 Lady W. Why do you want to ? 
 
 Lord W. Out there one used to know what one's 
 men felt. 
 
 Lady W. [Staring] My dear boy, I really don't 
 think you ought to see the Press; it always upsets you. 
 
 Lord W. Well! Why should you and I be going 
 to eat ourselves silly to improve the condition of the 
 sweated, when 
 
 Lady W. [Calmly] When they're going to "im- 
 
26 THE FOUNDATIONS act i 
 
 prove" ours, if we don't look out. We've got to get 
 in first. Bill. 
 
 Lord W. [Gloomily] I know. It's all fear. That's 
 it ! Here we are, and here we shall stay — as if there'd 
 never been a war. 
 
 Lady W. Well, thank heaven there's no ** front" to 
 a revolution. You and I can go to glory together this 
 time. Compact ! Anything that's on, I'm to share in. 
 
 Lord W. Well, in reason. 
 
 Lady W. No, in rhyme, too. 
 
 Lord W. I say, your dress ! 
 
 Lady W. Yes, Poulder tried to stop me, but I 
 wasn't going to have you blown up without me. 
 
 Lord W. You duck. You do look stunning. Give 
 us a kiss ! 
 
 Lady W. [Starting back] Oh, Bill ! Don't touch me 
 — ^your hands ! 
 
 Lord W. Never mind, my mouth's clean. 
 
 They stand about a yard aparty and bending 
 their faces towards each other , kiss on the lips. 
 
 L. Anne. [Appearing suddenly from the "communi- 
 cation trenchy' and tip-toeing silently between them] Oh, 
 Mum ! You and Daddy are wasting time ! Dinner's 
 ready, you know ! 
 
 curtain 
 
ACT II 
 
 The single room of old Mrs. Lemmy, in a srrmll grey 
 house in Bethnal GreeUy the room of one cumbered 
 by little save age, and the crockery dSbris of the past. 
 A bed, a cupboard, a coloured portrait of Queen 
 Victoria, and — of all things —a fiddle, hanging on 
 the wall. By the side of old Mrs. Lemmy in her 
 chair is a pile of corduroy trousers, her day's sweated 
 sewing, and a small table. She sits with her back 
 to the window, through which, in the last of the light, 
 the opposite side of the little grey street is visible 
 under the evening sky, where hangs one white cloud 
 shaped like a horried beast. She is still sewing, and 
 her lips move. Being old, and lonely, she has that 
 habit of talking to herself, distressing to those who 
 cannot overhear. From the smack of her tongue 
 she was once a West Country cottage woman; from 
 the look of her created, parchmenty face, she was 
 once a pretty girl with black eyes, in which there is 
 still much vitality. The door is opened with diffi- 
 culty and a little girl enters, carrying a pile of un- 
 finished corduroy troupers nearly as large as herself. 
 She puis them down against the wall, and advances. 
 She is eleven or twelve years old ; large-eyed, dark- 
 haired, and sallow. Half a woman of this and 
 27 
 
28 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii 
 
 half of another world, except when as now, she is as 
 irresponsible a bit of life as a little flowering weed 
 growing out of a wall. She stands looking at Mrs. 
 Lemmy with dancing eyes. 
 
 L. AiDA. I've brought yer to-morrer's trahsers. 
 Y'nt yer finished wiv to-dy's ? I want to tyke 'em. 
 
 Mrs. L. No, me dear. Drat this last one — me old 
 fengers ! 
 L. AiDA. I learnt some poytry to-dy — ^I did. 
 Mrs. L. Well, I never ! 
 L. AiDA. [Reciting with unction] 
 
 "Little lamb who myde thee.'' 
 Dost thou know who myde thee. 
 Gyve thee life and byde thee feed 
 By the stream and o'er the mead; 
 Gyve thee clothing of delight. 
 Softest clothing, woolly, bright; 
 Gyve thee such a tender voice, 
 Myking all the vyles rejoice. 
 
 Little lamb who myde thee ? 
 Dost thou know who myde thee?" 
 Mrs. L. Tes wonderful what things they tache yu 
 nowadays. 
 
 L. AiDA. When I grow up I'm goin' to 'ave a revol- 
 ver an' shoot the people that steals my jools. 
 
 Mrs. L. Deary-me, wherever du yu get yure no- 
 tions ? 
 
 L. AiDA. An' I'm goin' to ride on an 'orse be'ind a 
 man; an' I'm goin' to ryce trynes in my motor car. 
 
ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 29 
 
 Mrs. L. [Dryly] Ah ! Yu'um gwine to be very busy, 
 that's sartin. Can you sew ? 
 
 L. AiDA. [With a smile] Nao. 
 
 Mrs. L. Don' they tache yu that, there? 
 
 L. AiDA. [Blending contempt and a lingering curi- 
 osity] Nao. 
 
 Mrs. L. Tes wonderful genteel. 
 
 L. AiDA. I can sing, though. 
 
 Mrs. L. Let's 'ear yu, then. 
 
 L. AiDA. [Shaking her head] I can ply the planner. 
 I can ply a tune. 
 
 Mrs. L. Whose planner .^^ 
 
 L. AiDA. Mrs. Brahn's when she's gone aht. 
 
 Mrs. L. Well, yu are gettin' edjucation ! Du they 
 tache yu to love yure neighbours ? 
 
 L. AiDA. [Ineffably] Nao. [Straying to the window] 
 Mrs. Lemmy, what's the moon ? 
 
 Mrs. L. The mune.?^ Us yused to zay 'twas made 
 o' crarae cheese. 
 
 L. AiDA. I can see it. 
 
 Mrs. L. Ah ! Don* yu never go wishin' for it, me 
 dear. 
 
 L. AiDA. I daon't. 
 
 Mrs. L. Folks as wish for the mune never du no 
 gude. 
 
 L. AiDA. [Craning out, brilliant] I'm goin' dahn in 
 the street. I'll come back for yer trahsers. 
 
 Mrs. L. Well, go yu, then, an' get a breath o' fresh 
 air in yure chakes. I'll sune 'a feneshed. 
 
30 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii 
 
 L. AiDA. [Solemnly] I'm goin' to be a dancer, I am. 
 
 She rushes suddenly to the door, pulls it open^ 
 
 and is gone. 
 
 Mrs. L. [Looking after her, and talking to herself] 
 
 Ah! 'Er've a-got all 'er troubles before 'er! "Little 
 
 Iamb, u made 'ee.'*" [Cackling] 'Tes a fmmy world, tu ! 
 
 [She sings to herself. 
 
 "There is a green 'ill far away 
 Without a city wall. 
 Where our dear Lord was crucified, 
 'U died to save us all." 
 
 The door is opened, and Lemmy comes in ; a 
 little man with a stubble of dark moustache 
 and spiky dark hair; large, peculiar eyes 
 he has, and a look of laying his ears hack, 
 a look of doubting, of perversity with laughter 
 up the sleeve, that grows on those who have 
 to do with gas and water. He shuts the door, 
 Mrs. L. Well, Bob, I 'aven't a-seen yu this tu 
 weeks. 
 
 Lemmy comes up to his mother, and sits down 
 
 on a stool, sets a tool-hag between his knees, 
 
 and speaks in a cockney voice. 
 
 Lemmy. Well, old lydy o' leisure! Wot would y* 
 
 'ave for supper, if yer could choose — salmon wivaht 
 
 the tin, an' tipsy cyke ? 
 
 Mrs. L. [Shaking her head and smiling blandly] 
 That's showy. Toad in the 'ole I'd 'ave — and a glass 
 o* port wine. 
 
ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 31 
 
 Lemiviy. Providential. [He opens a tool-hag] Wot 
 d'yer think I've got yer? 
 
 Mrs. L. I 'ope yu've a-got yureself a job, my son ! 
 
 Lemmy. [With his peculiar smile] Yus, or I couldn't 
 'ave afforded yer this. [He takes out a bottle] Not 'arf ! 
 This '11 put the blood into yer. Pork wine — once in 
 the cellars of the gryte. We'll drink the ryyal family 
 in this. 
 
 [He apostrophises the portrait of Queen Victoria. 
 
 Mrs. L. Ah! She was a praaper gude queen. I 
 see 'er once, when 'er was bein' hurried. 
 
 Lemmy. Ryalties — I got nothin' to sy agynst *em 
 in this country. But the Styte 'as got to 'ave its 
 pipes seen to. The 'ole show's goin' up pop. Yer'U 
 wyke up one o* these dyes, old lydy, and find yerself 
 on the roof, wiv nuffin' between yer an' the grahnd. 
 
 Mrs. L. I can't tell what yu'm talkin' about. 
 
 Lemmy. We're goin' to 'ave a triumpherat in this 
 country — Liberty, Equality, Fraternity; an' if yer arsk 
 me, they won't be in power six months before they've 
 cut each other's throats. But I don't care — I want 
 to see the blood flow! [Dispassionately] I don' care 
 'oose blood it is. I want to see it flow ! 
 
 Mrs. L. [Indulgently] Yu'm a funny boy, that's 
 sartin. 
 
 Lemmy. [Carving at the cork with a knife] This 'ere 
 cork is like Sasiety — rotten; it's old — old an' moulderin'. 
 [He holds up a bit of cork on the point of the knife] 
 Crumblin' under the wax, it is. In goes the screw an' 
 out comes the cork. [With unction] — an' the blood 
 
32 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii 
 
 flows. [Tipping the bottle, he lets a drop fall into the 
 middle of his hand, and licks it up. Gazing with queer 
 and doubting commiseration at his mother] Well, old 
 dear, wot shall we 'ave it aht of — the gold loving-cup, 
 or — what? 'Ave yer supper fust, though, or it'll go 
 to yer 'ead! {He goes to the cupboard and takes out a 
 dish in which a little bread is sopped in a little milk] 
 Cold pap ! 'Ow can yer ? 'Yn't yer got a kipper in 
 the 'ouse? 
 
 Mrs. L. [Admiring the bottle] Port wine! 'Tis a 
 brave treat! I'll 'ave it out of the "Present from 
 Margitt," Bob. I tuk 'ee therr by excursion when yu 
 was six months. Yu 'ad a shrimp an' it choked yu 
 praaperly. Yu was always a squeamy little feller. I 
 can't never think 'ow yu managed in the war-time, 
 makin' they shells. 
 
 Lemmy, who has brought to the table two mugs 
 
 and blown the du^t out of them, fills them 
 
 with port, and hands one to his mother, who 
 
 is eating her bread and milk. 
 
 Lemmy. Ah! Nothin' worried me, 'cept the want 
 
 o' soap. 
 
 Mrs. L. [Cackling gently] So it du still, then! 
 Luke at yure face. Yu never was a clean boy, like 
 Jim. 
 
 She puts out a thin finger and touches his 
 cheek, whereon is a black smudge. 
 Lemmy. [Scrubbing his cheek with his sleeve] All 
 right ! Y'see, I come stryte 'ere, to get rid o' this. 
 
 [He drinks. 
 
ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 33 
 
 Mrs. L. [Eating her bread and milk] 'Tes a pity yu'm 
 not got a wife to see't yu wash yureself. 
 
 Lemmy [Goggling] Wife! Not me — I daon't want 
 ter myke no food for pahder. Wot oh! — they said, 
 time o' the war — ye're fightin' for yer children*s 
 'eritage. Well, wot's the 'eritage like, now we've got 
 it? Empty as a shell before yer put the 'igh explosive 
 m. Wot's it like? [Warming to his theme] Like a 
 prophecy in the pypers — not a bit more substantial. 
 
 Mrs. L. [Slightly hypnotised] How 'e du talk ! The 
 gas goes to yure 'ead, I think ! 
 
 Lemmy. I did the gas to-dy in the cellars of an 
 'ouse where the wine was mountains 'igh. A regiment 
 couldn't 'a drunk it. Marble pillars in the 'all, butler 
 broad as an observytion balloon, an' four conscientious 
 khaki footmen. When the guns was roarin' the talk 
 was all for no more o' them glorious weeds — style an' 
 luxury was orf. See wot it is naow. You've got a 
 bare crust in the cupboard 'ere, I works from 'and to 
 mouth m a glutted market — an' there they stand abaht 
 agyne in their britches in the 'ouses o' the gryte. I 
 was reg'lar overcome by it. I left a thing m that cel- 
 lar — I left a thing. . . . It'll be a bit ork'ard for me 
 to-morrer. [Drinks from his mug. 
 
 Mrs. L. [Placidly, feeling the warmth of the little she 
 has drunk] What thing ? 
 
 Lemmy. Wot thing ? Old lydy, ye're like a winkle 
 afore yer opens 'er — I never see anything so peaceful. 
 'Ow d'yer manage it ? 
 
 Mrs. L. Settin' 'ere and thenkin'. 
 
34 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii 
 
 Lemmy. Wot abaht ? 
 
 Mrs. L. We-el — Money, an' the works o' God. 
 Lemmy. Ah ! So yer give me a thought sometimes. 
 Mrs. L. [Lifting her mug] Yu ought never to ha* 
 spent yure money on this, Bob ! 
 Lemmy. I thought that meself. 
 Mrs. L. Last time I 'ad a glass o' port wine was 
 the day yure brother Jim went to Ameriky. [Smacking 
 her lips] For a teetotal drink, it du warm 'ee ! 
 
 Lemmy. [Raising his mug] Well, 'ere's to the British 
 revolution ! 'Ere's to the conflygrytion in the sky ! 
 
 Mrs. L. [Comfortably] So as to kape up therr, 
 'twon't du no 'arm. 
 
 Lemmy goes to the window and unhooks his 
 fiddle ; he stands with it halfway to his 
 shoulder. Suddenly he opens the window 
 and leans out. A confuted murmur of 
 voices is heard, and a snatch of the Marseil- 
 laise, sung by a girl. Then the shuffling 
 tramp of feel, and figures are passing in the 
 street. 
 Lemmy. [Turning — excited] Wot'd I tell yer, old 
 lydy "? There it is — there it is ! 
 Mrs. L. [Placidly] What is.? 
 
 Lemmy. The revolution. [He cranes ovt] They've 
 got it on a barrer. Cheerio ! 
 Voice. [Answering] Cheerio! 
 
 Lemmy. [Leaning ovt] I sy — ^you 'yn't tykin' the 
 body, are yer? 
 Voice. Nao. 
 
ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 35 
 
 Lemmy. Did she die o' starvytion — O.K. ^ 
 Voice. She bloomin' well did; I know 'er brother. 
 Lemmy. Ah ! That'll do us a bit o' good ! 
 Voice. Cheerio! 
 Lemmy. So long ! 
 Voice. So long ! 
 
 The girVs voice is heard again in the distance 
 singing the Marseillaise. The door is flung 
 open and Little Aida comes running in 
 again. 
 Lemmy. 'Alio, little Aida ! 
 
 L. Aida. 'Alio, I been foUerin' the corfin. It's bet- 
 ter than an 'orse dahn ! 
 Mrs. L. What coffin ? 
 
 L. Aida. Why, 'er's wot died o' starvytion up the 
 street. They're goin' to tyke it to 'Yde Pawk, and 
 'oiler. 
 
 Mrs. L. Well, never yu mind wot they'm goin* to 
 du. Yu wait an' take my trousers like a gude gell. 
 
 She puts her mug aside and takes up her un- 
 finished pair of troupers. But the wine has 
 entered her fingers, and strength to push the 
 needle through is lacking. 
 Lemmy. [Tuning his fiddle] Wot'll yer 'ave, little 
 Aida.? "Dead March in Saul" or "When the fields 
 was white wiv dysies".'^ 
 L. Aida. \With a hop and a brilliant smile] Aoh 
 
 yus ! " When the fields " 
 
 Mrs. L. [With a gesture of despair] Deary me ! I 
 'aven't a-got the strength ! 
 
S6 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii 
 
 Lemmy. Leave 'em alone, old dear! No one' 11 be 
 goin' aht wivaht trahsers to-night 'cos yer leaves that 
 one undone. Little Aida, fold 'em up ! 
 
 Little Aida metliodically folds the five finished 
 'pairs of trousers into a pile. Lemmy begins 
 playing. A smile comes on the face of Mrs. 
 Lemmy, who is rubbing her fingers. Little 
 Aida, trousers over arm, goes and stares at 
 Lemmy playing. 
 Lemmy. [Stopping] Little Aida, one o' vese dyes 
 yer'll myke an actress. I can see it in yer fyce ! 
 
 [Little Aida looks at him wide-eyed. 
 
 Mrs. L. Don't 'ee putt things into 'er 'ead, Bob ! 
 
 Lemmy. 'Tyn't 'er 'ead, old lydy — it's lower. She 
 
 wants feedin' — feed 'er an' she'll rise. [He strikes into 
 
 the " Machichi"] Look at 'er naow. I tell yer there's 
 
 a fortune in 'er. 
 
 [Little Aida has put out her tongue. 
 Mrs. L. I'd suner there was a gude 'eart in 'er than 
 any fortune. 
 
 L. Aida. [Hugging her pile of trousers] It's thirteen 
 pence three farthin's I've got to bring yer, an' a penny 
 aht for me, mykes twelve three farthin's. [With the 
 same little hop and sudden smile] I'm goin' to ride back 
 on a bus, I am. 
 
 Lemmy. Well, you myke the most of it up there; 
 it's the nearest you'll ever git to 'eaven. 
 
 Mrs. L. Don' yu discourage 'er. Bob; she'm a 
 gude little thing, an't yu, dear ? 
 L. Aida. [Simply] Yus. 
 
ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 37 
 
 Lemmy. Not 'arf. Wot c'her do wiv yesterdy's 
 penny ? 
 L. AiDA. Movies. 
 Lemmy. An' the dy before ? 
 L. AiDA. Movies. 
 
 Lemmy. Wot'd I tell yer, old lydy — she's got vicious 
 tystes, she'll finish in the theayter yet. Tyke my tip, 
 little Aida; you put every penny into yer foundytions, 
 yer'll get on the boards quicker that wy. 
 Mrs. L. Don' yu pay no 'eed to his talk. 
 L. Aida. I daon't. 
 
 Lemmy. Would yer like a sip aht o' my mug ? 
 L. Aida. [Brilliant] Yus. 
 
 Mrs. L. Not at yure age, me dear, though it is 
 teetotal. 
 
 Little Aida puts her head on one side, like 
 a dog trying to understand. 
 Lemmy. Well, 'ave one o' my gum-drops. 
 
 [Holds out a paper. 
 Little Aida, brilliant, takes a flat, dark sub- 
 stance from it, and puts it in her mouth. 
 Give me a kiss, an' I'll give yer a penny. 
 
 Little Aida shakes her head, and leans out 
 of window. 
 Muvver, she daon't know the valyer of money. 
 Mrs. L. Never mind 'im, me dear. 
 L. Aida. [Sucking the gum-drop — with difficulty] 
 There's a taxi-cab at the corner. 
 
 Little Aida runs to the door. A figure stands 
 in the doorway ; she skids round him and 
 out. The Press comes in. 
 
38 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii 
 
 Lemmy. [Dubiously] Wot — oh! 
 
 Press. Mr. Lemmy.? 
 
 Lemmy. The syme. 
 
 Press. I'm from the Press. 
 
 Lemmy. Blimy. 
 
 Press. They told me at your place you were very 
 likely here. 
 
 Lemmy. Yus — I left Downin' Street a bit early 
 to-dy ! [He twangs the fiddle-strings pompously. 
 
 Press. [Taking out his note-book and writing] "Fid- 
 dles while Rome is burning!" Mr. Lemmy, it's my 
 business at this very critical time to find out what the 
 nation's thinking. Now, as a representative working 
 man 
 
 Lemmy. That's me. 
 
 Press. You can help me. What are your views ? 
 
 Lemmy. [Putting down fiddle] Voos ? Sit dahn ! 
 
 The Press sits on the stool which Lemmy has 
 vacated. 
 The Press — my Muvver. Seventy-seven. She's a 
 wonder; 'yn't yer, old dear.'' 
 
 Press. Very happy to make your acquaintance. 
 Ma'am. [He writes] "Mrs. Lemmy, one of the veterans 
 
 of industry " By the way, I've just passed a lot 
 
 of people following a coflSn. 
 
 Lemmy. Centre o' the cyclone — cyse o' starvytion; 
 you 'ad 'er in the pyper this mornin'. 
 
 Press. Ah, yes ! Tragic occurrence. [Looking at the 
 trousers] Hub of the Sweated Industries just here. I 
 especially want to get at the heart 
 
ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 39 
 
 Mrs. L. 'Twasn't the 'eart, 'twas the stomach. 
 
 Press. [Writing] "Mrs. Lemmy goes straight to 
 the point." 
 
 Lemmy. Mister, is it my voos or Muvver's yer want ? 
 
 Press. Both. 
 
 Lemmy. 'Cos if yer get Muvver's, yer won't 'ave 
 time for mine. I tell yer stryte [Confidentially] she's 
 got a glawss o' port wine in 'er. Naow, mind yer, I'm 
 not anxious to be intervooed. On the other 'and, 
 
 anyfink I might 'ave to sy of valyer There is a 
 
 clawss o' politician that 'as nu£Bn to sy Aoh ! an* 
 
 daon't 'e sy it just! I dunno wot pyper yer repre- 
 sent 
 
 Press. [Smiling] Well, Mr. Lemmy, it has the big- 
 gest influ 
 
 Lemmy. They all 'as that; dylies, weeklies, evenin's, 
 Sundyes; but it's of no consequence — my voos are open 
 and above-board. Naow, wot shall we begin abaht.'* 
 
 Press. Yourself, if you please. And I'd like you 
 to know at once that my paper wants the human note, 
 the real heart-beat of things. 
 
 Lemmy. I see; sensytion ! Well, 'ere am I — a fust- 
 clawss plumber's assistant — in a job to-dy an' out to- 
 morrer. There's a 'eart-beat in that, I tell yer. 'Go 
 knows wot the morrer 'as for me ! 
 
 Press. [Writing] "The great human issue — Mr. 
 Lemmy touches it at once." 
 
 Lemmy. I sy — keep my nyme aht o' this; I don' go 
 in fer self-advertisement. 
 
40 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii 
 
 Press. [Writing] "True working-man — modest as 
 usual." 
 
 Lemmy. I daon't want to embarrass the Gover'- 
 ment. They're so ticklish ever since they got the 
 'abit, war-time, o' mindin' wot people said. 
 
 Press. Right-o! 
 
 Lemmy. For instance, suppose there's goin' to be a 
 
 revolution [The Press writes with energy. 
 
 'Ow does it touch me.'^ Like this: I my go up — I 
 cawn't come dahn; no more can Muvver. 
 
 Mrs. L. [Surprisingly] Us all goes down into the 
 grave. 
 
 Press. "Mrs. Lemmy interjects the deeper note." 
 
 Lemmy. Naow, the gryte — they can come dahn, but 
 they cawn't go up ! See ! Put two an' two together, 
 an' that's 'ow it touches me. [He utters a throaty laugh] 
 *Ave yer got that .5^ 
 
 Press. [Quizzical] Not go up ? What about bombs, 
 Mr. Lemmy? 
 
 Lemmy. [Dubious] Wot abaht 'em.^ I s'pose ye're 
 on the comic pj'pers ? 'Ave yer noticed wot a weak- 
 ness they 'ave for the 'orrible ? 
 
 Press. [Writing] "A grim humour peeped out here 
 and there through the earnestness of his talk." 
 
 [He sketches Lemmy's profile. 
 
 Lemmy. We 'ad an explosion in my factory time o' 
 the war, that would just ha' done for you comics. 
 [He meditates] Lord! They was after it too, — they 
 an' the Sundyes; but the Censor did 'em. Strike me, 
 I could tell yer things ! 
 
ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 41 
 
 Press. That's what I want, Mr. Lemmy; tell me 
 things ! 
 
 Lemmy. [Musing] It's a funny world, 'yn't it ? 'Ow 
 we did blow each other up ! [Getting up to admire] I sy, 
 I shall be syfe there. That won't betry me ano- 
 nymiety. Why! I looks like the Prime Minister! 
 
 Press. [Rather hurt] You were going to tell me 
 things. 
 
 Lemmy. Yus, an' they'll be the troof, too. 
 
 Press. I hope so; we don't 
 
 Lemmy. Wot oh! 
 
 Press. [A little confuted] We always try to verify 
 
 Lemmy. Yer leave it at tryin', daon't yer ? Never, 
 mind, ye're a gryte institootion. Blimy, yer do have 
 jokes wiv it, spinnin' rahnd on yer own tyles, denyin' 
 to-dy wot ye're goin' to print to-morrer. Ah, well! 
 Ye're like all of us below the line o' comfort — live 
 dyngerously — every dy yer last. That's wy I'm inter- 
 ested in the future. 
 
 Press. Well now — the future. [Writing] "He proph- 
 esies." 
 
 Lemmy. It's syfer, 'yn't it ? [He vnnks] No one never 
 looks back on prophecies. I remembers an editor — 
 spring o' 1915 — stykin' his reputytion the war'd be 
 over in the foUerin' October. Increased 'is circulytion 
 abaht 'arf a million by it. 1917 — an' war still on — 'ad 
 'is readers gone back on 'im ? Nao ! They was in- 
 creasin' like rabbits. Prophesy wot people want to 
 believe, an' ye're syfe. Naow, I'll styke my reputytion 
 on somethin', you tyke it dalm word for word. This 
 
42 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii 
 
 country's goin' to the dawgs Naow, 'ere's the 
 
 sensytion — unless we gets a new religion. 
 
 Press. Ah ! Now for it — yes ? 
 
 Lemmy. In one word: "Kindness." Daon't mistyke 
 me, nao sickly sentiment and nao patronizin'. Me as 
 kind to the millionaire as 'im to me. [Fills his mug and 
 drinks.] 
 
 Press. [Struck] That's queer! Kindness! [Writing] 
 "Extremes meet. Bombed and bomber breathing the 
 same music." 
 
 Lemmy. But 'ere's the interestin' pynt. Can it be 
 done wivaht blood ? 
 
 Press. [Writing] "He doubts." 
 
 Lemmy. No daht wotever. It cawn't! Blood — 
 and — kindness ! Spill the blood o' them that aren't 
 kind — an' there ye are ! 
 
 Press. But pardon me, how are you to tell ? 
 
 Lemmy. Blimy, they leaps to the heye ! 
 
 Press. [Laying down his note-book] I say, let me talk 
 to you as man to man for a moment. 
 
 Lemmy. Orl right. Give it a rest ! 
 
 Press. Your sentiments are familiar to me. I've 
 got a friend on the Press who's very keen on Christ 
 and kindness; and wants to strangle the last king with 
 the — hamstrmgs of the last priest. 
 
 Lemmy. [Greatly intrigued] Not 'arf ! Does 'e ? 
 
 Press. Yes. But have you thought it out ? Because 
 he hasn't. 
 
 Lemmy. The difficulty is — where to stop. 
 
 Pbess. Where to begin. 
 
ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 43 
 
 Le^imy. Lawd ! I could begin almost anywhere. 
 Why, every month abaht, there's a cove turns me aht 
 of a job 'cos I daon't do just wot 'e likes. They'd 'ave 
 to go. I tell yer stryte — the Temple wants cleanin' up. 
 
 Press. Ye-es. If I wrote what I thought, I should 
 get the sack as quick as you. D'you say that justifies 
 me in shedding the blood of my bosses ? 
 
 Lemmy. The yaller Press 'as got no blood — 'as it? 
 You shed their ile an' vinegar — that's wot you've got 
 to do. Stryte — do yer believe in the noble mission o* 
 the Press? 
 
 Press. [Enigmatically] Mr. Lemmy, I'm a Press- 
 man. 
 
 Lemmy. [Goggling] I see. Not much! [Gently jog- 
 ging his mother's elbow] Wyke up, old lydy ! 
 
 For Mrs. Lemmy, who has been sipping placidly 
 at her port, is nodding. The evening has 
 drawn in. Lemmy strikes a match on his 
 troupers and lights a candle. 
 Blood an' kindness — that's what's wanted — 'specially 
 blood ! The 'istory o' me an' my family'll show yer 
 that. Tyke my bruwer Fred — crushed by burycrats. 
 Tyke Muvver 'erself. Talk o' the wrongs o' the peo- 
 ple ! I tell yer the foundytions is rotten. [He empties 
 the bottle into his mother's mug] Daon't mind the mud 
 at the bottom, old lydy — it's all strengthenin' ! You 
 tell the Press, Muvver. She can talk abaht the pawst. 
 
 Press. [Taking up his note-book, and becoming again 
 his professional self] Yes, Mrs. Lemmy? '*Age and 
 Youth — Past and Present " 
 
44 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii 
 
 Mrs. L. Were yu talkin* about Fred? [The port has 
 warmed her veins, the colour in her eyes and cheeks has 
 deepened] My son Fred was always a gude boy — never 
 did nothin' before 'e married. I can see Fred [She 
 bends forward a little in her chair, looking straight before 
 her] comin' in wi' a pheasant 'e'd found — terrible 'e 
 was at findin' pheasants. When father died, an' yu 
 was comin'. Bob, Fred 'e said to me: *' Don't yu never 
 cry. Mother, I'll look after 'ee." An' so 'e did, till 'e 
 married that day six months an' tuke to the drink in 
 sorrer. 'E wasn't never the same boy again — not 
 
 Fred. An' now 'e's in That. I can see poor Fred 
 
 She slowly wipes a tear out of the corner of an 
 eye with the back of her finger. 
 
 Press. [Puzzled] In— That.? 
 
 Lemmt. [Sotto voce] Come orf it! Prison! 'S wot 
 she calls it. 
 
 Mrs. L. [Cheerful] They say life's a vale o' sorrows. 
 Well, so 'tes, but don' du to let yureself thenk so. 
 
 Press. And so you came to Loudon, Mrs. Lemmy .'* 
 
 Mrs. L. Same year a* father died. With the four 
 o' them — that's my son Fred, an' my son Jim, an' my 
 son Tom, an' Alice. Bob there, 'e was born in London 
 — an' a praaper time I 'ad of et. 
 
 Press. [Writing] "Her heroic struggles with pov- 
 erty " 
 
 Mrs. L. Worked in a laundry, I ded, at iBfteen 
 shellin's a week, an' brought 'em all up on et till Alice 
 'ad the gallopin' consumption. I can see poor Alice 
 wi' the little red spots in *er cheeks — an' I not knowin* 
 
ACT n THE FOUNDATIONS 45 
 
 wot to du wl' her — but I always kept up their buryin* 
 money. Funerals is very dear; Mr. Lemmy was six 
 pound ten. 
 
 Press. "High price of Mr. Lemmy." 
 
 Mrs. L. I've a-got the money for when my time 
 come; never touch et, no matter 'ow things are. Bet- 
 ter a little goin* short here below, an* enter the king- 
 dom of *eaven independent. 
 
 Press. [Writing] "Death before dishonour — heroine 
 of the slums. Dickens — Betty Higden.** 
 
 Mrs. L. No, sir. Mary Lemmy. I've seen a-many 
 die, I 'ave; an' not one grievin'. I often says to meself : 
 [With a little laugh] "Me dear, when yu go, yu go 
 'appy. Don' yu never fret about that," I says. An* 
 so I will; I'll go 'appy. 
 
 She stays quite still a moment, and behind her 
 Lemmy draws one finger across his face. 
 [Smiling] "Yure old fengers'U 'ave a rest. Think o' 
 that!" I says. "'Twill be a brave change." I can 
 see myself lyin' there an' duin' nothin'. 
 
 Again a pau^e, while Mrs. Lemmy sees herself 
 doing nothing. 
 
 Lemmy. Tell abaht Jim, old lydy. 
 
