John. I should think he hadn't. Charlie knows better than that, any way. Annie. You told him not to dress? John. Look here, infant! I shouldn't dream of telling him not to dress. He knows perfectly well where he is. Francis. Annie, you mustn't forget, even though Charlie is the Shah of Persia, John is his eldest brother and the head of the family. Annie. I was only thinking of all the grand doings he treated me to last time I was up in London. [To John.] How long shall we have to wait supper? John. We sha'n't have to wait supper at all. They'll be across in a Francis. So I am. And it's the most enormous lark that ever was. But I never show myself on Saturdays. John. Lark, is it? Francis. Well, you can imagine what fun it must be from the "Mercury." John. You don't suppose I read that thing, do you? Francis. You miss a treat then. I hadn't used to read it. But now I wouldn't be without it. We've just got a new musical critic. I collect his pearls. Here's one [takes a cutting from his pocket] about the concert that Elgar conducted on Friday: "Sir Edward took his men through the initial movement of the 'Dream of Gerontius' at a smart pace. They responded willingly to his baton." John [impressed]. It's too fearfully wonderful, isn't it? I say, what do you think of Elgar, really? Francis. Tell you in fifty years. John. I agree with you. [Loud voice heard off, 1.] There's Brindley. Francis. Oh! He was here last time I was down, wasn't he? Full of stories from the "Winning Post." John. Yes, that's the chap. I hope he won't bore you. Francis. My dear fellow, when one goes to school with a man, one must accept all the consequences. John. Well, he is a bit heavy. But he's a most frightfully good bridgeplayer, and he's fond of the kids—and so the wife likes him. I really asked him to-night because of his son, Edward; the youth shows signs of taking to literature. Francis. D'ye mean to say Jim Brindley has got a grown-up son? John. Why, it's eighteen years since his wife died. Teddy's a very decent boy. He's writing a play, and he wanted to meet you. I couldn't ask him without his father. Francis. Have I got to do the swell dramatic critic, then? John. Well, you know what youths risburg M.P. divorce case-three colare! [Enter Brindley.] Brindley. How do, John? John. How do, Jim. Where's the boy? [They do not shake hands.] Brindley. He's coming a bit later. How do, Francis? umns or so every day. Brindley [at once interested; in a peculiar low voice]. It is a bit hot, ain't it? John [to Francis]. There! What did I tell you? Brindley [approaching the other two, Francis [shaking hands]. How do glass in hand]. But really! yesterday's Brindley. Lucky devil! Did you see that joke in the "Winning Post" yesterday about the chauffeur and the chambermaid? John. Jimmy, about once a week I have to explain to you that my chief object in life is to avoid seeing the "Winning Post." Have a drop of Vermouth before supper? Brindley. A split soda's more in my line to-night; but I'll never say die! [Crosses the room to help himself; as he does so, to Francis.] You wouldn't think, to hear him talk, that he was as fond of a tasty story as any of us, would you, Francis? John. You don't know what tasty is, my poor James. In the regions of tastiness you've never got beyond a kind of sixth-form snigger. Brindley. Listen to him! here's luck! [Drinks.] Well, Francis [amiable for Brindley's sake]. Doctors, eh, Jim? Doctors! John. You sniggerers must be having a rare time just now with this Har papers were lively. I read several of 'em. The "Mercury" was pretty steep, but the London "Sentinel" was steeper. Francis. And none of them print all the evidence. Brindley [impressed]. Don't they! Francis. By Jove, no! Simply daren't! And there's worse to come, it appears. Brindley. Is there! Well, it's a rare good thing for newspapers. And I suppose they must make hay while the sun shines, same as the rest of us. [In a still lower voice.] By the way, seen this? [Takes a paper from his pocket.] John. What is it? Brindley. "Sunday Morning News." Brindley. It's one of Master Charlie's papers. John. But if I had to read all Charlie's papers I should have my hands full. Brindley. They've been giving a series of "Famous Crimes of Passion" every week now for a long time. They