Oh, all right! (Lays down money.)
(Rototakes up the money, and hands the green stone toVarliewho looks at it [so that audience can see its shape] then slips it into his pocket.)
Varlie.
(Laughing reassuringly and sitting a little nearerLoveday.) These queer old curios get me every time. I’ll test a drop of his precious poison on a mangy old dog I have, and if itisas he says, I’ll wash it out and keep eau de cologne in it. The jade is a pretty shape.
Loveday.
Yes, it is. And it is quite a good bit of jade, too. It is worth money. But do be careful with the stuff. I more than half believe what he says.
Varlie.
An old hand like I am at life, don’t run no risks with a bit of jade. I’ve seen too much of the world.
Loveday.
You have travelled much?
Varlie.
I should say! I have run around a bit, and got into many a good scrape in my time. Why, any day you are lonesome, Miss Loveday, ask me for the story of my wounds!
Loveday.
I’ve been rather lonesome this afternoon. How did you get that red triangle on your right cheek bone? I have often wondered. It is so regular.
Varlie.
(Turns his right cheek so that she can see it, points it out and turns again so that audience can see the bright red, definite small triangle on his cheek.) Ah, now that’s one of my best stories. I was a spry young fellow then. (Looks at her.) Now, if you were a smart girl you’d say, “That’snot long ago then, Mr. Varlie!”
Loveday.
(Smiling.) I’ll say it if it is a regulation part of the story. Is it?
Varlie.
Waal, as you are a high and mighty young English girl, we’ll take it as said.
(Sounds of footsteps and panting along road—1st Shepherdhurries on carrying a telegram held out before him.)
1st Shep.
Where’s Mr. Gordon? Oh, where is he? This telegram’s for him.
Loveday.
He went round the back of the house not long ago.
1st Shep.
Oh, terrible, terrible. That I’ve to take him this telegram.
Loveday.
What is it?
1st Shep.
Bad news, terrible bad news. The postman, he told me.
Loveday.
(Anxiously.) But tell us.
1st Shep.
Oh, Missy, how’ll ever Mister Gordon take it? Mr. Robert has been killed.
Loveday.
(Sinking back in chair.) Robertkilled, oh!poorGordon!
Varlie.
Sakes alive, that’s a knock out.
1st Shep.
That’s what I say. It had better been the other way about.
Loveday.
(Swiftly, in anger.) Howcanyou say that?
Nora.
(Running out of house.) Whatisthe fuss?
1st Shep.
(A little important as being the bearer of sad news.) Ah, Missy, it’s sad tidings there is in this telegram. Mr. Robert’s killed.
Nora.
(Screams and staggers.Lovedaysprings up and goes to her.) Robert, Robert! Killed. How do you know? It must be lies. How do you know?
1st Shep.
Postman told me. This is a Government telegram, telling it to ye, official.
Gordon.
(Hurries round the house and comes centre forward.) Whatever is the matter?
(Rotocomes in and learning news fromVarlie, shows signs of real grief.
Allhesitate to tellGordon.1st Shepherdholds out telegram.)
1st Shep.
It’s, it’s bad news, Mister Gordon.
Gordon.
The telegram is official—it’s—is Robert wounded? (Tears open the telegram.)
Gordon.
Killed! (Lets telegram fall, and staggers forward to chair, all are silent.)
Nora.
(Crying softly.) Oh Robert, Robert, Robert!
(Lovedaytries to soothe her and is sad also.Rotosniffs. The collie dog comes up to the group, looking from one to the other, then goes toGordonand rubs against him licking his hand.Gordonpats him.)
Gordon.
Good old chap. Yes, he’ll never come back. Your master is dead—died a hero’s death.
Varlie.
(Comes up and shakesGordon’shand.) Accept my condolences.
Gordon.
Thanks—thanks, you’re kind. (Pays little attention to him, goes over toNora, who is still weeping.) Nora, dear. (He kneels beside her.) How sweet of you to care so much—he, he’d be proud if he knew.
Nora.
(Fiercely.) He wouldn’t! He never cared for me.And I loved him—and I hate you. Go away!
(She pushes him roughly from her so that, on his knees, still, he scarcely keeps his balance. She turns and weeps fiercely inLoveday’sarms.Loveday, soothing her, really watches and feels forGordon. As he staggers blindly to his feet, she looks with infinite tenderness and pity towards him and stretches out a hand to steady him. He takes it, and clasps it for a moment.)
Roto.
(Wailing.) What’ll happen? What’ll happen now Mister Robert won’t come back?
1st Shep.
Eh, eh, dear, dear.
