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Title: Cheezo
Author: Lord Dunsany [
More Titles by Dunsany]
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
SLADDER, a successful man.
SPLURGE, his secretary and publicity agent.
THE REV. CHARLES HIPPANTHIGH.
BUTLER.
MRS. SLADDER.
ERMYNTRUDE SLADDER.
SCENE
[The big house that SLADDER has bought in the country. SLADDER'S study. Large French window opening on to a lawn.
Time: Now.
SLADDER'S daughter is seated in an armchair tapping on the arm of it a little impatiently.
The door opens very cautiously, and the head of MRS. SLADDER is put round it.]
MRS. SLADDER.
O, Ermyntrude. Whatever are you doing here?
ERMYNTRUDE.
I wanted to speak to father, mother.
MRS. SLADDER.
But you mustn't come in here. We mustn't disturb father.
ERMYNTRUDE.
I want to speak to father.
MRS. SLADDER.
Whatever about, Ermyntrude?
ERMYNTRUDE
(taps the arm of the chair):
O, nothing, mother. Only about that idea of his.
MRS. SLADDER.
What idea, child?
ERMYNTRUDE.
O, that idea he had, that--er--I was some day to marry a duke.
MRS. SLADDER.
And why shouldn't you marry a duke, child? I am sure father would make it worth his while.
ERMYNTRUDE.
O well, I don't think I want to, mother.
MRS. SLADDER.
But why not, Ermyntrude?
ERMYNTRUDE.
O well, you know Mr. Jones----
MRS. SLADDER.
That good man!
ERMYNTRUDE.
----did say that dukes were no good, mother. They oppress the poor, I think he said.
MRS. SLADDER.
Very true.
ERMYNTRUDE.
Well, there you are.
MRS. SLADDER.
Yes, yes, of course. At the same time, father had rather set his heart on it. You wouldn't have any other reason now, child, would you?
ERMYNTRUDE.
What more do you want, mother? Mr. Jones is a Cabinet Minister; he must know what he's talking about.
MRS. SLADDER.
Yes, yes.
ERMYNTRUDE.
And I hear he's going to get a peerage.
MRS. SLADDER
(_with enthusiasm_):
Well, I'm sure he deserves it. But child, you mustn't talk to father to-day. You mustn't stay here any longer.
ERMYNTRUDE.
But why not, mother?
MRS. SLADDER.
Well, child, he's been smoking one of those big cigars again, and he's absent-like. And he's been talking a good deal with Mr. Splurge. It's one of his great days, I think, Ermyntrude. I feel sure it is. One of those days that has given us all this money, and all these fine houses, with all those little birds that his gentlemen friends shoot. He has an idea!
ERMYNTRUDE.
O, mother, do you really think so?
MRS. SLADDER.
I'm sure of it, child. (Looking out.) There! There he is! Walking along that path that they made. I can see he's got an idea. How like Napoleon.[*] He's walking with Mr. Splurge. They're coming in now. Come along, Ermyntrude, we mustn't disturb him to-day. He has some great idea, some great idea.
[Footnote *: (N.B.--SLADDER is not in the very least like Napoleon.)]
ERMYNTRUDE.
How splendid, mother! What do you think it is?
MRS. SLADDER.
Ah. I could never explain it to you, even if I knew. It is business, child, business. It isn't everybody that can understand business.
ERMYNTRUDE.
I hear them coming, mother.
MRS. SLADDER.
There must be things we can never understand: things too deep for us like. And business is the most wonderful of them all.
[Exeunt R.]
[Enter SLADDER and SPLURGE through the window, which opens on to the lawn, down a step or two.]
SLADDER.
Now, Splurge, we must do some business.
SPLURGE.
Yes, sir.
SLADDER.
Sit down, Splurge.
SPLURGE.
Thank you, sir.
SLADDER.
Splurge, I am going to say to you now, what I couldn't talk about with all those gardeners hanging about. And, by the way, Splurge, haven't we bought rather too many gardeners?
SPLURGE. No, sir. The Earl of Etheldune has seven; we had to go one better than him, sir.
SLADDER. Certainly, Splurge, certainly.
SPLURGE.
So I bought ten for you, sir, to be on the safe side.
SLADDER.
Ah, quite right, Splurge, quite right. There seemed to be rather a lot, but that's quite right. Well, now to business.
SPLURGE.
Yes, sir.
SLADDER.
I told you I'd invented a new name for a food.
SPLURGE.
Yes, sir. Cheezo.
SLADDER.
Well, what have you been able to do about it?
SPLURGE.
I've had some nice little posters done, sir. I'm having it well written up. I've got some samples here, and it looks like doing very well indeed.
SLADDER.
Ah!
SPLURGE.
It's a grand name, if I may say so, sir. It sounds so classical-like with that "O" at the end; and yet anyone can see what it's derived from, even if he's never learnt anything. It suggests cheese to them every time.
