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The Lucky One: A Play In Three Acts, a play by A. A. Milne |
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_ ACT I [SCENE.--The hall of SIR JAMES FARRINGDON'S house in the country.] [It is a large and pleasantly unofficial sort of room, used as a meeting-place rather than a resting place. To be in it pledges you to nothing; whereas in the billiard-room you are presumably pledged to billiards. The French windows at the back open on to lawns; the door on the right at the back will take you into the outer hall; the door on the left leads to the servants' quarters; the door on the right in front will disclose other inhabited rooms to you. An oak gallery runs round two sides of the hall and descends in broad and gentle stairs down the right side of it. Four stairs from the bottom it turns round at right angles and deposits you fairly in the hall. Entering in this way, you will see immediately opposite to you the large open fireplace occupied by a pile of unlit logs--for it is summer. There is a chair on each side of the fireplace, but turned now away from it. In the left centre of the hall there is a gate-legged table to which trays with drinks on them, have a habit of finding their way; it is supported on each side by a coffin-stool. A sofa, which will take two strangers comfortably and three friends less comfortably, comes out at right angles to the staircase, but leaves plenty of space between itself and the stool on its side of the table. Beneath the window on the left of the French windows is a small table on which letters and papers are put; beneath the window on the other side is a writing-table. The walls are decorated impartially with heads of wild animals and of Farringdons.] [At the present moment the inhabitants of the hall are three. HENRY WENTWORTH, a barrister between forty, and fifty, dressed in rather a serious tweed suit, for a summer day, is on the sofa. THOMAS TODD, an immaculate young gentleman of twenty-five, is half-sitting on the gate-legged table with one foot on the ground and the other swinging. He is dressed in a brown flannel coat and white trousers, shoes and socks, and he has a putter in his hand indicative of his usual line of thought. The third occupant is the Butler, who, in answer to TOMMY'S ring, has appeared with the drinks.] [The time is about four o'clock on a June afternoon.]
WENTWORTH. Neither, thanks, Tommy. TOMMY. Well, I will. (He pours himself out some lemonade and takes a long drink.) I should have thought you would have been thirsty, driving down from London a day like this. (He finishes his drink.) Let's see, where was I up to? The sixth, wasn't it? WENTWORTH. The sixth, Tommy. (With resignation) Only twelve more. TOMMY. Yes, that's right. Well, at the seventh I got an absolutely topping drive, but my approach was sliced a bit. However, I chipped on within about six feet, and was down in four. Gerald took it in three, but I had a stroke, so I halved. Then the eighth I told you about. WENTWORTH. Was that where you fell into the pond? TOMMY. No, no; you're thinking of the fifth, where I topped my drive into the pond. WENTWORTH. I knew the pond came into it somewhere. I hoped--I mean I thought you fell in. TOMMY. Look here, you _must_ remember the eighth, old chap; that was the one I did in one. Awful bit of luck. WENTWORTH. Bit of luck for me too, Tommy. TOMMY. Why? WENTWORTH. Because now you can hurry on to the ninth. TOMMY. I say, Wentworth, I thought you were keen on golf. WENTWORTH. Only on my own. TOMMY. You're a fraud. Here I've been absolutely wasting my precious time on you and--I suppose it wouldn't even interest you to hear that Gerald went round in seventy-two--five under bogey? WENTWORTH. It would interest me much more to hear something about this girl he's engaged to. TOMMY. Pamela Carey? Oh, she's an absolute ripper. WENTWORTH. Yes, but you've said that of every girl you've met. TOMMY. Well, dash it! you don't expect me to describe what she looks like, do you? WENTWORTH. Well, no. I shall see that for myself directly. One gets introduced, you know, Tommy. It isn't as though I were meeting her at Charing Cross Station for the first time. But who is she? TOMMY. Well, she was poor old Bob's friend originally. He brought her down here, but, of course, as soon as she saw Gerald-- WENTWORTH (quickly). Why, _poor_ old Bob? TOMMY. I don't know; everybody seems to call him that. After all, he isn't quite like Gerald, is he? WENTWORTH. Paderewski isn't quite like Tommy