Gordon.
He won’t come back! (He looks up suddenly, and seems to gather strength.) He won’t come back! He has donehisjob for the Empire! That frees me! Now I’ll do mine! I’ve nothing to keep me here.
1st Shep.
Why! the sheep do, Boss.
Gordon.
Robert charged me to keep the station going for him till he came back. Now he’ll never come back; I’m done with the station! Other men must raise the sheep.
Loveday.
(Her eyes sparkling.) You’ll go to London?
Gordon.
Yes. We have often said I’d have to go to London some day to getmyjob put through.
Varlie.
(Half aside.) The man’s mad! He doesn’t propose seriously to bring forward that devilish scheme of his. (Aloud.)What will you do? Have you the dollars? It’ll take a good deal of money!
Gordon.
No. All I have is the homestead, and the sheep. But I’ll sell them.
Varlie.
It’s the worst time to sell just now.
Gordon.
I’ll lose something of course, but the homestead and all is really worth quite ten thousand pounds altogether.
Varlie.
Snakes! It’s not worth nearly half that.
1st Shep.
Yes it is, Mister. It’s a good station. None better hereabouts.
Varlie.
Is it freehold?
Gordon.
Yes. And unencumbered.
Varlie.
Is it all yours?
Gordon.
Yes—nowit is. Robert and I shared it. He left his will with me—he said his share was all for me, as he hadn’t got a girl.
(Norais seen to shudder as though hurt.)
Varlie.
Then you can sell at once.
Gordon.
I shall.
1st Shep.
Don’t ’e, Mister Gordon, don’t ’e. You’ll best wait. Land’s not sellin’ just now. Wait a bit.
Gordon.
But my work won’t wait! I shan’t.
Loveday.
Splendid! Go.
Gordon.
You say so? You back me?
Loveday.
Yes. Yes.
Gordon.
Well, I have one on my side.
Varlie.
It’s a fool business.
Gordon.
I must sell at once. Perhaps neighbour Lee might like to join this station on to his.
Nora.
(Looking up fiercely.) My dad? I won’t let him. I won’t!
Varlie.
You’ll not get a purchaser at present.
Roto.
That’s true, Boss. No one is buying land just now.
Gordon.
(Turning away.) Well, I must sell for else I have no money to go to Europe with and Iwillgo. It will be a veryexpensive job. Propaganda costs. I must put my scheme before the Prime Minister of England, and it’s no good to write to him. I must see him, I must talk to him.
Varlie.
Has he a good opinion of you?
Gordon.
He doesn’t know me yet.
Nora.
(Scolding.) How do you think that you, an absolutely unknown Colonial with a hair-brained scheme, are going to get at him?
Gordon.
I’ll manage it somehow.
Varlie.
London is not like Dunedin, I opine. Do you know anyone in London who knows the Prime Minister?
Gordon.
No. But I’ll get to.
Nora.
Do you know a single living soul in London?
Gordon.
No. But I will when I get there.
Loveday.
He will.I’llsee to that!
Nora.
(Spitefully.) Oh! Doyouknow people who know the Prime Minister of England?
Loveday.
(Quietly.) I do.
Nora.
(Taken aback.) Oh! Who?
Loveday.
The Duchess of Rainshire.
Varlie.
(Very alert, evidently taking note of the name.) Does she know the Prime Minister intimately?
Loveday.
Yes. He often comes to see her.
Gordon.
(Triumphfully.) Splendid! You never told me that, Loveday, when you said I should have to go and see him somehow.
Loveday.
(Smiling.) I had it up my sleeve though. There was no need to speak of it so long as you were not going. Now (sadly) you can think only of this work. I’ll be proud to help in it. It is worth doing.
Gordon.
With Robert’s example before me—I’ll do it, or die.
Loveday.
You’ll do it.
Gordon.
But it may take a long time, and I must have money, plenty of money too. I must sell the station at once.
Varlie.
(Drawling.) I’ve put my thinking cap on. A business connection of my firm is looking out for freehold in this country. If this is freehold, I reckon I’d be safe to get my money back from him if I bought it myself.
Gordon.
You!
Varlie.
Yaas. I’ve got plenty of free cash when it’s wanted, you know. Business hasn’t been bad lately, and—waal. I’ll lay down for this freehold of yours.
Gordon.
Good. That’ll save ever so much time I might waste in looking for a buyer.
Varlie.
Let’s strike then.
Gordon.
It is worth ten thousand pounds.
Varlie.
Shucks!
Gordon.
But I’ll take less.
Varlie.
Waal?
Gordon.
Say seven thousand—for money down.