SLADDER.
Let's see your samples.
SPLURGE.
Well, sir, here's one. (Brings paper from pocket. Reads.) "What is Cheezo? Go where you may, speak with whom you will, the same question confronts you. Cheezo is the great new----"
SLADDER.
No, Splurge. Cut that question bit. We must have no admission on our part that there's anyone who doesn't know what Cheezo is. Cut it.
SPLURGE.
You're quite right, sir; you're quite right. That's a weak bit. I'll cut it. (He scratches it out. Reads.) "Cheezo is the great new food. It builds up body and brain."
SLADDER.
That's good.
SPLURGE.
"There is a hundred times more lactic fluid in an ounce of Cheezo than in a gallon of milk."
SLADDER.
What's lactic fluid, Splurge?
SPLURGE. I don't know, sir, but it's good stuff all right. It's the right thing to have in it. It's a good man that I got to write this.
SLADDER.
All right. Go on.
SPLURGE.
"Cheezo makes darling baby grow."
SLADDER.
Good. Very good. Very good indeed, Splurge.
SPLURGE.
Yes, I think that catches them, sir.
SLADDER.
Go on.
SPLURGE.
"Cheezo. The only food."
SLADDER.
"The only food"? I don't like that.
SPLURGE.
It will go down all right, sir, so long as the posters are big enough.
SLADDER.
Go down all right! I wasn't fool enough to suppose that it wouldn't go _down_ all right. What are posters for if the public doesn't believe them? Of course it will go _down_ all right.
SPLURGE.
O, I beg your pardon, sir. Then what don't you quite like about it?
SLADDER.
I might invent another food one of these days, and then where should we be?
SPLURGE.
I hadn't thought of that, sir.
SLADDER.
Out with it.
SPLURGE.
(Scratches with pencil).
"Cheezo is made out of the purest milk from purest English cows."
SLADDER.
Y-e-s, y-e-s. I don't say you're wrong. I don't say you're exactly wrong. But in business, Splurge, you want to keep more to generalities. Talk about the bonds that bind the Empire, talk about the Union Jack, talk by all means about the purity of the English cow; but definite statements you know, definite statements----
SPLURGE.
O, yes, I know, sir; but the police never interfere with anything one puts on a poster. It would be bad for business, a jury would never convict, and----
SLADDER.
I didn't say they would; but if some interfering ass were to write to the papers to say that Cheezo wasn't made from milk, we should have to go to the expense of buying a dozen cows, and photographing them, and one thing and another. (He gets up and goes to cupboard.) Now, look here. I quite understand what you say, purity and all that, and a very good point too, but you look at this.
[He unrolls a huge poster representing a dairymaid smirking in deadly earnest. On it is printed: "WON'T YOU HAVE SOME?" and on another part of the poster "CHEEZO FOR PURITY."]
You see. Your whole point's there. We state nothing and we can make the dairymaid as suggestive as we like.
SPLURGE.
Yes, sir, that is excellent. Quite splendid.
SLADDER.
They shall look at that on every road and railway, where it enters every town in England. I'll have it on the cliffs of Dover. It shall be the first thing they see when they come back home, and the last thing for them to remember when they leave England. I'll have it everywhere. I'll rub their noses in it. And then, Splurge, they'll ask for Cheezo when they want cheese, and that will mean I shall have the monopoly of all the cheese in the world.
SPLURGE.
You're a great man, sir.
SLADDER.
I'll be a greater one, Splurge. I'm not past work yet. What more have you got?
SPLURGE.
I've rather a nice little poster being done, sir. A boy and a girl looking at one another with a rather knowing look. There's a large query mark all over the girl's dress. Then over the top in big letters I've put: "What is the secret?" and in smaller letters: "I've got a bit of Cheezo." It _makes_ people look at it, the children's faces are so wicked.
SLADDER.
Good, Splurge. Very good. I'll have that one. I'll rub their noses in that one.
SPLURGE.
Then I've got some things for the Press. (Reads.) "She: 'Darling.' He: 'Yes, wifey.' She: 'You won't forget, darling.' He: 'No, wifey.' She: 'You won't forget to bring me some of that excellent Cheezo, so nutritious, so nice for darling baby, to be had at all grocers; but be sure that you find the name of Sladder on their well-known pink wrappers.' He: 'Certainly, wifey.'" Just the usual thing, sir, of course; only I have a very good little picture to go with it, very suggestive indeed; I've made all the arrangements with the Press and the bill-posters, sir. I think we'll make a big thing of it, sir.
SLADDER.
Well, Splurge, nothing remains to be done now, except to make the Cheezo.
SPLURGE.
How do you think of doing it, sir?
SLADDER.