Todd, but I don't say "poor old Paderewski"--nor "poor old Tommy," if it comes to that. TOMMY. Well, hang it, old man, there's a bit of a difference. Paderewski and I--well, I mean we don't compete. WENTWORTH. Oh, I don't know. I daresay he's as rotten at golf as you, if the truth were really known. TOMMY. No, but seriously, it's a bit different when you get two brothers like Gerald and Bob; and whatever the elder one does, the younger one does a jolly sight better. Now Paderewski and I-- WENTWORTH. Good heavens! I wish I hadn't started you on that. Get back to Bob. I thought Bob was on the Stock Exchange and Gerald in the Foreign Office. There can't be very much competition between them there. TOMMY. Well, but there you are! Why isn't Bob in the Foreign Office and Gerald on the Stock Exchange? Why, because Gerald's the clever one, Gerald's the popular one, the good-looking one, the lucky one, the county cricketer, the plus three at golf-- WENTWORTH. Oh Lord! I thought you'd get golf into it. I suppose you were working up to your climax. Poor old Bob is about eighteen at golf, eh? TOMMY. As a matter of fact, he's a very decent five. And there you are again. In any other family, Bob would be thought rather a nut. As it is-- WENTWORTH. As it is, Tommy, there are about thirty-five million people in England who've never played golf and who would recognize Bob, if they met him, for the decent English gentleman that he is. TOMMY. I think you exaggerate, old chap. Golf's been getting awfully popular lately. WENTWORTH. Personally I am very fond of Bob. TOMMY. Oh, so am I. He's an absolute ripper. Still, _Gerald_, you know--I mean it's jolly bad luck on poor old Bob. Now Paderewski and I-- [Enter GERALD from the garden, a charming figure in a golfing coat and white flannels. Perhaps he is a little conscious of his charm; if so, it is hardly his fault, for hero-worship has been his lot from boyhood. He is now about twenty-six; everything that he has ever tried to do he has done well; and, if he is rather more unembarrassed than most of us when praised, his unself-consciousness is to a stranger as charming as the rest of him. With it all he is intensely reserved, with the result that those who refuse to succumb to his charm sometimes make the mistake of thinking that there is nothing behind it.] GERALD. Hallo, Wentworth, how are you? All right? WENTWORTH (getting up and shaking hands). Yes, thanks. How are you? GERALD. Simply bursting. Have you seen your room and all that sort of thing? WENTWORTH. Yes, thanks. GERALD. Good. And Tommy's been entertaining you. (To TOMMY) Tommy, I interrupted your story about Paderewski. I don't think I know it. (To WENTWORTH) You must listen to this; it may be fairly new. TOMMY. Don't be an ass. As a matter of fact, we were discussing something quite serious. GERALD (to WENTWORTH). How long have you been here? WENTWORTH. About ten minutes. GERALD. And Tommy hasn't told you that he did the eighth in one this morning? WENTWORTH. He hasn't really told me yet. He's only mentioned it once or twice in passing. TOMMY (modestly). Well, I mean it's bound to appear in the papers, so naturally one-- GERALD. Oh, it's a great business. Champagne will flow like water to-night. There will also be speeches. WENTWORTH. Which reminds me, Gerald, I have to congratulate you. GERALD. Thank you very much. When you've seen her you'll want to do it again. TOMMY (looking through the window). Hallo, there's Letty. GERALD. If you want to tell her about it, run along, Tommy. TOMMY (moving off). I thought I'd just take her on at putting. [He goes out.] GERALD (sitting down). You'll stay till--well, how long can you? Tuesday, anyhow. WENTWORTH. I think I can manage till Tuesday. Thanks very much. Miss Carey is here, of course? GERALD. Yes, she'll be in directly. She's gone to the station to meet Bob. WENTWORTH (smiling). And Gerald didn't go with her? GERALD (smiling). At least six people suggested that Gerald should go with her. They suggested it very loudly and archly-- WENTWORTH. So Gerald didn't? GERALD. So Gerald didn't. (After a pause) I can't stand that sort of thing. WENTWORTH. What sort of thing? GERALD (after a pause). Poor old boy! you've never been in love--barring the nine or ten times you're just going to tell me about. I mean never really in love. WENTWORTH. Don't drag _me_ into it. What is it you can't stand? GERALD. People being tactful about Pamela and me.... Aunt Tabitha asked me yesterday if she might have Pamela for half an hour to do something or other--as if