 Mrs. L. My son Jim 'ad a family o' seven in six 
 years. "I don' know 'ow 'tes, Mother," 'e used to 
 say to me; "they just sim to come!" That was Jim 
 — never knu from day to day what was comin'. 
 "Therr's another of 'em dead," 'e used to say, "'tes 
 funny, tu." "Well," I used to say to 'im; "no won- 
 der, poor little things, livin' in they model dwellin's. 
 
46 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii 
 
 Therr's no air for 'em/' I used to say. "Well," 'e used 
 to say, "what can I du. Mother? Can't afford to live 
 in Park Lane." An* 'e tuke an' went toAmeriky. 
 [Her voice for the first time is truly doleful] An' never 
 came back. Fine feller. So that's my four sons — 
 One's dead, an' one's in — That, an' one's in Ameriky, 
 an' Bob 'ere, poor boy, 'e always was a talker. 
 
 Leivimy, who has re-seated himself in the win- 
 dow and taken up his fiddle, twangs the 
 strings. 
 
 Press. And now a few words about your work, 
 Mrs. Lemmy? 
 
 Mrs. L. Well, I sews. 
 
 Press. [Writing] "Sews." Yes.? 
 
 Mrs. L. [Holding up her unfinished pair of trousers] 
 I putt in the button'oles, I stretches the flies, I lines 
 the crutch, I putt on this bindin', [She holds up the 
 calico that binds the top] I sews on the buttons, I presses 
 the seams — Tuppence three farthin's the pair. 
 
 Press. Twopence three farthings a pair! Worse 
 than a penny a line ! 
 
 Mrs. L. In a gude day I gets thru four pairs, but 
 they'm gettin' plaguey 'ard for my old fengers. 
 
 Press. [Writing] "A monumental figure, on whose 
 labour is built the mighty edifice of our industrialism." 
 
 Lemmy. I sy — that's good. Yer'll keep that, won't 
 yer.P 
 
 Mrs. L. I finds me own cotton, tuppence three 
 farthin's, and other expension is a penny three farthin's. 
 
 Press. And are you an exception, Mrs. Lemmy ? 
 
ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 47 
 
 Mrs. L. What's that? 
 
 Lemmy. Wot price the uvvers, old lydy? Is there 
 a lot of yer sewin' yer fingers orf at tuppence 'ypenny 
 the pair ? 
 
 Mrs. L. I can't tell yu that. I never sees nothin' 
 in 'ere. I pays a penny to that little gell to bring me 
 a dozen pair an' fetch 'em back. Poor little thing, 
 she'm 'ardly strong enough to carry 'em. Feel! 
 They'm very 'eavy ! 
 Press. On the conscience of Society ! 
 Lemmy. I sy — put that dahn, won't yer ? 
 Press. Have things changed much since the war, 
 Mrs. Lemmy .f^ 
 Mrs. L. Cotton's a lot dearer. 
 Press. All round, I mean. 
 
 Mrs. L. Aw ! Yu don' never get no change, not in 
 my profession. [She oscillates the trottsers] I've a-been 
 in trousers fifteen year; ever since I got tu old for 
 laundry. 
 
 Press. [Writing] "For fifteen years sewn trousers." 
 What would a good week be, Mrs. Lemmy ? 
 Mrs. L. 'Tes a very gude week, five shellin's. 
 Lemmy. [From the window] Bloomin' millionairess, 
 Muvver. She's lookin' forward to 'eaven, where vey 
 don't wear no trahsers. 
 
 Mrs. L. [With spirit] 'Tidn' for me to zay whether 
 they du. An' 'tes on'y when I'm a bit low-sperrity- 
 like as I wants to go therr. What I am a-lukin' for- 
 ward to, though, 'tes a day in the country. I've not 
 a-had one since before the war. A kind lady brought 
 
48 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii 
 
 me in that bit of 'eather; 'tes wonderful sweet stuff 
 when the 'oney's in et. When I was a little gell I used 
 to zet in the 'eather gatherin' the whorts, an' me little 
 mouth all black wi' eatin' them. 'Twas in the 'eather 
 I used to zet, Sundays, courtin'. All flesh is grass — 
 an' 'tesn't no bad thing — grass. 
 
 Press [Writing] "The old paganism of the country.'* 
 What is your view of life, Mrs. Lemmy? 
 
 Lemmy. [Suddenly] Wot is 'er voo of life? Shall I 
 tell yer mine ? Life's a disease — a blinkin' oak-apple ! 
 Daon't myke no mistyke. An' 'uman life's a yumour- 
 ous disease; that's all the difference. Why — wot else 
 can it be ? See the bloomin' promise an' the blighted 
 performance — different as a 'eadline to the noos inside. 
 But 3^er couldn't myke Muvver see vat — not if yer 
 talked to 'er for a week. Muvver still believes in fings. 
 She's a country gell; at a 'undred and fifty she'll be a 
 country gell, won't yer, old lydy? 
 
 Mrs. L. Well, 'tesn't never been 'ome to me in 
 London. I lived in the country forty year — I did my 
 lovin' there; I hurried father therr. Therr bain't 
 nothin' in life, yu know, but a bit o' lovin' — all said an' 
 done; bit o' lovin', with the wind, an' the stars out. 
 
 Lemmy. [In a loud apologetic whisper] She 'yn't often 
 like this. I told yer she'd got a glawss o' port in 'er. 
 
 Mrs. L. 'Tes a brave pleasure, is lovin'. I likes to 
 zee et in young folk. I likes to zee 'em kissin*; shows 
 the 'eart in 'em. 'Tes the 'eart makes the world go 
 round; 'tesn't nothin' else, in my opinion. 
 
 Press. [Writing] " — sings the swan song of the 
 heart." 
 
ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 49 
 
 Mrs. L. [Overhearing] No, I never yeard a swan 
 sing — never! But I tell 'ee what I 'ave 'card; the 
 gells singin' in th' orchard 'angin' up the clothes to 
 dry, an' the cuckoos callin* back to 'em. [Smiling] 
 There's a-many songs in the country — the 'eart is free- 
 like in th' country ! 
 
 Lemmy. [SoUo voce] Gi' me the Strand at ar' past 
 nine. 
 
 Press. [Writing] "Town and country " 
 
 Mrs. L. 'Tidn't like that in London; one day's jest 
 like another. Not but what therr's a 'eap o' kind- 
 'eartedness 'ere. 
 
 Lemmy. [Gloomily] Kmd-'eartedness ! I daon't fink ! 
 "Boys an' gells come out to play." 
 
 [He plays the old tune on his fiddle. 
 
 Mrs. L. [Singing] "Boys an' gells come out to play. 
 The mune is shinin' bright as day." [She laughs] I 
 used to sing like a lark when I was a gell. 
 
 [Little Aida enters. 
 
 L. Aida. There's 'undreds foUerin' the corfin. 'Yn't 
 you goin', Mr. Lemmy — it's dahn your wy ! 
 
 Lemmy. [Dubiously] Well yus— I s'pose they'll miss 
 me. 
 
 L. Aida. Aoh ! Tyke me ! 
 
 Press. What's this.?* 
 
 Lemmy. The revolution In 'Yde Pawk. 
 
 Press. [Struck] In Hyde Park.? The very thing. 
 I'll take you down. My taxi's waiting. 
 
 L. Aida. Yus; it's breathin' 'ard, at the corner. 
 
50 THE FOUNDATIONS act ii 
 
 Press. [Looking at his watch] Ah ! and Mrs. Lemmy. 
 There's an Anti-Sweatmg Meeting going on at a house 
 in Park Lane. We can get there in twenty minutes 
 if we shove along. I want you to tell them about the 
 trouser-making. You'll be a sensation ! 
 
 Leiumy. [To himself] Sensytion! 'E cawn't keep 
 orf it! 
 
 Mrs. L. Anti-Sweat. Poor fellers ! I 'ad one come 
 to see me before the war, an' they'm still goin' on? 
 Wonderful, an't it .'^ 
 
 Press. Come, Mrs. Lemmy; drive in a taxi, beauti- 
 ful moonlit night; and they'll give you a splendid cup 
 of tea. 
 
 Mrs. L. [Unmoved] Ah! I cudn't never du with- 
 out my tea. There's not an avenin' but I thinks to 
 meself : Now, me dear, yu've a-got one more to fennish, 
 an' then yu'll 'ave yure cup o' tea. Thank you for 
 callin', all the same. 
 
 Lemmy. Better siccumb to the temptytion, old lydy; 
 joyride wiv the Press; marble floors, pillars o' gold; 
 conscientious footmen; lovely lydies; scuppers runnin' 
 tea ! An' the revolution goin' on across the wy. 
 'Eaven's nuffink to Pawk Lyne. 
 
 Press. Come along, Mrs. Lemmy ! 
 
 Mrs. L. [Seraphically] Thank yu. I'm a-feelin' very 
 comfortable. 'Tes wonderful what a drop o' wine' 11 
 du for the stomach. 
 
 Press. A taxi-ride ! 
 
 Mrs. L. [Placidly] Ah! I know 'em. They'm very 
 busy thmgs. 
 
ACT II THE FOUNDATIONS 51 
 
 Lemmy. Muvver shims notority. [Sotto voce to The 
 Press] But you watch me ! I'll rouse 'er. 
 
 He takes up his fiddle and sits on the window 
 seat. Above the little houses on the opposite 
 side of the streety the moon has risen in the 
 dark blue sky, so that the cloud shaped like a 
 beast seems leaping over it. Lemmy plays 
 the first notes of the Marseillaise. A black 
 cat on the window-sill outside looks in, hunch- 
 ing its hack. Little Aida harks at her. 
 Mrs. Lemmy struggles to her feety sweeping 
 the empty dish and spoon to the floor in the 
 effort. 
 
 The dish ran awy wiv the spoon! That's right, old 
 lydy ! [He stops playing. 
 
 Mrs. L. [Smiling, and moving her hands] I like a 
 bit o' music. It du that muve 'ee. 
 
 Press. Bravo, Mrs. Lemmy. Come on ! 
 
 Lemmy. Come on, old dear! We'll be m time for 
 the revolution yet. 
 
 Mrs. L. 'Tes 'earin' the Old 'Undred again ! 
 
 Lemmy. [To The Press] She 'yn't been aht these 
 two years. [To his mother, who has put up her hands to 
 her head] Nao, never mind yer 'at. [To The Press] 
 She 'yn't got none ! [Aloud] No West-End lydy wears 
 anj^fink at all in the evenin' ! 
 
 Mrs. L. 'Ow'm I lukin'. Bob? 
 
 Lemmy. Fust-clawss; yer've got a colour fit to toast 
 
52 THE FOUNDATIONS act n 
 
 by. We'll show 'em yer've got a kick in yer. [He takes 
 her arm] Little Aida, ketch 'old o' the sensytions. 
 
 [He indicates the trousers. 
 The Press takes Mrs. Lemmy's other arm. 
 Mrs. L. [With an excited little laugh] Quite like a 
 gell! 
 
 And, smiling between her son and The Press, 
 she passes out; Little Aida, vnth a fling of 
 her heels and a wave of the troupers, follows. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
ACT III 
 
 An octagon ante-room off the hall at Lord William 
 Dromondy's. a shining roam lighted by gold can- 
 delabra, with gold-curtained pillars, through which 
 the shining hall and a little of the grand stairway 
 are visible. A small table with a gold-coloured cloth 
 occupies the very centre of the room, which has a 
 polished parquet floor and high white walls. Gold- 
 coloured doors on the left. Opposite these doors a 
 window with gold-coloured curtains looks out on 
 Park Lane. Lady William is standing restlessly 
 between the double doors and the arch which leads 
 to the hall. James w stationary by the double doors, 
 from behind which come sounds of speech and ap- 
 plause. 
 
 PoTJLDER. [Entering from the haUl His Grace the 
 Duke of Exeter, my lady. 
 
 His Grace enters. He is old, and youthful, 
 with a high colour and a short rough white 
 beard. Lady William advances to meet him. 
 PouLDER stands by. 
 Lady W. Oh ! Father, you are late. 
 His G. Awful crowd in the streets, Nell. They've 
 got a coflSn — couldn't get by. 
 53 
 
54 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi 
 
 Lady W. Coffin? Whose? 
 
 His G. The Government's I should think — no 
 flowers, by request. I say, have I got to speak ? 
 
 Lady W. Oh ! no, dear. 
 
 His G. H'm! That's unlucky. I've got it here. 
 [He looks down his cuff] Found something I said in 1914 
 — just have done. 
 
 Lady W. Oh! If you've got it^ — James, ask Lord 
 William to come to me for a moment. [James vanishes 
 through the door. To The Duke] Go in. Grand-dad; 
 they'll be so awfully pleased to see you. I'll tell Bill. 
 
 His G. Where's Anne ? 
 
 Lady W. In bed, of course. 
 
 His G. I got her this — rather nice.'* 
 
 He has taken from his breast-pocket one of those 
 street toy-men that jump head over heels on 
 your hand; he puts it through its paces. 
 
 Lady W. [Much interested] Oh ! no, but how sweet ! 
 She'll simply love it. 
 
 PoTJLDER. If I might suggest to Your Grace to take 
 it in and operate it. It's sweated, Your Grace. They 
 — er — make them in those places. 
 
 His G. By Jove ! D'you know the price, Poulder? 
 
 PouLDER. [Interrogatively] A penny, is it? Some- 
 thing paltry, Your Grace ! 
 
 His G. Where's that woman who knows everything; 
 Miss Munday ? 
 
 Lady W. Oh ! She'll be in there, somewhere. 
 
 His Grace moves on, and passes through the 
 doors. The sound of applause is heard. 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 55 
 
 PouLDER. [Discreetly] Would you care to see the 
 bomb, my lady ? 
 
 Lady W. Of course — first quiet moment. 
 
 PouLDER. I'll bring it up, and have a watch put on 
 it here, my lady. 
 
 Lord William comes through the double doors^ 
 followed by James. Poulder retires. 
 
 Lord W. Can't you come, Nell ? 
 
 Lady W. Oh ! Bill, your Dad wants to speak. 
 
 Lord W. The deuce he does — that's bad. 
 
 Lady W. Yes, of course, but you must let him; he's 
 found something he said in 1914. 
 
 Lord W. I knew it. That's what they'll say. 
 Standing stock still, while hell's on the jump around us. 
 
 Lady W. Never mind that; it'll please him; and 
 he's got a lovely little sweated toy that turns head over 
 heels at one penny. 
 
 Lord W. H'm ! Well, come on. 
 
 Lady W. No, I must wait for stragglers. There's 
 sure to be an editor in a hurry. 
 
 Poulder. [Announcing] Mis-ter Gold-rum! 
 
 Lady W. [Sotto voce] And there he is ! [She advances 
 to meet a thin, straggling rnan in eyeglasses^ who is smil- 
 ing absently] How good of you ! 
 
 Mr. G. Thanks awfully. I just — er — and then I'm 
 afraid I must — er — Things look very — Thanks — 
 Thanks so much. 
 
 He straggles through the doorSy and is enclosed 
 by James. 
 
 Poulder. Miss Mun-day. 
 
56 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi 
 
 Lady W. There! I thought she was in She 
 
 really is the most unexpected woman! How do you 
 do ? How awfully sweet of you ! 
 
 Miss M. [An elderly female schoolboy] How do you 
 do? There's a spiflSng crowd. I believe things are 
 really going Bolshy. How do you do. Lord William ? 
 Have you got any of our people to show ? I told one 
 or two, in case — they do so simply love an outing. 
 
 James. There are three old chips in the lobby, my 
 Lord. 
 
 Lord W. What.?^ Oh! I say! Bring them in at 
 once. Why — they're the hub of the whole thing. 
 
 James. [Going] Very good, my Lord. 
 
 Lady W. I am sorry. I'd no notion; and they're 
 such dears always. 
 
 Miss M. I must tell you what one of them said to 
 me. I'd told him not to use such bad language to his 
 wife. "Don't you worry. Ma !" he said, "I expect you 
 can do a bit of that yourself !" 
 
 Lady W. How awfully nice ! It's so like them. 
 
 Miss M. Yes. They're wonderful. 
 
 Lord W. I say, why do we always call them theyf 
 
 Lady W. [Puzzled] Well, why not.? 
 
 Lord W. They I 
 
 Miss M. [Struck] Quite right. Lord William ! Quite 
 right! Another species. They! I must remember 
 that. They ! [She passes on. 
 
 Lady W. [About to follow] Well, I don't see; aren't 
 they.? 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 57 
 
 Lord W. Never mind, old girl; follow on. They'll 
 come in with me. 
 
 Miss Munday and Lady William pass 
 through the double doors. 
 PouLDER. [Announcing] Some sweated workers, my 
 Lord. 
 
 There enter a tall, thin, oldish woman ; a short, 
 thin, very lame man, her husband ; and a 
 stoutish middle-aged woman with a rolling 
 eye and gait, all very poorly dressed, with 
 lined and heated faces. 
 
 Lord W. [Shaking hands] How d'you do ! De- 
 lighted to see you all. It's awfully good of you to 
 have come. 
 
 Lame M. Mr. and Mrs. Tomson. We *ad some 
 trouble to find it. You see, I've never been in these 
 parts. We 'ad to come in the oven; and the bus-bloke 
 put us dahn wrong. Are you the proprietor.? 
 
 Lord W. [Modestly] Yes, I — er 
 
 Lame M. You've got a nice plyce. I says to the 
 missis, I says: "'E's got a nice plyce 'ere," I says; 
 "there's room to turn rahnd." 
 
 Lord W. Yes — shall we ? 
 
 Lame M. An' Mrs. Anna way she says: "Shouldn't 
 mind livin' 'ere meself," she says; "but it must cost 'im 
 a tidy penny," she says. 
 
 Lord W. It does — it does; much too tidy. Shall 
 we ? 
 
 Mrs. Ann. [Rolling her eye] I'm very pleased to 
 
58 THE FOUNDATIONS act iii 
 
 *ave come. I've often said to 'em: "Any time you 
 want me," I've said, "I'd be pleased to come." 
 Lord W. Not so pleased as we are to see you. 
 Mrs. Ann. I'm sure you're very kind. 
 James. [From the double doors, through which he has 
 received a message] Wanted for your speecli, my Lord. 
 Lord W. Oh ! God ! Poulder, bring these ladies 
 and gentleman in, and put them where everybody can 
 — where they can see everybody, don't you know. 
 
 [He goes out hurriedly through the double doors. 
 Lame M. Is 'e a lord ? 
 Poulder. He is. Follow me. 
 
 He moves towards the doors, the three workers 
 
 follow. 
 
 Mrs. Ann. [Stopping before James] You 'yn't one, 
 
 I suppose ? [James stirs no muscle. 
 
 Poulder. Now please. [He opens the doors. The 
 
 voice of Lord William speaking is heard] Pass in. 
 
 The Three Workers pass in, Poulder and 
 J AMES follow them. The doors are not closed, 
 and through this aperture comes the voice of 
 Lord William, punctuated and supported 
 by decorous applause. 
 Little Anne runs in, and listens at the win- 
 dow to the confused and distant murmurs 
 of a crowd. 
 Voice of Lord W. We propose to move for a fur- 
 ther advance in the chain-making and— -er — er — match- 
 box industries. [Applause. 
 Little Anne runs across to the door, to listen. 
 
ACT III THE , FOUNDATIONS 59 
 
 [On rising voice] I would conclude with some general 
 remarks. Ladies and gentlemen, the great natural, 
 but — er — artificial expansion which trade experienced 
 the first years after the war has — er — collapsed. These 
 are hard times. We who are fortunate feel more than 
 ever — er — responsible — [He stammersy loses the thread 
 of his thoughts. — Applause] — er — responsible — [ The 
 thread still eludes him] — er 
 
 L. Anne. [Poignantly] Oh, Daddy ! 
 
 Lord W. [Desperately] In fact — er — you know how 
 — er — responsible we feel. 
 
 L. Anne. Hooray! [Applau;Se, 
 
 There float in through the windows the hoarse 
 and distant sounds of the Marseillaisey as 
 sung by London voices. 
 
 Lord W. There is a feeling in the air — that I for 
 one should say deliberately was — er — a feeling in the 
 air — er — a feeling in the air 
 
 L. Anne. [Agonized] Oh, Daddy ! Stop ! 
 
 [James enters^ and closes the door behind him, 
 
 James. Look here ! 'Ave I got to report you to 
 Miss Stokes.'' 
 
 L. Anne. No-o-o! 
 
 James. Well, I'm goin' to. 
 
 L. Anne. Oh, James, be a friend to me ! IVe seen 
 nothing yet. 
 
 James. No; but you've eaten a good bit, on the 
 stairs. What price that Peach Melba.? 
 
 L. Anne. I can't go to bed till I've digested it — 
 can I ? There's such a lovely crowd in the street ! 
 
60 THE FOUNDATIONS act m 
 
 James. Lovely? Ho! 
 
 L. Anne. [Wheedling] James, you couldn't tell Miss 
 Stokes! It isn't in you, is it? 
 James. [Grinning] That's right. 
 L. Anne. So — I'll just get under here. [She gets 
 under the table] Do I show ? 
 James. [Stooping] Not 'arf ! 
 
 [PouLDER enters from the hall. 
 PouLDER. "What are you doin' there ? 
 James. [Between him and the table — raising himself] 
 Thinkin'. 
 
 PouLDER purses his mouth to repress his feel- 
 ings. 
 PouLDER. My orders are to fetch the bomb up here 
 for Lady William to inspect. Take care no more 
 writers stray in. 
 
 James. How shall I know 'em ? 
 PouLDER. Well — either very bald or very hairy. 
 James. Right-o ! [He goes. 
 
 PouLDER, with his hack to the table, busies 
 himself with the set of his collar. 
 PouLDER. [Addressing an imaginary audience — in a 
 low but important voice] The — ah — situation is seerious. 
 
 It is up to us of the — ah — leisured classes 
 
 The face of Little Anne is poked out close to 
 his legsy and tilts upwards in wonder towards 
 the bow of his waistcoat. 
 to — ah — keep the people down. The olla polloi are 
 
 clamourin' 
 
 Miss Stokes appears from the hall, between 
 the pillars. 
 
ACT III 
 
 THE FOUNDATIONS 61 
 
 Miss S. Poulder! 
 
 PouLDER. [Making a volte face towards the table] 
 Miss? 
 
 Miss S. Where is Anne ? 
 
 Poulder. [Vexed at the disturbance of his speech] Ex- 
 cuse me, Miss— to keep track of Miss Anne is fortu- 
 nately no part of my dooties. 
 
 Miss S. She really is naughty. 
 
 Poulder. She is. If she was mine, I'd spank her. 
 The smiling face of Little Anne becomes visi- 
 ble again close to his legs. 
 
 Miss S. Not a nice word. 
 
 Poulder. No; but a pleasant haction. Miss Anne's 
 the limit. In fact, Lord and Lady William are much 
 too kind-'earted all round. Take these sweated work- 
 ers; that class o' people are quite 'opeless. Treatin' 
 them as your equals, shakin' 'ands with 'em, givin' 'em 
 tea— it only puffs 'em out. Leave it to the Church, 
 I say. 
 
 Miss S. The Church is too busy, Poulder. 
 
 Poulder. Ah! That "Purity an' Future o' the 
 Race Campaign." I'll tell you what I think's the dan- 
 ger o' that. Miss. So much purity that there won't 
 be a future race. [Expanding] Purity of 'cart's an ex- 
 cellent thing, no doubt, but there's a want of nature 
 about it. Same with this Anti-Sweating. Unless 
 you're anxious to come down, you must not put the 
 lower classes up. 
 
 Miss S. I don't agree with you at all, Poulder. 
 Poulder. Ah! You want it both ways. Miss. I 
 should imagine you're a Liberal. 
 
62 THE FOUNDATIONS act m 
 
 Miss S. [Horrified] Oh, no ! I certainly am not. 
 PouLDER. Well, I judged from your takin' cocoa. 
 Funny thing that, about cocoa — how it still runs 
 through the Liberal Party! It's virtuous, I suppose. 
 Wine, beer, tea, coffee — all of 'em vices. But cocoa — 
 you might drink a gallon a day and annoy no one but 
 yourself ! There's a lot o' deep things in life, Miss ! 
 Miss S. Quite so. But I must find Anne. 
 
 [She recedes. 
 PouLDER. [Suavely] Well, I wish you every success; 
 and I hope you'll spank her. This modern education 
 — there's no fruitiness in it. 
 
 L. Anne. [From under the table] Poulder, are you 
 virtuous ? 
 Poulder. [Jumping] Good Ged ! 
 L. Anne. D'you mind my asking? I promised 
 James I would. 
 Poulder. Miss Anne, come out! 
 
 [The four footmen appear in the hall, Henry 
 
 carrying the wine cooler. 
 
 James. Form fours — by your right — quick march ! 
 
 [They enter, marching down right of table. 
 
 Right incline — Mark time ! Left turn ! 'Alt ! 'Enry, 
 
 set the bomb ! Stand easy ! 
 
 Henry places the wine cooler on the table and 
 
 covers it with a blue embroidered Chinese mat, 
 
 which has occupied the centre of the tablecloth. 
 
 Poulder. Ah ! You will *ave your game ! Thomas, 
 
 take the door there! James, the 'all! Admit titles 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 63 
 
 an' bishops. No literary or Labour people. Charles 
 and 'Enry, 'op it and 'ang about ! 
 
 Charles and Henry go out, the other too 
 
 move to their stations. 
 PouLDER stands by the table looking at the 
 covered bomb. The hoarse and distant sounds 
 of the Marseillaise float in again from Park 
 Lane. 
 [Moved by some deep feeling] And this house an 'orspi- 
 tal in the war ! I ask you — what was the good of all 
 our sacrifices for the country ? No town 'ouse for four 
 seasons — rustygettin' in the shires, not a soul but two 
 boys under me. Lord William at the front, Lady Wil- 
 liam at the back. And all for this! [He points sadly 
 at the cooler] It comes of meddlin' on the Continent. 
 I had my prognostications at the time. [To James] You 
 remember my sayin' to you just before you joined up: 
 *'Mark my words — we shall see eight per cent, for our 
 money before this is over!" 
 
 James. [Sepulchrally] I see the eight per cent., but 
 not the money. 
 PouLDER. Hark at that ! 
 
 The sounds of the Marseillaise grow louder. 
 He shakes his head. 
 
 I'd read the Riot Act. They'll be lootin' this house 
 next! 
 
 James. We'll put up a fight over your body: "Bar- 
 tholomew Poulder, faithful unto death!" Have you 
 insured your life? 
 
64 THE FOUNDATIONS act m 
 
 PouLDER. Against a revolution ? 
 
 James. Act o' God ! Why not ? 
 
 PouLDER. It's not an act o' God. 
 
 James. It is; and I sympathise with it. 
 
 PouLDER. You — what.? 
 
 James. I do — only — hands ofiF the gov'nor. 
 
 PouLDER. Oh! Reelly! Well, that's something. 
 I'm glad to see you stand behind hiniy at all events. 
 
 James. I stand in front of 'im when the scrap begins ! 
 
 PouLDER. Do you insinuate that my heart's not in 
 the right place ? 
 
 James. Well, look at it! It's been creepin' down 
 ever since I knew you. Talk of your sacrifices in the 
 war — they put you on your honour, and you got stout 
 on it. Rations — not 'arf ! 
 
 PouLDER. [Staring at him] For independence, I've 
 never seen your equal, James. You might be an Aus- 
 tralian ! 
 
 James. [Siiavely] Keep a civil tongue, or I'll throw 
 you to the crowd ! [He comes forward to the table] Shall 
 I tell you why I favour the gov'nor ? Because, with all 
 his pomp, he's a gentleman, as much as I am. Never 
 asks you to do what he wouldn't do himself. What's 
 more, he never comes it over you. If you get drunk, 
 or — well, you understand me, Poulder — he'll just say: 
 "Yes, yes; I know, James !" till he makes you feel he's 
 done it himself. [Sinking his voice mysteriously] I've 
 had experience with him, in the war and out. Why ! 
 he didn't even hate the Huns, not as he ought. I tell 
 you he's no Christian. 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 65 
 
 PoxiLDER. Well, for irreverence ! 
 
 James. [Obstinately] And he'll never be. He's got 
 too soft a heart. 
 
 L. Anne. [Beneath the table — shrilly] Hurrah ! 
 
 PouLDER. [Jumping] Come out, Miss Anne! 
 
 James. Let 'er alone ! 
 
 PouLDER. In there, under the bomb? 
 
 James. [Contemptuously] Silly ass! You should faA;e 
 'em lying down ! 
 
 PouLDER. Look here, James ! I can't go on in this 
 revolutionary spirit; either you or I resign. 
 
 James. Crisis in the Cabinet! 
 
 PouLDER. I give you your marchin' orders. 
 
 James. [Ineffably] What's that you give me? 
 
 PouLDER. Thomas, remove James! 
 
 [Thomas grins. 
 
 L. Anne. [Who, with open mouth, has crept out to 
 see the fun] Oh ! Do remove James, Thomas ! 
 PouLDER. Go on, Thomas ! 
 
 Thomas takes one step towards James, who lays 
 a hand on the Chinese mat covering the bomb. 
 
 James. [Grimly] If I lose control of meself 
 
 L. Anne. [Clapping her hands] Oh ! James ! Do lose 
 control ! Then I shall see it go off ! 
 
 James. [To Poulder] Well, I'll merely empty the 
 pail over you ! 
 
 Poulder. This is not becomin' ! 
 
 [He walks out into the hall. 
 
66 THE FOUNDATIONS act iii 
 
 James. Another strategic victory! What a Boche 
 he'd have made. As you were, Tommy ! 
 
 Thomas returns to the door. The sound of 
 prolonged applause comes from within. 
 That's a bishop. 
 L. Anne. Why? 
 
 James. By the way he's drawin'. It's the fine 
 fightin' spirit in 'em. They were the backbone o' the 
 war. I see there's a bit o' the old stuff left in you, 
 Tommy. 
 
 L. Anne. [Scrutinizing the widely-grinning Thomas] 
 Where.'* Is it in his mouth.'* 
 
 James. You've still got a sense of your superiors. 
 Didn't you notice how you moved to Poulder's orders, 
 me boy; an' when he was gone, to mine? 
 L. Anne. [To Thomas] March! 
 
 [The grinning Thomas remains immovable. 
 He doesn't, James ! 
 
 James. Look here. Miss Anne — your lights ought to 
 be out before ten. Close in. Tommy ! 
 
 [He and Thomas move towards her. 
 L. Anne. [Dodging] Oh, no ! Oh, no ! Look ! 
 
 The footman stop and turn. There between the 
 pillars stands Little Aida with the troupers, 
 her face brilliant with surprise. 
 James. Good Lord ! What's this ? 
 
 Seeing Little Anne, Little Aida approaches, 
 fascinated, and the two children sniff at each 
 other as it were like two little dogs walking 
 round and round. 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 67 
 
 L. Anne. [Suddenly] My name's Anne; what's 
 yours ? 
 
 L. AiDA. Aida. 
 
 L. Anne. Are you lost ? 
 
 L. Aida. Nao. 
 
 L. Anne. Are those trousers ? 
 
 L. Aida. Yus. 
 
 L. Anne. Whose.? 
 
 L. Aida. Mrs. Lemmy's. 
 
 L. Anne. Does she wear them.? 
 
 [Little Aida smiles brilliantly. 
 
 L. Aida. Nao. She sews 'em. 
 
 L. Anne. [Touching the troupers] They are hard. 
 James's are much softer; aren't they, James.? [James 
 deigns no reply] What shall we do.? Would you like 
 to see my bedroom .? 
 
 L. Aida. [With a hop] Aoh, yus ! 
 
 James. No. 
 
 L. Anne. Why not.? 
 
 James. Have some sense of what's fittin*. 
 
 L. Anne. ^Vhy isn't it fittin'? [To Little Aida] 
 Do you like me.? 
 
 L. Aida. Yus-s. 
 
 L. Anne. So do I. Come on ! 
 
 [She takes Little Aida's hand. 
 