Do you know how they kill pigs in Chicago? No, you've not travelled yet. Well, they get their pigs on a slide, one man cuts their throats as fast as they go by, another shaves their bristles, and so on, and so on; one man for each job, and all at it at once; they do it very expeditiously. Well, there's an interfering fellow sent there by the Government (we wouldn't stand him in England), and if a pig has a sign of tuberculosis on him he won't let that pig go down. Now you'd think that pig was wasted. He isn't. He goes into soap. Now, Splurge, how many cakes of soap were used in the world last year?
SPLURGE
(_getting up_):
Last year? I don't think we have the figures in for last year yet, sir.
[He goes to bookshelf.]
SLADDER.
Well, the year before will do.
SPLURGE.
(taking book and turning pages):
The figures are given, I think, sir, from the 1st of March to the 1st of March.
SLADDER.
That will do.
SPLURGE.
Ah, here it is, sir. Soap statistics for the twelve months ending 1st of March this year. A hundred and four million users, using on an average twenty cakes each per year. Then there are partial users, and occasional users. The total would be about twenty-one hundred million, sir.
SLADDER.
Pure waste, Splurge, all pure waste.
SPLURGE.
Waste, sir?
SLADDER.
Pure waste. What do you suppose becomes of all that soap, all that good fat? Proteids, I think they call 'em. And proteids are _good_ for you, Splurge.
SPLURGE.
What _becomes_ of them, sir? They're used up.
SLADDER.
No, Splurge. They disappear, I grant you. They float away. But they're still there Splurge, they're still there. All that good fat is somewhere.
SPLURGE.
But--but, sir--but--In the drains, sir?
SLADDER.
All those million of cakes of soap. There must be tons of it, Splurge. And we'll _get_ it.
SPLURGE.
You are a wonderful man, sir.
SLADDER.
O, I've a few brains, Splurge. That anyone might have. But I use mine, that's all. There's cleverer people than me in the world----
SPLURGE.
No, sir.
SLADDER.
O, yes, there are. Lots of them. But they're damned fools. And why? 'Cause they don't use their brains. They mess about learning Greek. Greek! Can you believe it? What good does Greek ever do them?... But the money's not made yet, Splurge.
SPLURGE.
I'm having it well advertised, sir.
SLADDER.
Not so fast. What if they won't eat it?
SPLURGE.
O, they'll eat it all right when it's advertised, sir. They eat everything that's advertised.
SLADDER.
What if they can't eat it, Splurge?
SPLURGE.
Can't, sir?
SLADDER.
Send for my daughter.
SPLURGE.
Yes, sir.
(He rises and goes to the door.)
SLADDER.
The battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of some damned place. A million of money will be won or lost in this house in five minutes.
SPLURGE.
In this house, sir?
SLADDER.
Yes, in Ermyntrude's sitting-room. Send for her.
SPLURGE.
Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Miss Sladder! Miss Sladder!
ERMYNTRUDE
(_off_):
Yes, Mr. Splurge.
SPLURGE.
Would you come to the study, miss, Mr. Sladder wants to speak to you.
ERMYNTRUDE.
O, yes, Mr. Splurge.
SLADDER.
The test! The test!
[Re-enter SPLURGE.]
SPLURGE.
Miss Sladder is coming, sir.
SLADDER.
The test!
[Enter ERMYNTRUDE.]
ERMYNTRUDE.
What is it, father?
SLADDER.
How are your white mice, child?
ERMYNTRUDE.
Quite well, father, both of them.
SLADDER
(draws a box from his pocket, takes out a little bit of cheese):
Give them that, Ermyntrude.
ERMYNTRUDE.
That, father. What is it?
SLADDER.
Cheese.
ERMYNTRUDE.
May I have a bit?
SLADDER.
No, don't touch it!
ERMYNTRUDE.
Very well, father.
SLADDER.
If they eat it, you shall have----
ERMYNTRUDE.
What, father?
SLADDER.
Anything, everything. Only go and give them the cheese.
ERMYNTRUDE.
All right, father.
[She moves to the door R., she looks round, then goes out by the French window instead.]
SLADDER.
Why are you going that way, child?
ERMYNTRUDE.
O--er--I thought it would be nice to go round over the lawn, father. I can get in by the drawing-room.
SLADDER.
O, very well. Be quick, dear.
ERMYNTRUDE.
All right, father.
[The magnet that has attracted ERMYNTRUDE to the lawn now appears in the form of MR. HIPPANTHIGH, passing the window on his way to the hall-door. SLADDER and SPLURGE do not see him, having their backs to the window. ERMYNTRUDE looks round now and then to be sure of this. They hold hands longer than is laid down as necessary in books upon etiquette under the head of visiting. She gives him a look of glad and hopeful interrogation but he shakes his head solemnly, and passes gravely on, as one whose errand is no cheerful duty. She looks after him, then goes her way.]
SLADDER.
Well, Splurge, we can only wait. (With emphasis.) If these mice eat it----
SPLURGE.