she were an umbrella, with my initials on it.... And somebody else said, "I've quite fallen in love with your Pamela; I hope you don't mind." _Mind_? I tell you, Wentworth, my boy, if you aren't in love with Pamela by Tuesday, there'll be the very deuce of a row. Your electro-plated butter-dish, or whatever it's going to be, will be simply flung back at you. WENTWORTH. Well, as long as Miss Pamela understands-- GERALD. Of course she understands. We understand each other. WENTWORTH (preening himself ). Then I'll do my best. Mind, if she does happen to reciprocate my feelings, I wash my hands of all responsibility. (Going towards the staircase) Good-afternoon, Miss Farringdon. [MISS FARRINGDON is coming slowly down the stairs.] MISS FARRINGDON. Good-afternoon, Mr. Wentworth. Welcome. (She must be well over eighty. She was pretty once, and sharp-tongued; so much you could swear to now. For the rest she is very, very wise, and intensely interested in life.) GERALD (going over and kissing her). Good-morning, Aunt Tabitha. Your chair is waiting for you. (He conducts her to it.) MISS FARRINGDON. I'm a nasty cross old thing before lunch, Mr. Wentworth, so I don't come down till afterwards nowadays. Is Gerald being as charming as usual? WENTWORTH (smiling). Oh, pretty well. GERALD (looking at her lovingly and then turning to WENTWORTH). It's having a very bad effect on her, this morning seclusion. She's supposed to be resting, but she spends her time trying to think of nasty things to say about me. The trouble with a mind like Aunt Tabitha's is that it can't think of anything _really_ nasty. MISS FARRINGDON. The trouble with Gerald, Mr. Wentworth, is that he goes about expecting everybody to love him. The result is that they nearly all do. However, he can't get round _me_. GERALD. It isn't true, Wentworth; she adores me. MISS FARRINGDON. He wouldn't be happy if he didn't think so. WENTWORTH (gracefully). I can sympathize with him there. GERALD. The slight coolness which you perceive to have arisen between my Aunt Tabitha and myself is due to the fact that I discovered her guilty secret a few days ago. For years she has pretended that her real name was Harriet. I have recently found out that she was christened Tabitha--or, anyhow, would have been, if the clergyman had known his job. MISS FARRINGDON. My great-nephew, Gerald, Mr. Wentworth-- GERALD. _Nephew_, Wentworth. I agreed to waive the "great" a long time ago. WENTWORTH. You'll excuse my asking, but do you never talk to each other except through the medium of a third person? MISS FARRINGDON (to GERALD). That's how they prefer to do it in the Foreign Office. Isn't it, dear? GERALD. Always, Aunt Tabitha. But really, you know, we both ought to be talking to Wentworth and flaking after his mother and his liver--and things like that. MISS FARRINGDON. Yes, I'm afraid we're rather rude, Mr. Wentworth. The Farringdons' great fault. WENTWORTH (protesting). Oh no! MISS FARRINGDON. How _is_ Mrs. Wentworth? WENTWORTH. Wonderfully well, thank you, considering her age. MISS FARRINGDON. Dear me, we met first in 1850. GERALD. All frills and lavender. MISS FARRINGDON. And now here's Gerald engaged. Have you seen Pamela yet? WENTWORTH. Not yet. I have been hearing about her from Tommy. He classes her with the absolute rippers. GERALD. Good old Tommy! MISS FARRINGDON. Yes, she's much too good for Gerald. GERALD. Of course she is, Aunt Tabitha. But if women only married men who were good enough for them, where should we be? As lots of young men said to you, in vain--on those afternoons when they read Tennyson aloud to you. MISS FARRINGDON. She ought to have married Bob. WENTWORTH (surprised and amused). Bob? Is Bob good enough for her? MISS FARRINGDON. She would have made a good wife for Bob. [Enter suddenly LETTY HERBERT and TOMMY from the garden. LETTY is an entirely delightful irresponsible girl of the type which might have shocked Queen Victoria. However, she seems to suit TOMMY. They are not engaged yet, but she has already that air of proprietorship.] LETTY. I say, Tommy did the eighth in one. Why, there's Aunt Harriet. (Going over and kissing her) How are you, darling? Tommy's done the eighth in one. I know it doesn't mean much to you, but do say hooray, because he's so bucked about it. GERALD (to WENTWORTH). Do you know Miss Herbert? Letty, come and be introduced. Mr. Wentworth--Miss Herbert. LETTY (shaking hands eagerly). How do you do? I say, Tommy did the eighth in one. Do you know Tommy--_or_ the eighth? WENTWORTH. Both, Miss Herbert. GERALD. To