Varlie.
(Laughing derisively.) What do you take me for?
Gordon.
It is really worth that, why the sheepalone—
Varlie.
Sell your sheep separately then. I ain’t buying sheep, I’m buying land.
1st Shep.
But you can’t do nothin’ with this land without sheep, Boss.
Roto.
It’s worth more than seven thousand pounds, that’s a bargain price, Boss.
Varlie.
Sell elsewhere then.
Roto.
Do, Mister Gordon. Next month a Pakeha I know is coming to the city. He thinkin’ of a station like this. I fetch him along, Mister Gordon.
Gordon.
Nextmonth! I want to be half way to England next month.
Varlie.
(Lighting a cigar.) I’ll give you four thousand five hundred forit—
Gordon.
That’s too little to discuss.
1st Shep.
That’s robbery, Boss, don’t take it. After the war it’ll fetch three times that. After thewar—
Gordon.
After the war will be too late for me. The international super-parliament must be considered in the terms of peace.
1st Shep.
(Groans.) Them ideas! You’d let the sheep rot for ideas!
Varlie.
I’ll give you four thousand five hundred for it, downto-day.
Gordon.
To-day!
Varlie.
Right now. We’ll ride into the city and get a notary to fix it up all square.
Gordon.
That’s better than waiting for an uncertain buyer—but it’s verylittle—
Varlie.
But it’s here,to-day.
Gordon.
To-day. Well, I’ll take it!
Varlie.
Done. A deal. Shake.
(Rotoand theShepherdmutter, and shake their heads.)
Nora.
You’re a perfectfool, Gordon! You throw away more than half your fortune so as to be able to rush off to England with a crack-brained scheme! Why not write to the papers instead?
Gordon.
(Looks helpless, says appealingly.) Oh, Nora!
Varlie.
A lot of energy is let off safely in gas to the papers. Hyde is bottlin’ his energy up it seems. That makes him dangerous, eh?
Gordon.
(To Loveday.) You’ll give me a letter of introduction?
Loveday.
(Smiling sweetly.) No. I won’t.
Varlie.
Gee. Evenshethinks you are going off the rails.
Gordon.
Loveday, yousaidyou would give me a letter of introduction!
Loveday.
How many introductory letters do you suppose the Duchess of Rainshire gets? Aletterwould do you very little good.
Gordon.
(Crestfallen.) Oh, Loveday, what do you mean?
Loveday.
Why! (Taking a step towards him, radiant, in the centre of stage.) I’m not going to trust to letters, which people can put in the waste-paper basket!
Gordon.
But, what do you mean, Loveday?
Loveday.
I’ll come with you myself!I’ll wait on their doorsteps (I know lots of people in London), I’ll waylay them at parties, and seize the verybestopportunities for getting the right people to know you.
Gordon.
You will? You are a brick! How splendid!
Varlie.
(Somewhat disturbed, aside.)Ach!The English are mad enough for anything.Gott sei dankI know of this! (Aloud.) What about Mrs. Grundy?
Nora.
Yes. A pretty pair you will look. What will people say?
Loveday.
When the whole world’s future is at stake, do you think I care what people say?
Varlie.
Who was it said the English are all mad? He was right.
Gordon.
It is too much, Loveday!
Nora.
You are English. You will make me agree with Mr. Varlie’s opinion of your country’s sanity.
Loveday.
British women are free from the need to care what foolish people think! (Turning toGordon.) We will go to London, Gordon, and there I’ll work for you and your great idea, for all I’m worth!
(Gordontakes a step towards her, his face shining with enthusiasm.)
Curtain.
About a Couple of months later than Act II.
The Duchess of Rainshire’s drawing-room, London. The fore-part of the stage represents an alcove of the big drawing-room; the back of the stage opens out so as to suggest a large room beyond. Heavy curtains hang on either side of back of alcove. Left second entrance, a door leading direct from alcove to outer hall. Left front, up against wall and projecting into room, a grand piano, closed. Right front, a large Chesterfield placed at convenient angle. One or two small chairs, big pictures, a palm or two, etc., as in a first class house.
The Duchess of Rainshire,LovedayandGordondiscoveredin the foreground. Back of stage occasional guests pass to and fro in the big drawing-room, and faint sounds of music in the distance are heard.
The Duchessis a middle-aged, smart woman of the world, with a commanding manner and quick way of speaking, but kindly.
Gordon.
(Standing, speaking earnestly declaiming as though concluding a long argument.) I fear I have bored you, there is so much to say, but perhaps the chief point is that there shall not only be international law, but adequate force behind that law to enforce it.