 James. [Between the pillars] Tommy, ketch 'em ! 
 [Thomas retains them by the skirts. 
 
 L. Anne. [Feigning indifference] All right, then! 
 [To Little Aida] Have you ever seen a bomb .? 
 
 L. Aida. Nao. 
 
68 THE FOUNDATIONS act m 
 
 L. Anne. [Going to the table and lifting a corner of 
 the cover] Look ! 
 
 L. Aid A. [Looking] What's it for? 
 
 L. Anne. To blow up this house. 
 
 L. AiDA. I daon't fink ! 
 
 L. Anne. Why not.?^ 
 
 L. AiDA. It's a beautiful big 'ouse. 
 
 L. Anne. That's why. Isn't it, James? 
 
 L. AiDA. You give the fing to me; I'll blow up our 
 *ouse — it's an ugly little 'ouse. 
 
 L. Anne. [Struck] Let's all blow up our own; then 
 we can start fair. Daddy would like that. 
 
 L. AiDA. Yus. [Suddenly brilliant] I've 'ad a ride in 
 a taxi, an' we're goin' 'ome in it agyne ! 
 
 L. Anne. Were you sick ? 
 
 Little Aida. [Brilliant] Nao. 
 
 L. Anne. I was, when I first went in one, but I was 
 quite young then. James, could you get her a Peche 
 Melba ? There was one. 
 
 James. No. 
 
 L. Anne. Have you seen the revolution ? 
 
 L. Aida. Wot's that? 
 
 L. Anne. It's made of people. 
 
 L. Aida. I've seen the corfin, it's myde o' wood. 
 
 L. Anne. Do you hate the rich? 
 
 L. Aida. [Ineffably] Nao. I hates the poor. 
 
 L. Anne. Why? 
 
 L. Aida. 'Cos they 'yn't got nuflSn'. 
 
 L. Anne. I love the poor. They're such dears. 
 
 L. Aida. [Shaking her head with a broad smile] Nao. 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 69 
 
 L. Anne. Why not? 
 
 L. AiDA. I'd tyke and lose the lot, I would. 
 
 L. Anne. Where.'' 
 
 L. AiDA. In the water. 
 
 L. Anne. Like puppies.^ 
 
 L. AiDA. Yus. 
 
 L. Anne. Why? 
 
 L. AiDA. Then I'd be shut of 'em. 
 
 L. Anne. [Puzzled] Oh! 
 
 The voice of The Press is heard in the hall. 
 " Where s the little girl?'' 
 James. That's you. Come 'ere ! 
 
 He puts a hand behind Little Aida's back 
 
 and propels her towards the hall. The Press 
 
 enters with old Mrs. Lemmy. 
 
 Press. Oh ! Here she is, major domo. I'm going 
 
 to take this old lady to the meeting; they want her on 
 
 the platform. Look after our friend, Mr. Lemmy 
 
 here; Lord William wants to see him presently. 
 
 L. Anne. [In an awed whisper] James, it's the little 
 blighter ! 
 
 She dives again under the table. Lemmy enters. 
 Lemmy. 'Ere ! 'Arf a mo' ! Yer said yer'd drop 
 me at my plyce. Well, I tell yer candid — this 'yn't 
 my plyce! 
 
 Press. That's all right, Mr. Lemmy. [He grins] 
 They'll make you wonderfully comfortable, won't you, 
 major domo ? 
 
 He passes on through the room, to the door, 
 ushering old Mrs. Lemmy and Little Aida. 
 
70 THE FOUNDATIONS act in 
 
 PouLDER blocks Lemmy's way, with Charles 
 and Henry behind him. 
 PoULDER. Jame^, watch it; I'll report. 
 
 He moves away, following The Press through 
 the door. James between table and window. 
 Thomas has gone to the door. Henry and 
 Charles remain at the entrances to the hall. 
 Lemmy looks dubiously around, his cockney 
 assurance gradually returns. 
 Lemmy. I think I knows the gas 'ere. This is where 
 I came to-dy, 'yn't it? Excuse my hesitytion — these 
 little 'ouses is so much the syme ! 
 James. [Gloomily] They are ! 
 
 Lemmy. [Looking at the four imrrwvable footmen, till 
 he concentrates on James] Ah ! I 'ad a word wiv you, 
 'adn't 1? You're the four conscientious ones wot's 
 wyin' on your gov'nor's chest. 'Twas you I spoke to, 
 wasn't it? [His eyes travel over them again] Ye're so 
 monotonous. Well, ye're busy now, I see. I won't 
 wyste yer time. 
 
 He turns toicards the hall, but Charles and 
 Henry bar the way in silence. 
 [Skidding a little, and regarding the four immovables once 
 more] I never see such pytient men? Compared wiv 
 yer, mountains is restless ! 
 
 He goes to the table. James watches him. 
 
 Anne barks from underneath. 
 
 [Skidding again] Why! There's a dawg under there. 
 
 [Noting the grin on Thomas's face] Glad it amooses 
 
 yer. Yer want it, daon't yer, wiv a fyce like that? 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 71 
 
 Is this a ply wivaht words ? 'Ave I got into the movies 
 by mistyke? Turn aht, an' let's 'ave sLx penn'orth o' 
 darkness. 
 L. Anne. [From beneath the table] No, no ! Not dark ! 
 Lemmy. [Musingly] The dawg talks anywy. Come 
 aht, Fido ! 
 
 Little Anne emerges, and regards him with 
 burning curiosity. 
 I sy : Is this the lytest fashion o' receivin' guests ? 
 
 L. Anne. Mother always wants people to feel at 
 home. What shall we do? Would you like to hear 
 the speeches? Thomas, open the door a little, do ! 
 James. 'Umour 'er a couple o' inches, Tommy ! 
 
 Thomas draws the door back stealthily an inch 
 or so. 
 L. Anne. [After applying her eye — in a loud whisper] 
 There's the old lady. Daddy's looking at her trousers. 
 Listen ! 
 
 For Mrs. Lemmy's voice is floating faintly 
 through: "I putt in the buttonholes, I stretches 
 the flies ; I 'ems the bottoms ; I lines the 
 crutch ; I putt on this bindin' ; I sews on the 
 buttons ; I presses the seams — Tuppence 
 three farthin's the pair. 
 Lemmy. [In a hoarse whisper] That's it, old lydy: 
 give it 'em ! 
 L. Anne. Listen! 
 
 Voice of Lord W. We are indebted to our friends 
 the Press for giving us the pleasure — er— pleasure of 
 hearing from her own lips — the pleasure 
 
72 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi 
 
 L. Anne. Oh ! Daddy ! 
 
 [Thomas abruptly closes the doors. 
 
 Lemmy. [To Anne] Now yer've done it. See wot 
 comes o' bein' impytient. We was just gettin' to the 
 marrer. 
 
 L. Anne. What can we do for you now ? 
 
 Lemmy. [Pointing to Anne, and addressing James] 
 Wot is this one, anywy ? 
 
 James. [SepulchraUy] Daughter o' the house. 
 
 Lemmy. Is she insured agynst 'er own curiosity ? 
 
 L. Anne. Why.? 
 
 Lemmy. As I daon't believe in a life beyond the 
 gryve, I might be tempted to send yer there. 
 
 L. Anne. What is the gryve ? 
 
 Lemmy. Where little gells goes to. 
 
 L. Anne. Oh, when? 
 
 Lemmy. [Pretending to look at a watch, which is not 
 there] Well, I dunno if I've got time to finish yer this 
 minute. Sy to-morrer at 'arf past. 
 
 L. Anne. Half past what ? 
 
 Lemmy. [Despairingly] 'Arf past wot ! 
 
 [The sound of applause is heard. 
 
 James. That's 'is Grace. 'E's gettin' wickets, too. 
 [PouLDER entering from the door. 
 
 PoULDER. Lord William is slippin' in. 
 
 He makes a cabalistic sign with his head. 
 James crosses to the door. Lemmy looks 
 dubiously at Poulder. 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 73 
 
 Lemmy. [Svdderdy — as to himself] Wot oh! I am 
 the portly one ! 
 
 PouLDER. [Severely] Any such allusion aggeravates 
 your offence. 
 
 Lemmy. Oh, ah ! Look 'ere. It was a corked bottle. 
 Now, tyke care, tyke care, 'aughty ! Daon't curl yer 
 lip ! I shall myke a clean breast o' my betryal when 
 the time comes ! 
 
 There is a slight movement of the door. Anne 
 makes a dive towards the table hut is arrested 
 by PouLDER grasping her waistband. Lord 
 William slips in, followed by The Press, 
 on whom James and Thomas close the door 
 too soon. 
 Half of the Press. [Indignantly] Look out ! 
 James. Do you want him in or out, me Lord ? 
 Lemmy. I sy, you've divided the Press; 'e was 
 unanimous. 
 
 [The Footmen let The Press through. 
 Lord W. [To The Press] I'm so sorry. 
 Lemmy. Would yer like me to see to 'is gas.? 
 Lord W. So you're my friend of the cellars.'' 
 Lemmy. [Uneasy] I daon't deny it. 
 
 [Poulder begins removing Little Anne. 
 L. Anne. Let me stay. Daddy; I haven't seen any- 
 thing yet! If I go, I shall only have to come down 
 again when they loot the house. Listen ! 
 
 The hoarse strains of the Marseillaise are again 
 heard from the distance. 
 Lord W. [Blandly] Take her up, Poulder ! 
 
74 THE FOUNDATIONS act m 
 
 L. Anne. Well, I'm coming down again — and next 
 time I shan't have any clothes on, you know. 
 
 They vanish between the pillars. Lord Wil- 
 liam makes a sign of dismissal. The Foot- 
 men file out. 
 
 Lemmy. [Admiringly] Luv'ly pyces ! 
 
 Lord W. [Pleasantly] Now then; let's have our talk, 
 Mr. 
 
 Lemmy. Lemmy. 
 
 Press. [Who has slipped his note-book out] "Bombed 
 and Bomber face to face " 
 
 Lemmy. [Uneasy] I didn't come 'ere agyne on me 
 own, yer know. The Press betryed me. 
 
 Lord W. Is that old lady your mother ? 
 
 Lemmy. The syme. I tell yer stryte, it was for 'er 
 I took that old bottle o' port. It was orful old. 
 
 Lord W. Ah! Port.? Probably the '63. Hope 
 you both enjoyed it. 
 
 Lemmy. So far — yus. Muvver'U suffer a bit to- 
 morrer, I expect. 
 
 Lord W. I should like to do something for your 
 mother, if you'll allow me. 
 
 Lemmy. Oh! I'll allow yer. But I dunno wot 
 she'll sy. 
 
 Lord W. I can see she's a fine independent old 
 lady! But suppose you were to pay her ten bob a 
 week, and keep my name out of it.f* 
 
 Lemmy. W^ell, that's one wy o' you doin' somefink, 
 'yn'tit? 
 
 Lord W. I giving you the money, of course. 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 75 
 
 Press. [Writing] ''Lord William, with kingly gen- 
 erosity " 
 
 Lemmy. [Drawing attention to The Press with his 
 thumb] I sy — I daon't mind, meself — if you daon't 
 
 Lord W. He won't write anything to annoy me. 
 
 Press. This is the big thing, Lord William; it'll get 
 the public bang in the throat. 
 
 Lemmy. [Confidentially] Bit dyngerous, 'yn't it?— 
 trustin' the Press.'* Their right 'ands never knows 
 wot their left 'ands is writin'. [To The Press] 'Yn't 
 that true, speakin' as a man ? 
 
 Press. Mr. Lemmy, even the Press is capable of 
 gratitude. 
 
 Lemmy. Is it .'* I should ha' thought it was too im- 
 portant for a little thing like that. [To Lord William] 
 But ye're quite right; we couldn't do wivaht the Press 
 — there woiddn't be no distress, no corfin, no revolu- 
 tion — 'cos nobody'd know nuffin' abaht it. Why! 
 There wouldn't be no life at all on Earf in these dyes, 
 wivaht the Press ! It's them wot says: "Let there be 
 Light — an' there is Light." 
 
 Lord W. Umm! That's rather a new thought to 
 me. [Writes on his cuff.] 
 
 Lemmy. But abaht Muvver, I'll tell yer 'ow we can 
 arrynge. You send 'er the ten bob a week wivaht 
 syin' anyfink, an' she'll fink it comes from Gawd or the 
 Gover'ment — yer cawn't tell one from t'other in Befnal 
 Green. 
 
 Lord W. All right; we'll do that. 
 
76 THE FOUNDATIONS act m 
 
 Lemmy. Will yer reely ? I'd like to shyke yer 'and. 
 Lord Wiluam puts oid his hand, which 
 Leivoiy grasps. 
 
 Press. [Writing] "The heart-beat of humanity was 
 in that grasp between the son of toil and the son of 
 leisure." 
 
 Lemmy. [Already ashamed of his emotion] 'Ere, 'arf 
 a mo' ! Which is which ? Daon't forget I'm aht o' 
 work; Lord W^illiam, if that's 'is nyme, is workin' 'ard 
 at 'is Anti-Sweats ! Wish I could get a job like vat — 
 jist suit me ! 
 
 Lord W. That hits hard, Mr. Lemmy ! 
 
 Lemmy. Daon't worry ! Yer cawn't 'elp bein' born 
 in the purple! 
 
 Lord W. Ah ! Tell me, what would you do in my 
 place ? 
 
 Lemmy. Why — as the nobleman said in 'is well- 
 known wy: "Sit in me Club winder an' watch it ryne 
 on the dam people !" That's if I was a average noble- 
 man ! If I was a bit more noble, I might be tempted 
 to come the kind-'earted on twenty thou' a year. 
 Some prefers yachts, or ryce 'orses. But philanthropy 
 on the 'ole is syfer, in these dyes. 
 
 Lord W. So you think one takes to it as a sort of 
 insurance, Mr. Lemmy .^ Is that quite fair? 
 
 Lemmy. Well, we've all got a weakness towards 
 bein' kind, somewhere abaht us. But the moment 
 wealf comes in, we 'yn't wot I call single- 'carted. If 
 yer went into the foundytions of your wealf — would 
 yer feel like 'avin' any? It all comes from uvver 
 people's 'ard, unpleasant lybour — it's all built on 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 77 
 
 Muvver as yer might sy. An' if yer daon't get rid o* 
 some of it in bein' kind — yer daon't feel syfe nor comfy. 
 
 Lord W. [Twisting his moustache] Your philosophy 
 is very pessimistic. 
 
 Lemmy. Well, I calls meself an optimist; I sees the 
 worst of everyfink. Never disappynted, can afford to 
 'ave me smile under the blackest sky. When deaf is 
 squeezin' of me windpipe, I shall 'ave a laugh in it! 
 Fact is, if yer've 'ad to do wiv gas an' water pipes, yer 
 can fyce anyfing. [The distant Marseillaise blares up] 
 'Ark at the revolution ! 
 
 Lord W. [Rather desperately] I know — hunger and 
 all the rest of it! And here am I, a rich man, and 
 don't know what the deuce to do. 
 
 Lemmy. Well, I'll tell yer. Throw yer cellars open, 
 an* while the populyce is gettin' drunk, sell all yer *ave 
 an' go an' live in Ireland; they've got the millennium 
 chronic over there. 
 
 Lord William utters a short, vexed laughy and 
 begins to walk about. 
 That's speakin' as a practical man. Speakin* as a 
 synt — "Bruvvers, all I 'ave is yours. To-morrer I'm 
 goin' dahn to the Lybour Exchynge to git put on the 
 wytin' list, syme as you!" 
 
 Lord W. But, d it, man, there we should be, 
 
 all together ! Would that help ? 
 
 Lemmy. Nao; but it'd syve a lot o' blood. 
 
 Lord William stops abruptly, and looks first 
 at Lemmy, then at the cooler, still covered 
 with the Chinese mat 
 Yer thought the Englishman could be taught to shed 
 
78 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi 
 
 blood wiv syfety. Not 'im! Once yer git 'im into 
 an 'abit, yer cawn't git 'im out of it agyne. 'E'll go 
 on sheddin* blood mechanical — Conservative by nyture. 
 An* 'e won't myke nuffin' o' yours. Not even the 
 Press wiv 'is 'oneyed words'll sty 'is 'and. 
 
 Lord W. And what do you suggest we could have 
 done, to avoid trouble .f' 
 
 Lemmy. [Warming to his theme] I'll tell yer. If all 
 you wealfy nobs wiv kepitel 'ad come it kind from the 
 start after the war yer'd never 'a been 'earin' the 
 Marseillaisy naow. Lord! 'Ow you did talk abaht 
 Unity and a noo spirit in the Country. Noo spirit! 
 Why, soon as ever there was no dynger from outside, 
 yer stawted to myke it inside, wiv an iron 'and. Naow, 
 you've been in the war an' it's given yer a feelin' 'eart; 
 but most of the nobs wiv kepitel was too old or too 
 important to fight. They weren't born agyne. So 
 naow that bad times is come, we're 'owlin' for their 
 blood. 
 
 Lord W. I quite agree; I quite agree. I've often 
 said much the same thing. 
 
 Lemiviy. Voice cryin' in the wilderness — I daon't sy 
 we was yngels — there was faults on bofe sides. [He 
 looks at The Press] The Press could ha' helped yer a 
 lot. Shall I tell yer wot the Press did ? "It's vital," 
 said the Press, "that the country should be united, 
 or it will never recover." Nao strikes, nao 'uman 
 nature, nao nuflBnk. Kepitel an' Lybour like the 
 Siamese twins. And, fust dispute that come along, 
 the Press orfs wiv its coat an' goes at it bald-'eaded. 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 79 
 
 An' wot abaht since? Sich a riot o' nymes called, in 
 Press and Pawlyement— Unpatriotic an' outrygeous 
 demands o' lybour. Blood-suckin' tyranny o' Kepitel; 
 thieves an' dawgs an' 'owlin Jackybines— gents throwin' 
 books at each other; all the resources of edjucytion ex- 
 hausted ! If I'd been Prime Minister I'd 'ave 'ad the 
 Press's gas cut 'orf at the meter. Puffect liberty, of 
 course, nao Censorship; just sy wot yer like— an' never 
 be 'card of no more. 
 
 Turning suddenly to The Press, who has been 
 scribbling in pace with this harangue, and 
 now has developed a touch of writer's cramp. 
 Why ! 'Is 'and's out o' breath ! Fink o' vet ! 
 
 Lord W. Great tribute to your eloquence, Mr. 
 
 Lemmy ! 
 
 A sudden stir of applause and scraping of 
 chairs is heard; the meeting is evidently 
 breaking up. Lady William comes in, 
 followed by Mrs. Lemmy with her trousers, 
 and Little Aida. Leivimy stares fixedly at 
 this sudden radiant aj>parition. His gaze 
 becomes as that of a rabbit regarding a snake. 
 And suddenly he puts up his hand and wipes 
 his brow. 
 Lady William, going to the table, lifts one end 
 of the Chinese mat, and looks at Lemmy. 
 Then she turns to Lord William. 
 Lady W.Bill! 
 
 Lemmy. [To his mother— in a hoarse whisper] She 
 calls 'im Bill. 'Ow! 'Yn't she IT? 
 
80 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi 
 
 Lady W. [Apart] Have you spoken to him? 
 
 [Lord William shakes his head. 
 Not? What have you been saying, then? 
 Lord W. Nothing, he's talked all the time. 
 Lady W. [Very low] What a little caution ! 
 Lord W. Steady, old girl! He's got his eye on 
 you! 
 
 Lady William looks at Lemmy, whose eyes 
 are still fixed on her. 
 
 Lady W. [With resolution] Well, Fm going to tackle 
 him. 
 
 She moves towards Lemmy, who again ivipes 
 his brow, and wrings oiU his hand. 
 
 Mrs. Lemmy. Don't 'ee du that. Bob. Yu must 
 forgive 'im, Ma'am; it's 'is admiration. 'E was always 
 one for the ladies, and he'm not used to seein' so much 
 of 'em. 
 
 Lady W. Don't you think you owe us an explana- 
 tion? 
 
 Mrs. L. Speak up. Bob. 
 
 [But Lemmy only shifts his feet. 
 My gudeness! 'E've a-lost 'is tongue. I never knu 
 that 'appen to 'e before. 
 
 Lord W. [Trying to break the embarrassment] No ill- 
 feeling, you know, Lemmy. 
 
 [But Lemmy still only rolls his eyes. 
 
 Lady W. Don't you think it was rather — incon- 
 siderate of you? 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 81 
 
 Lemmy. Muvver, tyke me aht, I'm feelin' fynte! 
 
 Spurts of the Marseillaise and the mutter of 
 the crowd have been coming nearer ; and 
 suddenly a knocking is heard. Poulder 
 and James appear between the pillars, 
 Poulder. The populace, me Lord ! 
 Lady W. What! 
 
 Lord W. Where' ve you put 'em, Poulder? 
 Poulder. They've put theirselves in the portico, 
 me Lord. 
 
 Lord W. [Suddenly wiping his brow] Phew ! I say, 
 this is awful, Nell ! Two speeches in one evening. 
 Nothing else for it, I suppose. Open the window, 
 Poulder ! 
 
 Poulder. [Crossing to the vnndow] We are prepared 
 for any sacrifice, me Lord. [He opens the window. 
 
 Press. [Writing furiously] "Lady William stood like 
 a statue at bay." 
 Lord W. Got one of those lozenges on you, Nell ? 
 
 But Lady William ha^ almost nothing on her. 
 Lemmy. [Producing a paper from his pocket] 'Ave 
 one o' my gum drops ? 
 
 [He passes it to Lord William. 
 Lord W. [Unable to refuse , takes a large flat gum 
 drop from the paper, and looks at it in embarrassment.] 
 Ah ! thanks ! Thanks awfully ! 
 
 Lemmy turns to Little Aida, and puts a gum 
 drop in her mouth. A burst of murmurs 
 from the crowd. 
 
82 THE FOUNDATIONS act m 
 
 James. [Towering above the wine cooler] If they get 
 saucy, me Lord, I can always give 'em their own back. 
 Lord W. Steady, James; steady! 
 
 He puts the gum drop absently in his mouthy 
 and turns up to the open window. 
 
 Voice. [Outside] 'Ere they are — the bally pluto- 
 crats. [Voices in chorus : "Bread I Bread /'* 
 
 Lord W. Poulder, go and tell the chef to send out 
 anything there is in the house — nicely, as if it came 
 from nowhere in particular. 
 
 Poulder. Very good, me Lord. [Sotto voce] Any 
 wine? If I might suggest — German — 'ock.? 
 
 Lord W. What you like. 
 
 Poulder Very good, me Lord. [He goes. 
 
 Lord W. I say, dash it, Nell, my teeth are stuck! 
 [He works his finger in his mouth. 
 
 Lady W. Take it out, darling. 
 
 Lord W. [Taking out the gum drop and looking at 
 it] What the deuce did I put it in for.? 
 
 Press. [Writing] "With inimitable coolness Lord 
 William prepared to address the crowd." 
 
 [Voices in chorus : ''Bread ! Bread .'" 
 
 Lord W. Stand by to prompt, old gu-I. Now for it. 
 This ghastly gum drop ! 
 
 Lady William takes it from his agitated handy 
 and flips it through the window. 
 
 Voice. Dahn with the aristo [Chokes. 
 
 Lady W. Oh ! Bill— oA / It's gone into a mouth ! 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 83 
 
 Lord W. Good God ! 
 
 Voice. Wot's this? Throwin' things? Mind aht, 
 or we'll smash yer winders ! 
 
 As the voices in chorus chant : "Bread ! 
 Bread ! ' ' Little Anne, night-gowned, darts 
 in from the hall. She is followed by Miss 
 Stokes. They stand listening. 
 
 Lord W. [To the Crowd] My friends, you've come 
 to the wrong shop. There's nobody in London more 
 sympathetic with you. [The crowd laughs hoarsely, 
 [Whispering] Look out, old girl; they can see your 
 shoulders. [Lady William moves back a step. 
 If I were a speaker, I could make you feel 
 
 Voice. Look at his white weskit ! Blood-suckers — 
 fattened on the people ! 
 
 [James dives his hand at the wine cooler. 
 
 Lord W. I've always said the Government ought 
 
 to take immediate steps 
 
 Voice. To shoot us dahn. 
 
 Lord W. Not a bit. To relieve the — er 
 
 Lady W. [Prompting] Distress. 
 
 Lord W. Distress, and ensure — er — ensure 
 
 Lady W. [Prompting] Quiet. 
 
 Lord W. [To her] No, no. To ensure — ensure 
 
 L. Anne. [Agonized] Oh, Daddy ! 
 
 Voice. 'E wants to syve 'is dirty great 'ouse. 
 
 Lord W. [Roused] D if I do ! 
 
 [Rvde and hoarse laughter from the crowd. 
 
84 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi 
 
 James. [With fury] Me Lord, let me blow 'em to 
 glory ! 
 
 He raises the cooler and advances towards the 
 icindow. 
 
 Lord W. [Turning sharply on him] Drop it, James; 
 drop it ! 
 Press. [Jumping] No, no; don't drop it! 
 
 James retires crestfallen to the table, where he 
 replaces the cooler. 
 
 Lord W. [Catching hold of his bit] Look here, I 
 must have fought alongside some of you fellows in the 
 war. Weren't we jolly well like brothers.'^ 
 
 A Voice. Not so much bloomin' "Kamerad"; hand 
 over yer 'ouse. 
 
 Lord W. I was born with this beastly great house, 
 and money, and goodness knows what other entangle- 
 ments — a wife and family 
 
 Voice. Born with a wife and family ! 
 
 [Jeers end laughter. 
 
 Lord W. I feel we're all in the same boat, and I 
 want to pull my weight. If you can show me the way, 
 I'll take it fast enough. 
 
 A Deep Voice. Step dahn then, an' we'll step up. 
 
 Another Voice. 'Ear, 'Ear! 
 
 [-4 fierce little cheer. 
 
 Lord W. [To Lady William — in despair] By George ! 
 I can't get in anywhere ! 
 Lady W. [Calmly] Then shut the window, Bill. 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 85 
 
 Lemmy. [Who has been moving towards them slowly] 
 Lemme sy a word to 'em. 
 
 All stare at him. Lemmy approaches the win- 
 dow, followed by Little Aida. Poulder 
 re-enters with the three other footmen. 
 [At the window] Cheerio ! Cockies ! 
 
 [The silence of surprise falls on the crowd. 
 I'm one of yer. Gas an* water I am. Got more 
 grievances an' out of employment than any of yer. I 
 want to see their blood flow, syme as you. 
 
 Press. [Writing] *'Born orator — ready cockney wit 
 — saves situation." 
 
 Lemmy. Wot I sy is: Dahn wiv the country, dahn 
 wiv everyfing. Begin agyne from the foundytions. 
 [Nodding his head back at the room] But we've got to 
 keep one or two o' these 'ere imder glawss, to show 
 our future generytions. An' this one is 'armless. His 
 pipes is sahnd, 'is 'eart is good; 'is 'ead is not strong. 
 'Is 'ouse will myke a charmin' palace o' varieties where 
 our children can come an' see 'ow they did it in the 
 good old dyes. Yer never see sich waxworks as 'is 
 butler and 'is four conscientious khaki footmen. Why 
 — wot d'yer think 'e 'as 'em for — fear they might be 
 out-o'-works like you an' me. Nao ! Keep this one; 
 'e's a Flower. 'Arf a mo' ! I'll show yer my Muvver. 
 Come 'ere, old lydy; and bring yer trahsers. PMrs. 
 Lemmy comes forward to the window] Tell abaht yer 
 speech to the meetin*. 
 
 Mrs. Lemmy. [Bridling] Oh dear ! Well, I cam' in 
 with me trousers, an' they putt me up on the pedestory 
 
86 THE FOUNDATIONS act iii 
 
 at once, so I tole 'em. [Holding up the trousers] "I putt 
 in the button'oles, I stretches the flies; I lines the 
 crutch; I putt on this bmdin', I presses the seams — 
 Tuppence three farthin's a pair." 
 
 [A groan from the crowd. 
 
 Lemmy. [Showing her off] Seventy-seven! Wot's 
 'er income? Twelve bob a week; seven from the Gov- 
 er'ment, an' five from the sweat of 'er brow. Look at 
 'er ! ' Yn't she a tight old dear to keep it goin' ! No 
 workus for 'er, nao fear ! The gryve rather ! 
 
 Murmurs from the crowd, at whom Mrs. Lemmy 
 is blandly smiling. 
 You cawn't git below 'er — impossible! She's the 
 foundytions of the country — an' rocky 'yn't the word 
 for 'em. Worked 'ard all 'er life, brought up a family 
 and buried 'em on it. Twelve bob a week, an' seven 
 when 'er fingers goes, which is very near. Well, naow, 
 this torf 'ere comes to me an' says: "I'd like to do 
 somefin' for yer muwer. 'Ow's ten bob a week.''" 'e 
 says. Naobody arst 'im — quite on 'is own. That's 
 the sort 'e is. [Sinking his voice confidentially] Sorft. 
 You bring yer muwers 'ere, 'e'll do the syme for them. 
 I giv yer the 'int. 
 
 Voice. [Frmn the crowd] What's 'is nyme ? 
 
 Lemmy. They calls 'im Bill. 
 
 Voice. Bill what ? 
 
 L. Anne. Dromondy. 
 
 Lady W. Anne! 
 
 Lemmy. Dromedary 'is nyme is. 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 87 
 
 Voice. [From the crowd] Three cheers for Bill Drom- 
 edary. 
 
 Lemmy. I sy, there's veal an' 'am, an' pork wine at 
 the back for them as wants it; I 'card the word passed. 
 An' look 'ere, if yer want a flag for the revolution, tyke 
 muvver's trahsers an' tie 'em to the corfin. Yer 
 cawn't 'ave no more inspirin' banner. Ketch! [He 
 throws the trousers out] Give Bill a double-barrel fust, 
 to show there's no ill-feelin'. 'Ip, 'ip ! 
 
 The crowd cheers, then slowly passes away, 
 singing its hoarse version of the Marseillaise^ 
 till all that is heard is a faint murmuring 
 and a distant barrel-organ playing the same 
 tune. 
 Press. [Writi7ig] "And far up in the clear summer 
 air the larks were singing." 
 
 Lord W. [Passing his hand over his hairy and blink- 
 ing his eyes] James ! Ready ? 
 James. Me Lord ! 
 L. Anne. Daddy! 
 
 Lady W. [Taking his arm] Bill! It's all right, old 
 man — all right ! 
 
 Lord W. [Blinking] Those mfernallarks ! Thought 
 we were on the Somme again ! Ah ! Mr. Lemmy, 
 [Still rather dreamy] no end obliged to you; you're so 
 decent. Now, why did you want to blow us up before 
 dinner ^ 
 
 Lemmy. Blow yer up.^^ [Passing his hand over his 
 hair in travesty] "Is it a dream.? Then wykin' would 
 be pyne." 
 
88 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi 
 
 Mrs. Lemmy. Bo-ob ! Not so saucy, my boy ! 
 Lemmy. Blow yer up ? Wot abaht it ? 
 Lady W. [Indicating the bomb] This, Mr. Lemmy! 
 Lemmy looks at it, and his eyes roll and goggle. 
 Lord W. Come, all's forgiven ! But why did you ? 
 Lemmy. Orl right! I'm goin' to tyke it awy; it'd 
 a-been a bit ork'ard for me. I'll want it to-morrer. 
 Lord W. What! To leave somewhere else.'* 
 Lemmy. Yus, of course ! 
 
 Lord W. No, no; dash it ! Tell us — what's it filled 
 with .5* 
 
 Lemmy. Filled wiv ? Nuffin*. Wot did yer expect ? 
 Toof-pahder ? It's got a bit o' my lead soldered on to 
 it. That's why it's 'eavy ! 
 Lord W. But what is it.? 
 