a man who knows both, the performance seems truly astonishing. MISS FARRINGDON. I don't know anything about golf, Mr. Todd. But doing anything in one sounds rather clever. So I say hooray, too. TOMMY. I wish you'd let me teach you, Miss Farringdon. Lots of people begin when they're frightfully old. LETTY (to WENTWORTH). This is one of Tommy's polite days. GERALD. Mr. Todd's famous old-world courtesy is the talk of many a salon. MISS FARRINGDON (to TOMMY). Don't you mind them. I _am_ frightfully old. I am very proud of it. I hope you'll all live to be as old as I am. GERALD. I only hope we shall be half as nice. MISS FARRINGDON. Gerald being charming as usual. GERALD (firmly). I will also add that I hope we shall be kinder to our great-nephews than some. LETTY (putting her arm in his). Diddums! GERALD. Yes, I did. I am very much hurt. TOMMY. I say, you know, Miss Farringdon, I never meant-- LETTY. I love Tommy when he apologizes. [Enter SIR JAMES and LADY FARRINGDON from the door to front of the staircase. SIR JAMES, in a country check-suit, is a man of no particular brain and no ideas, but he has an unconquerable belief in himself, and a very genuine pride in, and admiration of, GERALD. His grey hair is bald on the top, and he is clean-shaven except for a hint of whisker. He might pass for a retired Captain R. N., and he has something of the quarter-deck manner, so that even a remark on the weather is listened to with attention. Neither of his sons loves him, but GERALD is no longer afraid of him. LADY FARRINGDON is outwardly rather intimidating, but she never feels so. She worships GERALD; and would love a good many other people if they were not a little overawed by her.] LADY FARRINGDON. Ah, you're here, Mr. Wentworth. How do you do? WENTWORTH (coming forward). How do you do, Lady Farringdon? How do you do, Sir James? SIR JAMES. How are you, Wentworth? Come to see Gerald play for the county? GERALD. He's come to see Pamela. Haven't you, Wentworth? WENTWORTH. I rather hope to see both. SIR JAMES. Ah, Aunt Harriet, I didn't see you. How are you to-day? MISS FARRINGDON. Very well, thank you, James. (He goes over to her.) LADY FARRINGDON. I hope they've shown you your room, Mr. Wentworth, and made you comfortable? Gerald, darling, you saw that Mr. Wentworth was all right? WENTWORTH. Oh yes, that's quite all right, thank you, Lady Farringdon. LADY FARRINGDON. Let me see, you're in the Blue Room, I think. LETTY. It's much the nicest room to be in, Mr. Wentworth. There's a straight way down the water-pipe in case of fire. GERALD. And a straight way up in case of burglars. LADY FARRINGDON (fondly). Gerald, dear, don't be so foolish. SIR JAMES. Gerald, is it true you went round in seventy-two? GERALD. Yes. Tommy did the eighth in one. TOMMY (modestly). Awful fluke. SIR JAMES (casually). Ah--well done. (To GERALD) Seventy-two--that's pretty good. That's five under bogey, Mr. Wentworth. LADY FARRINGDON (to WENTWORTH). Gerald has always been so good at everything. Even as a baby. TOMMY. He did the ninth in three, Letty. How's that for hot? SIR JAMES (to WENTWORTH). You must stay till Thursday, if you can, and see the whole of the Surrey match. It isn't often Gerald gets a chance of playing for the county now. It's difficult for him to get away from the Foreign Office. Lord Edward was telling me at the club the other day-- LETTY (TO LADY FARRINGDON). Gerald dived off the Monk's Rock this morning. I'm glad I didn't see him. I should have been horribly frightened. TOMMY (proudly). I saw him. LETTY. Tommy, of course, slithered down over the limpets in the ordinary way. LADY FARRINGDON (fondly). Oh, Gerald, how could you? SIR JAMES (still talking to WENTWORTH). He tells me that Gerald is a marked man in the Service now. TOMMY (to LETTY). Do you remember when Gerald-- MISS FARRINGDON (incisively). Let's _all_ talk about Gerald. (GERALD, who has been listening to all this with more amusement than embarrassment, gives a sudden shout of laughter.) GERALD. Oh, Aunt Tabitha, you're too lovely! (He blows her a kiss and she shakes her stick at him.) [Enter PAMELA from the door In front of the staircase, tall, beautiful and serene, a born mother. GERALD carried her off her feet a month ago, but it is a question if he really touched her heart--a heart moved more readily by pity than by love.] PAMELA. Gerald, dear, I'd know your laugh anywhere. Am I too late for the joke? GERALD. Hullo, Pamela. Brought Bob with you? PAMELA. He's just washing London off himself. LADY FARRINGDON. Pamela, dear, do