Duchess.
(Stifling a yawn.) Well, Mr. Hyde, I’m sure I wish you the success you deserve, and not what I fear you are likely to get. London simply swarms with panaceas and their parents.
Loveday.
(Appealing.) But they haven’t all gotyouto help them!
Duchess.
Oh yes, most of them have! But mercifully the schemes counteract each other on the whole, or where shouldIbe?
Loveday.
You must not allowanythingto counteract this.
Duchess.
(ToMr. Hyde.) Well, young man, remember! It’s neither for yourself nor for your ideas I’m launching you on the defenceless man at the helm, but simply because Loveday used to have fascinating freckles on her nose when she was six years old.
Gordon.
I know I owe her an awful lot. And you too. I’m ever so grateful, I can’t say how grateful. Posteritywill—
Duchess.
(Interrupting.) You are going to say that I’ll go down to history as the patron of genius, of course—I’m glad to hear it. It may help to counteract theotherway I shall go down to history. No one who has had two successive husbands, both Dukes, could fail to find posterity as critical as the present generation is spiteful.
(Gordonlooks bewildered.)
Loveday.
Don’t believe her, Gordon. Everybody’s awfully fond of her.
Duchess.
Go and think that over somewhere by yourself, young man. I haven’t seen Loveday since her escapade into Greater Britain and I want to hear from her how this little island looks in true prospective.
(Gordonbows and goes toward back of stage and mingles with other quests, strolling out of sight. Meanwhile a guest or two stroll partly round the alcove, but seeing theDuchesstalking, retire.)
Duchess.
(TakingLoveday’sarm and pushing her down on to sofa, sits beside her.) Now, Miss, your confessions.
Loveday.
He is really wonderful.
Duchess.
Though New Zealand is British my experience of home Britons tells me it is not peopled by geniuses. He is exceptional. Naturally.
Loveday.
Not at all naturally.
Duchess.
Hoity-toity.—I’m not old enough to say that properly, but it is so effective, I’m beginning young, so as to get enough practice before my public use of it. So—hoity-toity!
(Lovedaysmiles, says nothing.)
Duchess.
What’s wrong, don’t I say it properly? It ought to elicit some retort from you which should reveal your secret more completely than ever.
Loveday.
I haven’t got a secret.
Duchess.
Hoity-toity!—I think I did it rather better thattime—
Loveday.
(Earnestly.) Ihaven’ta secret really!
Duchess.
I must have done it better: you retorted, telling me that you have a secret.
Loveday.
(Laughing.) I haven’t, really and truly I haven’t.
Duchess.
Hoit—no. I’ll vary it. Fiddlesticks! Who is it?
Loveday.
Whois what?
Duchess.
Whom are you in love with?
Loveday.
Nobody.
Duchess.
Is he in love with you?
Loveday.
Who? Nobody? Yes. Nobody is in love with me.
Duchess.
He. (Points with her fan through opening of alcove.) Your New Zealand Genius.
Loveday.
(A shade despondently, but unconscious of it.) No, he is not.
Duchess.
(Pouncing.) Ha! that’s it, is it?
Loveday.
That’s what? Oh, dear! Why is it Ialways talk such bad English when I am with you?
Duchess.
Tush. Tell me about him!
Loveday.
(Brightening.) Oh, how nice of you. I didsowant you to take an interest in his ideas. They are sowonderful. They willmake—
Duchess.
I don’t care one Jellicoed submarine about his ideas. Tell me about himself.
Loveday.
He is a little lame, poorboy—
Duchess.
So Ihaveobserved.
Loveday.
But it isn’t fundamental. He got a stake through his thigh when he was a lad and it healed badly. It must have been dreadful for him.
Duchess.
Are you going to marry him?
Loveday.
Oh, howcanyou say such things? It has never entered his head!
Duchess.
Hoity-toity.
Loveday.
Oh, it hasn’t!
Duchess.
Well, here is a personable young man for whom you feel pity, and you are twenty-seven to his thirty. I only ask, are you going to marry him?
Loveday.
(Rising indignantly.) Howcanyou say such things. I never thought of it! Why he—he loves someone else!
Duchess.
Oh,that’sthe trouble, is it? Where is she?
Loveday.
In New Zealand.
Duchess.
(PattingLoveday’shand.) Then that’s all right, my dear. You can have him if you want.
Loveday.
But I don’t want, that way.—Oh, I don’t want any way! Oh, whydoyou have such dreadful conversations?
Duchess.
That’s it. Quarrel with your benefactor! Are you going to flounce out of the housebeforethe Prime Minister comes?
Loveday.