 Lemmy. Wot is it ? [His eyes are fearfully fixed on 
 Lady William] I fought everybody knew 'em. 
 
 Lady W. Mr. Lemmy, you must clear this up, 
 please. 
 
 Lesimy. [To Lord William, with his eyes still fixed on 
 Lady William — mysteriously] Wiv lydies present.'* 
 'Adn't I better tell the Press.? 
 
 Lord W. All right; tell someone — anyone ! 
 
 Lemmy goes down to The Press, who is read- 
 ing over his last note. Everyone watches and 
 listens with the utmost discretion, while he 
 whispers into the ear of The Press, who 
 shakes his head violently. 
 No, no; it's too horrible. It destroys my 
 
ACT III THE FOUNDATIONS 89 
 
 Lemmy. Well, I tell yer it is. 
 
 [Whispers again violently. 
 Press. No, no; I can't have it. All my article ! All 
 my article ! It can't be — no ! 
 
 Lemmy. I never see sich an obstinate thick-head ! 
 Yer 'yn't worvy of yer tryde. 
 
 He whispers still rrwre violently and makes 
 
 cabalistic signs. 
 Lady William lifts the bomb from the cooler 
 into the sight of all. Lord William, seeing it 
 for the first time in full light, bends double in 
 silent laughter, and whispers to his wife. 
 Lady William drops the bomb and gives way 
 too. Hearing the sound, Lemmy turns, and 
 his goggling eyes pass them all in review. 
 Lord and Lady William in fits of laughter. 
 Little Anne stamping her feet, for Miss 
 Stokes, red, bid composed, has her hands 
 placed firmly over her pupil's eyes and ears ; 
 Little Aida smiling brilliantly, Mrs. 
 Lemmy blandly in sympathy, neither know- 
 ing why; the Four Footmen in a row, 
 smothering little explosions. Poulder, ex- 
 tremely grave and red. The Press perfectly 
 haggard, gnawing at his nails. 
 Lemmy. [Turning to The Press] Blimy ! It amooses 
 'em, all but the genteel ones. Cheer oh ! Press ! Yer 
 can always myke somefin' out o' nuflSn' ? It's not the 
 fust thing as 'as existed in yer imaginytion only. 
 Press. No, d it; I'll keep it a bomb ! 
 
90 THE FOUNDATIONS act hi 
 
 Lemmt. [Soothingly] Ah ! Keep the sensytion. Wot's 
 the troof compared wiv that? Come on, Muvver! 
 Come on, Little Aida! Time we was goin' dahn to 
 'Earf! 
 
 He goes up to the table, and still skidding a little 
 at Lady William, takes the late bomb from 
 the cooler, placing it under his arm. 
 Mrs. Lemmt. Gude naight, sir; gude naight, ma'am; 
 thank yu for my cup o' tea, an' all yure kindness. 
 
 She shakes hands with Lord and Lady Wil- 
 liam, drops the curtsey of her youth before 
 Mr. Poulder, and goes out followed by 
 Little Aida, who is looking back at Little 
 Anne. 
 Lemmy. [Turning suddenly] Aoh ! An' jist one fing ! 
 Next time yer build an 'ouse, daon't forget — it's the 
 foundytions as bears the wyte. 
 
 With a wink that gives way to a last fascinated 
 
 look at Lady William, he passes out. All 
 
 gaze after them, except The Press, who is 
 
 tragically consulting his spifiicated notes. 
 
 L. Anne. [Breaking away from Miss Stokes and 
 
 rushing forward] Oh ! Mum ! what was it .? 
 
 curtain 
 
THE SKIN GAME 
 
 (A TRAGI-COMEDY) 
 
 Who touches pitch shall be defiled 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 HiLLCRisT A Country Gentleman 
 
 Amy His Wife 
 
 Jill His Daughter 
 
 Dawker His Agent 
 
 HoRNBLOWER .... A man newly-rich 
 
 Charles His Elder Son 
 
 Chloe Wife to Charles 
 
 Rolf ...... His Younger Son 
 
 Fellows Hillcrist's Butler 
 
 Anna Chloe's Maid 
 
 The Jackmans .... Man and Wife 
 
 An Auctioneer 
 
 A Solicitor 
 
 Two Strangers 
 
 ACT I. Hillcrist's Study. 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 SCENE I. A month later. An Auction Room. 
 SCENE II. The same evening. Chloe's Boudoir. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. The follovnng day. Hillcrist's Study. 
 
 Morning. 
 SCENE II. The Same. Evening. 
 

 N 
 
 2.2 
 
 /I 
 
 9 
 
 QQ 
 
 n 
 
 D 
 D 
 
 a 
 
 a 
 a 
 
 D 
 
 D 
 
 °l 
 a 
 
 D 
 
 a 
 a 
 a 
 a 
 a 
 a 
 
ACT I 
 
 Hillcrist's study. A pleasant room, with books in calf 
 bindings, and signs that the Hillcrists have trav- 
 elled, such as a large photograph of the Taj Mahal, 
 of Table Mountain, and the Pyramids of Egypt. 
 A large bureau [stage Right], devoted to the business 
 of a country estate. Two foxes^ masks. Flowers in 
 howls. Deep armchairs. A large French window 
 open [at Back], with a lovely vieio of a slight rise of 
 fields and trees in August sunlight. A fine stone 
 fireplace [stage Left]. A door [Left], A door opposite 
 [Right]. General colour effect — stone, and cigar-leaf 
 brown, with spots of bright colour. 
 
 [HiLLCRiST sits in a swivel chair at the bureau, busy 
 with papers. He has gout, and his left foot is 
 encased accordingly. He is a thin, dried-up man 
 of aboid fifty-five, with a rather refined, rather kindly, 
 and rather cranky countenance. Close to him stands 
 his very upstanding nineteen-year-old daughter Jill, 
 with clubbed hair round a pretty, manly face.] 
 
 Jill. You know, Dodo, it's all pretty good rot in 
 these days. 
 HiLLCRisT. Cads are cads, Jill, even in these days. 
 Jill. What is a cad ? 
 
 Copyright, 1920, by Charles Scribner's SottB 
 1 
 
2 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 HiLLCRisT. A self-assertive fellow, without a sense 
 of other people. 
 
 Jill. Well, Old Hornblower I'll give you. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. I wouldn't take hini. 
 
 Jill. Well, you've got him. Now, Charlie — Chearlie 
 —I say — the importance of not bemg Charlie 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Good heavens ! do you know their Chris- 
 tian names.'* 
 
 Jill. My dear father, they've been here seven years. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. In old days we only knew their Christian 
 names from their tombstones. 
 
 Jill. Charlie Hornblower isn't really half a bad 
 sport. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. About a quarter of a bad sport — I've 
 always thought out hunting. 
 
 Jill. [Pulling hw hair] Now, his wife — Chloe 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [Whimsical] Gad ! your mother'd have a 
 fit if she knew you called her Chloe. 
 
 Jill. It's a ripping name. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Chloe! H'm! I had a spaniel once 
 
 Jill. Dodo, you're narrow. Buck up, old darling, 
 it won't do. Chloe has seen life, I'm pretty sure; thafs 
 attractive, anj-way. No, mother's not in the room; 
 don't turn your uneasy eyes. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Really, my dear, you are gettmg 
 
 Jill. The limit. Now, Rolf 
 
 HiLLCRiST. "VAliat's Rolf? Another dog? 
 
 Jill. Rolf Hornblower's a topper; he really is a nice 
 boy. 
 
ACT I 
 
 THE SKIN GAME 3 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [With a sharp look] Oh! He's a nice 
 
 boy? \ . 
 
 Jill. Yes, darling. You know what a nice boy is, 
 
 don't you ? 
 
 HiLLCRisT. Not in these days. 
 
 Jill. Well, I'll tell you. In the first pla<:e, he's not 
 
 amorous 
 
 Hillcrist. What! Well, that's some comfort. 
 Jill. Just a jolly good companion. 
 Hillcrist. To whom? 
 Jill. Well, to anyone— me. 
 Hillcrist. Where? 
 
 Jill. Anywhere. You don't suppose I confine my- 
 self to the home paddocks, do you? I'm naturally 
 rangey. Father. 
 
 Hillcrist. [Ironically] You don't say so ! 
 Jill. In the second place, he doesn't like discipline. 
 Hillcrist. Jupiter ! He does seem attractive. 
 Jill. In the third place, he bars his father. 
 Hillcrist. Is that essential to nice girls too ? 
 Jill. [With a twirl of his hair] Fish not ! Fourthly, 
 he's got ideas. 
 
 Hillcrist. I knew it ! 
 
 Jill. For instance, he thinks— as I do 
 
 Hillcrist. Ah ! Good ideas. 
 
 Jill. [Pulling gently] Careful! He thinks old people 
 run the show too much. He says they oughtn't to, 
 because they're so damtouchy. Are you damtouchy, 
 darling ? 
 
4 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Well, I'm ! I don't know about 
 
 touchy. 
 
 Jill. He says there'll be no world fit to live in till 
 we get rid of the old. We must make them climb a 
 tall tree, and shake them off it. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [Drily] Oh ! he says that ! 
 
 Jill. Otherwise, with the way they stand on each 
 other's rights, they'll spoil the garden for the young. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Does his father agree ? 
 
 Jill. Oh ! Rolf doesn't talk to him, his mouth's too 
 large. Have you ever seen it, Dodo.'* 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Of course. 
 
 Jill. It's considerable, isn't it.? Now yours is — 
 reticent, darling. [Rumpling his hair.] 
 
 HiLLCRiST. It won't be in a minute. Do you realise 
 that I've got gout ? 
 
 Jill. Poor ducky! How long have we been here. 
 Dodo.? 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Since Elizabeth, anyway. 
 
 Jill. [Looking at his foot] It has its drawbacks. 
 D'you thmk Hornblower had a father.? I believe he 
 was spontaneous. But, Dodo, why all this — this atti- 
 tude to the Hornblowers .? 
 
 She purses her lips and makes a gesture as of 
 pushing persons away. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Because they're pushing. 
 
 Jill. That's only because we are, as mother would 
 say, and they're not — yet. But why not let them be.^ 
 
 HiLLCRiST. You can't. 
 
 Jill. Why? 
 
ACT I 
 
 THE SKIN GAME 
 
 HiLLCRisT. It takes generations to learn to live and 
 let live, Jill. People like that take an ell when you 
 give them an inch. 
 
 Jill. But if you gave them the ell, they wouldn't 
 want the inch. Why should it all be such a skin game ? 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Skin game.? Where do you get your 
 lingo ^ 
 
 Jill. Keep to the point. Dodo. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. Well, Jill, all life's a struggle between 
 people at diflFerent stages of development, in different 
 positions, with different amounts of social influence 
 and property. And the only thing is to have rules of 
 the game and keep them. New people like the Horn- 
 blowers haven't learnt those rules; their only rule is 
 to get all they can. 
 
 Jill. Darling, don't prose. They're not half as bad 
 as you think. 
 
 Hillcrist. Well, when I sold Hornblower Long- 
 meadow and the cottages, I certainly found him all 
 right. All the same, he's got the cloven hoof. [Warm- 
 ing ujp] His influence in Deepwater is thoroughly bad; 
 those potteries of his are demoralising — the whole 
 atmosphere of the place is changing. It was a thou- 
 sand pities he ever came here and discovered that 
 claj^ He's brought in the modern cutthroat spirit. 
 
 Jill. Cut our throat spirit, you mean. What's your 
 definition of a gentleman, Dodo ? 
 
 Hillcrist. [Uneasily] Can't describe — only feel it. 
 
 Jill. Oh ! Try ! 
 
 Hillcrist. Well — er — I suppose you might say — a 
 
6 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 man who keeps his form and doesn't let life scupper 
 him out of his standards. 
 
 Jill. But suppose his standards are low.'' 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [With some earnestness] I assume, of 
 course, that he's honest and tolerant, gentle to the 
 weak, and not self-seeking. 
 
 Jill. Ah! self-seeking .^^ But aren't we all. Dodo? 
 / am. 
 
 Hillcrist. [With a smile] You ! 
 
 Jill. [Scornfully] Oh ! yes — too young to know. 
 
 Hillcrist. Nobody knows till they're under pretty 
 heavy fire, Jill. 
 
 Jill. Except, of course, mother. 
 
 Hillcrist. How do you mean — mother .^^ 
 
 Jill. Mother reminds me of England according to 
 herself — always right whatever she does. 
 
 Hillcrist. Ye-es. Your mother is perhaps — the 
 perfect woman 
 
 Jill. That's what I was saying. Now, no one could 
 call you perfect. Dodo. Besides, you've got gout. 
 
 Hillcrist. Yes; and I want Fellows. Ring that 
 bell. 
 
 Jill. [Crossing to the hell] Shall I tell you my defini- 
 tion of a gentleman.'^ A man who gives the Horn- 
 blower his due. [She rings the bell] And I think mother 
 ought to call on them. Rolf says old Hornblower 
 resents it fearfully that she's never made a sign to 
 Chloe the three years she's been here. 
 
 Hillcrist. I don't interfere with your mother in 
 
ACT I THE SKIN GAME 7 
 
 such matters. She may go and call on the devil him- 
 self if she likes. 
 
 Jill. I know you're ever so much better than she is. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. That's respectful. 
 
 Jill. You do keep your prejudices out of your phiz. 
 But mother literally looks down her nose. And she 
 never forgives an **h." They'd get the "hell" from 
 her if they took the "hinch." 
 
 HiLLCRisT. Jill — ^your language ! 
 
 Jill. Don't slime out of it, Dodo. I say, mother 
 ought to call on the Hornblowers. [No answer. 
 
 Well? 
 
 HiLLCRisT. My dear, I always let people have the 
 last word. It makes them — feel funny. Ugh! My 
 foot ! [Enter Fellows, Left. 
 
 Fellows, send into the village and get another bottle 
 of this stuff. 
 
 Jill. I'll go, darling. 
 
 [she blows him a kiss, and goes out at the window. 
 
 Hjllcrist. And tell cook I've got to go on slops. 
 This foot's worse. 
 
 Fellows. [Sympathetic] Indeed, sir. 
 
 HiLLCEisT. My third go this year. Fellows. 
 
 Fellows, Very annoying, sir. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Ye — es. Ever had it? 
 
 Fellows. I fancy I have had a twinge, sir. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [Brightening] Have you? Where? 
 
 Fellows. In my cork wrist, sir. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. Your what ? 
 
 Fellows. The wrist I draw corks with. 
 
8 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [With a cackle] You'd have had more 
 than a twinge if you'd lived with mj^ father. H'm ! 
 
 Fellows. Excuse me, sir — Vichy water corks, in 
 my experience, are worse than any wine. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [Ironically] Ah ! The country's not what 
 it was, is it. Fellows ? 
 
 Fellows. Getting very new, sir. 
 HiLLCRisT. [Feelingly] You're right. Has Dawker 
 come ? 
 
 Fellows. Not yet, sir. The Jackmans would like 
 to see you, sir. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. What about ? 
 Fellows. I don't know, sir. 
 HiLLCRisT. Well, show them in. 
 Fellows. [Going] Yes, sir. 
 
 HiLLCRisT turns Jm swivel chair round. The 
 Jackmans come in. He, a big fellow about 
 jiftyy in a labourer's dress, with eyes which 
 have more in them than his tongue can ex- 
 fress ; she, a little woman with a worn face, 
 a bright, quick glance, and a tongue to match. 
 HiLLCRiST. Good morning, Mrs. Jackman! Morn- 
 ing, Jackman! Haven't seen you for a long time. 
 What can I do.'^ 
 
 [He draws in foot, and breath, with a sharp hiss. 
 Jackman. [In a down-hearted voice] We've had notice 
 to quit, sir. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [With emphasis] What ! 
 Jackman. Got to be out this week. 
 Mrs. J. Yes, sir, indeed. 
 
ACT I THE SKIN GAME 9 
 
 HiLLCRisT. Well, but when I sold Longmeadow and 
 the cottages, it was on the express understanding that 
 there was to be no disturbance of tenancies. 
 
 Mrs. J. Yes, sir; but we've all got to go. Mrs. 
 'Arvey, and the Drews, an' us, and there isn't another 
 cottage to be had anywhere in Deepwater. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. I know; I want one for my cowman. 
 This won't do at all. Where do you get it from ? 
 
 Jackman. Mr. 'Ornblower, 'imself, sir. Just an 
 hour ago. He come romid and said: "I'm sorry; I 
 want the cottages, and you've got to clear." 
 
 Mrs. J. [Bitterly] He's no gentleman, sir; he put it 
 so brisk. We been there thirty years, and now we 
 don't know what to do. So I hope you'll excuse us 
 coming round, sir. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. I should think so, indeed! H'm! [He 
 rises and limps across to the fireplace on his stick. To 
 himself] The cloven hoof. By George ! this is a breach 
 of faith. I'll write to him, Jackman. Confound it! 
 I'd certainly never have sold if I'd known he was going 
 to do this. 
 
 Mrs. J. No, sir, I'm sure, sir. They do say it's to 
 do with the potteries. He wants the cottages for his 
 workmen. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [Sharply] That's all very well, but he 
 shouldn't have led me to suppose that he would make 
 no change. 
 
 Jackman. [Heavily] They talk about his havin' 
 bought the Gentry to put up more chimneys there, 
 and that's why he wants the cottages. 
 
10 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 HiLLCRiST. The Gentry! Impossible! 
 
 Mrs. J. Yes, sir; it's such a pretty spot — looks beau- 
 tiful from here. [She looks out through the windoiv] 
 Loveliest spot in all Deepwater, I always say. And 
 your father owned it, and his fjather before 'im. It's 
 a pity they ever sold it, sir, beggin' your pardon. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. The Gentry ! [He rings the bell 
 
 Mrs. J. [Who has brightened up] I'm glad you're 
 goin' to stop it, sir. It does put us about. We don't 
 know where to go. I said to Mr. Hornblower, I said, 
 "I'm sure Mr. Hillcrist would never 'ave turned us 
 out." An' 'e said; "Mr. Hillcrist be — — " beggin' 
 your pardon, sir. "Make no mistake," 'e said, "you 
 must go, missis." He don't even know our name; an' 
 to come it like this over us ! He's a dreadful new man, 
 I think, with his overridin' notions. And sich a heavy- 
 footed man, to look at. [With a sort of indulgent con- 
 tempt] But he's from the North, they say. 
 
 [Fellows has entered. Left. 
 
 Hillcrist. Ask Mrs. Hillcrist if she'll come. 
 
 Fellows. Very good, sir. 
 
 Hillcrist. Is Dawker here ? 
 
 Fellow^s. Not yet, sir. 
 
 Hillcrist. I want to see him at once. 
 
 [Fellows retires. 
 
 Jackman. Mr. Hornblower said he was comin' on 
 to see you, sir. So we thought we'd step along first. 
 
 Hillcrist. Quite right, Jackman. 
 
 Mrs. J. I said to Jackman: "Mr. Hillcrist'll stand 
 up for us, I know. He's a gentleman," I said. "This 
 
ACT I THE SKIN GAME 11 
 
 man," I said, "don't care for the neighbourhood, or 
 the people; he don't care for anything so long as he 
 makes his money, and has his importance. You can't 
 expect it, I suppose," I said; [Bitterly] "havin' got rich 
 so sudden." The gentry don't do things like that. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [Abstradedl Quite, Mrs. Jackman, quite ! 
 [To himself] The Gentry ! No ! 
 
 Mrs. Hillcrist enters. A well-dressed woman, 
 with a firm, clear-cut face. 
 
 Oh ! Amy ! Mr. and Mrs. Jackman turned out of their 
 cottage, and Mrs. Harvey, and the Drews. When I 
 sold to Hornblower, I stipulated that they shouldn't be. 
 
 Mrs. J. Our week's up on Saturday, ma'am, and 
 I'm sure I don't know where we shall tiu-n, because of 
 course Jackman must be near his work, and I shall lose 
 me washin' if we have to go far. 
 
 Hillcrist. [With decision] You leave it to me, Mrs. 
 Jackman. Good morning ! Morning, Jackman ! Sorry 
 I can't move with this gout. 
 
 Mrs. J. [For them both] I'm sure we're very sorry, 
 sir. Good morning, sir. Good morning, ma'am; and 
 thank you kindly. [They go out. 
 
 Hillcrist. Turning people out that have been there 
 thirty years. I won't have it. It's a breach of faith. 
 
 Mrs. H. Do you suppose this Hornblower will care 
 two straws about that Jack ? 
 
 Hillcrist. He must, when it's put to him, if he's 
 got any decent feeling. 
 
 Mrs. H. He hasn't. 
 
12 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [Suddenly] The Jackmans talk of his 
 having bought the Gentry to put up more chmmeys. 
 
 Mrs. H. Never ! [At the window^ looking out] Im- 
 possible ! It would ruin the place utterly, besides cut- 
 ting us off from the Duke's. Oh, no ! Miss Mullins 
 would never sell behind our backs. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. Anyway I must stop his turning these 
 people out. 
 
 Mrs. H. [With a little smile, almost contemptuous] 
 You might have known he'd do something of the sort. 
 You will imagine people are like yourself, Jack. You 
 always ought to make Dawker have things in black 
 and white. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. I said quite distinctly: "Of course you 
 won't want to disturb the tenancies; there's a great 
 shortage of cottages." Hornblower told me as dis- 
 tinctly that he wouldn't. What more do you want ? 
 
 Mrs. H. a man like that thinks of nothing but the 
 short cut to his own way. [Looking out of the window 
 towards the rise] If he buys the Gentry and puts up 
 chimneys, we simply couldn't stop here. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. My father would turn in his grave. 
 
 Mrs. H. It would have been more useful if he'd not 
 dipped the estate, and sold the Gentry. This Horn- 
 blower hates us; he thinks we turn up our noses at 
 him. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. As we do. Amy. 
 
 Mrs. H. Who wouldn't? A man without tradi- 
 tions, who believes in nothing but money and push. 
 
ACT I THE SKIN GAME 13 
 
 - HiLLCRisT. Suppose he won't budge, can we do any- 
 thing for the Jackmans ? 
 
 Mrs. H. There are the two rooms Beaver used to 
 have, over the stables. [Fellows enters. 
 
 Fellows. Mr. Dawker, sir. 
 
 Dawker is a shorty square, rather red-faced 
 terrier of a man, in riding clothes and gaiters. 
 
 Hillcrist. Ah ! Dawker, I've got gout again. 
 
 Dawker. Very sorry, sir. How de do, ma'am? 
 
 Hillcrist. Did you meet the Jackmans ? 
 
 Dawker. Yeh. 
 
 [He hardly ever quite finishes a word, seeming 
 to snap off their tails. 
 
 Hillcrist. Then you heard? 
 
 Dawker. [Nodding] Smart man, Hornblower; never 
 lets grass grow. 
 
 Hillcrist. Smart? 
 
 Dawker. [Grinning] Don't do to underrate your 
 neighbours. 
 
 Mrs. H. a cad — I call him. 
 
 Dawker. That's it, ma'am — got all the advantage. 
 
 Hillcrist. Heard anything about the Gentry, 
 Dawker ? 
 
 Dawker. Hornblower wants to buy. 
 
 Hillcrist. Miss Mullins would never sell, would 
 she? 
 
 Dawker. She wants to. 
 
 Hillcrist. The deuce she does ! 
 
 Dawker. He won't stick at the price either. 
 
 Mrs. H. What's it worth, Dawker ? 
 
14 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 Dawker. Depends on what you want it for. 
 
 Mrs. H. He wants it for spite; we want it for sen- 
 timent. 
 
 Dawker. [Grinning] Worth what you like to give, 
 then; but he's a rich man. 
 
 Mrs. H. Intolerable! 
 
 Dawker. [To Hillcrist] Give me your figure, sir. 
 I'll try the old lady before he gets at her. 
 
 Hillcrist. [Pondering] I don't want to buy, unless 
 there's nothing else for it. I should have to raise the 
 money on the estate; it won't stand much more. I 
 can't believe the fellow would be such a barbarian. 
 Chimneys within three hundred yards, right in front 
 of this house ! It's a nightmare. 
 
 Mrs. H. You'd much better let Dawker make sure. 
 Jack. 
 
 Hillcrist. [Uncomfortable] Jackman says Hornblow- 
 er's coming round to see me. I shall put it to him. 
 
 Dawker. Make him keener than ever. Better get 
 in first. 
 
 Hillcrist. Ape his methods ! — Ugh! Confound this 
 gout! [He gets back to his chair vnth difficulty] Look 
 here, Dawker, I wanted to see you about gates 
 
 Fellows. [Entering] Mr. Hornblower. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER enters — a man of medium height, 
 thoroughly broadened, blown out, as it were, 
 by su/icess. He has thick, coarse, dark hair, 
 just grizzled, very bushy eyebrows, a wide 
 mouth. He wears quite ordinary clothes, as 
 if that department were in charge of someone 
 
ACT I THE SKIN GAME 15 
 
 who knew about stick things. He has a small 
 rose in his buttonhole, and carries a Horn- 
 burg hat, which one suspects will look too 
 small on his head. 
 HoRNBLOWER. Good morning ! good morning ! How 
 are ye, Dawker ? Fine morning ! Lovely weather ! 
 
 His voice has a curious blend in its tone of 
 bra^s and oil, and an accent not quite Scotch 
 nor quite North country. 
 Haven*t seen ye for a long time, Hillcrist. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [Who has risen] Not since I sold you 
 Longmeadow and those cottages, I believe. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. Dear me, now! that's what I came 
 about. 
 
 Hillcrist. [Subsiding again into his chair] Forgive 
 me ! Won't you sit down ? 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. [Not sitting] Have ye got gout? 
 That's unfortunate. I never get it. I've no disposi- 
 tion that way. Had no ancestors, you see. Just me 
 own drinkin' to answer for. 
 Hillcrist. You're lucky. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. I woudcr if Mrs. Hillcrist thinks 
 that ! Am I lucky to have no past, ma'am ? Just the 
 future ? 
 
 Mrs. H. You're sure you have the future, Mr. 
 Hornblower ? 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. [With a laugh] That's your aristo- 
 cratic rapier thrust. You aristocrats are very hard 
 people underneath your manners. Ye love to lay a 
 body out. But I've got the future all right. 
 
16 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [Meaningly] I've had the Jackmans here, 
 Mr. Hornblower. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. Who are they — man with the little 
 spitfire wife ? 
 
 HiLLCRiST. They're very excellent, good people, and 
 they've been in that cottage quietly thirty years. 
 
 Hornblower. [Throwing out his forefinger — a favour- 
 ite gesture] Ah! ye've wanted me to stir ye up a bit. 
 Deepwater needs a bit o' go put into it. There's gen- 
 erally some go where I am. I daresay you wish there'd 
 been no "come." [He laughs]. 
 
 Mrs. H. We certainly like people to keep their 
 word, Mr. Hornblower. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. Amy! 
 
 Hornblower. Never mind, Hillcrist; takes more 
 than that to upset me. 
 
 Mrs. Hillcrist exchanges a look with Daw- 
 KER, who slips out unobserved. 
 
 Hillcrist. You promised me, you know, not to 
 change the tenancies. 
 
 Hornblower. Well, I've come to tell ye that I 
 have. I wasn't expecting to have the need when I 
 bought. Thought the Duke would sell me a bit down 
 there; but devil a bit he will; and now I must have 
 those cottages for my workmen. I've got important 
 works, ye know. 
 
 Hillcrist. [Getting heated] The Jackmans have their 
 importance too, sir. Their heart's in that cottage. 
 
 Hornblower. Have a sense of proportion, man. 
 My works supply thousands of people, and my heart's 
 
ACT I THE SKIN GAME 17 
 
 in them. What's more, they make my fortune. I've 
 got ambitions — I'm a serious man. Suppose I were 
 to consider this and that, and every little potty objec- 
 tion — where should I get to ? — nowhere ! 
 
 HiLLCRiST. All the same, this sort of thing isn't 
 done, you know. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. Not by you because ye've got no 
 need to do it. Here ye are, quite content on what 
 your fathers made for ye. Ye've no ambitions; and ye 
 want other people to have none. How d'ye think 
 your fathers got yoiu" land ? 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [WJio has risen] Not by breaking their 
 word. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. [Throvdng out his finger] Don't ye 
 believe it. They got it by breaking their word and 
 turnin' out Jackmans, if that's their name, all over the 
 place. 
 
 Mrs. H. That's an insult, Mr. Hornblower. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. No; it's a repartee. If ye think so 
 much of these Jackmans, build them a cottage your- 
 selves; ye've got the space. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. That's beside the point. You promised 
 me, and I sold on that understanding. 
 
 Hornblower. And I bought on the understandin* 
 that I'd get some more land from the Duke. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. That's nothmg to do with me. 
 
 Hornblower. Ye'll find it has; because I'm going 
 to have those cottages. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Well, I call it simply — 
 
 [He checks himself. 
 
18 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 HoRNBLowER. Look here, Hillcrist, yeVe not had 
 occasion to understand men like me. I've got the 
 guts, and I've got the money, and I don't sit still on 
 it. I'm going ahead because I believe in meself. I've 
 no use for sentiment and that sort of thing. Forty of 
 your Jackmans aren't worth me little finger. 
 
 Hillcrist. [Angry] Of all the blatant things I ever 
 heard said ! 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. Well, as we're speaking plainly, I've 
 been thinkin'. Ye want the village run your old- 
 fashioned way, and I want it rim mine. I fancy there's 
 not room for the two of us here. 
 
 Mrs. H. When are you going ? 
 
 HoRNBLowER. Nevcr fear, Fm not going. 
 
 Hillcrist. Look here, Mr. Hornblower — this in- 
 fernal gout makes me irritable — puts me at a disad- 
 vantage. But I should be glad if you'd kindly explain 
 yourself. 
 
 Hornblower. [With a great smile] Ca' canny; I'm 
 fra' the North. 
 
 Hillcrist. I'm told you wish to buy the Gentry 
 and put more of your chimneys up there, regardless of 
 the fact [He points through the window] that it would 
 utterly ruin the house we've had for generations, and 
 all our pleasure here. 
 
 Hornblower. How the man talks! Why! Ye'd 
 think he owned the sky, because his fathers built him 
 a house with a pretty view, where he's nothing to do 
 but live. It's sheer want of something to do that 
 gives ye your fine sentiments, Hillcrist. 
 
ACT I THE SKIN GAME 19 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Have the goodness not to charge me 
 with idleness. Dawker — where is he? — [He shows the 
 bureau] When you do the drudgery of your works as 
 
 thoroughly as I do that of my estate Is it true 
 
 about the Gentry ? 
 
 HoRNBLowER. Gospel true. If ye want to know, 
 my son Chearlie is buyin' it this very minute. 
 
 Mrs. H. [Turning with a start] What do you say? 
 
 HoRNBLowER. Ay, he's with the old lady; she wants 
 to sell, an' she'll get her price, whatever it is. 
 
 Hillcrist. [With deep anger] If that isn't a skin 
 game, Mr. Hornblower, I don't know what is. 
 
 Hornblower. Ah! Ye've got a very nice expres- 
 sion there. "Skin game V* Well, bad words break no 
 bones, an' they're wonderful for hardenin' the heart. 
 If it wasn't for a lady's presence, I could give ye a 
 specimen or two. 
 
 Mrs. H. Oh! Mr. Hornblower, that need not stop 
 you, I'm sure. 
 
 Hornblower. Well, and I don't know that it need. 
 Ye're an obstruction — the like of you — ye're in my 
 path. And anyone in my path doesn't stay there 
 long; or, if he does, he stays there on my terms. And 
 my terms are chimneys in the Gentry where I need 
 'em. It'll do ye a power of good, too, to know that 
 ye're not almighty. 
 
 Hillcrist. And that's being neighbourly ! 
 