you know Mr. Wentworth? PAMELA (shaking hands). How do you do? LADY FARRINGDON (to WENTWORTH). Miss Carey--Gerald's Pamela. PAMELA. I've heard so much about you, Mr. Wentworth. WENTWORTH. And I've heard so much about you, Miss Carey. PAMELA. That's nice. Then we can start straight off as friends. LETTY. I suppose you know Tommy did the eighth in one? PAMELA. Rather. It's splendid! LETTY. _Do_ say you haven't told Bob. GERALD. Why shouldn't Bob know? PAMELA. No, I haven't told him, Letty. LETTY. Good, then Tommy can tell him. TOMMY. They do pull my leg, don't they, Miss Farringdon? [Enter BOB from the outer hall in a blue flannel suit. He has spoilt any chance he had of being considered handsome by a sullen expression now habitual. Two years older than Gerald, he is not so tall, but bigger, and altogether less graceful. He has got in the way of talking in rather a surly voice, as if he suspected that any interest taken in him was merely a polite one.] GERALD. Hullo, Bob; good man. BOB. Hullo. (He goes up to LADY FARRINGDON and kisses her.) How are you, mother? LADY FARRINGDON. It's so nice that you could get away, dear. BOB. How are you, father? All right? SIR JAMES. Ah, Bob! Come down to see your brother play for the county? PAMELA (quickly). He's come down to see _me_, haven't you, Bob? BOB. Hullo, Wentworth. Hullo, Letty. I say, I can't shake hands with you all. (He smacks TOMMY on the back and goes over to Miss FARRINGDON.) How are you, dear? MISS FARRINGDON. Very glad to see my elder great-nephew. I was getting tired of Gerald. LADY FARRINGDON (protesting). Aunt Harriet, dear. GERALD (smiling). It's all right, mother. We quite understand each other. MISS FARRINGDON. I quite understand Gerald. BOB. I say, aren't we going to have any tea? LADY FARRINGDON. It's early yet, dear. Gerald, you'd like to have it outside, wouldn't you? GERALD. Oh, rather. What do you say, Wentworth? WENTWORTH. I never want to be indoors in the country if I can help it. SIR JAMES. Quite right, Wentworth--quite right. Gerald, you'll just have time to take Wentworth round the stables before tea. GERALD. You'll have to see them officially after church to-morrow. I don't know if you'd care about a private view now. SIR JAMES. He must see your new mare. I should like to have his opinion of her. WENTWORTH (getting up). I never know what to say to a mare, but I should like to come. LETTY. She answers to "Hi!" or to any loud cry. PAMELA. I'm sure you'll be all right, Mr. Wentworth. GERALD. There's a way of putting one's head on one side and saying, "Ah!" Anybody who's seen Tommy at the Royal Academy will know exactly what I mean. (GERALD, PAMELA and WENTWORTH move towards the door.) WENTWORTH (to PAMELA). Ought I to have a straw in my mouth? GERALD. It's all right, we'll go and see the spaniels first. WENTWORTH (cheerfully). Oh, I'm all right with dogs. LETTY (to TOMMY). Come on, Tommy. [They go out behind the others.] LADY FARRINGDON. Would you like to have tea outside, Aunt Harriet? MISS FARRINGDON. I'm not too old for that, Mary. Bob will bring me out. I want to have a word with him while I can. Everybody talks at once in this house. SIR JAMES (picking up his hat). How's the City--hey? BOB. Just as usual. SIR JAMES. Coming round to the stables? BOB. Later on, perhaps. LADY FARRINGDON. Bob is bringing Aunt Harriet along, dear. SIR JAMES. Ah, yes. [They go out together.] MISS FARRINGDON. Smoke, Bob, and tell me how horrible the City is. BOB (lighting a pipe and sitting down). It's damnable, Aunt Harriet. MISS FARRINGDON. More damnable than usual? BOB. Yes. MISS FARRINGDON. Any particular reason why? BOB (after a long pause). No. (MISS FARRINGDON nods to herself and then speaks very casually.) MISS FARRINGDON. My bankers sent in my pass-book the other day. I seem to have a deal of money lying idle, as they call it. If anybody wanted it, I should really be in no hurry to get it back again. BOB (awkwardly). Thanks very much. It isn't that. (After a pause) Not altogether. MISS FARRINGDON. It was a great pity you ever went into the City, Bob. BOB (fiercely). I could have told anybody that. MISS FARRINGDON (after waiting for him to say something more). Well, suppose we go into the garden with the others. (She begins to get up and he goes to help her,) There's nothing you want to tell me, Bob? BOB (looking away). What would there be? MISS FARRINGDON. I'm a wise old woman, they say, and I don't talk. BOB. I don't think you can help me. Er--thanks very much. MISS FARRINGDON (quite naturally, as she turns