must rake 'em up from old newspapers, I reckon. To-day's is the Ashby-de-laZouch double seduction, specially illustrated. In 1881. John. I always thought there was something sinister about Ashby-de-laZouch. Brindley. And look here. John [impatiently]. What? [He reads from the paper.] "Next week. The famous Dick Downes case." What in the name of heaven- -? Francis, do you know anything about this? Francis [shakes his head]. I've scarcely seen the paper except in bundles in the motor-vans. What is the famous Dick Downes case? Downes- Surely it's nothing to do with John. Don't you remember it? Dick Downes was a Town Councillor of this town. It was a filthy thing. I can recollect as well as anything what a perfect deuce of a sensation it made -must be thirty years ago. Dick Downes was our Mrs. Downes's brother-in-law. He killed himself. Francis. I believe I have some vague recollection of it. John. I should say so! Brindley. Saucy, eh? What'll the old lady say? John. Charles must be gone right bang off his chump! Brindley. You may say they titivate these things up. Look at these headings of the Ashby-de-la-Zouch affair. "The virgin's chamber." "The criminal's amorous record." "The psychological moment." "The suppressed letter." "What the doctor said." John [glaring at the paper]. Of course if they're going to embroider the Dick Downes case in that style- [Positively.] Charlie simply can't know anything about it. Francis. You needn't look at me like that, Johnnie. I'm not the criminal. [Brindley drops the paper.] John. I suppose you don't want pick that up? that? [indicating paper]. Brindley. No. I only brought it in to show you. [The door opens 1.] John [picking up the paper and crushing it angrily]. Just keep your mouth shut, Jimmy. Here's- [He pitches the paper into a waste-paper basket. At the same moment enter Mrs. Worgan and Sir Charles.] Mrs. W. Well, here we are at last. Good evening, Mr. Brindley. [General awkwardness.] Brindley. Good evening, Mrs. Worgan. [They shake hands.] Well, Sir Charles, glad to see ye. [Shakes hands with Sir Charles.] John. Old Harrop's sale. [General awkwardness increases.] Brindley [to Sir Charles]. So you had a breakdown, eh? What was it? Ignition? Sir C. Yes. What made you think of that? Brindley. Well-the weather, you know. I've got a small car myself. Sir C. Have you? Brindley [self-satisfied]. Oh, yes. Sir C. What mark? [They talk.] Francis [in front of bookcase]. What's this little "Selections from Swinburne," John? I never knew there was any volume of selections. John. It's the Tauchnitz edition. Do you mean to say you've never had ityou, a traveller? Francis [examining book]. No. So you smuggled it in? John. I just brought it in. I've got lots of Tauchnitzes. Francis. Is it any good? John. Who are you going to war with next, Charlie? You don't seem to have been doing much lately in the boom line, from what I hear. Brindley. So long as the Harrisburg case is on, I reckon you newspaper peo John. Pretty fair! But it only gives ple don't want any boom. part of "Anactoria." Francis. Oh, be dashed to it, then! [Puts it back.] Mrs. W. I wish my sons would be a little more careful in their language. Francis. Is she shocked? She should not be shocked. [Goes and kisses her, from behind, with a humorous gesture.] Mrs. W. [playfully repulsing him]. Go away with you! John. And just look how he's shoved this book back! Sir C. [to Brindley]. And of course with no telegraph office open! John [as he adjusts book on shelf, without turning towards Sir Charles]. Now there's a thing you ought to take up in one of your mighty organs! Sir C. What, Johnnie? John [turning to him]. The impossibility of telegraphing after ten A.M. on Sundays. It's simply criminal. Ask any medical man. You might work it up into one of your celebrated "Mercury" sensations! There'd be some sense in that! Sir C. No good at all. Sir C. No genuine public interest in it. John. I don't know that there was such a deuce of a lot of genuine public interest in your famous campaign against Germany, my boy. Sir C. Oh! that's all over, now. Mrs. W. Eh, I'm thankful. We don't want any wars. Brindley. I saw the other day you had a leader saying that friendship with Germany must be the pivot of our Mrs. W. Please don't discuss that