 Hornblower. And how have ye tried bein' neigh- 
 bourly to me ? If I haven't a wife, I've got a daugh- 
 ter-in-law. Have ye called on her, ma'am ? I'm new. 
 
20 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 and ye're an old family. Ye don't like me, ye think 
 I'm a pushin' man. I go to chapel, an' ye don't like 
 that. I make things and I sell them, and ye don't 
 like that. I buy land, and ye don't like that. It 
 threatens the view from your windies. Well, I don't 
 like you, and I'm not goin' to put up with your atti- 
 tude. Ye've had thmgs your own way too long, and 
 now ye're not going to have them any longer. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Will you hold to your word over those 
 cottages ? 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. I'm goin' to have the cottages. I 
 need them, and more besides, now I'm to put up me 
 new works. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. That's a declaration of war. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. Ye nevcF said a truer word. It's 
 one or the other of us, and I rather think it's goin' to 
 be me. I'm the risin' and you're the settin' sun, as 
 the poet says. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [Touching the bell] We shall see if you 
 can ride rough-shod like this. We used to have decent 
 ways of going about things here. You want to change 
 all that. Well, we shall do our damnedest to stop 
 you. [To Fellows at the door] Are the Jackmans still 
 in the house ? Ask them to be good enough to come in. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. [With the first sign of uneasiness] I've 
 seen these people. I've nothing more to say to them. 
 I told 'em I'd give 'em five pounds to cover their 
 moving. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. It doesn't occur to you that people, 
 however humble, like to have some say in their own 
 fate? 
 
ACT I THE SKIN GAME 21 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. I never had any say in mine till I 
 had the brass, and nobody ever will. It's all hypoc- 
 risy. You county folk are fair awful hypocrites. Ye 
 talk about good form and all that sort o' thing. It's 
 just the comfortable doctrine of the man in the saddle; 
 sentimental varnish. Ye're every bit as hard as I am, 
 underneath. 
 
 Mrs. H. [Who had been standing very still all this 
 time] You flatter us. 
 
 Hornblower. Not at all. God helps those who 
 'elp themselves — that's at the bottom of all religion. 
 I'm goin' to help meself, and God's going to help me. 
 
 Mrs. H. I admire your knowledge. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. We are in the right, and God helps 
 
 Hornblower. Don't ye believe it; ye 'aven't got 
 the energy. 
 
 Mrs. H. Nor perhaps the conceit. 
 
 Hornblower. [Throwing ovt his forefinger] No, no; 
 'tisn't conceit to believe in yourself when yeVe got 
 reason to. [TJie Jackmans have entered. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. I'm very sorry, Mrs. Jackman, but I 
 just wanted you to realise that I've done my best with 
 this gentleman. 
 
 Mrs. J. [Doubtfully] Yes, sir. I thought if you 
 spoke for us, he'd feel different-like. 
 
 Hornblower. One cottage is the same as another, 
 missis. I made ye a fair offer of five pounds for the 
 moving. 
 
 Jackman. [Slowly] We wouldn't take fifty to go out 
 of that 'ouse. We brought up three children there, 
 an* buried two from it. 
 
22 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 Mrs. J. [To Mrs. Hillcrist] We're attached to it 
 like, ma'am. 
 
 Hillcrist. [To Hornblower] How would you like 
 being turned out of a place you were fond of ? 
 
 Hornblower. Not a bit. But little considerations 
 have to give way to big ones. Now, missis, I'll make 
 it ten pounds, and I'll send a wagon to shift your 
 things. If that isn't fair — ! Ye'd better accept, I 
 shan't keep it open. 
 
 The Jackmans look at each other ; their faces 
 show deep anger — and the question they ask 
 each other is which will speak. 
 
 Mrs. J. We won't take it; eh, George.'' 
 
 Jackman. Not a farden. We come there when we 
 was married. 
 
 Hornblower. [Throwing out his finger] Ye're very 
 improvident folk. 
 
 Hillcrist. Don't lecture them, Mr. Hornblower; 
 they come out of this miles above you. 
 
 Hornblower. [Angry] Well, I was going to give ye 
 another week, but ye'll go out next Saturday; and take 
 care ye're not late, or your things'll be put out — in 
 the rain. 
 
 Mrs. H. [To Mrs. Jackman] We'll send down for 
 your things, and you can come to us for the time being. 
 Mrs. Jackman drops a curtsey ; her eyes stab 
 Hornblower. 
 
 Jackman. [Heavily, clenching his fists] You're no 
 gentleman ! Don't put temptation in my way, that's 
 aU. 
 
ACT I THE SKIN GAME 23 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [In a low voice] Jackman ! 
 
 HoRNBLowER. [Triumphantly] Ye hear that? That's 
 your protegee ! Keep out o' my way, me man, or I'll 
 put the police on to ye for utterm' threats. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. You'd better go now, Jackman. 
 
 [The Jackmans move to the door. 
 
 Mrs. J. [Turning] Maybe you'll repent it some day, 
 sir. [They go out, Mrs. Hillcrist following. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. We — ell, I'm sorry they're such un- 
 reasonable folk. I never met people with less notion 
 of which side their bread was buttered. 
 
 Hillcrist. And I never met anyone so pachyder- 
 matous. 
 
 HoRNBLowER. "VVhat's that, in Heaven's name ? Ye 
 needn' wrap it up in long words now your good lady's 
 gone. 
 
 Hillcrist. [With dignity] I'm not going in for a 
 slanging match. I resent your conduct much too 
 deeply. 
 
 HoRNBLOwER. Look here, Hillcrist, I don't object 
 to you personally; ye seem to me a -poor creature that's 
 bound to get left with your gout and your dignity; 
 but of course ye can make yourself very disagreeable 
 before ye're done. Now I want to be the movin' 
 spirit here. I'm full of plans. I'm goin' to stand for 
 Parliament; I'm goin' to make this a prosperous place. 
 I'm a good-natured man if you'll treat me as such. 
 Now, you take me on as a neighbour and all that, and 
 I'll manage without chimneys on the Gentry. Is it a 
 bargain? [He holds out kid hand. 
 
24 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [Ignoring it] I thought you said you 
 didn't keep your word when it suited you to break it ? 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. Now, dou't get on the high horse. 
 You and me could be very good friends; but I can be 
 a very nasty enemy. The chimneys will not look nice 
 from that windie, ye know. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [Deeply angry] Mr. Hornblower, if you 
 think I'll take your hand after this Jackman business, 
 you're greatly mistaken. You are proposing that I 
 shall stand in with you while you tyrannise over the 
 neighbourhood. Please realise that unless you leave 
 those tenancies undisturbed as you said you would, we 
 don't know each other. 
 
 Hornblower. Well, that won't trouble me much. 
 Now, ye'd better think it over; ye've got gout and 
 that makes ye hasty. I tell ye again: I'm not the man 
 to make an enemy of. Unless ye're friendly, sure as 
 I stand here I'll ruin the look of your place. 
 
 [The toot of a car is heard. 
 There's my car. I sent Chearlie and his wife in it to 
 buy the Gentry. And make no mistake — he's got it 
 in his pocket. It's your last chance, Hillcrist. I'm 
 not averse to you as a man; I think ye're the best of 
 the fossils round here; at least, I think ye can do me 
 the most harm socially. Come now ! 
 
 [He holds out his hand again. 
 
 Hillcrist. Not if you'd bought the Gentry ten 
 times over. Your ways are not mine, and I'll have 
 nothing to do with you. 
 
 Hornblower. [Very angry] Really! Is that so? 
 Very well. Now ye're goin' to learn something, an' 
 
ACT I THE SKIN GAME 25 
 
 it's time ye did. D'ye realise that I'm very nearly 
 round ye? [He draws a circle slowly in the air] I'm at 
 Uphill, the works are here, here's Longmeadow, here's 
 the Gentry that I've just bought, there's only the 
 Common left to give ye touch with the world. Now 
 between you and the Common there's the high road. 
 I come out on the high road here to your north, and I 
 shall come out on it there to your west. When I've 
 got me new works up on the Gentry, I shall be makin' 
 a trolley track between the works up to the road at 
 both ends, so my goods will be running right round ye. 
 How'U ye like that for a country place ? 
 
 For answer Hillcrist, who is angry beyond 
 the power of speech, walks, forgetting to use 
 his stick, up to the French window. While 
 he stands there, with his back to Horn- 
 blower, the door L. is jlung open, and Jill 
 enters, preceding Charles, his wife Chloe, 
 and Rolf. Charles is a goodish-looking, 
 inoustached young man of about twenty-eight, 
 with a white rim to the collar of his waistcoat, 
 and spats. He has his hand behind Chloe's 
 back, as if to prevent her turning tail. She 
 is rather a handsome young woman, with 
 dark eyes, full red lips, and a suspicion of 
 powder, a little under-dressed for the country. 
 Rolf, who brings up the rear, is about twenty, 
 with an open face and stiff ish butter-coloured 
 hair. Jill runs over to her father at the 
 uiindoio. She has a bottle. 
 Jill. [Sotto voce] Look, Dodo, I've brought the lot ! 
 
26 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 Isn't it a treat, dear Papa? And here's the stuff. 
 Hallo! 
 
 The exclamation is induced by the apprehension 
 that there has been a row. Hillcrist gives 
 a stiff little bow, remaining where he is in the 
 window. Jill stays close to him, staring 
 from one to the other y then blocks him off and 
 engages him in conversation. Charles has 
 gone up to his father^ who has remained 
 maliciously stilly where he delivered his last 
 speech. Chloe and Rolf stand awkwardly 
 waiting between the fireplace and the door. 
 Hornblower. Well, Chearlie? 
 Charles. Not got it. 
 Hornblower. Notl 
 
 Charles. I'd practically got her to say she'd sell at 
 three thousand five hundred, when that fellow Dawker 
 turned up. 
 
 Hornblower. That bull-terrier of a chap! Why, 
 he was here a while ago. Oh — ho ! So that's it ! 
 
 Charles. I heard him gallop up. He came straight 
 for the old lady, and got her away. What he said I 
 don't know; but she came back looking wiser than an 
 owl; said she'd think it over, thought she had other 
 views. 
 
 Hornblower. Did ye tell her she might have her 
 price ? 
 
 Charles. Practically I did. 
 
 Hornblower. Well? 
 
 Charles. She thought it would be fairer to put it 
 
ACT I THE SKIN GAME 27 
 
 up to auction. There were other enquiries. Oh ! 
 She's a leery old bird — reminds me of one of those pic- 
 tures of Fate, don't you know. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. Auction ! Well, if it's not gone we'll 
 get it yet. That damned little Dawker ! I've had a 
 row with Hillcrist. 
 
 Charles. I thought so. 
 
 They are turning cautiously to look at Hill- 
 crist, when Jill steps forward. 
 
 Jill. [Flushed and determined] That's not a bit 
 sporting of you, Mr. Hornblower. 
 
 [At her words Rolf comes forward too. 
 
 Hornblower. Ye should hear both sides before ye 
 say that, missy. 
 
 Jill. There isn't another side to turning out the 
 Jackmans after you'd promised. 
 
 Hornblower. Oh ! dear me, yeis. They don't mat- 
 ter a row of gingerbread to the schemes I've got for 
 betterin' this neighbourhood. 
 
 Jill. I had been standing up for you; now I won't. 
 
 Hornblower. Dear, dear ! What'U become of me ? 
 
 Jill. I won't say anything about the other thing 
 because I think it's beneath dignity to notice it. But 
 to turn poor people out of their cottages is a shame. 
 
 Hornblower. Hoity me ! 
 
 Rolf. [Suddenly] You haven't been doing that, 
 father ? 
 
 Charles. Shut up, Rolf ! 
 
 Hornblower. [Turning on Rolf] Ha! Here's a 
 league o' youth! My young whipper-snapper, keep 
 
28 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 your mouth shut and leave it to your elders to know 
 what's right. 
 
 Under the weight of this rejoinder Rolf stands 
 biting his lips. Then he throws his head up. 
 
 Rolf. I hate it ! 
 
 HoRNBLowER. [With real venom] Oh! Ye hate \t? 
 Ye can get out of my house, then. 
 
 Jill. Free speech, Mr. Hornblower; don't be vio- 
 lent. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. Ye*re right, young lady. Ye can 
 stay in my house, Rolf, and leam manners. Come, 
 Chearlie ! 
 
 Jill. [Quite softly] Mr. Hornblower ! 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [From the window] Jill ! 
 
 Jill. [Impatiently] Well, what's the good of \t? 
 Life's too short for rows, and too jolly ! 
 
 Rolf. Bravo! 
 
 Hornblower. [Who has shown a sign of weakening] 
 Now, look here ! I will not have revolt in my family. 
 Ye'll just have to learn that a man who's worked as 
 I have, who's risen as I have, and who knows the 
 world, is the proper judge of what's right and wrong. 
 I'll answer to God for me actions, and not to you young 
 people. 
 
 Jill. Poor God ! 
 
 Hornblower. [Genuinely shocked] Ye blasphemous 
 young thing! [To Rolf] And ye're just as bad, ye 
 young freethinker. I won't have it. 
 
 Hillcrist. [Who has come downy Right] Jill, I wish 
 you would kindly not talk. 
 
 Jill. I can't help it. 
 
ACT I THE SKIN GAME 29 
 
 Charles. [Putting his arm through Hornblower's] 
 Come along, father ! Deeds, not words. 
 HoRNBLowER. Ay! Deeds! 
 
 Mrs. Hillcrist and Dawker have entered by 
 the French window, 
 Mrs. H. Quite right ! 
 
 [They all turn and look at her. 
 HoRNBLOWER. Ah! So ye put your dog on to it. 
 [He throws out his finger at Dawker] Very smart, that 
 — I give ye credit. 
 
 Mrs. H. [Pointing to Chloe, who has stood by her- 
 self, forgotten and uncomfortable throughout the scene] 
 May I ask who this lady is ? 
 
 Chloe turns round startled, and her vanity bag 
 slips dovm her dress to the floor. 
 Hornblower. No, ma*am, ye may not, for ye know 
 perfectly well. 
 Jill. / brought her in, mother [She moves to Chloe's 
 
 Mrs. H. Will you take her out again, then. 
 Hillcrist. Amy, have the goodness to remem- 
 ber 
 
 Mrs. H. That this is my house so far as ladies are 
 concerned. 
 Jill. Mother! 
 
 She looks astonished at Chloe, wh), about to 
 speak, does not, passing her eyes, vyith a queer, 
 half -scared expression, from Mrs. Hillcrist 
 to Dawker. 
 [To Chloe] I'm awfully sorry. Come on ! 
 
 [They go out. Left. Rolf hurries after them. 
 
30 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 Charles. You've insulted my wife. Why.'^ What 
 do you mean by it .'* 
 
 [Mrs. Hillcrist simply smiles. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. I apologise. I regret extremely. There 
 is no reason why the ladies of your family or of mine 
 should be involved in our quarrel. For Heaven's sake, 
 let's fight like gentlemen. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. Catchwords — sneers! No; we'll play 
 what ye call a skin game, Hillcrist, without gloves on; 
 we won't spare each other. Ye look out for yourselves, 
 for, begod, after this morning I mean business. And 
 as for you, Dawker, ye sly dog, ye think yourself very 
 clever; but I'll have the Gentry yet. Come, Chearlie ! 
 They go out, passing Jill, who is coming in 
 again, in the doorway. 
 
 Hillcrist. Well, Dawker .'^ 
 
 Dawker. [Grinning] Safe for the moment. The old 
 lady'll put it up to auction. Couldn't get her to budge 
 from that. Says she don't want to be unneighbourly 
 to either. But, if you ask me, it's money she smells ! 
 
 Jill. [Advancing] Now, mother! 
 
 Mrs. H. WeU? 
 
 Jill. Why did you insult her ? 
 
 Mrs. H. I think I only asked you to take her out. 
 
 Jill. Why.? Even if she is Old Combustion's 
 daughter-in-law ? 
 
 Mrs. H. My dear Jill, allow me to judge the sort 
 of acquaintances I wish to make. [She looks at Dawker. 
 
 Jill. She's all right. Lots of women powder and 
 touch up their lips nowadays. I think she's rather a 
 good sort; she was awfully upset. 
 
ACT I THE SKIN GAME 31 
 
 Mrs. H. Too upset. 
 
 Jill. Oh ! don't be so mysterious, mother. If you 
 know something, do spit it out ! 
 
 Mrs. H. Do you wish me to — er — "spit it out," 
 Jack.? 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Dawker, if you don't mind 
 
 Dawker, with a nod, passes away out of the 
 French window. 
 Jill, be respectful, and don't talk like a bargee. 
 
 Jill. It's no good. Dodo. It made me ashamed. 
 It's just as — as caddish to insult people who haven't 
 said a word, in your own house, as it is to be — old 
 Hornblower. 
 
 Mrs. H. You don't know what you're talking 
 about. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. What's the matter with young Mrs. 
 Hornblower ? 
 
 Mrs. H. Excuse me, I shall keep my thoughts to 
 myself at present. 
 
 She looks coldly at Jill, and goes out through 
 the French window. 
 
 Hillcrist. You've thoroughly upset your mother, 
 Jill. 
 
 Jill. It's something Dawker's told her; I saw them. 
 I don't like Dawker, father, he's so common. 
 
 Hillcrist. My dear, we can't all be uncommon. 
 He's got lots of go. You must apologise to your 
 mother. 
 
 Jill. [Shaking her clubbed hair] They'll make you 
 do things you don't approve of, Dodo, if you don't 
 look out. Mother's fearfully bitter when she gets her 
 
32 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 knife in. If old Hornblower's disgusting, it's no reason 
 we should be. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. So you think I'm capable — that's nice, 
 Jill! 
 
 Jill. No, no, darling! I only want to warn you 
 solemnly that mother'U tell you you're fighting fair, 
 no matter what she and Dawker do. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [Smiling] Jill, I don't think I ever saw 
 you so serious. 
 
 Jill. No. Because — [She swallows a lump in her 
 throat] Well — I was just beginning to enjoy myself; 
 and now — everything's going to be bitter and beastly, 
 with mother in that mood. That horrible old man! 
 Oh, Dodo ! Don't let them make you horrid ! You're 
 such a darling. How's your gout, ducky .^ 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Better; lot better. 
 
 Jill. There, you see! That shows! It's going to 
 be half interesting for you, but not for — us. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Look here, Jill — is there anythmg be- 
 tween you and young what's-his-name — Rolf.? 
 
 Jill. [Biting her lip] No. But — now it's all 
 spoiled. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. You can't expect me to regret that. 
 
 Jill. I don't mean any tosh about love's young 
 dream; but I do like being friends. I want to enjoy 
 things. Dodo, and you can't do that when everybody's 
 on the hate. You're going to wallow in it, and so 
 shall I — oh ! I know I shall ! — we shall all wallow, and 
 think of nothing but "one for his nob." 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Aren't you fond of your home ? 
 
 Jill. Of course. I love it. 
 
ACT! THE SKIN GAME 33 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Well, you won't be able to live in it 
 unless we stop that ruffian. Chimneys and smoke, 
 the trees cut down, piles of pots. Every kind of 
 abomination. There! [He points] Imagine! [He points 
 through the French nxindow, as if he could see those chim- 
 neys rising and marring the beauty of the fields] I was 
 born here, and my father, and his, and his, and his. 
 They loved those fields, and those old trees. And this 
 barbarian, with his "improvement" schemes, forsooth ! 
 I learned to ride in the Gentry meadows — prettiest 
 spring meadows in the world; I've climbed every tree 
 
 there. Why my father ever sold ! But who 
 
 could have imagined this.'^ And come at a bad mo- 
 ment, when money's scarce. 
 Jill. [Cuddling his arm] Dodo ! 
 HiLLCRisT. Yes. But you don't love the place as 
 I do, Jill. You youngsters don't love anything, I 
 sometimes think. 
 Jill. I do. Dodo, I do ! 
 
 HiLLCRisT. You've got it all before you. But you 
 may live your life and never find anything so good and 
 so beautiful as this old home. I'm not going to have 
 it spoiled without a fight. 
 
 Conscious of having betrayed sentiment, he walks 
 out at the French window, passing away to 
 the Right. Jill, following to the window, 
 looks. Then throwing back her head, she 
 clasps her hands behind it, 
 Jill. Oh — oh — oh! 
 
 A voice behind her says, "Jill!" She turns 
 and starts back, leaning against the right tin- 
 
34 THE SKIN GAME act i 
 
 tel of the window. Rolf appears outside 
 the window from Left. 
 Who goes there ? 
 
 Rolf. [Buttressed against the Left lintel] Enemy — 
 after Chloe's bag. 
 
 Jill. Pass, enemy ! And all's ill ! 
 
 Rolf passes through the window, and retrieves 
 the vanity hag from the floor where Chloe 
 dropped it, then again takes his stand against 
 the Left lintel of the French window. 
 
 Rolf. It's not going to make any difference, is it? 
 
 Jill. You know it is. 
 
 Rolf. Sins of the fathers. 
 
 Jill. Unto the third and fourth generations. What 
 sin has 7ny father committed ? 
 
 Rolf. None, in a way; only, I've often told you I 
 don't see why you should treat us as outsiders. We 
 don't like it. 
 
 Jill. Well, you shouldn't be, then; I mean, he 
 shouldn't be. 
 
 Rolf. Father's just as human as your father; he's 
 wrapped up in us, and all his "getting on" is for us. 
 Would you like to be treated as your mother treated 
 Chloe? Your mother's set the stroke for the other 
 big-wigs about here; nobody calls on Chloe. And why 
 not? Why not? I think it's contemptible to bar 
 people just because they're new, as you call it, and have 
 to make their position instead of having it left them. 
 
 Jill. It's not because they're new, it's because — if 
 your father behaved like a gentleman, he'd be treated 
 like one. 
 
ACT I THE SKIN GAME 35 
 
 Rolf. Would he? I don't believe It. My father's 
 a very able man; he thinks he's entitled to have influ- 
 ence here. Well, everybody tries to keep him down. 
 Oh! yes, they do. That makes him mad and more 
 determined than ever to get his way. You ought to 
 be just, Jill. 
 
 Jill. I am Just. 
 
 Rolf. No, you're not. Besides, what's it got to do 
 with Charlie and Chloe.?* Chloe's particularly harm- 
 less. It's pretty sickening for her. Father didn't ex- 
 pect people to call until Charlie married, but since 
 
 Jill. I think it's all very petty. 
 
 Rolf. It is — a dog-in-the-manger business; I did 
 think you were above it. 
 
 Jill. How would you like to have your home spoiled } 
 
 Rolf. I'm not going to argue. Only things don't 
 stand still. Homes aren't any more proof against 
 change than anything else. 
 
 Jill. All right! You come and try and take ours. 
 
 Rolf. We don't want to take your home. 
 
 Jill. Like the Jackmans' ? 
 
 Rolf. All right. I see you're hopelessly prejudiced. 
 
 [He turns to go, 
 
 Jill. [Just as he is vanishing — softly] Enemy ? 
 
 Rolf. [Turning] Yes, enemy. 
 
 Jill. Before the battle — let's shake hands. 
 
 They move from the lintels and grasp each 
 other's hands in the centre of the French 
 window. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
ACT II 
 
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ACT II 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 A billiard room in a provincial hotel, where things are 
 bought and sold. The scene is set well forward, 
 and is not very broad ; it represents the auctioneer's 
 end of the room, having, rather to stage Left, a narrow 
 table with two chairs facing the audience, where the 
 atictioneer ivill sit and stand. The table, which is 
 set forward to the footlights, is littered with green- 
 covered particulars of sale. The audience are in 
 effect public and bidders. There is a door on the 
 Left, level with the table. Along the back wall, behind 
 the table, are two raised benches with two steps up to 
 them, such as billiard rooms often have, divided by 
 a door in the middle of a wall, which is panelled in 
 oak. Late September sunlight is coming from a 
 skylight {not visible) on to these seats. The stage is 
 empty when the curtain goes up, but Dawker and 
 Mrs. Hillcrist are just entering through the door 
 at the back. 
 
 Dawker. Be out of their way here, ma'am. See old 
 Hornblower with Chearlie ? 
 
 [He points down to the audience. 
 39 
 
40 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 Mrs. H, It begins at three, doesn't it? 
 
 Dawker. They won't be over-punctual; there's only 
 the Gentry selling. There's young Mrs. Hornblower 
 with the other boy — [Pointing] over at the entrance. 
 I've got that chap I told you of down from town. 
 
 Mrs. H. Ah ! make sure quite of her, Dawker. Any 
 mistake would be fatal. 
 
 Dawker. [Nodding] That's right, ma'am. Lot of 
 people — always spare time to watch an auction — ever 
 remark that? The Duke's agent's here; shouldn't be 
 surprised if he chipped in. 
 
 Mrs. H. Where did you leave my husband? 
 
 Dawker. With Miss Jill, in the courtyard. He's 
 coming to you. In case I miss him, tell him when I 
 reach his limit to blow his nose if he wants me to go 
 on; when he blows it a second time, I'll stop for good. 
 Hope we shan't get to that. Old Hornblower doesn't 
 throw his money away. 
 
 Mrs. H. What limit did you settle? 
 
 Dawker. Six thousand ! 
 
 Mrs. H. That's a fearful price. Well, good luck to 
 you, Dawker ! 
 
 Dawker. Good luck, ma'am. I'll go and see to 
 that little matter of Mrs. Ghloe. Never fear, we'll do 
 them in somehow. 
 
 He winks, lays his finger on the side of his nose, 
 
 and goes out at the door. 
 Mrs. Hillcrist mounts the two steps, sits down 
 Right of the door, and puts up a pair of 
 long-handled glasses. Through the door be- 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 41 
 
 hind her come Chloe and Rolf. She makes 
 a sign for him to go, and shuts the door. 
 
 Chloe. [At the foot of the steps — in the gangway — in 
 a slightly common accent] Mrs. Hillcrist ! 
 
 Mrs. H. [Not quite starting] I beg your pardon ? 
 
 Chloe. [Again] Mrs. Hillcrist 
 
 Mrs. H. Well.? 
 
 Chloe. I never did you any harm. 
 
 Mrs. H. Did I ever say you did? 
 
 Chloe. No; but you act as if I had. 
 
 Mrs. H. I'm not aware that I've acted at all — as 
 yet. You are nothing to me, except as one of your 
 family. 
 
 Chole. 'Tisn't I that wants to spoil your home. 
 
 Mrs. H. Stop them then. I see your husband down 
 there with his father. 
 
 Chloe. I — I have tried. 
 
 Mrs. H. [Looking at her] Oh ! I suppose such men 
 don't pay attention to what women ask them. 
 
 Chloe. \With a flash of spirit] I'm fond of my hus- 
 band. I 
 
 Mrs. H. [Looking at her steadily] I don't quite know 
 why you spoke to me. 
 
 Chloe. \With a sort of pathetic sullenness] I only 
 thought perhaps you'd like to treat me as a human 
 being. 
 
 Mrs. H. Really, if you don't mind, I should like to 
 be left alone just now. 
 
 Chloe. [Unhappily acquiescent] Certainly ! I'll go to 
 the other end. 
 
42 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 She moves to the Lefty mounts the steps and sits 
 
 down. 
 Rolf, looking in through the door, and seeing 
 where she is, joins her. Mrs. Hillcrist re- 
 settles herself a little further in on the Right. 
 Rolf. [Bending over to Chloe, after a glance at Mrs. 
 Hillcrist] Are you all right .^ 
 Chloe. It's awfully hot. 
 
 She fans herself with the particulars of sale. 
 Rolf. There's Dawker. I hate that chap ! 
 Chloe. Where.? 
 Rolf. Down there; see? 
 
 He points down to stage Right of the room. 
 Chloe. [Drawing back in her seat with a little gasp] 
 Oh! 
 
 Rolf. [Not noticing] Who's that next him, looking 
 up here ? 
 
 Chloe. I don't know. 
 
 She has raised her auxition programme suddenly, 
 and sits fanning herself, carefully screening 
 her face. 
 Rolf. [Looking at her] Don't you feel well ? Shall 
 I get you some water .'^ [He gets up at her nod. 
 
 As he reaches the door, Hillcrist and Jill 
 com£ in. Hillcrist passes him abstractedly 
 vyith a nod, and sits down beside his wife. 
 Jill. [To Rolf] Come to see us turned out.'^ 
 Rolf. [Emphatically] No. I'm looking after Chloe; 
 she's not well. 
 
 Jill. [Glancing at her] Sorry. She needn't have 
 come, I suppose ? [Rolf deigns no answer, and goes out. 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 43 
 
 Jill glances at Chloe, the7i at her parents talk- 
 ing in low voices, and sits down next her 
 father, who makes room for her. 
 Mrs. H. Can Dawker see you there, Jack? 
 
 [HiLLCRisT nods. 
 
 What's the time ? 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Three minutes to three. 
 Jill. Don't you feel beastly all down the backs of 
 your legs, Dodo "^ 
 HiLLCRIST. Yes. 
 Jill. Do you, mother.^ 
 Mrs. H. No. 
 
 Jill. A wagon of old Hornblower's pots passed while 
 we were in the yard. It's an omen. 
 Mrs. H. Don't be foolish, Jill. 
 Jill. Look at the old brute ! Dodo, hold my hand. 
 Mrs. H. Make sure you've got a handkerchief, Jack. 
 HiLLCRisT. I can't go beyond the six thousand; I 
 shall have to raise every penny on mortgage as it is. 
 The estate simply won't stand more. Amy. 
 
 He feels in his breast pocket, and pulls up the 
 edge of his handkerchief. 
 Jill. Oh! Look! There's Miss Mullins, at the 
 back; just come in. Isn't she a spidery old chip ? 
 
 Mrs. H. Come to gloat. Really, I think her not 
 accepting your offer is disgusting. Her impartiality is 
 all humbug. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. Can't blame her for getting what she 
 can— it's human nature. Phew! I used to feel like 
 this before a viva voce. Who's that next to Dawker ? 
 Jill. What a fish ! 
 
44 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 Mrs. H. [To herself] Ah ! yes. 
 
 Her eyes slide round at Chloe, sitting motion- 
 less and rather sunk in her seat, slowly fan- 
 ning herself with the particulars of the sale. 
 Jack, go and offer her my smelling salts. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [Taking the salts] Thank God for a 
 human touch ! 
 
 Mrs. H. [Taken aback] Oh! I 
 
 Jill. [With a quick look at her mother y snatching the 
 salts] I will. [She goes over to Cn.ia'E^ with the salts] Have 
 a sniff; you look awfully white. 
 
 Chloe. [Looking up, startled] Oh! no thanks. I'm 
 all right. 
 
 Jill. No, do ! You must. [Chloe takes them. 
 
 Jill. D'you mind letting me see that a minute? 
 
 She takes the particidars of the sale and studies 
 it, hut Chloe has buried the lower part of 
 her face in her hand and the smelling salts 
 bottle. 
 Beastly hot, isn't it ? You'd better keep that. 
 
 Chloe. [Her dark eyes wandering and uneasy] Rolf's 
 getting me some water. 
 
 Jill. Why do you stay ? You didn't want to come, 
 did you ? [Chloe shakes her head. 
 
 All right! Here's your water. 
 
 She hands back the particulars and slides over 
 
 to her seat, passing Rolf in the gangway, 
 
 with her chin well up. 
 
 Mrs. Hillcrist, who has watched Chloe and 
 
 Jill and Dawker and his friend, makes an 
 
SC. I 
 
 THE SKIN GAIVIE 45 
 
 enquiring movement with her handy hut gets 
 a disappointing answer. 
 
 Jill. What's the time, Dodo ? 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [Looking at his watch] Three minutes past. 
 
 Jill. [Sighing] Oh, hell! 
 
 HiLLCRIST. Jill! 
 
 Jill. Sorry, Dodo. I was only thinking. Look! 
 Here he is ! Phew !— isn't he ? 
 