towards the door). If you don't mind giving me your arm. (As they get to the door they are met by GERALD and PAMELA coming in.) GERALD. Hullo, Bob, we were just coming back for you. MISS FARRINGDON. Thoughtful Gerald. GERALD. Pamela's idea. She thought that the elder members of the family could discuss life more freely unhampered by the younger generation. PAMELA. What I really said was, "Where's Bob?" GERALD. Well, it's the same thing. MISS FARRINGDON. Bob is looking after me, thank you very much. [They go out together.] GERALD (after watching them go, to PAMELA). Stay here a bit. There are too many people and dogs and things outside. Come and sit on the sofa and I'll tell you all the news. (He takes her hand and they go to the sofa together.) What ages you've been away! PAMELA. An hour and a half. And it need not have been that if you'd come with me. GERALD (taking her hand). If I had come with you, I would have held your hand all the way. PAMELA. I shouldn't have minded. GERALD. But just think what would have happened: You would have had to have driven with one hand down all the hills; we should have had a smash-up before we got halfway; a well-known society beauty and a promising young gentleman in the Foreign Office would have been maimed for life; and Bob would have to have walked here carrying his portmanteau. Besides, I love you going away from me when you come back. You've only got to come into the room, and the sun seems to shine. PAMELA. The sun always shines on Gerald. GERALD. Does it? That's a different sort of sunshine. Not the gentle caressing September afternoon sunshine which you wear all round you. (She is looking at him lovingly and happily as he says this, but she withdraws into herself quickly as he pulls himself up and says with a sudden change of tone) Dear me, I'm getting quite poetical, and two minutes ago I was talking to Wentworth about fetlocks. PAMELA (getting up). Oh, Gerald, Gerald! GERALD (getting up and smiling at her). Oh, Pamela, Pamela! PAMELA. I wonder how much you really want me. GERALD. I'll show you when we're married. I don't think I could even begin to tell you now. PAMELA (wistfully). Couldn't you try? (GERALD catches hold of her suddenly, and holding her tightly to him, kisses her again and again.) GERALD. There! PAMELA (releasing herself). Oh, Gerald, my darling, you frighten me sometimes. GERALD. Did I frighten you then? PAMELA (happily). Oh, no, no, no, no! (Earnestly) Always want me very much, Gerald. Always be in need of me. Don't be too successful without me. However much the sun shines on you, let me make it gentler and more caressing for you. GERALD. It is so, darling. Didn't I say so? PAMELA. Ah, but I want such a lot of telling. GERALD (laughing happily as he goes over to the table by the fireplace and takes a cigarette). Who was the fellow who threw something into the sea because he was frightened by his own luck? What shall I throw? (Looking at a presentation clock on the mantelpiece) That's rather asking for it. In a way it would be killing two birds with one stone. Oh, Lord, I am lucky! PAMELA (coming to him and taking his arm). As long as you don't throw me. GERALD. Pamela, you're talking rubbish. I talk a good deal myself, but I do keep within the bounds. Let's go and chatter to Bob about contangos. I don't know what they are, but they sound extraordinarily sober. PAMELA (gently). Poor old Bob! GERALD (quickly). Why _poor_ old Bob? PAMELA. He's worried about something. I tried to get him to tell me as we came from the station, but he wouldn't. GERALD. Poor old Bob! I suppose things are going up--or down, or something. Brokerage one-eighth--that's what's worrying him, I expect. PAMELA. I think he wants to talk to you about it. Be nice to him, darling, won't you? GERALD (surprised). Nice to him? PAMELA. You know what I mean--sympathetic. I know it's a difficult relationship--brothers. GERALD. All relationships are difficult. But after you, he's the person I love best in the world. (With a laugh) But I don't propose to fall on his neck and tell him so. PAMELA (smiling). I know you will help him if you can. GERALD. Of course I will, though I don't quite see how. (Hopefully) Perhaps he's only slicing his drives again. PAMELA. Oh, I love you, Gerald. (Wonderingly) _Do_ I love you, or am I only just charmed by you? GERALD. You said you loved me once. You can't go back on that. PAMELA. Then I love you. And make a century for me on Monday. GERALD. Well, I'll try. Of course the bowler may be in love too. But even if I get out