case, Mr. Brindley. Brindley. I'm not going to, Mrs. Worgan. I was only wondering what there would be about it in Tuesday's papers. Sir C. I can tell you what there'll be about it in the "Mercury"-nothing! Brindley. Really? But- [Enter Emily and Annie.] Annie. Ah! Well, he has come! How are you, Charles? Glad to see you. Sir C. [shaking hands]. How are you, Annie? Very fit, thanks! You see I'm not late for supper. [To Emily, shaking hands.] I hope you weren't upset? Emily. No. Not upset ! But I'll tell you [confidentially]. Mrs. W. What's this? What's this? Aren't you going to kiss her? Isn't he going to kiss you, my dear, after all this anxiety he's given us? Francis. Now, Charlie. You must be a man. [Sir Charles and Emily kiss.] Mrs. W. That's better. Brindley. Nobody but old friends present. How d'ye do, Mrs. Vernon? [Shakes hands with her.] I haven't had time to congratulate Charlie yet. But I congratulate him now. Charlie, my boy, I congratulate you. You've got on to a bit of all right. [Sir Charles nods.] Annie. Jim, the children want you. Go up at once, because supper will be ready in a minute. Mrs. Downes is there gossiping with the nurse. Bring her down with you. Mrs. W. Mrs. Downes has come, has she? John, you never told me. Annie [to Brindley as he goes]. We sha'n't wait for Teddy, you know-if he's late. Brindley. I've no control over Teddy. He offered me a cigar the other day. Mrs. W. I think I'll just go and have one peep at the children [half rising]. Annie. Now, mother, do give yourself a moment's rest. It isn't two hours since you saw them. And supper's ready. Mrs. W. Very well. Annie [to Brindley]. And don't excite them, whatever you do. Brindley [at door, back]. [Exit.] All right. Emily [who has been talking apart with Sir Charles]. But what kept you, so suddenly as all that, my poor boy? Sir C. Well, there needn't be any secret about it. As a matter of fact I was just going to tell Brindley. It's that Harrisburg divorce case. Kendrick had heard what Monday's evidence was likely to be, and I shan't be there on Monday, so he wanted to consult me as to what should be put in and what should be left out. It's frightfully difficult, as a question of principle. Annie. But how can you decide beforehand? Sir C. I'll tell you what I decided. I decided we wouldn't report any more evidence at all in either the "Mercury" or the "Courier." Mrs. W. I'm thankful to hear it, Charles! I must say some of the things one sees nowadays in the papers Sir C. It's quite time some newspapers made a stand for public decency. And we're going to do it. We shall put it on all the posters: "No report of Harrisburg evidence." No newspaper ever had a poster like that before. It'll do us a tremendous lot of good, and it'll be one in the eye for the "Sentinel." I thought we ourselves went rather far yesterday, but the "Sentinel" went further. And we've got to beat the "Sentinel" somehow. Annie. I think you've chosen a very good way. John [ironically]. Emily, he is a genius. Nobody else would have thought of that. So Sir C. [half laughing at John]. that's how it stands. Of course we shall run a campaign. I had a great deal of difficulty in making Kendrick see the idea. It took us three hours to thrash it out. I did my level best to catch the last train, and missed it. [Enter Edward Brindley, 1. shyly.] Annie. Here he is! Young man, what have you been doing to be late? John. Teddy has been writing his play, I bet. Mrs. W. I hope he hasn't forgotten what day it is. Edward. Good evening, Mrs. John; good evening, Mrs. Worgan. [Shakes hands.] Sorry I'm late. Good evening [shaking hands with John]. John. This is Mrs. Vernon, formerly of the Prince's Theatre, Teddy. This is Francis, dramatic critic of "Men and Women," and this is Charles, boss of the said theatre. You may be said to be in the theatrical world at last. But don't be nervous. [To the others.] Let me introduce Edward Brindley, dramatist. [Edward shakes hands.] Sir C. So you want to write plays, do you? Edward [to John]. I say, Mr. Worgan, why have you started right off talking about me like this? Annie. People who come late must expect to be conspicuous. John. Besides, you don't imagine you're asked here to-night in your private capacity, do you? Not a bit. You're asked as a playwright. Why! |