 Mrs. H. 'Sh! 
 
 The Auctioneer comes in Left and goes to the 
 table. He is a square, short, brown-faced, 
 common-looking man, with clipped grey hair 
 fitting him like a cap, and a clipped grey 
 Tuoustache. His lids come down over hi^ 
 quick eyes, till he can see you very sharply, 
 and you can hardly see that he can see you. 
 He can break into a smile at any moment, 
 which has no connection with him, as it were. 
 By a certain hurt look, however, when bidding 
 is slow, he discloses that he is not merely an 
 auctioneer, but has in him elements of the 
 human being. He can loink with anyone, 
 and is dressed in a snuff-brown suit, with a 
 perfectly unbuttoned waistcoat, a low, turned- 
 down collar, and small black and white sailor- 
 knot tie. While he is settling his papers, the 
 Hillcrists settle themselves tensely. Chloe 
 has drunk her water and leaned back again, 
 with the smelling salts to her nose. Rolf 
 leajis forward in the seat beside her, looking 
 
46 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 sideways at Jill. A Solicitor, with a grey 
 heard, has joined the Auctioneer at his table. 
 Auctioneer. [Tapping the table] Sorry to disappoint 
 you, gentlemen, but I've only one property to offer you 
 to-day. No. 1, The Gentry, Deep water. The second 
 on the particulars has been withdrawn. The third — 
 that's Bidcot, desirable freehold mansion and farmlands 
 in the Parish of Kenway — we shall have to deal with 
 next week. I shall be happy to sell it you then with- 
 out reservation. [He looks again through the particulars 
 in his handy gimng the audience time to readjust them- 
 selves to his statements] Now, gen'lemen, as I say, I've 
 only the one property to sell. Freehold No. 1 — all 
 that very desirable corn and stock-rearing and parklike 
 residential land known as the Gentry, Deepwater, 
 unique property — an A.l. chance to an A.l. audience. 
 [With his smile] Ought to make the price of the three 
 we thought we had. Now you won't mind listening to 
 the conditions of sale; Mr. Blinkard'll read 'em, and 
 they won't wirry you, they're very short. 
 
 He sits down and gives two little taps on the 
 
 table. 
 The Solicitor rises and reads the conditions 
 of sale in a voice ichich no one practically 
 can hear. Just as he begins to read these 
 conditions of sale, Gharles Hornblower 
 enters at back. He stands a moment, glanc- 
 ing round at the Hillcrists and twirling his 
 moustache, then moves along to his ivife and 
 touches her. 
 Charles. Chloe, aren't you well ? 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 47 
 
 In the start which she gives, her face is fully 
 revealed to the audience. 
 Charles. Come along, out of the way of these 
 people. 
 
 He jerks his head towards the Hillcrists. 
 Chloe gives a swift look down to the stage 
 Right of the audience. 
 Chloe. No; I'm all right; it's hotter there. 
 Charles. [To Rolf] Well, look after her — I must 
 go back. 
 
 Rolf nods. Charles slides hack to the door, 
 
 with a glance at the Hillcrists, of whom 
 
 Mrs. Hillcrist has been watching like a 
 
 lynx. He goes out, just as the Solicitor, 
 
 finishing, sits down. 
 
 Auctioneer. [Rising and tapping] Now, gen'lemen, 
 
 it's not often a piece of land like this comes into the 
 
 market. What's that.'^ [To a friend in front of him] 
 
 No better land in Deepwater — that's right, Mr. Spicer. 
 
 I know the village well, and a charming place it is; 
 
 perfect locality, to be sure. Now I don't want to 
 
 wirry you by singing the praises of this property; there 
 
 it is — well-watered, nicely timbered — no reservation of 
 
 the timber, gen'lemen — no tenancy to hold you up; 
 
 free to do what you like with it to-morrow. You've 
 
 got a jewel of a site there, too; perfect position for a 
 
 house. It lies between the Duke's and Squire Hill- 
 
 crist's — an emerald isle. [With his smile] No allusion 
 
 to Ireland, gen'lemen — perfect peace in the Centry. 
 
 Nothing like it in the county — a gen'leman's site, and 
 
 you don't get that offered you every day. [He looks 
 
48 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 down towards Hornblower, stage Left] Carries the 
 mineral rights, and as you know, perhaps, there's the 
 very valuable Deepwater clay there. What am I to 
 start it at? Can I say three thousand? Well, any- 
 thing you like to give me. I'm not particular. Come 
 now, you've got more time than me, I expect. Two 
 hundred acres of first-rate grazin' and cornland, with 
 a site for a residence unequalled in the county; and all 
 the possibilities ! Well, what shall I say ? 
 
 [Bid from Spicer. 
 Two thousand ? [With his smUe] That won't hurt you, 
 Mr. Spicer. Why, it's worth that to overlook the 
 Duke. For two thousand ? 
 
 [Bid from Hornblower, stage Left. 
 And five. Thank you, sir. Two thousand five hun- 
 dred bid. [To a friend just below him. 
 Come, Mr. Sandy, don't scratch your head over it. 
 
 [Bid from Dawker, stage Right. 
 And five. Three thousand bid for this desirable prop- 
 erty. Why, you'd think it wasn't desirable. Come 
 along, gen'lemen. A little spirit. [A slight pause. 
 
 Jill. Why can't I see the bids. Dodo ? 
 
 HiLLCRiST. The last was Dawker's. 
 
 Auctioneer. For three thousand. [Hornblower] 
 Three thousand five hundred? May I say four? [A 
 bid from the centre] No, I'm not particular; I'll take 
 hundreds. Three thousand six hundred bid. [Horn- 
 blower] And seven. Three thousand seven hundred, 
 and [He pauses, quartering the audience. 
 
 Jill. Who was that. Dodo? 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 49 
 
 HiLLCRisT. Hornblower. It's the Duke in the 
 centre. 
 
 Auctioneer. Come, gen'lemen, don't keep me all 
 day. Four thousand may I say? [Dawker] Thank 
 you. We're beginning. And one? [A bid from the 
 centre] Four thousand one hundred. [Hornblower] 
 Four thousand two hundred. May I have yours, sir ? 
 [To Dawker] And three. Four thousand three hun- 
 dred bid. No such site in the county, gen'lemen. I'm 
 going to sell this land for what it's worth. You can't 
 bid too much for me. [He smiles] [Hornblower] Four 
 thousand five hundred bid. [Bid from the centre] And 
 six. [Dawker] And seven. [Hornblower] And eight. 
 Nine, may I say ? [But the centre has dried up] [Dawker] 
 And nine. [Hornblower] Five thousand. Five thou- 
 sand bid. That's better; there's some spirit in it. 
 For five thousand. 
 
 [He pauses while he speaks to the Solicitor. 
 
 Hillcrist. It's a duel now. 
 
 Auctioneer. Now, gen'lemen, I'm not going to give 
 this property away. Five thousand bid. [Dawker] 
 And one. [Hornblower] And two. [Dawker] And 
 three. Five thousand three hundred bid. And five, 
 did you say, sir? [Hornblower] Five thousand five 
 hundred bid. [He looks at his particulars. 
 
 Jill. [Rather agonised] Enemy, Dodo. 
 
 Auctioneer. This chance may never come again. 
 "How you'll regret it 
 If you don't get it," 
 as the poet says. May I say five thousand six hun- 
 
50 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 dred, sir? [Dawker] Five thousand six hundred bid. 
 [Hornblower] And seven. [Dawker] And eight. For 
 five thousand eight hundred pounds. We're gettin' on, 
 but we haven't got the value yet. 
 
 A slight pause, while he wipes his brow at the 
 success of his oion efforts. 
 SiUL. Us, Dodo ? 
 
 HiLLCRisT nods. Jill looks over at Rolf, whose 
 
 face is grimly set. Chloe has never moved. 
 
 Mrs. Hillcrist whispers to her husband. 
 
 Auctioneer. Five thousand eight hundred bid. 
 
 For five thousand eight hundred. Come along, 
 
 gen'lemen, come along. We're not beaten. Thank 
 
 j^ou, sir. [Hornblower] Five thousand nine hundred. 
 
 And — ? [Dawker] Six thousand. Six thousand bid. 
 
 Six thousand bid. For six thousand ! The Gentry — 
 
 most desirable spot in the county — going for the low 
 
 price of six thousand. 
 
 Hillcrist. [Muttering] Low ! Heavens ! 
 Auctioneer. Any advance on six thousand ? Come, 
 gen'lemen, we haven't dried up.^ A little spirit. Six 
 thousand? For six thousand? For six thousand 
 pounds? Very well, I'm selling. For six thousand 
 once — [He taps] For six thousand twice — [He taps]. 
 Jill. [Low] Oh ! we've got it ! 
 Auctioneer. And one, sir ? [Hornblower] Six thou- 
 sand one hundred bid. 
 
 The Solicitor touches his arm and says some- 
 thing, to which the Auctioneer responds 
 with a nod. 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 51 
 
 Mrs. H. Blow your nose, Jack. 
 
 [HiLLCRisT blows his nose. 
 
 Auctioneer. For six thousand one hundred. [Daw- 
 ker] And two. Thank you. [Hornblower] And three. 
 For six thousand three hundred. [Dawker] And four. 
 For six thousand four hundred pounds. This coveted 
 property. For six thousand four hundred pounds. 
 Why, it's giving it away, gen'Iemen. [A pause. 
 
 Mrs. H. Giving! 
 
 Auctioneer. Six thousand four hundred bid. [Horn- 
 blower] And five. [Dawker] And six. [Hornblower] 
 And seven. [Dawker] And eight. 
 
 A pause, during whichy through the door Left, 
 someone beckons to the Solicitor, who rises 
 and confers. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [Muttering] I've done if that doesn't get 
 it. 
 
 Auctioneer. For six thousand eight hundred. For 
 six thousand eight hundred — once — [He taps] twice — 
 [He taps] For the last time. This dominating site. 
 [Hornblower] And nme. Thank you. For six thou- 
 sand nine hundred. 
 
 [HiLLCRisT has taken out his handkerchief. 
 
 Jill. Oh! Dodo! 
 
 Mrs. H. [Quivering] Don't give in ! 
 
 Auctioneer. Seven thousand may I say ? [Dawker] 
 Seven thousand. 
 
 Mrs. H. [Whispers] Keep it down; don't show 
 him. 
 
 Auctioneer. For seven thousand — going for seven 
 
52 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 thousand — once — [Taps] twice — [Taps] [Hornblower] 
 And one. Thank j^ou, sir. 
 
 HiLLCRisT blows his nose. Jill, vnth a choke, 
 leans back in her seat and folds her arms 
 tightly on her chest. Mrs. Hillcrist passes 
 her handkerchief over her lips, sitting perfectly 
 still. Hillcrist, too, is motionless. 
 The Auctioneer has paitsedt and is talking to 
 the Solicitor, who has returned to his seat, 
 Mrs. H. Oh! Jack. 
 Jill. Stick it, Dodo; stick it! 
 
 Auctioneer. Now, gen'lemen, I have a bid of seven 
 thousand one hundred for the Gentry. And I'm in- 
 structed to sell if I can't get more. It's a fair price, 
 but not a big price. [To his friend Mr. Spicer] A 
 thumpin' price? [With his smile] Well, you're a judge 
 of thumpin', I admit. Now, who'll give me seven 
 thousand two hundred.'* What, no one.'* Well, I 
 can't make you, gen'lemen. For seven thousand one 
 hundred. Once — [Taps] Twice — [Taps]. 
 
 [Jill utters a little groan. 
 Hillcrist. [Suddenly, in a qu£er voice] Two. 
 Auctioneer. [Turning with surprise and looking up 
 to receive Hillcrist's nod] Thank you, sir. And two. 
 Seven thousand two hundred. [He screws himself round 
 so as to command both Hillcrist and Hornblower] 
 May I have yours, sir? [Hornblower] And three. 
 [Hillcrist] And four. Seven thousand four hundred. 
 For seven thousand four hundred. [Hornblower] Five. 
 [Hillcrist] Six. For seven thousand six hundred. [A 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 53 
 
 pause] Well, gen'lemen, this is better, but a record 
 property shid fetch a record price. The possibilities 
 are enormous. [Hornblower] Eight thousand did you 
 say, sir? Eight thousand. Going for eight thousand 
 pounds. [Hillcrist] And one. [Hornblower] And two. 
 [Hillcrist] And three. [Hornblower] And four. [Hill- 
 crist] And five. For eight thousand five hundred. A 
 wonderful property for eight thousand five hundred. 
 
 [He wipes his brow. 
 
 Jill. [Whispering] Oh, Dodo ! 
 
 Mrs. H. That's enough. Jack, we must stop some 
 time. 
 
 Auctioneer. For eight thousand five hundred. 
 Once — [Taps] Twice — [Taps] [Hornblower] Six hun- 
 dred. [Hillcrist] Seven. May I have yours, sir.? 
 [Hornblower] Eight. 
 
 Hillcrist. Nine thousand. 
 
 Mrs. Hillcrist looks at him, biting her lips, 
 but he is quite absorbed. 
 
 Auctioneer. Nine thousand for this astounding 
 property. Why, the Duke would pay that if he realised 
 he'd be overlooked. Now, sir? [To Hornblower. 
 No response]. Just a little raise on that. [No response.] 
 For nine thousand. The Gentry, Deepwater, for nine 
 thousand. Once — [Taps] Twice — [Taps]. 
 
 Jill. [Under her breath] Ours ! 
 
 A Voice. [From far back in the centre] And five 
 hundred. 
 
 Auctioneer. [Surprised and throwing out his arms 
 towards the voice] And five hundred. For nine thou- 
 
54 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 sand five hundred. May I have yours, sir? [He looks 
 at HoRNBLowER. No respofise.] 
 
 [The Solicitor speaks to him. 
 
 Mrs. H. [Whispering] It must be the Duke again. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [Passing his hand over his brow] That's 
 stopped him, anyway. 
 
 Auctioneer. [Looking at Hillcrist] For nine thou- 
 sand five hundred .^^ [Hillcrist shakes his head.] 
 Once more. The Gentry, Deep water, for nine thou- 
 sand five hundred. Once — [Taps] Twice — [Taps] [He 
 pauses and looks again at Hornblower and Hillcrist] 
 For the last time — at nine thousand five hundred. 
 [Taps] [With a look towards the bidder] Mr. Smalley. 
 Well ! [With great satisfaction] That's that ! No more 
 to-day, gen'lemen. 
 
 The Auctioneer and Solicitor busy them- 
 selves. The room begins to empty. 
 
 Mrs. H. Smalley.? Smalley.? Is that the Duke's 
 agent .? Jack ! 
 
 Hillcrist. [Coming out of a sort of coma, after the 
 excitement he ha^ been going through] What ! What ! 
 
 Jill. Oh, Dodo ! How splendidly you stuck it ! 
 
 Hillcrist. Phew ! What a squeak ! I was clean 
 out of my depth. A mercy the Duke chipped in again. 
 
 Mrs. H. [Looking at Rolf and Chloe, who are 
 standing up as if about to go] Take care; they can hear 
 you. Find Dawker, Jack. 
 
 Below, the Auctioneer and Solicitor take up 
 
 their papers, and move out Left. 
 Hillcrist stretches himself, standing up, as 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 55 
 
 if to throw off the strain. The door behind 
 is opened, and Hornblower appears. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. Ye ran me up a pretty price. Ye 
 bid very pluckily, Hillcrist. But ye didn't quite get 
 my measure. 
 
 Hillcrist. Oh ! It was my nine thousand the Duke 
 capped. Thank God, the Gentry's gone to a gentle- 
 man! 
 
 Hornblower. The Duke ? [He laughs] No, the Gen- 
 try's not gone to a gentleman, nor to a fool. It's gone 
 to me. 
 
 Hillcrist. What! 
 
 Hornblower. I'm sorry for ye; ye're not fit to 
 manage these things. Well, it's a monstrous price, 
 and I've had to pay it because of your obstinacy. I 
 shan't forget that when I come to build. 
 
 Hillcrist. D'you mean to say that bid was for 
 you? 
 
 Hornblower. Of course I do. I told ye I was a 
 bad man to be up against. Perhaps ye'll believe me 
 now. 
 
 Hillcrist. A dastardly trick! 
 
 Hornblower. [With venom] What did ye call it — a 
 skin game.? Remember we're playin' a skin game, 
 Hillcrist. 
 
 Hillcrist. [Clenching his fists] If we were younger 
 men 
 
 Hornblower. Ay! 'Twouldn't look pretty for us 
 to be at fisticuflFs. We'll leave the fightin' to the young 
 ones. [He glances at Rolf and Jill; suddenly throwing 
 
56 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 Old his finger at Roli] No makin' up to that young 
 woman! I've watched ye. And as for you, missy, 
 you leave my boy alone. 
 
 Jill. [With suppressed passion] Dodo, may I spit in 
 his eye or something ? 
 
 HiLLCRisT. Sit down. 
 
 Jill sits down. He stands between her and 
 
 HORNBLOWER. 
 
 YouVe won this round, sir, by a foul blow. We shall 
 see whether you can take any advantage of it. I be- 
 lieve the law can stop you ruining my property. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. Make your mind easy; it can't. I've 
 got ye in a noose, and I'm goin' to hang ye. 
 
 Mrs. H. [Suddenly] Mr. Hornblower, as you fight 
 foul — so shall we. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Amy! 
 
 Mrs. H. [Paying no attention] And it will not be 
 foul play towards you and yours. You are outside 
 the pale. 
 
 Hornblower. That's just where I am, outside your 
 pale all round ye. Ye're not long for Deepwater, 
 ma'am. Make your dispositions to go; ye' 11 be out in 
 six months, I prophesy. And good riddance to the 
 neighbourhood. [They are all down on the level now. 
 
 Chloe. [Suddenly coming closer to IVIrs. Hillcrist] 
 Here are your salts, thank you. Father, can't you — ? 
 
 Hornblower. [Surprised] Can't I what.'* 
 
 Chloe. Can't you come to an arrangement? 
 
 Mrs. H. Just so, Mr. Hornblower. Can't you.'' 
 
 Hornblower. [Looking from one to the other] As 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 57 
 
 we're speakin' out, ma'am, it's your behaviour to my 
 daughter-in-law — who's as good as you — and better, 
 to my thinking — that's more than half the reason why 
 I've bought this property. Ye've fair got my dander 
 up. Now it's no use to bandy words. It's very for- 
 givin' of ye, Chloe, but come along ! 
 
 Mrs. H. Quite seriously, Mr. Hornblower, you had 
 better eome to an arrangement. 
 
 Hornblower. Mrs. Hillcrist, ladies should keep to 
 their own business. 
 
 Mrs. H. I will. 
 
 Hillcrist. Amy, do leave it to us men. You young 
 man [He speaks to Rolf] do you support your father's 
 trick this afternoon ? 
 
 Jill looks round at Rolf, who tries to speak, 
 when Hornblower breaks in. 
 
 Hornblower. My trick.? And what d'ye call it, 
 to try and put me own son against me? 
 
 Jill. [T^o Rolf] Well.? 
 
 Rolf. I don't, but 
 
 Hornblower. Trick? Ye young cub, be quiet. 
 Mr. Hillcrist had an agent bid for him — I had an agent 
 bid for me. Only his agent bid at the beginnin', an' 
 mine bid at the end. What's the trick in that? 
 
 [He laughs, 
 
 Hillcrist. Hopeless; we're in different worlds. 
 
 Hornblower. I wish to God we were ! Come you, 
 Chloe. And you, Rolf, you follow. In six months I'll 
 have those chimneys up, and me lorries runnin' 
 round ye. 
 
58 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 Mrs. H. Mr. Hornblower, if you build 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. [Looking at Mrs. Hillcrist] Ye 
 know — it's laughable. Ye make me pay nine thou- 
 sand five hundred for a bit o' land not worth four, and 
 ye think I'm not to get back on ye. I'm goin' on with 
 as little consideration as if ye were a family of black- 
 beetles. Good afternoon ! 
 Rolf. Father! 
 
 Jill. Oh, Dodo! He's obscene. 
 Hillcrist. Mr. Hornblower, my compliments. 
 
 Hornblower, with a stare at Hillcrist 's 
 half-smiling facCy takes Chloe's arm, and 
 half drags her tovmrds the door on the Left. 
 Bvi there, in the opened doorway, are stand- 
 ing Dawker and a Stranger. They move 
 just out of the way of the exit, looking at 
 Chloe, tvho sivays and very nearly falls. 
 Hornblower. Why! Chloe! What's the matter.? 
 Chloe. I don't know; I'm not well to-day. 
 
 [She pulls herself together loith a great effort. 
 IVIrs. H. [Who has exchanged a nod with Dawker 
 and the Stranger] Mr. Hornblower, you build at your 
 peril. I warn you. 
 
 Hornblower. [Turning round to speak] Ye think 
 yourself very cool and very smart. But I doubt this 
 is the first time ye've been up against realities. Now, 
 I've been up against them all my life. Don't talk to 
 me, ma'am, about peril and that sort of nonsense; it 
 makes no impression. Your husband called me pachy- 
 dermatous. I don't know Greek, and Latin, and all 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 59 
 
 that, but I've looked it out iii the dictionary, and I 
 find it means thick-skinned. And I'm none the worse 
 for that when I have to deal with folk like you. Good 
 afternoon. 
 
 He draws Cbig^ forward, and they pass through 
 the door, followed quickly by Rolf. 
 
 Mrs. H. Thank you, Dawker. 
 
 She 7noves up to Dawker and the Stranger, 
 Left, and they talk, 
 
 Jill. Dodo ! It's awful ! 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Well, there's nothing for it now but to 
 smile and pay up. Poor old home ! It shall be his 
 wash-pot. Over the Gentry will he cast his shoe. By 
 Gad, Jill, I could cry ! 
 
 Jill. [Pointing] Look! Chloe's sitting down. She 
 nearly fainted just now. It's something to do with 
 Dawker, Dodo, and that man with him. Look at 
 mother ! Ask them ! 
 
 Hillcrist. Dawker! 
 
 Dawker comes to him, followed by Mrs. Hill- 
 crist. 
 What's the mystery about young Mrs. Hornblower ? 
 
 Dawker. No mystery. 
 
 Hillcrist. Well, what is it? 
 
 Mrs. H. You'd better not ask. 
 
 Hillcrist. I wish to know. 
 
 Mrs. H. Jill, go out and wait for us. 
 
 Jill. Nonsense, mother! 
 
 Mrs. H. It's not for a girl to hear. 
 
 Jill. Bosh ! I read the papers every day. 
 
60 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 Dawker. It's nothin' worse than you get there, any- 
 way. 
 
 Mrs. H. Do you wish your daughter 
 
 Jill. It's ridiculous. Dodo; you'd think I was mother 
 at my age. 
 
 Mrs. H. I was not so proud of my knowledge. 
 
 Jill. No, but you had it, dear. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. What is it — what is it? Come over 
 here, Dawker. 
 
 Dawker goes to hiniy Right, and speaks in a 
 low voice. 
 What ! [Again Dawker speaks in a low voice. 
 
 Good God ! 
 
 Mrs. H. Exactly! 
 
 Jill. Poor thing — whatever it is ! 
 
 Mrs. H. Poor thing ? 
 
 Jill. What went before, mother? 
 
 Mrs. H. It's what's commg after that matters, 
 luckily. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. How do you know this? 
 
 Dat\tcer. My friend here [He points to the Stranger] 
 was one of the agents. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. It's shocking. I'm sorry I heard it. 
 
 Mrs. H. I told you not to. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Ask your friend to come here. 
 
 Dawker beckons, and the Stranger joins the 
 group. 
 Are you sure of what you've said, sir ? 
 
 Stranger. Perfectly. I remember her quite well; 
 her name then was 
 
 Hillcrist. I don't want to know, thank you. I'm 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 61 
 
 truly sorry. I wouldn't wish the knowledge of that 
 about his womenfolk to my worst enemy. This mustn't 
 be spoken of. [Jill hugs his arm. 
 
 Mrs. H. It will not be if Mr. Hornblower is wise. 
 If he is not wise, it must be spoken of. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. I say no. Amy. I won't have it. It's 
 a dirty weapon. Who touches pitch shall be defiled. 
 
 Mrs. H. Well, what weapons does he use against 
 us? Don't be quixotic. For all we can tell, they 
 know it quite well already, and if they don't they 
 ought to. Anyway, to know this is our salvation, and 
 we must use it. 
 
 Jill. [Sottovoce] Pitch! Dodo! Pitch! 
 
 Dawker. The threat's enough! J.P. — Chapel — 
 Future member for the constituency 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [A little more doubtfully] To use a piece 
 of knowledge about a woman — it's repugnant. I — I 
 won't do it. 
 
 Mrs. H. If you had a son tricked into marrying 
 such a woman, would you wish to remain ignorant of 
 it.? 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [Struck] I don't know — I don't know. 
 
 Mrs. H. At least you'd like to be in a position to 
 help him, if you thought it necessary ? 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Well — that — perhaps. 
 
 Mrs. H. Then you agree that Mr. Hornblower at 
 least should be told. What he does with the knowledge 
 is not our affair. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [Half to the Stranger and half to Daw- 
 ker] Do you realise that an imputation of that kind 
 may be ground for a criminal libel action ^ 
 
62 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 Stranger. Quite. But there's no shadow of doubt; 
 not the faintest. You saw her just now ? 
 
 HiLLCRiST. I did. [Revolting again] No; I don't like 
 it. 
 
 Dawker has drawn the Stranger a step or 
 two away, and they talk together. 
 
 Mrs. H. [In a low voice] And the ruin of our home ? 
 You're betraying your fathers, Jack. 
 
 HiLiLCRisT. I can't bear bringing a woman into it. 
 
 Mrs. H. We don't. If anyone brings her in, it will 
 be Hornblower himself. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. We use her secret as a lever. 
 
 Mrs. H. I tell you quite plainly: I will only con- 
 sent to holdmg my tongue about her, if you agree to 
 Hornblower being told. It's a scandal to have a 
 woman like that in the neighbourhood. 
 
 Jill. Mother means that, father. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Jill, keep quiet. This is a very bitter 
 position. I can't tell what to do. 
 
 Mrs. H. You must use this knowledge. You owe 
 it to me — to us all. You'll see that when you've 
 thought it over. 
 
 Jill. [Softly] Pitch, Dodo, pitch ! 
 
 Mrs. H. [Furiously] Jill, be quiet ! 
 
 HiLLCRisT. I was brought up never to hurt a woman. 
 I can't do it. Amy — I can't do it. I should never feel 
 like a gentleman again. 
 
 Mrs. H. [Coldly] Oh! Very well. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. What d'you mean by that ? 
 
 Mrs. H. I shall use the knowledge in my own way. 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 63 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [Staring at her] You would — against my 
 wishes ? 
 
 Mrs. H. I consider it my duty. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. If I agree to Hornblower being told 
 
 Mrs. H. That's all I want. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. It's the utmost I'll consent to, Amy; and 
 don't let's have any humbug about its being morally 
 necessary. We do it to save our skins. 
 
 Mrs. H. I don't know what you mean by humbug ? 
 
 Jill. He means humbug, mother. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. It must stop at old Hornblower. Do 
 you quite understand ? 
 
 Mrs. H. Quite. 
 
 Jill. Will it stop ? 
 
 Mrs. H. Jill, if you can't keep your impertinence 
 to yourself 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Jill, come with me. 
 
 [He turns towards door, Back. 
 
 Jill. I'm sorry, mother. Only it is a skin game, 
 isn't it.? 
 
 Mrs. H. You pride youself on plain speech, Jill. 
 I pride myself on plain thought. You will thank me 
 afterwards that I can see realities. I know we are bet- 
 ter people than these Hornblowers. Here we are going 
 to stay, and they — are not. 
 
 Jill. [Looking at her with a sort of unwilling admira- 
 tion] Mother, you're wonderful ! 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Jill! 
 
 Jill. Coming, Dodo. 
 
 She turns and runs to the door. They go out. 
 
64 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 Mrs. Hillcrist, with a long sigh, draics 
 herself up, fine and proud. 
 
 Mrs. H. Dawker ! [He comes to her. 
 
 I shall send him a note to-night, and word it so that 
 he will be bound to come and see us to-morrow morn- 
 ing. Will you be in the study just before eleven 
 o'clock, with this gentleman ? 
 
 Dawtcer. [Nodding] We're going to wire for his 
 partner. I'll bring him too. Can't make too sure. 
 
 [Sh€ goes firmly up the steps and out. 
 
 Dawxer. [To the Stranger, icith a winh] The 
 Squire's squeamish — too much of a gentleman. But 
 he don't count. The grey mare's all right. You 
 wire to Henry. I'm ojff to our solicitors. We'll make 
 that old rhmoceros sell us back the Gentry at a decent 
 price. These Hornblowers — [Laying his finger on his 
 nose] We've got 'em ! 
 
 curtain 
 
o 
 
 I 
 
 
 D 
 Q 
 
 a 
 
 a 
 
 D 
 
 □ 
 
 n 
 
 D 
 
 D 2 
 % 
 
 I 
 D 
 
SCENE II 
 
 Chloe's boudoir at half -past seven the same evening. A 
 pretty room. No pictures on the walls, hut two 
 mirrors. A screen and a luxurious couch on the 
 fireplace side, stage Left. A door rather Right of 
 Centre Back, opening inwards. A French window. 
 Right forward. A writing table, Right Back. Elec- 
 tric light burning. 
 
 Chloe, in a tea-gown, is standing by the forward end 
 of the sofa, very still, and very pale. Her lips are 
 parted, and her large eyes stare straight before them 
 as if seeing ghosts. The door is opened noiselessly 
 and a Woman's face is seen. It peers at Chloe, 
 vanishes, and the door is closed. Chloe raises her 
 hands, covers her eyes with them, drops them with a 
 quick gesture, and looks round her. A knock. With 
 a swift movement she slides on to the sofa, and lies 
 prostrate, with eyes closed. 
 
 Chloe. [Feebly] Come in ! 
 
 Her Maid enters ; a trim, contained figure of 
 uncertain years, in a black dress, with the 
 face which was peering in. 
 Yes, Anna? 
 
 Anna. Aren't you going In to dinner, ma*am ? 
 Chloe. [With closed eyes] No. 
 67 
 
68 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 Anna. Will you take anything here, ma'am ? 
 
 Chloe. I'd like a biscuit and a glass of champagne. 
 The Maid, wlio is standing between sofa and 
 dooTy smiles. Chloe, with a swift look, 
 catches the smile. 
 Why do you smile ? 
 
 Anna. Was I, ma'am? 
 
 Chloe. You know you were. [Fiercely] Are you paid 
 to smile at me.'* 
 
 Anna. [Immovable] No, ma'am. Would you like 
 some eau de Cologne on your forehead ? 
 
 Chloe. Yes. — No. — What's the good .'' [Clasping her 
 forehead] My headache won't go. 
 
 Anna. To keep lying down's the best thing for it. 
 
 Chloe. I have been — hours. 
 
 Anna. [With the smile] Yes, ma'am. 
 
 Chloe. [Gathering herself up on the sofa] Anna! 
 Why do you do it.^^ 
 
 Anna. Do what, ma'am ? 
 
 Chloe. Spy on me. 
 
 Anna. I — never! I ! 
 
 Chloe. To spy ! You're a fool, too. What is there 
 to spy on ? 
 
 Anna. Nothing, ma'am. Of course, if you're not 
 satisfied with me, I must give notice. Only — if I were 
 spying, I should expect to have notice given me. I've 
 been accustomed to ladies who wouldn't stand such a 
 thing for a minute. 
 
 Chloe. [Intently] Well, you'll take a month's wages 
 and go to-morrow. And that's all, now. 
 