first ball, I can say, "Well, anyhow, Pamela loves me." PAMELA. Oh, I think I hope you get out first ball. GERALD. Baby Pamela. PAMELA. And on Thursday we shall be alone together here, and you've promised to take me out in the boat for the day. GERALD. You mean you've promised to let me. PAMELA. What happy days there are in the world! [Enter BOB from the garden.] GERALD. Hullo, Bob. Tea? (He moves towards the door.) BOB. Cigarettes. (He goes over to the fireplace and fills his cigarette case.) GERALD. Still, I expect tea's nearly ready. PAMELA (going towards door R. at the back). I'll join you; I'm not going out without a sunshade again. [Exit.] (There is an awkward silence.) BOB (to GERALD). I say! GERALD (turning round). Hullo! BOB. Just wait a moment. (GERALD comes back slowly.) GERALD. I warn you those are rotten cigarettes. (Holds out his own case) BOB (taking one). Thanks. (Awkwardly) You're so confoundedly difficult to get hold of nowadays. Never less than half-a-dozen all round you. GERALD (laughing). Good old Bob! BOB (after lighting a cigarette). I want to talk to you about something. GERALD. Well, of course. BOB (after a pause). You've heard of Marcus, my partner? GERALD (with the idea of putting himself and BOB more at their ease). Good old Marcus and Farringdon! It's the most perfect name for a firm. They sound so exactly as though they could sell you anything from a share to a shaving-brush. Marcus and Farringdon's pure badger, two shillings--gilt-edged badger half-a-crown. BOB (fiercely). I suppose everything is just a pleasant joke to you. GERALD (utterly surprised). Bob! Bob, old boy, what's the matter? (Putting his hand on BOB'S shoulder) I say, Bob, I haven't hurt you, have I? BOB (hopelessly). Oh, Jerry, I believe I'm in the devil of a hole. GERALD. You haven't called me "Jerry" since we were at school. BOB. You got me out of holes then--damn you! and you were my younger brother. Oh, Jerry, get me out of this one. GERALD. But, of course. (Firmly, as if a little nervous of a scene from BOB) My dear Bob, you're as right as anything. You've got nothing on earth to worry about. At the worst it's only a question of money, and we can always put that right somehow. BOB. I'm not sure that it is only a question of money. GERALD (frightened). What do you mean? (Turning away with a laugh) You're talking nonsense. BOB. Gerald, Marcus is a wrong un. (Fiercely) An out-and-out wrong un. GERALD. The only time I saw him he looked like it. BOB. God knows what he's let me in for. GERALD. You mean money? BOB. More than that, perhaps. GERALD. You mean you're just going bankrupt? BOB. No. (After a pause) Prosecution. GERALD. Well, let them prosecute. That ends Marcus. You're well rid of him. BOB (miserably). Perhaps it isn't only Marcus. GERALD (sharply, after this has sunk in). What can they prosecute you for? BOB (speaking rapidly). What the devil did they ever send me to the City for? I didn't want to go. I was never any good at figures. I loathe the whole thing. What the devil did they want to send me there for--and shove me on to a wrong un like Marcus? That's his life, messing about with money in the City. How can I stand out against a man like that? I never wanted to go into it at all. GERALD (holding out his cigarette-case). Have another cigarette? (They each light one, and GERALD sits down in the chair opposite to him.) Let's look at it calmly. You've done nothing dishonourable, I know that. That's obvious. BOB. You see, Jerry, I'm so hopeless at that sort of business. Naturally I got in the way of leaving things to Marcus. But that's all. (Resentfully) Of course, that's all. GERALD. Good. Well, then, you're making much too much fuss about it. My dear boy, innocent people don't get put into prison nowadays. You've been reading detective stories. "The Stain on the Bath Mat," or "The Crimson Sponge." Good Lord! I shall be coming to _you_ next and saying that _I'm_ going to be put in prison for selling secret documents to a foreign country. These things don't happen; they don't really, old boy. BOB (cheered, but not convinced). I don't know; it looks devilish bad, what I can make of it. GERALD. Well, let's see what I can make of it. BOB (trying not to show his eagerness). I was wondering if you would. Come up on Monday and we'll have a go at it together. Marcus has gone, of course. Probably halfway to South America by now. (Bitterly) Or wherever you go to. GERALD. Right-o! At least, I can't come on Monday, of course, but we'll have a go at it on Thursday. BOB. Why can't