Three Plays by Granville-Barker Part 60

EDWARD. And what does Beatrice say to your emigrating to the backwoods . .

if that is exactly what you mean?

HUGH. Now that we're separating--

EDWARD. [_taken aback._] What?

HUGH. We mean to separate.

EDWARD. This is the first I've heard of it.

HUGH. Beatrice is making some money by her books, so it has become possible.

EDWARD. [_humorously._] Have you told anyone yet?

HUGH. We mean to now. I think a thing comes to pa.s.s quicker in public.

EDWARD. Say nothing at home until after Christmas.

HUGH. Oh Lord, I forgot! They'll discuss it solemnly. [_then he whistles._] Emily knows!

EDWARD. [_having considered._] I shan't accept this money from you . .

there's no need. All the good has been done that I wanted to do. No one will be beggared now. So why should you be?

HUGH. [_with clumsy affection._] We've taken a fine lot of interest in your labours, haven't we, Hercules?

EDWARD. You hold your tongue about the office affairs, don't you? It's not safe.

HUGH. When will you be quit of the beastly business?

EDWARD. [_becoming reserved and cold at once._] I'm in no hurry.

HUGH. What do you gain by hanging on now?

EDWARD. Occupation.

HUGH. But, Edward, it must be an awfully wearying state of things. I suppose any moment a policeman may knock at the door . . so to speak?

EDWARD. [_appreciating the figure of speech._] Any moment. I take no precautions. I suppose that's why he doesn't come. At first I listened for him, day by day. Then I said to myself . . next week. But a year has gone by and more. I've ceased expecting to hear the knock at all.

HUGH. But look here . . is all this worth while?

EDWARD. [_supremely ironical._] My dear Hugh, what a silly question!

HUGH. [_very seriously._] But have you the right to make a mean thing of your life like this?

EDWARD. Does my life matter?

HUGH. Well . . of course!

EDWARD. I find no evidence to convince me of it. The World that you talk about so finely is using me up. A little wantonly . . a little needlessly, I do think. But she knows her own d.a.m.n business . . or so she says, if you try to teach it her. And why should I trouble to fit myself for better work than she has given me to do . . nursing fools'

money?

HUGH. [_responding at once to this vein._] Edward, we must turn this world upside down. It's her stupidity that drives me mad. We all want a lesson in values. We're never taught what is worth having and what isn't. Why should your real happiness be sacrificed to the sham happiness which people have invested in the firm?

EDWARD. I suppose their money means such happiness to them as they understand.

HUGH. Then we want another currency. We must learn to express ourselves in terms of vitality. There can be no other standard of worth in life, can there? I never believed that money was valuable. I remember once giving a crossing sweeper a sovereign. The sovereign was nothing. But the sensation I gave him was an intrinsically valuable thing.

_He is fearfully pleased with his essay in philosophy._

EDWARD. He could buy other sensations with the sovereign.

HUGH. But none like the first. [_then the realities of life overwhelm him again._] And yet . . we're slaves! Beatrice won't let me go until we're each certain of two hundred a year. And she's quite right . . I should only get into debt. You know that two fifty a year of mine is a hundred and eighty now.

EDWARD. [_mischievous._] Why would you invest sensationally?

HUGH. [_with great seriousness._] I put money into things which I know ought to succeed . .

_The telephone rings._ EDWARD _speaks through it_.

EDWARD. Certainly . . bring him in. [_then to his brother, who sits on the table idly disarranging everything._] You'll have to go now, Hugh.

HUGH. [_shaking his head gloomily._] You're one of the few people I can talk to, Edward.

EDWARD. I like listening.

HUGH. [_as much cheered as surprised._] Do you! I suppose I talk a lot of rot . . but . .

_In comes old_ MR. GEORGE BOOTH, _older too in looks than he was eighteen months back. Very dandyishly dressed, he still seems by no means so happy as his clothes might be making him._

MR. BOOTH. 'Ullo, Hugh! I thought I should find you, Edward.

EDWARD. [_formally._] Good morning, Mr. Booth.

HUGH. [_as he collects his hat, his coat, his various properties._] Well . . Beatrice and I go down to Chislehurst to-morrow. I say . . d'you know that old Nursie is furious with you about something?

EDWARD. [_shortly._] Yes, I know. Good bye.

HUGH. How are you?

_He launches this enquiry at_ MR. BOOTH _with great suddenness just as he leaves the room. The old gentleman jumps; then jumps again at the slam of the door. And then he frowns at_ EDWARD _in a frightened sort of way_.

EDWARD. Will you come here . . or will you sit by the fire?

MR. BOOTH. This'll do. I shan't detain you long.

_He takes the chair by the table and occupies the next minute or two, carefully disposing of his hat and gloves._

EDWARD. Are you feeling all right again?