Yes, sir?
SLADDER.
The public will eat it.
SPLURGE.
Ah!
SLADDER.
Any other business to-day?
SPLURGE.
O, only the cook, sir. He's complaining about the vegetables, sir. He says he's never been anywhere before where they didn't buy them. We get them out of the kitchen garden here, and it seems he doesn't understand it. Says he won't serve a greengrocer, sir.
SLADDER.
A kitchen garden is the wrong thing, is it?
SPLURGE.
He says so, sir.
SLADDER.
But there was one here when we came.
SPLURGE.
O, only country people, sir. I suppose they didn't know any better.
SLADDER.
Well, where do people grow vegetables, then?
SPLURGE.
I asked the cook that, sir, and he said they don't grow them, they buy them.
SLADDER.
O, all right, then. Let him buy them, then. We must do the right thing.
[The hall-door bell rings.]
SLADDER.
Hullo! Who's ringing my bell?
SPLURGE.
That was the hall-door, wasn't it, sir?
SLADDER.
Yes. What are they ringing it for?
[Enter BUTLER.]
BUTLER.
Mr. Hippanthigh has called to see you, sir.
SLADDER.
Called to see me! What about?
BUTLER.
He didn't inform me, sir.
SLADDER.
I say, Splurge, have I got to see him?
SPLURGE.
I think so, sir. I think they call on one another like that in the country.
SLADDER.
Good lord, whatever for?
(To BUTLER.)
O, yes. I'll see him, I'll see him.
BUTLER.
Very good, sir, I'll inform him so, sir.
[Exit.]
SLADDER.
I say, Splurge, I suppose I've got to have a butler, and all that, eh?
SPLURGE.
O, yes, sir. One at least. It's quite necessary.
SLADDER.
You--you couldn't have bought me a cheerfuller one now, could you?
SPLURGE.
I'm afraid not, sir. If you were to take all this too lightheartedly, the other landowners would hardly like it, you know.
SLADDER.
O, well! O, well! What kind of man is this Hippanthigh that's coming?
SPLURGE.
He's the man that quarrels with the bishop, sir.
SLADDER.
O, the curate. O, yes. I've heard about him. He's been here before, I think. Lawn tennis.
[Enter BUTLER.]
BUTLER.
Mr. Hippanthigh, sir.
[Enter HIPPANTHIGH. Exit BUTLER.]
SLADDER.
How do you do, Mr. Hippanthigh? How do you do? Pleased to see you.
HIPPANTHIGH.
I wished to speak with you, Mr. Sladder, if you will permit me.
SLADDER.
Certainly, Mr. Hippanthigh, certainly. Take a chair.
HIPPANTHIGH.
Thank you, sir. I think I would sooner stand.
SLADDER.
Please yourself. Please yourself.
HIPPANTHIGH.
I wished to speak with you alone, sir.
SLADDER.
Alone, eh? Alone? (_Aside to_ SPLURGE.) It's usual, eh? (_To_ HIPPANTHIGH.) Alone, of course, yes. You've come to call, haven't you. (_Exit_ SPLURGE.) Can I offer you--er, er--calling's not much in my line, you know--but what I mean is--will you have a bottle of champagne?
HIPPANTHIGH.
Mr. Sladder, I've come to speak with you because I believe it to be my duty to do so. I have hesitated to come, but when for particular reasons it became most painful to me to do so, then I knew that it was my clear duty, and I have come.
SLADDER.
O, yes, what they call a duty call. O, yes, quite so. Yes, exactly.
HIPPANTHIGH.
Mr. Sladder, many of my parishioners are acquainted with the thing that you sell as bread. (From the moment of_ HIPPANTHIGH'S _entry till now_ SLADDER, _over-cheerful and anxious, has been struggling to do and say the right thing through all the complications of a visit; but now that the note of Business has been sounded he suddenly knows where he is and becomes alert and stern, and all there.)
SLADDER.
What? Virilo?
HIPPANTHIGH.
Yes. They pay more for it than they pay for bread, because they've been taught somehow, poor fools, that "they must have the best." They've been made to believe that it makes them, what they call virile, poor fools, and they're growing ill on it. Not so ill that I can prove anything, and the doctor daren't help me.
SLADDER.
Are you aware, Mr. Hippanthigh, that if you said in public what you're saying to me, you would go to prison for it, unless you can run to the very heavy fine--damages would be enormous.
HIPPANTHIGH.
I know that, Mr. Sladder, and so I have come to you as the last hope for my people.
SLADDER.
Are you aware, Mr. Hippanthigh, that you are making an attack upon business? I don't say that business is as pure as a surplice. But I do say that in business it is--as you may not understand--get on or go under; and without my business, or the business of the next man, who is doing his best to beat me, what would happen to trade? I don't know what's going to happen to England if you get rid of her trade, Mr. Hippanthigh.... Well?... When we're broke because we've been doing business with surplices on, what are the other countries going to do, Mr. Hippanthigh? Can you answer me that?