you come on Monday? GERALD. Well, the Surrey match. BOB (bitterly). I suppose as long as you beat Surrey, it doesn't matter if I go to prison. GERALD (annoyed). Oh, shut up about going to prison! There's not the slightest chance of your going to prison. You know perfectly well, if there were, that I'd walk on my hands and knees to London to-night to try and stop it. As it is, I have promised to play for the county; it's a particularly important match, and I don't think it's fair to let them down. Anyway, if I did, the whole family would want to know why, and I don't suppose you want to tell them that yet. BOB (mumbling). You could say the Foreign Office had rung you up. GERALD (earnestly). Really, Bob old boy, I'm sure you're making too much of it. Dammit! you've done nothing wrong; what is there to worry about? And if it's only a question of money, we'll manage it on our heads, somehow. I'll come up directly the match is over. It may be Tuesday night, with luck. BOB (grumbling). If the weather's like this, it's bound to last three days. GERALD. Then at the worst, I'll come first train Thursday morning. That I promise. Anyway, why don't you consult Wentworth? He's a good chap and he knows all about the law. He could probably help you much more than I could. BOB. I suppose you think I _like_ talking about it to everybody. GERALD (getting up and touching BOB gently on the shoulder as he goes past him). Poor old Bob! But you're as right as anything. I'll come up by the first train on Thursday and we'll--good Lord! BOB. What's the matter now? GERALD. I am a damned fool! Why, of course, we arranged-- BOB (sneeringly). And now you can't come on Thursday, I suppose. GERALD. Why, you see, I arranged-- BOB. You _must_ keep your promise to the county, but you needn't keep your promise to me. GERALD. Yes, but the trouble is I promised Pamela--oh, well, that will have to go; she'll understand. All right, Bob, that holds. Directly the match is over I come. And for the Lord's sake, keep smiling till then. BOB. It's all very well for _you_.... I wish you could have--well, anyhow, I suppose Thursday's better than nothing. You'll see just how it is then. (Getting up) You won't say anything about it to the others? GERALD. Of course not. What about Pamela? Does she know anything? BOB. She knows that I'm worried about something, but of course she doesn't know what I've told you. GERALD. All right, then I won't tell her anything. At least, I'll just say that bananas remain firm at 127, and that I've got to go and see my broker about it. (Smiling) Something like that. (BOB goes towards the garden, while GERALD stops to wait for PAMELA. At the door he turns round.) BOB (awkwardly). Er--thanks. [Exit.] (GERALD throws him a nod, as much as to say, "That's all right." He stands looking after him, gives a little sigh, laughs and says to himself, "Poor old Bob!" He is half-sitting on, half-leaning against the table, thinking it all over, when PAMELA comes in again.) PAMELA. I waited for him to go; I knew he wanted to talk to you about something. Gerald, he is all right, isn't he? GERALD (taking her hands). Who? Bob? Oh yes, he's all right. So is Pamela. PAMELA. Sure? GERALD. Oh yes, he's all right. PAMELA. I take rather a motherly interest in Bob, you know. What was worrying him? GERALD (smiling). His arithmetic again; compound interest. His masters are very pleased with his progress in English. And he wants more pocket-money. He says that fourpence a week doesn't give him enough scope. PAMELA (smiling). But he really is all right? GERALD. Well, I've got to go up on Thursday to see his House Master--I mean I've got to go up to town on Thursday. PAMELA (drawing back). Thursday? That was _our_ day, Gerald. GERALD. Yes, I know; it's a confounded nuisance. PAMELA (slowly). Yes, it is rather a--nuisance. GERALD. I'm awfully sorry, darling. I hate it just as much as you do. PAMELA. I wonder if you do. GERALD (shaking his head at her). Oh, woman, woman! And you asked me to be kind to Bob. PAMELA. It is for Bob? He really does want you? GERALD. He thinks I can help him if I go up on Thursday. (Smiling) We aren't going to quarrel about that. PAMELA (holding out her hand to him). Come along. Of course we aren't going to quarrel--I don't think I could quarrel with you for more than five minutes. Only--you make me wonder sometimes. GERALD (getting up and taking her arm). What do you wonder about? PAMELA. Oh--things. [They go out into the garden together.] _ |
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