 [Anna inclines her head and goes out. 
 
sc. II THE SKIN GAME 69 
 
 Chloe, with a sort of moan, turns over and 
 buries her face in the cushion. 
 Chloe. [Sitting up] If I could see that man — if only 
 
 — or Dawker 
 
 She springs up and goes to the door, but hesi- 
 tates, and comes back to the head of the sofa, 
 as Rolf comes in. During this scene the 
 door is again opened stealthily, an inch or 
 two. 
 Rolf. How's the head ? 
 
 Chloe. Beastly, thanks. I'm not going in to dinner. 
 Rolf. Is there anything I can do for you .'* 
 Chloe. No, dear boy. [Suddenly looking at him] 
 You don't want this quarrel with the Hillcrists to go 
 on, do you, Rolf ? 
 Rolf. No; I hate it. 
 
 Chloe. Well, I think I might be able to stop it. Will 
 you slip round to Dawker's — it's not five minutes — 
 and ask him to come and see me. 
 
 Rolf. Father and Charlie wouldn't 
 
 Chloe. I know. But if he comes to the window 
 here while you're at dinner, I'll let him in, and out, 
 and nobody'd know. 
 
 Rolf. [Astonished] Yes, but what — I mean how 
 
 Chloe. Don't ask me. It's worth the shot — that's 
 all. [Looking at her wrist-watch] To this window at 
 eight o'clock exactly. First long window on the ter- 
 race, tell him. 
 
 Rolf. It's nothing Charlie would mind ? 
 Chloe. No; only I can't tell him — he and father are 
 so mad about it all. 
 
70 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 Rolf. If there's a real chance 
 
 Chloe. [Going to the window and opening it] This 
 way, Rolf. If you don't come back I shall know he's 
 coming. Put your watch by mine. [Looking at his 
 watch] It's a minute fast, see ! 
 
 Rolf. Look here, Chloe 
 
 Chloe. Don't wait; go on. 
 
 She almost pushes him out through the window, 
 closes it after him, draws the curtains again, 
 stands a minute, thinking hard ; goes to the 
 hell and rings it ; then, crossing to the writing 
 table. Right Back, she takes out a chemist's 
 prescription. 
 
 [Anna comes in. 
 Chloe. I don't want that champagne. Take this 
 to the chemist and get him to make up some of these 
 cachets quick, and bring them back yourself. 
 Ant^a. Yes, ma'am; but you have some. 
 Chloe. They're too old; I've taken two — the 
 strength's out of them. Quick, please; I can't stand 
 this head. 
 
 Anna. [Taking the prescription — with her smile] Yes, 
 
 ma'am. It'll take some time — you don't want me ? 
 
 Chloe. No; I want the cachets. [Anna goes out. 
 
 Chloe looks at her uyrist-watch, goes to the 
 
 ivriting-table, which is old-fashioned, with a 
 
 secret drawer, looks round her, dives at the 
 
 secret drawer^ takes out a roll of notes and a 
 
 tissue paper parcel. She counts the notes: 
 
 " Three hundred." Slips them into her breast 
 
sc. 11 THE SKIN GAME 71 
 
 and unwraps the little parcel. It contains 
 pearls. She slips them, too, into her dress, 
 looks round startled, replaces the drawer, and 
 regains her place on the sofa, lying prostrate 
 as the door opens, and Hornblower conies 
 in. She does not open her eyes, and he 
 stands looking at her a moment before speak- 
 ing. 
 Hornblower. [Almost softly] How are ye feelin', 
 Chloe? 
 Chloe. Awful head ! 
 
 Hornblower. Can ye attend a moment ? I've had 
 a note from that woman. [Chloe sits up. 
 
 Hornblower. [Reading] "I have something of the 
 utmost importance to tell you in regard to your daugh- 
 ter-in-law. I shall be waiting to see you at eleven 
 o'clock to-morrow morning. The matter is so utterly 
 vital to the happiness of all your family, that I cannot 
 imagine you will fail to come." Now, what's the 
 meaning of it.? Is it sheer impudence, or lunacy, or 
 what ? 
 Chloe. I don't know. 
 
 Hornblower. [Not unkindly] Chloe, if there's any- 
 thing — ye'd better tell me. Forewarned's forearmed. 
 Chloe. There's nothing; unless it's — [With a quick 
 look at him] — Unless it's that my father was a — a 
 bankrupt. 
 
 Hornblower. Hech! Many a man's been that. 
 Ye've never told us much about your family. 
 Chloe. I wasn't very proud of him. 
 
72 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. Well, je're not responsible for j'our 
 father. If that's all, it's a relief. The bitter snobs! 
 I'll remember it in the account I've got with them. 
 
 Chloe. Father, don't say anything to Charlie; it'll 
 only worry him for nothing. 
 
 HoRNBLowER. Na, no, I'll not. If / went bankrupt, 
 it'd upset Chearlie, I've not a doubt. [He laughs. 
 Looking at her shrewdly] There's nothing else, before I 
 answer her.'* [CniiOE shakes ?ier head. 
 
 Ye're sure ? 
 
 Chloe. [With an effort] She may invent things, of 
 course. 
 
 HoRNBLowER. [Lost in his fetid feeling] Ah! but 
 there's such a thing as the laws o' slander. If they 
 play pranks, I'll have them up for it. 
 
 Chloe. [Timidly] Couldn't you stop this quarrel, 
 father ? You said it was on my account. But I don't 
 want to know them. And they do love their old home. 
 I like the girl. You don't really need to build just 
 there, do you ? Couldn't you stop it ? Do ! 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. Stop it.-^ Now I've bought.?* Na, 
 no! The snobs defied me, and I'm going to show 
 them. I hate the lot of them, and I hate that little 
 Dawker worst of all. 
 
 Chloe. He's only their agent. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. He's a part of the whole dog-in-the- 
 manger system that stands in my way. Ye're a woman, 
 and ye don't understand these things. Ye wouldn't 
 believe the struggle I've had to make my money and 
 get my position. These county folk talk soft sawder, 
 
sc. II THE SKIN GAME 73 
 
 but to get anything from them's like gettin' butter out 
 of a dog's mouth. If they could drive me out of here 
 by fair means or foul, would they hesitate a moment ? 
 Not they ! See what they've made me pay; and look 
 at this letter. Selfish, mean lot o' hypocrites ! 
 Chloe. But they didn't begin the quarrel. 
 HoRNBLOWER. Not opeuly; but underneath they did 
 — that's their way. They began it by thwartin' me 
 here and there and everywhere, just because I've 
 come into me own a bit later than they did. I gave 
 'em their chance, and they wouldn't take it. Well, 
 I'll show 'em what a man like me can do when he sets 
 his mind to it. I'll not leave much skin on them. 
 
 In the intensity of his feeling he has lost sight 
 of her face, alive with a sort of agony of doubt, 
 whether to plead with him further, or what to 
 do. Then, with a swift glance at her wrist- 
 watch, she falls back on the sofa and closes 
 her eyes. 
 It'll give me a power of enjoyment seein' me chimneys 
 go up in front of their windies. That was a bonnie 
 thought — that last bid o' mine. He'd got that roused 
 up, I believe he never would a' stopped. [Looking at 
 her] I forgot your head. Well, well, ye'U be best fyin* 
 quiet. [The gong sounds. 
 
 Shall we send ye something in from dinner ? 
 
 Chloe. No; I'll try to sleep. Please tell them I 
 don't want to be disturbed. 
 
 Hornblower. All right. I'll just answer this note. 
 [He sits down at her writing-table. 
 
74 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 Chloe starts up from the sofa feverishly, look- 
 ing at her watch, at the windoiv, at her watch ; 
 then softly crosses to the window and opens it. 
 HoRNBLOWER. [Finishing] Listen! [He turns round 
 toivards the sofa] Hallo ! Where are ye ? 
 Chloe. [At the unndow] It's so hot. 
 HoRNBLOWER. Here's what I've said: 
 
 "Madam, — You can tell me nothing of my daugh- 
 ter-in-law which can affect the happiness of 
 my family. I regard your note as an imper- 
 tinence, and I shall not be with you at eleven 
 o'clock to-morrow morning. 
 
 "Yours truly " 
 
 Chloe. [With a suffering movement of her head] Oh ! 
 
 — Well ! [The gong is touched a second time. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. [Crossiug to the door] Lie ye down, 
 and get a sleep. I'll tell them not to disturb ye; and 
 I hope ye'll be all right to-morrow. Good-night, Chloe. 
 Chloe. Good-night. [He goes out. 
 
 After a feverish turn or two, Chloe returns to 
 the open window and waits there, half screened 
 by the curtains. The door is opened inch 
 by inch, and Anna's head peers round. See- 
 ing where Chloe is, she slips in and passes 
 behind the screen. Left. Suddenly Chloe 
 backs in from the unndow. 
 Chloe. [In a low voice] Come in. 
 
 [She darts to the door and locks it. 
 
sc. II THE SKIN GAME 75 
 
 Dawker has come in through the window and 
 stands regarding her ivith a half smile. 
 Dawker. Well, young woman, what do you want 
 of me ? 
 
 In the presence of this man of her own class, 
 there comes a distinct change in Chloe's 
 voice and manner ; a sort of frank common- 
 ness, adapted to the man she is dealing with, 
 hut she keeps her voice low. 
 Chloe. You're making a mistake, you know. 
 Dawker. [With a broad grin] No. I've got a mem- 
 ory for faces. 
 
 Chloe. I say you are. 
 
 Dawker. [Turning to go] If that's all, you needn't 
 'ave troubled me to come. 
 
 Chloe. No. Don't go ! [With a faint smile] You are 
 playing a game with me. Aren't you ashamed ? What 
 harm have I done you ? Do you call this cricket ? 
 Dawker. No, my girl — business. 
 Chloe. [Bitterly] What have I to do with this quar- 
 rel ? I couldn't help their falling out. 
 Dawker. That's your misfortune. 
 Chloe. [Clasping her hands] You're a cruel fellow 
 if you can spoil a woman's life who never did you an 
 ounce of harm. 
 
 Dawker. So they dont know about you. That's all 
 right. Now, look here, I serve my employer. But 
 I'm flesh and blood, too, and I always give as good as 
 I get. I hate this family of yours. There's no name 
 too bad for 'em to call me this last month, and no 
 
76 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 looks too black to give me. I tell you franklj', I hate 
 'em. 
 
 Chloe. There's good in them same as in you. 
 
 Dawker. [With a grin] There's no good Hornblower 
 but a dead Hornblower. 
 
 Chloe. But — but I'm not one. 
 
 Dawker. You'll be the mother of some, I shouldn't 
 wonder. 
 
 Chloe. [Stretching out her hand — pathetically] Oh! 
 leave me alone, do! I'm happy here. Be a sport! 
 Be a sport ! 
 
 Dawker. [Disconcerted for a second] You can't get 
 at me, so don't try it on. 
 
 Chloe. I had such a bad time in old days. 
 
 Dawker shakes his head ; his grin has dis- 
 appeared and his face is like wood. 
 
 Chloe. [Panting] Ah! do! You might! You've 
 been fond of some woman, I suppose. Think of her ! 
 
 Dawker. [Decisively] It won't do, Mrs. Chloe. 
 You're a pawn in the game, and I'm going to use you. 
 
 Chloe. [Despairingly] What is it to you? [With a 
 sudden touch of the tigress] Look here! Don't you 
 make an enemy of me. I haven't dragged through 
 hell for nothing. Women like me can bite, I tell 
 you. 
 
 Dawker. That's better. I'd rather have a woman 
 threaten than whine, any day. Threaten away ! 
 You'll let 'em know that you met me in the Prom- 
 enade one night. Of course you'll let 'em know that, 
 won't you ? — or that 
 
8c. II THE SKIN GAME 77 
 
 Chloe. Be quiet! Oh! Be quiet! [Taking from her 
 bosom the notes and the pearls] Look ! There's my sav- 
 ings — there's all I've got! The pearls'U fetch nearly 
 a thousand. [Holding it out to him] Take it, and drop 
 me out — won't you ? Won't you ? 
 
 Dawker. [Passing his tongue over his lips — vritk a 
 hard little laugh] You mistake your man, missis. I'm 
 a plain dog, if you like, but I'm faithful, and I hold fast. 
 Don't try those games on me. 
 
 Chloe. [Losing control] You're a beast ! — a beast ! a 
 cruel, cowardly beast ! And how dare you bribe that 
 woman here to spy on me? Oh! yes, you do; you 
 know you do. If you drove me mad, you wouldn't 
 care. You beast ! 
 
 Dawker. Now, don't carry on ! That won't help 
 you. 
 
 Chloe. What d'you call it — to dog a woman down 
 like this, just because you happen to have a quarrel 
 with a man ? 
 
 Dawker. Who made the quarrel ? Not me, missis. 
 You ought to know that in a row it's the weak and 
 helpless — we won't say the innocent — that get it in 
 the neck. That can't be helped. 
 
 Chloe. [Regarding him intently] I hope your mother 
 or your sister, if you've got any, may go through what 
 I'm going through ever since you got on my track. I 
 hope they'll know what fear means. I hope they'll 
 love and find out that it's hanging on a thread, and — 
 
 and Oh ! you coward, you persecuting coward ! 
 
 Call yourself a man ! 
 
78 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 Dawker. [With his grin] Ah ! You look quite pretty 
 like that. By George! you're a handsome woman 
 when you're roused. 
 
 Chloe's passion fades out as quickly as it 
 
 blazed up. She sinks down on the sofa, 
 
 shudders, looks here and there, and then for 
 
 a moment up at him. 
 
 Chloe. Is there anything you'll take, not to spoil 
 
 my life ? [Clasping her hands on her breast ; under her 
 
 breath] Me? 
 
 Dawker. [Wiping his brow] By God! That's an 
 offer. [He recoils towards the window] You — you touched 
 me there. Look here ! I've got to use you and I'm 
 going to use you, but I'll do my best to let you down 
 as easy as I can. No, I don't want anything you can 
 give me — that is — [He wipes his brow again] I'd like it 
 — but I won't take it. 
 
 [Chloe buries her face in her hands. 
 
 There! Keep your pecker up; don't cry. Good-night! 
 
 [He goes through the window. 
 
 Chloe. [Springing up] Vgh. I Rat in SLti&p I Rat ! 
 
 She stands listening ; flies to the door, unlocks 
 it, and, going back to the sofa, lies down and 
 closes her eyes. Charles comes in very 
 quietly and stands over her, looking to see if 
 she is asleep. She opens her eyes. 
 Charles. Well, Clo ! Had a sleep, old girl ? 
 Chloe. Ye — es. 
 
 Charles. [Sitting on the arm of the sofa and caressing 
 her] Feel better, dear ? 
 
 Chloe. Yes, better, Charlie. 
 
sc. II THE SKIN GAME '^ 79 
 
 Charles. That's right. Would you like some soup ? 
 
 Chloe. [With a shudder] No. 
 
 Charles. I say — what gives you these heads.? 
 You've been very on and off all this last month. 
 
 Chloe. I don't know. Except that — except that I 
 am going to have a child, Charlie. 
 
 Charles. After all! By Jove! Sure? 
 
 Chloe. [Nodding] Are you glad.? 
 
 Charles. Well — I suppose I am. The guv*nor will 
 be mighty pleased, anyway. 
 
 Chloe. Don't tell him — yet. 
 
 Charles. All right! [Bending over and drawing her 
 to him] My poor girl, I'm so sorry you're seedy. Give 
 us a kiss. 
 
 Chloe puts up her face and kisses him pas- 
 sionately. 
 I say, you're like fire. You're not feverish ? 
 
 Chloe. [With a laugh] It's a wonder if I'm not. 
 Charlie, are you happy with me? 
 
 Charles. What do you think ? 
 
 Chloe. [Leaning against him] You wouldn't easily 
 believe things against me, would you ? 
 
 Charles. What! Thinking of those Hillcrists.? 
 What the hell that woman means by her attitude 
 
 towards you When I saw her there to-day, I had 
 
 all my work cut out not to go up and give her a bit of 
 my mind. 
 
 Chloe. [Watching him stealthily] It's not good for 
 me, now I'm like this. It's upsetting me, Charlie. 
 
 Charles. Yes; and we won't forget. We'll make 
 'em pay for it. 
 
80 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 Chloe. It's wretched in a little place like this. I 
 say, must you go on spoiling their home ? 
 
 Charles. The woman cuts you and insults you. 
 That's enough for me. 
 
 Chloe. [Timidly] Let her. I don't care; I can't 
 bear feeling enemies about, Charlie, I — get nervous — 
 I 
 
 Charles. My dear girl! What is it.?* 
 
 [He looks at her intently. 
 
 Chloe. I suppose it's — being like this. [Siiddenly] 
 But, Charlie, do stop it for my sake. Do, do ! 
 
 Charles. [Patting her arm] Come, come; I say, 
 Chloe ! You're making mountains. See things in pro- 
 portion. Father's paid nine thousand five hundred to 
 get the better of those people, and you want him to 
 chuck it away to save a woman who's insulted you. 
 That's not sense, and it's not business. Have some 
 pride. 
 
 Chloe. [Breathless] I've got no pride, Charlie. I 
 want to be quiet — that's all. 
 
 Charles. Well, if the row gets on your nerves, I 
 can take you to the sea. But you ought to enjoy a 
 fight with people like that. 
 
 Chloe. [With calculated bitterness] No, it's nothing, 
 of course — what I want. 
 
 Charles. Halb ! Hallo ! You are on the jump ! 
 
 Chloe. If you want me to be a good wife to you, 
 make father stop it. 
 
 Charles. [Standing up] Now, look here, Chloe, 
 what's behind this ? 
 
sc. II THE SKIN GAME 81 
 
 Chloe. [Faintly] Behind? 
 
 Charles. You're carrying on as if — as if you were 
 really scared ! We've got these people. We'll have 
 them out of Deepwater in six months. It's absolute 
 ruination to their beastly old house; we'll put the chim- 
 neys on the very edge, not three hundred yards off, 
 and our smoke'll be drifting over them half the time. 
 You won't have this confounded stuck-up woman here 
 much longer. And then we can really go ahead and 
 take our proper place. So long as she's here, we shall 
 never do that. We've only to drive on now as fast 
 as we can. 
 
 Chloe. [With a gesture] I see. 
 
 Charles. [Again looking at her] If you go on like 
 this, you know, I shall begin to think there's some- 
 thing you 
 
 Chloe [softly] Charlie ! [He comes to her. 
 
 Love me ! 
 
 Charles. [Embracing her] There, old girl ! I know 
 women are funny at these times. You want a good 
 night, that's all. 
 
 Chloe. You haven't finished dinner, have you.^* 
 Go back, and I'll go to bed quite soon. Charlie, don't 
 stop loving me. 
 
 Charles. Stop ? Not much. 
 
 While he is again embracing her, Anna steals 
 from behind the screen to the door, opens it 
 noiselessly, and passes through, but it clicks 
 as she shuts it. 
 
 Chloe. [Starting violently] Oh — h ! 
 
82 THE SKIN GAME act ii 
 
 Charles. What is it ? What is it ? You are nervy, 
 my dear. 
 
 Chloe. [Looking round with a little laugh] I don't 
 know. Go on, Charlie. I'll be all right when this 
 head's gone. 
 
 Charles. [Stroking her forehead and looking at her 
 doubtfully] You go to bed; I won't be late coming up. 
 He turns and goes, hloioing a kiss from the 
 doorway. When he is gone, Chloe gets up 
 and stands in precisely the attitude in which 
 she stood at the beginning of the Act, thinking, 
 and thinking. And the door is opened, and 
 the face of the Maid peers round at her. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
ACT III 
 
ACT III 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 Morning 
 
 Hillcrist's study next Tnorning. 
 
 Jill, coming from Left^ looks in at the open 
 French window. 
 Jill. [Speaking to Rolf, invisible] Come in here. 
 There's no one. 
 
 She goes in. Rolf joins her^ coming from the 
 garden. 
 Rolf. Jill, I just wanted to say — ^Need we ? 
 
 [Jill nods. 
 Seeing you yesterday — it did seem rotten. 
 JiLii. We didn't begin it. 
 Rolf. No; but you don't understand. If you'd 
 
 made yourself, as father has 
 
 Jill. I hope I should be sorry. 
 Rolf. [Reproachfully] That isn't like you. Really 
 he can't help thinking he's a public benefactor. 
 
 Jill. And we can't help thinking he's a pig. Sorry ! 
 
 Rolf. If the survival of the fittest is right 
 
 Jill. He may be fitter, but he's not going to survive. 
 Rolf. [Distracted] It looks like it, though. 
 Jill. Is that all you came to say? 
 85 
 
86 THE SKIN GAME act hi 
 
 Rolf. No. Suppose we joined, couldn't we stop it? 
 
 Jill. I don't feel like joining. 
 
 Rolf. We did shake hands. 
 
 Jill. One can't fight and not grow bitter. 
 
 Rolf. I don't feel bitter. 
 
 Jill. Wait; you'll feel it soon enough. 
 
 Rolf. Why? [Attentively] About Chloe? I do think 
 your mother's manner to her is 
 
 Jill. Well? 
 
 Rolf. Snobbish. [Jill laughs. 
 
 She may not be your class; and that's just why it's 
 snobbish. 
 
 Jill. I think you'd better shut up. 
 
 Rolf. What my father said was true; your mother's 
 rudeness to her that day she came here, has made both 
 him and Charlie ever so much more bitter. 
 
 [Jill whistles the Habanera from ''Carmen.'* 
 [Staring at her, rather angrily] Is it a whistling matter ? 
 
 Jill. No. 
 
 Rolf. I suppose you want me to go ? 
 
 Jill. Yes. 
 
 Rolf. All right. Aren't we ever going to be friends 
 again? 
 
 Jill. [Looking steadily at him] I don't expect so. 
 
 Rolf. That's very — horrible. 
 
 Jill. Lots of horrible things in the world. 
 
 Rolf. It's our business to make them fewer, Jill. 
 
 Jill. [Fiercely] Don't be moral. 
 
 Rolf. [Hurt] That's the last thing I want to be. I 
 only want to be friendly. 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 87 
 
 Jill. Better be real first. 
 Rolf. Frora the big point of view— — 
 Jill. There isn't any. We're all out for our own. 
 And why not ? 
 
 Rolf. By jove, you have got 
 
 Jill. Cynical.'' Your father's motto — "Every man 
 for himself. ' ' That's the winner — hands down. Good- 
 bye! 
 Rolf. Jill! Jill! 
 
 Jill. [Putting her hands behind her hack, hums] — 
 "If auld acquaintance be forgot 
 
 And days of auld lang syne'' 
 
 Rolf. Don't! 
 
 With a pained gesture he goes out towards Left, 
 
 through the French window. 
 Jill, wIw has broken off the song, stands with 
 her hands clenched and her lips quivering. 
 
 [Fellows ejiters Left. 
 Fellows. Mr. Dawker, Miss, and two gentlemen. 
 Jill. Let the three gentlemen in, and me out. 
 
 [She passes him and goes out Left. 
 
 And immediately Dawker and the Two 
 
 Strangers come in. 
 
 Fellows. I'll inform Mrs. Hillcrist, sir. The Squire 
 
 is on his rounds. [He goes out Left. 
 
 The Three Men gather in a discreet knot at 
 
 the big bureau, having glanced at the two 
 
 doors and the open French window. 
 
 Dawker. Now this may come into Court, you 
 
 know. If there's a screw loose anywhere, better men- 
 
88 THE SKIN GAME act hi 
 
 tion it. [To Second Strangek] You knew her person- 
 ally? 
 
 Second S. What do you think? I don't take girls 
 on trust for that sort of job. She came to us highly 
 recommended, too; and did her work very well. It 
 was a double stunt — to make sure — wasn't it, George ? 
 
 FrasT S. Yes; we paid her for the two visits. 
 
 Second S. I should know her in a minute; striking 
 looking girl; had something in her face. Daresay she'd 
 seen hard times. 
 
 First S. We don't want publicity. 
 
 Dawker. Not likely. The threat'!! do it; but the 
 stakes are heavy — and the man's a slogger; we must 
 be able to push it home. If you can both swear to 
 her, it'll do the trick. 
 
 Second S. And about — I mean, we're losing time, 
 you know, coming down here. 
 
 Dawker. [With a nod at FrasT Stranger] George 
 here knows me. That'll be all right. I'll guarantee it 
 well worth your while. 
 
 Second S. I don't want to do the girl liarm, if she's 
 married. 
 
 Dawker. No, no; no!x)dy wants to hurt her. We 
 just want a cinch on this fellow till he squeals. 
 
 They separate a little as Mrs. Hillcrist enters 
 from Right. 
 
 Dawker. Good morning, ma'am. My friend's part- 
 ner. Hornblower coming ? 
 
 Mrs. H. At eleven. I had to send up a second 
 note, Dawker. 
 
 Dawker. Squire not in ? 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 89 
 
 Mrs. H. I haven't told him. 
 
 Dawker. [Nodding] Our friends might go in here 
 [Pointing Right] and we can use *em as we want 'em. 
 
 Mrs. H. [To the Strangers] Will you make your- 
 selves comfortable ? 
 
 She holds the door opeUy and they pass her into 
 the roomy Right. 
 
 Dawker. [Showing document] I've had this drawn 
 and engrossed. Pretty sharp work. Conveys the 
 Gentry, and Longmeadow, to the Squire at four thou- 
 sand five hundred. Now, ma'am, suppose Hornblower 
 puts his hand to that, he'll have been done in the eye, 
 and six thousand all told out o' pocket. You'll have 
 a very nasty neighbour here. 
 
 Mrs. H. But we shall still have the power to dis- 
 close that secret at any time. 
 
 Dawker. Yeh ! But things might happen here you 
 could never bring home to him. You can't trust a 
 man like that. He isn't goin' to forgive me, I know. 
 
 Mrs. H. [Regarding him keenly] But if he signs, we 
 couldn't honourably 
 
 Dawker. No, ma'am, you couldn't; and I'm sure / 
 don't want to do that girl a hurt. I just mention it 
 because, of course, you can't guarantee that it doesn't 
 get out. 
 
 Mrs. H. Not absolutely, I suppose. 
 
 A look passes between them, which neither of 
 them has quite sanctioned. 
 There's his car. It always seems to make more noise 
 than any other. 
 
 Dawker. He'll kick and flounder — but you leave 
 
90 THE SKIN GAME act m 
 
 him to ask what you want, ma'am; don't mention this 
 [He puts the deed hack into his pocket]. The Gentry's 
 no mortal good to him if he's not going to put up 
 works; I should say he'd be glad to save what he can. 
 Mrs. Hillcrist inclines her head. Fellows 
 enters Left. 
 
 Fellows. [Apologetically] Mr. Hornblower, ma'am; 
 by appointment, he says. 
 
 Mrs. H. Quite right, Fellows. 
 
 Hornblower cornes in^ and Fellows goes out. 
 
 Hornblower. [Without salutation] I've come to ask 
 ye point blank what ye mean by writing me these let- 
 ters. [He takes out two letters] And we'll discuss it in 
 the presence of nobody, if ye please. 
 
 Mrs. H. Mr. Dawker knows all that I know, and 
 more. 
 
 Hornblower. Does he ? Very well ! Your second 
 note says that my daughter-in-law has lied to me. 
 Well, I've brought her, and what ye've got to say — if 
 it's not just a trick to see me again — ye'll say to her 
 face. [He takes a step towards the window. 
 
 INIrs. H. Mr. Hornblower, you had better decide 
 that after hearing what it is — we shall be quite ready 
 to repeat it in her presence; but we want to do as little 
 harm as possible. 
 
 Hornblower. [Stopping] Oh! ye do! Well, what 
 lies have ye been hearin' ? Or what have ye made up ? 
 You and Mr. Dawker.'^ Of course ye know there's a 
 law of libel and slander. I'm not the man to stop at 
 that. 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 91 
 
 Mrs. H. [Calmly] Are you familiar with the law of 
 divorce, Mr. Hornblower? 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. [Taken aback] No, I'm not. That 
 is 
 
 Mrs. H. Well, you know that misconduct is re- 
 quired. And I suppose you've heard that cases are 
 arranged. 
 
 Hornblower. I know it's all very shocking — what 
 about it ? 
 
 Mrs. H. When cases are arranged, Mr. Hornblower, 
 the man who is to be divorced often visits an hotel 
 with a strange woman. I am extremely sorry to say 
 that your daughter-in-law, before her marriage, was 
 in the habit of being employed as such a woman. 
 
 Hornblower. Ye dreadful creature ! 
 
 Dawker. [Quickly] All proved, up to the hilt ! 
 
 Hornblower. I don't believe a word of it. Ye're 
 lyin' to save your skins. How dare ye tell me such 
 monstrosities.^ Dawker, I'll have ye in a criminal 
 court. 
 
 Dawker. Rats! You saw a gent with me yester- 
 day ? Well, he's employed her. 
 
 Hornblower. A put-up job ! Conspiracy ! 
 
 Mrs. H. Go and get your daughter-in-law. 
 
 Hornblower. [With the first sensation of being in a 
 net] It's a foul shame — a lying slander ! 
 
 Mrs. H. If so, it's easily disproved. Go and fetch 
 her. 
 
 Hornblower. [Seeing them unmoved] I will. I don't 
 believe a word of it. 
 
92 THE SKIN GAME act m 
 
 Mbs. H. I hope you are right. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER goes out by the French toindow, 
 Dawker slips to the door Right, opens it, 
 and speaks to those within. Mrs. Hillcrist 
 stands moistening her lips, and passing her 
 handkerchief over them. Hornblower re- 
 turns, 'preceding Chloe, strung up to hard- 
 ness and defiance. 
 Hornblower. Now then, let's have this impudent 
 story torn to rags. 
 Chloe. What story ? 
 Hornblower. That you, my dear, were a woman — 
 
 it's too shockin' — I don't know how to tell ye 
 
 Chloe. Go on ! 
 
 Hornblower. Were a woman that went with men, 
 to get them their divorce. 
 Chloe. Who says that? 
 
 Hornblower. That lady [Sneering] there, and her 
 bull-terrier here. 
 
 Chloe. [Facing Mrs. Hillcrist] That's a charita- 
 ble thing to say, isn't it.'^ 
 Mrs. H. Is it true .? 
 Chloe. No. 
 
 Hornblower. [Furiously] There! I'll have ye both 
 on your knees to her ! 
 Dawker. [Opening the door. Right] Come in. 
 
 The First Stranger comes in. Chloe, with 
 a visible effort, turns to face him. 
 First S. How do you do, Mrs. Vane? 
 Chloe. I don't know you. 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 93 
 
 First S. Your memory is bad, ma'am. You knew 
 me yesterday well enough. One day is not a long 
 time, nor are three years. 
 Chloe. Who are you ? 
 
 First S. Come, ma'am, come ! The Custer case. 
 Chloe. I don't know you, I say. [To Mrs. Hill- 
 crist] How can you be so vile ? 
 
 First S. Let me refresh your memory, ma'am. 
 [Producing a notebook] Just on three years ago: "Oct. 3. 
 
 To fee and expenses Mrs. Vane with Mr. C , Hotel 
 
 Beaulieu, Twenty pounds. Oct. 10, Do., Twenty 
 pounds." [To Hornblower] Would you like to glance 
 at this book, sir ? You'll see they're genuine entries. 
 
 Hornblower makes a motion to do so, but 
 checks himself and looks at Chloe. 
 Chloe. [Hysterically] It's all lies — lies ! 
 First S. Come, ma'am, we wish you no harm. 
 Chloe. Take me away. I won't be treated like 
 this. 
 Mrs. H. [In a low voice] Confess. 
 Chloe. Lies! 
 
 Hornblower. Were ye ever called Vane.? 
 Chloe. No, never. 
 
 She makes a movement towards the window^ 
 but Dawker is in the loay^ and she halts. 
 First S. [Opening the door. Right] Henry. 
 