HIPPANTHIGH.
No, Mr. Sladder.
SLADDER.
Ah! So I've got the best of you?
HIPPANTHIGH.
Yes, Mr. Sladder. I'm not so clever as you.
SLADDER.
Glad you admit the point. As for cleverness it isn't that I've so much of that, but I use what I've got. Well, have you anything more to say?
HIPPANTHIGH.
Only to appeal to you, Mr. Sladder, on behalf of these poor people.
SLADDER.
Why. But you admitted one must have business, and that it can't be run like a tea-party. What more do you want?
HIPPANTHIGH.
I want you to spare them, Mr. Sladder.
SLADDER.
Spare them? Spare them? Why, what's the matter with them? I'm not killing them.
HIPPANTHIGH.
No, Mr. Sladder, you're not killing them. The mortality among children's a bit on the high side, but I wouldn't say that was entirely due to your bread. There's a good many minor ailments among the grown-up people, it seems to attack their digestion mostly, one can't trace each case to its source; but their health and their teeth aren't what they were when they had the pure wheaten bread.
SLADDER.
But there _is_ wheat in my bread, prepared by a special process.
HIPPANTHIGH.
Ah! It's that special process that does it, I expect.
SLADDER.
Well, they needn't buy it if it isn't good.
HIPPANTHIGH.
Ah, they can't help themselves, poor fools; they've been taught to do it from their childhood up. Virilo, Bredo and Weeto, that are all so much better than bread, it's a choice between these three. Bread is never advertised, or God's good wheat.
SLADDER.
Mr. Hippanthigh, if I'm too much of a fool to sell my goods I suffer for it; if they're such fools as to buy my Virilo, they suffer for it--that is to say, you say they do--that is a natural law that may be new to you. But why should I suffer more than them? Besides, if I take my Virilo off the market just to oblige you, Mr. Hippanthigh, a little matter of £30,000 a year----
HIPPANTHIGH.
I--er----
SLADDER.
O, don't mention it. Any little trifle to oblige! But if I did, up would go the sales of Bredo and Weeto (which have nothing to do with my firm), and your friends wouldn't be any better for that let me tell you, for I happen to know how _they're_ made.
HIPPANTHIGH.
I am not speaking of the wickedness of others. I come to appeal to you, Mr. Sladder, that for nothing that _you_ do, our English race shall lose anything of its ancient strength, in its young men in their prime, or that they should grow infirm a day sooner than God intended, when He planned his course for man.
ERMYNTRUDE
(_off_):
Father! Father!
[SLADDER draws himself up, and stands erect to meet the decisive news that he has expected.]
[Enter ERMYNTRUDE.]
ERMYNTRUDE.
Father! The mice have eaten the cheese.
SLADDER.
Ah! The public will---- O! (He has suddenly seen HIPPANTHIGH).
HIPPANTHIGH
(solemnly):
What new wickedness is this, Mr. Sladder?
(All stand silent.)
Good-bye, Mr. Sladder.
[He goes to the door, passing ERMYNTRUDE. He looks at her and sighs as he goes. He passes MRS. SLADDER near the door, and bows in silence.]
[Exit.]
ERMYNTRUDE.
What have you been saying to Mr. Hippanthigh, father?
SLADDER.
Saying! He's been doing all the saying. He doesn't let you do much saying, does Hippanthigh.
ERMYNTRUDE.
But, father. What did he come to see you about?
SLADDER.
He came to call your poor old father all kinds of bad names, he did. It seems your old father is a wicked fellow, Ermyntrude.
ERMYNTRUDE.
O, father, I'm sure he never meant it.
[HIPPANTHIGH goes by the window with a mournful face. ERMYNTRUDE runs to the window and watches him till he is out of sight. She quietly waves her hand to HIPPANTHIGH, unseen by her father.]
SLADDER.
O, he meant it all right. He meant it. I'm sorry for that bishop of his that he quarrels with, if he lets him have it the way he went for your poor old father. O, dear me; dear me.
ERMYNTRUDE.
I don't think he quarrels with him, father. I think he only insists that there can be no such thing as eternal punishment. I think that's rather nice of him.
SLADDER.
I don't care a damn about eternal punishment one way or the other. But a man who quarrels with the head of his firm's a fool. If his bishop's keen on hell, he should push hell for all it's worth.
ERMYNTRUDE.
Y-e-s, I suppose he should. But, father, aren't you glad that my mice have eaten the new cheese? I thought you'd be glad, father.
SLADDER.
So I am, child. So I am. Only I don't feel quite so glad as I thought I was going to, now. I don't know why. He seems to have stroked me the wrong way somehow.
ERMYNTRUDE.
You said you'd give me whatever I liked.
SLADDER.
