Three Plays by Granville-Barker Part 45

ALICE. [_after pausing to find her phrase._] There's a joy of service.

BEATRICE. [_ironical herself now._] I forgot . . you've four hundred a year?

ALICE. What has that to do with it?

BEATRICE. [_putting her case very precisely._] I've had to earn my own living, consequently there isn't one thing in my life that I have ever done quite genuinely for its own sake . . but always with an eye towards bread-and-b.u.t.ter, pandering to the people who were to give me that.

Happiness has been my only independence.

_The conservatory door opens and through it come_ MR. VOYSEY _and_ MR.

BOOTH _in the midst of a discussion_.

MR. VOYSEY. Very well, man, stick to the shares and risk it.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. No, of course, if you seriously advise me--

MR. VOYSEY. I never advise greedy children; I let 'em overeat 'emselves and take the consequences--

ALICE. [_shaking a finger._] Uncle Trench, you've been in the garden without a hat after playing billiards in that hot room.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. We had to give up . . my wrist was bad. They've started pool.

BEATRICE. Is Booth going to play?

MR. VOYSEY. We left him instructing Ethel how to hold a cue.

BEATRICE. Perhaps I can finish my letter.

_Off she goes._ ALICE _is idly following with a little paper her hand has fallen on behind the clock_.

MR. VOYSEY. Don't run away, my dear.

ALICE. I'm taking this to Auntie . . Notes and Queries . . she wants it.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. d.a.m.n . . this gravel's stuck to my shoe.

MR. VOYSEY. That's a new made path.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Now don't you think it's too early to have put in those plants?

MR. VOYSEY. No, we're getting frost at night already.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I should have kept that bed a good ten feet further from the tree.

MR. VOYSEY. Nonsense, the tree's to the north of it. This room's cold.

Why don't they keep the fire up! [_He proceeds to put coals on it._]

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. You were too hot in that billiard room. You know, Voysey . . about those Alguazils?

MR. VOYSEY. [_through the rattling of the coals._] What?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_trying to pierce the din._] Those Alguazils.

MR. VOYSEY _with surprising inconsequence points a finger at the silk handkerchief across_ MR. BOOTH'S _s.h.i.+rt front_.

MR. VOYSEY. What d'you put your handkerchief there for?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Measure of precau--[_at that moment he sneezes._] d.a.m.n it . . if you've given me a chill dragging me round your infernal garden--

MR. VOYSEY. [_slapping him on the back._] You're an old crock.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Well, I'll be glad of this winter in Egypt. [_He returns to his subject._] And if you think seriously, that I ought to sell out of the Alguazils before I go . . ? [_He looks with childlike enquiry at his friend, who is apparently yawning slightly._] Why can't you take them in charge? . . and I'll give you a power of attorney or whatever it is . . and you can sell out if things look bad.

_At this moment_ PHOEBE, _the middle aged parlour-maid comes in, tray in hand. Like an expert fisherman_ MR. VOYSEY _once more lets loose the thread of the conversation_.

MR. VOYSEY. D'you want to clear?

PHOEBE. It doesn't matter, sir.

MR. VOYSEY. No, go on . . go on.

_So_ MARY, _the young housemaid, comes in as well, and the two start to clear the table. All of which fidgets poor_ MR. BOOTH _considerably. He sits shrivelled up in the armchair by the fire; and now_ MR. VOYSEY _attends to him_.

MR. VOYSEY. What d'you want with high interest at all . . you never spend half your income?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. I like to feel that my money is doing some good in the world. These mines are very useful things and forty two per cent is pleasing.

MR. VOYSEY. You're an old gambler.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_propitiatingly._] Ah, but then I've you to advise me. I always do as you tell me in the end, now you can't deny that.

MR. VOYSEY. The man who don't know must trust in the man who does! [_He yawns again._]

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_modestly insisting._] There's five thousand in Alguazils--what else could we put it into?

MR. VOYSEY. I can get you something at four and a half.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Oh, Lord . . that's nothing.

MR. VOYSEY. [_with a sudden serious friendliness._] I wish, my dear George, you'd invest more on your own account. You know--what with one thing and the other--I've got control of practically all you have in the world. I might be playing old Harry with it for all you know.

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. [_overflowing with confidence._] My dear feller . . if I'm satisfied! Ah, my friend, what'll happen to your firm when you depart this life! . . not before my time, I hope, though.

MR. VOYSEY. [_with a little frown._] What d'ye mean?

MR. GEORGE BOOTH. Edward's no use.

MR. VOYSEY. I beg your pardon . . very sound in business.