Complete Plays of John Galsworthy Part 181

HOME. [In a strange, almost threatening voice] It won't do, Mr.

More. Give us your word, to hold your peace!

SHELDER. Come! More.

WACE. Yes, indeed--indeed!

BANNING. We must have it.

MORE. [Without lifting his head] I--I----

The drum-tap of a regiment marching is heard.

BANNING. Can you hear that go by, man--when your country's just been struck?

Now comes the scale and mutter of a following crowd.

MORE. I give you----

Then, sharp and clear above all other sounds, the words: "Give the beggars h.e.l.l, boys!" "Wipe your feet on their dirty country!" "Don't leave 'em a gory acre!" And a burst of hoa.r.s.e cheering.

MORE. [Flinging up his head] That's reality! By Heaven! No!

KATHERINE. Oh!

SHELDER. In that case, we'll go.

BANNING. You mean it? You lose us, then!

[MORE bows.]

HOME. Good riddance! [Venomously--his eyes darting between MORE and KATHERINE] Go and stump the country! Find out what they think of you! You'll pardon me!

One by one, without a word, only BANNING looking back, they pa.s.s out into the hall. MORE sits down at the table before the pile of newspapers. KATHERINE, in the window, never moves. OLIVE comes along the terrace to her mother.

OLIVE. They were nice ones! Such a lot of dirty people following, and some quite clean, Mummy. [Conscious from her mother's face that something is very wrong, she looks at her father, and then steals up to his side] Uncle Hubert's gone, Daddy; and Auntie Helen's crying.

And--look at Mummy!

[MORE raises his head and looks.]

OLIVE. Do be on our side! Do!

She rubs her cheek against his. Feeling that he does not rub his cheek against hers, OLIVE stands away, and looks from him to her mother in wonder.

THE CURTAIN FALLS

ACT III

SCENE I

A cobble-stoned alley, without pavement, behind a suburban theatre. The tall, blind, dingy-yellowish wall of the building is plastered with the tattered remnants of old entertainment bills, and the words: "To Let," and with several torn, and one still virgin placard, containing this announcement: "Stop-the- War Meeting, October 1st. Addresses by STEPHEN MORE, Esq., and others." The alley is plentifully strewn with refuse and sc.r.a.ps of paper. Three stone steps, inset, lead to the stage door. It is a dark night, and a street lamp close to the wall throws all the light there is. A faint, confused murmur, as of distant hooting is heard. Suddenly a boy comes running, then two rough girls hurry past in the direction of the sound; and the alley is again deserted. The stage door opens, and a doorkeeper, poking his head out, looks up and down. He withdraws, but in a second reappears, preceding three black-coated gentlemen.

DOORKEEPER. It's all clear. You can get away down here, gentlemen.

Keep to the left, then sharp to the right, round the corner.

THE THREE. [Dusting themselves, and settling their ties] Thanks, very much! Thanks!

FIRST BLACK-COATED GENTLEMAN. Where's More? Isn't he coming?

They are joined by a fourth black-coated GENTLEMAN.

FOURTH BLACK-COATED GENTLEMAN. Just behind. [TO the DOORKEEPER]

Thanks.

They hurry away. The DOORKEEPER retires. Another boy runs past. Then the door opens again. STEEL and MORE come out.

MORE stands hesitating on the steps; then turns as if to go back.

STEEL. Come along, sir, come!

MORE. It sticks in my gizzard, Steel.

STEEL. [Running his arm through MORE'S, and almost dragging him down the steps] You owe it to the theatre people. [MORE still hesitates]

We might be penned in there another hour; you told Mrs. More half-past ten; it'll only make her anxious. And she hasn't seen you for six weeks.

MORE. All right; don't dislocate my arm.

They move down the steps, and away to the left, as a boy comes running down the alley. Sighting MORE, he stops dead, spins round, and crying shrilly: "'Ere 'e is! That's 'im! 'Ere 'e is!" he bolts back in the direction whence he came.

STEEL. Quick, Sir, quick!

MORE. That is the end of the limit, as the foreign amba.s.sador remarked.

STEEL. [Pulling him back towards the door] Well! come inside again, anyway!

A number of men and boys, and a few young girls, are trooping quickly from the left. A motley crew, out for excitement; loafers, artisans, navvies; girls, rough or dubious. All in the mood of hunters, and having tasted blood. They gather round the steps displaying the momentary irresolution and curiosity that follows on a new development of any chase. MORE, on the bottom step, turns and eyes them.

A GIRL. [At the edge] Which is 'im! The old 'un or the young?

[MORE turns, and mounts the remaining steps.]

TALL YOUTH. [With lank black hair under a bowler hat] You blasted traitor!

MORE faces round at the volley of jeering that follows; the chorus of booing swells, then gradually dies, as if they realized that they were spoiling their own sport.