And so I will, child. So I will. A motor if you like, with chauffeur and footman complete. We can buy anything now, and I wouldn't grudge----
ERMYNTRUDE.
I don't want a motor, father.
SLADDER.
What would you like to have?
ERMYNTRUDE.
O, nothing, father, nothing. Only about that duke, father----
SLADDER.
What duke, Ermyntrude?
ERMYNTRUDE.
Mother said you wanted me to marry a duke some day, father.
SLADDER.
Well?
ERMYNTRUDE. Well I--er--I don't think I quite want to, father.
SLADDER.
Ah! Quite so. Quite so. Quite so. And who _did_ you think of marrying?
ERMYNTRUDE.
O, father.
SLADDER.
Well? (ERMYNTRUDE is silent.) When I was his age, I had to work hard for my living.
ERMYNTRUDE.
O, father. How do you know what age he is?
SLADDER.
O, I guessed he was 82, going to be 83 next birthday. But I daresay I know nothing of the world. I daresay I may have been wrong.
ERMYNTRUDE.
O, father, he's young.
SLADDER.
Dear me, you don't say so. Dear me, you do surprise me. Well, well, well, well. We do live and learn. Don't we? And what might his name be now?
ERMYNTRUDE.
It's Mr. Hippanthigh, father.
SLADDER.
O-o-o! It's Mr. Hippanthigh, is it? O-ho, O-ho! (He touches a movable bell, shouting "SPLURGE!" To his daughter or rather to himself.) We'll see Mr. Hippanthigh.
ERMYNTRUDE.
What are you going to do, father?
SLADDER.
We'll see Mr. Hippanthigh. (Enter SPLURGE.) Splurge, run after Mr. Hippanthigh and bring him back. Say I've got something to say to him. He's gone that way. Quick!
SPLURGE.
Yes, sir.
[Exit.]
SLADDER.
I've got something to say to _him_ this time.
ERMYNTRUDE.
Father! What are you going to do?
SLADDER.
I'm going to give him What For.
ERMYNTRUDE.
But why, father?
SLADDER.
Because he's been giving it to your poor old father.
ERMYNTRUDE.
Father----
SLADDER.
Well?
ERMYNTRUDE.
Be kind to him, father.
SLADDER.
O, _I'll_ be kind to him. I'll be _kind_ to him. Just you wait. I'll be _kind_ to him!
ERMYNTRUDE.
But you wouldn't send him away, father. Father, for my sake you wouldn't do that?
SLADDER.
O, we haven't _come_ to that yet.
ERMYNTRUDE.
But, but--you've sent for him.
SLADDER.
O, I've sent for him to give him What For. We'll come to the rest later.
ERMYNTRUDE.
But, when you do come to it, father.
SLADDER.
Why, when we do come to it, if the young man's any good, I'll not stand in my daughter's way----
ERMYNTRUDE.
O, thank you, father.
SLADDER.
And if he's no good (_firmly_) I'll protect my child from him.
ERMYNTRUDE.
But, father, I don't want to be protected.
SLADDER.
If a man's a man, he must be some good at something. Well, this man's chosen the clergyman job. I've nothing against the job, it's well enough paid at the top, but is this young man ever going to get there? Is he ever going to get off the bottom rung? How long has he been a curate?
ERMYNTRUDE.
Eight years, father.
SLADDER.
It's a long time.
ERMYNTRUDE.
But, father, he would get a vicarage if it wasn't for the bishop. The bishop stands in his way. It isn't nice of him.
SLADDER.
If I'd quarrelled with the head of my firm when I was his age, you wouldn't be getting proposals from a curate; no such luck. The dustman would have been more in your line.
ERMYNTRUDE.
But, father, he doesn't quarrel with the bishop. His conscience doesn't let him believe in eternal punishment, and so he speaks straight out. I do admire him so for it. He knows that if he was silent he'd have had a good living long ago.
SLADDER.
The wife of the head of my firm believed in spirit rapping. Did I go and tell her what an old fool she was? No, I brought her messages from another world as regular as a postman.
[Steps are heard outside the window.]
SLADDER.
Run along, my dear, now.
ERMYNTRUDE.
Very well, father.
SLADDER.
The man that's going to look after my daughter must be able to look after himself. Otherwise _I_ will, till a better man comes.
[Exit ERMYNTRUDE. HIPPANTHIGH and SPLURGE appear at the window. HIPPANTHIGH enters and SPLURGE moves away.]
HIPPANTHIGH.
You sent for me, Mr. Sladder?
SLADDER.
Y-e-s--y-e-s. Take a chair. Now, Mr. Hippanthigh, I haven't often been told off the way you told me off.
HIPPANTHIGH. I felt it to be my duty, Mr. Sladder.
SLADDER.
Yes, quite so. Exactly. Well, it seems I'm a thoroughly bad old man, only fit to rob the poor, an out-and-out old ruffian.