 The Second Stranger comes in quickly. At 
 sight of him Chloe throws up her hands, 
 gasps, breaks down, stage Left, and stands 
 covering her face with her hands. It is so 
 
94 THE SKIN GAME act in 
 
 complete a confession that Hornblower 
 stands staggered; and, taking ovt a coloured 
 handkerchief, wipes his hroio. 
 Dawker. Are you convinced ? 
 Hornblower. Take those men away. 
 Dawker. If you're not satisfied, we can get other 
 evidence; plenty. 
 
 Hornblower. [Looking at Chloe] That*s enough. 
 Take them out. Leave me alone with her. 
 
 [Dawker takes them out Right. 
 Mrs. Hillcrist passes Hornblower and goes 
 out at the window. Hornblower moves 
 down a step or two towards Chloe. 
 Hornblower. My God ! 
 
 Chloe. [With an oidhurst] Don't tell Charlie ! Don't 
 tell Charlie ! 
 
 Hornblower. Chearlie ! So that was your manner 
 of life. [Chloe utters a moaning sound. 
 
 So that's what ye got out of by marryin' into my 
 family ! Shame on ye, ye Godless thing ! 
 Chloe. Don't tell Charlie ! 
 
 Hornblower. And that's all ye can say for the 
 TVTeck ye've wrought. My family, my works, my 
 future ! How dared ye ! 
 
 Chloe. If you'd been me ! • 
 
 Hornblower. An' these Hillcrists. The skin game 
 of it! 
 
 Chloe. [Breathless] Father! 
 Hornblower. Don't call me that, woman ! 
 Chloe. [Desperate] I'm going to have a child. 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 95 
 
 HoRNBLowER. God ! Ye are ! 
 
 Chloe. Your grandchild. For the sake of it, do 
 what these people want; and don't tell anyone — Don't 
 tell Charlie! 
 
 HoRNBLowER. [Again wiping his forehead] A secret 
 between us. I don't know that I can keep it. It's 
 horrible. Poor Chearlie ! 
 
 Chloe. [Suddenly fierce] You must keep it, you 
 shall! I won't have him told. Don't make me des- 
 perate ! I can be — I didn't live that life for nothing. 
 
 HoRNBLowER. [Staring at her revealed in a new light] 
 Ay; ye look a strange, wild woman, as I see ye. And 
 we thought the world of ye ! 
 
 Chloe. I love Charlie; I'm faithful to him. I can't 
 live without him. You'll never forgive me, I know; 
 
 but Charlie ! [Stretching out her hands. 
 
 HoRNBLowER maJces a bewildered gesture with 
 his large hands. 
 
 HoRNBLowER. I'm all at sea here. Go out to the 
 car and wait for me. 
 
 [Chloe passes him and goes out. Left. 
 [Muttering to himself] So I'm down ! Me enemies put 
 their heels upon me head ! Ah ! but we'll see yet ! 
 
 He goes up to the window and beckons towards 
 the Right. 
 
 [Mrs. Hillcrist comes in. 
 What d'ye want for this secret ? 
 
 Mrs. H. Nothing. 
 
 HoRNBLowER. Indeed! Wonderful! — the trouble 
 ye've taken for — nothing. 
 
96 THE SKIN GAME act m 
 
 Mrs. H. If you harm us we shall harm you. Any 
 use whatever of the Gentry 
 
 HoRNBLowER. FoF which ye made me pay nme 
 thousand five hundred pounds. 
 
 Mrs. H. We will buy it from you. 
 
 HoRNBLowER. At what price ? 
 
 Mrs. H. The Gentry at the price Miss MuUms 
 would have taken at first, and Longmeadow at the 
 price you gave us — four thousand five hundred alto- 
 gether. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. A fine price, and me six thousand 
 out of pocket. Na, no ! I'll keep it and hold it over 
 ye. Ye daren't tell this secret so long as I've got it. 
 
 Mrs. H. No, Mr. Hornblower. On second thoughts, 
 you must sell. You broke your word over the Jack- 
 mans. We can't trust you. We would rather have 
 our place here ruined at once, than leave you the power 
 to ruin it as and when you like. You will sell us the 
 Gentry and Longmeadow now, or you know what will 
 happen. 
 
 Hornblower. [Writhing] I'll not. It's blackmail. 
 
 Mrs. H. Very well then! Go your own way and 
 we'll go ours. There is no witness to this conversation. 
 
 Hornblower. [Venomously] By heaven, ye're a 
 clever woman. Will ye swear by Almighty God that 
 you and your family, and that agent of yours, won't 
 breathe a word of this shockin' thing to mortal soul. 
 
 Mrs. H. Yes, if you sell. 
 
 Hornblower. Where's Dawker ? 
 
 Mrs. H. [Going to the door, Right] Mr. Dawker ! 
 
 [Dawker comes in. 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 97 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. I suppose ye've got your iniquity 
 ready. , [Dawker grins and produces the document. 
 
 It's mighty near conspiracy, this. Have ye got a 
 Testament ? 
 
 Mrs. H. My word will be enough, Mr. Hornblower. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. Yc'll pardou me — I can't make it 
 solemn enough for you. 
 
 Mrs. H. Very well; here is a Bible. 
 
 [She takes a small Bible from the bookshelf. 
 
 Dawker. [Spreading document on bureau] This is a 
 short conveyance of the Gentry and Longmeadow — 
 recites sale to you by Miss Mullins of the first, John 
 Hillcrist of the second, and whereas you have agreed 
 for the sale to said John Hillcrist, for the sum of four 
 thousand five hundred pounds, in consideration of the 
 said sum, receipt whereof, you hereby acknowledge you 
 do convey all that, etc. Sign here. I'll witness. 
 
 Hornblower. [To Mrs. Hillcrist] Take that Book 
 in your hand, and swear first. I swear by Almighty 
 God never to breathe a word of what I know concerning 
 Chloe Hornblower to any living soul. 
 
 Mrs. H. No, Mr. Hornblower; you will please sign 
 
 first. We are not in the habit of breaking our words. 
 
 Hornblower, after a furious look at them, 
 
 seizes a pen, runs his eye again over the deedy 
 
 and signs, Dawker witnessing. 
 
 To that oath, Mr. Hornblower, we shall add the words, 
 
 **So long as the Hornblower family do us no harm." 
 
 Hornblower. [With a snarl] Take it m your hands, 
 both of ye, and together swear. 
 
 Mrs. H. [Taking the Book] I swear that I will 
 
98 THE SKIN GAME act hi 
 
 breathe no word of what I know concerning Chloe 
 Hornblower to any living soul, so long as the ^orn- 
 blower family do us no harm. 
 
 Dawker. I swear that too. 
 
 Mrs. H. I engage for my husband. 
 
 Hornblower. Where are those two fellows.? 
 
 Dawker. Gone. It's no business of theirs. 
 
 Hornblower. It's no business of any of ye what 
 has happened to a woman in the past. Ye know that. 
 Good-day ! 
 
 He gives them a deadly look^ and goes ouU Left, 
 followed by Dawker. 
 
 Mrs. H. [With her hand on the Deed] Safe ! 
 
 HiLLCRisT enters at the French window, fol- 
 lowed by Jill. 
 [Holding up the Deed] Look ! He's just gone ! I told 
 you it was only necessary to use the threat. He caved 
 in and signed this; we are sworn to say nothing. We've 
 beaten him. [Hillcrist studies the Deed. 
 
 Jill. [Awed] We saw Chloe in the car. How did 
 she take it, mother.? 
 
 Mrs. H. Denied, then broke down when she saw 
 our witnesses. I'm glad you were not here. Jack. 
 
 Jill. [Suddenly] I shall go and see her. 
 
 IVIrs. H. Jill, you will not; you don't know what 
 she's done. 
 
 Jill. I shall. She must be in an awful state. 
 
 Hillcrist. My dear, you can do her no good. 
 
 Jill. I think I can. Dodo. 
 
 Mrs. H. You don't understand human nature. 
 
sc. I THE SKIN GAME 99 
 
 We're enemies for life with those people. You're a 
 little donkey if you think anything else. 
 
 Jill. I'm going, all the same. 
 
 Mrs. H. Jack, forbid her. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [Lifting an eyebrow] Jill, be reasonable. 
 
 Jill. Suppose I'd taken a knock like that. Dodo, 
 I'd be glad of friendliness from someone. 
 
 Mrs. H. You never could take a knock like that. 
 
 Jill. You don't know what you can do till you try, 
 mother. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Let her go. Amy. I'm sorry for that 
 young woman. 
 
 Mrs. H. You'd be sorry for a man who picked your 
 pocket, I believe. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. I certainly should! Deuced little he'd 
 get out of it, when I've paid for the Gentry. 
 
 Mrs. H. [Bitterly] Much gratitude I get for saving 
 you both our home ! 
 
 Jill. [Disarmed] Oh! Mother, we are grateful. 
 Dodo, show your gratitude. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Well, my dear, it's an intense relief. I'm 
 not good at showing my feelings, as you know. What 
 d'you want me to do ? Stand on one leg and crow ? 
 
 Jill. Yes, Dodo, yes ! Mother, hold him while I — 
 [Suddenly she stops, and all the fun goes out of her] No ! 
 I can't — ^I can't help thinking of her. 
 
 Curtain falls for a Minute. 
 
SCENE n 
 Evening 
 
 When it rises again, the room is empty and dark, save for 
 moonlight coming in through the French window, 
 which is open. 
 
 The figure of Chloe, in a black cloaks appears outside 
 in the moonlight ; she peers in, moves past, comes 
 hack, hesitatingly enters. The cloak, fallen hack, 
 reveals a white evening dress ; and that magpie figure 
 stands poised watchfully in the dim light, then flaps 
 unhappily Left and Right, as if she could not keep 
 still. Suddenly she stands listening. 
 
 Rolf's Voice. [Outside\C\AoQ\ Chloe! 
 
 [He appears. 
 
 Chloe. [Going to the vnndow] What are you doing 
 here ? 
 
 Rolf. What are you ? I only followed you. 
 
 Chloe. Go away ! 
 
 Rolf. What's the matter ? Tell me ! 
 
 Chloe. Go away, and don't say anything. Oh! 
 The roses ! [She has put her nose into some roses in a 
 howl on a hig stand close to the window] Don't they smell 
 lovely ? 
 
 Rolf. What did Jill want this afternoon? 
 100 
 
sc. II THE SKIN GAME 101 
 
 Chloe. I'll tell you nothing. Go away ! 
 Rolf. I don't like leaving you here in this state. 
 Chloe. What state? I'm all right. Wait for me 
 down in the drive, if you want to. 
 
 [Rolf starts to go, stops, looks at her, and does go. 
 Chloe, with a little moaning sound, flutters 
 again, magpie-like, up and down, then stands 
 by the window listening. Voices are heard. 
 Left. She darts out of the window and away 
 to the Right, as Hillcrist and Jill come 
 in. They have turned up the electric light, 
 and come down in front of the fireplace, where 
 Hillcrist sits in an armchair, and Jill on 
 the arm of it. They are in undress evening 
 attire. 
 Hillcrist. Now, tell me. 
 
 Jill. There isn't much, Dodo. I was in an awful 
 funk for fear I should meet any of the others, and of 
 course I did meet Rolf, but I told him some lie, and he 
 took me to her room — boudoir, they call it — isn't 
 boudoir a *' dug-out" word.?^ 
 Hillcrist. [Meditatively] The sulkmg room. Well ? 
 Jill. She was sitting like this. [She buries her chin 
 in her hands, with her elbows on her knees] And she said 
 in a sort of fierce way: "Wliat do you want?" And 
 I said: "I'm awfully sorry, but I thought you might 
 like it." 
 Hillcrist. Well? 
 
 Jill. She looked at me hard, and said: "I suppose 
 you know all about it." And I said: "Only vaguely," 
 
102 THE SKIN GAME act hi 
 
 because of course I don't. And she said: "Well, it was 
 decent of you to come." Dodo, she looks like a lost 
 soul. What has she done ? 
 
 HiLLCRisT. She committed her real crime when she 
 married young Hornblower without telling him. She 
 came out of a certain world to do it. 
 
 Jill. Oh ! [Staring in front of her] Is it very awful 
 in that world, Dodo? 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [Uneasy] I don't know, Jill. Some can 
 stand it, I suppose; some can't. I don't know which 
 sort she is. 
 
 Jill. One thing I'm sure of: she's awfully fond of 
 Chearlie. 
 
 Hillcrist. That's bad; that's very bad. 
 
 Jill. And she's frightened, horribly. I think she's 
 desperate. 
 
 Hillcrist. Women like that are pretty tough, Jill; 
 don't judge her too much by your own feelings. 
 
 Jill. No; only — Oh! it was beastly; and of 
 course I dried up. 
 
 Hillcrist. [Feelingly] H'm! One always does. But 
 perhaps it was as well; you'd have been blundering in 
 a dark passage. 
 
 Jill. I just said: "Father and I feel awfully sorry; 
 if there's anything we can do " 
 
 Hillcrist. That was risky, Jill. 
 
 Jill. [Disconsolately] I had to say something. I'm 
 glad I went, anyway. I feel more human. 
 
 Hillcrist. We had to fight for our home. I should 
 have felt like a traitor if I hadn't. 
 
sc. II THE SKIN GAME 103 
 
 Jill. I'm not enjoying home to-night, Dodo. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. I never could hate properly; it's a con- 
 founded nuisance. 
 
 Jill. Mother's fearfully bucked, and Dawker's sim- 
 ply oozing triumph. I donH trust him. Dodo; he's too 
 — not pugilistic — the other one with a pug — naceous. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. He is rather. 
 
 Jill. I'm sure he wouldn't care tuppence if Chloe 
 committed suicide. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. [Rising uneasily] Nonsense ! Nonsense ! 
 
 Jill. I wonder if mother would. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [Turning his face towards the window] 
 What's that? I thought I heard — [Louder] Is there 
 anybody out there? 
 
 No answer. Jill springs up and runs to the 
 window. 
 
 Jill. You ! [She dives through to the Rights and 
 returns^ holding Chloe's hand and drawing her forward] 
 Come in ! It's only us ! [7*0 Hillcrist] Dodo ! 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [Flusteredy but making a show of courtesy] 
 Good evening ! Won't you sit down ? 
 
 Jill. Sit down; you're all shaky. 
 
 She makes Chloe sit down in the armchair, 
 out of which they have risen, then locks the 
 door, and closing the windows, draws the 
 curtains hastily over them. 
 
 Hillcrist. [Awkward and expectant] Can I do any- 
 thing for you ? 
 
 Chloe. I couldn't bear it — he's coming to ask 
 you 
 
104 THE SKIN GAIVIE act m 
 
 HiLLCRIST. Who? 
 
 Chloe. My husband. [She draws in her breath with 
 a long shudder^ then seems to seize her courage in her 
 hands] I've got to be quick. He keeps on asking — 
 he knows there's something. 
 
 HiLLCRIST. Make your mind easy. We shan't tell 
 him. 
 
 Chloe. [Appealing] Oh! that's not enough. Can't 
 you tell him something to put him back to thinking 
 it's all right? I've done him such a wrong. I didn't 
 realise till after — I thought meeting him was just a 
 piece of wonderful good luck, after what I'd been 
 through. I'm not such a bad lot — not really. 
 
 She stops from the over-quivering of her lips, 
 Jill, standing beside tlw chair^ strokes her 
 shoulder. Hillcrist stands very still, pain- 
 fully biting at a finger. 
 You see, my father went bankrupt, and I was in a shop 
 
 till 
 
 HiLLCRIST. [Soothingly, and to prevent disclosures] 
 Yes, yes; yes, yes ! 
 
 Chloe. I never gave a man away or did anything 
 
 I was ashamed of — at least — I mean, I had to make 
 
 my living in all sorts of ways, and then I met Charlie. 
 
 Again she stopped from the quivering of her 
 
 lips. 
 
 Jill. It's all right. 
 
 Chloe. He thought I was respectable, and that was 
 such a relief, you can't think, so — so I let him. 
 Jill. Dodo ! It's awful ! 
 
 HiLLCRIST. It is ! 
 
sc. II THE SKIN GAME 105 
 
 Chloe. And after I married him, you see, I fell in 
 love. If I had before, perhaps I wouldn't have dared — 
 only, I don't know — you never know, do you ? When 
 there's a straw going, you catch at it. 
 
 Jill. Of course you do. 
 
 Chloe. And now, you see, I'm going to have a child. 
 
 Jill. [Aghast] Oh ! Are you ? 
 
 Hillcrist. Good God ! 
 
 Chloe. [Dully] I've been on hot bricks all this 
 month, ever since — that day here. I knew it was in 
 the wind. What gets in the wind never gets out. [She 
 rises and throws out her arms] Never! It just blows 
 here and there [Desolately] and then blows home. [Her 
 voice changes to resentment] But I've paid for being a 
 fool — 'tisn't fun, that sort of life, I can tell you. I'm 
 not ashamed and repentant, and all that. If it wasn't 
 for him ! I'm afraid he'll never forgive me; it's such 
 a disgrace for him — and then, to have his child ! Being 
 fond of him, I feel it much worse than anything I ever 
 felt, and that's saying a good bit. It is. 
 
 Jill. [Energetically] Look here ! He simply mustn't 
 find out. 
 
 Chloe. That's it; but it's started, and he's bound to 
 keep on because he knows there's something. A man 
 isn't going to be satisfied when there's something he 
 suspects about his wife. Charlie wouldn't — never. 
 He's clever, and he's jealous; and he's coming here. 
 
 [She stops, and looks round wildly, listening. 
 
 Jill. Dodo, what can we say to put bun clean off 
 the scent? 
 
 Hillcrist. Anythmg in reason. 
 
106 THE SKIN GAME act hi 
 
 Chloe. [Catching at this straw] You will ! You see, 
 I don't know what I'll do. I've got soft, being looked 
 after — he does love me. And if he throws me off, I'll 
 go under — that's all. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. Have you any suggestion ? 
 
 Chloe. [Eagerly] The only thing is to tell him some- 
 thing positive, something he'll believe, that's not too 
 bad — like my having been a lady clerk with those peo- 
 ple who came here, and having been dismissed on sus- 
 picion of taking money. I could get him to believe 
 that wasn't true. 
 
 Jill. Yes; and it isn't — that's splendid! You'd be 
 able to put such conviction into it. Don't you think 
 so. Dodo ? 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Anything I can. I'm deeply sorry. 
 
 Chloe. Thank you. And don't say I've been here, 
 will you? He's very suspicious. You see, he knows 
 that his father has re-sold that land to you; that's what 
 he can't make out — that, and my coming here this 
 mornmg; he knows something's being kept from him; 
 and he noticed that man with Dawker yesterday. 
 And my maid's been spying on me. It's in the air. 
 He puts two and two together. But I've told him 
 there's nothing he need worry about; nothing that's 
 true. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. What a coil ! 
 
 Chloe. I'm very honest and careful about money. 
 So he won't believe that about me, and the old man 
 wants to keep it from Charlie, I know. 
 
 Hillcrist. That does seem the best way out. 
 
sc. II THE SKIN GAME 107 
 
 Chloe. [With a touch of defiance] I'm a true wife to 
 him. 
 Jill. Of course we know that. 
 HiLLCRiST. It's all unspeakably sad. Deception's 
 
 horribly against the grain — but 
 
 Chloe. [Eagerly] When I deceived him, I'd have 
 deceived God Himself — I was so desperate. You've 
 never been right down in the mud. You can't under- 
 stand what I've been through. 
 
 Hillcrist. Yes, yes. I daresay I'd have done the 
 
 same. I should be the last to judge 
 
 [Chloe covers her eyes with her hands. 
 There, there ! Cheer up ! 
 
 [He puts his hand on her arm. 
 Jill. [To herself] Darling Dodo ! 
 Chloe. [Starting] There's somebody at the door. I 
 must go; I must go. 
 
 She runs to the window and slips through the 
 curtains. 
 
 [The handle of the door is again turned. 
 Jill. [Dismayed] Oh! It's locked — I forgot. 
 
 She springs to the door, unlocks and opens it, 
 while Hillcrist goes to the bureau and sits 
 doion. 
 It's all right. Fellows; I was only saying something 
 rather important. 
 
 Fellows. [Coming in a step or two and closing the 
 door behind him] Certainly, Miss. Mr. Charles 'Orn- 
 blower is in the hall. Wants to see you, sir, or Mrs. 
 Hillcrist. 
 
108 THE SKIN GAME act hi 
 
 Jill. What a bore ! Can you see him, Dodo ? 
 HiLLCRiST. Er — yes. I suppose so. Show him in 
 here. Fellows. 
 
 As Fellows goes ouU Jill runs to the windoiv, 
 hut has no time to do more than adjust the 
 curtains and spring over to stand by her 
 father, before Charles comes in. Though in 
 evening clothes, he is white and dishevelled 
 for so sjyruce a young man, 
 Charles. Is my wife here? 
 HiLLCRisT. No, sir. 
 Charles. Has she been ? 
 HiLLCRiST. This morning, I believe, Jill? 
 Jill. Yes, she came this morning. 
 Charles. [Staring at her] I know that — rww, I 
 mean? 
 Jill. No. [Hillcrist shakes his head. 
 
 Charles. Tell me what was said this morning. 
 Hillcrist. I was not here this morning. 
 Charles. Don't try to put me off. I know too 
 much. [To Jill] You. 
 Jill. Shall I, Dodo? 
 
 Hillcrist. No; I will. Won't you sit down? 
 Charles. No. Go on. 
 Hillcrist. [Moistening his lips] It appears, Mr. 
 
 Hornblower, that my agent, Mr. Dawker 
 
 Charles, who is breathing hard, utters a sound 
 of anger. 
 — that my agent happens to know a firm, who in old 
 days employed your wife. I should greatly prefer not 
 
sc. II THE SKIN GAME 109 
 
 to say any more, especially as we don't believe the 
 story. 
 Jill. No; we don't. 
 Charles. Go on ! 
 
 HiLLCRiST. [Getting up] Come! If I were you, I 
 should refuse to listen to anything against my wife. 
 Charles. Go on, I tell you. 
 
 HiLLCRisT. You insist? Well, they say there was 
 some question about the accounts, and your wife left 
 them under a cloud. As I told you, we don't believe it. 
 Charles. [Passionately] Liars! 
 
 [He makes a rush for the door, 
 HiLLCRiST. [Starting] WTiat did you say? 
 Jill. [Catching his arm] Dodo ! [Sotto voce] We are, 
 you know. 
 
 Charles. [Turning hack to them] Why do you tell 
 me that lie ? When I've just had the truth out of that 
 little scoundrel! My wife's been here; she put you 
 up to it. 
 
 The face of Chloe is seen transfixed between 
 the curtains y parted hy her hands. 
 She — she put you up to it. Liar that she is — a living 
 lie. For three years a living lie ! 
 
 Hillcrist, whose face alone is turned towards 
 the curtains, sees that listening face. His 
 hand goes up from uncontrollable emotion. 
 And hasn't now the pluck to tell me. I've done with 
 her. I won't own a child by such a woman. 
 
 With a little sighing sound Chloe drops the 
 curtain and vanishes. 
 
110 THE SKIN GAME act m 
 
 HiLLCBiST. For God's sake, man, think of what 
 you're saying. She's in great distress. 
 
 Charles. And what am I? 
 
 Jill. She loves you, you know. 
 
 Charles. Pretty love! That scoundrel Dawker told 
 me — told me — Horrible! Horrible! 
 
 HiLLCRisT. I deeply regret that our quarrel should 
 have brought this about. 
 
 Charles. [With intense bitterness] Yes, you've 
 smashed my life. 
 
 Unseen by them, Mrs. Hillcrist has entered 
 and stands by the door. Left. 
 
 Mrs. H. Would you have wished to live on in 
 ignorance.^ [They all turn to look at her. 
 
 Charles. [With a writhing movement] I don't know. 
 But — you — you did it. 
 
 Mrs. H. You shouldn't have attacked us. 
 
 Charles. What did we do to you — compared with 
 this? 
 
 Mrs. H. All you could. 
 
 Hillcrist. Enough, enough! What can we do to 
 help you ? 
 
 Charles. Tell me where my wife is. 
 
 Jill draws the curtains apart — the window is 
 open — Jill looks out. They wait in silence, 
 
 Jill. We don't know. 
 
 Charles. Then she was here ? 
 
 Hillcrist. Yes, sir; and she heard you. 
 
 Charles. All the better if she did. She knows how 
 I feel. 
 
sc. II THE SKIN GAME 111 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Brace up; be gentle with her. 
 Charles. Gentle ? A woman who — who 
 
 HiLLCRiST. A most unhappy creature. Come ! 
 Charles. Damn your sympathy ! 
 
 He goes out into the moonlight^ passing away, 
 Left. 
 Jill. Dodo, we ought to look for her; I'm awfully 
 afraid. 
 
 HiLLCRiST. I saw her there — listening. With child ! 
 
 Who knows where things end when they once begin .^ 
 
 To the gravel pit, Jill; I'll go to the pond. No, we'll 
 
 go together. [They go out. 
 
 Mrs. HiLLCRiST comes down to the fireplace, 
 
 rings the bell and stands there, thinking. 
 
 Fellows enters. 
 
 Mrs. H. I want someone to go down to Mr. 
 
 Dawker's. 
 
 Fellows. Mr. Dawker is here, ma'am, waitin' to 
 see you. 
 
 Mrs. H. Ask him to come in. Oh! and Fellows, 
 you can tell the Jackmans that they can go back to 
 their cottage. 
 Fellows. Very good, ma'am. [He goes out. 
 
 Mrs. HiLLCRiST searches at the bureau, finds 
 and takes out the deed. Dawker comes in ; 
 he has the appearance of a man whose tem- 
 per has been badly ruffled. 
 Mrs. H. Charles Hornblower — how did it happen.? 
 Dawker. He came to me. I said I knew nothing. 
 He wouldn't take it; went for me, abused me up hill 
 
m THE SKIN GAME act m 
 
 and dowTi dale; said he knew everything, and then he 
 began to threaten me. Well, I lost my temper, and 
 I told him. 
 
 Mrs. H. That's very serious, Dawker, after our 
 promise. My husband is most upset. 
 
 Dawker. [Sullenly] It's not my fault, ma'am; he 
 shouldn't have threatened and goaded me on. Besides, 
 , it's got out that there's a scandal; common talk in the 
 village — not the facts, but quite enough to cook their 
 goose here. They'll have to go. Better have done 
 with it, anyway, than have enemies at your door. 
 
 INIrs. H. Perhaps; but — Oh! Dawker, take 
 charge of this. [She hands him the deed] These people 
 are desperate — and — ^I'm not sure of my husband when 
 his feelings are worked on. 
 
 [The sound of a car stopping. 
 
 Dawker. [At the loindow, looking to the Left] Horn- 
 blower's, I think. Yes, he's getting out. 
 
 Mrs. H. [Bracing herself] You'd better wait, then. 
 
 Dawker. He mustn't give me any of his sauce; I've 
 had enough. 
 
 The door is opened and Hornblower enters, 
 pressing so on the heels of Fellows that the 
 announcement of his name is lost. 
 
 Hornblower. Give me that deed! Ye got it out 
 of me by false pretences and treachery. Ye swore 
 that nothing should be heard of this. Why ! me own 
 servants know ! 
 
 Mrs. H. That has nothing to do with us. Your 
 son came and wrenched the knowledge out of Mr. 
 Dawker by abuse and threats; that is all. You will 
 
sc. II THE SKIN GAME 113 
 
 kindly behave yourself here, or I shall ask that you 
 be shown out. 
 
 HoRNBLowER. Give me that deed, I say ! [He sud- 
 denly turns on Dawxer] Ye little ruffian, I see it in 
 your pocket. 
 
 The end indeed is projecting from Dawker's 
 breast pocket. 
 Dawker. [Seeing red] Now, look 'ere, 'Ornblower, 
 I stood a deal from your son, and I'll stand no more. 
 
 HoRNBLOWER. [To Mrs. Hillcrist] I'll ruin your 
 place yet ! [To Dawker] Ye give me that deed, or I'll 
 throttle ye. 
 
 He closes on Dawker, and makes a snatch at 
 the deed. Dawker springs at him, and the 
 two stand swaying, trying for a grip at each 
 other's throats. Mrs. Hillcrist tries to 
 cross and reach tJie bell, but is shut off by 
 their swaying struggle. 
 Suddenly Rolf appears in the window, looks 
 wildly at the struggle, and seizes Dawker's 
 hands, which have reached Hornblower's 
 throat. Jill, who is following, rushes up to 
 him and-Milutches his arm. 
 Jill. Rolf ! All of you ! Stop ! Look ! 
 
 Dawker's hand relaxes, and he is swung 
 round. Hornblower staggers and recovers 
 himself, gasping for breath. All turn to the 
 window, outside which in the moonlight Hill- 
 crist and Charles Hornblower 
 Chloe's motionless body in their arms. 
 In the gravel pit. She's just breathmg; that's all. 
 
114 THE SKIN GAME act m 
 
 Mrs. H. Bring her In. The brandy, Jill ! 
 HoRNBLOWER. No. Take her to the car. Stand 
 back, young woman ! I want no help from any of ye. 
 Rolf — Chearlie — take her up. 
 
 They lift and hear her away. Left Jill fol- 
 lows. 
 Hillcrist, ye've got me beaten and disgraced here- 
 abouts, ye've destroyed my son's married life, and 
 ye've killed my grandchild. I'm not staying in this 
 cursed spot, but if ever I can do you or yours a hurt, 
 IwiU. 
 
 Dawker. [Muttering] That's right. Squeal and 
 threaten. You began it. 
 
 Hillcrist. Dawker, have the goodness! Horn- 
 blower, in the presence of what may be death, with all 
 my heart I'm sorry. 
 Hornblower. Ye hypocrite ! 
 
 He passes them with a certain dignity, and goes 
 
 out at the windoto, following to his car. 
 Hillcrist, who has stood for a moment stock- 
 still, goes slowly forward and sits in his swivel 
 chair. 
 Mrs. H. Dawker, please tell Fellows to telephone to 
 Dr. Robinson to go round to the Hornblowers at once. 
 Dawker, fingering the deed, and with a noise 
 that sounds like "The cur!" goes out. Left. 
 [At the fireplace] Jack ! Do you blame me ? 
 Hillcrist. [Motionless] No. 
 Mrs. H. Or Dawker ? He's done his best. 
 Hillcrist. No. 
 Mrs. H. [Approaching] What is it ? 
 
sc. II THE SKIN GAME 115 
 
 HiLLCRiST. Hypocrite! 
 
 [Jill comes running in at the window. 
 Jill. Dodo, she's moved; she's spoken. It may not 
 be so bad. 
 HiLLCRiST. Thank God for that ! 
 
 [Fellows enterSi Left. 
 Fellows. The Jackmans, ma'am. 
 HiLLCRisT. Who? What's this.'^ 
 
 TJie Jackmans have enteredy standing close to 
 the door, 
 Mrs. J. We're so glad we can go back, sir — ma'am, 
 we just wanted to thank you. 
 
 There is a silence. They see that they are not 
 welcome. 
 Thank you kindly, sir. Good-night, ma'am. 
 
 [They shuffle out. 
 HiLLCRiST. I'd forgotten their existence. [He gets up] 
 What is it that gets loose when you begin a fight, and 
 makes you what you think you're not.'^ What blind- 
 ing evil! Begin as you may, it ends in this — skin 
 game ! Skin game ! 
 
 Jill. [Rushing to him] It's not you, Dodo; it's not 
 you, beloved Dodo. 
 
 Hillcrist. It is me. For I am, or should be, mas- 
 ter in this house! 
 Mrs. H. I don't understand. 
 
 Hillcrist. When we began this fight, we had clean 
 hands — are they clean now.?* What's gentility worth 
 if it can't stand fire? 
 
 curtain 
 
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