HIPPANTHIGH.
I never said that.
SLADDER.
No. But you made me feel it. I never felt so bad about myself before, not as bad as that. But you, Mr. Hippanthigh, you were the high-falutin' angel with a new brass halo, out on its bank holiday. Now, how would clandestine love-making strike you, Mr. Hippanthigh? Would that be all right to your way of thinking?
HIPPANTHIGH.
Clandestine, Mr. Sladder? I hardly understand you.
SLADDER.
I understand that you have been making love to my daughter.
HIPPANTHIGH.
I admit it.
SLADDER.
Well, I haven't heard you say anything about it to me before. Did you tell her mother?
HIPPANTHIGH.
Er--no.
SLADDER.
Perhaps you told me. Very likely I've forgotten it.
HIPPANTHIGH.
No.
SLADDER.
Well, who _did_ you tell?
HIPPANTHIGH.
We--we hadn't told anyone yet.
SLADDER.
Well, I think clandestine's the word for it, Mr. Hippanthigh. I haven't had time in my life to bother about the exact meanings of words or any nonsense of that sort, but I think clandestine's about the word for it.
HIPPANTHIGH.
It's a hard word, Mr. Sladder.
SLADDER.
May be. And who began using hard words? You came here and made me out a pickpocket, just because I use a few tasty little posters which sell my goods, and all the while you're trying on the sly to take a poor old man's daughter away from him. Well, Mr. Hippanthigh?
HIPPANTHIGH.
I--I never looked at it in that light before, Mr. Sladder. I never thought of it in that way. You have made me feel ashamed (he lowers his head), ashamed.
SLADDER.
Aha! Aha! I thought I would. Now you know what it's like when you make people ashamed of themselves. You don't like it when they do it to you. Aha!
(SLADDER is immensely pleased with himself.)
HIPPANTHIGH.
Mr. Sladder, I spoke to you as my conscience demanded, and you have shown me that I have done wrong in not speaking sooner about our engagement. I would have spoken to you, but I could not say that and the other thing in the same day. I meant to tell you soon;--well, I didn't, and I know it looks bad. I've done wrong and I admit it.
SLADDER.
Aha!
(Still hugely pleased.)
HIPPANTHIGH.
But, Mr. Sladder, you would not on that account perhaps spoil your daughter's happiness, and take a terrible revenge on me. You would not withhold your consent to our----
SLADDER.
Wait a moment; we're coming to that. There's some bad animal that I've heard of that lives in France, and when folks attack it it defends itself. I've just been defending myself. I think I've shown you that you're no brand-new extra-gilt angel on the top of a spire.
HIPPANTHIGH.
O--I--er--never----
SLADDER. Quite so. Well, now we come on to the other part. Very well. Those lords and people, they marry one another's daughters, because they know they're all no good. They're afraid it will get out like, and spread some of their damned mediæval ideas where they'll do harm. So they keep it in the family like. But we people who have had the sense to look after ourselves, we don't throw our daughters away to any young man that can't look after himself. See?
HIPPANTHIGH.
I assure you, Mr. Sladder, I should--er----
SLADDER.
She's my only daughter, and if any of my grandchildren are going to the work-house, they'll go to one where the master's salary is high, and they'll go there as master.
HIPPANTHIGH.
I am aware, Mr. Sladder, that I have very little money; as you would look at it, very little.
SLADDER.
It isn't the amount of money you've got as matters. The question is this: are you a young man as money is any good to? If I died and left you a million, would you know what to do with it? I've met men what wouldn't last more than six weeks on a million. Then they'd starve if nobody gave them another million. I'm not going to give my daughter to one of that sort.
HIPPANTHIGH.
I was third in the classical tripos at Cambridge, Mr. Sladder.
SLADDER.
I don't give a damn for classics; and I don't give a damn for Cambridge; and I don't know what a tripos is. But all I can tell you is that if I was fool enough to waste my time with classics, third wouldn't be good enough for me. No, Mr. Hippanthigh, you've chosen the church as your job, and I've nothing to say against your choice; its a free country, and I've nothing to say against your job; it's well enough paid at the top, only you don't look like getting there. I chose business as my job, there seemed more sense in it; but if I'd chosen the Church, I shouldn't have stuck as a curate. No, nor a bishop either. I wouldn't have had an archbishop ballyragging me and ordering me about. No. I'd have got to the top, and drawn big pay, and _spent_ it.
HIPPANTHIGH.
But, Mr. Sladder, I could be a vicar to-morrow if my conscience would allow me to cease protesting against a certain point which the bishop holds to be----
SLADDER.
I know all about that. I don't care what it is that keeps you on the bottom rung of the ladder. Conscience, you say. Well, it's a different thing with every man. It's conscience with some, drink with others, sheer stupidity with most. It's pretty crowded already, that bottom rung, without me going and putting my daughter on it. Where do you suppose I'd be now if I'd let my conscience get in my way? Eh?
HIPPANTHIGH.
Mr. Sladder, I cannot alter my beliefs.
SLADDER.
Nobody asks you to. I only ask you to leave the bishop alone. He says one thing and you preach another whenever you get half a chance; it's enough to break up any firm.
HIPPANTHIGH.
Believing as I do that eternal punishment is incompatible with----
SLADDER.
Now, Mr. Hippanthigh, that's got to stop. I don't mind saying, now that I've given you What For, that you don't seem a bad young fellow: but my daughter's not going to marry on the bottom rung, and there's an end of that.
HIPPANTHIGH.
But, Mr. Sladder, can you bring yourself to believe in anything so terrible as eternal punishment, so contrary to----
SLADDER.
Me? No.
HIPPANTHIGH.
Then, how can you ask me to?
SLADDER.
That particular belief never happened to stand between me and the top of the tree. Many things did, but they're all down below me now, Mr. Hippanthigh, way down there (_pointing_) where I can hardly see them. You get off that bottom rung as I did years ago.
HIPPANTHIGH.
I cannot go back on all I've said.
SLADDER.
I don't want to make it hard for you. Only just say you believe in eternal punishment, and then give up talking about it. You may say it to me if you like. We'll have one other person present so that there's no going back on it, my daughter if you like. I'll let the bishop know, and he won't stand in your way any longer, but at present you force his hand. It's you or the rules of the firm.
HIPPANTHIGH.
I cannot.
SLADDER.
You can't just say to me and my daughter that you believe in eternal punishment, and leave me to go over to Axminster and put it right with the bishop?
HIPPANTHIGH.
I cannot say what I do not believe.
SLADDER.
Think. The bishop probably doesn't believe it himself. But you've been forcing his hand,--going out of your way to.
HIPPANTHIGH.
I cannot say it.
SLADDER
(_rising_):
Mr. Hippanthigh, there's two kinds of men, those that succeed, those that don't. I know no other kind. You ...
HIPPANTHIGH.
I cannot go against my conscience.
SLADDER.
I don't care what your reason is. You are the second kind. I am sorry my daughter ever loved a man of that sort. I am sorry a man of that sort ever entered my house. I was a little, dirty, ragged boy. You make me see what I would be to-day if I had been a man of your kind. I would be dirty and ragged still. (His voice has been rising during this speech.)
[Enter ERMYNTRUDE.]
ERMYNTRUDE.
Father! What are you saying, father? I heard such loud voices.
[HIPPANTHIGH stands silent and mournful.]
SLADDER.
My child, I had foolish ideas for you once, but now I say that you are to marry a man, not a wretched, miserable little curate, who will be a wretched, miserable little curate all his life.
ERMYNTRUDE.
Father, I will not hear such words.
SLADDER.
I've given him every chance. I've given him more than every chance, but he prefers the bottom rung of the ladder; there we will leave him.
ERMYNTRUDE.
O, father! How can you be so cruel?
SLADDER.
It's not my fault, and it's not the bishop's fault. It's his own silly pig-headedness.
[He goes back to his chair.]
ERMYNTRUDE
(going up to HIPPANTHIGH):
O, Charlie, couldn't you do what father wants?
HIPPANTHIGH.
No, no, I cannot. He wants me to go back on things I've said.
[Enter MRS. SLADDER carrying a wire cage, with two dead white mice in it. Also SPLURGE.]
MRS. SLADDER
O, the mice have died, John. The mice have died. O, Ermyntrude's poor mice! And father's great idea! Whatever shall we do?
SLADDER.
Er?
(Almost a groan)
Eh? Died have they?
[SLADDER ages in his chair. You would say he was beaten. Suddenly he tautens up his muscles and stands up straight with shoulders back and clenched hands.]
So they would beat Sladder, would they? They would beat Sladder. No, that has yet to be done. We'll go on, Splurge. The public shall eat Cheezo. It's a bit strong perhaps. We'll tone it down with bad nuts that they use for the other cheeses. We'll advertise it, and they'll eat it. See to it, Splurge. They don't beat Sladder.
MRS. SLADDER.
O, I'm so glad. I'm so glad, John.
HIPPANTHIGH
(suddenly with clear emphasis):
I THINK I DO BELIEVE IN ETERNAL PUNISHMENT.
SLADDER.
Ah. At last. Well, Ermyntrude, is your cruel old parent's blessing any use to you?
[He places one hand on her shoulder and one on HIPPANTHIGH'S.]
MRS. SLADDER.
Why, Ermyntrude! Well, I never! And to think of all this happening in one day!
[HIPPANTHIGH is completely beaten. ERMYNTRUDE is smiling at him. He puts an arm round her shoulder in dead silence.]
[CURTAIN.]
[The end]
Lord Dunsany's play: Cheezo
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